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A huge, white moon hung above the Manhattan skyline only a few days after your powwow with Tony and Bruce in the nursery. Fall was swiftly turning into winter, but the chill in the air could not stop you from enjoying a quiet walk to the car with your husband. All you had to do was bundle up—coat, scarf, mittens, all—and you would be fine. Besides, you were having too good a time to feel the cold.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Your cheeks were actually starting to hurt from smiling so much. Who knew dinner out on the town with Bruce could be so grand? You had spent the entire meal discussing possible names for your child, and the subject continued even then as you made your way to your distantly parked car. “Nu-uh. No. No. We are not naming our kid that.”

For once, Bruce seemed to be as happy as you were. You were already connected by one hand each, arms swaying beside you, but he neared to bump you affectionately with his shoulder as well. “I’m not kidding,” he said. “What’s wrong with Eugene?”

“It’s a nerd name!” you cried, following this with a peal of laughter that cause several surrounding pedestrians to stare at you. Bruce chuckled softly in response.

“Are you calling me a nerd?”

“Bruce, you are the biggest nerd I’ve ever met!” You pressed a smiling kiss to his cheek. “And I still married you, didn’t I?”

“But you don’t think anyone would marry Eugene Banner?”

“Ugh! Fine. We’ll consider Eugene. No promises, though.”

“Right. Just like we’ll consider Janice for a girl.”

“It was my grandmother’s name!” But you were already giggling again, and Bruce along with you. You didn’t want the night to end, so you pulled him to a stop next to you. “I’ve had a really nice time tonight.”

“Me, too,” he said with a shy smile. It brought to mind your first date with him. He’d been so nervous and kind that you’d thought you could marry him right then and there, though it took Bruce another year and a half to pop the question. After grinning at each other like a couple of saps for a few seconds more, Bruce led you on your way again. “Not going to get to do this sort of thing much in a few months, are we?”

“Not unless you want little Eugene driving everyone else in the restaurant crazy,” you said, shaking your head.

“We could get a sitter once he’s old enough.”

“Because every sitter’s dream job is a kid that could bring the house down on a whim.”

“Okay, good point. Maybe Tony, though? Bet he already has a whole floor of the tower redesigned to handle that. You know he hasn’t given up on our family moving in with his.”

“Tony and Pepper wouldn’t be bad,” you mused, “if they’re willing.”

“Trust me. He’d be willing. This is the same man that pays for us to have dates when he feels I haven’t met my monthly quota.”

“He won’t insist on that for a little while, will he? We’ll want to spend some time—”

“Yeah, that’s right. Nice and slow. No sudden movements there, grandpa, or else I’m liable to blast your face off.”

All of a sudden, Bruce shoved you behind him, no longer holding your hand. You had nearly reached the parking lot he had paid to use that evening; you could see your vehicle under a streetlight ahead. But you couldn’t get there just yet. There were two men blocking your path, one with a ski mask, the other an elderly gentleman shaking like a leaf. Somehow, you had stumbled into a mugging.

The man in the mask must have heard your abrupt stop, because no sooner had you registered his presence than did he whirl about. You cringed into Bruce’s shoulder. Maybe living in Manhattan should have mentally prepared you for such an event, but now that it was happening, you were honestly frightened. You could not have been in any danger, not with Bruce, and yet why did this have to happen now? The night had been going so well.

“Keep walking,” the mugger snarled, and you saw a glint of silver in his hand as he gestured at the street. Bruce, however, didn’t move except to slowly lift his hands into the air. “I said get moving! Nothing to see here.”

“How about,” said Bruce in what you teasingly called his “therapist voice,” “you put that gun down before someone gets hurt?”

“How about you keep stepping, pops, before I have to do the hurting?”

“Trust me. You don’t want to do this.” For all the serenity in Bruce’s tone, you could feel how truly stiff he had gone. He wasn’t a fighter—that was, he didn’t like to fight. Leaving buildings leveled and bad guys as greasy smears in the asphalt wasn’t something he took pleasure in. But Bruce was also a good man, and you knew he wouldn’t leave a scared old man alone just to avoid a fight. Besides, if the other man took a shot, Bruce wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

The man stepped back, almost straight into his intended victim. “You don’t know what I want to do!” he shouted. His shaking hands lifted. Oh no. You squeezed your eyes shut just in time to hear a massive bang. Again, you flinched into your husband’s shoulders….but they were no longer human shoulders anymore. They were expanding beneath your hands. You stumbled backward and onto the cement just in time to see Bruce’s nice shirt rip to shreds as his entire back grew to gargantuan proportions.

Both mugger and victim could only stare in horror at the visage before them. Where a meek-looking man protecting his wife had once stood was now a green behemoth who took one look at them and began to beat his chest. The Hulk let out a roar so tremendous that the pavement beneath you shook. With one last expletive, the mugger tossed his gun aside and took off in the direction you had been headed when this all began. Unfortunately for him, the Hulk had decided not to take his crap and moved a lot faster than the average human being. Still snarling, he started his pursuit, leaving you alone with the old man and a handful of onlookers several blocks down.

“What in heaven’s name—” the man said tremulously. Crane his neck as he might, there was nothing left to see of the Hulk or the assailant now. The only sign they had been there was the sound of distant crashing. You hoped this wouldn’t be another night for Bruce to spend in jail. The police didn’t take kindly to his destroying entire blocks of the city to take care of one criminal most of the time. If Tony wasn’t in town to bail him out, it might take even longer to get Bruce home.

“That was just—my husband,” you said, wincing as you attempted to stand up after having toppled so far as to nearly bump your head against the ground earlier. “He’ll be fine.”

“I can tell,” he said, still eyeing the corner around which the two had disappeared as he walked to you. Once there, he stuck his hand out. “I appreciate the help. Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Fine, thank you.” Your heart-rate was starting to slow a bit, anyway. You would be able to get into the car once your legs stopped feeling like Jell-O, too, since you were the one with the car keys. In a few minutes, you’d see about calling Tony in to help search for Bruce. Gratefully, you took the man’s offered hand and allowed him to help you to your feet.

Then a tremendous pain shot across your abdomen.

You crumpled back to the cement with a wordless cry. Somewhere above, you heard the man shout “ma’am” again before he ran off . Again, you heard his voice, far away, shouting “sir, your wife, come back” repeatedly—presumably for Bruce. You needed Bruce. But you couldn’t hear him destroying things anymore; you couldn’t hear anything but the burbled sobs breaking out of you as you attempted to hold yourself together.

Something was wrong—horribly, terrible, awfully wrong—but you didn’t know what. Your entire lower half throbbed and throbbed and throbbed and throbbed. It felt like you had been torn open. You had never felt this sort of pain before. Bruce was coming, wasn’t he? You couldn’t continue as you were. You had to be strong for when he arrived.

A pair of hands came down to steady your thrashing head. The face that appeared shortly thereafter did not belong to Bruce. It did not even belong to the gentleman before. It was another man entirely, younger, with a thin blond mustache, and beyond him you could vaguely see other people watching the show. “Miss, you have to calm down,” said the man. “You have to tell me what’s the matter. Calm down. Please calm down.”

