#mcu au

[motherxmercury]

Wanda stood in the laundry room putting a load in the dryer. Someone was behind her. She spun around ready to telekinetically throw the basket at whoever was there. It was just Yash.

"Yash! You scared me. You're so quiet."

Yash looked worn down. Her face was paler and thinner than usual.

"Wanda can you look in my brain for a second?"

Wanda paused.

"Any reason why?"

Yash shrugged. "Just curious about something."

Wanda put down the basket. "Alright. But let's go out to the living room." She thought she saw hesitation from Yash but if she did, it was immediately hidden.

The two sat on the couch. Yash was losing weight again. Her shoulders looked gaunt under her shirt and her sleeves hung loosely around her wrists. Wanda didn't mention it but made a mental note to tell Shep.

"Are you ready? I'll be gentle but this may feel strange."

Yash braced herself. "Go ahead."

Wanda lifted a hand with swirling red magic and softly sank her fingers into Yash's consciousness.

Everything was so loud. Wanda winced a little. Yash saw. Wanda regained her composure and kept looking around.

It was chaotic. There was a distant screaming and pounding noise, like someone was trapped. Wanda sensed resistance when she noticed it. Overlapping thoughts in both English and Russian made a deafening cacophony. It was dark, everything was red.

Suddenly, something sprang out of the shadows at her. She saw a flash of metal and the dark figure lunged.

Wanda pulled back and out of Yash's mind with a gasp. Her heart was racing. She looked up at Yash. Yash was shaking. Her metal hand was clenched into a fist and her right held it down.

"Yash, who was that?"

Yash sat silently, grappling with the reality before she finally said,

"The Asset."

Wanda blinked.

"What?"

"It's the Asset." Yash gripped her left arm tighter. "They're always there. I wasn't sure how real they were so I needed you to check."

Wanda frowned. "You were declared fit for service, they said you were free from the brainwashing-"

"They lied," said Yash.

"They knew you were still dealing with this and they sent you back to active duty anyway?"

Yash nodded stiffly. Wanda noted that she seemed afraid to relax. "Not too much has changed really. The flag and the language changed but most things are still the same."

Wanda pinched her nose. "I'm still upset that they sent you back out again when the Asset is still very active." She paused and lowered her hand. "Have you lost control?"

Yash froze. Wanda knew the answer.

"Only Shep knows. It'll compromise the team if it gets out."

"It's not your fault, Yash. You got put in an impossible position."

"It is my fault, I should've prepped better. I shouldn't be such a loose cannon. It's dangerous for everyone else and I didn't prioritize them." Yash had her eyes down but she finally looked up at Wanda. "So yes, it is my fault. I'm compromised and allowed someone to take advantage of that."

Wanda reached out a hand and rested it on Yash's metal arm. Yash stiffened but gradually relaxed under Wanda's gentle touch. "Yash that's not how that works. If that was the case then we'd all be out of a job. That's how I met the Avengers, I compromised them. We all have something that takes us apart. That's just being human."

Yash stared at the floor. Wanda could feel the metal under her hand growing warm.

"Then why don't I believe you?" Yash whispered.

"You haven't had a break, ever. You went straight from World War II to Hydra capturing you. Then to being dispatched as the Asset. Hydra finally lost control but SHIELD doesn't treat you much better. It's been hard for decades, Yash."

Yash was silent.

"I lived some of what you experienced too," Wanda said. "I'm an experiment, I fought against the Avengers."

"How did you get over it? Over everything that happened?" Yash's voice cracked. "Do the nightmares ever stop?"

"It gets a little better every day but it takes time and work."

[motherxmercury]

She never slept on mission. She waited till it was over. It didn't matter if it was days on the field, Yash pressed on.

Shep could guess why but he felt strange bringing it up. The others didn't notice at first, missions were always chaotic and Yash was a great night watch. The sniper part of her brain made her sensitive to the tiniest movement or sound. It made sense she'd take watch every night. She clearly didn't want attention drawn to it and Shep uneasily let it be.

One night in the tower, Shep went down to the kitchen for painkillers when a migraine refused to let him sleep. They wouldn't help much, the serum made his metabolism eat drugs before they could be effective but at this point he was desperate.

