prompt for u: wanda & vision defining their relationship
Oh my goodness, I love this prompt! So much opportunity for fluff which is what I think we all need right now.
This picks up a little while after the IW kiss in the hotel room in Scotland.
****
The rain was still coming down in sheets, creating a soft and soothing cadence that filled the otherwise silent hotel room.
Wanda lay with her head on Vision’s bare chest, seemingly hypnotized by the way their bodies were entangled together. Fingers interlaced, one leg hitched up to Vision’s thigh while the other rested under his calf. There was no part of them that wasn’t connected at that moment. If they could just stay like this. Hide away forever together, never having to answer to anybody again. It was a dream she’d been having a lot these days.
“Wanda?” Vision said, successfully breaking the trance Wanda was in.
“Hmm?” she responded lazily, running her thumb across the tip of Vision’s hand.
“What am I to you?” It wasn’t a question he’d ever asked before “For two years we’ve been sneaking off to be together. To take walks, talk, watch television... make love.”
Wanda pulled her body free from Vision’s and sat up, pulling the bedsheet over her naked body. She sat silently and waited for him to continue but when he never did, Wanda took her turn.
“What are you to me?” She started, extending her hand for Vision to take it in his. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and waited. “The only time I feel safe, feel whole.. is when I’m with you. You’re everything to me, Vis. Everything.”
Vision nodded. “I feel different with you. Warmer, happier. But also like I have everything to lose.”
Wanda smiled sympathetically. She understood exactly what he was trying to say. Instead of coming right out and saying it, she wanted to see if Vision understood this stage of relationships.
“What do you think that makes us?” She edged.
“Forgive me if I’m overstepping or assuming with this answer but... are we significant others?”
Wanda laughed warmly. “You can say I’m your girlfriend, Vis,” she confirmed.
“Girlfriend,” Vision repeated, a smile breaking out across his face. And I’m your-“
“Boyfriend,” Wanda said with a nod. “That is if you’ll have me.”
“If I’ll have you?” Vision said incredulously. “You’re all I want. Today, tomorrow, forever.”
“And you’re all I want,” Wanda repeated, lying her head back down on Vision’s chest. “Today, tomorrow...”
ok marvel fandom i am not really a part of i need your help.
i’m looking for a post-snap fic focusing on harley keener going to new york to join up with pepper and the other remaining avengers. his sister survives the snap and comes with him, they drive to new york in the car tony gave them, they show up at the refugee/survival/shelter/thing ned and michelle work at, there’s something about a sandwich.
it is not the fantastic toll a bell for the broken hearted, burn a torch for your sons and daughters by tempestaurora
i for the absolute life of me cannot find it on ao3, and i am desperate. help a person out?
Summary: Bucky hangs on for just a little longer to say a few words to Steve.
Word Count: 1,109
Contains: Angsty angst, character death, the summary of IW
A/N: I wrote this YEARS ago when Infinity War came out. It just barely passes to be reposted here. Barely. A platonic or romantic relationship, however you’d like to interpret it :)
Steve ran. Damn it, he ran. Thanos got him hard. His temple was aching and bruising, bloody and sticky. The sensation threw off his movements. He winced and groaned as he drove himself through the woods of Wakanda. He paid no attention to the pain. It didn’t matter. He needed to stop the titan. The world needed him. Worldwide annihilation was not going to be on his agenda today.
His legs crossed in front of each other sloppily, threatening to make him double over at any second. Steve hit the top of his foot on the surface of a large, boulder and tipped forward. His eyes closed, preparing to feel the impact of the firm dirt against his beaten skin. A cold, strong arm gripped his collar tightly and jerked him upright. Steve turned around and saw Bucky’s brown waves beside him.
“Watch it! Go! I’m right behind you, Cap,” he shouted at him, caught up in the adrenaline. Steve nodded towards his friend and sped up, searching for Thanos.