All you did was shake your head. It hurt. Things were beginning to come together. You wanted to say that you were sorry, but you couldn’t get your lips to shape the words. You gasped through your tears. Just as you did, the man’s eyes traveled down your body—and he paled. “Good Lord, she’s bleeding. She’s bleeding. Someone call an ambulance!”

He disappeared from your field of vision. You took several deep breaths to try to calm yourself enough to stop moving. This was a vain attempt; your muscles continued to spasm without your telling them to. Everything made the pain worse: moving, breathing, pumping blood. Where was Bruce? Where was the Hulk, even?

“The ambulance is on its way,” said the man from before as he returned to your sight. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

You attempted to smile back. That was what you were always expected to do, right? Smile, so that your husband could smile. Surely he was there somewhere in the throng around you. This was the one time you couldn’t manage. “Bruce?” you whispered, but the man looking after you didn’t answer. Or maybe he did, a little too late. Before you could hear his response, your world went dark, still, and quiet, save for the sound of sirens coming your way.

Bruce BannerxReader: Where Gods Do Fear [Ch. 6]
Part 6 of 9/2 of 4 of Where Gods Do Fear to Tread.

Several thanks to my platonic soulmate, Rachel, for helping me tone this chapter down a bit. I always tend to go overboard with this sort of thing. It might not be perfect, but it's definitely better, thanks to her weirdly trying to turn everything into an Elementary self-insert/Clyde story...

All prompts come from the 9 Months challenge by crackleviolet on Lunaescence Archives.

Previous Chapter: 5. Starting to Show
Current Chapter: 6. Lost
Next Chapter: TBA

Whose bright idea was it to move to Florida? This was the thought that plagued you one sweltering afternoon as you sat sticking to your couch in the living room. Yes, you were inside, and yes, your home had air conditioning, but who had the money to pay to be comfortable? Your job certainly didn’t pay enough for that, and your life-in boyfriend might have had a glamorous job, but saving millions from aliens and supervillains and the like was apparently a volunteer position. So swelter you must.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, the whole Florida thing. You had family there, and the commute was nothing to Thor. All he had to do was call up his buddy Heimdall, and bam he was in Manhattan. Just then, however, you were seriously having second thoughts.

For one thing, you rarely saw that family you’d come to be closer to. You saw Thor’s friends and family more often, and they were from an entirely different dimension. Sif made frequent visits both when Thor was home and when he was absent. Volstagg regularly cleaned out your fridge. Hogan and Fandral, even, appeared almost every Sunday to take part in the Midgardian tradition of watching football. But could your mortal brother bother to stop by with his kid once a month? Obviously not.

“[Name],” came a groggy from the doorway. With some difficulty, you dragged your gaze up and over to see Thor’s head popping out into the living room. “[Name], why is it so hot?”

It really must have been for Thor to be feeling the effects as well. Strands of his blond hair stuck to his face and shoulders from sweat. He had also removed his shirt, a sight that would have been tantalizing, had you not felt as though you were living inside an oven.

“It’s Florida. That’s why,” you answered tersely, head lolling back against the couch cushions.

The sound of heavy footsteps grew louder and louder until Thor’s weight settled onto the couch beside you. “I see,” he said, then looked at you with a frown. “Why did we decide to move here?”

Because,” you groaned. It wasn’t a bad question, really. You’d been wondering yourself before Thor had showed up, after all. You hadn’t been that close to your brother before he’d got married and had a kid. Your desire to be a good aunt had blinded you to the many cons of living in Florida—first and foremost that it was Florida.

“That is not an answer, but I understand your inability to think given present circumstances,” said Thor. “I will have to wait until things are better before I receive a proper explanation.”

‘Good luck with that,’ you thought, but did not say aloud. Instead, you just rolled over onto your side in a desperate attempt to expose a different side of your body to different air. You could have sworn that blasted ceiling fan was blowing nothing but warm air. A second later, and you felt even more stifled. Thor had chosen to lean over and press his hand to your forehead.

“Are you not well? Could it be that it is not merely the heat that is causing you to be so ill-tempered?”

“I’m just hot!” Swatting his hand away, you sat up. This unfortunately did not cause Thor to back his godly buttocks up. “Move!” Your shoving him did little to remove him from your over-warm personal bubble as well. All it did do was cause his frown to deepen. With a sharp sigh, you let yourself topple onto the carpet below, leaving your feet still propped up on the couch next to him.

“Are you certain you do not wish me to take you to a physician?” he asked as he peered down at you. Forget it; it was too hot for you to keep trying to pick a fight with him.

“Just kill me now,” you answered. “Put me out of my misery. I don’t want to live anymore.”

“I am afraid that is not something I can do. Your death would cause me great sorrow, and I doubt that my father would be pleased to hear I had been placed in a Midgardian prison.”

You rolled your eyes and stared up at the fan. “Like you couldn’t break out right away.”

“But I would not. Murder is a crime. I would be no example to your people if I refused to take responsibility for my actions.”

“Whatever, Thor.”

Even speaking took too much effort in this kind of weather. Your eyes slide shut, and you wondered if heatstroke was really as bad as it sounded. Probably you ought to have turned the air conditioning up higher before you found out—but that was movement, and that just wasn’t going to happen that day. If you died there on your living room floor, so be it.

“I am concerned,” Thor announced into your silence.

“Go be concerned somewhere else.”

“That is precisely why I am concerned. Normally you would not be so keen to avoid touching me. This was not how I planned to spend my weekend at home.”

“If the home were not a microwave, maybe things would be different,” you said, “but you are just too hot to be around right now.”

“So you think that I am hot.”

You pried your eyelids open and forced your head up to look at him. Thor was grinning. With a huff, you turned away from him again once more. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“So let me see if I understand correctly” said Thor. “If I wish to pursue carnal relations with you, or any other physical contact over my break, then I must first cool you down enough to withstand my handsomeness?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I have just the thing in mind. I have been thinking it is high time that we go visit my brother.”

That got you to twist back around to stare at him. “Loki?” you asked.

Thor nodded. “Yes.”

“The one that got exiled to that realm of ice wizards?”

“That is the one I refer to.”

“The one that tried to kill you on multiple occasions, and who told me when he met me that I’m not as pretty as your last girlfriend?”

“I have only the one brother, [Name].”

“No,” you said, flipping around again. “I’m not going to see your psychopath brother no matter how wonderfully cold it might be where he lives.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Turning on the air conditioning!”

“I thought you said such a luxury was too expensive to consider.”

“I don’t care,” you moaned, writhing about on the carpet. Apparently this display of weakness was enough to spur Thor into action. He got up, marched over to you, bent over, and pulled you into his arms. Your writhing intensified. “No! Thor! Put me down. I don’t wanna move! Stop!”

Rather than stop, Thor continued to carry you toward the kitchen. No amount of kicking or flailing about on your part could get him to release you—which was why you were relieved he was one of the good guys. He didn’t feel much like one just then, though, what with plastering you up against his slightly moist chest. Your drive to fight died out before he even reached the doorway to your destination, which was saying something since the kitchen was attached to the living room.

Once you arrived, Thor deposited your feet carefully onto the tile. You resisted the urge to slap him only by reminding yourself that you loved the man, and that it was far too warm to attempt violence against someone as sturdy as him. “What do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, frustration not quite reaching your voice.

