#low basset hound

[into-wonderland-caroline]

Been pretty low key day for me on this Sunday. It's dreary and overcast and I have been basically home alone all day with the dog pack and my hedgehog just keeping it pretty chill. Usually I like to stay pretty up and active but sometimes days like this just feel so nice and refreshing. Been here on the living room couch binge watching criminal minds even though I have seen it all started back at season 1 episode 1. Little miss Rosie our female English bulldog I think needed this low key chill day too. She has been cuddled up next to me on one side of the couch and hasn't budged and who other than my main man Captain the doberman on the other side of me. Jewel the 6month beagle basset hound puppy is laying on my feet so I basically have the cutest living foot warmer known to man. Stella the frenchie is pouting in the large dog bed by the sliding glass doors that lead out to the backyard because she's not center of attention as she demands to be 24/7 (it's a diva dog Stella thing) and then Hank man the Male English bulldog is laying in the kitchen guarding the fridge I guess 🤷‍♀️. Both golden retrievers plus Zues the husky German shepherd mix are here in the living room sprawled on the floor. Currently our Male golden, river is asleep snoring sprawled out belly up all four paws in the air...what a derp but pretty cute too. I need to clean my hedgehogs habitat today put fresh bedding in and clean the litter box. I will get to it just not yet.

#family #doglover #growing up millitary #animals #writer #englishbulldog #german sheperd mix #husky mix #goldenretriever #beagle mix #basset hound mix #frenchbullies #dogs #dobermon #dog pack #hedgehog #low key #sunday #home alone #criminal minds

[mountymase]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

file one - mason mount

a/n: well, hi! i’d like to say that this isn’t my fave work but i’ve been mostly writing poetry lately and i needed to see if i still had my fanfic mojo. hope you like it nonetheless! 🤍

1.820 words

warnings: real angst, brief mention of anxiety, breakup, bit of fluff, harsh words.

It felt more like a ritual, one that you loved dearly - each morning, Lila, your pup woke you up with cheerful and endless face licks, her tail wiggling in the air, her frantic need to get under the covers with you and cuddle like you always did every morning. Your heart warmed with joy as you silently giggled, an arm tugging the two-year-old basset hound closer making her immediately calm down as a long sigh escaped from her.

There was something else about mornings like these: they brought a feeling of normality to the wild, nonetheless extraordinary routine you jumped into since your first book had been published — not your first piece of promising writing, but the one that turned into a giant success that started taking global proportions within six months, forcing you to travel around the globe on a tour to meet countless and extraordinary people.

And also to sign autographs for most of them.

They were boys and girls, mums, teenagers, middle-aged women, single women, and a bunch in long-lasting relationships. It didn’t matter, your writing reached every single one of them and, somehow, they now all had something in common: how much they loved your book.

All of it was still overwhelming to you, though. Coming from a small town where nothing fascinating used to happen, you’d spend your days writing when you weren’t with your regular group of friends from school. Getting used to the big city once you moved to graduate in journalism was difficult — you missed those peaceful days, watching the sunrise when you went for a morning jog, birds singing, and how comforting silence could be every evening. But you were also grateful for all the opportunities given and how unexpectedly great things turned out to be for you.

Moving to London had never been in your foreseeable future, although visiting England was one of your greatest dreams from a very young age when you used to spend hours listening to The Beatles and Elton John with your dad.

When you got a call from one of Netflix UK executives, telling you they’d like to turn your book into a miniseries, you choked on a large croissant bite. It took you a couple of minutes to put yourself together as the executive patiently waited, a low giggle coming from the other side of the line once you took a deep breath and asked if they were calling the right number.

So, from the afternoons of Penny Lane and Benny and The Jets, you ended up officially living in an extravagant flat located in Mayfair, fully paid for by Netflix UK, and dropped the news of your book being turned into a miniseries, officially, on a morning TV show.

If you didn’t have such an impatient dog, who was now staring at you with her best “feed me, human” glare, you would’ve stayed in bed for the rest of the day. The thought of being live in one of the biggest morning TV shows in England, sharing the screen with another famous guest made you feel immensely intimidated, and vulnerable.

But, from the very beginning, he made you feel safe.

Mason.

He was the other guest that day, invited to share more on his success playing for Chelsea FC and the charity of which he was a patron of. During the break, he noticed how you rubbed your sweaty hands against your jeans and how all your blood seemed to be concentrated in your cheeks - half of it wasn’t just the nervousness, though, it was also because of how intense his gaze was.

Mason’s voice soothed your nerves like magic once he caught your attention during those two minutes, and you were wonderfully calm telling Holly Willoughby about the serie’s pre-production, cast choices, etc.

And as expected, once it was all over, Mason asked if you’d like to go out with him for coffee.

The two of you instantly clicked, like magnets completely drawn into each other, so it was easy and fun being around him. His inner circle wasn’t entirely the nicest, but as you grew closer and became extremely close friends, Mason introduced you to his family and you finally had a mother figure to welcome you with warm embraces since yours was miles away.

You were supposed to be just friends, but the beauty of how well you got along despite each other’s imperfections felt like a glitch in a system that led to something magical. In the end, together, you and Mason discovered that true love can arise from the most unexpected and delightful surprises.

That was 2.190 days ago or, more specifically, six years.

Now, you found yourself facing the diamond ring on your finger, glistening under the moonlight.

Mason broke up with you, for good this time, because you were ruining his life. His words.

You, of all people.

You, who loved him the most.

Him, who was simply your whole world, just as much as you were his.

Still watching the engagement ring on your finger, you tried to remember when your relationship started to crumble. Perhaps, it was right after he returned home from the World Cup, even if it had been just a few months that he proposed. Things started to get difficult for him at Chelsea and he was distant, such a stupid cliche. Classic miscommunication, so finding comfort at your own work was the only thing you could do and you isolated yourself at the cottage you bought in Scotland so you could write in peace - eventually, you fell down the same old cycle of isolating, writing compulsively, and just a few months later having to leave everything behind to promote the book.

A book full of personal poems, this time.

Tears rolled down your cheeks and you sniffed when you remembered how Mason spat the words at you.

“How fucking dare you to expose us like this?” He breathed heavily, anger in his eyes like you’ve never seen before. “You never make things easier for me. It’s always all about you,”

You frowned as his words still echoed in the back of your mind - everything you’ve done was always about him, from the moment you two met on that TV show. What was supposed to be a polite talk in the beginning, ended in a heated argument fueled by miscommunication and insecurities and more harsh words from him while you just listened. According to Mason, while he was always including you in his career choices, your commitment to your own career outweighed your commitment to your relationship.

“My career will never betray me,” it was automatic, you didn’t think before saying those words, and you only noticed the damage when Mason’s eyes glistened with tears.

“I would never do that to you, but if that’s what you believe…” Mason sniffed. You watched him shake his head and focus his gaze on the wall - anything not to look at you. “I love you, Y/n. But it’s ruining my life.”

A shy lick on your hand brought you back from painful memories and you were able to smile a bit as Lila watched you with those sleepy eyes.

“It’s just the two of us now,” you mumbled, touching her nose with the tip of your index finger.

Scotland has been your permanent home for the past two weeks since the breakup. You tried to reach him, tried to call him, and even texted his family, but no one replied. Even his friends were gone and it felt like Mason and the life you shared with him were nothing but a dream. The only thing that you still had was the engagement ring, that never left your finger.

Two weeks were also making you realise that, perhaps, Mason was right. You should’ve talked to him, should’ve put him first, and asked how he’d feel instead of making how you felt about everything so public. Even if there were no names, everyone knew that most of those poems were about Mason - the good ones, but mostly, the bad ones where you romanticised all of your struggles.

There was nothing but regret and sorrow for you.

Lila’s lazy and hoarse barking woke you up. At her own speed, she went back and forth from your bedroom to the front door, scratching her nails on it as she was desperate to see who was knocking on your door at three in the damn morning. If you weren’t so sleepy, you’d care more about the marks it was leaving on the wood.

Letting out a loud yawn, you slowly opened the door to find Mason on the other side, puffy eyes and messy hair, with both hands in his pockets.

“You shouldn’t open the door without knowing who it is. Not at this time of the night,” you frowned at his whispered words, not knowing exactly what to say. “Are you going to let me in? It’s cold,”

You quickly nodded, taking a step back so he could walk in and be greeted by Lila. His giggle as the basset hound lazily wiggled her tail made you smile softly - you missed the sound of his giggle. You missed everything about Mason.

“She misses you,” and so do I, you wanted to say. Mason just nodded. “Are you here to take the ring back?”

His sigh was the only sound that filled the room for a few seconds before he let go of Lila to finally look at you. He was a mess, just as much as you.

“No”, Mason replied. A knot formed on your stomach and you suddenly felt the urge to vomit - anxiety always did that to you. “I’m here to take you back.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, but you also felt a slight anger burn your chest and bring tears to your eyes. Crossing your arms against your chest, you watched Mason carefully as he seemed to wait for an answer - he looked absolutely defeated, but he let out a sigh of relief once his eyes caught the diamond ring still on your finger.

“I thought I was responsible for ruining your life.”

Mason nodded. “But you also put it back together, Y/n.”

His words completely disarmed you - arms fell to the sides of your body, but quickly wrapped around his waist. In Mason’s arms, you silently cried. “I should’ve talked to you, Mase. I’m so sorry,” Mason’s hands traveled up and down your back, comforting you, as his lips found your forehead, then your cheeks and your nose, in soft and gentle kisses.

“I overreacted,” you shook your head, but Mason cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “I did, but I hope you can forgive me.”

“If you can forgive me,”

“We’re both forgiven, then.”

A brief interruption, a slight malfunction

(...)

I thought we had no chance

And that's romance, let's dance.

#mason mount fanfic #mason mount x you #mason mount x reader

[elsweetheart]

bsf!hazel being jealous when you’re getting ready for a date and tries to get you to stay home 🤧

omg the tension wait

“so like, who is this girl anyway… do i know her?” hazel shrugs what she thinks is casually as she rests on her elbow on your bed, laid on her side watching you do your makeup through the light up mirror of your dresser.

“i met her on hinge, remember? we’ve been talking and she seems actually not half bad, which is rare for a dating app.” you concentrate on tapping the liquid highlight into the bouncy skin over your cheekbone, not noticing the way she’s staring at you desperately through the reflection.

“hinge? so you’ve never met her? what if she’s like… an axe murderer or something. you know i heard this crazy story about this girl who went on a hinge date and ended up in a suitcase and i’m just—” she starts but you cut her off with a chuckle.

“let me guess, that story involved a man. how often do you hear about women doing that kinda thing? gay women, even?” you spin in your chair, throwing her an amused smile with your head tilted to the side slightly. she didn’t respond, and not because she didn’t have anything to say— ‘cause she totally did, but because you looked like an angel in that moment, mirror lights illuminating you, high points of your face glowing under the low light. she should be the one taking you out.

you speak again before she gets the chance. “whats the issue anyway? its like you don’t want me to go.” you complain, voice quieter as you concentrate on lining your bottom lip, speech a little slurred as you keep your mouth fairly stationary as to not mess up.

“i just… i just think it’s a bad idea. anyway you were supposed to hang out with me tonight.” she sulks, sitting up just to slump her shoulders dejectedly, feet hanging off the bed and hands dangling between her knees. your posture softens, standing up and coming to sit next to her on the bed, wrapping your arm around her, resting your temple on her shoulder.

“i’m sorry, haze. y’know it’s not like that. i won’t be all night, i’ll come right back to you afterwards and we can watch movies.” you lift your head, grinning in a way you hope convinces her. she turns her face to you, sad, and whole body drooping like a basset-hound.

“or just don’t go” she sighs softly. you stare at her, swallowing a lump in your throat, something stirring in your stomach. surely… not?

“why not, haze?” you whisper, looking at her through your thick, mascara’d lashes.

“hinge girl doesn’t love you.” she returns your tone. you laugh openly, shaking your head.

“no shit, dingus — i haven’t met her yet. but she could fall in love with me, eventually, i mean it’s not totally impossible.” your smile is still cemented on your face and hazel hasn’t smiled once.

“she will.” her voice is quiet but firm, 100% factual. “shes gonna totally fall in love with you. maybe even on the first date.” god, the eye contact is intense. you can’t bring yourself to look away. your eyes flutter for a moment, trying to comprehend what she’s getting at.

“well…” you’re at a loss. “so what if she does?”

hazel just stares at you, before turning her face away to stare ahead. she’s met with her own reflection in your light up mirror, watching the sight of you sat right up next to her on the bed, staring at her. this is how it should be. she side-glances at you, eyes naturally dropping to your mouth, and then your outfit, and then back to your eyes, her head tilted back a little. she looked really good.

“‘kay, i won’t go.” you shake your head, suddenly filled with the desire to… please her? you wanted to be on her good side. hazel was good to you and… you suddenly… you just weren’t feeling this date anymore. her expression doesn’t change except her brows raising, head still tilted back a little.

“really?” she asks, like she didn’t think her words would actually move you.

“…i… yeah. i don’t know. maybe you’re right. maybe she’s gonna kill me, or something.” you chuckle nervously, feeling fizzles in your tummy and you wasn’t sure why. anxious? not really. nervous? a little. was it hazel?

“yeah.” she continues staring at you, and you feel hot under her gaze. what had gotten into her?

“stop.” you laugh shakily, half focused on sending your date a shitty little excuse via imessage. hazels brows furrow a little.

“stop what?”

“looking at me like that. you got your way.” you pout, throwing your phone to the side.

“sorry.” she exhales, looking away from a moment before her eyes shift back to you suddenly with a smirk. “you totally dropped your date for me.”

“you told me to.” you huff, turning your body to face her more on the bed.

“and you did it… dude i have power over you, that’s crazy.” she chuckles and you stare at her dumbfounded.

“of course you do you’re…” you cut yourself off and she raises her eyebrows.

“wait, i’m what?” she asks, her usual curious self.

“you’re… you. i’d drop anything for you.” you shrug honestly, looking at your hands before back up at her. she stares at you, jaw a little gaped.

“well… yeah… same goes for you…” she stares at your mouth shamelessly. “or whatever.”

#anon #bsf!hazel #hazel callahan drabble #hazel callahan prompt #hazel callahan blurb

[thekatebridgerton]

Modern Bridgerton couples + Pets

Just thinking about which kind of domesticated menaces they would bring into their homes.

Saphne: their first pet is definitely a Basset Hound because Daphne is a dork. Name is Princess, she is super cute. Simon later decides he can't take being outnumbered and gets a Pitbull (with some manly name like Maverick) to teach Princess how to be a good guardian dog. Jokes on him the Pitbull ends up twice as spoiled as the Basset hound and follows him everywhere huffing for cuddles.

Kanthony: They have Newton the demon corgi, although they probably get a mate for Newton at some point and just enjoy life as proud corgi grandparents when Newton & wife begin making puppies. They most likely end up with a houseful of corgis because Kate is not okay with neutering Newton and Anthony can't deny her anything.

Benophie: These two are definitely bird people. All their birds are rescue and they keep them in a special open part of My Cottage greenhouse, while rehabilitating broken wings. Officially they have a chicken, two parrots, a parakeet and a Cockatoo (Pollock, Picasso, Monet, Dali and Frida) but they feed every bluejay, canary, raven or winged personality that comes to their birdhouses. So you never really know exactly how many birds they actually have at home.

Polin: I want to say they are also Dog people. But Colin just looks like the guy who has a thing for exotic reptiles whenever he travels. And Penelope would definitely appreciate the irony of owning a Chameleon. Also their pets would be the protected species kind that need their own enclosure. Colin has Popcorn, a Blue Iguana, which he rescued in the Cayman Islands and a couple of very colorful Geckos (Muffin and Nugget). while Penelope just keeps a tortoise she's had since she was little called Lola, and a blue Panther Chameleon called Ozzy, that Colin got her for her 16th birthday. (her chameleon is the boss of that house)

Philoise: Eloise has a grey Persian Cat that looks perpetually grumpy called Napoleon, Phillip has a brown Saint Bernard that he calls Noel but his kids call Noodle. El's cat did not take it well when Eloise moved in with Phillip and the twins, simply because the dog was being way too friendly with Eloise. And the cat wasn't having it. So he marked his territory in a very feline way.

Franchel: Michael was never much for pets, but Francesca has a whole aquarium of Koi fish in her apartment and loves to add pieces of decorations to it so the fishes begin growing on him. After the get married, Michael actually builds Fran a pond with it's own ecosystem so she can raise her Koi in relative freedom outside of the small aquarium they are used to.

Hyraeth: These two are not exactly pet people, but I feel like teenage Gareth owns a horse that he takes care of very well and Hyacinth is persuaded to help out with his horse and begins loving it as well so she gets Anthony to buy her a pony which she names Twilight Sparkle. they both grow up to be very responsible horse owners.

Grucy: they share ownership over the class pet in Elementary school. A spotted bunny named Waldo. And they low key treat the rabbit as their child. Since Lucy is technically not allowed to have pets by her uncle and Gregory was banned from the pet store after the last 'free the animals' incident he was involved in

#kanthony #benophie #polin #philoise

[keanureevesisbae]

Your dog is eating my sandwich

Sergeant Hank Voight x fem!reader

Summary: Your dog might have eaten someone's sandwich and that someone is none other than sergeant Voight.

Wordcount: 1k

Warnings: None

A/N: So, this is my first try at a Hank Voight one shot. I hope you like it 🥰

masterlist // one chicago masterlist //

Your dog wasn’t necessarily well behaved, but when you saw what unfolded in front of your eyes, you realized this was a low point in your mediocre dog raising. Bea the Basset Hound has always been an easy dog. She was patient, walked well on a leash and ninety percent of the time listened instantly to you.

Today was no such day. Her leash slipped out of your fingers and while you were yelling: ‘Bea, come back here this instant!’ Bea kept on walking/galloping, because your dog didn’t run. She galloped, as she followed her nose.

Normally, you’d laugh at how ridiculous it looked. Now, you were on the verge of either a mental breakdown or something that would probably qualify you for anger management. 

And then it happened.

Your dog, the Basset Hound that listened to the name Bea of all names, was running and jumped into what appeared to be a pretty expensive black car. ‘What the hell?’ the person who owned the car said, visibly confused, staring at my dog sitting on the passenger seat.

‘Bea, get your ass out of that car!’ you yelled and once you were close, you saw your dog was now eating something.

‘Is that your dog?’

Oh gosh, the man had a deep and raspy voice and looked so hot in his leather jacket, it made you lose both your ability to speak and to muster up human decency. While Bea was gobbling on whatever she found, you finally snapped back into reality after you got lost in the man’s beautiful eyes and said: ‘Yeah, she’s mine.’

‘Your dog is eating my sandwich,’ he stated.

‘Oh no,’ you said, letting a second if not two go by, before you realized: you had to do something about that. ‘Oh no!’ you repeated loudly. You leaned in the car, grabbed the hound by her collar and lifted her up from the seat. Bea licked her lips, wagged her tail lazily, clearly not knowing she’d done something terribly. ‘I’m sorry,’ you told the man. ‘This is very embarrassing and inconvenient for you, especially because it was your sandwich.’

Cool, yeah, state the obvious. Like he needs that. 

He appeared unbothered. You on the other hand were everything but unbothered. Your eye landed on his police badge. 

To make things even worse, he was a police officer?

Shoot me now you thought to yourself.

‘Was this against the law?’ you asked. ‘Therefore giving you a reason to arrest me? Or Bea for that matter, since she’s the one who ate your sandwich and while she’s five years of age in dog years, she’s thirty five in human years.’

You hoped the officer thought it was funny—because you thought it was absolutely hilarious—but he still didn’t smile.

So, you tried one last thing to make up for it.

‘I can buy you another sandwich.’

‘We can start with that.’

Great, he wasn’t happy about the situation and you understood why. It was his sandwich after all. Together with Bea, who all of the sudden turned into valedictorian of doggy training school, you made your way to a cafe.

‘I can buy you coffee,’ you said. ‘Coffee. Sandwich. For you. If you want. If not, that’s fine. Then only a sandwich.’

Unable to speak coherently, he seemed to understand you. He nodded at you and you ordered two coffees and a sandwich of his liking. 

As he gave the specifics of his order to the guy behind the counter, the mysterious police officer placed a fifty bill on the counter.

‘No, no, no, wait, I was supposed to buy you another sandwich,’ you said. ‘Please don’t do that. I need to make up for this. Sir, this is all rather confusing to me, so please just cooperate and allow me to pay for it.’

As the officer received his change, he smirked and for the first time he was approachable and not as scary. ‘I think scaring you into thinking that is enough.’

You were still holding your breath. ‘You weren’t mad?’ you asked, your voice a little squeaky.

‘Confused, but not mad.’

‘Oh my,’ you sighed. ‘I have stress sweat everywhere thanks to you.’ You placed your hand on your heart, feeling it pound. ‘I thought you were going to arrest me,’ you said, as you and Bea stepped to the side as your order was being prepared, the officer following suit. 

‘I would never,’ he told you. ‘You okay?’

‘I think my heart will not last me till ninety, but other than that I’m fine,’ you admitted. ‘Just glad me nor my dog is going to jail.’

He chuckled. 

‘I’m Y/N by the way,’ you said, ‘and this is my dog Bea, in case you had not caught up on that.’

‘Bea the Basset Hound,’ he said. ‘Interesting name. I’m Hank Voight,’ he said. 

