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striving-artist:

Okay, finally, jeez. the stubborn jerk really didn’t want this thing to end happy. It was a fight. But I won. And just to warn you, I cried. I never cry. I pretty much have no soul. So, uh, buckle up? I’ll port this to Ao3 another day. Because it is now complete. 

Part One is Here.

Part Two is Here. 

He hadn’t been seen near them since the fight that blinded – that made Tony – when Bucky almost –

Since the day that Tony left Avengers Tower.

There had been a few skirmishes with minor evil, but nothing serious. Nothing they called Tony for.

Nothing they needed him for.

He checked.

Then he set up Jarvis to alert him even if they didn’t, because it didn’t damn well matter if they wanted him there when things got bad. It didn’t matter if they didn’t want to hear him; if things reached DC levels again, Tony would fly his ass into the middle of it.

It wasn’t like they could hate him any more than they already did.

Not after what he’d put them through.

They sent a few messages. Right at the start. Right after he left.

The first of them popped up on the HUD when he was over Nebraska, two hours after walking out of Bucky’s room with his throat in scorching pain from suppressing any further sound. The displayed showed ‘James Barnes’, and a tiny video preview of the man sitting on the hospital bed.

Tony declined the call.

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Listen. It’s common knowledge among the villains of the world. If you’re anywhere close to being a professional Badguy, then you’ve heard the stories. You know the rumours.

Tony Stark Does Not Die. So for God’s sake, do not be stupid enough to try.

Some of the newbies, they ask. They wonder why no-one tries to shoot a fatal hit, why they never even bother to go for Iron Man. 

The older, more weary villains just roll their eyes and mutter “don’t wanna waste my firepower. Save your shots for the ones that will actually stay dead, kid,”

“That asshole crawled out of a cave with a hole in his chest and still managed to kick everyone’s ass,” someone pipes up moodily from the corner.

There’s a sudden bang as a hand slaps on the counter, and the newbie turns to see another grim-looking villain.“I once shot straight through him. Laser right through the stomach. You know what that piece of shit did?” The guy gestures to his lack of foot. “He Goddamn turned around and shot my leg off! and then he just sort of looked down and shrugged at his own fatal wound. He told me I had it worse, and that he was ‘sorry’. Who even does that?”

“I crushed him,” says another, “he just buried out the other way and then caught me a day later. It took me years to get out of prison.”

“I planted a virus in his suit while he was thousands of miles above sea, and not only did he defend it, but he traced my source and sent it back. Thousands and thousands of dollar’s worth of tech, gone,” someone shouts miserably from across the room. “He didn’t even have a fucking keyboard! Every line of code was verbal! He spoke and memorised those lines faster than I could type them, and I goddamn invented the thing!”

A bottle of… something, flies across the room. Obviously everyone is very bitter about this.

The newbie, because they’re always like this at the start; over-confident and stiflingly cocky, puffs their chest and looks them all in the eye. “you just haven’t been thinking about it hard enough. I’ll kill him. Just watch.”

Everyone descends into hysterical laughter. Someone is crying. No one in the room is Okay. 

“Whatever you say, whatever you think or plan, he’s one step ahead. Don’t, for your sake, please. Take Thor. Or Cap. Or maybe the Widow, if you’re feeling brave? But just… don’t waste your time with him. Try and keep him away, instead. That’s all we can ask for,” says someone next to her, obviously taking pity.

“He might be smart, but he’ll have no idea what’s coming when I step on the scene!” Newbie growls. “Listen-”

A few miles across, Tony Stark listens to the whole conversation via a bug he planted in the known Villain Hiding-Spot, and smiles smugly.

