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littlefreya · 4 years

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Set me Free

Summary: Part Two to Let Me In - After a night of being an asshole, getting drunk and then falling asleep when you were just finally getting into the mood. The Captain wakes up finding himself in somewhat of a pickle.

Read Part One

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Reader (You)

Word count: 4.1K

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Male Sub / FemDom, bondage, sex toys (woman playing with a vibrator), oral preformed on a male and a female (face-sitting), power play, teasing, unprotected sex, bodily fluids. All the good stuff.

A/N: SmuttyWeekend Commences! Guys this is my first MaleSub and I was struggling with it being a FemSub. So please gimmie feedback. 😥😥😥😥 Many thanks to @agniavateira who edits my work.

Title: Set me Free

The big military grunt is lying in the middle of an ocean of navy blue sheets, utterly nude as the sunlight beams through the window and kisses his rigid abs with a warm, golden haze. From all the men who ever fell unconscious in your bed, Syverson has to be the most delicious treat of them all.

Taut muscles stretch across an incredibly large, triangle-shaped upper body and thick, solid thighs. His glowing skin is covered by a dusting of black hairs which flow from his wide chest to his torso, leading to his delightfully enormous cock that nestles between a bundle of dark curls.

He is the epitome of masculinity, especially with that thick beard which he refuses to shave.

You sit on your small IKEA chair, lounging lazily with your ankles crossed together while sipping your latte macchiato and enjoying your new morning view.

The big man usually sleeps around 3 to 4 “generous” hours if he’s lucky to get any proper sleep at all, and not be consumed by night terrors. It’s something you’ve learnt to deal with, at least sort of. But with the amount of alcohol he consumed, he’s been out of it even after you woke up.

You indulge yourself looking at his sleeping form. Watching as his chest gently rises and falls and his cock semi-hardens from the stream of blood that gravitates to his loins.

If only you could wake up to this impressionistic vision of beauty every day for the rest of your life. But no, you had to go and get yourself involved with a military bloke, a captain, nonetheless.

Finally, he begins shifting on the mattress, the muscles of his chest flex inward and his stomach sucks in, followed by a low roar emitted from his defined lips.

There is much of the beast in him, sometimes even more than the man.

You capture your lower lip beneath your teeth, waiting with mirth and anticipation for him to open his beautiful blue eyes.

His face curls with what you assume to be a mild sensation of pain. The strong scent of whiskey wafts from his body as if he bathed in a brewery. You wouldn’t be surprised if the captain is nursing a minor hangover, which you have the perfect cure for.

The metal bars shake and then thud against the wall as he foolishly attempts to move his arms. Sharp, ringing sounds thunder in your ears as the small chain of his cuffs grind against the peg. You smile, placing your empty cup on the study, watching your man as he wakes from his deep slumber to find himself in captivity.

“What in the n…”

His eyes blink open. He observes the leather cuffs around his wrists and begins moving around wildly, attempting to free himself by shaking his hands back and forth with force. The bed creaks and shifts beneath his weight. A slight tension rises in your chest; a man as strong as Syverson might actually break the bars and the bed too, possibly.

You clear your throat to redirect his attention, only to be greeted by a furious glare.

“Morning, Captain.” you hail, your voice smooth and relaxed, contradicting Syverson’s blazing temper. A mixture of daze and anger drapes his face as he focuses on your sight.

You wonder, does he even remember the little performance from last night? Because you sure as hell are going to remember that for the rest of your life.

He angrily narrows his blue eyes, giving you a menacing look. His jaw clenches hard beneath the rough thicket of his beard.

Syverson is a force to be reckoned with; he is not a man who enjoys these types of silly games. Everything about him is hard, down to business, and with him saying the final word in the conversation.

Too bad that right now he is no longer in a position of power.

“What the hell is this?”

His eyes take you in, gliding down the sheer black night robe you’re wearing, intentionally left untied. A hint of the roundness of your breasts winks at him through the open slit and the very outlines of your nipples tease through the translucent fabric. There is a flinch in his cock as more blood stirs down to fill his organ at the sight of your divine body.

You decide to step up your game, placing your legs on the floor and spreading them to allow a glimpse of your ripe little peach. Syverson attempts to lift his head and get a better look while your giggles fill the room.

“This, my darling, is your punishment for one, being a complete asshole and embarrassing me in front of your friends-”

Syverson gives you a slow eye-roll and attempts to fight the cuffs again to no avail. “Je-sus, woman! You’re still at this? Fine. Remove these cuffs and I’ll give you my very ardent apology.”

You chuckle and shake your head, rising from your chair and moving toward the bed. The pink silicone toy Syverson bought for you hangs from between your manicured fingernails as you wave it around casually. Sy follows your movements with the diligence of a trained special forces soldier, learning every possible detail as if you’re the enemy right now.

Might as well be.

