Mad Dogs and Englishmen

via http://ift.tt/2g9Ajej:
valeriahearth:

In most of the fic I read, especially those sympathetic to Tony, I kinda find it funny that Bucky Barnes seemed to be the only one deserving of Tony’s forgiveness, or whose olive branch was kinda shorter, while others (steve, clint, sometimes even wanda and/or natasha, but especially Steve, but Scott doesn’t count) suffer and being stupid and being hypocrites or downright miserable. The guy who whose face was forever painted as his mother’s killer, also Steve’s best friend and probably the whole reason Steve was getting blinded in his cause to the point of ‘civil war’ seemed to be the guy Tony would forgive first once he got time to think and calm down before he could even get pass at forgiving anyone else. So yeah, as a winteriron fan I am very amused.

Tony, cutting all ties to Steve? Whelp, I can totally see that. Clint? Well, he did say a mean thing straight into the bullseye, which is a very hurtful thing to do and if Tony doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore I can get behind that. Wanda? The woman doesn’t listen to anything as long as it came out of Tony’s mouth, and repeating the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is the very definition of insanity, so if he stopped trying I’ll understand. Natasha? She tried in her spy way, but if Tony doesn’t want that ambiguous friendship where Tony doesn’t ever know when she’ll stab him again then so be it. Sam? He’s at this place that could go either way. He seemed like the most neutral after Scott in the whole fight, but his obvious preference to Cap also kinda blinds him. Then again, he and Tony was never close. He could be the second guy after Bucky to get forgiven, since he actually cared about Rhodey.

Buvky, though? I can’t see a version of Tony Stark where he doesn’t have a conversation with the guy and actually have a budding friendship and actually try to help the guy, like he said before the airport fight. Maybe they won’t be friends. Maybe there won’t trust between them either. But, I can see them always having a tolerance that Tony won’t have with the others. Except Scott.

So, yeah. As the guy whose hands killed Tony’s parents, he seemed to be much easier for Tony to forgive than his ex-teammates. The drama and the tragic outcome of this revelation really fuels my half-buried feels.

I think this is because firstly, Bucky doesn’t have the toxic history many of the Avengers have with Tony. The Avengers had a lot of problems with Tony even before Civil War, and Bucky had nothing to do with it. 

Secondly, Bucky was written very badly in Civil War and as a result was so passive that of he was female he would have failed the sexy lamp test. As a result he is the only Team Cap member to not deliberately choose to go against Tony, and not to be such an utter prat about the accords.

Basically, of all of Team Cap, the only one who haven’t seen refuse, over and over, to meet Tony halfway (apart from Scott) is Bucky. As a result, both tend to be more sympathetic in Team Tony fics. 

via http://ift.tt/2dU1p8S:
In which Steve loses the serum, and is maybe not as upset as he should be.

This part has tw for abuse and starvation.

Established Steve/Tony.

The kick hits him in the back, without so much muscle there, it hurts, dull and black and swallowing. Steve closes his eyes, fight to stay conscious.

Pathetic-

Useless-

Not so big now, are you-

Steve lets the words slide over him, float him up. The floor wavers, not really there anymore if not for the cold.

The cold.

Steve takes a breath, another, another. The cold sinks into his lungs, saps whatever heat he has left inside him.

He holds his breath, waits until the air in his lungs is hot and stale. It burns his lungs as he lets it out.

Another breath, another. He holds every third. Steve opens his eyes, he’s alone. The cell door is closed. He keeps the breath, and pushes himself over to his stomach.

The concrete is wet, slips like wet steel under him. Steve digs his fingers in, grits his teeth. Pulls, over and over, inch by inch across the freezing stone.

His fingers hit the faint irregulaties in the worn concrete that tell him he’s made it. He wonders, as he has over and over for the last however long- so long- he has been here, what made them. Too small for a dog, too spindley for a cat.

A bird maybe, Steve thinks dreamily. He curls up on the wet, cold stone, staring at him and for a moment he can almost see it. A blackbird, glossy feathers and bright yellow legs. The bright little eyes blink and dart to him. The wings billow out and Steve holds out his hand to stop it- stay, he almost begs, stay with me.