“Thinking,” he answered. “Surely there is a way to cool off without forcing you to be evicted from your home.”

“In the kitchen?”

“The refrigerator is cold, is it not?” To demonstrate his point, he wrapped one hand around the appliance handle and pulled the door open.

“Thor, you can’t just leave my fridge open like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you started again, but then stopped. Why couldn’t you? The thing was empty; Volstagg had come by over the weekend. You suspected Thor asked his friends to check on you when he was gone, a kind gesture except when it left you hungry. In this case, though…”To Hell with it. Let’s pull up some chairs.”

Thor did, and you both collapsed into them. Cold air wafted across your face. You closed your eyes again and sat slack-jawed for a few minutes, enjoying the sensation of not having hot coals in your veins. Just a few minutes, before you shoved yourself away with a wordless exclamation.

“What is the matter?” asked Thor, alarmed.

“It’s not enough!”

“You’re right.” Had your brain not been so dulled by the warmth, you might have been startled by Thor agreeing. But it was, and so you weren’t, even going so far as to follow him when he leapt from his chair and said, “I have another idea.”

He got to the bathroom long before you, what with how slow you went in such temperatures. The shower was blasting water into the basin of the tub when you arrived, and there stood Thor, fully clothed in the stream. It was cold water; otherwise, the entire room would have been filled with steam. You didn’t wait for an invitation before you joined him, sighing with relief as the water soaked through your thin clothes.

This, too, did not last. Not much time had passed before Thor spun toward you, panic evident in his features as he gripped your shoulders. “I am still not cool.” He was right; the water wasn’t so much cold as it was room temperature, and the room wasn’t exactly comfortable to begin with. His panic only increased as he added, “I have no other ideas.”

Your heart stopped—then started again, immediately. “But I do!” After swiftly peeling off your sodden top and bottoms (leaving you in nothing but your equally wet underwear and bra), you headed out the door, only stopping long enough to call, “grab the ice cube tray and meet me in the backyard in ten minutes,” over your shoulder.

It was amazing what a little determination could get you to do: in this case, walk to the garage through your smoldering house. The garage was even worse since it had no ceiling fans, but thankfully you only had to stand it as long as it took you to snag the inflatable kiddie pool sitting propped against a wall. This done, you made your way to the backyard.

The pool wasn’t in the greatest condition. You’d bought back at the beginning of the summer for a week of babysitting your niece. Since then, the poor thing (the pool, not the little girl) had sat in your garage to slowly deflate and gather dust. Making it fit to use again while standing out in the sun was the worst you had felt all day, and by the time Thor showed up, you were practically wilting. Thor almost seemed not to recognize you as you stared blankly at the hose filling the pool.

“What is it you wanted the ice for?” he asked, holding up the full tray. You managed a wane grin,

“Pour it in, babe.”

Looking slightly confused, Thor did as you directed. The little half-moons of ice sparkled in the sun as they floated in the dingy water, but they wouldn’t last long. Immediately, you scrambled inside. Thor blinked, then followed after. It was cool enough that you actually could stand resting your back against his chest. You felt his muscles relax beneath yours. Smiling, you leaned your head back.



“This isn’t working either.”


“How soon can you get ahold of Heimdall?”

“Immediately. Why?”

“Pack your bags. I think I miss your psychopath brother.”

Thor OdinsonxReader: Arctic
Part 38 of 160 of The Space Between Stars, my reader insert one shot request booklet. 

This chapter came super easy for some reason, once I figured out what I was going to write. I tried a bunch of ideas that weren't really clicking, so I kind of went the complete opposite with it. I think it still fits the prompt, though. Thor always makes me think of either crack or fluff. I don't think I've ever written any Thor angst, actually...

I purposely ended on dialogue this time! Figured I've been pretty good about not doing that, and I liked this one shot better that way.

Thor was requested by Treva Winchester of Gondor on Quotev.

Next up is Q. (The cute kind, not the weird Picard-obsessed kind.)

Captain Steven Grant Rogers was beyond a shadow of a doubt the most perfect man on the face on the planet: kind, brave, loyal, handsome, and all of that even before he got science into a superhero. What sane woman wouldn’t fall in love with him at first sight? Especially when the alternative was Doctor Bruce Banner, small and angry and scruffy? Some alternative that was. Besides, Bruce knew that [F Name] [L Name] was entirely sane. Seeing her come down the corridor side by side with Steve, smiling at him like was the rising sun should not have been a surprise. So why did Bruce’s stomach clench at the sight?

It was a normal morning at the Avengers Tower. Clint and Natasha were off being spy assassins in some distant country, Tony and Bruce were hard at work in the lab, and you and Steve were doing whatever it was you both got up to when there wasn’t an alien invasion to take care of. ‘Each other,’ said an errant thought in Bruce’s mind, something he hardly had time to brush off before he noticed it was not a normal morning. Both you and Steve were suited up—and having an animated discussion in front of the briefing room.

“Ow!” A sharp pain in his side brought Bruce’s attention back to himself—or rather, back to Tony staring innocently at him from across their lab table. His Hulk-prod was nowhere to be seen, but Bruce knew Tony well enough to know what he was doing. “What?” he asked.

“Are you going to finish mixing those chemicals, or are you in training to become one of those weird street performer robot guys?”

“Huh?” Blinking, Bruce looked down to see that he was indeed still holding two bubbling test tubes in midair. He looked back at you for one brief moment, then forced his attention to his work long enough to finish the job. A flash of heat surged through the glass, and he hastily put the containers back in their place to avoid being burned. All the while, Tony watched with a maddening smile on his face.

“Looking a little green around the gills there, Big Guy,” he said, once Bruce had deadpanned at him long enough. Bruce felt himself flush.

“I’m not angry right now.”

“Maybe not rage-anger, but there’s some definite jealousy-anger going on right now.”

And more definite flushing. Bruce looked pointedly toward their data screen, fiddling with his glasses. “I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?”

“You’ve been giving Cap the stink eye whenever he turns up for the past week,” said Tony, then leaned closer to add, “If you like [Name], then ask her out. There’s nothing stopping you.”

Bruce let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Because she’d really settle for me when Captain America’s around.”

“Steve and [Name] are just friends.”

“Girls don’t look at guys like that when they’re just friends.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Tony sneak a peek in your direction before he looked back at Bruce. “Maybe if you’re into the blond, blue-eye, All-American type,” he allowed, “but maybe she likes curly-haired nerdy scientists. Then you’re the cream of the crop.”

Bruce shot Tony a look, and opened his mouth. He had no time to form a retort, however, because Steve himself decided to pop his head into the lab at that very moment. “Banner?”

“Yes, Steve?”

Tony snickered at Bruce’s failed attempt to sound civil. Steve reacted not at all, except to step inside. “Suit up. I need you in the field today, with [Name].”

Without meaning to, Bruce looked swiftly back at you. He could practically feel Tony stuffing his own fist in his mouth to stifle his laughter behind him. You caught Bruce’s eye through the glass walls, smiled, and lifted one hand into the air to wave at him. The color rushed again to his cheeks; Bruce forced his gaze back to Steve.