‘Hank Voight, Chicago PD,’ you chuckled. ‘Has a nice ring to it.’

‘Sorry if I scared you,’ he said. 

‘I kinda deserved that one, for having a dog who clearly doesn’t know proper etiquette.’

With your coffees and the newly bought sandwich, you and Hank Voight, Chicago PD made your way out. You stopped in front of his car. 

‘Well, officer, I’ll leave you to it. Have a great day, protect the city from crime and watch your sandwiches.’ You waved and turned around. ‘Come on, Bea.’

But Bea wasn’t moving. Instead she kept looking at the police officer. 

‘Bea,’ you said, pulling her leash. ‘Come with me, girl.’

And then she started howling.

Okay, that is insanely embarrassing. 

‘Bea!’

Hank Voight made his way over to her and crouched down. ‘What’s up, girl?’ he asked her, as he scratched her behind her ear. Hank Voight looked up at you and was clearly hesitating. 

‘What’s wrong?’ you asked.

He stood up and held out his hand. 

‘Am I suppose to guess what you want? I’m just a regular girl with a dog, not a mind reader. You want my hand in marriage?’

‘Your phone,’ he said, cocking an eyebrow in the process. ‘So I can put my number in it and if you or Bea or you and Bea are ever in trouble, you can call me.’ He shrugged. ‘You know, sandwich related or not.’

#one chicago #chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #hank voight #hank voight fanfiction #hank voight one shot #hank voight fluff #hank voight x reader

[twilidramon]

Basset Hound

Among the most appealing of the AKC breeds, the endearing and instantly recognizable Basset Hound is a perennial favorite of dog lovers all over the world. This low-slung and low-key hound can be sometimes stubborn, but is always charming. The Basset Hound stands no higher than 14 inches at the shoulder but, with his remarkably heavy bone, powerful little legs, and massive paws, he possesses big-dog strength and stamina. Bassets are famous for a large, domed head that features extremely long, velvety ears, mournful eyes, and a wrinkled brow, which give the breed the look of a sad clown. Built more for endurance than speed, the Basset moves in a deliberate but effortless manner. The breed's scenting ability is uncanny; it's said that among dogs only the Bloodhound's nose is more accurate. Mild and agreeable at home, the Basset is stubborn on the trail and barks in a loud, ringing voice. Although they may not be wildly demonstrative in their affections, they are steadfastly loyal. (source)

If you like my work please consider commissioning me! Also, consider supporting me on Patreon or buying me a Ko-fi!

#dog designs #twiart #basset hound #sfw

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Tagged by @chadillacboseman and @clicheantagonist​​ (for six sentence sunday) and tagged back by @marivenah

tagging: @poetikat​​ @direwombat​ @roofgeese​ @strangefable​ @confidentandgood​ @clonesupport​ @natesofrellis​ @incognito-insomniac​ @natesofrellis​ @sstewyhosseini​ @schoute​ and anyone else who has anything to share (I wasn’t sure if any of the far cry mutuals would want to read this so...)

In a move no one saw coming I have some Uncharted stuff this time around (none of my Far Cry stuff is worth reading yet). I enjoy writing the fluff when it comes to Sam and Sia so I went with the trope to beat all tropes - “Just One Bed” (somehow in all of my years of writing I have never used it):

The door swung open, a creaky old thing. It was barely able to hold on to its hinges during the winter storm they were caught in. If there was too strong of a draft it would likely be blown away. The train had been cancelled, cell service was next to non-existent, and since neither Siobhan nor Sam had the same cash flow as Rafe this was the best they could do on short notice. A small one room cottage, cramped and musty, fit more for a marooned fisherman than a thief and a researcher. The mattress was lumpy, the curtains dusty, and the shower was built for a hobbit and not a man who was over six feet tall. 

She dropped her luggage in the doorway, staring at the room in dismay as rain dripped down her nose. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

From her tone alone he expected cockroaches to be climbing up the walls and  the sink to be on fire. He pushed his way into the room as freezing water ran down the back of his neck from the gutter of the roof. "Oh come on, Sia. It's one night, I'm sure it's not that -"

One bed. It could have been worse, but considering the two of them had barely spent more than a few hours with each other this would certainly force them to get acquainted a little more intimately. 

"Shit.” He rubbed at the wet spot on the back of his neck, rain water drenching the ringlets that sat there. He was fine with the situation but he wasn’t so sure the bookworm would be. “Well I mean, it's still better accommodation than I was staying in for the last decade."

She pulled her luggage into the room, dumping her suitcase on the old table by the door. She tied her hair up into a low bun and pulled off her coat, laying it over the back of the chair. Wiping the fog off of her glasses with her sweater, she chuckled while shaking her head, flicking the wet strands of hair off her face. "Should we leave that on the review, Samuel? Better than a Panamanian prison."

Shrugging his shoulder, he gave her a cheeky grin. "At least I'm allowed to smoke in the room." In the inside pocket of his sheepskin lined jacket he grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lighter. 

"You can feck right off with that.” She snatched the cigarette pack from his hand, shaking the paper packet at him. “You wanna smoke? On yer bike.” She looked up at him with a furrowed brow, barely coming up to his chest.

She was the crankiest little thing on two legs he’d ever met, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ever say that out loud. 

"Yes, dear." He swung the duffel bag off his shoulder and down onto the table. He was relieved to be free of its weight. Hopping on to the bed, sinking down into the old mattress, his chin pressed to his chest as he watched her pace. "So which side do you usually sleep on?"

Her lips pursed, forehead wrinkled like a basset hound. "I'll take the couch. Thank you very much."

"The hell you will.” He sat up, resting on his forearms. “I'm not listening to you complaining for the rest of the trip about how your back hurts."

She moved closer to him, hands pressed to the back of her hips. Nudging at his foot with her knee. "Oh, so the ex-con thinks he can rough it better than I can, eh?"

Sliding forward on the bed, he sat upright on its edge. He’d never been at this angle with her before, having her look down at him with her mossy green eyes.

"You've been around too many toffee-nosed tea drinkers, it's rubbed off on ya.” He pulled off his coat and hung it over the footboard, water dripped off of it, pitter-pattering against the old wooden floor. “I'll take the couch."

Walking over to the old chesterfield in the corner, his face fell at the sight of it. There were stains on it so old he could have sworn it could be used for Rafe’s next archeological dig and that was only after you scraped off the fur coat’s worth of dog hair. 

Staring down at the mess, they both looked at each other, not another word needing to be said.

"Ah, be off with ya. Share the bed."

"You sure? I don't want God smiting me for touching someone so pure." 

She looked up at the ceiling above, holding her own communion with the Lord above, hoping he’d grant her the strength to make it through a night with this man. "Sure sounds like you really wanta be sleeping on that couch, Samuel."

#wip wednesday #tagged #fan fiction #uncharted #sam drake #samuel drake #oc: siobhan #sam x sia

[illumins]

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The small manor's main hall was adorned with inexpensive wallpaper, its vibrant royal blue hue dotted with gracefully flying cranes. This ornate decoration spanned the entire space, casting a captivating ambiance upon the room. The manor, well-known to the residents of Lillon, a quaint port town nestled on the eastern side of the majestic Avalon mountains, stood proudly atop a lofty hill overlooking the tumultuous sea. The crashing waves resounded through the manor, harmonizing with the fervent shouts of its diligent butlers and maids.

Clad in a flowing white gown, Lena gracefully descended the grand u-shaped staircase, her every step a symphony of mischief. With each passing second, a mischievous smile adorned her face as the caretakers of the manor gasped for breath, cursing her name. The cold touch of the marble floor against her bare feet amplified a sense of liberation that coursed through her veins.

"Lady Lena! I implore you, please halt your advance!" cried out her butler in desperation.

And halt she did. Turning around, she couldn't help but snicker at the sight of her beleaguered butler, hunched over with a dress draped over his arm. As he looked up, his breath held, he cautiously attempted to approach her, but she instinctively took a step back. Extending her index finger playfully, she warned, "Nah ah, Mr. Freed. One step closer, and I may be tempted to test the full force of gravity by leaping out of the window."

Exasperated, Mr. Freed bent backward, his frustration palpable. "My word, Lena. Why must you always be so obstinate?"

"Why, Mr. Freed? Don't you find it amusing?" she asked, her eyes gleaming mischievously.

Meeting her daring gaze with an unamused expression, Mr. Freed's lips formed a pout reminiscent of a basset hound. "Not particularly. How do you perceive it, then?"

"A thrill," she exclaimed, her eyebrow teasingly raised, before darting off into the bustling kitchen. The chaotic symphony of two cooks and seven maids echoed within the culinary domain, their frantic movements tracing a frenzied path from one end to the other. The head chef, with a commanding presence, barked orders while deftly chopping freshly plucked vegetables from the garden. Amidst the flurry of activity, the Lady of the manor remained unnoticed, her presence inconsequential as the staff busily toiled to complete their culinary creations. It struck her as peculiar, but she saw no reason to dwell on such matters. Instead, she directed her steps toward the pantry.

Navigating through the industrious throng of workers, she gracefully evaded incoming plates, her hands tightly tucked by her side. Silently, she glided through the bustling scene until she arrived at the pantry's entrance. As she slipped inside, the sun's gentle rays poured through the glass dome ceiling, bathing the space in a natural glow. Illuminated before her were an array of spices, dried herbs, and tantalizing desserts. Her eyes widened as they fixated upon a glass jar brimming with freshly baked cookies, perched high upon a shelf. Wasting no time, she advanced swiftly, her steps careful and her arms outstretched. With a skillful maneuver, she managed to seize the jar, her heart filled with triumphant delight.

"Lena," a low voice cut through the air, causing her to startle.

Turning around, clutching the purloined jar, she chuckled nervously. "Ah, Vincent, you've caught me in the act. You nearly gave me a heart attack, old man."

“Don’t call me old.”

"Yes, sir," she hastily apologized, realizing her lapse in judgment.

Brandishing a knife stained with remnants of his culinary artistry, Vincent pointed at the jar of cookies. "That's the second jar this week."

“What can I say? You do god’s work.”

"Lena," he warned, his voice laced with a blend of admonishment and affection.

"Yes, sir," she relented, approaching him to hand over the coveted jar.

Stepping aside to allow her exit, Vincent's intentions were thwarted as an unforeseen impact jolted her backward.

"Oh, Vincent, please don't tell me you were concealing Lena again," Mr. Freed's composed voice broke through the moment of surprise, as both Lena and Vincent regained their composure.

Pointing his knife accusingly at Mr. Freed, Vincent grumbled, "And I distinctly recall instructing you not to run in my kitchen."

With a single finger, Mr. Freed gently pushed the knife away from his face. "Well, you should know that it's all thanks to this young lady. Her relentless chaos has pushed the maids to their limits, causing three of them to collapse from exhaustion."

Vincent cast a glance at Lena, who responded with a sheepish smile. "I had my suspicions," he remarked.

“Well, I will be taking Lady Lena to her room to be attended to so that when Sir Piermon arrives, he will be proud of the woman she’s become.”

Those words reverberated within her, rendering her motionless. Even as the butler firmly grasped her wrist, attempting to guide her away, she remained rooted to the spot. Father? Her mind struggled to conjure up a faint memory of a bearded man clad in fine garments—a tenuous connection to the man. The last time she had seen him, she was but a fragile twelve-year-old girl, trapped in a shadowy existence she could never fully escape.

The butler noticed the shock etched upon the girl's face, stifling an exasperated breath. "Lena, I understand that it has been a considerable time. However, we must prepare you for his arrival. Can you find it within yourself to comply? For us?"

Lifting her gaze, she comprehended the weight behind his words. Though she had not witnessed it firsthand, the murmurs circulating within these very walls had given her an inkling. Her father was not held in high regard within this manor, and perhaps not even in their hometown. Very well, she acquiesced, nodding her consent and allowing Mr. Freed to escort her away—from the kitchen, through the main hall, and up the ornate staircase.

They adorned her in a manner she had anticipated, to a degree that rendered the reflection in the mirror foreign to her own eyes. The maids, aware of her aversion to all things associated with femininity, had always outfitted her in modest attire, disguising her noble status. To an outside observer, she would have appeared as a commoner rather than a woman of distinction. Yet now, she found herself enveloped in a resplendent royal blue gown, intricate makeup adorning her features, her hair meticulously styled into an elegant bun, and a lingering fragrance of lavender clinging to her skin. It was all too overwhelming—a costume, she reassured herself, as she spun before the towering looking glass.

A pair of gentle knocks resonated through the chamber, prompting her to nod in permission for one of the maids to open the door. Mr. Freed emerged, bedecked in a fine vest, a shirt adorned with ruffled cuffs, and his meticulously groomed hair elegantly swept back.

"Your father has arrived, my Lady," he announced, his words evoking a disquieting sensation. The notion of having her father brought forth an unsettling strangeness she preferred to avoid. Nonetheless, she steeled herself, resolving to endure the encounter. "Very well," she responded with composed resolve.

Before stepping out of the room behind the butler, one of the maids intercepted her. Perplexed, she turned back, inquiring, "What is it?"

"Remember what you have been taught, my Lady—chin held high, shoulders back, and manners, Lady Lena," the elder maid gently hinted, prompting Lena to scoff inwardly at the absurdity of it all. Nevertheless, she allowed a smile to grace her lips and executed a graceful curtsy. "Very well," the maid approved, granting her permission to proceed.

Descending the grand staircase, Lena observed the mansion's staff, all bedecked in their finest uniforms, emitting an even more enticing fragrance than usual. They stood in rigid formation, forming a corridor of respect on either side of the imposing front door. From above, Lena glimpsed her father engrossed in conversation with Mr. Freed. Adorned in immaculate white attire, adorned with subtle yet intricate embroideries upon his coat, his wavy locks expertly swept back, and his piercing blue eyes exuding a chilling allure, he possessed an illusion of handsomeness.

Mr. Freed, sensing the hesitant presence of the young girl atop the staircase, introduced her with a reverent tone. "My Lord, may I present to you, Lady Lena."

Suppressing a heavy heartbeat, Lena felt her father's gaze lock with her own. A surge of desperation surged through her being—a desperate longing to escape the moment. With a forced smile etching upon her lips and her hands clutching at the folds of her blue gown, she embarked on the cautious descent down the curved staircase. Each step felt akin to a treacherous dance with mortality, as her eyes struggled to discern where her feet would find purchase. Finally, her feet touched the firm ground below, and she inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Standing before her father, she curtsied with practiced grace, uttering a polite greeting, "Father."

His gaze lingered upon her for what felt like an eternity, suffusing the room with an icy chill. If it were within the realm of possibility, she believed she would have dissolved into a mere puddle under the intensity of his scrutiny. A tingling sensation prickled her fingers, and her palms grew damp with perspiration. Even Mr. Freed, standing nearby, appeared uneasy, fidgeting subtly in his position.

Breaking the frigid silence, her father's voice pierced through the air, slicing through the palpable tension. "I perceive that you have blossomed into the Lady of this House, Lena. It appears my apprehensions were nothing more than figments of my imagination."

Keeping her eyes averted from him, she offered a subtle nod in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Father."

At that moment, Mr. Freed interjected, addressing her father as ‘Sir Piermon.’ "Lunch has been prepared, and your chamber awaits, should you wish to rest after your arduous journey."

"No need; I have come to see Lena and convey a message," her father asserted, disregarding Mr. Freed's suggestion. The butler attempted to interject once more, only to halt abruptly as her father raised a commanding hand.

Curiosity and trepidation swelled within her, prompting Lena to question, "What is it, Father?" She couldn't suppress the hastiness in her voice, and a twinge of regret prickled at her.

Her father's next words pierced her with a searing blow. "Your mother has passed."

The numbness that accompanied thoughts of her mother was not entirely unfamiliar; there had been little of her presence to cling to. Lena harbored but a solitary recollection, a swirling concoction of emotions and confusion, one she had long chosen to bury deep within. Yet, an uncharted hollow suddenly bloomed within her, unsettling the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it was merely hunger, she attempted to persuade herself. Nevertheless, that unyielding part of her being, perpetually stirring with unwelcome emotions and thoughts, adamantly disagreed. No, Lena, you are experiencing sadness. That is the essence of this emotion—a profound sense of sorrow and loneliness.

Her lips bore the mark of her bite, a feeble attempt to suppress the torrent of unwelcome tears that threatened to spill forth. With a deliberate inhalation and exhalation, she sought to regain composure. "When did it happen?" Her voice, though laced with a semblance of sternness, trembled subtly at its conclusion.

"At Saint Moray's, at the onset of dusk. The attending nurses discovered her lifeless form resting by the window," he recounted. "It was a sudden passing."

Her question, sharp yet vulnerable, pierced the air. "And what was the cause?"

"Her heart simply gave out. That is all the information I possess," he responded matter-of-factly.

Lena's gaze remained fixed upon her father, his countenance devoid of any emotion, as cold as ever. Nodding with measured restraint, she averted her face, purposefully evading Mr. Freed's gaze. For a fleeting moment, her eyes caught a glimpse of disbelief etched upon the butler's visage, but she swiftly shifted her line of sight, unwilling to succumb to the shattering of her fragile facade.

"However, that is not the sole purpose of my visit," her father continued, oblivious to her refusal to acknowledge him.

Lena remained motionless.

And he did not pause to wait for her.

"You are to be wedded to the Marquis of Li'Pold," he declared, the words hanging heavily in the air. Her eyes widened in profound disbelief, her throat constricting with the suppressed scream that clamored for release. This time, she did look at him, a single tear slipping past her lengthy lashes, tracing a trail down her delicate jawline.

"What?" she exclaimed, her voice betraying her distressed state.

"The arrangements have been made, and a carriage shall arrive by month's end to collect you," he stated, turning his attention to Mr. Freed. The venerable butler, his face etched with wrinkles that belied his modest features, appeared almost as anguished as she felt. "Ensure that all pertinent belongings are adequately prepared. Intensify her tutelage in the art of being a dutiful wife and instruct her in the responsibilities befitting a Marquess, until such time as she departs."

So this is your plan, in the wake of mother's departure—to rid yourself of the other. "And what shall become of the individuals here?" she inquired through clenched teeth.

"They shall be reassigned to various noble households that have taken an interest in a select few," he replied dismissively.

Lena's tone now bore an unmistakable edge, her words gritted between her teeth. "A select few? And what of those who do not fall into that chosen category?"

"They shall receive a month's worth of wages as compensation and be left to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Is there anything else?" His voice sharpened dangerously, a clear indication of his impatience.

Unbeknownst to her, her posture had gradually succumbed to a slouch, but now she straightened her spine, rolling her shoulders back and elevating her chin with newfound resolve. "No," she replied, her voice carrying a tone of defiance.

A heavy silence engulfed them both, stretching taut like a tightly drawn bowstring. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Mr. Freed regaining his composure, clearing his throat as if to break the oppressive stillness.

Sir Piermon ran a hand through his meticulously combed hair, pivoting on his heel. "That is all I have come to convey. I shall take my leave then," he declared. With the same swiftness that had brought him, he departed once more, leaving behind a lingering chill in the air.

Above, a tempestuous storm raged, casting its shadow over the land. Tiny droplets of rain glistened like scattered stars, illuminated intermittently by the flickering lantern on her bedside table and the occasional bolt of lightning. The rain tapped rhythmically against the circular window, offering a backdrop to the vast expanse of hills upon which the manor perched, overlooking the vast ocean. By night, the view possessed an air of haunting beauty, but to Lena, it whispered of untamed freedom, an untapped realm awaiting her.

Nestled within her double bed, positioned toward the room's rear, Lena lay ensconced in the embrace of fine cotton sheets and her nightgown. Her meticulously brushed hair cascaded over her right shoulder, but the dampness in the air transformed it into a fluffier, more unruly mass than she preferred—a trait that irked her. Ever since her father's departure, she had retreated into an isolated silence. During lunch, she sat alone, unable to stomach even a morsel of the freshly prepared chicken and salad that Vincent had lovingly crafted. Soon thereafter, the maids ushered her upstairs to her chamber, where they removed her gown, bathed her, and readied her for bed in an atmosphere of tense silence. In their own way, they extended a modicum of compassion, granting the numbed girl space, unaware of the clandestine battle waged within her mind.

She remained uncertain as to which side had emerged triumphant—was the weight of her mother's passing substantial enough to unleash her grief, or did the prospect of departing from the place she once regarded as a prison, now her sanctuary, loom too large, rendering it a mere memory too soon? All these emotions surged and churned, trapped within the confines of her throat, clawing and beseeching her to succumb to one or the other, yet she found herself incapable of action. Confusion reigned. Loss pervaded. She... was adrift.

Lena rose from her bed, the frigid wooden floor chilling her bare feet, and made her way toward the window, leaning her head against the cool glass. Will I become like her? Whatever had propelled my mother into madness, does it lie dormant within me as well? I wonder what affliction led her down that path. If only I knew, then perhaps I could stop it from happening to me... She attempted to envision her mother's descent into madness—mumbling incoherently, fixated on imaginary visions, but the images refused to materialize. For the only memory she retained of her mother was not one of insanity, but rather one steeped in tragedy.

I don’t want to be a tragedy.

Then, an unrestrained sob escaped her lips, followed by another and another, the outpouring of emotions intertwining in a tumultuous dance. Amidst the swirling torrent, one sentiment emerged with crystalline clarity: fear. It seized her, causing her hands to tremble uncontrollably, and she instinctively wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if seeking protection from the weight that threatened to crush her. It felt as though madness itself threatened to consume her, burying her under its suffocating grip.