As he passed the tv room he saw a glint of metal. Yash had been stretched out on the rug in front of the couch. His movement had alerted her and she sat half crouching, watching to see who it was. She'd chosen a good spot, she was almost invisible in the dark room.

"Yash??" Shep walked into the room. "What are you doing down here?" She shifted but didn't answer right away.

"My room is between yours and Sam's. I didn't want to run the risk of waking you up-"

"Huh?" Shep sat down on the couch and motioned for her to join him. "What do you mean?"

Yash moved up to the couch and sat silently. The dim light from the hallway caught in her yellow eyes making them look like they glowed. She studied the floor with a hand on her metal arm.

"Do you have nightmares? Like from the war? Or the serum?"

"Sometimes I do," he answered quietly. Yash continued to stare holes into the rug. Shep's head throbbed with the migraine but he ignored it and waited for Yash.

"Sometimes, they're so real," Yash stopped again. "Sometimes when they woke me up from cryo I-"

Shep waited patiently. Yash visibly struggled.

"I have nightmares too," she finally admitted. "Once after a mission in the hospital, I woke up screaming." Shep's aching head began to fit pieces together.

"You're afraid that you'll wake me and Sam up with your nightmares?"

Yash heaved an almost imperceptible sigh.

Everything about her is so constrained and locked down

"Yeah, that's it."

Shep felt a wave of sadness wash over him. She looked very similar in all the basic ways to the Yash before she was captured by Hydra but there was something else now in every aspect of her bearing that felt wrong. She was Yash, but different. Hydra had taken so much from them both. His pulse continued to throb in his ears but his focus was wholly on Yash.

"I don't mind," he finally said. Yash's eyes flicked up towards him. "I'm happy to come sit with you anytime that happens. You're my best friend." Yash chewed on this for a while. Shep added "We can even switch rooms if you want, that way you're on the end and only share a wall with me." Her eyes met his again. She finally broke the silence.

"Thanks Shep, that means a lot to me," she said softly.

They did switch rooms, Shep made up an excuse that got Sam's off their case. Shep slept with his door cracked so he'd hear Yash if she woke up. After missions seemed to be the worst. Something about holding a gun again and being on high alert would ruin weeks of nightmare-free sleep.

The first time, Shep came into her room before she was really awake. Her eyes were wild, she tore at her metal arm where it met her shoulder with her nails, the bedsheets were splattered with blood. Her sobs wracked her body as she tried to tear her metal arm off.

"Oh my Feld," Shep whispered under his breath. He gently pulled her right arm away from scratching holes in her skin. "Yash, I'm here, it's just a dream." Consciousness finally returned to her eyes. "There she is, hey now, it's just old Shep," he said quietly.

"Are you real?" Her voice was husky from screaming and her lips were so dry she could hardly form words.

"Very real. Here, see?" He wrapped her right hand in both of his. Her nails were covered in blood and he could feel the stickiness between his palms. Yash practically collapsed with relief. "Whoa whoa whoa," Shep caught her and lowered her back down gently. Yash's breathing was still ragged and Shep eyed her shoulder.

"I'm going to go get a first aid kit, will you be ok for two minutes?" Yash nodded weakly. Shep ran. He'd never seen her this bad, ever. When he came back, Yash was sitting on the edge of the bed, her right hand resting palm up in her lap, her fingers still tipped with blood. Her left hung by her side like she didn't even want to use it. Shep knelt down in front of her.

"Alright, let me take a look at that shoulder." He bit his lip when he saw the damage. "I'm just going to put some cream on this ok? It's cold but it shouldn't hurt." As gently as he could, he applied the cream to the raw flesh. As he touched her arm, Yash jumped and hissed. There was a flash of something else in her eyes that worried him. It almost scared him. The Asset was much closer to the surface that he thought.

[motherxmercury]

Yash groaned in frustration. She tossed aside a stack of papers and rested her forehead in her hand. The screen in front of her sat waiting for her to continue work. Yash swore in Czech and threw an empty bottle at the wall. She turned back to the screen and tried again. The spreadsheet was a mess. Whoever made this is an idiot. Yash opened the code window and typed in a few lines to make it easier to read.

[motherxmercury]

"You're my best friend," Yash's yellow eyes shaded lighter as they swam with tears. "I thought I forgot you."