“Damn straight,” he mutters, before calling in the rest of the Avengers to gloat.
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Bad Days were…slightly less bad after adopting the dragons. For one, they were warm and would happily bake you with their bodyheat if you let them. They were also incredily demanding little terrors.
So somewhere around 10AM, Tony didn’t really have a coice about drying his face, getting out of bed, and making them breakfast. He was late and they knew it; rather than having to go find all the mischief they’d gotten into with his team-mates, they were all over him. Jessie, most of all, liked being on top, so the moment he was even slightly upright she scrambled onto his head. Ciel and the others found clings and perches on his shoulders and clothes; at least he was wearing a hoodie to bed at the moment; the fabric was tough enough to take it.
They hot little paws and bellies warmed his skin where the blankets had been doing a shitty job and their chirps and rattling croaks made brain-monkeys shut up.
“Christ, how many of you are there,” he said, in response to another weight thumping onto his back. “have you been breeding? I told you no babies.”
As sad as he felt about it, they wouldn’t be having any ‘nettes of their own, though. He wouldn’t either, but that was his choice, these guys were just not allowed. Too many homeless dragons around to add to the problem.
“Who wants fish, huh? I think it’s salmon today, y’all finished the mackrel.”
A chorus of squeaks half deafened him, and a gout of fire shot straight upwards at the ceiling.
“Yeah, yeah…”
By the time he had them all fed, and a few foraging toys made up with bismuth and bonito treats, his head had stopped aching from crying. He assumed that that meant he could wander out into the living room without giving his bad morning away and led the draconic procession into the marble play zone. The human side of the room contained a Steve, and Tony’s shoulder got lighter as one of ‘em shot off to say good morning.
The others followed his bucket of toys with the dedication it deserved.
He settled on the floor, with his back against their hearth, and rolled the first toy across the floor. They’d have to flame up, gnaw, claw, and work together to get that one, and Ciel and Benny rushed off after it; they knew it needed two, and had enough tasty treats inside to make it worthwhile.Jessie came back, attached to Steve’s arm and, apparently, managing to pull him along through sheer force of leaning her neck out reaaaallly far in the direction she wanted to go in. She had him trained, apparently.                                     

He tossed Gem a one-dragon forage toy, a ball with holes, and held a foot toy out for Jessie; she’d have to let go of Steve to play with it to best effect, and she complied. She dropped off his arm and parachuted to the ground rather than flying. She scuffled off far enough to be out of the way of The Feets, which she consistently regarded with intense suspicion, before rolling head over heels to juggle-gnaw the wooden box on her back. She had to slide one of the sides and she was pretty good at them, but it would take her some testing to work out which of the twelve edges was the right one to pull on.

Steve joined him on the marble, their shoulders touching, and they watched the gnawing and little gouts of flame progress.

“G’morning, Tony.”

Tony grunted noncommittally. Morning you could say was accurate, but whether it was a good one, or one to be good on, he didn’t know.

“You okay?”

“Rough night. ‘s fine.”

“M’kay.”

Steve shifted away and Tony felt the crying come back like the fucking traitor it was, but then Steve draped his arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulled him into his chest.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Your face is still a bit red. Really rough night?”

“The worst.”

“S’okay now though.” Steve squeezed gently and Tony let his head drop onto his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Gem, triumphant at last, tottered over on back legs and wing wrists and deposited the empty forage-ball on his knee.

“Yeah, I’m okay. You make it okay.”

He couldn’t decide who he was talking to, but since Steve tightened his grip and Gem pushed the toy so it rolled sootily down his pyjama leg, he didn’t suppose that mattered.
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sineala:

After a battle against the Controller goes awry, Steve is bewildered and guilt-ridden when Tony begins to treat him exactly the same as he treats everyone else.

@spaceliondad had a post asking for a fic where Tony gets temporary amnesia and treats Steve like he treats everyone and Steve realizes the extent to which Tony had previously been giving him special treatment. This is my take on that prompt. Also features (unrequited) Spideytorch.

This is also a fill for Cap-IM Bingo, the square “remote control.” Ha.

Read Down to Zero on AO3 (18,336 words).
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onemuseleft:

sabrecmc:

reinventlou:

someone turn this into a fic, i’ll pay you with my endless love

Steve accidentally sends the dick pic, then gets called to the boss’s office. Wonder how that will go?

“If I’d known he was the boss I wouldn’t have done it!” Steve was aware that his tone was rapidly leaving “hushed whisper” in the dust and careening straight into the territory of “frantic wail” but it was either shatter Bucky’s eardrums or die right there in his cubicle of a heart attack.

“Done what?” Bucky’s voice was a raspy growl in his ear, made even rougher by exasperation. Bucky had gotten home just as Steve was leaving for the office, which means he’d had about fifteen minutes of sleep before Steve called him.