“What are you doing, woman?” he speaks slowly, his voice holding a tad of a warning as you climb onto the bed and settle yourself between his feet. You sit straddled, ankles folded beneath your behind, letting your juicy cunt to be openly presented to the helpless man.

You can hear the low pitched growl rumbling in his chest, like an approaching storm. It makes your skin prickle and your lungs squeeze inside your ribs. Even bound to your bed, he effortlessly holds a brooding presence. A huge Texas bear, all muscles and dripping of control. Every time you sleep together, he pins you down and charges your body as if you’re some target that needed conquering.

He never leaves you a fighting chance. Not up til now.

“Two,” you emphasize the word, lazily trailing the tip of the toy against your inner thigh. His eyes follow every movement, his jaw locked tightly. “- you left me wet and waiting last night, after giving me a very nice singing performance.”

The big man scowls as the vague memory of banging at your door starts sinking in. By the look on his face, he hates every single moment of it ever happening.

Probably prefers blaming you rather than taking responsibility.

“Don’t be like that, Texas.” you lick your lips, offering him a cheerful smile. “You have a gorgeous singing voice.”

“Final warnin’, kitten.”

You click your tongue and smile mischievously. Discarding the toy at his foot, you move on your knees, giving him a vixen grin before beginning to crawl forward. The delicate material of your gown caresses his naked skin as you snake your way between his open legs until you are at his pelvis, facing his very solid cock.

Your nimble fingers reach to grasp him, barely managing to circle his generous width. A low groan forms in his throat as you squeeze him roughly and run your hand up and down.

Syverson looks mesmerizing, the temptation to take a polaroid photo and have this moment forever imprinted in chemicals and light tickles your brain. More than anything, you ponder at the war that wages in his mind:the conflict between wanting back his control and enjoying the way your hand kneads him.

“This is an ego thing, isn’t it?” you ask him while licking your lips, inching your head closer and closer to the swollen head.

His chest rises and sinks urgently as his breath becomes heavier. Involuntarily, he bounces his groin, his body begging for your mouth.

You allow the tip to graze you, collecting a few drops of pre-cum on the plush of your lips, letting it spread on the velvet flesh. “I bet they teach you how to withstand torture and questioning in case you’ll fall captive.”

“Not that type of torture,” he replies and then gasps as your tongue dips at the small hole in his cock. You push against it, tasting the salty drops before circling your tongue around the head. His teetering gasps and the way his biceps swell larger when he moves in his cuffs are enough to make you throb with arousal.

No wonder Syverson likes to be the one in control; seeing someone so helpless and bound at your mercy is quite the aphrodisiac. This is especially true when it’s a man like Syverson, a brooding hulk who weighs more than twice your size.

Ironically, Sy doesn’t even need to yell or use his fists to be intimidating. He can talk anyone into submission with his voice. He has this energy about him, a confidence that makes men, even who are just as big, to cower with fear.

Even now, as he lies in captivity, his eyes are shooting daggers at you, sending you a clear message: “You’re goin’ to regret this, darlin’.”The punishment is probably going to involve you being unable to walk for a week, but you’re certain that it’s worth every second of him being subdued to your bed.

Ever so slowly, your tongue glides down his length, tracing the ridges and the thick tendons that throb against your tongue. Motion-synced with the captain’s forced moans, you roll your tongue and slide it all the way back up.

You pause, staring at him as he pants, eyes hazy with lust, his abs sucked in. There’s a strained anticipation on his face, begging for the wet cavern of your mouth, but he never utters a word, only sucking in his lower lip with desperation. Your big army gruff doesn’t beg.

He“ain’t no pooch like them city boys.”

Pumping his cock with one hand, you give him a mischievous grin while pressing your cheek against the muscle of his thigh, feeling it flex beneath your touch. Every sinew of his body is straining, anxious for pleasure and release.

“You want to fuck my mouth, baby?” he releases a low growl, his eyes narrowing at you, his teeth grinding together. “You know I do, so put that damn mouth of yours to good use.”

Your nails trail around his thigh, tickling him feverishly. You watch how he jolts against your touch while one hand still squeezes his cock, making torturous pumps that are too slow and moderated to bring him closer to what he needs.

“Yeah, you want your big fat cock inside my mouth?” you raise your face to his towering erection, your lips part open slowly. You leaned down to lick him up and down before biting onto him, only to watch how he spasms with ache.

“You know I do, kitten.”

To your disappointment, he still remains composed, despite the anger and arousal that spikes his blood. It infuriates you; you want him to beg, to say he is sorry for being such an idiot and for ruining your first night together ever since he returned.

You squeeze him hard enough to make him grunt and descend to devour his cock again. Your lips wrap around him, tasting the bitter salt on the lush of your tongue before sucking him hard, just the way he likes it. Your throat relaxes to take him deeper, deep enough to hear those mellow groans and watch as he throws his head back, blissful at the way your warmth surrounds him.

