Summary: You’re a mutant with the power of dimensional, spatial and time manipulation, meaning you can travel to and from dimension, spaces and different times with ease. But one day, when you’re coming back from a particularly long mission, you brought something back that should never have come with you in the first place.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that Marvel has created and I certainly don’t own Sebastian Stan.
Warnings: Swearing, angst and serious topics of depression, self-worth and nervous picking below. If you’re sensitive, I suggest you read with caution, if not at all. (I don’t know if it’s triggering or not, but I’m just letting you know in case)
Y/N stopped and squint at the pages, before gently taking the book from Sarge’s hold.
“We’ve still got time. It’s just branching out, that’s all. Let me see where it starts from, maybe I can figure out the source point, I can determine how long it’ll start erasing the more recent news events.” Y/N set the book down on the table, next to the others. Taking a quick glance, she noticed they were all history books. “Calm down, you two. It’s going to be alright. I’ve only done this once before, but I can remember how these things go.” She flipped through the book. “It starts erasing after the Boston Massacre in 1770 and it stops at the same time Sarge jumped through the portal with me. That’s approximately 174 years of time the paradox had completely disintegrated. We’ll remember everything, since we’re at the center, but everyone else will forget, this is normal. I’ll fix it.”
Now, she was going through the vortex to assess the damage.
Y/N sighed gently, sitting on the balcony, her long leather jacket rustling in the strong wind, her hair pulled back by the hat she was given by a young boy in the 20′s, twirling the watch around her fingertips as she looked out at the sky.
It was the same outfit she wore every time she was on a mission. She loved the jacket and the hat. Tight black jeans encased her long legs with high-heeled ankle boots clicking against the glass and she wore a t-shirt with her favourite band’s logo emblazoned on the front.
“Fuck,” she whispered, her voice tired. The dark circles under her eyes matched her tone and she grit her teeth in frustration, “I’m doing this for Bucky!” Her fingers drummed against the ornate silver cover before she shoved it in her back pocket, swinging her legs around and she landed easily on the ground.
Stop believing that your success revolves around your action. It doesn’t. Your success revolves around your focus. Your success revolves ONLY around your focus. Your joyful focus. Period. Your joyful focus.