“Is that really…necessary?” he asked.

“That’s a good chance we’ll need some muscle on this job. Big muscle,” added Steve before Bruce could volunteer anyone else. “There’s no one better for the task than you.”

“What about Iron Man? Or you? I-I don’t want her to have to handle the Hulk.”

“Tony and I have things to do elsewhere. And [Name] can handle the lullaby protocol just as good as Natasha.”

Better, in fact, but Bruce wasn’t about to bring that up. He could see no reason to give Steve more incentive to trap him alone with you for who knew how long. Unfortunately, Steve didn’t need the extra incentive. He had already made up his mind.

“Dr. Banner? That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Suiting up for Bruce required very little: simply a change of pants, and (on occasion) as many breathing exercises as he could cram into the fifteen minutes Steve gave him to prepare after briefing. Even with that, Bruce could feel his “little green friend” prickling just underneath his skin. He did not even smile when he walked onto the quinjet just before takeoff.

“Good morning, Bruce,” you called cheerfully from the cockpit. He forced a smile.


“You’re not going to sit back there, are you?” He had been planning to, in order to stay as far away from you as possible, but you didn’t wait to hear him out. “Come up here with me. Otherwise I’ll get lonely.”

You saying things like that wasn’t going to help matters. The Hulk growled, deep and low, inside Bruce’s head. Bruce inhaled sharply. Not now. Your voice could coax him no further than the doorway. “I don’t have any pilot training,” he said with another weak smile.

“You don’t need it. Just talk to me. It’ll be a long flight otherwise.”

“I don’t know…”

“Bruce.” He looked at you, and that was what did him in. That, and your soft, “please?”


“Yay! Thank you!”

Your strange enthusiasm was lost on Bruce while he settled into the vacant chair inside the cockpit. He didn’t know precisely when he had fallen head over heels for you, just that he had. At first, you had been just another new addition to the Avengers. Steve and Natasha had brought you on after a few stray missions together for SHIELD. You were different than Natasha. She was seductive, fill of pithy remarks, and brimming with confidence. You were…well, you were the sunshine you so clearly saw in Steve. Bruce had never been anything but thunderclouds.

He hadn’t paid too much attention in the beginning. Your easy-going nature and natural ability to get along with just about everyone was a nice change of pace from a team like theirs—but that didn’t mean that Bruce was going to start getting along with you. Clint, Tony, Thor, Natasha, and Steve were already more friends than he was used to, and more than what he deserved. Then you made him laugh one night over dinner, and suddenly Bruce was paying you attention—a lot of attention. Surely he was watching enough that you’d noticed.

Watching you greet Thor on his first visit with an arm-wrestling contest, and being elated when you lost.

Watching you tease Tony mercilessly alongside Pepper.

Watching you try to learn archery from Clint, grinning hugely when you gave yourself a bruise.

Watching you talk quietly to Natasha over late-night cups of coffee.

Watching you smile and laugh with Steve, fall in love with him, just as you were bound to do. Women like you did not fall in love with men like Bruce. That wasn’t just his self-doubt talking either; it was a fact, a law of nature.

“So what were you and Tony up to this morning?”

“Huh?” Bruce shook his head like a dog coming out of a bath, and found himself not in the Tower living room with you and Steve shouting at a baseball game, but in a quinjet high above the clouds with no Steve in sight. Somehow, he had spaced out through the entire takeoff. “Oh. That. We’re trying to find a chemical compound that would suppress the Hulk. Keep him from coming out an inopportune moments,” like when Steve ordered him to spend time with you, “or make him easier to put to sleep.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “Thought that was what lullaby protocol was for.”

“I’d rather not have people near me—him—when he’s—I’m—we’re like that.” Way to sound like a complete idiot, Banner.

“Still trying to get rid of him, huh?” Much to Bruce’s relief, you refocused your eyes on the sky ahead. “Not sure I’d have the courage to do that, if I had the ability to turn into some huge guy with super-strength and practical immortality.”

“It’s not that great, the immortality. I’d rather be able to feel things again, like everyone else.”

“Hm. I guess you’ve got a point.” With a flick of a switch, you set the jet to autopilot. This gave you free rein to swivel your chair toward Bruce, a development he liked not at all. “The Hulk is dangerous. You don’t think he’s worth that kind of cost. Do you think Steve would willingly give up his powers?”

If Bruce had not had years of practice, he might have gone green right then and there. Even as it was, he felt his heart skip a beat. “Why-Why do you ask that?” Talking about Steve shouldn’t have upset Bruce this much. But it did. He pressed a hand to his eye and hoped you wouldn’t notice it shaking. As far as he could tell, you didn’t. You simply shrugged, and checked to make sure the plane’s coordinates were still set to somewhere in the far reaches of China.

“Just something interesting to think about. Would Steve make the same choice as you, if he had to save someone, for instance? You both have a lot to lose.”

No, Steve had a lot to lose. Bruce knew; he had been meant to be Steve again. That was what all his work had been for, more of that same kindness and courage and loyalty. Look what he’d got instead: a brain monster presently delighted by the idea of crushing Steve’s skull like a grape.

“It’s not the same,” he said, distracted by the effort it took to not get drawn into the Hulk’s vision himself. Steve was Bruce’s friend. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy the idea of Steve’s skull getting crushed like a grape, and yet he couldn’t help but find the image somewhat appealing—even more so when you replied:

“If you lost the Hulk, you’d lose what defines you as a superhero. So would Steve. And I think he’d do it, if it came down to that.”

“Of course he would.” The words came out sharper than Bruce intended. Before you could react, Bruce turned away toward the other wall. That wasn’t enough.

“Bruce?” Your tone was confused. He didn’t answer. “Bruce, what’s the matter?”

Now it wasn’t that Bruce wasn’t answering, but that he couldn’t. He was trembling from head to foot trying to keep himself in place. One muscle moved, one word spoken, and he would explode, and the quinjet along with him. It was the height of stupidity to fall apart at this—the implication that selfless, perfect Steve would give up his outward perfection at the drop of a hat, while he, Bruce, selfishly sought out a way to rid himself of inner imperfection that helped others—and yet, somehow, he was.

“Did I make you angry?”

When he opened his mouth to answer, all that came out was a roar. Was it his imagination that the ceiling above your hands shook from the noise? Bruce didn’t think so, because his chair was suddenly turned back in your direction. You knelt in front of him, and without asking permission, you grabbed his hand, pulled it forward, and began to gently stroke his wrist, murmuring something about the sun getting low. Bruce’s body gave one last, tremendous shudder, then he fell back against his chair.

Bruce would have liked to sleep. Even a near-Hulk attack exhausted him, and your soft fingers against his skin were terribly soothing. If he slept, he wouldn’t have to hear you talk about Steve anymore.

You didn’t let him.

“What was that about?” you demanded, as angry as he’d ever heard you.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tough luck, Bruce.” He heard you stand, and forced his heavy eyelids open to see you right in front of him, arms folded over your chest. There was something else strange about your appearance: there were tears sparkling in your eyes.

“Listen, [Name], I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare—”

“That’s not what this is about! You’ve been acting weird all week. You hardly talk to me anymore, and whenever I do see you, you’re usually glaring.”