[motherxmercury]

"Prove you're Yash Tawny, tell me something no one else would know."

Her yellow eyes looked up at him. Her arm in the vise made it hard for her to turn enough to see him. She slumped against the drill press. Suddenly the exhaustion from the day seemed to hit. Yash started talking quietly,

"Your real name is Sherman but not even your mother calls you that. You hate bubblegum flavor. Your favorite book is Wind in the Willows. You can't dance. You have a scar on your left elbow from when you fell off the swings in 6th grade."

[hersheysmcboom]

Anya: Who are you?

Sinister: Nathaniel Essex.

Anya: (whispering) Sinister.

(Sinister steps out from the shadows)

Sinister: Ah, so you've heard of me. And if you've heard of me, then you know I can do what I promised.

Anya: What do you want from me?

Sinister: I want to give you something, Anya. I want to give you powers, just like the rest of your family.

Anya: I don't want your powers.

Sinister: You don't have to be afraid, Anya. I've given powers to many people before, people like Pietro and Kevin. And I can do the same for you.

Anya: I know what you did to Pietro and Kevin. I saw what you did to them.

Sinister: (chuckles) You don't know the whole story, Anya. You don't know what I'm truly capable of. But I can show you. I can give you the power to protect yourself and your family.

Anya: I don't need your protection.

Sinister: (smirks) We'll see about that.

(Sinister reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small vial of liquid)

Sinister: This is a sample of my own DNA, Anya. Just a few drops of this will give you abilities beyond your wildest dreams.

Anya: (backs away) Stay away from me.

Sinister: (shrugs) I'll give you some time to think it over, Anya. But know this, the offer stands. I can give you the power to be like your family, to be strong and feared.

(Sinister disappears back into the shadows, leaving Anya alone with her thoughts)

Anya: (whispers to herself) I don't need his powers. I have my own. And I will protect my family, no matter what.

[hersheysmcboom]

Headcanon:
Adventurous Spirit and Antique Collector:
Maheen has always been fascinated by stories from the past, a trait she inherited from her grandmother, Iman Al-Tikriti. Iman would often recount tales of their family history and the rich culture of their Palestinian heritage. Inspired, Maheen began collecting small antiques and trinkets, often found in the most unexpected places. From old keys and buttons to vintage postcards and ornate pottery fragments, each object she discovers is like a piece of a larger puzzle connecting her to her roots.

Her adventurous spirit often drives her to explore deserted places, like old marketplaces and historical sites, always under the watchful eye of her foster family, especially Natasha and Yelena. They support her passion by sharing their own stories of espionage and travel, further igniting Maheen's curiosity about the world. This hobby not only connects her to her past but also serves as a bonding activity with her foster family, who help her catalog and research her findings.

One of Maheen's most cherished possessions is a delicate gold locket she found during a visit to her grandmother's old house in Palestine. Inside, it carries a faded picture of her grandparents on their wedding day—a piece of history right next to her heart. This connection to her heritage fuels Maheen's determination to keep her family's stories alive and encourages her to learn more about her ancestors, blending her rich heritage with the new life she is building with her foster family.

This headcanon emphasizes Maheen's cultural pride, her exploration of identity, and how her past and present blend to shape her unique personality

[hersheysmcboom]

The crisp autumn air, usually carrying the scent of decaying leaves and distant bonfires, on the Quill farm had a distinct festive undertone. It was Halloween, and Peter, at twelve years old, felt a thrill course through him that transcended the usual sugar-fueled excitement. This year, he wouldn't be relegated to a lonely table at the annual town haunted house, a solitary figure in a store-bought costume. This year, it was going to be the best Halloween ever. For the first time since he was eight, his mom, Meredith, was home. And not just his mom, but his grandparents, Jason and Darlene, and the Guardians.

He watched them from the porch, a mix of familiar faces and newcomers who had become as much a part of his life as the creaky barn doors. Meredith, her usual guarded expression softened by a genuine smile, was laughing at something Gamora, who was surprisingly adept with a carving knife, was saying. Nebula, ever the observer, stood by, a hint of amusement playing on her lips as she watched Rocket wrestle with a particularly stubborn pumpkin rind. Even Rocket, who still grumbled about the inherent illogicality of decorating dead gourds, was here. Peter suspected Rocket secretly enjoyed it, though he’d sooner admit to enjoying a hug from a Celestial.