Regardless of his roaring optimism, it was too late. Too late, he repeated in his mind. Steve couldn’t seem to let the reality sink in. Too late? No. Not too late. There was always another way… right? He glanced around him frantically as he halted his running. He panted, exhausted and anxious.
His gaze landed on Thor; bloodied, wounded, sweaty and kneeling with despair. Oh, a once joyous god he had known in another time, what happened? Steve always hoped to cross paths with Thor after he went missing, but not like this. Not in the middle of another war. War. He always seemed to attract war wherever he went. In some ways, he could say it thrilled him. Though, there wasn’t anything so thrilling this time. He couldn’t quite place it.
Steve took a few small steps towards Thor and burned his gaze into him, drained and glowing with wrath. “Where’d he go?” Thor said nothing and looked him in the eyes apologetically. He frowned at the god’s expression and couldn’t help but notice something. Something felt… off. Something felt darker. Sinister.
The solution to his thoughts came up behind him in the form of heavy footsteps. Steve’s stomach churned and pummeled around inside. Fearful to face the truth, he shifted himself around, painfully slow. There stood his huffing best friend. God, Steve missed him so. Far too many years apart from his closest friend. Just like the old days, he thought to himself. Running across a battlefield side-by-side, the two of them against the rest of the world.
Bucky clenched his fist all of a sudden and brought it up to his belly, wearing a panicked expression. His gaze rose to Steve’s and his eyes widened.
“Steve..?” He groaned out before falling onto his knees. Steve gasped softly to himself and slid across the ground beside him. Bucky shot his eyes towards his legs and saw that they were collapsing into delicate, leaf-like ashes that were fluttering beautifully into the ground. Beautiful…
He let out a noise that sounded somewhat like a wail when he saw Steve attempt to grasp his hand. It immediately dissipated into ash. Steve’s eyes grew watery and pink. He desperately reached his hand into Bucky’s hair to keep his head from falling and stared, making sure to note every detail of his face into his memories, refusing to let himself forget anything.
“B-Buck- Buck, you’re going to be fine. Don’t worry. It’s okay…” Steve choked out, overwhelmed by the quick rate that his friend was disappearing at. Bucky chuckled weakly and ran whatever remained of his right hand through Steve’s blonde locks.
“Pal, I think you’re the one who needs to calm down… I’m fine.” He grinned solemnly. Steve shook his head stubbornly.
“No. Shut up, jerk.”
“Punk.” Steve let out a breathy laugh and allowed a tear to subtly run down the side of his cheek. “What’s happening?” He croaked. Bucky couldn’t bear to break eye contact with the super-soldier, but couldn’t resist checking up on the progress of his crumbling self. He managed a gesture meant to be a shrug.
“It’s the end of the line.” Steve felt a sharp pang in his chest. His heartstrings pulled harshly. He bit his bottom lip to prevent a whimper from escaping. “No, Buck, don’t say that. Not now.” Bucky smiled regretfully and looked into his best friend’s eyes, more intensely than ever before.
“A line has to come to an end at some point. Everything has an end, Bud. I’m just grateful that you somehow stuck with my crazy self this whole time, you idiot.” A few more hot tears slipped from Steve’s eyes and he dropped his head next to Bucky’s as he shook severely with agitation.
“I’m s-sorry… Sorry!” he sobbed into his ear. Bucky sniffled slightly and rubbed his head against his cheek. He brought his hand up to pat Steve’s head once again. To his misfortune, it wasn’t there anymore. He was running out of time.
“Steve. Thank you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for finding me. Thank you for saving me, for accepting me, for changing me, for sticking with me. Everything.” Steve pulled away and his eyes widened. He looked down and saw that Bucky was merely a head now. He took in a sharp intake of air.
“No. No, no, no, no- NO!” He cried as he attempted to process the ashes he was sitting in. Bucky let a tear slip past his eyes. “You were the best friend I could have ever asked for. Thank you. I love you, Rogers.”