“It’s nothing,” he said reluctantly. “And what does it matter if you don’t see me? You’ve got Steve.”

You stared at him. Slowly, the color drained from your face—all the color. Bruce had not the faintest idea what he had said to elicit such a reaction. “Is that what this is about?”

He fidgeted with his hands. “You should spend more time with the man you’re in love with.”

Another pause. This time you went from pale to red. “You would know perfectly well who I’m in love with, if you weren’t too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice!” With that, you spun on your heel and made your way to the back of the jet. “Wake me up if there’s an emergency,” you snarled before pulling a blanket over your head.

Bruce could only stare after you. The Hulk was still too sleepy to do anything other than purr, and that was for the best. His heart was pounding in his chest, harder and louder than any other time he could remember. He ought to know who you were in love with? Wasn’t that Steve? But Bruce was the only person he knew that was feeling sorry for himself. So he thought again, over all the things he’d been watching you do lately.

Your excitement meeting Thor was purely platonic. He’d called you his sister in arms before leaving.

You got along with Pepper too well to be plotting to steal Tony away (nor would Tony let you).

When Bruce had walked in on your lesson with Clint, he had thought he saw you stand up a little straighter. Surely that had been his imagination.

He hadn’t been able to hear your late-night conversation with Natasha, just see her pat your shoulder sympathetically when it was over.

And with Steve and that damn baseball game—hadn’t Bruce caught you staring at him more than the screen?

“[Name],” Bruce called as he jumped to his feet. No response. He ran over to the lump of blankets in the back. “[Name], is it me you’re in love with?”

For a long while, you didn’t answer. You couldn’t be asleep, though; your breaths weren’t long enough. Finally, just when Bruce thought he was about to come apart at the seams, you moved the blanket just enough to peek out at him. “Took you long enough. And you’re supposed to be the genius?”

He let out a breath. “Apparently not.”

Your eyes moved about his face before you broke out in a wide grin. Bruce grinned back. The Hulk would have, too, if he’d been awake. It was nice to have the moment to himself, actually. No Steve, no Tony, No Hulk. Just plain old Bruce Banner, and the woman who’d thought he was perfect all along.

Bruce BannerxReader: Disease
Part 37 of 160 of The Space Between Stars, my reader insert one shot request booklet. 

I think the fact I'm so excited to write for Bruce lately is a sign that I'm getting over how much I hated Age of Ultron.

Bruce this time was requested by FM0Q on Lunaescence. They wanted a drabble about Steve being jealous of Bruce and the reader soothing him. This definitely isn't a drabble, and it's not exactly that story, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also, yes, reference to Pottermore. Couldn't resist. 

Next up? Thor!

It was over. At last Bard could release the long-held anxiety that burned within his very lungs. It was over. All was quiet, save for distant crying. All was still, save those already sifting through the rubble. All was peaceful, save for the fires still licking through broken windows. The dragon was slain. Laketown was safe. It was over.

Ash continued to drift from the slowly clearing sky, sticking to his dark hair and lashes as Bard stood in what remained of the town square. The taste of smoke and soot hung heavily in the air. No helpful breeze blew through to clear it, nor to cool the sweat beading his brow. He could have moved, perhaps, and felt something other than heat against his skin, but he did not. For the time being, Bard could do little but allow his mind to reel.


The voice of the town healer stabbed through the haze like a dagger. Bard turned to see the man running toward him, stumbling on fallen boards as he went. There was something about that and his tone of voice that Bard did not like. His heart thundered, though he knew not what could be more terrible than staring down a dragon.

“You must come now,” said the healer, and Bard heard it for certain this time: panic. He was falling into step beside the man to race back the direction he’d come from before Bard even thought to ask:

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

“It’s…” The healer hesitated, then finally finished with a quiet, “[Name].”

There was no need for further explanation. Bard’s heart gave a great leap once more, then seemed to fall dead inside his chest. Unthinking, he picked up his already considerable pace still further. “Is she worse?”

“Considerably so. All the smoke and the excitement. I-I do not believe she will be with us much longer.”

They had reached Bard’s home. It was not your home, but it was closer, and it was there he had sent you earlier that evening when you had so boldly strode into the midst of the battle. He pressed his hand against the door, but found he had not yet the courage to step inside. “There is nothing you can do?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing more.”

“Then leave us,” said Bard. “I will send for you when…when I am ready.”

“Of course.”

Bard did not wait to see his orders followed. They would be, he was sure of that. Already the people of Laketown were treating him differently. It was not exactly what he had envisioned for his simple life of smuggling, but face the change he would—and face it as he always did: alone.

Grim-faced, he slipped through the house’s narrow, dark halls. He ought to have been grateful that this building continued to stand, that you could be comfortable in your final moments now that your home was in flames. Grateful was the farthest emotion from Bard’s person just then, however. All he could think about was that blasted dwarf king, and that cursed dragon.

“You made it,” came a hoarse voice from inside the bedroom. Bard entered to find the snug room lit with the last scrap of candle wax to his name. So be it. He could think of no better use for it, and if he had his way, that so-called King of the Mountain would be paying enough to have Laketown swimming in the stuff in due time. But that was a thought for a different time.

“I made it,” he agreed as he settled into the empty stool the healer had pulled up by the bed. “Did you think I would not come?”

You smiled the same soft smile he had fallen for at first sight, the same smile that had made him wonder if love could come twice into his life somehow. Even now, it reached your eyes. “How is everything?”

That was not an answer to his question, but Bard didn’t push. Instead, he reached for your hands that were resting on the covers. Already they were cold. “The battle is over,” he said as he rubbed his thumb across your too-pale knuckles. “Smaug is dead.”

“The town?”

“Still standing. Most of it.”

“And the children?”

“Safe,” he answered. It hurt his heart to think about them. Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda had already lost their mother. Now on the cusp of finding someone to fill some of the hole left by her, that someone, too, passed on. Bard knew Tilda would take it the hardest; he dreaded telling her the news. “They will miss you.”

“I’ll miss them. And you. Most of all you.”

“You should not have come into the thick of things.” Perhaps Bard shouldn’t have said it. What was done was done. There was no changing your decision now, and you knew even better than he the fruits of your effort. “You were becoming well. Had you stayed put—”

“And burned alive without seeing you again? While the rest of the village died defending the town without me?”

“Smaug has been vanquished without you, and yet you lay dying,” Bard answered hotly. He should not have been feeling so angry at your deathbed, but Bard could not help himself. Only now was the cold horror of seeing you out of bed, eyes blazing brighter than the fires the dragon spewed out, sinking in. There was nothing he could have done once he saw you; your death had been imminent from that point on. Only the thought of killing Smaug had distracted him. Bard bowed his head. “Is this to be my reward? Losing you when everything should be rescued?”

A rough laugh spilled from your throat. “Maybe you’re right,” you said. “Maybe I just wanted one last adventure.”

Had you not seen him weep before? The tears had not yet sprang to his eyes, and still it was hard to force them up again. You smiled. Had Bard not watched you waste away these past months, he would not have known the pain you were in, would not have understood how close you were to fading away from him entirely. Your smile sweetened.