From a distant corner of the room, her gaze fell upon the glimmering lights emanating from the coastal town below. Man-made luminance illuminated the darkness, a stark contrast to her desolate surroundings. Her eyes traced the graceful sway of three imposing ships battling the tempestuous waves at the harbor. In her mind's ear, she could almost hear the echo of laughter and the strains of music that surely accompanied the revelry below. Lena cast a lingering glance back at her barren room, where an oppressive darkness loomed, signaling a foreboding and uncertain future that had abruptly arrived. Turning her attention back to the window, she pressed the right side of her face against the cold glass, gazing downward at the town, then fixing her gaze upon the ships. Ships—a symbol of liberation and boundless possibilities.

Driven by a sudden surge of exhilaration, Lena hurriedly made her way to her closet, fingers skimming past opulent silks in various hues of purple, blue, green, and red, each fabric a proclamation of status. Yet, status was the last thing she desired. She yearned for inconspicuous attire, garments that would allow her to blend seamlessly with the common folk inhabiting the bustling town below. An idea ignited within her, igniting a spark of giddy delight. The maids—surely they possessed garments more suited to her purpose. Silently, she turned the knob of one of the two wide doors, slipping out into the dimly lit hallway. The manor assumed a more hollow and haunting ambiance during the nocturnal hours, with the relentless rain pounding upon the roof and the vast windows, evoking an eerie yet oddly serene sensation. Moving with careful steps, she descended the stairs, her footsteps tiptoeing across the marble, her anxious mind praying for their echoes to dissipate into the shadows. The grandeur of the main hall served as a stark reminder of how, mere hours ago, she had frolicked through its expanse like an untethered child, laughter reverberating through the air. Yet, it was within these very walls that her world had been shattered, the world she had painstakingly constructed.

She proceeded toward the kitchen, but her steps carried her further, past four doors lining either side of the hallway. On the right stood the quarters for the men of the manor, while on the left resided the women. However, those four doors were not her intended destination. Her purpose lay within the last door on the left, nestled farther down the corridor beside a lavishly adorned table. Passing through the threshold, she found herself in the laundry room, where baskets brimming with clothing flanked sinks and drying racks. Garments of various kinds were strewn haphazardly across the space, and she wasted no time in sifting through the discarded fabric. Each item she examined was promptly cast aside, her hopes set on finding a modest day dress, akin to the attire the maids would wear during their visits to town. Alas, none surfaced. It seemed that only men's clothing and standard uniforms remained, prompting a click of her tongue in frustration, as she begrudgingly accepted that the former constituted her sole option.

Exasperation welled within her, and with a heave, she discarded her nightgown, hastily snatching up a loose green cotton shirt and a pair of beige trousers that sagged at her waist. Her eyes swept across the laundry room, and a cry of triumph escaped her lips as she spotted a neglected belt hanging from one of the racks. Seizing it, she deftly buckled it around her waist, cinching the trousers securely. Finally, she seized a worn-out brown oversized coat, its weight settling upon her shoulders, while she struggled to keep the rolled-up sleeves from engulfing her hands. Completing her impromptu ensemble, she hastily slipped on a pair of socks and pulled on knee-high leather boots.

Emerging from the laundry room, Lena passed through the kitchen, her gaze falling upon a woven bag containing bread. Without hesitation, she claimed it as her own. Swiftly, she shrugged off her coat, slung the bag across her chest, and slipped back into the comforting embrace of the coat's folds. Now, standing before the servants' door, her hand rested upon the handle, poised to open it. A momentary hesitation gripped her, but a sudden lightning strike outside propelled her forward, causing her to fling open the door in a startle. The tempestuous storm greeted her eagerly, and a smile broke through the clouds of fatigue upon her countenance. The cold caress of wind and rain kissed her face as they tugged at her, urging her farther away. Squinting against the elements, she turned and closed the door behind her, embarking upon the path that led downhill toward the town, where the waiting ships beckoned.

From a distance, she discerned the town's melody, harmonizing with the symphony of the storm—laughter, shouts, and exuberant cries blending into a vibrant cacophony. Yet, as she stood at the epicenter of it all, the sounds seemed to belong to tales she had yet to experience. Excitement and nervous anticipation mingled within her, causing her stomach to bubble with a delightful restlessness. The fear that had gripped her back in her room now resided merely as a faint ache in her heart. Passersby smiled and engaged in lively conversations, while intoxicated men and women sang and bantered, carried away by the melodies emanating from taverns. The aroma of freshly baked delicacies wafted from every open door of taverns, inns, and homes. Children brandishing wooden swords played joyously, their voices filled with pirate slang as they leaped into puddles. Pirates, she thought, a giggle escaping her lips. Lena couldn't help but marvel at the lively spectacle unfolding before her eyes, for there seemed to be no corner of the town of Lillon unoccupied. Some of the men who passed by wore adornments of jewelry and swords hanging from their hips, their eyes shimmering with the same exuberant joy she had felt earlier.

Shaking her head, she released a breathy laugh, a soft sound escaping her lips. "The ships, Lena, the ships first," she whispered to herself, a gentle reminder, as she sought refuge beneath the sheltering roof of one of the stores. It was certain that they would not embark on their journey tonight. Her task was clear: she needed to unravel the destination they sought and devise a plan to clandestinely join their voyage. Easy... well, perhaps not so easily accomplished... hahaha. Strands of damp hair threatened to obstruct her vision, prompting her to deftly slick them away. Squinting once again, she directed her gaze towards the harbor and the docks, where slumbering figures lay undisturbed. How can they sleep through this storm? Lena watched in awe, momentarily captivated by their seemingly impervious slumber. However, she swiftly dismissed the thought, turning her attention elsewhere.

A woman, equally drenched by the downpour, hurriedly approached her, vigorously patting herself down to ward off the relentless raindrops. Shivers ran through her body as the winds howled around them. The adrenaline coursing through Lena's veins had momentarily caused her to forget the chill that clung to her, yet now, the sight of the woman's trembling form made her own body shudder in response.

“Oh darling, you must be freezing, huh,” the woman pointed out, her concern evident in her voice, as she continued her futile attempts to dry herself.

"Yes," Lena replied, a small laugh escaping her lips, though her teeth chattered involuntarily.

“Well, you should head home before you catch a cold or somethin’.”

"Actually," Lena began, adjusting her position slightly to face the woman directly, endeavoring to hold her attention, "do you happen to know the destination of these ships, ma'am?"

As the lady halted her movements, her gaze sweeping up and down Lena's figure, a sudden knot formed in Lena's throat. She had never ventured into this part of town, and these people knew nothing of her identity. Up in the manor, she was merely the daughter of a wealthy man, hidden away, decaying in her own solitude. This woman didn't know her. Of course not, Lena reassured herself, clinging to the hope that she would remain unrecognized.

“Don’t tell me a young thing like you got caught up with those men,” the woman sighed, her voice tinged with a mix of sympathy and exasperation.

“Well—” Lena began, intending to clarify her intentions, but the woman interrupted her, shaking her head in disapproval.

“You know, I get us women wanting to make a name for ourselves. But it’s not necessary with those savages.” She shook her head. “Do you know what it’s like being on board with twenty or more men on a ship?”

"No, but—" Lena attempted to interject, her words falling on deaf ears.

“Cause let me tell you, I do. Or at least my cousin’s girlfriend’s friend Genevive knows. Ooh, she told me some things that no woman should bear witness to or experience. She said it better herself, ‘Women can do it all but don’t need to lose the class they were taught,’ and every time I work with those men at the tavern, I feel that in my chest darlin’.”

Lena stood before the woman, her eyes blinking in a dazed fashion, her lips slightly parted as she struggled to process the woman's words within her fatigued mind. Leaning down to meet the young girl's gaze, the woman's concern was palpable as she spoke, “Oh damn, don’t tell me you’re already feeling sick. They do say small things like you get easily withered.”

Startled by the woman's proximity, Lena instinctively leaned back, offering a sheepish smile in response. "I, uh, no, I assure you, I feel perfectly fine. I apologize for the confusion. Working alongside them can indeed be draining. However, circumstances have led to my transfer, and I need to ascertain which ship is bound for which destination."

Acknowledging Lena's explanation with a nod, the woman adjusted her dampened hair and leaned over the edge of the shop's wall, directing her gaze toward the bustling harbor. “Well, I can’t tell you which is which since I don’t really step out onto the docks. But I can tell you the places they’re planning to go.”

“That’s fine,” I think.

“Well, from what I heard, two are planning to sail west to the islands of Canoga, and one is sailing to Pearl Reef.”

Expressing her gratitude, Lena suppressed the urge to curtsy out of habit. "Thank you for your assistance."

“Of course. Now, I must get a couple of things and head back. It was nice meeting you! You should head home and take a bath before you get yourself sick, though,” she finished before heading into the shop.

Lena offered a nod of acknowledgment before turning her gaze toward the three ships looming before her. Canoga was not a viable option, considering Li'Pold's presence there. This meant she had a single opportunity to choose wisely among the trio bound for Pearl Reef. Among the three vessels, the one positioned in the middle exuded a grandeur surpassing that of its counterparts. Adorning its bowsprit was a meticulously crafted figurehead, depicting a bird with its wings tucked gracefully. In her younger years, a maid would regale Lena with tales of sailing and ships, given her father's occupation as a merchant. While the intricate details and components of a ship hadn't been retained as vividly as the locations in those stories, the captivating designs of mermaids, maidens, and pirates that adorned the vessels had always held a profound allure. Each ship possessed its unique design, laden with symbolism.

I’d best get moving.

As Lena maneuvered through the undulating masses of swaying crowds and bustling vendors, her mind was awash with nervous contemplation of the words she would utter once she confronted the men who occupied the docks. Unbeknownst to her until now, the briny aroma of the sea permeated the air, permeating her nostrils and searing her lungs with an unfamiliar and putrid blend of salt and fish. As her feet made contact with the weathered wooden planks of the docks, a resounding creak jolted her senses, prompting her to cast a wary gaze downward, ensuring the integrity of the flooring beneath her.

Resting against one of the pylons, a man of similar age to Lena lounged upon a diminutive wooden stool. A brown cocked hat nestled upon his face, slightly askew to grant his left eye an unimpeded view. With his right arm, he diligently secured the hat, preventing the capricious wind from snatching it away. Nonetheless, his long black vest and billowing blouse danced with the breeze, threatening to become disheveled and dislodged from his brown trousers. Drenched by the rain as Lena was, he remained unperturbed in his repose, only mustering a glance as she drew nearer. Peering at her through the small opening afforded by his hat, he offered no inclination to alter his position.

"Yes?" His voice, groggy and brimming with palpable disinterest, reverberated towards her.

Lena raised her hand above her eyes in an attempt to shield them from the incessant rainfall, her voice carrying a trace of urgency, “Sorry, I was hoping to talk to the Captain who will be sailing to Pearl Reef.”

Upon hearing her request, he sat up, setting aside his hat as he scrutinized her with a discerning gaze. Raising an eyebrow, a smug smirk materialized upon his countenance, as he insinuated, “Are you one of his whores?”

His words elicited a mixture of disbelief and revulsion within Lena, causing her voice to escalate slightly, "His what?"

Unfazed by her reaction, he retorted, his tone tinged with sardonic amusement, “Don’t be ashamed; it happens. I’ve noticed that the ones who’ve accepted it tend to have a better time.”

“I am not a whore and certainly not his. I’m just hoping to speak to him.”

Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, he shook his head, his demeanor condescending, “Being desperate isn’t a good look on you. It won’t win him over, either.”

Oh, for the love of god— “Do you know where he is or not?”

A wry smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back, divulging the sought-after information, “At the Greyson’s tavern. Perhaps singing another night away.”

She expressed a bitter gratitude to the man who had provided her with the desired information before retracing her steps through the town, her gaze fixed upon the carved wooden signs suspended above or affixed to the walls of shops and establishments. The weariness that had been steadily encroaching upon her finally overwhelmed her resistance, a relentless reminder of the discomfort that plagued her within the confines of these sodden, ill-fitting garments. They clung to her form with an ungainly persistence, exacerbating the chafed skin between her thighs. The ceaseless downpour only added to her plight, as her dampened hair adhered to her neck and cheeks, teasing her already hypersensitive complexion. "Just convince him to grant you a place within his crew," she muttered to herself, an incantation she repeated with increasing fervor. At long last, the sight of handcrafted lettering announcing 'Greyson's Tavern' above a sturdy oak door elicited a warmth that transformed her withered countenance into a grateful smile.

Externally, the establishment exuded an atmosphere of intimacy, imbued with rustic charm. Pillars hewn from both soft and hardwood dominated the outer facade, while the interior remained hidden behind glazed windows. However, the sounds and warmth emanating from within could be perceived even from the outside. The lively melodies and animated conversations spilled forth as the door swung open, permitting ingress and egress. The occupants within appeared dazed, inebriated, or otherwise under the influence. Lena followed closely behind one of the patrons, and as she crossed the threshold, she basked in the embrace of warm yellow light that enveloped the interior, the palpable heat radiating from the throng of bodies swaying and singing in unison. Her gaze momentarily lowered to the floor, besmirched by countless muddy footprints, spilled libations, and discarded remnants of food. Nonetheless, as she stood within the entryway, drenched and shivering, she reveled in the unfamiliar sensation of warmth, audibly releasing a sigh of relief as she finally escaped the clutches of the cold and damp.

Waitresses traversed the premises, dutifully attending to an abundance of drink and food orders. One of them bestowed upon Lena a fleeting smile as she passed by, though her attention was swiftly diverted to cater to another person. It’s not like I brought money with me, Lena thought wryly. The amalgamation of unfamiliar scents wafting through the tavern provoked a slight headache, but one she resolved to endure until she could board the ship. Above her, stout wooden beams provided support for the upper floor, while modest chandeliers adorned with rows of flickering candles illuminated the space. The walls were adorned with an assortment of mementos, each bearing the signatures of patrons who had likely donated them. Numerous long tables were occupied by what appeared to be the entire populace of Lillon, while smaller tables also accommodated revelers who reveled in their mirth, perhaps even to excess, if such a thing were possible. Even the bar stools were predominantly claimed, yet the close proximity seemed to elicit no discontent among the occupants. Amidst it all, perched atop one of the elongated tables, a man bellowed forth a sea shanty that served as a siren's call to the assembled crowd.

Lena quickly discerned that he held command over the sea shanty that had enraptured the hearts of all present; amidst the clamor of boisterous voices, his own resounded with unparalleled brilliance. Entranced, she watched him with unabashed fascination, unable to deny the handsomeness that graced his visage. His fiery red tresses tumbled untamed, cascading in playful disarray with errant strands framing his features. The remnants of rainwater adorned his bronzed skin, shimmering like liquid gems. It appeared that not a soul in this haven of revelry minded the rain's persistent assault, embracing the tempestuous conditions with fervor. A faint blush brushed his cheeks as he quaffed from a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. His pearly white teeth gleamed with each infectious smile that accompanied the fervent rendition of the next verse, eliciting spirited dances from his fellow merrymakers. Smudged black makeup accentuated his eyes, while golden jewelry shimmered seductively in the ambient light. As the song crescendoed toward its final chorus, he rose from his seat and meandered through the throng, leaning in to share intimate words and hearty laughter with the assembled company. A mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes as he serenaded a woman from behind, their playful exchange culminating in a twirl and a tantalizing tease. And as the melody reached its climactic end, he ascended a chair, lifting his bottle high while exclaiming a triumphant 'hoorah!' in unison with the raucous crowd.

The tavern erupted in a symphony of applause and cheers, reverberating through the air as glasses were raised in celebratory toasts to the renowned 'Captain Canerie,' who responded with a playful bow. Lena recognized that her moment had arrived, the opportune time to seize her chance. With each apologetic murmur, she navigated through the bustling crowd, diligently shadowing the vibrant-haired captain's every move. Amidst the sea of revelers, she felt diminutive, her gaze barely reaching the shoulders of those around her, compelling her to rise onto tiptoes intermittently to maintain sight of her target. Stay still, you idiot! she chided herself, though he seemed to flit effortlessly from table to table, engaging in flirtations with women and sharing hearty laughter with men who eagerly inquired about his seafaring exploits.

Finally, Lena arrived at the table where she had first spotted him. Nervousness and apprehension coiled tightly within her gut and constricted her throat, yet she steeled herself for this encounter. "Captain Canerie?" she called out, her voice rising above the clamor. He continued regaling his companions with laughter and tales, while a woman seated beside him leaned against his shoulder, fluttering her lashes coquettishly.

"Captain Canerie," Lena spoke again, raising her volume. At once, the collective gaze of the table's occupants shifted toward her, some with mouths full of food, others peering curiously from behind their drinks. The tavern's vivacity persisted, yet she felt an eerie hush settle over the world. Suppressing a nervous giggle, she met his amused gaze as the woman fed him morsels of bread.

“Apologies for interrupting your festivities, but I wanted to know if you are the individual destined for the voyage to Pearl Reef," Lena interjected, her words breaking through the jubilant atmosphere. All eyes remained fixed upon her, and she couldn't help but fathom the peculiarity of her appearance in their discerning gazes. Bedraggled like a stray, she donned garments that dwarfed her slender frame, while her fatigued countenance, tinged with unshed tears and the weariness of mourning, likely struck them as an oddity. If Mr. Freed saw me…oh god.

"And if I were?" he responded in a mouthful.

"I had hoped to join your company," she ventured, her tone forthright yet carrying with it hope.

A collective freeze gripped the table, the captain's hand instinctively halting the woman from feeding him. A hint of amusement danced at the corner of his lips, quickly spreading contagiously among his comrades.

“Thank you for the laugh,” he retorted, succumbing to laughter alongside others.

"It is no jest," she insisted, her tone shifting to solemnity.

His head recoiled in disbelief, a brow arching quizzically as he took a bite of bread offered by the woman. Swallowing the morsel, he spoke, "And why should I entertain the notion? Do you possess any riches or significant valuables to sway me?"

“No—”

“Then I don’t see any chance of you stepping foot on my ship.”

He took a sip from his drink, resuming his conversation with those around him, their collective indifference casting her further into a realm of trepidation and ire. Anger coursed through her veins, intertwining with the nervousness and fear she had already experienced.

"I was going to offer myself as payment," she declared, her voice carrying enough weight to quell their chatter, eliciting a chorus of intrigued murmurs.

He faced her directly, giving her a good look up and down before scoffing, “No offense, love, but you’re just not my type.”

His companions erupted in laughter, provoking a wave of disgust that knitted her brows together. "I meant for work. I am prepared to undertake cleaning and any other menial tasks required during the journey."

He was on the cusp of responding when a young man of her age, his tousled brunette locks framing his face, tapped the captain's shoulder and motioned for a private conversation. Whispering into the redhead's ear, his message elicited a radiant smile upon the captain's face as he redirected his attention to Lena.

“I don’t see why, but we do need an extra hand around after our last one fell overboard.”

Lena's eyes widened in astonishment. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she clasped her hands together, ready to express her heartfelt appreciation, but her words caught in her throat as the captain raised his hand. “But, you must first beat me in a drinking contest. Only fair, since you’ll be around a bunch of drunks.”

Her mind went still as she thought about the offer, I’ve never drank a drop of liquor. I just watched the workers back home have a swig of it late at night. It can’t be that awful, surely. The same man who had whispered to Captain Canarie pushes a large cup of beer across the table in front of her.

Gazing at the effervescent bubbles dancing atop the freshly poured pint, Lena found herself momentarily transfixed. She then turned her attention to the man who had presented her with the drink, a smile gracing her lips. "What is your name?" she inquired.

“Chenle, why?” he replied, his eyes fixated on her with an air of fascination.

Lena took hold of the cup, raising it to her nose to inhale the peculiar aroma, allowing its distinct scent to tantalize her senses. "Because it’s only right that I get to know my crewmate's name," she explained, before taking hearty gulps that swiftly emptied the vessel.

A chorus of cheers erupted in her honor, but the exultation intensified when she gingerly placed the empty cup back on the table and found herself seized by a fit of coughs and retches, her revulsion palpable. That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted, she confessed, her disgust evident.

“Seems like your first time, little dove,” he then emptied his cup and sets it down proudly.

Chenle refills her cup and hands it to her, “How badly do you want to be part of the crew?”

Rolling her eyes in a bitter display, Lena accepted the cup from him, downing its contents in one fell swoop. Yet, the experience failed to offer any semblance of refreshment; instead, it burdened her with a leaden sensation and heightened self-revulsion, surpassing even the discomfort she had endured in the midst of the rain-soaked storm.

“So, how will this go?” she asked.

“Easy, keep drinking until one gives up or passes out,” he finishes another cup and gets refilled.

“Fine,” Lena says bitterly and finishes hers.

The cycle persisted until Captain Canarie dispatched the young woman seated beside him to retrieve another pint. One of the crewmates even graciously vacated his spot, affording her a place to sit. The crew member who provided the seat refilled her sixth cup, introducing himself as Mark, the Quartermaster. Much like the captain, he bore smudged black makeup beneath his eyes and donned ornate silver rings adorned with intricate depictions of animals and human portraits. The life of a merchant must yield handsome rewards, Lena surmised, albeit hazily, amidst her inebriated state.