Steve threw his palm against his companion’s fading hair and hopelessly ran his fingers through it as many times as he could. “B-Bucky… Buck- hey,”
Bucky offered Steve his final, warm smile. The smile that scarred Steve. The smile he would never forget. Then, it faded into ash. It fluttered to the ground and Steve was staring at nothing. Someone came over and gripped his shoulders empathetically, whispering something that travelled incoherently to his ears. He could hear nothing. Feel nothing. Just, look at the same spot. Unable to process anything. What happened?
Steve felt emotionless. Dead. Tears dripped along the curves and planes of his face, but he couldn’t understand why. It was too painful, yet empty. His chest was tightened and strained. He doubled over in the ash-covered ground and sobbed.
He grabbed a handful of the ashes and brought them to his nose, taking in any scent he could of his former friend. He shuddered horribly and whispered something no one else could hear. He meant every word and made sure to never forget this… this vow. He whispered it to the ashes:
(inspired by the lovely @cozyastronaut and takes place just after thor meets the guardians 😊)
Thor didn't know quite how long he'd been sitting here.
There was a faint heat coming from the soup bowl in his hands, and he must've been eating it because occasionally he'd get a spoonful of flavour that jarred his battered mind back to the present. It was gradual, slow, but he felt as if he was thawing. Crawling out of the cold and the dark into something close to a warmth he'd once known.
His hands shook as he ate, metal spoon rattling against the side of the dish. If the group of people who had brought him in heard it, they didn't say anything. Guardians, he thought their name was. He'd heard the word thrown around, when he'd first jolted up from the table he'd been left on, adrenaline making his heart pound in his head, blood burning through his veins, trying frantically to breathe the stale air of the ship into something close to a normal rhythm.
He'd asked who they were. Went about it perhaps a bit ruder than he should've, but if he was being honest his mind was a little clouded. A purple haze still hung over his world, fire from the power stone leaving behind bright spots in his vision that twisted and changed but never seemed to leave.
They'd said they were the Guardians of the Galaxy. Or, one of them had said it. A man, clad in red leather, with two blasters attached to his hips and a twitching finger that rested against the trigger.
They all looked scared of him. Which was a tad worrying. Weapons were drawn, swords readied and guns pointed, and he really should have been more concerned about making himself more welcoming but he was tired. His shoulders ached, there was a fatigue that clung to his bones, and defending himself from them wasn't really a priority anymore. The green skinned woman couldn't hurt him, nor could the rabbit, or the one with glowing antenna. The daggers of the tattooed man and the branches of the tree couldn't do more than had already been done.
His memory got blurry again, after that. He remembered talking, although he wasn't sure that he'd been making much sense.
Things happened in quick succession. A blanket laid over his shoulders, hands pressing against his arms to push him back into a seated position. A bowl of soup to warm his soul.
They'd left him alone to it, and he was grateful. Grateful for the moment of respite, short lived as he knew it would be. Grateful for the food in his hand, the blanket on his shoulders that was soft enough to indicate that it was well worn. Grateful for the caution - for the distance they'd put between him and them. For the background noise that was quiet, but not silent. No words were spoken, at least, not to him. But the faint sound of muted conversation, the buzzing radio of a song that he knew he knew from somewhere, but couldn't quite place.
The sounds were nice. The quiet was nice. He was still far too numb to get much out of it - no mourning for his planet, his people, his friend, his brother. Not yet.
His thoughts seemed to short out the second it was even suggested. He'd start to think about it, about the things he'd left behind, about the younger brother who he'd wanted to protect and who was now alone and abandoned in the cold of space and -
The spoon shook. The bowl rattled. The soup was warm, and he couldn't quite identify the flavour, but it was good. Or maybe it was average, and his nerves were just starved of something gentle.
His breath had started to come in careful lengths, rather than the shuddering gasps. Automatic, a process of in and out that he didn't have to consciously remind himself of anymore. He could just do it.