Six times. In a row. Look, if Steve couldn’t demand his best friend’s attention as his life was about to go down in flames - humiliating flames - then what was even the point of having a best friend? If Bucky wanted a good night’s sleep he should have been friends with someone less socially awkward.

Steve risked straightening up, peeking over the top of his cubicle. The boss was still standing up at the head of the department, talking to Steve’s manager. Phil was rolling his eyes, but he was smiling as he did it, so the boss dropping by couldn’t have been too apocalyptic. “Remember that guy I told you about? From last night? He gave me his number?”

“Um.” Bucky grunted a little. “Ah. The guy with the great ass?”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s all you retained?”

“Steve, I swear to god, if you aren’t literally about to die-”

“I sent him a picture,” Steve said. “Of me.”

“So?” Bucky heaved a heavy sigh and Steve could hear the sound of his box springs creaking as Bucky apparently gave up on going back to sleep. “So you sent him a selfie. Big deal. You’re not a teenager on the web and he already knew what you looked like anyway.”

“It wasn’t a picture of my face,” Steve hissed.

There’s a long blank moment of silence and then a burst of laughter that would have done a Disney villain proud. Steve ground his teeth for a long minute as Bucky gasped for breath only to start himself off again. 

“Oh my - oh my god.” Bucky dragged in a ragged breath and ruined it by cackling again. “You sent - Steve Rogers sent a stranger a dick pic!” He blew air out in a heavy puff. “Oh, god, Stevie, this is the best thing you’ve ever done for me. Look, I gotta go, I gotta call Tasha.”

“Bucky!” Steve snapped, then immediately lowered his voice. “Bucky, the guy from last night is my boss!”

“Wait, you mean-”

“The guy who just bought the studio and saved us all from unemployment. The guy who pays my salary, which we need to make rent. That guy.”

Bucky huffed. “Well, it’s not like it was unsolicited. Maybe he’ll give you a raise.”

“I am not going to seduce the new owner for money!”

The other side of the phone dissolved into laughter again.

“I hate you,” Steve said, and hung up.

“Am I interrupting?”

Steve jumped half a foot in the air and stumbled back into the wall of the cubicle. “Holy-”

The new owner - Steve’s new boss - was standing just outside the cubicle. He had one arm draped over the top of the wall, hip cocked out a little, watching Steve flounder with a little grin that wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

He was just as fucking pretty this morning as he’d been last night and it was extremely unfair. He was wearing a charcoal suit with a vivid ruby-red button up shirt that clung to his chest in a way that left Steve feeling vaguely jealous of a piece of material. He was Steve’s height but slimmer in the shoulders and chest and Steve knew for a fact that his hands would fit perfectly over his hipbones.

“Sir. I mean- Um.” He flailed mentally (and a little bit physically as he tried to push away from the cubicle wall without shoving the whole thing over onto Kitty in the next cube) trying to remember what the hell the new owner’s name was. He’d known it yesterday, he was sure of that, before he’d realized that Tony-Something the new boss was also Tony-hot-ass-who-gave-Steve-his-number.

Oh god, don’t say that out loud, Rogers. Steve steadied himself and held his hands carefully at his side. “Sir,” he said finally, figuring that was as safe as it was going to get.

“Can we talk?” Tony tipped his head toward the conference room. “Just a minute or two, if you’re at a good stopping place?”

It was 9:24 in the morning and it was painfully obvious Steve had done jackshit since arriving in the office besides flip out over his incredibly poor decision making skills. “Sure,” he said. “Yeah, I can. Let’s go.”

He shot a look at Phil as he followed Tony across the hall but his boss just raised both hands in a helpless gesture. The smirk was killing the effect, though. 

Phil’s sheer delight in Steve’s plight was still a better choice than turning his gaze forward and running the risk of staring at his new boss’s ass so Steve just narrowed his eyes and plotted how he’d pay Phil back for enjoying this so much.

Tony closed the conference room door behind them, assuring they couldn’t be overheard, at least, though the glass-walled room is not where Steve would have chosen to have this conversation. “So, look, I guess you know why I wanted us to talk?”

“Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic,” Steve blurted out and immediately dropped his head into his hands. Jesus, he’d just said “dick pic” to his new boss. He could feel his face turning red. He was going to look like a human tomato in about five seconds.

“Oh,” Tony said. There was a moment of silence, during which Steve refused to look up. “Ah. Well. That makes this awkward then, doesn’t it?”

“It wasn’t awkward before?” Steve asked, aware his voice sounded more than a little plaintive.

“I, ah.” There’s an awkward pause and Steve risked looking up. Tony was running a hand through his hair and the wicked curve of his smile had gone rueful. “I didn’t realize it was an accident. The picture. I thought it was meant for me.” He clapped his hands together in front of him. “But, hey. No harm no foul! I guess this simplifies our working relationship a little.”

Did he sound… disappointed? 

Steve licked his lips and considered his options. Tony-Something had just given him an easy out from an awkward situation. But Tony-hot-ass-who-gave-Steve-his-number had been… a lot of fun. And the first person in a long, long time who made Steve want to take a chance on falling in love again.

Steve drew in a deep breath. “It was for you. Well-” He forced himself to meet Tony’s eyes. “Well, I mean. I didn’t know you were this Tony when we met last night. That part is totally awkward. But the rest of it was. Kind of nice.”

The smile on Tony’s face widened just a touch at the corners and god the man’s face was so expressive. Steve wanted to sketch him. And then see what other expressions he could make him have.

“So, obviously it’s a little weird that I’m your boss,” Tony said. “But there are ways around that, if you want to give this a shot? I already talked to Phil and warned him we knew each other. And I don’t handle the hiring and firing and promoting, actually, that’s HR and Phil, really. They don’t let me fire anyone except engineers.”

“I like the sound of that.” Steve said. “Well, not the firing. Or the part where Phil now thinks I’ve had sex with the owner. That sounds terrible. But I had fun last night. And-” He was blushing red again, he could feel it on his neck and chest. “I don’t just send pictures like that to anyone, you know.”

Tony smiled and his eyes were glittering with laughter. “I’ll text you. Maybe we can make dinner plans?”

“I’d like that.” Steve grinned past the blush. “I get off at 6, but you probably knew that.”

“You’ll get off a lot more often than that if I have my say,” Tony said with a toothy grin, then he was striding out of the conference room before the impact of his words really struck.

Steve sat there for another long minute, willing the blush to fade while several of his coworkers took turns staring at him through the glass walls.

****

When he finally finished fended off Phil’s long-winded lecture on workplace sexual harassment, complete with a lengthy and entirely too detailed description of what a “red light” touch was (Steve would appreciate the man’s concern, but he’d known Phil for more than ten years, since Afghanistan, and the man was enjoying all of this entirely too much) he made it back to his cubicle just in time for lunch. 

He was supposed to be meeting Kitty in the lobby to take some of the interns out for curry, so he grabbed his phone and wallet out of his desk. He had a bunch of missed texts, mostly just Bucky mocking him, but he stopped dead in the middle of the hallway when he saw the most recent one.

It was from Tony, a close up shot. His shirt was unbuttoned and his pants undone. One hand was pressed flat against his stomach, the tips of his fingers just barely dipping under the waistband of what looked like silk boxers. Steve could see the trail of thick dark curls that trailed down his belly and suddenly curry was the last thing on his mind.

He tapped out a quick reply - “I’m not the only one who’ll be getting off at 6 today.” - then shut his phone off before he could embarrass himself and ran to meet the others. 
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sabrecmc:

In which, Coulson delivers surprising news (twice), Jarvis is his usual helpful self, Tony takes the initiative, and secrets are finally revealed.  Will these two crazy kids finally work things out?

Updated tags:  Anal sex; Anal Fingering; Rimming; Blow Jobs; Knotting

It’s a mystery!
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arukou-arukou:

For @musicalluna, whose birthday is today. I don’t know if you remember, but you requested this scenario from me your last birthday and then I was a very bad friend and never finished it. Here it is now. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Warnings: Panic attack, chemical attack, injury

Characters: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanova, background Clint/Natasha, background Steve/Tony

Nat is ten yards away when she sees six AIM agents swarm Steve at once and latch onto him as best they can. She knows better than most that holding Steve down is not an easy thing to do, but six men putting in their all at once is enough to slow him down, enough to give the last agent the opportunity to get in his face. Nat sees it happening but she’s too far away and she’s got her own two goons between her and Steve. She vaults and spins and hears a spine snap but by the time she’s recovered from her landing it’s too late. There’s gas in Steve’s mouth and nose and eyes and Nat screams. Tony and Bruce are screaming with her and a moment later, Hulk is tearing through the battlefield and ripping agents off of Steve.