"Come now, don't lose your pace," Captain Canarie prodded, gesturing towards her newly replenished cup of beer.

Narrowing her gaze at him, she quaffed the contents of the cup and slammed it resolutely onto the table. "Your turn," she challenged.

And with a swift motion, he raised the cup to his lips, effortlessly consuming its contents in a single gulp. Lena couldn't help but be bothered by how effortlessly he drank, seemingly unaffected, while she struggled to maintain her composure. While he appeared invigorated, she found herself navigating the world as if through the tranquil undulations of calm waves, each movement weighed down by the heaviness in her limbs. Her words began to slur, a source of annoyance and frustration.

Mark poured yet another pint, extending it towards her. However, as her lips brushed against the rim of the cup, a halt befell her as Captain Canarie's voice resonated through the air. "Alright, I'm done for the night, boys," he declared.

Lena's ears perked up at his proclamation, and in a fit of intoxicated excitement, she slammed her cup onto the table, causing the liquid to spill and drench her hand. Rising from her seat, she clumsily pumped her fist in the air with uncharacteristic glee. Turning towards the captain, who was already sporting a knowing smile, she exclaimed, "I've won! I've won, and now you have take me to Pearl Reef!"

Rising to his feet, Captain Canarie took hold of the woman's hand beside him, delicately kissing the back of her palm. "Actually, no," he responded.

Lena froze momentarily, a slight stumble betraying her inebriated state, her hand instinctively gripping the back of the extended bench to steady herself. "What do you mean, 'no'?" she retorted.

“I mean, you won’t be sailing with us. Go home and get yourself cleaned up.” he asserted, his arms now enveloping the woman, his chin resting against her shoulder.

“But you said if I won, I could sail with you,” she scornfully protested.

He gave her scant attention, burying his face deeper into the woman's neck. “I did, and now I say ‘nay,’ and as Captain, my words go. Crew?” he called out, his gaze shifting to the rest of the assembled individuals, who responded with chuckles, continuing to feast and drink. Some even raised their cups in amusement.

Her heart twisted and ached with a potent mix of anger and burgeoning tantrum. While she had never been one to behave childishly, weariness and sorrow pushed her beyond her limits. Yet, she bit her tongue, allowing tears to escape, their silent descent an embodiment of her seething emotions.

"You are a coward and unworthy of leading this crew," she spat venomously, her voice rising to a height that caused the tavern to fall into an uneasy silence.

The captain, along with his crew, took notice, and he withdrew from the woman's embrace, striding purposefully toward the distraught girl, his imposing figure casting a towering shadow. Their gazes locked in a glowering exchange, the tension in the air growing palpable. With gritted teeth, she uttered her final words, seething with disdain, "You are nothing but a pathetic liar."

"Take... her," the captain's command was resolute and concise, and in the blink of an eye, two of his crewmates seized Lena by her arms, their grip firm and unyielding.

She fought in their grip, “You can’t do this! What you’re doing is illegal. I’ll make sure your licenses as merchants are revoked!”

Laughter filled the air, intermingling with the boisterous revelry that engulfed the tavern. Captain Canarie, immersed in the mirthful atmosphere, joined in the cacophony, his voice resonating above the rest. "Who ever claimed we were mere merchants? We are Pirates!" he proclaimed, his words reverberating through the room, igniting a thunderous response from the crowd.

𔘓⁩ ᵗⁱᵖʲᵃʳ

divider: @/saradika

#kpop fanfic #kpop #kpop ff #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic #ao3 #haechan fanfic #haechan au #mark lee #mark fanfic #jaemin au #na jaemin #lee jeno fanfic #lee jeno #jeno fanfic #renjun fanfic #chenle fanfic #jisung fic #illumins #myriadofourseas

[catxtopia]

We’re Not In Kansas? 

Summary: It was turning out to be a relatively lovely end to a hectic day. So naturally the universe had to throw a wrench in there somewhere. Said wrench came in the form of a strange flying object shooting out of the sky.

(Or: Iron Man 3 AU, where Tony crash lands in Nebraska and meets a small town doctor by the name of Stephen Strange)

Pairing - Tony Stark/Stephen Strange

Word Count: 17,448

AO3 

NOTES: 

I completely forgot that this movie took place during winter/Christmas. I wrote half of this from memory before pulling the movie up and- look I can’t be fucked to change it!! I had this image in my head of corn fields and warm breezes so that’s what you’re getting goddamn it!

I left out a good chunk of the movie so it’s not a total rewrite. I am not good at action so a lot of that happens behind the scenes if you will, and I didn’t want to get into the whole Mandarin side of the plot so it's only mentioned once. Maya? Maya who? She’s off in some lab somewhere totally fine, no need to bring her into this.

Also I used Rose Hill as the town name for simplicity's sake, you can assume the towns look pretty similar just different nature settings lol.

I just wanted small-town-farm-boy Stephen to meet Tony, ok? That’s all you need to know! Please enjoy!

...........................................

The quiet chatter of crickets and rustling of late night critters milling about, buzzed over the wide expanse of corn fields and dusty roads. The sun had set hours prior, causing a quiet hush to befall the land. All other inhabitants had retired for the night or were at least on their way to doing so. The faintest of breezes danced through the looming corn stocks, making them sway too and fro gently.  

 It was calm and peaceful out here in the middle of nowhere. Just how Stephen liked it. 

 He was driving home from a long day of making house calls. Being the only doctor in town made his schedule pretty busy, hence his late night drive home. He sped down the back roads, tires of his rather rusty blue pickup truck coughing clouds of dirt into the air. His family's farm was the furthest out of town, a near forty minutes away, and the only way there was through dirt and rock. Despite the rough terrain, Stephen enjoyed it way out here where there was no traffic or overhead lights. Nothing but the moon and stars to guide you home.

 Stephen tapped his fingers along the edge of his opened window to the radio. Lukewarm air raced past, ruffling his otherwise perfectly kept hair. It was a beautiful night, the temperature just right to let the windows down. Fresh greens and the musty smell of dust was like a balm on Stephen’s tense shoulders. He could lean back and simply let the road take him. Bats, Stephen’s ever loyal companion in dog form sat with his head happily hung out the passenger side window. His floppy basset hound ears whipped all around in the wind, a big goofy smile lined his face. 

 It was turning out to be a relatively lovely end to a hectic day. 

 So naturally the universe had to throw a wrench in there somewhere. Said wrench came in the form of a strange flying object shooting out of the sky.

 It wasn’t entirely uncommon for shooting stars to make an appearance in the night sky but this thing was far too low and moving at an alarming pace. It was too small to be a plane and yet too big to be a drone, not that Stephen had ever seen such a thing way out here anyways. Whatever it was, it was on fire and hurting straight for an unsuspecting cornfield just up ahead.

 It cashed into the ground with a thud, sending dirt and broken stocks flying up in its wake. Stephen slammed on the breaks immediately, causing Bats to howl in alarm. He jerked the wheel to the side of the road and cut the engine. His instincts were kicking in and before he realized it, the doctor had grabbed his medical bag from the trunk and was dashing his way across the field. 

 He pushed this way and that around shoulder height corn stocks. He couldn’t see anything of the crash sight, just lazy smoke puffing up into the air. There were at least no screams or cries for help, perhaps it’d just been a harmless object. A few minutes of running and he was breaking through and finally getting a good look at what he was dealing with. Suffice to say the object was no plane. In fact it was a man- a suit of man rather. 

 Stephen stopped short of the device, his brain took in what little information he could around the adrenaline running through his veins. As he stepped forward to inspect the smoking suit, an arm shot up. Stephen faltered again, watching on guard as the arm grabbed at the face of the suit and plucked the plate off, revealing a blooded human beneath. That Stephen could work with. 

 “Hey, hello sir, can you hear me?” Stephen asked calmly as he knelt down beside the man. He leaned over the suit, searching his face for any recognition or sign he heard. The man was gleaming with sweat and had a handful of scrapes across his nose and forehead. He furrowed his brow and squinted back when Stephen got up close to him. “You’ve been in an accident, I need you to stay still for me, ok?”

 “Accident… that what they call falling outta the sky these days?” The man groaned. He closed his eyes briefly, seemingly collecting himself.

 “I wouldn’t say you stuck the landing so something must have gone wrong, therefore, accident.” Stephen hummed back as he assessed the suit and however the hell he was going to get it off. Engineering wasn’t really in his job description. 

 “Corn.” The man grumbled. 

 Alright a concussion was definitely on the books, note that. “I am sorry?” The doctor asked.

 “Field. Where are we, upstate?” 

 “We are about five miles out of Rose Hill, Nebraska.” A mechanical voice chimed, startling Stephen. He leaned a little away from the iron suit, a perplexed expression on his face. Finding a man in a tin can was one thing, hearing that tin can speak was entirely another. What the devil was going on here? And why did Stephen have to be the one burdened to deal with it. 

 “Why!?” The man shouted, confusion and terror flashing across his injured face. He began to fidget and look this way and that as if answers would be written in the dirt around him. Stephen placed a firm hand on the man’s chest to steady him. “Jarvis, not my idea! What are we doing here? This is thousands of miles away! I gotta get Pepper, I gotta…” His tangent died off as his breathing became erratic. 

 “I prepared a flight plan. This was the location.”  

 “Who asked you!?” The man shouted again, voice leveled with distraught. His brows were furrowed in a painful grimace as he breathed deeply. Stephen’s brain was firing off in alarm, knowing all too well the signs of shock and panic. But before he could reach out to snap the man out of it, a haggard command of, “Open the suit!” was yelled. 

 With a movement that looked far too sluggish for a machine of such power, the metal suit began unfolding like a torn apart lego set. The man immediately shot up into a seated position. He shuddered and groaned with each huff of breath. Ever so slowly he started looking around the little impact zone, taking in the burnt corn and piles of dirt around him. He grabbed at his left arm, rubbing circles near his wrist. It was at that point that he realized he wasn’t alone. 

 “No broken spine then, that’s good at least.” Stephen commented from where he’d finally given up his assumption this man was in a medical crisis and instead sat himself down on a mound of dirt. He examined the man’s face, followed his neck and down until he stopped on the glowing orb in his chest. Ah. Really it was rather disappointing how long it took Stephen to realize who he was looking at. What other billionaires flew around in flashy tin cans?

 “Uh- sorry who are you?” Tony pointed accusingly with his right hand, leaving his left cradled close to his chest. He looked curious but not really alarmed. 

 “Stephen Strange. I was driving by when I saw your little crash landing.” The doctor nodded towards the mess of machinery Tony still sat atop of. He looked down and pursed his lips as if conceding Stephen’s point.

 “And you just decided to investigate? For all you know I could have been the next big bad villain ready to take over this unsuspecting-” Tony paused and took another wary look around him before he settled on, “-field.”

 “I am annoyed that I can’t even take that as a joke anymore, all things considered. Such strange times we live in.” Stephen rubbed at the pinched tension between his eyes. “But no, I am a doctor. Figured someone might need one after hurtling out of the sky.” 

 That lit up the billionaire's eyes. He snapped his fingers, “Ah! A doctor you say? Well what’s your diagnosis, Doc?”

 Stephen leaned his elbows forward onto his knees, “A few scrapes and bruises, possible mild concussion. With a little Neosporin you might just live.” He shrugged. The adrenaline of before was finally wearing off. An aching weight was settling over the doctor's bones, making him abundantly aware of how late the hour was. Gods he wished he was in bed already.    

 “Don’t suppose there is a town nearby?” Tony asked as he slowly heaved himself up to his feet. “Hey J-”

 “I actually think I need to sleep now, sir.” Jarvis’s scratchy voice echoed from the sparking armor. 

 “Jarvis.” Tony turned to look down at his suit. An eerie silence was his only response. “Jarvis?” 

 Stephen suddenly felt as though he should look away from the stricken expression upon Tony’s face. Like a man realizing for the first time that he’s on his own. Lost in the middle of nowhere with no easy way of getting out. Later when Stephen goes over this encounter, he would realize that expression was the reason he intervened. 

 “Well, no use standing around out here.” Stephen slapped his knees and clambered to his feet. He grabbed his bag and then tossed it onto the iron man suit. Tony pulled his head out of its sorry state to watch the doctor move around him. At least he snapped out of it fairly quickly.

 Stephen leaned down by the feet of the armor and then begrudgingly lifted one after the other with a quiet groan. Christ it was good he had some amount of muscles from working on the farm, otherwise there’d be no way this thing was getting moved. “Are you just going to stand there or are you gonna lend a hand, Mr. Superhero?”

 A small grin started spreading over Tony’s crestfallen face, lighting into one of mischief. “Seems like you’ve got it handled, Doc.” He chimed and hopped off his suit towards the head. Despite his words he leaned down and gathered the shoulders of his suit into his grasp. “Lead on, cowboy.”

 “I resent that.” Stephen hissed through his strain to lift the armor. He shuffled backwards, testing his steps, before heading off towards where he left his truck.

 It took them a fair bit of time navigating around corn stocks, many of which broke off or were highly disfigured by their trampling. Stephen felt a pang of guilt for the farmers that’d have to clean up this mess, much less the stock they were losing. He’d be sure to apologize later. 

 Eventually, however, they made it to the road and after a little jimmy rigging, they managed to get the damn suit into the trunk. Stephen closed said trunk with a huff and then began dusting off his hands. 

 Tony leaned on the side of the vehicle, breathing heavily from the work. He wiped his hand across his brow and frowned at the dirt, sweat, and blood that came away. “If you could drop me off at the nearest town, I’d be mighty grateful, pard'ner.” He asked in a ridiculous southern accent. 

 “Firstly, Nebraska not Texas. Secondly, absolutely not.” Stephen turned without further warning to head towards the driver’s door. Tony’s eyes widened in alarm. He hurried to the passengers door, unsure if the man intended to just ditch him but he wasn’t about to risk it. 

 “Seriously? Then what the hell was all that? You just gonna run off with my suit?” Tony accused as he flung the door open. He was momentarily stunned into silence as a dog jumped straight into his face. “Shit!” He shouted, stepping back to get out of the way, but the door kept him close enough for Bats to hop his front paws onto his chest and begin his slobber filled assault.  

 Stephen grinned over the coughing and gagging coming from across the way. He lazily fished out his keys and started the truck. As soon as Fleetwood Mac started up on the radio, Bats calmed down and assumed his position of sitting front and center.

 Tony spat and huffed, rubbing aggressively at his cheeks to get the dog furr and other fluids off his face. “Gah!” He shouted and dropped his hands so he could throw a scathing glare Stephen’s way. 

 “Are you getting in or what?” Stephen asked from his very relaxed and bored looking position behind the wheel. His left arm was hanging over the window, fingers tapping at the top of the frame. 

 “Depends where you’re taking me.” Tony countered. He lifted one foot onto the truck and grabbed the handle of the door for support. “I know how horror movies start. You lure me into your car, take me out into the middle of nowhere, what’s a poor gal like me supposed to do with no phone or weapons?”

 “You very obviously do not know horror movies well, because you just gave away the information that you have no phone or any protection.” Stephen countered with a shrug. “Also, don’t know if you noticed but you’re already in the middle of nowhere. I could’ve easily killed you by now.” 

 “Which means you’re either into some kinky shit or you’re going to ransom me.” 

 Stephen hummed thoughtfully, “Either way, you’ll have to get into the car.” 

 Tony held his ground, staring Stephen down with a squinted gaze. He pursed his lips and looked to be really going over his options before he grinned and shrugged, “Good thing I am into kinky shit and am rich.” He then pulled himself into the truck and slammed the door closed behind him. 

 Bats wagged his tail happily at his new companion.  

 With a flick of his wrist, Stephen put the car in drive and sped off down the dusty road. It was minutes further down before he said, “Town is forty minutes in the opposite direction and I’ve had a long enough day as is. My place is just up ahead, you can crash there for the night. I’ll take you to town first thing in the morning.” He could feel Tony assessing him from his peripheral. 

 After a moment of silence Tony asked, “You got any tools at your place?” 

 “As much as one needs on a farm.” Stephen frowned. “Nothing fancy like your tin can back there.” 

 “Don’t need fancy.” Tony assured in that horrendous southern accent again. He grinned when he saw Stephen roll his eyes. “I just need some things to tinker with…”

 ……  

 “This is it!?” 

 “I told you it’s a farm.” Stephen sighed as he dropped his medical bag on one of the counters in his garage. He decided he would leave the sorting and restocking for in the morning. He was absolutely beat for the day. By the time they’d pulled into the property it was nearing midnight. The main house was dark, Stephen’s parents having already headed off to bed. Luckily for him, Stephen had his own loft apartment above the garage, which was a little away from the house. There was no need to sneak an extra person into a house with his parents, how utterly awkward that would have been. 

 Beverly and Eugene were used to Stephen coming and going as he pleased. He was an adult after all and he occasionally worked odd hours. He lived on the farm for the convenience of his parents rather than any true desire to stay there for himself. The land and the animals were a difficult job to deal with, one his elderly parents didn’t want to give up. They weren’t as young as they used to be and an extra hand went a long way for them. So he helped where he could and they gave Stephen his space when he was tired of it all.  

 Tony shuffled around in the cabinets of tools that in fact had very little. It wasn’t like they needed much outside of repairs and replacement parts for the machinery outside. This wasn’t a lab. Stephen didn’t know what Tony expected but he was obviously disappointed. 

 “I don’t think I can get my suit started with this.” Tony groaned as he held up pruning shears. 

 Stephen snorted at the put upon expression on Tony’s face. He looked like a child pouting, bottom lip pushed out and everything. He wandered over to examine the man’s findings and had to admit it was all pretty abysmal. He really didn’t want to deal with this right now. “I am guessing you weren’t out here for the view.” He suddenly commented with a resigned sigh. This wasn’t going to be an easy fix was it?

 “Afraid not.” Tony tossed the garden scissors back into the cabinet. “Kinda end of the world business actually.” 

 “Christ.” Stephen sighed again, this time louder and with more pain. He rubbed at his temples as he thought. “There are some stores in town you could rifle through tomorrow. In the meantime, standing here worrying about it wont help. Come with me.” He nodded towards a flight of stairs off to the far side. 

 Stephen propped the door at the top of the stairs open for Tony and Bats to slip inside. It was nothing grand or fancy, just an open loft space. A few steps away from the door was a decent sized bed and living room set up, and to the opposite side of the room was a kitchen and dining area. Stephen kicked the door shut behind him and lazily tossed his keys into a little dish near the door. He followed that by also kicking his shoes off. 

 “You can have the bed, I’ll take the couch.” Stephen yawned and made his way over to a dresser to pull out a change of clothes.

 Tony slipped out of his own shoes and carefully walked around the whole loft, taking in every nook and cranny. To the untrained eye it might just seem like perusing, but Stephen could tell the man was definitely checking his exits and the security of the place. He couldn’t blame him, stuck in an unfamiliar building with a stranger? He would have done the same thing. 

 “Here.” Stephen tossed a shirt and some sweatpants onto the bed. He was pretty sure they’d be too big, but better to offer something rather than nothing. With that, they both began an awkward dance around each other as they got ready for bed. Ten minutes later the lights were flicked off and they were both tucked into their respective spots, trying desperately to sleep.

 ……

 Beverly hiked up the stairs to her son's loft apartment above the garage. In her arms was a basket of fresh laundry. She knocked once and softly popped the door open once she got no reply. It wasn't too unusual for her son to sleep in on weekends after all, but she had a large breakfast marinating in the kitchen that she had every intention of sharing. They didn’t eat together very often, but she’d heard the boy come in rather late last night and knew a little food never hurt to liven someone after a long night. 

 "Stephen, honey." She called as she made her way into the loft. She made it only a few steps before faltering. She blinked once. Twice. 

 Lying face down with his arms and legs spread wide was an unfamiliar man in her son's bed. The sheets were tossed messily over his sure to be naked body. A pair of sweatpants laid to one side of the bed, looking like they’d been abandoned in the night. And a shirt that she knew to be Stephens was shoved up around the man’s shoulders. Curious. 

 Beverly took one look before gently setting down the basket of laundry and quietly making her way out again. 

 A quick trip into the garage led her to her missing son. Stephen was bent over his medical bag, replacing and organizing equipment. 

 "Breakfast is ready dear." Beverly gently laid a hand on her son's arm, giving a soft squeeze. 

 Stephen looked up with a smile. 

 "Your friend is welcome too. Preferably dressed of course." Beverly smirked over her shoulder as she made to leave. 

 Stephen couldn't even utter a word out before she was gone. 

 …..

 The table was quiet, aside from the scraping of silverware against plates. Stephen sat awkwardly hunched over his eggs and toast, trying to focus on eating and remembering what all he needed to get done today. This inopportune breakfast was throwing a bit of a wrench in his schedule, but he hadn’t the heart to turn down his mothers invitation. Not that she’d let him slip off without feeding his guest anyways.

 Said guest was currently sipping at the coffee that’d been prepared and scanning the morning paper without a care in the world. His brows furrowed every so often and his foot tapped an anxious rhythm but overall he seemed perfectly fine with this arrangement. 

 His parents on the other hand… Beverly was smirking nearly the whole time, shooting Stephen glances between bites of her muffin. She’d pointedly glance at Tony and then back to him with a raised brow, inviting Stephen to comment but the good doctor elected not to engage. His father looked rather annoyed with the whole affair, which wasn’t too surprising. 