The bird flaps away, he can almost feel the beat of air from its wings. It soars off into the empty bright blue sky around them. Steve can feel the heat of the sun, small grass and warmth and fresh air-

The he blinks. His hand in resting on those long-gone marks. Everything is grey walls. Grey ceiling. Grey floor.

Steve moans, he wants to close his eyes and just- go to sleep. Follow the blackbird into whatever bright sweet world it had gone to. Sleep. Not wake up.

Steve rolls onto his side instead. His ribs dig straight through the thin cotton of his prison shirt, bang against the concrete. He throws out one arm and it catches on the side of his bunk. Steve groans, and heaves himself up enough to get both elbows on. He pauses a moment. His heart is hammering in his ears, his breath is so short and sharp that the cold hits his lungs like icicles.

He hangs there, suspended, his head hits the bunk, the thin sparseness of the mattress and the worn wool of his blanket. Almost.

It’s getting harder every time. He’s no longer entirely sure how he does it. Fingers clawing at the blankets and sheets, legs scrabbling for purchase. His weight finally tips and he rolls onto his bunk. He pulls the blanket over himself, kicks it over his legs and fumbles to tuck it around his aching, wasted body.

Apparently, AIM’s attempts to remove the serum have succeeded spectacularly.

The knowledge floats above him. He looks at it dispassionately. It spins, laughing in the guard’s voices. Their words.

Not Captain America now-

God look at him-

Wonder if he’s going to cry-

He lets the guard’s words from earlier flow out of him and join the cloud above. Part of him, but apart. There’s no space for them in his body at the moment.

Maybe when he gets out, they’ll come back and hurt. He should probably be upset by them, but he just hasn’t got the energy. When he gets out, he can deal with them. When he gets out.

He’s getting out. He is he is he is.

Steve closes his eyes, then opens them again, out of reflex. He’s forced himself awake so often he no longer knows if he can sleep. He looks at the door, the bars. They moved him here when it became clear he couldn’t break them any more. When he became worthless, someone- something- to let die and no bother with.

He’s not going to die. He’s going to get out. The others are going to come for him. He’ll get out, he will he will he will. He’ll be in hospital. Then back to the Tower. There’ll be Thor smiling, and Hulk grinning his huge white teeth, there’ll be Sam and Clint and Natasha and Tony oh god there’ll be Tony. He’ll see Tony again he will he will he will-

Say it three times and it’ll come true. Steve looks up at the cloud he’s pretty sure isn’t real and the thought- what will Tony think of me like this- drifts out of his mind and joins it.

Steve closes his eyes. His eyelids pull, but he can’t quite open his eyes.

He’ll survive this. He will he will he will.

The cloud is bigger now, fogging out the world around him. Sometimes he can see, as long as he’s looking hard, the mist only around the edges of his eyes. Then sometimes he can’t, and the world just- disappears.

No one comes in any more, or not that Steve sees. Food is left every now and again. Thin porridge and water he forces down like a machine, but no one seems to be leaving it. Maybe they’ve decided he isn’t any fun any more.

He wonders why they’re bothering to feed him at all.

He plans the three paces to the door like a mission. He maps every motion of his wasting body, economises with every vital motion, shaves off every pointless twitch. He gathers each failing resource for disaster.

The cloud is thundering today. Steve pries himself up, swings his legs over and can only sit there, the faded cloud blotted out with black blotches, running into each other like wet ink.

There’s boom somewhere above, and Steve looks up. It’s raining black spots, flecking down to his hands. Steve looks dumbly at them, thin skin stretched over brittle little bones. He thinks of Tony’s hands, spotted with engine oil. Look, we match.

The words float away, the cloud grows dimmer, the black dots a little larger. Steve stares at the door, isn’t really sure if there is anything there, he can’t seem to think- like every thought he has drifted away to join the cloud.

Another crash of thunder, the floor shakes under his feet. Steve closes his eyes and lies back down. He should think. The thoughts in the cloud need to come back in but he’s a sealed, empty box. He stares up, listens to the screams, bangs. The thought is trying to come back in but it can’t.