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This actually happened in some of the cartoons! I gasped out loud when I saw it for the first time. (Go to about 10 minutes in for the full scene.) I thought I’d do something a little different, because while I love Erik in the First Class movies, I always wanted a happier ending for him…

The Howling Commandos, as a forward team focused on Hydra, hadn’t liberated many camps; the ones they had were Hydra slave labor camps, where the men were, if not well-fed, then at least not the gaunt, barely-alive prisoners they’d heard about from Red Army soldiers and Allied units. 

This camp was different; at the heart of it was some kind of lab. When Steve battered down the last reinforced door, he found a man holding a gun to the head of a young boy. 

“I’ll kill him,” the man said. Steve didn’t bother with an answer; the shield took the man’s head off before he could threaten the kid again.  

Still, in that second before death, Steve had seen the man’s finger spasm on the trigger, and felt the thickness in the air when the trigger wouldn’t move. He looked at the boy, looked at the body, and had a sense of destiny resettling itself in the world. 

“Was he the camp commander?” he asked the boy, who nodded, huge-eyed. “Commander…Shaw?”

The boy nodded again. He turned and pulled Steve’s now bloody shield out of the concrete wall like it was nothing. Then, with narrowed eyes, he floated it across to him, through the air, without touching it. 

Steve took the shield out of the air, shook off what he could, put it on his back, and said, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the boy said, in trembling English.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Erik Lensherr.”

Steve had seen a lot of things in the war; nothing like this, but there had been signs of strange experiments in Hydra labs. This was comparatively harmless.

“Well, I’ll make you a deal, Erik,” he said. “I won’t tell what I saw here just now, and you help me close this place down. Then we’ll take you to HQ and get you a hot meal. Sound good?”

Erik nodded, then offered, “They knew you were coming. They destroyed all the records.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve said. “Come on.”

In the convoy, bringing the prisoners out of the camp, Steve brought Erik up to the cab of the lead truck, and put him in next to Bucky at the wheel.

“Who’s this?” Bucky asked.

“Erik,” Steve said. “He’s riding with us.”

“Sprichts du English?” Bucky asked. 

“Yes,” Erik replied. “I can speak. English, German, Yiddish, some Russian. Good interpreter. I can work for Allies?” 

“How old are ya?” Bucky asked.

“Sixteen,” Erik said. 

“You are twelve,” Bucky told him.

“I’m just small,” Erik replied.

“Yeah, because you’re twelve,” Bucky insisted. “Well, we’ll make sure the folks handling the refugees take good care of y – “

“No, he’s coming with us,” Steve said. 

“What?” 

“Erik’s coming with us to HQ. We could use an interpreter. And he’s small enough to make a good spy. He’s had enough of camps, ain’t ya, kid?” he asked, and Erik nodded. 

“You wanna join the allies, huh?” Bucky asked.

“I go with Captain America,” Erik announced. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said, and now I know better,” Bucky replied, but he was grinning. “Fine, on your own head be it. Sixteen my ass,” he said to Steve. 

Steve took off his helmet and plopped it onto Erik’s head. “Sorry, got a new sidekick now,” he told Bucky, who laughed. 

Years later, when a magazine asked Erik Lensherr why he agreed to become Captain America after the disappearance of Steve Rogers, he said, “Steve took a terrified twelve-year-old Jewish kid out of a slave labor camp, gave him a helmet, and told him he had power. I believed him. Turns out he was right.” 