For a brief moment, he let his eye shut. Let the burning shapes fade with the light, and take this moment of respite for what it was. A sanctuary. An oasis, in the midst of a firey desert. A few minutes of calm where thoughts didn't happen and he could just be.
He breathed. He was warmed. And despite the rattling bowl and the shaking spoon in his hand, he was still. He felt still. Time had slowed, the hourglass failing to turn. Things had been moved just out of his reach, and for once, he was content to stay in his seat. He didn't need to lean, to grab, to push forward and further until something either broke or fixed. He could stay, with a blanket and a bowl of soup, and the faint buzz of what he was sure was an earth song.
He could take a minute, afford a break, briefly stop the hands of the clock and stay.
how does the sun even fit in the sky? -- 517 words
In the end, Okoye holds her breath.
The first thing to do is rebuild.
And there's a lot to be done, mostly in the Border but still. It's work. There isn't much leadership needed because everybody knows that it comes first. That Wakanda comes first.
But this is Wakanda, even with half the population gone it takes less than a month.
Half the population.
On paper, half of Wakanda gone is almost impossible to even fathom. What would that even look like? But that is what they are living in now.
In the early months, after rebuilding, the streets are stale, empty, silent except for every so often someone will venture out of their home for necessities. Or maybe just to look and find that there are no ghosts, no shades, just space and a deafening lack of noise where there used to be colour. Vibrance. Life.
And it's not as though there is nobody. Half the population is still half, still several millions. But nobody wants to go outside. In their houses, they can hide. They can pretend.
(Maybe mother and little brother are not home. But that is only two people. Little sister is still here. Father is still here.
There are just one or two things missing.
Not half of everything.)
And then foreign dignities start to request aid. There's a backlog of emails, letters, requests, Wakanda promised. Nobody is sure who to open them. Who should answer.
The throne sits empty. Not a single member of the Royal Family have survived.
The Ceremony is filled with gaps on the great rock. No tribe volunteers first. Eventually the chorus of humming and rhythmical chanting ceases. It feels as though everybody is holding their breaths. Waiting.
Come back, thinks Okoye. Come back.
They don't, of course.
The Water still falls the same as before, the loud and steady shh-shh-shh and the gurgling as it tumbles over the edge and down. A continuous flow which has never stopped, never dried up, never frozen over. Just keeps going. Ever since she can remember.
T'Challa could survive the fall. He had to.
She's not sure if Wakanda can survive this, even though they have to.
Nobody is here to challenge. The Jabari Tribe are here, but nobody is here to challenge. Not each other. They are here to mourn. To lick their wounds. For somebody to step up and so that Wakanda can rise again.
The Sun shines over the waters, over Wakanda, golden and warm even though every shadow and every missing silhouette seems colder ten times over.
In the end, nobody wants to believe that this will be the conclusion.
In the end, the tribes look to their protectors, their Dora Milaje, their General. Okoye was never made to wear a crown, to rule. But she was made to protect her country. Made to protect Wakanda.
Maybe the nation will never stop waiting. Maybe they never should. But the first step is to rebuild.
In the end, Okoye thinks — because this can't be their end — I still believe in Wakanda, and holds her breath.
I started writing this little minific not that long after Infinity War came out; it was, and still is, to be my only acknowledgment of Infinity War as canon. The first line was really the seed. I’d been seeing way too much Team Cap propaganda regarding Civil War and I wanted Steve to admit *he* was wrong, for a change (he’s really the one who has a problem with that, not Tony).
5/11/19: I just dug this out of my drafts folder. I still haven’t seen Endgame and I probably won’t until it shows up on the in-seat entertainment system of a plane I’m on. I don’t know if this is in any way compatible with it and I don’t really care. I think I wanted to wrap it up in a more satisfying way but I can’t really think how, and there’s no point in sitting on it any longer, so here it is.