The world shakes again, dusts streams down and loses itself among the swelling darkness. Steve tries to hold a hand up and catch it, feel if it’s real, but his arms are limp twigs at his sides.

A flash of blue, and the world goes black. Steve opens his eyes, closes. Lets them stay closed. A crack above, another flash, and he sees nothing more.

via http://ift.tt/2dzHOOm:
Steve has a secret: He’s been terrified of his super-strong body since Erskine’s experiment.

The pencil snaps between his fingers.

The glass shatters when he picks it up.

The door crunches hideously and the hinge cracks, the wood splintering leaving it hanging drunkenly off the only one remaining.

Steve has bad dreams sometimes. He’ll be meeting someone. Before it was Bucky or Peggy, these days it might be Natasha or Tony or Bruce. They’ll be smiling, reach out a hand to shake-

And then they’ll be screaming, he can feel the bones crunching and rubbing one on top of the other and fragmenting further and he can’t let go- can’t relax his grip and they scream and scream and scream-

Then he wakes up. If he’s lucky he’ll just have bloody circle that heal instantly when he relaxes his clenched fists. If not, he might need to buy yet another new bed.

Tony laughs when he puts in the orders, joking about who Steve must have spent the night with. Steve smiles and smile because- what can he say? Tony needs him to be strong. They all do. They need him to throw the shield and punch the bad guys and keep them safe.

Steve punches a Hydra agent without thinking. The man’s face simply disappears into a pulp of blood and featureless tissue, the head soft as rotten grapefruit. It bursts as the thing that had been a man falls to the ground.

Steve keeps fighting. When it’s over he excuses himself and is sick down the back of the bunker. He looks at his hands, the gloves are red. He can’t see the blood.

He runs when he can’t sleep. Sometimes, at night, he sees people hurry away from him, picking up their pace, glancing behind anxiously to make sure he isn’t following them. This monster of a man, towering, quite capable to snapping any of them in half.

Once, long ago and not so long at all, it had been different. Steve doesn’t like remembering, feeling the stab of nostalgia that feels traitorous after Erskine’s sacrifice.

He doesn’t miss the sickness, the endless list of pitfalls that tripped him at every turned, drained him like a vampire and kept him weak and helpless.

But some part of Steve wants to know if those were his only options. Between weakling or-

Or this.

He comes home. The door has been fixed, but he can still see the rough wood where it has been painted over. There is a new packet of pencils at his desk, a new cluster of glasses.

The bedframe is steel. It might last a week.

Steve looks into the mirror. The fight was hours ago but he has so much blood in his gloves that they leave a streak of rust under one eye when he rubs it.

Steve freezes, and for a moment he cannot breath, cannot move He reaches up with his free hand and rubs at the half dried clots.

They come off, his skin is pale underneath and he can breathe again. The nausea rises.

He wonders how long it’ll be before the red doesn’t come off any more.

via http://ift.tt/2cWYbBl:
mushroomhobbit:

Silly Weekend Art:

Stony

80s throwback  Masters of the Universe AU. Captain America as He-man/Prince Adam, Tony as a cross between Bow and Teela, Fury as Man-At-Arms, Sam as the Sorcerer of Greyskull/Stratos, Carol as Princess She-Ra & Red Skull as Skeletor. Yep, 80s cartoon costumes. 

I’m seeing this as an awesome costume party Red Skull somehow got invited too.

Doom is probably here as Hordak too.

via http://ift.tt/2cEy7IJ:
In which there are secrets and drinks and bad decisions, and Steve and Jarvis have a chat

via http://ift.tt/2c3LZ1Z:
Soo I’m finally writing again, have some Avengers fic.