ALSO IMAGINE MAGNETO AS CAPTAIN AMERICA WITH THE SHIELD. HOLY CRAP. :D 
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“Yes! I thought all of you would be here. Well, maybe not Brucie Bear because of his trust and anger issues, but I figured most of you.” Tony Stark, Howard Stark’s son and protege rushed into the debriefing room with a tablet in hand and what looked like a an upgraded version of the Widow Bite. “Obviously not Iron Man, because he’s a loser and never shows up to these things, which he should, because I’m the coolest and he deserves to meet me.”

Bucky as well as most of the Avengers perked up at Tony’s arrival. They were covered in bandages and exhausted, but all of them had grown fond of their biggest fan.

“Anthony Edward Stark, what have I told you about interrupting meetings?” Howard Stark, the only remaining founder of SHIELD left on duty, scowled at his son.

Beside Howard, Nick Fury eyed father and son warily. The man was a spitfire and didn’t take crap from anyone, but he’d been caught one too many times in an argument between Howard and Tony, and it was obvious he rather not experience it ever again. The thing about pitting two geniuses together? They knew exactly what words to say to make one feel like they were being gutted and flayed. How Howard and Tony still worked together was a miracle in Bucky’s eyes.

Tony scoffed and shifted his tablet and the new Widow Bites to one arm. He then sauntered over to Bruce, who was ensconced in a fluffy, purple blanket and looking particularly exhausted. Tony wrapped his free arm around Bruce’s shoulder from behind the physicist. Bruce squeezed the arm around him and smiled.

Tony then floated over to Thor, who lifted one arm in anticipation of the side hug from Tony. “I’m just bringing up the Widow Bite prototype I’ve been working on that has been waiting to be tested for days now, but apparently someone didn’t schedule any testing time with Natasha.”

Fury frowned. “I was not informed of any weapons upgrades.”

Howard brushed aside Fury’s comments. “I saw places where the Widow Bites could still be upgraded in the blueprints. I was adding my own adjustments.”

Natasha held up her fried Widow Bites. “Doesn’t really matter now, does it? I need new ones. Tony, let me see what you have.”

Tony nodded excitedly, breaking his embrace with Thor and rushing over to Natasha. He rambled off an explanation of the upgrades, which Natasha listened to with patience as she did some minor tests with the Bites herself.

By the end of it, she smiled softly and gave Tony an approving nod. “I’ll hold on to these for now.”

Tony pretended to swoon. “The Black Widow likes the tech I’ve developed for her. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“Tony,” Howard said warningly. “We still have a very important meeting we’re in the middle of.”

Tony huffed. “Fine, fine, fine. Just one last thing.” Tony pivoted and strolled over to Bucky.

(Mind the break, mobile users!) 

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aniseandspearmint:

sariau:

spinneryesteryear:

#the other half of his superpower is the ability to locate coffee anywhere #which is how he knew what direction to start walking when he was in afghanistan #‘the nearest pot of coffee is 23 miles east’ #and then he started walking through the desert #honestly that’d be kind of a fun plot device #somebody write it I’m too lazy (via @buckykingofmemes)

@blackkatmagic

Oh, this is awesome. Have a ficbit.
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(I have wanted to write this…forever)

Steve, perhaps wisely, refused to let go of her. Natasha might have tried to confiscate her; also, she might have made a break for freedom.

“Steve,” Clint said, rubbing his forehead. “Where did you find the honey badger?”

“She found me,” Steve insisted, as the large mass of seething hatred squirmed around to lick his chin. “When we were escaping Stilt Man’s collapsing lair.”

“Never trust the structural integrity of anything built by a guy on stilts,” Tony told Rhodey, who nodded knowingly. 

“I think he was keeping her as a pet,” Steve said. He offered her a bite of his hamburger. She looked at him, looked at the bite, then reached around him and swiped the rest of the burger off his plate. “Look how SMART she is! Can I keep her?”

“Say no,” Bruce told Tony.

“You’re responsible for cleaning up after her,” Tony said to Steve, who nodded frantically. Under his arm, Liberty the Honey Badger Avenger made a purring noise and began dismantling an empty Pepsi can with her claws. 
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copperbadge:

@whatdoyoumeanitsnotawesome said: 

I would like some Socialist!Steve Rogers making fox news/drumpf’s head explode by calling them on their shit on a national stage.