The pumpkin carving was in full swing. Gamora and Nebula, with their precise, almost surgical movements, were creating masterpieces. Peter, of course, was going for a classic horror movie villain. Rocket, predictably, had his own "special" method, which involved a miniature laser cutter and a lot of sparks. Drax, thankfully, was banned from carving after last year's unfortunate incident involving a rogue pumpkin chunk and the entire living room ceiling.

Later, the aroma of roasting pumpkin seeds filled the kitchen, mingling with the faint scent of pumpkin guts. Groot, who was still navigating the complexities of human holidays, was visibly unnerved by the bubbling, scorching seeds. His little twig-fingers twitched, and he let out a series of soft, anxious chirps. Meredith, with a gentle hand, soothed him, her voice a low hum that seemed to calm even the most agitated flora.

Just as Groot was beginning to settle, the first rustle of plastic candy wrappers and the distant echo of excited shouts announced the arrival of trick-or-treaters. It was time. Peter braced himself. It was time for Drax’s “tradition.”

“The time has come,” Drax boomed, his eyes scanning the darkening yard with a fierce intensity. “The neighborhood must be protected from the nocturnal terrors. The toilet paper fiends shall not prevail!”

With a dramatic vow and a surprisingly agile leap, Drax was out the door, a child’s plastic sword clutched in his hand as if it were an ancient blade. He let out a wild, almost primal laugh that sent a flock of startled crows scattering from the old oak tree.

Meredith stared, her mouth slightly agape. “What… what is he doing?” she whispered, a bewildered look on her face. She hadn't been fully briefed on the finer points of Drax’s Halloween exploits.

Peter, Gamora, and Nebula exchanged knowing glances. “Last year, Drax learned about Halloween pranks,” Peter explained, trying to keep a straight face. “Specifically, the toilet papering of houses.”

“He interpreted it as a declaration of war by the youths of the community against our domicile,” Gamora added dryly.

“And his approach to defense was… robust,” Nebula finished, a rare hint of amusement in her voice.

The grown-ups, Jason, Darlene, and Meredith, exchanged nervous glances.

“Dad,” Meredith said, her voice laced with trepidation, “I hope he doesn’t come back with the whole 911 department on his tail this time.”

Jason, his brow furrowed in a look of profound dread that was almost comical, simply said, “I hope he comes back.”

Peter, Gamora, and Nebula, however, carried a surprising wealth of knowledge about Drax’s peculiar brand of Halloween heroism.

“Actually,” Peter began, “last year, it was surprisingly… effective. People were so confused by him, they just gave him candy.”

“And cookies,” Gamora added. “He even received a mug of hot chocolate from Mrs. Higgins, who was particularly impressed by his dedication to neighborhood security.”

Nebula nodded. “He was, paradoxically, helpful. The ‘acne faces,’ as he called them, simply fled upon his arrival.”

Rocket, who had been sulking in his corner, suddenly perked up, his tail twitching with indignation. “Yeah, well, I was disappointed,” he grumbled, his voice a low growl. “Did he actually do anything? No! He just scared off those toilet paper losers before they could even commit their heinous acts. Where’s the entertainment in that? I was hoping for some property damage. Maybe a strategically placed exploding pumpkin. Instead? The acne faces just fled. What a waste of a perfectly good siege.”

Out in the yard, a lone child, dressed as a tiny Frankenstein’s monster, hesitantly approached the house, clutching his candy bag. He paused, his eyes wide, as a hulking figure in a hastily assembled warrior costume, brandishing a plastic sword, loomed out of the shadows, a determined gleam in his eyes.

“Fear not, small citizen!” Drax declared, his voice echoing across the farm. “You are safe from the phantom paper-wielders! I am the guardian of this night!”

The child, after a moment of stunned silence, cautiously offered his candy. Drax, with surprising gentleness, accepted it, a look of triumphant satisfaction on his face.

Peter watched them, a wide grin spreading across his face. Yeah, Meredith was right. This was, without a doubt, the best Halloween ever. And it was only just beginning.