 A rustling of paper jolted Stephen out of the glaring contest he was having with his mother. Tony smacked the folded up paper down onto the table and tilted his mug at it in an accusatory fashion. 

 “Apparently I am dead.” He grunted and took a swig of coffee. 

 “Oh that’s a bit of a bummer.” Beverly frowned.

 Stephen glanced down at the headline describing Tony Stark’s tragic demise. He hummed thoughtfully and took a careful sip of his tea. “I suppose that’s for the best.”

 “Well now that’s not very polite, Stephen.” Beverly chided. She swatted at her son with her napkin. 

 “Yea, have some respect for the recently deceased.” Tony grinned. He leaned towards Stephen with his chin cushioned against his hand. The display earned him an eye roll from both Mr. Strange’s. 

 The elder of the two rose from his chair with a grunt. He deposited his plate by the sink and made his way off towards the front door. It slammed behind him, leaving an ugly silence in its wake. Beverly was quick to sweep it away however. 

 “Oh don’t mind him, a bit of a recluse that one is.” She winked at Tony and then nodded towards the discarded paper. “That was quite something there, inviting terrorists to your house. What kind of a tactic would you call that?”

 “An idiotic one.” Stephen grumbled around a bite of toast. That earned him another stern look from his mother.

 Tony for his part did look a little chastised. “He’s not wrong. I wasn’t in the best place to be making decisions like that.” He admitted with a shrug. In fact he’d realized that not an hour after making said decision. He’d just been so angry, let the paparazzi get in his head while he was vulnerable to subterfuge. “A friend of mine was hurt in the last bombing. I was angry. I am angry. But putting myself and those close to me in danger wasn’t the solution.”

 Beverly nodded solemnly, her face was set in the perfect display of sympathy. She was a very sincere woman and made no show of hiding it. Stephen chewed slowly across from her. He pushed his plate slightly away and glanced towards the somber mechanic beside him. 

 That sure as hell didn’t sound like the arrogant playboy philanthropist Stephen had read about. It wouldn’t be the first time the media had gotten the image of a celebrity wrong. However, Tony had made quite a show of it all himself in the past. Perhaps the ending and saving of the world had humbled him. 

 “We all make mistakes.” Beverly smiled reassuringly. “Especially when grief is mixed in.”

 …. 

 The ride to town was a rather uneventful one all things considered. Stark didn’t make nearly as much a fuss as Stephen had expected him to. He kept mostly to himself, gazing out the window probably to get a better lay of the land now that it was daylight. Bats occasionally clambered onto Tony’s lap to get a good mouthful of the wind rushing by. The mechanic didn’t take too kindly to it at first but well into the drive he succumbed to rubbing at the pups flopping ears, a small resigned smile on his lips. 

 Fields of corn passed by in blurs for miles. Every once in a while a small house would pop up, its paint always chipped and driveway always dirt. They didn’t pass any other cars but Tony was a little startled to see a couple riding horseback along the road at one point. So very uneventful and boring, how did people live like this? It was another handful of miles before they started making it into town.

 They passed only a handful of buildings, most of them in rather rough shape. One particularly broken square of rubble caught Tony’s eye. A smattering of flowers and memorials lay solemnly around what looked to be a wall of a house, now nothing more than toppled over brick. “What’s the story there?” He asked, nodded towards the site.

 Stephen glanced over briefly before focusing back on the road. He was nothing if not a careful driver it seemed. “Chad Davis. He was ex-military, won a bunch of medals in the army. Some folks said he went crazy and made a bomb, then he blew himself up right there.”

 Tony watched the rubble growing further away in the side mirror. “Six people died, right?” 

 “Yeah.” Stephen replied.

 “Including Chad Davis?” 

 “Yep.” 

 Tony nodded slowly. He hadn’t caught a great glimpse at the site but he was sure he’d only seen five shadows. That didn’t make any sense. Six people and one of them didn’t leave behind a mark? The gears were turning in Tony’s head, clicking and clacking into various combinations that could solve this puzzle. “There were only five shadows.” He muttered.

 The doctor shifted beside him, his demeanor suddenly becoming a little antsy. He looked annoyed, or maybe not so annoyed but rather unsure how to tread here. He tapped his fingers against the wheel and sighed. “People have seemed to get it in their heads that the shadows are some celestial imprint.” He shook his head a little. “As if they are the marks of the souls that went to heaven.”

 Tony raised a brow, which Stephen met with a roll of his eyes. He didn’t seem like be bought any of the stuff he was saying. “Except Chad Davis. He went to Hell, so no shadow.” He finished the statement off with a dramatic spooky wiggle of his fingers as though he was casting a spell. 

 Tony grinned at the display. “I take it you don’t believe in all that?” 

 “Absolutely not.” Stephen scoffed. “I don’t partake in the religious rhetoric that festers in small towns.” 

 Tony hummed his agreement. But that still didn’t answer what actually happened. “Still begs the question.” 

 “His mother still lives here, she’d know more. She’s at the bar more times than not these days, we can check later tonight.” Stephen rested his arm against the open window, tapping his fingers on the rusted blue metal. It was at least worth a shot. Tony needed more answers before he could move forward with any of this mess.

 Stephen pulled the truck up outside a small general store and cut the ignition. 

 “That’ll be you over there,” He leaned over and pointed to the couple store fronts along the road. Across the street was a diner and further down the bar. “I have to go meet with a patient around the block. If you need me I’ll be at the red house.”

 Tony whipped around as Stephen climbed out of the truck. “Wait- you’re not coming with me?” He quickly followed suit out of the car, Bats jumped down after him. He didn’t wanna sound needy but he hadn’t a clue where to look for the things he needed. It’d be so much easier if the town resident at least gave him a hand.

 Stephen grabbed a hefty brown leather bag from the trunk, a very vintage looking monstrosity if you asked Tony. He remembered seeing it last night. That thing looked like it belonged in a medical museum. He half expected for the doctor to pull out a bone saw. The man rounded the car with a very unimpressed look on his face. He nodded towards the stores again. 

 “I am a doctor, not a mechanic. The only doctor here in fact so I am a busy man. Just because you decided to fall out of the sky and I offered - out of the kindness of my heart, mind you - to help you, doesn’t mean my schedule is any less full.” Stephen stated as he checked the time on his watch. Geeze even that poor thing looked like it belonged in the 50s. 

 “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. Everything you need should be over there. I’ll be back in an hour.” Stephen turned to leave, he made it five steps before he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. “Try not to cause any trouble, Stark.” He then resumed walking away.

 Tony scoffed and then looked down at Bats who sat at his feet patiently wagging his tail. “Is he always such an asshole?” 

 Bats barked happily in reply. He stood and trotted around in a circle a few times before looking back up at Tony and barking again. “I take it you’re my tour guide then. Lead on, Sir Bats.”

 …… 

 Roughly forty minutes later, Tony was shoving the last of the supplies he required into the back of the truck. There were a handful of boxes filled with tools and wires, things he hadn’t seen present at the Strange household that he’d need to fix up Mark 42. Hopefully he’d get this show on the road pretty quick, every minute of wasted time was another possible person getting blown up or worse. 

 Tony hopped down from the trunk and crouched to scratch at Bats ears. “Alright, should we go find your daddy?” He smirked to himself at his wording. Truly he was a child. 

 Like a drone zeroing in on its target, Bats trotted off away from the stores. Tony was quick to follow, a little amazed the creature seemed to know where he was going. His nose was down, sniffing left and right in a zigzag motion down the sidewalk. He turned the corner, heading towards a residential area. 

 Tony spotted the red house Stephen had previously mentioned he’d be residing. It was a decent size and even had one of those ridiculous white picket fences around the front lawn. Tony could just make out Stephen helping an older woman out onto the front porch. He steadied her arm and eased her down onto a quaint little bench swing. The woman was smiling pure sunshine and patted Stephen’s hand in thanks as he pulled away. Oddly enough Stephen was smiling just as kindly back. 

 By that point Bats had spotted his owner as well. He barked cheerfully and rushed past the jarred gate and up the steps to greet Stephen. 

 “Oh sweet boy!” The woman gasped. She leaned down to pat the excited pup. “I was wondering where you were, assistant Bats!” 

 Tony grinned at the nickname, of course the dog came with on Stephen’s house calls. Sick people loved animals, right? He shimmed past the gate himself but stopped at the stoop of the stairs, unsure how to tread here. Stephen was technically on the job, right? He probably should have waited in the car. Curiosity killed the cat and all that. 

��As if sensing his thoughts, the little old lady turned her gaze on him. She had big glasses that comically magnified her eyes. “And who’s this then, Stephen dear?” She asked with a voice made of honey. The doctor shifted beside her. 

 Before he could answer, however, Tony grinned and gave a wave. “Just a friend, visiting from out of town.” He brushed off easily. Really the less attention the better- which Tony never thought he’d be saying.

 “A friend, you say? Of Stephens? Why that’s something I’ve never heard of.” She cackled. The wooden swing created beneath her as she rocked back from the force of her laugh. 

 Stephen hardly suppressed an eye roll. He radiated annoyance, and yet his tone was still relatively kind as he replied, “yes well, stranger things have happened, Mabel.” 

 “Oh I jest, dear boy!” Mabel patted Stephen’s arm affectionately. She really was the embodiment of the stereotypical grandma figure. “Why, I can’t remember the last time Stephen left town. How ever did you meet?” She turned her attention back to Tony, the question obviously for him. Stephen looked again like he wanted to reply but the mechanic beat him to it. 

 “Oh ya know, my ride broke down out here and he swooped in like a knight in shining armor. He picked me up and put me back on my feet. You know what they say about doctors, catch yourself one of those and you’re set for life.” Tony gushed. So much for less attention. It was worth it to see Stephen struggle for control of the conversation.

 Mabel’s magnified eyes lit up and her smile grew tenfold. “Oh how romantic!” She gasped, hands flying to clutch in front of her chest as though she just witnessed a proposal. 

 Stephen, poor thing, was sputtering and very nearly red in the face. “That is-”   

 “Oh wait till the girls at the dinner hear! You know we’ve been trying to get this poor young thing to meet someone nice for ages. Of course fate would have to intervene. Dreadfully sorry about your car breaking down, but what a wonderful outcome!”     

 “Nooo,” Tony gapped, he could roll with the best of the gossips. “but he’s such a catch! I mean look at those cheekbones.” He paused to lean a little closer to Mabel. Cupping his hand over the side of his mouth he stage whispered, “Must be the personality, he can be a bit prickly.” And gave a cheeky wink.

 Mabel nodded solemnly. “He means well thought. Dear Stephen has been looking after me for years. Why if not for him I wouldn’t have made it nearly this far. He’s an excellent doctor, very sharp. I tell him all the time what an absolute blessing he is. Isn’t that right, Stephen?”

 “Yes Mabel, thank-”

 “But he does have a bit of an attitude.”  

 “-you…”

 Tony tossed his head back with a laugh. “I like you! Mabel, was it?” 

 “Oh yes, Mabel Witlock.” 

 “Alright! We should be getting on our way Ms. Witlock.” Stephen interrupted with a fierce clap of his hands. He still looked a little flushed in the face but it was undetermined whether that be from embarrassment or anger. What a fun game to play. 

 Mabel smiled knowingly at her doctor. She patted Stephen’s arm as he passed towards the stairs. “Oh take care, Stephen. It was a pleasure to meet you-”

 “Tony. You can call me Tony.” The mechanic grabbed Mabel’s outstretched hand in a gentle shake. They shared a smile and nod before Tony hurried off to catch up with his ride. Stephen had already marched himself to the road. Damn his long legs. 

 “And here I thought you’d have terrible bedside manners.” Tony cooed as he slowed next to Stephen. The man looked mostly recovered, but let it be known Tony doesn’t let things go. “That was really adorable back there. You, helping the little old lady. Very chivalrous and all that.”

 Stephen scoffed, “I was simply doing my job, Stark. Do you not treat your staff with basic forms of respect?”

 “I wouldn’t say I treat them like my nonna, no.” Tony swayed to catch a glimpse of Stephen’s eyeroll. He rocked back with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

 “Considering I’ve known her since I was a child, it’s not that big of a deal. You’re forgetting this is a small town, everyone knows everyone. In fact half the elderly population here probably babysat me when I was growing up. A city boy like you wouldn’t understand.”

  Now wasn’t that just the stereotype of the century! “Now you just sound like your father.” Tony just barely restrained himself from sticking his tongue out. 

 “He hasn’t said a single word to you yet.” 

 “Doesn’t have to, I can practically hear his internal monologue. Damn city slickers, get off my lawn!” Tony shouted in a butchered country accent. He lifted his fist to wave about and furrowed his brow to get a really good old man effect going. It all rips a laugh from the doctor. Which is a breath of fresh air to hear, Tony doesn’t think he’s heard anything sweeter. It brings a genuine smile to his face. 

 Stephen shook his head, laughter dying to a hum. “Don’t take it personally. You should have seen his expression when I told him I was going off to college. I might as well have stabbed him in the back, would have been less of a betrayal.” 

 “Don’t tell me you traded in your cowboy boots for loafers!” Tony gasped. 

 “How else does one get a phd?” 

 Tony paused, tilting his head to the side in thought. “I guess online school didn’t reach all the way out here?” He pondered aloud. “For all I know you guys just draw names from a hat and that’s the job you’re elected to do here. No phd’s needed.”

 Stephen looked to the sky as if trying to find the strength before he glared over at Tony. “I’ll have you know, I went to Columbia. Top of my class.” They rounded up to Stephen’s beat up blue truck by that point. He opened the door for Bats to jump inside, patting his head along the way. 

 “You don’t say… What the hell are you doing back here then?” Tony wondered aloud. Usually once people left their hometowns they didn’t come back. 

 “Long story. Did you get everything you needed?” Stephen inquired as he hauled his bag into the trunk, eyeing the boxes sitting nearby. 

 Touchy subject then, Tony noted. He patted one of the boxes with a nod, “Should have everything I need to get outta your hair.” 

 “Desperate for an escape, are we? Oh whatever would the world do without Tony Stark for a day.” Stephen grinned. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the edge of the trunk, staring down the celebrity hero on the other side. 

 Tony moved to mimic the doctor's stance, “Probably go up in flames, given the state of affairs right now.” It was said in jest but Tony couldn’t help the seed of fear that slipped in there. No, the world could do without Tony but they needed Iron Man, and last time he checked they were the same being. Because of that, Tony wasn’t allowed breaks. He had to be on constantly, he couldn’t waste his time galivanting out here in the fields while people were dying back home. 

 “So that all falls on your shoulders? No one else can save the world?” Stephen frowned, the snark of before instantly taking the backseat. He might be an asshole on most days but the way Tony said that statement felt too heavy. 

 Tony shifted uncomfortably. “Not with this. This is my mess to clean up.” He admitted. His fingers drummed along the rigid metal beneath his hands. Taking responsibility for things, that’s what he was supposed to do now, right? Accept you made mistakes, own up to them, and fucking fix it before it grows any worse. He was trying. Goddamn it he was trying so hard.

 Stephen watched the mechanic squirm beneath his gaze. “You’re not responsible for other people’s actions.” He said sternly. He knew what self doubt and hatred sounded like and this man, who saved the world not months ago, didn’t deserve to be questioning himself. 

 “I am if they are in direct correlation to me-”

 “No.” Stephen held up his hand, stopping Tony in his tracks. The billionaire has explained the situation earlier to him. Something along the lines of this maniac blaming Tony for his lack of help years ago, and perhaps a bit of spite for being such an asshole to the guy. “Passing on someone’s science project is not a means for domestic terrorism. Even if you left them hanging. You’re allowed to say no. You’re even allowed to be an asshole if you want. None of that warrants all of this.” 

 Stephen sighed heavily and pushed his hand back through his hair. “You’ve saved the world from an alien invasion for gods sakes, I think you’ve well made up for any tomfoolery in your past.”

 That was… well. Tony was a little stunned into silence for the first time in his life. “That was probably better than anything my therapist tried to tell me… you sure you're in the right kind of medical field, doc?” He was obviously deflecting but what did Stephen want him to say? Geeze they just met yesterday and already Stephen was a better acquaintance than ninety percent of the people closest to him. Pepper and Rhodey excluded, of course. 

 “Oh shut up.” Stephen pushed away from the truck and moved to get inside. Tony was quick on his heels to follow.

 “Just saying, very inspirational stuff!” Tony called, chuckling as Stephen slammed his door shut loudly. “Hey all this trauma dumping is making me hungry, when are you going to feed me?”

 …….

 The breeze was rich with summer wheat. A squeak of plastic cutlery shifting against styrofoam to-go boxes is the only sound besides the rustle of nearby crops. 

 Tony and Stephen sat quietly on the trunk of Stephen’s rusty old truck. Sitting around them were various containers from a nearby diner. Stephen had sequestered his new marvel away to the outskirts of town. They parked atop the highest hill, which for Nebraska was really only that, a hill. You could just about see the whole town from up there. 

 After their morning running between Stephens clients and needing to get Tony's supplies, they were in need of a little break. Boxes of various electrical equipment sat beside them, a show of their hard work.

 Tony chewed his burger slowly, contemplating the surroundings. Fields and dirt, aside from the practically one road town. It was rather dull, but it had charm. He certainly wouldn't survive here but to each their own. 

 "So," Tony cleared his throat, tossing aside his empty containers. "How does a top of his class doctor end up staying in a place like this?"

 Stephen paused his chewing, pointedly narrowing his eyes at the tin man across from him. 

 Tony stared back, unfazed. "I googled you." He explained. "You have quite the list of hospital ears ringing. You could be anywhere, and yet you choose here."

 Stephen sat his utensils down slowly. He swallowed and put his things aside. "It's honest work. The people here, they don't have the resources-"

 "Your talents are wasted here." 

 Stephen squinted at the land around them, lips pressed together tight. There was a strain around his eyes. "You're a special kind of douchebag aren't you."

 "Thank you." Tony smiled. 

 "My sister." Stephen eventually summoned the words. "She passed suddenly just after my graduation. My parents weren't in any position to run their business and grieve at the same time. I'd just moved out of the dorms so I came back to help them take care of things."

 "How many years ago?"

 "Fifteen.” Stephen poked at a fry with his fork, he didn’t talk about this often obviously. It was hard to vocalize, but it’d been so long since he’d made any admission out loud that it felt almost therapeutic. Maybe he never actually had said it out loud. “They never really got over it." Stephen sighed.

 Tony nodded. Eventually he turned his softened gaze on Stephen. "Did you?" 

 Stephen was again quiet for a long while. His mouth twitched as though to speak a few times before he chuckled uncomfortably and moved to hop off the trunk. "Says the man with ptsd." 

 "Hey, we're talking about your trauma right now, not mine!" 

 Bats clamored off the truck bed after Stephen, barking cheerfully as the man dropped his leftover fries for the pup to gobble up. He started cleaning up their trash, piling it all in their to-go bag and tossing it into the back seat. While he was back there he grabbed a red rubber ball and meandered back to Tony’s side. By the time he was done, Bats had finished eating his treats and noticed what was in his owner’s hand.

 Stephen smiled as his trusty companion’s tail began wagging back and forth like a little propeller. He tossed the ball up and down with one hand, watching as Bats hopped back and forth with the motion. After a little teasing he eventually gave in and chucked the ball into the field. Bats took off after it with all his might.

 “Like a Bats outta hell.” Tony grinned. 

 Stephen rolled his eyes fondly and took a seat on the edge of the trunk once again. A comfortable quiet had fallen over them as they watched Bats tumble around in the long grass like a tiny lion hunting its prey. 

 Tony was the one to break that quiet, obviously not quite finished with their earlier conversation. “Do you have any other siblings?”  

 Stephen breathed in deeply and let out a long breath. “A brother.” He nodded. “Victor. He moved away pretty young, and doesn't want anything to do with me. Which is fine, the feelings mutual.” Jeez he hadn’t thought of his brother in a while either. After Donna, things got estranged in the Strange household. Last he heard, his brother was off with some Morgana lady. 

 “Cutting out the toxic family abscess, nice.” Tony hummed his appraisal. 

 “You know a lot about toxic family abscesses?” Stephen asked. 

 The grin on Tony’s face honestly said it all. “Boy do I! Although mine lie more in the Daddy Issues category.” He winked for further effect. Stephen shook his head, deeply regretting asking. “But he’s dead and so is mom. Water under the bridge.”

  Bats trotted his way over to the duo, proudly holding his rubber ball high in the air for all to see. His jaw clenched and unclenched to make the toy squeak like a little car alarm going off. They both smiled at the gleeful hound. Stephen leaned down to wiggle the toy from the pup’s jowls and threw it again into the tall grass. After a few more throws to wear Bats out, the trio started getting ready to leave.   

 Tony shoved the trunk closed while Stephen helped the tuckered out pup into the front seat. When Tony joined them he patted Bats head and rubbed at his floppy ears. “Who’s a good boy?” Tony sang. Bats woofed and wagged his little tail this way and that. Stephen was whipped relentlessly by the appendage as he stuck the car into drive.

 “Alright alright, calm down.” Stephen chuckled, batting Bats back. “Where to, Stark?”

 ….

 Dusk was just starting to touch as Stephen pulled into town. The streets were mostly empty, save for the local pub crawlers and late dinner takers. He pulled into a small bar off the main road and then motioned for Tony to follow him out. 