“Now, you all know, Captain America kept out of the presidential race – great guy, tremendous guy, how can you not love Captain America? – but I feel sure if he allowed himself to be political, he’d be for making America great again. The values of the forties, when we worked hard and fought for what we believed in, when people knew where they belonged – I think if he could speak publicly he’d say, good job, President Trump. Because he represents the people, too, and the people elected me – by a giant landslide, an enormous record-breaking – “ 

***

Steve had thought, long and hard, considering the talk shows, the various social media platforms, and the other methods of publicity available to him. He finally decided on YouTube, though he did let them film him on something slightly better than a phone video camera. 

He talked to the organizers; he asked them if they were sure; and when the time came, during the protest rally, he walked up to the podium in jeans and a #RESIST t-shirt, and he could tell for a minute nobody knew who he was. 

“Good morning,” he said, using the smile and the voice he’d practiced selling bonds, seventy years ago. “My name is Steve Rogers. I came to march with you today.” 

A ripple went through the crowd.

“My mother and father were immigrants. My mother was a single working mother. As a child I saw Pinkertons trying to break the unions, breaking strikes with bats and brass knuckles. I heard my friends’ parents tell stories about the Triangle Shirtwaist fire where people died because there was no federal safety regulation, because they were disposable – women, immigrants, Jews. I was born in the last Gilded Age, and I lived through every hungry year of the Depression that it led to,” he said, voice gaining momentum. “My ma died because she couldn’t afford treatment. Because it was a doctor for her or a doctor for me but not both.”

There was a roar from the crowd. 

“And I saw Americans thrown into camps, and I saw “colored” drinking fountains, and I saw Americans who had to join separate regiments to defend freedom because of the color of their skin, so I know what the values of the 1940s were!” he yelled. “Don’t you tell me people knew their place! Don’t you tell me they weren’t shoved into place by Pinkertons and cops because I saw it happen! I didn’t survive 1940 to see it come round again!” 

He glanced to the side, wondering if he’d gone too far, but the woman who’d told him it was okay to speak was grinning and gesturing for him to continue.

“So the President can be very clear about where Captain America stands,” Steve continued, “I’d like him to know that I am a lefty socialist anti-racist son of immigrants and I’m here today for open borders, socialized healthcare, equality in justice, and the death of fascism. You’re right about one thing – I am a tremendous man, and I am allowing myself to be political.” 

***

Yet another leak out of the White House today concerning the behavior of the president. Sources say last night President Trump was treated in the Residence for a broken hand, which the White House official statement says is a stress fracture from signing paperwork. Our source states that the President overturned furniture, threatened Secret Service agents, and broke his hand punching a wall. All this after witnessing the mega-viral BE POLITICAL youtube video recorded by Steve Rogers, Manhattan’s own Captain America, at a protest rally yesterday afternoon…
ladyshadowdrake: (Default)
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shanastoryteller:

so i was watching cinderella while doing my nails and waiting for them to dry which was clearly a Mistake because now i can’t help but think -

the evil stepmother was always evil, okay. say her abuse of her own daughters was different than that of cinderella’s - but it was still abuse. giving them impossible expectations, telling them they were never good enough, never pretty enough, never smart enough. and then she gets married, and anastasia and drizella are ecstatic because this man seems kind and warm and maybe just maybe he can temper their mother, maybe with him around she won’t be so cruel. so they’re on their very best behavior in the beginning, they do just as their mother taught - they trot out their best upper court manners in an attempt to get their new stepfather to like them. but it just comes off as cold and snooty and they’re trying, they are, they’re just bad at it. and they see how he is with cinderella, the smiling girl their own age, and they are jealous. they don’t mean to be, they try not to be, they know it isn’t becoming of young ladies. but she gets hugs and kisses and affection and they get rulers slapped on their hands when they reach for desert and sharp jabs to their sides when they slouch and - soon they hate cinderella, not for anything she’s done, but for what she has and they dont

but then her father dies. and it’s all a tumble of things and cinderella is crying and they’ve lost their only chance at escaping their mother’s clutches and it’s terrible. and everything settles and there’s no reason to be jealous anymore but resentment is hard to let go of and they don’t know what to do. they’re only kids too after all. and they’re so terribly bad at comforting people, they can do flowery words and know all the right bows but cinderella is so sad and they just don’t know what to do with that, because they’re supposed to be sisters but they’re not even friends

and slowly but surely their mother starts abusing cinderella, starts making her a maid in her own home, and she’s their mother, what are anastasia and drizella supposed to do? she rules them with an iron fist, and cinderella doesn’t even like them anyway, it’s none of their business.