------------------------------------------
“Tony was right.”
It was the first thing Steve had said since they---the original Avengers, plus Rhodey, who had been War Machine since before the Avengers existed---had gathered under the trees where Vision’s lifeless body still lay. Of him, at least, we have something to bury.
“About the alien threat?” Natasha said carefully. “Steve, there was no way we could have prepared for this, no one could---”
“That we would lose,” Steve said---not cutting in, exactly, because the words were not sharp but dull and despondent, with a weight of inevitability. It was as if he was finishing a slow thought, and had not yet registered that Natasha had spoken.
He looked up at her and the hollowness in his eyes was startling. She had never seen him like this, without the determination and righteous anger that always seemed to fire him. There was nothing there but the crushing knowledge that they had failed---that he had failed. Arrogant bastard thinks it’s all on him, she thought wryly. And they call Stark the narcissist.
“I said ‘we’ll do that together, too,’" he continued, after a pause long enough that she wasn’t sure he would keep speaking. “But we didn’t.”
“That isn’t your fault,” Bruce said, trying awkwardly to be soothing. “He’s the one who was too proud to call.”
Steve shook his head; Natasha wasn’t sure if that was I can’t blame him or I’d have been no better or maybe even That’s as much my fault as his. “He sees things I don’t... and I see things he doesn’t. He should’ve been here... or I should have been there.” Wherever ‘there’ is.
“He’s just one man,” Bruce said.
“So am I. So are any of us... or one woman,” Steve amended, looking at Natasha. “Together we’re the Avengers. But not without Tony.”
“Clint is more of a spare wheel,” Natasha remarked. Rhodey gave a pained laugh and Bruce’s mouth twitched, seemingly in spite of himself. At least a few of them appreciated her gallows humor.
“Do you have a way to locate Stark?” Thor asked. “If so, I could go and retrieve him.” He hefted the enormous axe with which he had beamed in.
Rhodey shook his head. “He didn’t have a tracker on him that works that far out in space. Global positioning doesn’t do much good when you’re nowhere near the globe.”
“What does it matter?” Steve asked hopelessly. “It’s over.”
“It’s not over,” Rhodey insisted. “There’s half of the world still left, dealing with the fallout. They still need us.”
“They need the Avengers,” Steve said. Everyone filled in what he meant.
“In the meantime we’ll have to do,” Natasha said, a little sharply. Steve looked up, more past her than at her, and nodded, apparently chastened by her implicit Snap out of it. He tightened his lips and clenched his jaw, trying to summon the “stiff upper lip” that Peggy surely would have urged upon him.
Natasha softened. He’d been trying to hold it together through sheer stubbornness for about 7 years now. Who would have guessed that the shoulder he wanted to lean on when he finally allowed himself to fall apart would be Tony’s? “If he’s out there, he’ll find us,” she added.
“Tony’s the stubbornest bastard on earth--- in the universe, now,” Rhodey said, trying to sound more confident than he probably felt. “He escaped from a cave in Afghanistan in a flying tin can that he built from scraps under the terrorists’ noses. He’d never give up while he’s still alive... and even if--- even if he’s not, he would be sorely disappointed if we did.” He paused. “Nah, disappointed’s not his style. More like... incredulous. Contemptuous.”
“There is no greater shame than a fellow warrior’s contempt,” Thor said. His tone was entirely serious, but his mouth wasn’t quite.
“Very true,” Rhodey agreed, equally serious-unserious, while Bruce added, “Absolutely.”
Natasha looked at him. “I’ve been living with the Asgardians for a few months,” he said, almost apologetic. “A couple things may have sunk in.”
Steve nodded slowly, seeming to come back to himself a little. Natasha thought she glimpsed a spark of the old determination in his eye. Well, if it wasn’t a determination to stand up for the right and protect the innocent, a determination not to let Tony Stark think he’d fallen down on the job would have to do.