You suck harder, working up and down his shaft, humming with him inside your mouth while your hand twirls and tugs at the base of his cock. The vibration of your hums makes him grunt, and those grunts and moans are the sweetest melodies to your ears.

It’s easy to lose yourself in the sensation, in these sounds and the way he fills your mouth. You’re in love with him, your heart flutters in the thought of making him feel good, especially since you’re forced to spend so much time apart. It wrecks your heart every time, yet the thought of not having the captain in your life at all is unacceptable.

He longed for you too, you are certain of it. And not just for your mouth and the way his cock reaches the edge of your throat while you pump in and out. He has a shit way of showing that, being such a hardass and saying “I don’t do romance, darlin’” while slapping your ass as if you were some broodmare.

But the raging ocean in his eyes is enough to say all those words he could never utter.

You hear his low voice cracking and sense the swelling of his cock against your tongue. Quickly, you withdraw with a loud wet pop as his cock exits your mouth.

“Fuck!” you hear him utter, the cuffs dangling against the bar while he frowns at you. “Why did ya stop, kitten?”

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you lift your head, allowing a sneer to linger on your lips like something out of a horror film. You arch your back and crawl on top of his body, your knees bracing themselves at each side of his wide frame, and your nails scratching the slight fur of his skin.

“You’re not coming in my mouth, dear.”

You climb onto the big bear until finally, you are sitting on his chest. You slightly moan at the softness of his hairy chest that tickles the drenched spot between your thighs. Syverson grits his teeth, his jaw pushed forward, eyes red with rage altering between your naked breasts and your dominating glare. The soothing palm you press against his coarse cheek does nothing but humiliate him, which of course, makes you press your lips and coo at him tauntingly.

“Still not going to apologize?”

“Untie me first and I’ll give you the apology you deserve,” he demands, still struggling to remain in control but you can see the fuzzy haze of arousal in his eyes, the way his lips part and his breath becomes rigid. He can smell you, he senses the wetness of your mound as you sit on his chest. It makes the animal in its cage become enraged.

You shake your head, sighing with false disappointment and lift yourself to your knees, carefully targeting yourself above his face with preparation.

“I consider this a prize, Sy,” you murmur, looking down onto the slightly scarred face of your soldier who now returns a fascinated gaze to you. “I know how much you love to eat my pussy.”

He scoffs at you yet still licks his lips with anticipation as you lower yourself onto his inviting mouth. This was always his thing. There was no doubt that Syverson mastered the art of oral sex as another form of domination. Yes, he was an attentive lover. Making his lady squirm with ecstasy brought him joy, yet it was also another way he controlled you.

This is going to be tricky, yet you’re devoted to turning his little game around.

“You better make me come, Sy,” you warn, landing your pelvis onto his lips and releasing a deep moan as you feel the warmth of the captain’s skilful mouth around your mound.

“F-u-c-k!” you utter loudly, placing your hands above the bars for leverage. His velvet tongue meets your cunt, drawing wet circles around the seam and collecting your juices before plunging into you with earnest devotion. You gasp and throw your head back, clenching yourself around him and riding his bearded jaw.

“Like it when I fuck your mouth, Captain?” you call out breathless, trying to mimic the way he speaks to you when he shoves his cock down your throat on the occasion and fucks your mouth.

“Yes, like that, thrust your tongue inside me.”

You gasp the command at him, moving harder, your clit brushing against the moustache of his beard, eliciting a tickling sensation that stimulates you to the point of losing the ability to speak coherent words. Yet, you claw your talons onto control, your knuckles turning white around the edge of the headboard as you fist it in your sweaty palms and buck your hips and ride his face.

“Yes!!! Fuck! Like this! Suck it, harder!”

Even in his subdued position, Sy sustains every inch of mastery, eating you out as if you tasted of heaven. His tongue glides between your slit and your clit, rolling across your delicate nub. The sobs you make only urge him to increase the pressure around your clit and thrust his tongue harder. And just when you think you are close enough, the bastard mumbles something against your lips and the vibration of his bass throws you across the edge.

You come violently, slamming the headboard against the wall and pushing yourself hard onto his face. You can feel yourself soaking his beard yet he continues to lick you dry, sending slight aftershocks through your body.

Breathing heavily, you slowly climb off his face, looking at him as he glares at you darkly. You can see the little cracks appearing behind his eyes, his dominative nature stretching to the point of pain. He wasn’t amused to begin with but now he is close to being berserk.

Still sitting on his chest, you turn your sweaty chin across your shoulder to glimpse at his tortured cock which now looks painfully red and desperate for some attention.

“Are you done playing games?”

There it is, the thing you’ve yearned for. Despair, helplessness. His brow is covered with sweat and his feet kick at the mattress. Oddly enough, you hardly care anymore if he apologizes or not. You know he won’t, it’s not because he doesn’t care, it’s because it’s all part of the battle.