 Stephen walked in first with an air of nonchalance. A few rounds of “Hey Stephen!” were shouted from various corners of the establishment. He waved kindly and threw a greeting or two back on his way towards a table. Tony smirked at the man’s apparent popularity. He couldn’t blame them, hell he was drawn to the mysterious doctor just as badly. 

 It’d only been a day since his house was blown to smithereens and he’d face planted into Nebraska, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of being glad he was here. Had any other doctor picked him out of that corn field, Tony wasn’t sure he’d be having as swell of a time. There was just something about Stephen. Maybe his wit or his charm, that inherent kindness just below his guarded exterior. It was all fascinating to the mechanic. He couldn’t help the bitter taste in his mouth at the thought of having to leave.

 Stephen guided the two to a small table off to the side. A waitress swung by to grab their drink order before disappearing again. As they waited for the drinks, Stephen took a sweeping glance around the room. He looked bored and uncaring but Tony could tell he was evaluating the crowd. His gaze faltered for all of a second before caring on until he returned to casually looking back at Tony. 

 “She’s the blonde in the navy sweater.” Stephen nodded his head ever so slightly in the direction he spoke of. 

 Sure enough Chad Davis’s mother sat by herself, nursing a glass of amber liquid. Tony didn’t look too long, but could see from there she had a file sat in front of her. Strange, expecting company was she? 

 “Guess that’s my cue.” Tony slowly started making his way over to her. He stopped short of her table with a polite smile and asked, “Mrs. Davis, mind if I join you?” 

 Mrs. Davis glanced up from her glass. She eyed Tony up and down lazily before shrugging, “Free country.” 

 “Sure it is.” Tony nodded and dropped down into the creaking wooden seat across from her. 

 As if preparing for battle, Mrs. Davis drew in a deep breath before sighing it back out again. She leaned back in her chair, looking tired beyond belief. “Alright, where do you wanna start?”

 “I just wanted to say I am sorry about your loss. I wanna know what you think happened.” Tony responded carefully. He eyed the folder lying close by before returning his full attention to the woman in front of him. He must have been right, she was waiting for someone. 

 “Look.” She sighed. “I brought your damn file, you take it and go.” She dropped the aforementioned document in front of Tony and waved him off. 

 Tony paused briefly before slowly flipping open the folder to take a glance. Pictures of Chad Davis in the army greeted him first, followed by a MIA document and various other paperwork. At first glance it all seemed straight forward. That’s when he noticed a series of pictures taken of fellow team mates, their names and status. A familiar name stood out. 

 Tony dropped the folder closed and glanced quickly towards Stephen, who was still sitting where he’d left him. He was twirling around a water and trying not to look Tony’s way too suspiciously. 

 “Look, Mrs. Davis I don’t think your son killed himself. I guarantee you he didn’t kill anyone.” Tony assured her seriously. “Someone used him. As a weapon.”

 Mrs. Davis stared at Tony for a moment as if she’d seen a ghost. It took her a minute to gather herself before she leaned forward and whispered in a broken voice, “You're not the one who called me here, are you?” 

 Before Tony could answer, a badge was smacked down on the table between the two. They both pulled away quickly, staring up at a woman in a black suit who’d suddenly appeared. Her lips were twisted in a sneer as she spat, “Actually, I am.” Then followed the statement by grabbing Tony by the arm and slamming him face down on the table. 

 From the corner of Tony’s eye he could see Stephen lunging from his seat. Around him voices shouted out, various “Wows!” and “Hey there’s!” but Tony could only hear his heart beginning to pound in his chest. All the noise of the bar blurred into a violent hum, pressure building at the back of Tony’s head. 

 Stephen was beside him before he could even blink, a vicious glare thrown at the woman currently manhandling him. 

 “What’s going on here?” Stephen asked sternly.

 “It’s called an arrest.” The woman answered as she cuffed Tony’s hands behind his back. Once sure that he wasn’t getting away, she turned to regard the nosey citizen. Her eyes raked over Stephen slow and calculating. She cocked her head to the side and asked in a curious tone, “Strange, is it?”

 If he was surprised by this stranger knowing his name, Stephen didn’t show it. He crossed his arms and leveled the woman with his best put-upon glare. “Doctor Strange. And you are?” 

 “Homeland security.” 

 Tony struggled against the cuffs quietly behind the woman. He kept his gaze locked on Stephen the whole time however, concern swelling in the pit of his stomach. This lady sure didn’t seem like she was interested in playing nice, and he’d be damned if he let Stephen get in the middle of it all. 

 “Are we good here?” Homeland security replied. 

 “Hardly. I am going to need more information than that.” 

 “That’s a little above your pay grade, doc.”

 “For an enforcer of the law you sure don’t know how said law works, do you? He’s entitled to know why he’s being arrested.”

 “Alright, I was hoping to do this the easy way here but-” The woman leaned in towards Stephen, a sinister gleam in her eye. Behind her back Tony watched as her hand began to glow a pulsing orange. His eyes widened and heart dropped. For a moment he feared he was going to have another goddamn panic attack, but he acted on the adrenaline before it could take hold. He kicked out the woman’s legs without an inch of remorse, causing her to tumble to the ground and land roughly on her glowing hand. 

 “Stephen, go!” Tony shouted, stumbling to his feet after the doctor. They pushed their way through the crowd and back out into the parking lot where Stephen’s truck still sat. 

 Bats perked up in alarm as the two men clambered into the car. Stephen struggled with his keys, his hands shaking ever so slightly. It took him a few tries to get the key to go into the ignition, but he eventually got the darn thing going. As he went to hit the gas however, a pair of glowing orange hands slammed upon the hood of the truck, leaving large indents in the metal. 

 “What the fuck?” Stephen gaped. “That- is she glowing?!”

 “Floor it!” Tony shouted. 

 “I- I am not gonna run over a human being!” Stephen shouted back. His hands gripped at the wheel so tight his knuckles were turning white.    

 Tony flailed about beside him, unable to gesture with his hands. “She’s barely human, it doesn’t count!” He argued. Bats barked loud and angry, Tony was sure the dog absolutely agreed with him. 

 Stephen took deep breaths and shook his head, “I cannot in good conscience hurt someone- I am a doctor! I took an oath!” This yelling back and forth was getting nowhere and the freaky lady was starting to- yep she was climbing onto the hood. 

 Fuck it.

 Stephen closed his eyes and let out a scream, mirrored by Tony as they jolted into forward motion. The tires screeched angrily as they ripped across the parking lot. Glowing lady held on for a good while until Stephen jerked the wheel, sending them onto the street. They could barely hear her yell over their own screaming as she went flying over the side of the car. 

 “Holly shit!” Tony shouted, head whipping back to watch Ms. Homeland Security barrel-roll along the pavement. She laid still once she came to a stop but Tony could tell she wasn’t done. Her limbs twitched and head turned slowly to watch the truck speed off.  

 …..

 Stephen was shaking. 

 The two had arrived back to the farm well into the night. The lights were all off in the main house, the Strange’s having all already turned in for the night. Even the lingering farm animals were all locked up safe in the barn. 

 They parked outside the garage, cutting the engine as soon as they came to a stop. Stephen hadn’t said a word the whole drive back, and the mechanic had been too tired - and preoccupied trying to get the handcuffs off his wrists - to break that silence. Not until Tony noticed the man had started shaking. 

 “Hey-” Tony started quietly. He was of course still handcuffed so he couldn’t reach out like he wanted to. Damn he was getting too comfortable with near death experiences. Of course Stephen was freaking out, any sane person would after being chased by a lady made of lava. He should have been more aware of the maelstrom building in Stephen’s nerves. 

 Stephen didn’t register dropping his keys to the floor as he leaned back, limp in his seat. They’d been too heavy for his unstable fingers to grasp. He stared out the front window at the handprints dented into the hood. 

 “I killed her.” Stephen whispered, voice cracking over the syllables. 

 Tony’s head whipped towards him, a struck expression crossing his face. “Hey no, no you didn’t kill her!” He argued. He shuffled to the side, letting Bats hop over him so he was sitting right beside Stephen. “I looked, she was moving, she’s fine.” 

 Stephen sucked in a shaky breath. His fingers gripped at his jeans for a long moment before beginning to rub along his thighs in a rhythmic motion. He closed his eyes and breathed out long and hard, and then repeated the motion of breathing in deep through his nose and out through his mouth several times. 

 “I still hurt her.” Stephen whispered, voice wavering with each careful breath he took.

 Tony resisted the urge to be snarky, his mouth tended to run off when he was uncomfortable. Or really all the time, let’s be honest. But he didn’t want to upset the doctor any further. To Stephen this lady was probably just some coocoo who snapped. Sure he had an inkling she was dangerous but to a pacifist doctor type like Stephen, he probably didn’t think violence was the answer. Stephen didn’t know this superheroing shit could get you killed.

 “She would have killed us.” Tony said with no room for argument. Stephen’s brows furrowed at his words. 

 “You don’t know that-”

 “Everyone wants to kill me.” Tony cut that train of thought off before it could fester. He shrugged as though being a target wasn’t a big deal. “Hell, I am technically dead right now and jacked up super villains are still after my head!” 

 That earned him a strained chuckle. Stephen was eventually able to slow his jittery hands and even out his breathing. Tony sat patiently the whole time, he could honestly learn to take some notes to help deal with his own recent panic attacks. 

 “Why do I get the feeling that pleases you?” Stephen shook his head, beyond done with this man’s antics. 

 Tony grinned all the while, definitely the cat who got the cream. He wiggled his brows playfully, “What can I say? A little danger keeps the blood pumping, doc.” 

 With a final huff of breath Stephen straightened his back and opened his eyes. He glanced over at Tony, feeling a pang of guilt for how worried the man looked. He hid it well around his usual cocky grin but the way he angled towards the doctor with his full attention hardly felt relaxed. He was facing Stephen, leaning his left side against the seat to counter out his awkward balancing act with no hands. He had his head tilted towards Stephen’s shoulder, mere inches and his chin could have been resting on it. He looked like a kicked puppy.

 Stephen leaned a little to meet Tony’s gaze. He felt the unbearable urge to do something lame like kiss his forehead. He settled for brushing a stray hair back into place upon Tony’s head. He smiled softly. “Let’s get you out of those handcuffs.”

 A cheeky little grin spread across Tony’s face at the comment. He tipped his chin the rest of the way forward to fully rest on Stephen’s shoulder and smugly replied, “Is that the only thing you wanna get me out of?” 

 “Insufferable.” Stephen scoffed and shoved Tony’s head back with a palm flat against his forehead. Tony tipped off balance and landed back against Bats, earning an annoyed bark and face licks in retaliation. 

 ….. 

 The soft patter of keys clicking away on a keyboard echoed around Tony. He was hunkered down in Stephen’s little kitchenette. All the lights were off around him, the only light coming from the laptop resting in front of Tony. He hadn’t wanted to wake the doctor, who’d just nodded off a few hours ago. He laid only a handful of steps away in the bed in the middle of the room so Tony was trying his hardest not to be too loud. Damn loft floor plans. 

 He’d just gotten off the phone with Rhodey, who’d given him passwords to access the AIM files he needed. He was now currently going through video after video of Aldrich goddamn Killian interviewing soldiers for his little stem project. 

 He grit his teeth as he looked through the Extremis Phase 1 Testing videos. Groups of people were being strapped down and injected with the product. Over the length of the video the patients began glowing orange, their skin darkened and cracked like rocks splitting across lava. Amazingly missing limbs began growing back, as if they’d never lost them to begin with. 

 “That’s incredible.” 

 Tony nearly fell out of his chair from alarm as he whipped around and came face to face with a sleepy looking Stephen. He gripped his chest and puffed out a hard breath. “Jesus don’t you know not to startle a man with heart issues!” 

 Stephen chuckled and leaned back out of Tony’s space, “It’s a good thing there is a doctor on hand.” He started making his way around the kitchen, grabbing two mugs and a box of tea. 

 “If you’re making the leaf juice, I’ll pass.” Tony grumbled. He focused back on the video still playing as Stephen scoffed in the background. The video resumed with the testing but it seemed as though something was going wrong with one of the subjects. Killian shouted for everyone to evacuate. The clip cut to the subject screaming in agony as his body glowed brighter and brighter, looking like he was about to pop. And just as suspected an explosion erupted from the struggling man, blowing the lab apart in the process. 

 Tony leaned back in his chair, stomach turning at the images. “A bomb that’s not a bomb.” 

 “Sorry?” Stephen yawned. He watched the kettle on the stove warm to a boil and then proceeded to pour the steaming water into the mugs. 

 “The bombs, they’re not bombs they are people.” Tony sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. 

 Stephen leaned his elbows on the countertop as he slowly stirred his steaming tea. His brows furrowed at Tony’s comment, not quite understanding what the man was getting at and honestly not awake enough to comprehend anything anyways. He took a tentative sip and then sat the mug back down but kept his hands wrapped it, savoring the warmth. 

 “Aldrich Killian thinks he can play god, make a chemical that can regrow limbs and cure any illness. Sounds like a dream, right? Except the side effects are walking jackolanterns blowing up town square.” Tony closed his computer and wandered over to lean on the counter opposite Stephen. “Chad Davis was the bomb. This chemical caused him to overheat like a hot pocket.”

 “Lovely visuals, thanks.” Stephen grimaced. He stared down at his hands in thought. “I’ve heard that name. Killian. Read some of his papers.”

 “Please don’t tell me you’re pen pals or something-”

 “It was one email, calm down.” Stephen rolled his eyes. “I just brought it up because I remember him living in Miami at the time, he was building up some facility down there. I assume you’re going after him, yes?”

 Tony regarded Stephen before conceding he had a point. “Yea, I have Jarvis working on it.” 

 ……

 “It’s totally fine, sir. I seem to do quite well for a stretch and then at the end of the sentence I say the wrong cranberry.” Jarvis cheerfully spoke from the head of Tony’s suit. 

 Tony blinked once, twice.

 “And sir, you were right. Once I factored in available AIM downlink facilities I was able to confirm Doctor Strange’s intel. It appears your next destination is Miami, Florida.” 

 Stephen, the smug bastard, grinned from across the room. He sipped loudly at his nearly finished tea. Strewn out between them were bits and pieces of the Iron Man suit connected to various wires and batteries that the two had managed to snag on their last trip to town. Tony had set up shop in the garage, not wanting to take up any more room in Stephen’s actual residence. 

 Tony clapped his hands together, “Alright, good work team.” He plopped down onto a nearby stool and began typing away at the laptop nearby. “What’re our levels at, Jar?” 

 “Minimal charging.” Jarvis replied solemnly. 

 Tony ripped his hands away from the computer and stood abruptly. 

 “The power source is questionable, it may not succeed in revitalizing the Mark 42.” 

 “What’s questionable about electricity!?” Tony shouted. A wave of unbridled unease began making its way down his spine. Like a shot of liquid ice trickling quickly through his vines and accumulating in a big twisted ball in his stomach. It felt like a physical punch to the gut. Tony staggered away from the table. 

 Goddamn it, it was happening again. How many times was he going to have to sit through one of these freak outs? Was once not enough? Twice? Christ when were they going to end! 

 Jarvis’s voice slowly muffled into nothingness. Tony’s ears felt stuffed with cotton, he could hear nothing but the ringing alarms in his head and the rapid thump thump thump of his heart. Pins and needles pricked at his fingers, slowly making their way up his arms. He was losing feeling, it was just fuzzy beneath his skin. Was he having a heart attack? A stroke?

 As Tony made his way to drop to the floor, he felt a pair of arms grab him around the waist. He was gently lowered to the ground rather than uncontrollably dropping like he had planned. He sat his hands against the arms around him, trying to make out the feeling of the other person. Stephen? Was it Stephen? Most likely. 

 His vision swam for minutes, speckled with black spots. He tried to breathe, knowing it was the only thing he could do right now to ground himself. It was just so hard when he could barely even make out if he was breathing at all. Over the pounding of his heart and the shaking of his limbs, he couldn’t tell. 

 Something cold was gently pressed against the back of his neck and in the next moment Tony felt his consciousness being ripped back to the present. He gasped and blinked several times, slowly taking in where he was and accounting for all his limbs. The needle like sensation dulled, the blurry vision cleared, but his heavy breathing and light shaking persisted. 

 “That’s it. It’s ok, Tony.” A gentle voice soothed like a balm on an open wound.

 Tony relaxed back against the hold around him. The cool press of a damp fabric against his neck shifted, rubbing carefully behind his ears and along the curve of his shoulder blade. Tony sighed and leaned into the touch. 

 After an unknown amount of time Tony felt well enough tethered to sit forward on his own again. He breathed a moment before peeking back over his shoulder at the man sitting behind him. Stephen was leaned up against a cupboard with his legs parted to fit on either side of Tony. He had a carefully calm expression on his face. A wet rag sat between his hands. He fiddled with it, obviously nervous. 

 “Putting something cold on the back of your neck helps.” Stephen explained. He looked adorable. “The uh nerves behind your ears pick up signals when you're having a panic attack, overriding those signals with the cold sensation can help calm you down…” 

 Tony slowly started smiling and eventually grinning at the silly doctor behind him. He was trying so hard to be helpful. God, when was the last time someone cared about him like this? Pepper and Rhodey were always there, always kind and wonderful and everything Tony needed. He would never discredit their worth. It was just that this, this thing with Strange, it felt different. This guy who he met only days ago had wormed his way into his heart like a thief in the night. Now he was listening to said man ramble on about medical facts Tony couldn’t give a single shit about but he’d kill for it to never end. 

 “Thanks, doc.” Tony eventually interrupted. 

 Stephen nodded. “Anytime, Mr. Mechanic.” 

 Mechanic, huh? Tony hummed thoughtfully as he glanced up at the mismatched bits of Iron Man laying across the table. He didn’t have time to wait for a full battery charge, but he could maybe bide some time. Guess he’d just have to build something if his suit was out of commission. 

 “Hey Stephenie, mind if I borrow your car?”

 …..

 “Here.” Stephen flipped the latch on his watch and pulled it from his wrist. “Use this, it’s got an alarm built into it. That way you’ll know when your suit is done cooking.”

 Tony took the time piece into his hands carefully. It was the same he’d spotted the doctor wearing earlier. The black leather strap was worn down, obviously a well loved piece of wrist wear.

 “It's a limited edition so I am obviously going to want that back.” Stephen crossed his arms. 

 “Obviously.” Tony grinned. “Or is this just your way of saying I have to come back to visit you?” He teased playfully. If he was being honest there might have been a shred of truth hidden somewhere in that comment. Cause who was he kidding? He wanted to come back for Stephen after all this was said and done. He just hoped that was something Stephen wanted too.

 Stephen rolled his eyes affectionately, “I should be owed compensation for all you’ve put me through, Stark.” 

 “And yet you want to see me again?” Tony stepped forward, batting his eyes. Say yes, please say yes. Gods what was he, some desperate lady in waiting? He’d not been able to shake the tight lump in his throat since he came to the realization it was time to go. He didn’t want this to be the end.

 The doctor pursed his lips like he was holding back a grin. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them to look Tony straight on. His face softened, “Yes, Tony. I want to see you again.”

 A gust of air rushed from Tony’s lungs. He immediately tried to play it off by nodding and looking down to fiddle with the watch still in his hands. “Good. Cool.” He couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his cheeks. “Cause ya know, you’ve not even seen my real toys. You think Mark 42 is cool, just you wait till you see my lab- or well…” He paused, no house means no lab. “Shit no lab, right, um-” 

 Stephen gently brushed his fingers over Tony’s cheek, saving him from the stream of nonsense coming out of his mouth. “I think I’d rather spend a little more time with you than your bots, so don’t sweat it.” He froze as the doctor leaned in to lay a soft kiss against his other cheek. 

 ….. 

 It started shortly after Tony had left. The vans. They were black, unmarked, and most importantly never seen before around here. They sat parked in various places Stephen often frequented. At first he paid them little mind but as he kept noticing them, the further curious he got. 

 "Take care Stephen!"

 The doctor smiled and gave a wave over his shoulder as he left his clients house. He was heading to his truck when he saw it. A black van sitting across the street. He watched from the corner of his eye as he sat his bags in the trunk. 

 Bats barked cheerfully from the back seat, excited to be getting on the road again. This was their last stop so it was now time to head home. 

 Stephen hopped into the diver seat, giving a hearty head scratch to his faithful companion. "Ready?" 

 The engine roared and off they went down the road. Minutes later the black van followed. 

 It was only once they were out of town that Stephen really noticed. A sinking feeling sat heavy in his stomach as bright headlights flashed in his rearview mirror. He kept his hands steady on the wheel, speeding up gradually. The van sped up as well.

 Mere seconds later Stephen was lurched forward. The van rammed into his back. Before he could even react, the truck was flipping into the ditch and straight into an electrical pole. The only thing Stephen would remember is the soft whining of Bats and the slide of a van door opening. 

 …..

 Waking up zip tied to a rusty old bed frame was not written on Tony’s agenda for today, and yet here he was. It wasn’t even the oddest position he’d woken up in before, although it didn’t make the situation any lighter. At least the bed was standing up and he wasn’t subjected to lying down. That would have been a different kind of party. 

 Last thing he remembered was breaking into one of Killian’s AIM facilities. In retrospect taking out a mansion full of guards with a littering of hand made weapons from a hardware store probably wasn’t the greatest planning, but Tony thought he’d done pretty good all things considered. Now though? Now he was thinking he probably should have brought backup. At least he still has Stephen’s watch ticking away on his wrist. As long as he waited long enough, he could blow this dusty, rusty, popsicle stand.