except one night anastasia crawls into her sister’s bed in the middle of the night and wakes her up. “i was thirsty,” she explains, eyes wide and shiny, and they’re bad at this with other people but drizella has no problems with pulling anastasia into her arms. the younger girl clutches her sister and continues, “i was thirsty and i went down to the kitchen to get some water and - and cinderella is still up! she’s doing the dishes, and she should be asleep, mom is going to make her make breakfast in the morning and -” she cuts herself off with a hiccup and whispers, “it’s not fair.”

“life isn’t fair,” drizella says, echoing one of their mother’s favorite phrases. but her sister is staring at her with wet eyes, and it’s not like their mother is likely to get up before sunrise anyway, she hates waking up, so she pulls herself and anastasia out of bed and off they go.

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ladyshadowdrake: (Default)
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copperbadge:

copperbadge:

@scifigrl47 said I owed her some identity porn, and I don’t even remember why I owe it to her but apparently I accepted her statement at face value. 

Title: Hey To The Starboard
Rating: right now General, don’t know where it’ll go.
Warnings: None
Summary: Captain America has been recovered from the crash that everyone thought had killed him, but he’s caught in the middle of some delicate twenty-first century politics, not to mention some personal negotiations with his savior and his new best friend Iron Man’s boss, Tony Stark. (A bit of Steve/Tony identity porn.) 

This is just the opening scene. Not sure if I’ll finish it out but I do have ideas for the rest. 

***

“Iron Man is gonna be soooooo mad he missed this,” a voice said, and Steve, faintly, registered it as female.

He hadn’t really expected to register much of anything, after the crash, but he was warm and whatever he was lying on was dry and soft, so he wasn’t going to complain. Maybe they’d recovered him before hypothermia could set in.

His thoughts were sluggish, and over top of them he heard a man laugh lightly. “I guess so, but he’ll find out soon enough.”

“He’ll still be mad. Captain America’s his idol. His inspiration. He’s said so on all the talk shows,” the woman said.

“Probably just bucking for the job, before he knew it was still taken,” the man replied, still sounding amused. Steve managed to crack open dry-feeling eyes. The room was dimly lit, a mercy, and he could make out shadows in front of a low amber-colored lamp. The air tasted tinny, though that could just be his tongue.

There was a tiny woman in a yellow mechanic’s jumpsuit sitting to one side of the lamp, and on the other was a man in a lab coat, with a shock of messy dark hair and his legs kicked up on the table.

“You’re so mean to him,” the woman said.

“I’m his boss,” the man replied carelessly. “You just want to charm the helmet off him, I know you of old, Jan van Dyne.”

(There is a readmore below, read more! If you don’t see it, try accessing the site through a non-mobile/non-app browser.) 

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Okay, now I’m off to bed. Still rated G. :D

***

Three days later, Steve was sitting on the roof of a mansion in Manhattan – Avengers mansion, sovereign land, a strange legal limbo – when he heard a sort of muted roar. A streak of red passed through the sky, curved around, slowed, and came into focus in the distance as a man-shaped suit of cherry-red armor.

Steve had seen pictures of Iron Man. There was a painting in the mansion’s ballroom, and Tony (Anthony Stark, a hard shock to be the same age now as a man who hadn’t been born when Steve knew his father) had several prints of specs and color swatches in his study.

In person, though, the armor was magnificent, buffed to a high shine, sleek and touched with gold. Steve was so stunned by it he almost didn’t notice it was drifting closer until it was right in front of the roof.

There was a man in the armor, supposedly. Nobody knew who it was, except presumably Tony. The man lifted an arm and touched his forehead respectfully. The request was clear – permission to approach?

Steve summoned a smile and held up a hand, fingers curling in to gesture him closer. Iron Man’s boots touched down on the edge of the roof, heedless of the six inches between himself and a fifty-foot drop.

(There is a readmore below!)

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