And if anything, Syverson hates losing.

“Not even close,” you answer while you crawl backwards, maintaining fierce eye contact with your enemy. Your glare returns the fight which is now escalated to a whole new level. Like a cougar ready for assault, you snake yourself to the starting point. Your hand meets with the pink toy, which is laid just where you left it.

His eyebrow crooks up, looking at you suspiciously and somewhat concerned. “What are you doing?”

You hold the toy firmly in your hand while spreading your legs across each of his. Your index finger smoothes over the length of the silicone toy, flirting with the on and off button against your tip.

“Remember how you told everyone at the bar that I fuck myself while you watch on Skype?”

“Stop it,” he shoots a warning glare, his neck stretching up with frustration. You tilt your head, puckering your lips sweetly into a pout before flicking the toy on, letting it vibrate in your grasp.

“For fuck’s sake, woman!” he growls and his eyes widen as you position the toy against your clit and instantly begin gasping as it brings you to incredible pleasure in less than a second.

“Oh god, baby!!!!” you gasp, closing your eyes and curling your toes. You massage your clit slowly, letting the vibration coax you just enough before the sensation turns painful. You slip the entire length of the toy inside you while screaming loud enough for your neighbours to hear.

“Sy!!!!” his name is on your lips while you drive the vibrator in and out, angling it at the right spots that make you mewl like a whore. Your eyes flick open to glimpse at the man who stares at you, eyes drenched with hopeless desire, mouth gaping open as his cock flinches with pain and need. The fact that he cannot have you right now is throwing the animal in him to a new length of frustration he never knew before. He squirms on the bed, throwing his head back and then shaking it at you, his lips pressed to a thin line beneath his messy beard.

“Fuck this, I am sorry! Okay?!”

You pump the toy in and out and yip while your finger ticks the button for a higher speed. “Not… good… enough!” you cry out, feeling your walls shuddering. You look at Syverson’s cock, imagining it inside you instead, his wider girth, the warmth of his body.

You need him, not a toy to replace him and still, you come, your body clenching around the soft silicone.

“Will you stop with the games already!? I said I was sorry!” he shouts at you with his face on the verge of panic. His eyes were glossy with anxiety and misery. If you weren’t as desperate to make love to him, if only you didn’t miss to feel him, sunken at your depth, you would have been able to go for hours.

You chuckle viciously, brushing a sticky strand of hair from your forehead while finally shifting yourself to straddle his hips. His chest heaves with eagerness, his breath loud and urgent as your fingers seizes his cock one more time and you lift your hips. He growls once you lubricate his erection against your slit before taking him into your core.

Ever so slowly you let yourself fall on his shaft, taking him inch by inch, enjoying the pure harmony that releases from both of your throats.

“Fuck!!!!” Sy shouts, his frustration finally being answered by the slippery heat of your taut canal. Not stopping, you sink down until the soft edge of your ass rests neatly on his tight balls. Until he is bottomed out inside you, pushed against the rim of your womb.

Painfully engorged your organs throb against one another, blood pumping fast with fury, yet you remain still. You give Syverson one last cruel smirk of triumph.

“Oh come on, woman!!!!” he grunts and bucks his hips, making you rise with him as he lifts you from the bed with ease. “I’m sorry, okay? I love you, I didn’t mean to say that stupid thing. I am just a jarhead, I don’t know how to be different.”

The evil grin quickly fades from your face. For a second, your heart beats abnormally fast while your eyes feel moist. A joyous spasm runs through the knot in your stomach.

“You love me?”

Sy looks at you with a deep frown, the usual fierceness his eyes hold is now replaced by something as fragile as a butterfly wing. You know better than to touch it.

He never said it before, not to you, not to any other woman.

You are flooded by a whirlpool of emotions, hitting you all at once, assaulting your heart and your loins. Your senses are at a complete loss, forgetting all about the stupid battle for control. You want nothing but to have him, to fuck him until you cry out of love. Lifting yourself up, you begin to ride him with incredible force. Hips rising up and down on his girth, nails digging into his torso and sliding up his chest.

“Sy!” You cry out his name, feeling full of him. He groans with amazement, finally praised by the sweetness of your body which he achingly longed for in months.

“Yes, baby,” he calls for you, jerking his hips to meet you as you sink down and throw your head back. “Ride me, fuck me, darlin’.”

You roll your hips and dance on his cock vigorously, your back arching while you sing with ecstasy. His cock is swelling inside you, locked between your closing walls as they attempt to drain him of everything he has. You know it won’t last long yet right now you don’t care, you don’t care if he comes without you.

Because he loves you, the warmth that spreads from your heart onward is just as good.

Yet still, you come, grinding your clit against his pubic bone while tears spring down your cheeks. You hear his voice calling your name in a blur, throwing an onslaught of praises before he lifts you up with his body.