“I didn’t have much time left anyway. I’m glad to have spent the last of mine helping you, Bard. Not dying quietly in my own bed.” Slipping your hands out of his, you lifted one to cup his face. “You will be a magnificent king.”

“I never wanted the title.”

“I know. But now it is yours. I love you. I shall pass your love onto your wife when I see her.”

One of his hands lifted to hold yours against his cheek. He could not blink his tears away now, though his eyes were merely wet. Missing you go would be unacceptable. “I love you as well, [Name],” he said softly. “And I thank you. For everything.”

Grinning, you brushed your thumb against his skin. Over and over, and over and over, and over…and…over. Then nothing. The spark in your eye disappeared. His breath came slowly in and out as he looked on, still grasping your hand. All warmth inside it was gone now. Bard closed his eyes before slowly lowering your hand to the bed. But he could not stay as he wanted. He could not even take the time to mourn. As you had reminded him, there was much work to do, and he was now the one to do it. He would not let your final words to him echo in his mind in vain.

Bard the BowmanxReader: Angst
Part 36 of 160 of The Space Between Stars, my reader insert one shot request booklet.

All prompts come from the 160 Collective Drabbles collection by Elsaa on Lunaescence Archives.

Okay, do you guys hate me? Because that is the only explanation I can think of for why you keep asking me for Lord of the Rings characters. That, or literally no one good at writing for them is writing it right now, and you are desperate enough to come to me for your fix.

I have never been crazy about The Hobbit. I tell you this now. Also, I looked up this guy in the movies since I didn't watch those and I was so confused as to why Orlando Bloom was playing two characters for a few minutes.

Bard the Bowman was requested by Treva Winchester of Gondor on Quotev.

Next up's Bruce again!

After so long in a quiet house with no one but your unborn baby for company, any company at all was a welcome change of pace. Even several weeks later with Bruce back home, this remained true. You smiled to yourself as you stepped through the door after work one evening and were greeted by the distant rumbling of his and Tony’s voices on the floor above. It was good to have your husband back, even better that said husband had something to occupy his time.

Peeling off your coat revealed the smallest of baby bumps protruding from the space between your hips. It wasn’t much, but it was proof that what you and Bruce had created together was growing—the only sign, in fact. You had agreed to be surprised by whatever the baby turned out to be, sex-wise. That decision turned out to be for the best. One visit to your new SHIELD-issue gynecologist (Pepper and Tony really did have everyone on speed dial) proved that whatever the kid was, normal wasn’t it. The amniotic sac wasn’t opaque, leaving any hints as to the baby’s appearance or well-being a mystery.

But it wouldn’t be growing if it wasn’t healthy, right? Besides, Hulks were practically immortal. If anything was threatening the little guy (or gal), you were sure you would know, and so would everyone else. Whatever it was, it was safe here. Safe and happy.

Rubbing absently at your tiny something-or-other, you walked briskly to the kitchen to start preparing a meal. There turned out to be no need. A lasagna already sat cooking in the oven, courtesy of Bruce, you suspected. Whether or not he was going overboard trying to make up for abandoning you didn’t really matter; he was still coddling you every chance he got these days. It was a little embarrassing, but you weren’t about to stop him now.

You decided to wait the five remaining minutes for the lasagna to finish cooking before going to join the boys upstairs. Bruce was so wrapped in whatever it was they were working on up there to notice you were home, and it would probably be a nice surprise. Before the alarm could go off and alert him to your presence, you punched the button, then made yourself busy cutting the pasta, preparing three plates, and pouring three glasses of ice water. All this you set on the tray you had, on occasion, used to bring Bruce breakfast in bed, and headed their direction.

“We’re gonna have to take the whole wall down,” Tony’s voice came drifting down to meet you.

“We’re not taking the wall down,” came Bruce’s reply.

“How else do you suggest we make everything tantrum proof?”

“I don’t know, Tony. But I have faith enough in your genius to know you can think of something other than blowing up my house.”

“It’s one wall, not your entire house. You know, or we could just scrap the whole project and you all could move in with me and Pepper.”

“We’re not moving into the Tower,” you announced as you walked into the tiny nursery, which was presently drenched red from the sunset beaming through the windows. “I would never see Bruce again. Dinner’s ready,” you added as you placed your tray on the unpainted nightstand. Both men eagerly moved in on it and took their plates.

“When did you get home?” Bruce asked, leaning over to peck you on the cheek. “You didn’t have to bring all this up here. You ought to be resting.”

“While you work? Honestly, Bruce, we’ll be fine.”

He looked fit to argue, but Tony unexpectedly came to your defense: “If she says she’s fine, she’s fine. Pregnant ladies are a lot more durable than you’d think. Pepper didn’t take a single day off during her pregnancy. Probably would have kept on working straight through labor if I’d let her.”

“Probably because she was afraid she’d kill you if she spent all that time with you.” Bruce hid a smile with his cup of water. Tony narrowed his eyes.

“Careful, Big Guy. I could still move your entire house inside my place in the dead of night without you noticing.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I’ll move your entire house inside my house!”

“No, Tony,” you and Bruce said in unison.

The answer was a distinctly un-Tonyish cry. A beat of confused silence followed, then Tony sighed and made his way to toward the back of the room. “Now you’ve done it,” he said, and bent to retrieve a squalling little girl from the playpen set up there. “She won’t go to sleep again until I’ve fed her.”

“But you can’t feed her lasagna,” you protested. Tony shot you one of his patented dirty looks.

“What kind of a father do you think I am?” Rocking Emma gently with one arm, he leaned over to dig around in his bag for a minute or so. Two baby food bottles were produced from within some deep inner-pocket; these Tony waved pointedly in your direction. “A stay-at-home dad always comes prepared.”

“You’re hardly a stay-at-home dad,” Bruce said, sitting on the floor to start on his dinner. You remained standing, leaning against the wall. “You’ve got that whole school.”

“First off,” said Tony, “Avengers Tower is not a school. It’s a boarding home for wayward Inhuman youths with nowhere else to go. Secondly, it’s a charity, not a job. Lastly, and I can’t believe I’m having to explain this, no one in their right mind would actually put me in charge of it. I’m just there for the funding. All I’ve ever been good for.”

“Don’t say that. You’re good at lots of things,” said Bruce. “Like creating maniacal sentient robots and showing up Steve.”

“Thank you. So much.”

“And taking care of your daughter,” you added softly. Seeing Tony spoon-feeding Emma from her car seat perched on his and Bruce’s tool table made something in your heart ache. Bruce had lavished attention and adoration on you since his return, but he hardly ever spoke about the baby. You hadn’t even discussed names yet. Try as you might to convince yourself that was because you couldn’t even know for sure that what was growing in your womb was nameable, you couldn’t help fearing still that once it came, Bruce wouldn’t love it. Not like how Tony clearly cherished his daughter.

“Yeah, I’m doing a real great job right now,” he said above Emma’s screaming attempts to avoid having mashed peas stuffed in her mouth. Thank goodness there was tarp covering the wood floor, because a lot more of the stuff was on that than inside her stomach. Finally, Tony managed to pop the tiny spoon between her lips, and Emma fell silent for a few moments to suck on it. Tony shot Bruce a triumphant grin. “If I can do it, you can do it.”