 A quick scan of the room revealed a more or less dungeon vibe, with a mad scientist twist. There was a smattering of tables all lined with medical equipment, test tubes, and computers with various stats and readings on what Tony could only assume were Extremis samples. The rest of the room was dark and dingy, a concrete hole in the ground. 

 Tony rolled his eyes at the whole thing. How stereotypical could these villains get, honestly. He was interrupted from his musings by the echo of shoes on cement. 

 “You know what my old man used to say to me? One of his favorite of many sayings. The early bird catches the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.” Killian announced as he made his way down the stairs and over to one of the few tables. He was wearing a ridiculous cream colored suit that really just made him look like a Bond villain. 

 Tony lolled his head to the side, tracking the man’s presence around the room. “Not still pissed off about Switzerland, are you?” 

 “How could I be pissed at you, Tony?” Aldrich grinned. He sat a briefcase down at the table before turning to give the mechanic his full attention. “I am here to thank you. You gave me the greatest gift that anyone has ever given me.” He gushed as he took tentative steps towards Tony’s hanging body. With a dark gleam in his eye, he leaned in and said breathlessly, “Desperation.” 

 Turning to pace in front of him, Killian professed. “If you think back to Switzerland, you said you’d meet me on the rooftop, right? Well for the first twenty minutes, I actually thought you’d show up. And the next hour I- well I considered taking the one-step shortcut to the lobby if you know what I mean.”

 “Honestly, I am still trying to figure out what happened to the first mouse.” Tony lazily replied. He refused to give this manic an ounce of satisfaction.

 “But as I looked out over that city,” Killian continued without missing a beat. “I had a thought that would guide me for years to come. Anonymity, Tony. Thanks to you it's been my mantra ever since. You simply rule from behind the scenes. Because the second you give evil a face, a Bid Laden, a Gaddafi, a Mandarin, you hand the people a target.”

 Christ. Tony’s brow twitched with annoyance. “You’re something else.” He spat. This monologue was getting dull, but a quick glance at Stephen’s watch said he still had too much time to waste. Willing himself to not lash out, Tony asked, “What’s next for you in your world?”

 Killian’s eyes lit up from where he’d taken a seat at the desk he’d laid his briefcase at. He turned slowly to catch Tony’s eye. “Well, I wanted to repay you the selfsame gift that you so graciously imparted to me. Desperation.” 

 Well that didn’t sound good. 

 As if on cue, the doors upstairs slammed open and a gurney was led down a nearby ramp. 

 "It really is wonderful, live test subjects." Killian hummed as he slowly rose to meet the party.

 Several men filed in around the body, that of which was outfitted with suspensions for the patient's hands to be elevated. The person was wrapped thoroughly in gauze and bandages, many of which were speckled with dried blood. 

 "Tragic really, a simple accident causing so much damage." Killian snapped on a pair of gloves, very dramatic like. The men around him moved a tray with needles and various tools within Killians reach. "But you know those back water roads." He continued casually. "One little bump and you're in the ditch. And with no hospitals nearby… well the damage could be irreversible." 

 Up until that point the scene was really only disturbing at most. Tony couldn’t see the injured patient around the various men, and as horrible as it was to witness some poor innocent lackey get pushed around for show, that’s all it was. A poor innocent lackey. Someone Tony didn’t have any ties to. At least that’s what he thought. Until Killian opened his goddamn mouth and ruined it all.

 Tony stiffened. The men continued to stand guard around the bed, preventing the mechanic from getting a good look. He needed them to move. He needed to see, to be sure. It couldn't be-

 The zip ties enclosed around his wrists strained with the force Tony put into yanking forward. He grit his teeth, heart pounding loud in his ears. This couldn't be happening. Stephen wasn't supposed to be here. He was a civilian, he was supposed to be home, with his fields and his dog. But no he was lying there wrapped in bandages and unconscious. And his hands, christ, what had they done to him… 

 "Stephen!" Tony called. The man laid still on the gurney, not a single twitch or hum of response. Perhaps it was a blessing he wasn’t awake to feel the most likely excruciating pain he’d be in.  

 Tony cursed internally, the boiling rage beneath his skin had him shaking from the force. Goddamn it, how could he let this happen. If Stephen died because of this, he didn’t know how he’d ever feel ok again. Guilt mixed with the rage until a toxic concoction of hate bubbled inside, oh how he was going to rip Killian apart. 

 Killian hummed as he prepared a needle. "Worry not Stark, he lives. Barely. You see I wanted to show you first hand what my little science experiment is capable of. And to do that I needed a truly damaged volunteer."

 "Volunteer." Tony spat. The metal of the bedframe he’d been tied to creaked angrily. 

 Killian chuckled. He flicked the syringe and then lowered the point to Stephen's arm. 

 Tony yanked viciously against his restraint. "Don't you dare touch him!" He yelled uselessly. His screams did nothing to stop Killian from breaking skin. He could do nothing but watch as Extremis made its way into the doctor’s blood stream.

 And that's when the convolutions start. 

 It was jerking moments every few minutes, as if Stephen was being startled awake without actually waking up. His eyelids would twitch and brows furrow but he wouldn’t rise from his slumber. The jerking eventually turned into full body shivering. The tell tale sign of the chemical working through his system was showing by the orange glow of his veins.

 Meanwhile, Killian had lazily snapped off his surgical gloves and started directing his men what to do and where to go. He appeared to be getting ready to leave, which should have alarmed Tony but the mechanic couldn’t pull his eyes from the beads of sweat forming on Stephen’s forehead. 

 “I am not sure if you can tell, but the body is trying to decide whether to accept Extremis or just give up.” Killian mused. He stopped next to Stephen’s head and ran the back of a finger along the moisture growing at his temple. A fascinated little smile pulled at his cheeks. “And if it gives up, I have to say the detonation is quite spectacular. But until that point, it’s really just a lot of pain.” 

 Tony jaw popped from clenching his teeth so viciously. He tried not to show the turmoil this was putting him through, but it was a tough thing. Standing there, unable to do anything was tearing him apart from the inside out.      

 “While this has been fun, I really must be going.” Killian sighed regretfully. He waltzed over to Tony with his hands tucked in his pockets. He looked far too smug for a man Tony planned to rip apart in the near future. He stopped just far enough away to not risk getting kicked.

 “You’re a maniac.” Tony ground out. 

 “No, I am a visionary.” Killian corrected eagerly. He leaned forward and patted Tony on the cheek like one does a dog. The mechanic stood still, not giving into the desire to bite.

 With that Killian turned away in a flourish. He made his way to the stairs, but stopped to look back at Stephen’s now withering form. His eyes raked over the man’s frame, and then glanced up to Tony. “He is quite the specimen.” Killian purred. “Perhaps when this is all over I should rekindle that connection we had.” He left that pondering thought with Tony, disappearing through the doorway soon after.

 The silence that lingered was mind numbing. 

 The men that were left to stand guard milled around the room at leisure. It was a small relief that they didn’t go near Stephen or mess with the tubes and wires he was hooked up to. Tony thought he’d go mad watching the doctor lay there panting and shaking as though consumed by a raging fever. A chime from his wrist, however, pulled him away from that dark path. 

 The alarm had finally gone off, looks like time had worn out. 

 …..

 “Come on Steph, you promised we’d go swimming!” 

 A soft crunch of tall grass snapping under barefoot rose from the otherwise undisturbed meadow. It was followed by giggling and the unmistakable chatter of children running, awakening the quiet land. The sun was high in the afternoon sky, blazing hot just like all sticky July summer days in Nebraska. A mop of brown hair bounced along the tips of the overgrown brush, heading for an opening to the river.

 Stephen breathed slowly, feeling sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He watched his excited sister feet ahead of him. He’d promised her a trip to the river and today she was cashing in. It was steaming with heat, really a perfect day to be relaxing in the cool tides. The air was hazy, rippling like a rock plunging into water. You could visibly see the hot thick soup that was humidity weighing heavy on the land. 

 Stephen gulped down a bout of nausea that wrestled in his stomach from the heat. It felt like being cooked from the inside out. He feared his insides would boil and explode before he’d make it to the water. 

 Donna was already gone from sight, damn her agility. Stephen sighed and hurried along, one foot in front of the other. It was vexing how tired and overwhelmed he felt. Perhaps a heat stroke was setting in? Although he’d barely been out here long enough. He trudged his way through the lanky grass, brushing his fingers over the tips of their blades. He jerked his hand back however as a sharp pain along his hands blinded him. It lasted only a moment but nearly knocked him over. He stared down at his hand, bewildered to find nothing out of the sort. Perhaps something bit him, or the grass nicked him just right… 

 “Stephen, hurry up!” Donna yelled, well within the cover of nearby trees. Stephen could just make out the sound of splashing and excited giggling. Well at least she was having fun. 

 “Coming.” Stephen tried to yell but the words stuck heavy in his throat. He breathed deeply, or tried to, finding it hard to gather air into his damp lungs. God what was wrong with him? It wasn’t like he was out of shape, he walked through brush like this all the time. It was just as though all the energy had been zapped from him, replaced rather with burning lead. He was weighed down, drowning.

 A scream rippled through the air, startling Stephen from his melting demise. He stumbled to a stop, head snapping towards the river bed where he knew his sister to be. 

 “Donna?” He called. 

 No response. 

 Mustering all his strength, Stephen quickened toward the trees. He gasped for air as he broke through the brush, eyes traveling the expanse of the rumbling stream before him. The river was rushing by, a strong current pulling anything and everything in its path. How odd, the water was always calm in this part. 

 “Donna?” Stephen called again, stumbling down to the bank where he saw his sister's few belongings. 

 “Stephen, help!” Donna cried from just down the way. She was gripping onto a slimy cluster of rocks on the opposite side, chin just barely above the water. The current pushed ruthlessly against her, splashing gulps of water straight into her face. 

 A bout of dread lurched hard in his stomach at the sight. “I am coming, hang on!” Stephen shouted back. He hurried into the tide but stopped suddenly as the water made contact with his ankles. It was hot. The water was scorching hot. Stephen flew back, landing hard on the muddy incline with a scream. His skin blistered and smoked, angry red and white bubbles puckered his exposed flesh. He went to grab at his ankles but the sharp pain in his fingers from before arose again, this time spreading along his entire hands. 

 “Steph please!-” A gurgle called from across the stream. Donna was slipping below the water line. Her eyes were wide with fear and fingers clawed desperately at the rock for purchase.

 Stephen watched in horror as Donna lost her hold. She was swept soundlessly into the current. Stephen rushed the water, burning be damned. He could feel nothing but sweltering pain along every inch of his body as he dove after his sister. He didn’t know how long he lasted, for before he knew it he was losing consciousness. The world around him blurred into darkness.

 …..

 The next thing Stephen knew he was jolting awake to the smell of fire. A black sky was high above him, clouds of billowing smoke rising after it. All around him were parts of building equipment and burning metal. Where the absolute hell was he? 

 A series of beams and broken bits of what looked suspiciously like iron man suits started raining down around him, startling him out of any sort of trance he’d been in. On top of that the king of dramatic entrances himself suddenly dropped out of the sky. Stephen’s throat caught as Tony, barely covered in a suit of armor, caught himself a foot off the ground with his one working repulsor. He flailed through the air and landed with a resounding thunk and clatter of metal on concrete. 

 All was still as Tony groaned and sat up. He looked in rough shape but at least he was moving. Stephen was just pushing himself to his feet when he caught sight of a smoking shadow lumbering towards Tony. The creature's body was badly mangled and burnt to a charcoal black. The skin, which was basically just ash at this point, was cracked in spider web like patterns, revealing a glowing lava like substance below. 

 As Stephen got closer he could just make out the burning man ranting. He was spitting in rage, shouting something about being the Mandarin all along. Stephen didn’t care what he had to say, all he knew was this walking smore was clambering at Tony with the intention of violence. Making a quick scan of the area, Stephen grabbed for the first thing that could be used as a weapon. He snatched up a metal pole and swung it over his shoulder as he neared closer to the man. Without further ado, Stephen rammed the pole as hard as he could into the fire hazard, sending him flying across the way. He landed straight into a collapsing scaffolding, causing a massive explosion. 

 Tony sat stunned around his pile of flaming robot parts. He blinked and slowly closed his dropped jaw. “Yea, I got nothing.” He said, stunned into silence. 

 Stephen turned in the direction, taking note of the aches and pains spreading slowly along his bones. “T-Tony?” Stephen whispered at the sight of the billionaire a couple feet away. Stephen shuffled towards the mechanic, desperate to close the distance between them. 

 The last thing he remembered before waking up was driving off the side of a road. Nothing around him was familiar, it was all highly disorienting. He just killed a man for god sakes! Or not a man perhaps but something sentient at least. Tony was the one drop of comfort in this pool of unknown, and he’d be damned if he didn’t reach out and grab it. 

 Tony staggered towards him, he quickly grabbed onto Stephen, halting his stumbling. “Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” Tony hushed. He wound his arms around Stephen’s waist, holding his shaking frame until the man managed to get a better hold of himself. Even then he kept his arms firmly in place.

 Stephen gripped at Tony’s shoulders, fingers clenching around the mechanics damp undershirt. He eased up only a little once he was sure Tony wasn’t going to move away. “What happened?” He managed to squeeze out around haggard breaths. As he started settling down, more questions started assaulting his brain. “Where are we? How did I get here?- Did I just kill that guy!?”

 Tony tightened his hands on Stephen’s sides, giving a little squeeze in hopes of grounding the man as he said slowly, “Hey, just take some breaths for me, ok? I will explain everything, I promise.” He nodded as he spoke, watching the doctor’s eyes carefully for signs he was registering what was being said. He gave a smile when he got a tentative nod in reply. 

 Stephen closed his eyes and did as Tony asked, taking in careful breaths. He focused on the brush of the hero's thumbs rubbing soothing circles just above his hips. He also started taking further note of how he was feeling. There were aches that lingered in his arms, legs, and especially his hands, that weren’t there the last time he remembered. His head was swimming in a fog, a fog that felt like scorching steam. Gods, was he always this hot? Or was it due to the fire blazing around them? 

 “That’s it. How’re you feeling, Stephen?”

 Stephen sighed. “Like I’ve been run over by a truck.” He laughed with no real humor. 

 “I mean, you’re not too far off.” Tony winced. “First, there is something I need to tell you.”

 “Well that’s not alarming at all.” Stephen frowned. 

 “What’s the last thing you remember?” Tony reached a hand up between the two of them to grab hold of Stephen’s cheek. He rubbed his thumb over the man’s tantalizing cheekbones and waited until Stephen met his gaze. 

 “I was driving home and some van drove me off the road. I must have been knocked out.” Stephen struggled to remember anything more but nothing came to mind. He leaned into the soft touch and Tony’s hand.

 “Right, ok.” Tony nodded. “So don’t freak out but you were hurt like- really bad in that crash, Stephen. Killian’s men took you and they gave you Extremis.” 

 Stephen jolted back like he’d just been slapped. He looked down at his relatively fine looking body, he didn’t look like he’d sustained any injuries. He tentatively pulled his hands from Tony’s shoulders and examined his shaking digits. He could faintly see what looked like scars along the backs of his fingers.

 “The majority of your injuries have healed from the chemical-”

 “But it’s still inside me.” Stephen finished nervously. “Am I gonna- What’s going to happen to me?” His brain very kindly started recalling those testing videos he’d seen Tony watching at the farm. Was he going to explode? Gods he really didn’t want to be a hot pocket. For all he knew he had hours before the fireworks would go off, maybe minutes. Did he need to back away from Tony? He didn’t want to hurt the man.

 As if sensing the oncoming maelstrom brewing inside Stephen, Tony moved his hand from the man’s cheek to rake through his hair. “Nothing! I promise. I’ve already got people working on a cure, you’ll be fixed up before you even know it.” He swore, tucking some stray hairs away from Stephen’s face.”You’re going to be fine.”

 Fine seemed relative. Stephen wasn’t sure he’d be completely fine anytime soon. How did hero’s do this all the time? This living on the edge, juggling your life for the sake of others, it was all so draining. This was honestly the most action he’s had his entire life, and he was pretty sure he was tapped out from here on. 

 “What happened to Killian?” Stephen asked cautiously.

 Tony lowered his hand from Stephen’s hair and placed it gently back on the man’s waist. He looked over his shoulder and nodded towards the scorch marks on the ground. “That guy you jousted into the building? Yea that was him.”

 Stephen followed Tony’s line of sight. There was nothing left but a blazing fire and broken equipment. Somewhere in that raging inferno was a rotting Aldrich Killian. “Is he-”

 “Probably…” Tony shrugged. He turned back to catch the doctor’s gaze again with a reassuring smile. “Don’t sweat it, Doc. The guy was a literal terrorist and about to rip my head off. I think I owe you one. Actually, I think I owe you many ones.”

 “You can start by getting us the hell out of here.” Stephen countered. He could also really go for a drink.

 “That- yea we should definitely do that.”

 …….

 It was a quiet afternoon on the farm. One of those breezy days where the wind rustled the leaves and grass just right, bringing about a little nature made melody. The sun played peekaboo around fluffy white clouds, warming the land just enough to not be unbearable. 

 Stephen sat far off in the field under a towering old oak tree. Laying on his propped up knees was a book and off to the side of him was a little basket covered by a checkered towel. It’d been a while since he had a moment of peace like this, left alone to his own devices. He could just sit here, breathing in the fresh scent of nature and just be. 

 Naturally the metallic hum of repulsors overhead had to interrupt the sanctuary Stephen had made for himself. It lasted only a minute before there was a solid thud followed by the shifting of metal on metal, and then all was quiet except for the soft crunch of shoes on grass. Stephen didn’t even bother looking up from his book when a warm weight suddenly dropped beside him. His shoulder was jostled as the peace intruder shifted against the tree and nudged their way closer. 

 Stephen eyed the hand that was sneaking over his thigh and making tip-toe like steps with each finger. They stopped a breaths width from his hand, then oh so gently started tracing lines along the back of his fingers. The touch brought a fond little smile to Stephen’s face. 

 It’d been a little over a month since Extremis had officially vacated the doctor’s body. It was by far not an enjoyable process, but Stephen couldn’t complain about the company he got through it. Despite having a destroyed house to deal with and all the business that came with being a superhero, Tony spent nearly the whole time by Stephen’s side. When Stephen wasn’t being poked and prodded in the lab, he was given free rein of Tony’s private quarters in the tower. Together they watched movies, ate nice food, and spent long afternoons just chatting. It was a nice change of pace to all the chaos they’d been through previously. 

 Now, a month later, and all that was left to remember the event was a slight tremor in Stephen’s hands. The nerve damage done by the car crash hadn’t healed properly and apparently never would. Tony was very conscious of this fact and took extra care around his hands. The man had tried to solve the issue numerous times but nothing had helped. Stephen had also looked into countless remedies but alas, no luck. 

 Closing his book, Stephen surrendered his hand over to Tony. Their fingers tangled together in a loose hold. “Hello, Tony.” 

 “Hey, Doc.” Tony greeted with absolute delight. He was giving Stephen a goofy little smile when the man turned to look at him. “Did you bring the goods?” He asked, wiggling his brows. 

 Stephen snorted at the display and reached over with his other hand to grab the basket he had sitting beside him. He plopped the wicker object onto the mechanic’s lap and had to press his lips together to stop from grinning at Tony’s beaming expression. 

 Tony’s feet rocked back and forth in front of him and fingers wiggled as he ripped away the cloth cover. “Yay!” He sang and scooped up a slightly wonky looking hazelnut cookie, courtesy of granny Mabel. What they lacked in appearance they more than made up for in flavor. 

 When news got out about Stephen’s “car accident” and subsequent recovery time spent with Tony, the residents of Rose Hill had started sending get well gifts the doctors way. One of those many gifts was a batch of Mabel’s finest baked goods. Tony had taken one bite and hadn’t been the same since. Now whenever the elderly lady knows Tony is going to be paying a visit, she makes sure to have a batch ready to go. 

 And that’s the thing isn’t it? Tony visiting. It’s happened at least once a week, every week since Stephen had returned home. The mechanic will hop into his suit and fly off to the farm at random intervals, much to the confusion of those closest to him. Often they’ll plan these meetings, a lunch here or a movie night there. But Tony has also gotten into the habit of just dropping by whenever he wants - as though he doesn’t have to fly across several states to get there. He always claims to be bored, but Stephen can tell beneath the aloof exterior, the man is just trying to escape his wandering mind.

 Sometimes Stephen thinks Tony is just paranoid of things happening to the doctor. That he just needs to check and make sure with his own eyes that Stephen hasn’t been tossed in a ditch or kidnapped by the latest baddie. Other times, Stephen thinks the man just misses his company. Either way, it is heartwarming to hear repulsors flying overhead. 

 Who knew one day Stephen’s heart would skip beats to the sound of Tony Stark outside his window. 

 Stephen watched in amusement as Tony scarfed down cookie after cookie with little to no restraint. By the time he’d had his fill, the man was looking a little green. “You’re a menace.” Stephen rolled his eyes. 

 In answer, Tony slid down to rest his head on Stephen’s lap. He sighed dramatically and dropped his hands onto his stomach like a satisfied cat stretching out in the sun. “You can’t expect me to stop at one.”

 “Five maybe.” Stephen argued. He settled one hand on Tony’s chest while his other began gently combing through the man’s hair. 