All spent, you collapse flat onto his body, humming to yourself as the hot sprout of his semen fills your womb. Your head rests on his chest, listening to the beating drum within while your fingers draw circles onto his skin.

“I love you,” you say it back, slightly tilting your head to meet his eyes. He smiles at you relaxed, finally released, his breath is still irregular, small gasps of air break between his lips.

“Now uncuff me, kitten, let’s get some breakfast.”

You lift your head and slide further up so your face is levelled with his, your fingers play with his beard while you observe him.

“I am not sure I am done switching just yet.”

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disclaimer: I don’t own Sand Castle or Captain Syverson

#Smut: Captain Syverson #Captain Syverson #Henry Cavill #Captain Syverson Fanfiction #Sand Castle #Netflix Sand Castle #Captain Syverson x Reader #Henry Cavill x Reader

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harcourtholmesii · 3 years

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Letters of Thanks

Fandoms: MCU / Avengers

Pairings: Slight / Referenced Thor X Bruce

Warnings: - References to Violence

Words: 2954

Please don’t expect this to be perfect writing. I tried, but as much as I do love the MCU, I am not great at writing their characters.

Enjoy!

Fan mail.

Care packages.

Letters of gratitude.

The penthouse floors of Stark Tower were overrun with them. After the Battle for New York, everyone and their uncle seemed keen to say their piece and write something special to the Avengers.

Since Bruce, Thor and Steve had nowhere else to go, the general populace had come to the correct conclusion that they could send their letters to Tony Stark’s letterbox. Since his address was public knowledge and since the defeat of the Chitauri, his home had been flooded with paper and cardboard boxes.

Sorting through it all had been a hassle.

With Thor off-world, the secret agents off on their respective missions and Rogers having left for his tour of America, it was left up to Tony and Bruce to sort through it all. It was a momentous task, but it was a welcome distraction.

Over time, the piles continued to grow.

Seven piles in total.

Tony had, by far, the largest amount of letters written to him. They created an unsteady mountain range across his personal study, threatening to topple and fall if it weren’t for Tony’s effort to read them all.

As quickly as they grew, they shrank. Tony read through his mail quickly and with fervour. Some nights, Bruce, Pepper and Happy had been unable to convince him to sleep. Some nights, he would spend researching the person behind the letter, and send care packages of his own to those who had written him.

Unlike the majority of the other Avengers, Tony managed himself well. Even though most of it was kind or complimentary, there were those that expressed their disdain or their upset. When it got particularly bad, Bruce could see how it all weighed down on the man. He would wave away Pepper’s worry, and Bruce’s own concerns, with his usual snarky attitude, but it was obvious to all of them that he was most affected by those he couldn’t help.

Steve’s pile was mostly complimentary. The younger authors tended to keep their letters short, with questions about him and where he had been. How was he alive after so long? Did he know about the moon landing? Had he seen Blade Runner? Most of the letters went from serious to curious in the span of a paragraph, but Steve had been no less flattered.

Some letters were from older veterans or soldiers who cited him as their inspiration for joining the military. There were those that mentioned how their parents or grandparents had met him those seventy years ago, and how it was a piece of family history they loved to share.

Steve handled them well for the most part, but he rarely went out of his way to answer them all. With his new career path at SHIELD, Steve only narrowed down his responses to those he felt were ‘genuine’. Specifically, those that asked less questions about what he did or did not know about the future, and those that seemed to take the Battle for New York as a serious, potential threat.

Much like Tony, Thor’s pile was one of the larger ones, and it grew at a rapid pace from the start. A lot of the mail he received were care packages, cardboard boxes filled with everything from chocolates to alcohol, and other tokens of affection. Thor had been astounded when he first returned to Earth; his room, as large and royal as Tony could make it, housed a mountain of parcels and parchment awaiting his notice.

He had spent overnight opening as many as possible and reading as much as he could. Some of the language and plenty of the references used caused him a great deal of confusion, and he would seek out Bruce for help. Too many of the letters, though very sweet and thankful, contained phone numbers or an Instagram link. Bruce had caught on quickly; a good portion of these were men, women and others of all types, were hopeless romantics, seeking the God of Thunder’s attention.

No matter the intention or the person who had written the letter, Thor tasked himself with responding to each and every one. However, at the rate the pile was growing, and with Thor’s admittance that he wasn’t much a scholar, Bruce and Tony were roped into helping him in his quest. He wrote back, and had Tony show him how Facebook, Twitter and Instagram worked so he could publish quick responses online.

Bruce helped him with those that didn’t leave behind online addresses or phone numbers, and wrote back what Thor asked him to write. Though, before each parchment was shipped off, Thor would be sure to sign it himself.

The fourth and fifth piles were small by comparison; the both of them for Clint and Natasha. Without any idea where else to send them, the majority of these letters were quick and to the point. Short and simple. The writers would express their gratitude, perhaps explain their reasons for sending the letter, and then end the short paragraph.