Bruce/Tony, very much G rated. Inspired by a kinkmeme prompt and this pic:

http://ift.tt/2cpP8Hx

Tony doesn’t have time to really see which of their numerous enemies has invaded the tower today. He turns around from rooting in the fridge at the first explosion- and just in time to see the Hulk charge, roaring, towards him.
Tony feels his body go limp around him, his brain catch in a groove and skip a few tracks. The only thing that runs through his head, as the Hulk bares down on him, is- shit, Bruce is really going to hate himself-
Then Hulk grabs him around the waist and tucks him up against his chest, lashing out with his free arm to smash the refrigerator across the room.
It explodes.
Then the microwave explodes.
The kitchen is so full of smoke Tony can’t see what else is going off like hand grenades. He huddles against the Hulk’s chest and screws his watering eyes shut. What is this- Ultron gone Kitchen Nightmares? Some technomancer with a penchant for domestic appliances?
He doesn’t get to find out, the Hulk roars again, punches through the wall, and-
The Hulk’s body tenses, the massive muscles seem to vibrate under him. Tony grits his teeth and takes a deep breath.
The wind howls in his ears as the Hulk jumps, the air cuts through Tony’s mouth and nose, freezes his throat.
The Hulk reaches the top of his arc, and falls.
Tony squeezes his eyes even tighter, clings on, and tries not to whimper when the Hulk’s crushing landing jars every bone in his body.
Three horrible, world-ending jumps, and the Hulk slows down. He grunts. punches the ground, then lets Tony go.
Tony flumps to the grassy ground, rolls over, and throws his arms out to embrace the earth, shivering. The ground is damp and cool, smells fresh and calming. His fingers sink into the crumbling earth, his arm bumps into the solid stalk of something. Above him, he can hear the Hulk grunting happily, thumping around the field, a bee buzzes nearby.

Tony gathers himself, and focuses every ounce of self control. Slowly, he manages to open his eyes.
After seeing nothing but terrifying red shadows behind closed eyes, the light is bright and almost blinding. Tony blinks, and the light resolves itself onto a blazing blue sky, and dappled green leaves shadowing it. Tony blinks, and slowly, gradually, manages to sit up, his stubborn fingers dragging up clods of earth.
He draws in a breath, and slowly, the screaming in his ears starts to calm down.
“I don’t think I’m going to be giving up the suit anytime soon, big guy.” He manages, swallows twice, and is proud he manages not to be sick.
The Hulk grunts, invisible behind a wall of green stalks and leaves. Tony thinks he sees a flash of massive green feet- but here, the Hulk is in perfect camouflage. Tony pulls out his Avenger card, and sends out a signal- tower attacked by exploding appliances, safe with Hulk, in a field of- he looks up and spots the nodding flowers above him, sunflowers at this location.
That seemed to more or less sum it up.
Tony looks down at himself, and takes a deep breath. Come on legs. He fumbles with the thick stalks of the sunflowers, stumbling upright. The sunflowers are so tall he’s barely tall enough to look over them. There’s a road not too far away, a plane soars over high above, and the air is full of bees and the rustling of leaves.
It’s- pretty peaceful , actually, and after that nightmare ride, Tony is quite glad of it.
And ‘peaceful’ isn’t an adjective that should be applied anywhere the Hulk is in. Tony looks around. “Hulk?”
There’s a grunt, but no big green nearby. Tony pushes the sunflowers aside and stumbles towards the sound. “Come on, big green, what’s this? Hide and seek?”
Another grunt, but it sounds amused. Tony shrugs. “Okay, ready or not, here I come-”
There’s a crunching of stalks, and the Hulk suddenly gets up, grinning. He’s festooned with sunflowers. He’s got them in his hair, tied around his arms, shoulders, everything. He’s like a giant walking floral shrub.
The barked laugh takes Tony by surprise. The Hulk chuckles, and pulls out a gaint bundle of sunflowers, holding them up proudly.
“Some farmer is gonna be pretty angry.” Tony pushes his way through the flowers. “I think you’d single-handedly jacked up the price for sunflower oil-”
The Hulk growls, and holds out the flowers.
“Um, yeah?” Tony blinks at the Hulk, uncertain. “Very nice? Very you, big guy. Can’t see you with some daisies or something-”
Another grunt, the flowers are jiggled more pointedly. The yellow petals fan, the rich brown heads bob. “Yours.” The Hulk points at him.
Oh. Tony blinks, holds out his hands and the flowers are poured in, a massive bouquet he needs to wrap his arms around. He’s never been given flowers before.
The Hulk grins happily. “Pretty.” He nods, and pats Tony on the head. “Gold.”
“Yeah,” Tony smiles, back, “Like the suit? Good thinking.”
The Hulk grins, and picks him up. It’s very different from the last time he did it, big hands oddly gentle around Tony’s waist, pulling him up free of the flowers. Tony tenses a moment, then relaxes, lets himself be cradled in a bower of big green arms and sunflowers.
“Save Tony.” Hulk says happily. “Give flowers.”
“Damn right.” Tony sighs, and it’s probably stupid, but right now he’s never felt safer. “My hero.”
“Hulk a hero.” Hulk nods, “Save Tony, give flowers.”
“A real romantic hero.” Tony agrees, patting his arm, he shifts the flowers around to get comfortable, and settles in to wait for the Avengers to pick them up.
He’s going to buy Bruce a whole flowershop when they get back.