Bruce didn’t look up; in fact, he became very focused on scrapping the last of the cheese off his plate. “I don’t know about that.”

You laid a hand on his shoulder, and that he did look up at, squinting at you through the lenses of his adorable work glasses. “Tony’s right. You’re going to be a great father. Look at how much you’ve already done for them.”

Again, Bruce looked away. His empty plate was set down next to him on the floor just so he could take up his usual nervous habit of rubbing his palms together. “Preparing isn’t the same as being a dad,” he said, avoiding you and Tony’s gazes. “I just don’t know if—my dad wasn’t the greatest example.”

“Neither was mine,” Tony put in before you could fiercely remind Bruce that he was nothing like his brute of a father, and neither was the Hulk. “It’ll be different when the kid gets here. I was a wreck when Pepper told me, remember? I was so scared I would wind up being just like my old man, minus the weird Steve obsession, obviously. But as soon as I got to hold Emma in my arms, I knew I couldn’t be. Besides, you and I both have great wives to whip us back into shape when we need it.”

A soft smile spread across Bruce’s face. “That last bit’s true.”

“I love you, Bruce,” you said quietly. “You’ve never hurt me—”

“I left you for a month.”

“But you’re not going to do that again.” There was no arguing when you used that tone of voice. “I love you, and this little guy or girl is going to love you. You’re a wonderful husband, and I know you’re going to be a wonderful father, too. Better than Tony, even.”

“Debatable,” said Tony, but he grinned. “Seriously, Big Guy. It’s better than you think. Cheer up before [Name] decides to move to the Tower to get away from you. I don’t want to have to watch you mope like that anymore.”

“I would never—”

“I know,” Bruce said. Slowly, he took your hand and pulled you down for a brief kiss. “We’re doing this together. We’ll figure it out.”

“And you’ll always have me, and Tony Stark’s Avengers School for Gifted Youth,” Tony said, just as Emma started shrieking again.

“You can’t seriously be changing the name to that,” said Bruce.

“Of course not. I told you, no one will let me be in charge of those decisions.”

“I wonder why that is,” you murmured. Bruce caught your eye, and smiled sincerely. You beamed back. With friends and family like this, your little Hulkling was going to be the luckiest kid in the whole wide world.

Bruce BannerxReader: Where Gods Do Fear [Ch. 5]
Part 5 of 9/2 of 4 of Where Gods Do Fear to Tread.

All prompts come from the 9 Months challenge by crackleviolet on Lunaescence Archives.

I've got a bit of pattern going: 5 one shots, then a chapter update. I've been stuck on this story for a bit for some reason. Oh, well. As long as I finish something, then I'm happy.

Someone asked for some Tony, so here you go!

Previous Chapter: 4. Making Plans
Current Chapter: 5. Starting to Show
Next Chapter: 6. Lost
  • Mood: Stumped
  • Reading: Party Princess
  • Watching: Daredevil
  • Playing: The Last of Us
Not that I have that many FAQs on this site, but I just updated the one I have on Quotev, so I might as well put this here. I have had a few of these questions asked here, anyway.

Q1: Where are your other accounts?
Lunaescence Archives (Straw), Ghosts of the Vanguard (Straw), Quotev (Straw/Strawchan), and Tumblr (mostlyieatburritos).

If you ever see anything of mine under any other names or any other sites, please report it and then let me know. They are stealing my work.

Q2:  What are you currently working on?
A: My "About Me" section always has current information on what I'm working on, and how far along in it I am.

Q3: When are you going to update x?
A: I attempted to go in a certain order, but as I got stuck on chapter 11 of Brightest for several months, I've decided to go back to just updating whenever I feel a chapter coming on. Stories ((Don't) Hold Your Breath, Brightest, Adventures in a Realm Without Divorce Court, and Tastes a Little like Freedom, a Little like Fear) I intend to keep a sort of rotating schedule on. Tastes gets two updates per round because the chapters are short, and it's suppose to have 100 of them. You can always check out the "Fic Progress" link at the top of my Tumblr to see how many words I currently have for anything upcoming. 

Q4: What are you planning on writing?
A: My "About Me" section always has a list of fics I am considering writing once I am done with present ten projects I am currently doing. You can find them below the current projects section. Sometimes I will also discuss plans and put excerpts up on Tumblr, under the tag "fan fic" or "WIP."

Q5: I think the things in your Avengers collection are too short. Can I take them and rewrite them?
A:​ While I am flattered--especially since I've been writing longer one shots lately--I would prefer that you did not. Credited or not, if I do find you posting nothing more than rewrites of my things, I will report you. Thank you for understanding.  

Q6: I think your reader-insert clip is great for my OC. Can I put it in my story and replace the reader with my character?
A: Please do not. Credited or not, these are my words not yours. If I find you doing so, I will report you. Thank you for understanding.

Q7: Your story has inspired me! Could I write something based off my idea?
A: Absolutely! I can't really say no, since I'm writing fan fiction, too. All I ask is that you put a link to whichever thing of mine inspired you in one author's note, if it's particularly close to my idea. Example: if you want to write something that goes directly off Trigger Warning, please link your readers to that in the first chapter. If it's barely related and just made you think of a story somewhat similar, you need not credit me. 

Q8: Are you going to continue this thing that you have finished?
No, I never plan to add on to something marked "completed." Sometimes, I will add sequels to drabbles or one shots in my Happily Ever After collection, but this happens more and rarely. If the book is marked "completed" or "discontinued," I would appreciate you not asking me for a continuation. Thank you.

Q9: Update this!! (Or any number of ruder or politer ways of phrasing this.)

Q10: Do you roleplay?
A: I used to, but not anymore! Sorry to disappoint. Nowadays all I do is some StevexBucky with one specific person.

Q11: I think I have a neat idea for a fan fiction. Would you like to collaborate?
A: No, thank you. The thing about all this is that I have very high standards. Half the time I drive myself crazy trying to perfect my stuff (which, of course, I never manage to do). I do not want to suck all the fun out of this website for you. Besides, I'm so busy and bad at updating these days that you would end up doing most of the work, which hardly seems fair to you.

Q13: Can I repost your fan fiction on another site?
A: No. I don't care if this is another website or even a website I'm already on (like Quotev) in one of those collections of favorites people make. If you like my stuff, then you should link it to people you want to share it with. Since I'm the writer, it is only fair that I am the one that gets any of the feedback you might otherwise receive. Collections where the fic still is on my account is fine. Collections where you put under yours are not.

Q14: Do you take requests?
A: I do have a reader-insert request booklet. You can post a request on that collection, entitled The Space Between Stars. Please note that you may only request characters for the reader to be paired with, and you can suggest a scenario. 

Q15: I want something more specific/with my OC. Will you do a special request for that?
A: No. However, you may commission me. I realize that a lot of people on this site are young and have limited amounts of money. If you want to discuss me writing something more specific, then you can leave me a comment and I will contact you so we can discuss prices, and we'll see if we can come up with something that will work for both of us.

Q16: I think the pairing in this story would be better as something else.
A: Then you will need to go find another story to read, or write it yourself. With the exception of stories where people vote for the end pairing (something I have only ever done with But Uh-Oh Those Summer Nights), I never start something without knowing exactly where the relationship is headed. I have at least some idea of what I'm doing with every chapter, so I cannot change what I'm doing five chapters in.