To Clint and Natasha, these were perfect. They couldn’t easily respond to them, as much as they wished to, so they kept them close instead. Natasha filed hers away in her room at Stark Tower, and Clint had sent his away. He didn’t mention where, just that they would be safe.

It was fair that the master assassin wanted to keep it secret.

Then, there was the general pile for all of the Avengers team. Most of these were sent by families and young children, from crayon sketches to some baked goods. The team, especially Thor and Clint were ecstatic with these ones in particular.

They came together to read them, as difficult as that was. They would read out a single letter to the rest; they might have a slight chuckle and smiles would light up all their faces as they heard the praise. None of the mail addressed to the Avengers was negative, as it seemed any criticism was left to the specific ‘hero’.

The smallest pile by far, belonged to Bruce Banner. Only a few letters had been delivered that were addressed specifically to him, and unlike the others, Bruce had avoided opening them. When Natasha asked him about his letters, he would say he would ‘get around to it’, and she would leave it alone for a while, disbelieving his statement.

Thor asked him about it the most, always curious and always keen to hear what people had to say about the ‘second strongest’ Avenger. Bruce would just smile, already a little bashful under the other’s excitable gaze and warm touches.

‘I haven’t read them yet.’

‘You should!’ Large hands would take hold of Bruce’s own and he would be spun around so the other could look at him face-to-face. ‘There is much they have to say to you, and I am sure much of it is kind.’

Bruce would just shrug his words away, very aware that the other would only try to see the best in him. He hadn’t been around when Hulk had first destroyed New York, and what the God had witnessed on the helicarrier had been next to nothing in the amount of damage the Hulk had caused. They had been lucky.

Unlike the rest, Tony, though encouraging, didn’t pressure him to read the letters. He knew of Bruce’s fear, and though he found a way to bring it up subtly in conversation, he never demanded the meek scientist open his mail.

Finally, they came up with an idea.

‘Big mean and green.’ Where Bruce had been hovering over the coffee pot, he clicked his jaw in annoyance, and turned his tired eyes over to the lounge. His teammates were all sat on the half-circle sofa, with a small pile of recognisable letters in the middle. He swallowed thickly around the nervous lump in his throat, and tried to laugh away his worry.

‘What is this? An intervention?’

‘Sort of.’ Clint said, offering him a polite smile. It seemed Clint and Steve, in particular, were both nervous about this. Then why participate?

‘We just wanna help try and release some tension here.’ Tony stated, gesturing to the pile. ‘It is no surprise to us, Bruce, you can’t stand to look at this. But you don’t have the heart to throw it all away.’

Bruce’s eyes fell to the coffee he now nursed in his hands.

‘We don’t want to make you uncomfortable.’ Steve chimed in. ‘But… Well, we don’t want you to run yourself into the ground because you’re scared of what people have to say.’

‘I’m not scared. I just know what I would see, and I do not need more confirmation that I am a monster.’

‘No!’ Thor’s voice bellowed, and he was standing in an instant. He was by Bruce’s side in a mere moment and gently nudging him (as gentle as Thor could manage) towards the lounge. ‘You do not understand, Banner! We believe that these are all letters of gratitude towards you, and rather than you think the worst, we want to disprove your claim.’

‘Yes… Well…’ Bruce’s eyes landed on the pile in front of him. He didn’t find SHIELD as frightening as he had expected when he had first met Natasha. He had not been as overcome with fear when he had first seen the Chitauri. But this small, seemingly trivial pile of notes… The words of an everyday person that he had hurt scared him more than anything.

‘If you don’t mind it, we came up with a simple system. Nothing too bad, we hope, but just so we might ease your fears a little.’ Tony said, reaching and digging around in the pile for a moment.

After a bit of shuffling about, he pulled out a small, pastel pink card, showing it to Bruce.

‘We just want you to know that you don’t have to be worried about this. We came up with this plan-’

‘Tony came up with a plan.’ Natasha interrupted.

‘- That we will each read out one letter to you. One random letter. And we’ll all be here in case you want to take a break or if you need to just…’

‘Talk.’ Steve finished.

And just like that, Clint, Steve, Natasha and Thor reached into the pile.

Clint pulled one, exceptionally thick, envelope from the top; perfectly pristine, well-kept, with ‘Bruce Banner’ written in fine, royal blue cursive.

Natasha dug her hand deep into the pile until she pulled her hand away with a large, but thin, green folder. On the front, it read Bruce’s name in a collage of cut-out, magazine letters.

Steve removed a small parcel from the pile, wrapped in dirty brown paper with a green ribbon around it. There was the sound of something gently rattling against the inside as Steve moved.

Thor pulled one letter from the pile which had a large, child’s drawing on the back. Evidently, it was of a large, green figure holding what looked like a yellow car in his hands and roaring. Bruce did not look too keen.

It was Clint that opened his letter first and had begun to read.