via http://ift.tt/2cc8wdP:
So we saw the mess that was Tony and Bucky… but did anyone consider the sheer unholy trainwreck that would have been Bucky and Wanda?

I mean, can you imagine it?

Wanda: Hey, I was Hydra too!

Bucky: I’m sorry to hear that?

Wanda: Yeah, I joined them to get revenge on Stark after some bomb he didn’t fire and probably didn’t even sell hit my parents!

Bucky: You… joined Hydra?

Wanda: Yeah, they gave me cool powers I can’t control and have used to kill hundreds of people with using the Hulk!

Bucky …

Wanda: But don’t worry! I left them to join up with a homicidal robot hell bent on killing the Avengers.

Bucky: Killing Steve.

Wanda: Well, I didn’t know him then.

Bucky: You willingly joined Hydra, and tried to kill Steve.

Wanda:…

Bucky: 

via http://ift.tt/2bE20gt:
So the Avengers end up on the Charity Bake Off and mayhem ensues almost immediately.

Clint knows how to bake only one thing. He can make really, really good flapjacks. Unfortunately the challenge is to make cupcakes. He attempts to cunningly disguise his flapjacks as 12 perfect cupcakes. He fails utterly and gets the Paul Hollywood look..

Tony produces half a dozen flat rubbery things that somehow manage to be raw and burnt at the same time. He is very proud and attempts to decorate them with Iron Man colours, only he doesn’t know how to mix icing either and they end up a weird pinky-orange colour.

Thor attempts to recreate some unearthly delicacy from his homeland. Unfortunately he runs into a snag:

“Have you the nectar of five golden apples?”

”… will seville do?”

“I require this to be beaten with a spoon of solid gold!”

“… we have a mixer?”

“This flour must be made only from the most precious wheat of Asgard’’s golden fields, and watered with only water from the clearest glaciers!”

*entire ingredients team quits on the spot*

He tries it anyway with normal ingredients. The cupcakes explode. At least, eh maintains that’s what happened, Steve thinks it might be because he tried to use Mjolnir to speed up the cooking.

Natasha is very secretive and doesn’t talk about her bake at all, although she comments endlessly on the others’. Finally she produces twelve perfect, dainty, fairy cupcakes, all delicately iced with pink butterflies. No one says anything, but Tony might have broken a rib in restraining himself.

Steve bakes shrunken down versions of the cakes he used to watch his mother make. They are very pretty and well made, and each one is iced to reference a member of the team. Tony tries to pass off Steve’s Iron man cupcake as his own.

And finally… Bruce wins.

Everything think he is going to fail after he Hulks out at the ten minute mark. However, the Hulk ignores the other avengers and the film crew desperately rushing to protect their cakes and camera equipment, snatches up the blocked piping bag that finally sent Bruce over the edge, squeezes a jet of icing out of it that hits Mary Berry in the face, and- face set in concentration- pipes twenty four tiny perfect fondant and icing flowers to decorate his meticulous and delicious rose and cardamon cupcakes.

Paul Hollywood is very glad they were the best. he was not looking forward to telling a grouchy Hulk, resplendent in a green and pink floral apron, that he would be going home this week.

via http://ift.tt/2bEphLc:
I’ve finished the first of four epilogues for the latest part of Sex, Love and Robotics here.