Q17: I do not like the way you portray me/the reader in this story.
A: Sorry, but I do not ascribe to the idea that reader inserts are to have no real established personality outside of the generic "lol I am a so randumb Hetalia-loving high school student." Generally speaking, I write the characters as adults, and since I plot my story, I need to know who the character is as a person. I fully understand that you, as a real person, might not be a doormat, a recovering addict, a professor at a school in New England, or a bitter ex-athlete who suddenly lost their arms. But that's the character I need to tell the story. My writing is more geared toward "virtual reality": letting you step into the shoes of someone different. If this is not how you like your reader inserts, that's perfectly fine. But you will need to find somewhere else to get it.

Q18: Read this story!
I don't read other fan fictions, unless it is specifically for a fandom I know of, but don't have much interest in, and is really, really short. As I said above, my standards are high, so when I read stuff about, say, Tony Stark beating his Avatar daughter into unconsciousness, it upsets me. I am aware, however, this isn't a cool attitude to have, as when I was 13, I also wrote a lot of garbage (and still frequently do). So I stay away, and let everyone have their fun. If you are posting this on one of my stories, though: Get off, and quit wasting my time. That's uncool, too.

Do you have further questions, or wish for clarification, or still just want to talk to me? Feel free to leave a comment or contact me on Tumblr.

This question and answer series is subject to revision and updating whenever the author wishes.


TehStraw's Profile Picture
Artist | Student | Literature
United States

Asexual, aromantic interested in romance, but not in having a romance herself. As a result, spends a lot of time writing romantic fan fic. Does this work out? Probably not. But she's been trying for twelve years now, so nobody is going to stop her now.

Also a card-carrying nerd who spends time not writing watching old episodes of Star Trek and reading massive quantities of information on old pop culture she isn't even involved in. Or playing FPS and JRPGs badly. Or watching movie reviews on the internet. Ships Steve and Bucky like there's no tomorrow. Collects Pop bobble heads of Avengers characters. Did not mean to write this in the third person, but now isn't sure how to stop.

Recently got promoted and has her own office now and is hoping she can get back into writing since she's on hold so much. Starting online class to get certified to edit towards the end of January 2016, though, so isn't entirely sure this will keep up. Hopefully will allow her to have less typos but she isn't going to get her hopes up.

Loves baths, Zoo Tycoon, sleeping, her fish (Ken, Chikusa, Loki, and Groot), her cat (Seymour), and telling her life story to anyone or anything that will stay still long enough to listen.

Went to college for creative writing. Went to more college for plain English. Wants to be a real writer when she grows up. Frankly thinks all of her original ideas suck, so she keeps writing fan fic.

Also posts fan fictions to Quotev (as Straw/Strawchan), Ghosts of the Vanguard (as Straw), and Lunaescence Archives (as Straw). Fics posted on any other site or under any other name have been stolen.

Current Projects:

(Don't) Hold Your Breath
Fandom: The Last of Us
Pairings: Joel/Reader; Maria/Tommy
Main Song: We Fall Apart by We As Human
Challenge: #32 in His Rulebook

Adventures in a Realm Without Divorce Court
Fandom: Thor; Avengers
Pairings: Thor/Jane; Thor/Reader; Clint/Darcy
Main Song: Waking Up in Vegas by Katy Perry
Challenge: A Twist on "I Do"

Fandom: Iron Man 2
Pairings: Justin Hammer/Reader; Tony Stark/Reader; Happy/Pepper
Main Song: Head on Collision by Hawk Nelson
Challenge: N/A

Just a Myth
Fandom: Avengers; Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Avengers: Age of Ultron
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/Reader; implied Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse
Main Song: I Am Not a Robot by Marina and the Diamonds
Challenge: A Perfect Love...

Logical Fallacy
Fandom: James Bond; Skyfall
Pairings: Q/Reader; Bond/Moneypenny
Main Song: A Thousand Years by Christina Perri
Challenge: 102 Things a Guy Should Know About Girls

Natasha Romanoff's Matchmaking Service
Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Pairings: Steve Rogers/Reader; past Brock Rumlow/Reader
Main Song: N/A
Fic Trade Prompt: Late-night Bonfire

One Small Step
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairings: Various/Reader
Main Song: N/A
Challenge: 120 Bits of Random

The Space Between Stars
Fandom: Request
Pairings: Request
Main Song: N/A
Challenge: 160 Collective Drabbles

Tastes a Little like Freedom, a Little like Fear
Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Pairings: Winter Soldier/Reader
Main Song: Honey and the Bee by Owl City
Challenge: 100 Drabble Adventure

Where Gods Do Fear to Tread
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Currently Bruce/Reader
Main Song: N/A
Challenge: 9 Months

Coming Eventually
(If I can ever actually finish any of the above stories.)

Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Pairings: OC/Reader; Brock Rumlow/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: 20 Every Day Questions

To That Distant Future
Fandom: (Pre-)Captain America: The First Avenger
Pairings: Steve Rogers/Reader; Bucky Barnes/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: Childhood Memories

A Stab in the Dark
Fandom: Guardians of the Galaxy
Pairing: Nebula/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: NA/TBA

All That Glitters
Fandom: Agent Carter
Pairing: Polyamorous Peggy/Reader/Angie
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: Yuri For Every Occasion

Fandom: Avengers
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: Dont'd Tooch My Mommy!

To Win an Agent in 14 Days
Fandom: Avengers
Pairing: Clint/Reader; Tony/Natasha
Main Song: TBA
Challenge: To Win a Girl in ____ Days!

A Thing for the Villains
Fandom: MCU
Pairing: Various Villains/Reader
Main Song: NA
Challenge: Is It Love, Really?

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Rise-Of-Majora Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2016  Student Digital Artist
Can I Ask A Request? Can You Do A Peter Quill (From Guardians Of The Galaxy)  And Male Son Reader?
Im Even Giving To The Information Of Who Is Him If You Dont know Him

If You Cant, Sorry If I Bother You
TehStraw Featured By Owner Jan 28, 2016  Student Writer
It's not a bother! I can certainly try it. I'll add it to my request booklet. The prompt will be "imagination." Thank you for requesting!
chelsea77xx89manga Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Will there be any NatashaxReader fics soon?
TehStraw Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2016  Student Writer
I don't know about soon, because that depends on your definition of soon. But I do intend to update Just a Myth eventually. Actually, I have most of the next chapter written, but it's really bad, so intend to get around to rewriting it eventually. And there will be one shots when I get back to my Avengers collection, too.
chelsea77xx89manga Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Okay that sounds great!
Alienette Featured By Owner Edited Aug 13, 2015
Thank You By Kmygraphic-d8skr9p by anne1956
FrozenCrystalRose Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Welcome to ReadersInc! We hope you enjoy the group!
LokiAvengerFangirl Featured By Owner May 26, 2015
Happy Birthday! :D
TehStraw Featured By Owner May 27, 2015  Student Writer
Why thank you!
LokiAvengerFangirl Featured By Owner May 28, 2015
You're welcome :) Hope it was good
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