“Dear Doctor Banner,

You may not recall me well, but my name is Lucille Davidson. We studied together for a period in college, and I would like to consider us friends, or at the very least, acquaintances.

You’re work in nuclear physics is astounding, and I have, for years now, have wanted to address your papers and reports of your studies. I have never had the chance, as I had thought you dead after your disappearance.

Imagine my surprise and delight when I saw you on the news. Well, not you exactly, but to then have it confirmed to be you in the interview following the events, I was not only relieved but I was over the moon. Hearing you would be staying with Mister Stark for the time being, I wrote to you immediately, and I do hope this has found its way.

I wanted to just say how I am not only inspired by your work, but I wish that we could sit together for coffee and go over our theories on anti-electron collisions…”

By this point, Clint started to look a little lost. He raised his eyes from the paper, with an apologetic expression and a half smile.

‘Sorry, but I can’t understand this kind of science jargon. I am not an expert on thermonuclear… anything… Whatever this person is attempting to say, it seems…’ He turned the paper over, and glanced at the other papers. ‘Yeah… They appear to have sent you a full thesis on whatever this is…’

He passed it across to Bruce, who seemed shocked still. The coffee cup was retrieved from his hands by Tony, in case he should drop it, and placed on the coffee table. Bruce took the papers with shaking hands and read over that first part again and again, almost in disbelief. The worry in his face had lessened slightly, as he placed the essay down and looked up when Steve cleared his throat.

‘There isn’t, uh… There’s only a small card here, apart from the parcel. And it reads ‘to Bruce Banner and to Hulk. Thank you!” He passed the card and parcel over, so Bruce could open it.

He did so slowly, hesitantly, with the movements of a man disarming a bomb. Once the ribbon was undone and the tape removed, the brown paper fell apart in his hands, revealing a plastic container. Through the clear plastic there was a small pile of about eight cookies, all of them, though a little smudged, decorated to look like the Hulk’s face.

There was a chortle from Tony, and a guffaw from Thor as the God landed a hard smack to Bruce’s back. It hurt, but Bruce just smiled down at the strange but lovely gift. There was no return address or signature, which seemed a little disappointing.

“To Mister Banner.” Tony started, a sly, cattish grin on his face. Bruce could already feel his own face going red. He raised his hands to his face in a terrible attempt to hide his embarrassment as Tony continued to read with some level of theatrical exaggeration.

“I will admit, I’m a little embarrassed to write this, but I just needed to get my feelings down onto paper. I was working during the Battle for New York and we met very briefly. Well, you were Hulk at the time, but still… You saved my life. I was about to be killed by one of those weird, alien creatures when you crushed them beneath your fists. And I couldn’t help but salivate…” There was a muttered, embarrassed groan from Bruce as he snatched the letter out of Tony’s hand. The billionaire and the others shared a laugh as Bruce continued to read the letter.

Indeed, it was just a little scandalous, and as flattering as it was… He quietly tucked it away in his pants pocket, not willing to discuss it at this time. That was fair, and none of the other’s held that against him.

Natasha opened her own folder, her face brighter than Bruce had ever seen it. She showed it off like she was doing a presentation, opening the folder wide and reading it out. There were only two pages to it, the first with an image of a small building with a mural on one of its walls.

The mural showcased the Hulk with his hands raised as if holding up the roof of the building. Beneath him, as if a shadow that stood before him, was a silhouette of Bruce doing the same pose. Beneath it, written in bright lettering with all kinds of little pictures, was the message:

‘To Doctor Banner and the Hulk, the heroes that saved our daycare and the children therein.’ The second page was a collage of parents and staff thanking him and the Hulk alike, with little signatures and drawings from the children.

Natasha passed it over to him, and Bruce clutched it close, feeling himself near brought to tears.

Thor didn’t read out the letter he had plucked out of the pile, but passed it to Bruce all the same. It was difficult to read, as it was a scribble of a child’s writing. Only the address was clearly stamped out, presumably by a parent.

‘Thank you Mister Hulk. You saved mommy and daddy from the monsters. I want to be a hero like you when I’m grown up. Could you teach me to be strong like you? From Markus’

Turning the paper over to look over the image again, Bruce could now make out the scratchy faces of two people in the yellow car. At first, he thought they were screaming, but when he was able to make out the black line of a speech bubble amongst the dark blue crayon, he could read they were yelling ‘YAY!’

‘How cute.’ Natasha hummed.

‘That ought to go onto the fridge.’ Tony agreed.

Bruce shifted in his seat, wiping beneath his glasses with his sleeve. A hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, brought his eyes up to look at the Thor.

‘Would Banner like some time alone? To read and look through his gifts?’

Despite what he had read, Bruce did not ask them to leave. In fact, he snuggled deeper into the lounge as he plucked one letter from the pile. The others didn’t mind being asked to stay. In fact, to them, it was a relief to see the doctor express anything other than worry or discomfort, and a joy to watch his face break into a smile.

