“What I needed?” The misplaced venom drips from her question, followed by a huff of a bewildered laugh. Stephen Strange, the king of ego, wants to atone for the sins he believes he’s created against her. As if somehow it’s his fault they’re each other’s opposition.

“Everyone has always told me what I needed. To be silent, to control my abilities, to be better than what I already am.” Her left hand curves the hue of crimson rolling off of her fingers in pulsing waves. “To be the monster that fits their agenda until they need me to clean up their mess. And then it repeats, over and over, until I’m locked up in a cage again. Silent.”

Wanda’s chin tilts, voice wavering. “But you never did. You let me speak. You already knew I was better than the rest of the world, the rest of the multiverse, but you did nothing about it. There was nothing to be done except be there --- for me.”

The only one. Steve disappeared. Tony was gone. What is left of their precious team of Avengers, Earth’s Mightiest, lay as broken as the fantastical sitcoms looping in her head.

“You were what I needed. So be there, for me, and let me do this.”

She’s supposed to be on her way out. Something about making peace with the choices they’ve made, how all of this has turned out, yet Echo’s lost feeling in both feet. Tony’s speaking, but she isn’t listening. Watching, yes, but she stopped listening ages ago.

Formalities always swerve their chances at being better people. That’s why he almost dropped the collar and she nearly took another last name in another state, maybe another country, where their pasts could keep up.

And muscle memory is such a bitch. One year or one hundred, they’re supposed to be different people now. He’s nearing to leave ( she should move away ) and before she can, her cheek is turning to the left and she’s catching Father Stark on the cheek with a press of her lips.

It should be innocent enough. Except when he turns to acknowledge her in passing, her lips meet his.

(An accident, but she refuses to call it a mistake.)

     a two-note whistle. it was once a calling card of sorts: one to signify an arrival, a welcome back, an i’ll see you soon. . . now, it felt like an incomplete lullaby. like a puzzle with a missing piece. an action that once served to remind yelena that she wasn’t alone was now the very same that reminded her of all she’d lost. 

          “ какая гребаная шутка. ” the blonde muttered to herself, bracing the granite tombstone between her manicured fingertips as she spoke. perhaps it was crude of her to exchange curses at her sister’s grave but she’d like to think that nat would get a big laugh out of it, wherever the hell people went after death.

     her head pressed against the cool surface of the stone as silence danced through the air. she forced herself to control her shaky breaths, stubbornly squeezing her eyes shut so that warm tears wouldn’t threaten to spill. pain only makes us stronger. yelena repeated her mother’s words like a broken record. but even then, she wasn’t sure if she could find it in her heart to believe it.

     a low whine escaped from her dog, perched by the tree as her sad eyes watched her owner. the sound was enough to break her from her reverie. pulling her head away, yelena dabbed at the tears with the back of her wrist, sniffling as she stood to her feet. jeweled fingers drummed against the top of the grave for a moment before retracting for a moment. a silent goodbye of sorts.

AU! Rhodey & Tony @ MIT 

Current Status: Shitting bricks. Not little pieces either.

We’re talking about massive ones. Too much imagery for you? Good. Damn good. Now you know how James felt after what very well could have been the termination of one of the few friendships he held close to his heart. Sure, Tony was a dick about 79 percent of the time but the fact that the other 21% was for Rhodey, meant a lot of to the aspiring Marine. Tony, while easily the social butterfly out of the two of them wore a mask more often than not and if anyone understood that, it was James. Growing up in Philly you just learned a thing or two. So they were, in a way, two peas of a pod and inseparable at that.  Meeting in the fall semester of their freshmen year at MIT, it was practically meant to be and James couldn’t be more elated to finally find someone who understood him. (even if he didn’t quite share that with Tony)

It’s been four days since the rush event Tony practically forced him to go to which meant it’s been four days since James filled in as the faux boyfriend that would get some sorority sister to catch a hint and walk away. But for whatever reason (let’s blame it on the alcohol)…for whateverreason, Tony kept holding Rhodey’s hand and it wasn’t like Rhodey had shared his giant secret to him. No. Tony was just being the bold guy James had always known him to be. That didn’t do many favours to the butterflies in his stomach and it only made matters worse when his best friend came in for a kiss and James held it for longer than ten seconds. That’s an eternity, right? An eternity for someone who’s always so guarded, so serious, so…

“Ahem.” James pokes his head into the dorm suite they both share. Leave it to Tony to have the most grandiose spot in the residential building. “I’ve stopped by a few times.” As if they both don’t inhabit the place. James is just nervous. As all hell.

“Nice to see you’re back and alive. Going to grab my Physics text. Catch ya uh, see ya later, man.” Maybe if he runs in quickly, Tony won’t even notice. Maybe James can pull a spy move and not trip and fall on Tony’s lips for the second time in a week. Maybe Tony doesn’t even remember. Maybe…just maybe…

“Stark…you’re uh…you’re sitting on my book.” Please, don’t be on purpose. Tony, why areyou like this?

     She’d told herself this was just part of the job, getting close to your target with whatever means necessary. People were never more vulnerable than when they were like this. Exposed in every sense of the word. Nothing but the hands of the other person to keep you from the cold air of the room. 

      And his hands could fight off Russia’s coldest winters. Ana stared down at them, her fingers resting softly on his forearm as she ran through the night before. Those hands were nothing like the ones they’d described in his file. Such brutality, and force. While they were firm from years of training, there was a gentleness to them. One she thought could never survive what they’d been through. She might not have believed it at all if she hadn’t experienced it. But the way his palm explored every curve, was nothing short of reverent. A touch she didn’t know she could ever be on the receiving end of. 

FOX: hey, are you free at some point this week to run lines?

FOX: i know we don't have a lot of scenes together but i figure we could help each other memorize at least!