 “I did stop at five, so I am well within my rights!” Tony closed his eyes, taking in the lovely breeze and calming brush of fingers toying with his hair. He reached up to lay his hand over Stephen’s on his chest. “How’re you, Stephenie?” He asked into the quiet space between them. 

 Stephen hummed, he could tell the question was centered at his hands. Lifting a finger to run along Tony’s palm he said, “I might be onto something.”

 “Oh?” The mechanic quirked a brow but didn’t open his eyes. 

 “Only issue is it’s in Nepal.” 

 That got Tony to crack open an eye with a dubious expression, “Please don’t accidentally join any cults.” 

 Stephen honestly didn’t expect anything other than that response, even he was skeptical. “I think I’d make a great cult leader.” He mused.

 “Yea, you would.” Tony agreed easily. “That’s the problem. You’d get all these beautiful wives and have no time for me!” 

 “Ohh, so it’s not that you’re worried about me getting stuck in a cult, it’s that it would take up all my available time for you.” Stephen grinned. What a ridiculous man. 

 “Exactly.” Tony nodded. “I am just looking out for priority number one, me.”

 “You’re insufferable.” Stephen adored him.

 “You love it.” Tony shrugged as though it was the most common knowledge in the world. And maybe it was. Stephen wasn’t sure he could pinpoint exactly when that started being a thing. If he was being honest with himself he wouldn’t change their little back and forth bickering for anything in the world. He did love it. Gods, Stephen thought maybe he even loved Tony. And wasn’t that something?

 “Heaven knows why.” Stephen sighed. Knocking his head back against the tree trunk behind him, he looked up to the sky as if the answers would be written there. Meanwhile, Tony had gone back to closing his eyes and relaxing into Stephen’s hands.  

 “Some people say I am quite charming.”

 Stephen snorted and looked back down at his sleepy companion. It was a rare and beautiful thing to see the man so at ease, not worrying about the next meeting or alien invasion. The tension wrinkles were smoothed over and the pouty little frown he often wore was wiped away. He looked so peaceful. Stephen leaned down and placed a feather light kiss against the mechanic’s forehead. “You’re something alright.” He whispered against Tony’s skin.

 Always the opportunist, Tony tilted his head back to catch the doctor’s lips with his own. It was an odd angle, but they hardly minded, too caught up in the sweet sensation of being close. It lasted only a moment, but that’s all that was needed to warm their steady hearts. With soft smiles, they rested their heads together and let the delicate sounds of the farm envelope them.

The End.

#I FINISHED IT #hot damn I can't believe I did it #I've had this AU in my brain for years #I drew some art for it even #its kind of my baby #lmao #I can't promise its any good #but I tried lol #ironstrange #ironstrange au #iron man 3 au #tony stark/stephen strange #fanfiction #strangeiron

[topsybalfour]

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Name: Margaret Elizabeth Balfour

Title(s): The Viscountess Melville

Referred to as: Lady Melville

Nickname(s): Strangers call her Lilibet - never Margaret - and the family universally refer to her as Topsy

Age: 53 (19 January 1870)

Gender: Cisgender female

Sexual orientation: ????????

Occupation: Philanthropist (current)

Nationality: English

Religion: Catholic (devout)

Class: Upper

Place of birth: Montmere House, Yorkshire

Hometown: As above

Faceclaim: Kristin Scott Thomas (in Easy Virtue)

𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Height: 6′2 (187 cm) - unusually tall for a woman

Weight: Underweight, with prominent collarbones and a sharpness to the face

Build: Topsy is willowy: remniscent of an aging ballerina, she holds herself with grace and rather seems to glide instead of walk. All of this is the result of an iron-fisted governess and punishing dance lessons

Distinguishing marks: N/A

Hair colour:  Dark with streaks of grey, naturally a dark auburn

Hair style: Carefully set into waves and bobbed; her natural hair length falls to just below the chin

Eye colour: Brown, and rather dark for it - there is something Romanov about her eyes, a sadness that speaks either to lost nobility or something of a drooping basset hound

Clothing: Topsy dresses in the style of the day, although she wears her dresses slightly longer than is typical. Dark colours: black, red, navy; all in sensible fabrics, except for evenings, where she favours silk. She wears low heels and has no particular affinity for hats, unlike her mother

Scent(s): Fresh foliage, gardenias, face powder, Earl Grey

Accent: Received Pronunciation (RP)

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

Summary Content to sit alone for hours with her newspapers and letters, Topsy values her own company above all else. Her inner world is rich, for she has much to occupy her time: charity endeavours, her philanthropy, political efforts, and the running of her own estate as Viscountess. Topsy believes in being busy, but her version of busy can be invisible unless to the untrained eye. She moves through the world with singular purpose, focused on her next moves; in this way, she is rather selfish, for unless she is prompted, Topsy would hardly think of anyone else at all. She does not expect others to care about her life, and so she does not really care about theirs. That is not to say that she is unfeeling: in fact, she feels deeply, though she is so preoccupied with asserting the right sort of emotions that she can come across as insincere. In truth, Topsy is extraordinarily shy. It has been a burden throughout her life - and, like how left-handed children are corrected, she takes pains to overcome this defect by being as amiable and mild-mannered as possible. This rather gives her an insubstatial quality, bringing to mind a foreigner in a train car who is content to share a meal with you without speaking a single word.

Virtues: Temperate, diplomatic, wise, observant, amiable

Vices: Guarded, shy, insincere, independent, selfish, self-critical, insecure

Moral alignment: Lawful Neutral

Natal chart: Capricorn (Sun), Libra (Rising), Aquarius (Moon)

Habits: Gardening, attending charity and/or local events, reading the political section of the newspaper and taking notes for future Letters to the Editor

Character tropes: Charlotte Lucas (Pride and Prejudice); Henry Winter (The Secret History); Fanny (The Pursuit of Love); Mr Bennett (Pride and Prejudice)

𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬

Parent(s): @margaretryland

Sibling(s):

Spouse: Widowed

Child/ren: @edwinbalfour @apatcs & a secret daughter born when Topsy was sixteen, but given up to a nunnery in France

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

TBD

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

TBD

𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬

TBD

[promptsnmemes]

shit said in the discord server as memes / part 2 

     change pronouns if u wish. 

making mouth like you’re intending to marry her. 

where are your teeth, ____ ? 

google, can you lock pop and drop it? or do i have to pick one? 

he’s got, like, a basset hound face. 

did you bottom in my bed? 

everyone laugh at ____. 

i am an omen of death. i’m also sad sometimes. 

you were a cucumber when i got you. i soaked you in the brine of my love.

something about hanging up on your corpse just feels wrong. 

mm, that feels gaslighty and wrong. 

i live in constant fear of farting while you’re on the phone. 

i activated capuchin monkey mode. 

no one out chickens the milk. 

are you a pet store being robbed? because you are fish taken. 

i’m surrounded by gators. 

leonardo di caprio did not paint starry night. 

i feel like you can marry into the ____. 

it’s a fuck shed, ____. 

i meant to minimize. i maximized. 

oh no. i made a mistake and you’re gone from me. 

no penis has ever been more flaccid than when i’m with you. 

i know what pillbugs are. 

it’s a low bar, but they jumped it. 

sit down, this isn’t downton abbey. 

no, i don’t want to know the logistics, i want to know what’s wrong with you. 

your mom’s so white the milkman delivers her every morning. 

#memes #sentence memes #rp memes

[jacqcrisis]

can you please elaborate on your opinions on the ethics of dog breeding /gen

Let me be clear: it's mostly about what i consider unethical and irresponsible practices in pedigree dog breeding. Dog breeding in general is a-okay in my book, and most hobby breeders have a genuine love for their animals and want only the best for them and their breed, often losing out on potential profit in favor of doing what's best for the animals, their future owners, and their future litters. If you are buying a purebred dog, and are doing the right research and looking for the aforementioned kind of breeder to purchase from, we have no qualms and I have no ill will towards you.

However.

If you are knowingly breeding genetic/health issues into an animal that can be highly detrimental to its quality of life for the sake of looks and/or profit with no regard for the animal itself, I find that it is disgusting to do so, to continue to do so, and to have a whole goddamn breed standard that encourages this. Not only does this have a trickle down effect from show breeding into family life, it also encourages jacking up prices for 'pure-breed' puppies and puppy mills who take advantage of that and often exacerbate these perceived qualities that will lead to thousands of dollars in vet bills for the unsuspecting pet owner and a lifetime of issues for the dog. Whether its German shepherds, pugs, shi-tzus, golden retrievers, cavalier king charles spaniels, basset hounds... it doesn't matter. It's all bad.

We can better literally all of them while still maintaining a semblance of the breed as dogs have a quick turn around when it comes to reproduction and a remarkable flexibility to their genetics (which is why we could do this in the first place), but due to public perception/need for a specific 'look' and the continued money to be made in pedigree breeding, it's only gotten more and more exaggerated and it's frankly awful. It's fine to have a breed standard for specific wants and needs of the person looking into a dog. It's fine to have a purebred dog that meets those standards, but when those standards are being bundled with horrible life long physical issues and are no longer reflecting a healthy animal generation after generation, they should be reevaluated and changed IMMEDIATELY.

I also find it very annoying considering most of these desirable standards are no longer for any real working use for most dog owners but people be wanting their great danes with a lifespan of approximately 4 minutes because Lorge. We have such a focus on purity and having only the most untainted of X that only look like Y, that its reflected in our animals at great detriment. It's never not frustrating to listen to Joe Schmoe wax poetic about their purebred german shepherd who's hips are so fucking low to the ground, it may as well be dragging its ass everywhere and it's asshat owner is thinking of breeding him what in the actual fuck JOE-

(note, this is also found in the reptile breeding community. Don't even get me started on spider ball pythons and the fucking money-grubbing asshats with biology degrees from Mormon, USA who use their doctorates to shamelessly shill for knowingly breeding horrifying genetic defects into snakes because something something 'it looks nice' and 'i've bred and sold them so its okay :) have some half-baked excuses and also here's my bffs, the company that founded the morph, to loan me reptiles for my family friendly youtube channel in exchange for adspace :))))))')

(second note, this is found in every breeding community at varying degrees of bad, but I just know the most about dogs and reptiles)

#jacq answers #the boston terrier is cute yes correct #but they literally need a c-section to give birth cause their heads are too big for the birth canal #brachycephalic dogs can have their eyes pop out of their head cause of how small their skulls are #and goldies have so many defects from inbreeding and overbreeding its insane #dog breeding is my hot topic button #'b-b-but the pug is so cute v.v' #thats fine! just...you know...put a little terrier in there too #give it some genetic diversity #let the motherfucker breathe a little please #and i know the great dane is a certified Big Boy #but they live like 7 seconds so maybe take it down a notch and not give your kid and yourself a fucking tragedy every 6 years

[bythebonefire]

which muses are cat people? which are dog people?

Multimuses meme I totally lost lol || Not accepting

Grillby, Ferno, and Flambe are all dog people for sure. Copied over from an hc post I did on Discord a while back:

Grillby - He has an elderly basset hound named Lizzy (named for the song Dizzy Miss Lizzy by the Beatles) that he adopted from a shelter. She's a very low maintenance pup, tends to sleep most of the time in the back of the kitchen. She's a lap dog to the core when they're home, though she always needs a little help to get up onto the couch. 

Ferno - He has a pit bull named Hellraiser (named for the Ozzy Osbourne song) that he found just sort of scrounging around in the alley behind the bar one night. He named the dog expecting a badass, but ended up getting a total love bug who will jump on you and cover you with kisses as soon as you get through the door. 

Flambe - He has a little bichon frise named Patsy (after Patsy Cline). She lives in his handbag and he carries her around everywhere. She loves his flamelings, and they can frequently be found snuggling with her when she's lying down.

Wingdings is definitely a cat person if only because he is the kind of villain who I 100% could see casually petting a cat while doing evil mafia business. Papyrus for all of his bravado is still deep down a little kid who wants to be Just Like His Big Brother and so he’s totally a cat person too, but realistically I can see him with either.

Regular-brand Gaster never struck me as much of either. Probably fish? I can see him as a guy who’d have a nice aquarium in his office.

Saffron is definitely a cat person. I can see him with a pampered princess with a long, luxurious coat who only eats the Finest food and also he dresses her up in cute little outfits sometimes and posts the pictures on the Undernet.

Orion has a giant carnivorous spaceworm that he somehow has come to believe is a dog. He named it Fido.

#m: grillbz #m: ferno #m: flambeau #m: gaster #m: mfell gaster #m: mfell papyrus #m: saffron #m: orion

[cowboyhorsegirl]

made friends with a sweet basset hound today, I love how long and low he is :)

#he was So Shaped #just a tubular boy #i love him he is my Friend #my employer’s opinions #I’m gonna get 4 basset hounds and name them Jerry George Kramer and Elaine one day mark my words

[juuls]

Post starts bad but ends good, just fyi. 😝

wtf I’m falling apart. I went to donate blood for probably a bit over my 20th time, only to be turned away because my hemoglobin was too low and apparently I’m anemic. Uuuuugh. I guess this is what happens when you only eat tea biscuits and chicken noodle soup for 8 months due to another illness.

What in the hell.

It’s not so low it’s dangerous, and we’re already coming up with ideas for food and such and I have multivitamins. And I wasn’t sure I could afford the iron supplement at Shopper’s but I’m pretty sure the pharmacist listening in told the assistant to give it to me at cost and my goodness, bless the man, it came to just under what I had in my account. I love you dudes!!!

So yep. That’s my day.

Oh! No no, this morning we participated in the walk portion of a charity run. And when I say we I mean Ygritte and I. Everyone loved her!

And I got to speak to my mayor (so cool!) and he immediately went “oh goodness is that a basset hound? She’s beautiful!” So it was more like he approached me.

But I didn’t want to take up too much of his time so I said what I wanted, concisely. “Thank you so 2 for coming out a few years ago (he’s gay). It’s allowed me to converse in so many more positive ways with my family and I think it’s had a huge effect on our community. Thank you! … want to pet Ygritte?” 😝 And he did.

It was awesome.

No pics of him but some guy managed to get a great shot of Yg and I after the walk. Behold!

Hot as hell day, but it was the right amount of socializing I needed, and I think Yg did too.

(Only ONE person got the tv show reference of her name. Shame on everyone else lol.)

(My last basset was Trip and yes he did trip on his large ears but he’s named after a Star Trek Enterprise character. Guess whooooo? — I am such a nerd.)

#anemia #charity run #basset hound #ygritte #trip #tw: blood #blood #sorta

[momwithdog]

Understanding Dog Trancing: A Comprehensive Guide

We can all agree that dogs are quirky creatures, each with their unique set of idiosyncrasies that often leave us in splits – one of the many ways in which they steal our hearts over and over again. However, some of these quirks can be unsettling and worrisome when you first spot them. For instance, noticing your dog walk in slow motion under a creeper, a low-hanging tree branch, or even a curtain or tablecloth cloth. This tendency is known as dog trancing, or ghost walking.

As the name suggests, watching your dog move in a ghost-like manner can be scary, to say the least, especially when you notice it for the first (or even the first few) times. It’s likely to bring up a slew of questions. Why is my dog walking slowly? Are they sick? Are they having a seizure? Do I need to rush to the vet? What other symptoms should I look out for?

Well, first of all, let me put your mind at ease. Though unusual, this is typically a harmless behavior and not an indicator of an underlying health concern. Now, let’s explore the mysterious behavior of dog trancing in greater detail so that you know exactly what you’re dealing with.  

What is Dog Trancing?

Trancing in dogs is a curious behavior where you may notice your pooch walking extremely slowly, almost gingerly, under an object – typically overhanging foliage, curtains, or tablecloths – in a manner that the said object touches them just barely. In this state, you may notice your dog crouching when walking, with their ears down and nose pointed up in the air or straight ahead.

You may also notice that your pet takes slow, soft steps as they move forward as if trying to avoid making a noise – like a predator on a prowl. At other times, your dog may freeze completely, appearing to be “in a trance”. The trance-like state in dogs is also known as ghost-walking or wee-walking, although the recognized term for it is Trance-like Syndrome (TLS).

Is dog trancing a type of seizure?

Now that you understand the trancing meaning and the basics of trancing in dogs, let’s address the most common concern associated with this tendency: a fear that your dog may be having a seizure. So, is trancing in dogs a type of seizure? Not at all. Trancing is completely different from a seizure.

The next logical question is, how can you tell the difference? I’m glad you asked. When you see your dog crouching when walking, taking slow, deliberate steps, and a visible change in their body language or frozen in a trance-like state, it’s only natural to feel concerned about what’s going on with them. But there are some tell-tale markers that can help you tell trancing apart from a seizure.

Whether it’s a dog ghost walking or stuck in a trance-like state, they will be responsive to you’re the sound of your voice. Yes, they may not instantly snap out of it and come running to you when called, but you will see some indicators that your voice is registering with, such as,

Looking in your direction

Eye movement

Movement in the ears upon hearing your voice

Shift in body language

Some dogs may even act annoyed at being brought out of their trancing state

On the other hand, if a dog is having a seizure, they’d be completely non-responsive that’s because, in a seized state, their mind is not able to grab and process your verbal cues and commands.

Breeds prone to dog trancing

While any dog can experience a spell of trancing, certain breeds are more prone to it than others. For instance, you’re far more likely to see a Bull Terrier ghost stalking or a Greyhound acting weird, as if they lost all awareness of their surroundings. Apart from Bull Terrier and Greyhound, here are other breeds prone to dog trancing:

Salukis

Basset Hounds

Whippet

Jack Russell

Labrador

Irish Setter

Cane Corso

Cavalier

Australian Cattle Dog

Puggle

What Causes Trancing in Dogs?

The intriguing canine behavior of trancing is bound to leave you wondering why dogs resort to it. If you’ve noticed your pet exhibits this tendency, you may be even more intent on getting to the root of what causes dog trancing. Unfortunately, neither veterinary science nor canine behavior experts have made much progress in unmasking the triggers of dog trancing.

Even though experts have been exploring the world of dogs and trancing and there is much clarity on trancing meaning, there is no identified medical, instinctual, or social reason behind it so far. Researchers from the British Veterinary Association studied a group of Bull Terrier – a breed that most commonly displays this behavioral tick – observed this behavior in 84 dogs but found it missing in 197 “control dogs”, leaving the results inconclusive. Likewise, another study on Bull Terrier ghost stalking could not find any link between this behavior and any neurological phenomenon.

One of the theories around dog trancing is that dogs go into this trance-like state when they are fascinated by the object draping or touching their body. And possibly even enjoy the sensation arising from this light touch. That’s probably why you see dogs trancing under plants or low-hanging fabrics around the house.

Is trancing a behavioral disorder?

Why is my dog walking slowly? Is something wrong with him/her? Having understood the trancing meaning, you now know that this behavior is, typically, not a sign of any physical distress or underlying ailment. However, as a pet parent, you may have another valid concern about it: is dog trancing a behavioral disorder?

After all, research has proven that dogs can be afflicted with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), or as it is known in the dog world, Canine Compulsive Disorder. The most common examples of these are spinning, tail chasing, air biting, and incessant licking. Research also indicates that although benign, trancing does qualify as an OCD behavior.

However, there is no indication that it can escalate to more extreme compulsive tendencies such as tail chasing. In fact, in most cases, this behavior can be tackled by keeping your dog productively engaged through interactive toys, food puzzles, and more exercise. 

How To Deal with Canine Trancing

So, what should you do when you see your dog ghost-walking? Do you need to intervene and make your dog snap out of it? Given that this behavior is associated with CCD, will it get worse over time if left unchecked? Do you need to get your dog behavior therapy to break the pattern?

These are just some of the questions you may find yourself grappling with when brought face-to-face with this curious canine behavior. In most situations, the answer to these questions is fairly simple: nothing.

When you notice your Greyhound acting weird, your Bull Terrier trancing, or any other dog stuck in a trance-like state, for that matter, the best thing to do is allow them the time and space to snap out of it. As strange as it may appear to you, chances are your dog finds this behavior comforting.

Do not scold or discourage your pet from engaging in a harmless behavior that has a calming effect on them, is a part of their personality, and is likely beneficial to them. Let trancing dogs trance. However, it’s important to keep an eye out for any worrying signs or symptoms that may indicate that your pet needs medical attention.

Trancing and Veterinary Care: When to Seek Help

While there are no major potential risks and concerns associated with trancing, in some exceptional situations, this behavior could be the first sign of deteriorating health. You must act immediately if your dog is,

Vomiting

Drooling excessively

Experiencing muscle spasms

Unresponsiveness to outside stimuli

Not conscious

Assessing the safety of dog trancing becomes critical if you have an elderly dog who has never resorted to this behavior in the past. In this case, what appears to be trancing could, in fact, be a symptom of an underlying illness.

By and large, dogs trancing under plants, foliage, and fabrics is a harmless behavioral tick. Now that you have a clearer understanding of what causes dog trancing, how it manifests, and its tell-tale signs, I hope, you’re not as alarmed if and when you see your dog resorting to it. But since as pet parents, our biggest responsibility is to ensure our pet’s safety, it’s advisable to always be on the lookout for any signs of physical distress or discomfort. And if you do spot them, don’t hesitate to take your dog to the vet. After all, it’s best to err on the side of caution.

Ref:- https://momwithdog.com/dog-trancing-guide/