#MCU #Avengers #Avengers Fanfic #Avengers Fanfiction #Bruce Banner #Hulk #Thor #Tony Stark #Iron Man #Steve Rogers #Captain America #Clint Barton #Hawkeye #Natasha Romanoff #Black Widow #GammaHammer #Thor X Bruce #HarcourtHolmesII

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whetstonefires · 4 years

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mcu ethics bad

The thing is that, while I was angry at Tony during Age of Ultron, particularly when he rode over Bruce’s compunctions about building a giant combat super-robot and pressured him into the project like a very very bad friend who happened to also be wrong...

...and when he equipped Hulkbuster armor and fought the Hulk in the middle of a city rather than attempting de-escalation or attempting to haul the Hulk out into the giant adjacent desert....

(And my suspension of disbelief snapped like a frayed cable when he brought down a skyscraper that had had no time to be evacuated on a street full of fleeing people and the only reason we were given to believe he hadn’t just cold-bloodedly created massive civilian casualties was that he told his AI to find the impossible magic angle where doing this wouldn’t kill anyone...)

While I was angry with him then, and unspeakably relieved that he recognized his own damage and retired at the end, haha psych, I was revolted by him during Civil War.

It’s supposed to make us sympathize with a character more, spending so much time with them, getting into their heads, being shown their emotional drives and reactions to things, and we spent so much time with Tony during that film, understanding his point of view. And...I did understand him. He’s not complicated. I even sympathized with his emotional state.

But in the context of his actions, throughout the film, I gazed into that understanding the way I did into Kylo Ren’s face in the seconds after he first unmasked. I see you, I know you, everything you are is written here, and the lines of your shame and self-revulsion are so thick upon you, and you should be ashamed but your self-destruction does not expiate or justify one jot of the harm you do.

Because everything Tony did in Civil War came from a place of selfishness. He was selfish all throughout that movie down to his very spine.

And selfishness isn’t itself necessarily bad--you need a little, to get through life, you have the right to your own portion of it. Your boundaries and your needs. But the type of selfishness that is forcing other people pay dearly for your emotional comfort and sense of control: no.

That is tyranny. That is not acceptable.

And you know how I know he was being selfish? Because his motive for pushing the Sokovia Accords was his personal guilt for the destruction of Sokovia.

But the Accords didn’t address that at all! They were tangential to the issue! None of the terms of the Accords would have saved Sokovia--in fact, the existence of them could easily have prevented the evacuation and harm-reduction the Avengers managed there, without saving a single soul.

The Ultron crisis was something Tony did, not as Iron Man but as Tony Stark, with Bruce Banner’s help, and which Wanda as criminal fugitive later helped exacerbate, and which all the other Avengers were involved in only to mitigate harm.

Legislation, or...treaties, idk, the UN isn’t actually empowered to pass laws so who knows what this thing was...aimed at preventing another Sokovia would mandate constant ethical oversight of billionaire science man’s mad science. At the very least! He never has to run things by ethics boards because he’s self-funded, at the very least let’s invent a mechanism to make up for that.

That would address the actual Sokovia issue, both in terms of risks and in terms of Tony’s personal guilt feelings.

But no one suggests that! It’s not even on the table! Because no one, certainly not any government, can tell Tony Stark what to do unless he lets them, that’s been a clear matter of record since Iron Man 2.

And because no one writing this legal instrument of whatever description was actually motivated by wanting to avoid another Sokovia, or even another ‘Wanda tries to neutralize a suicide bomber but merely gives him a different, smaller victim pool’ incident.

They didn’t care! They blatantly didn’t care! The entire thing was a ghoulish use of the dead to gain enough political leverage over the Avengers to put a leash on them!

(Which might not be a bad thing in principle, everything needs its checks, but when the last quasi-governmental organization you worked for turned out to be Nazis who were only prevented from staging a mass slaughter of undesireables by the skin of your teeth, I think you’re well within your rights to be very choosy about who you agree to obey, and to be firmly against pledging your honor to follow people whose first move was dishonest coercive tactics.

Actually you’re well within your rights to demand to negotiate the terms of even a much less sweeping contract, even without the Nazis. The whole approach to this thing stank to high heaven.

The fact that it was written by the UN like a treaty, expected to be signed by private individuals like a contract, and then enforced like a law except not because 1) laws are for everyone 2) if you break a law you get a trial not extrajudicial incarceration and 3) being pressured to consent to a restriction and then punished for refusing consent is hypocritical circular logic and in fact police corruption at its finest, all continues to show it was a bullshit nonsense franken-document.)

The whole movie is people ghoulishly using the dead to manipulate Tony into making bad decisions in response to his emotional pain. That’s. The plot of the film.

Then Zemo staged T’Chaka’s assassination and framed Bucky for it to raise the tension, ramp up the pressure, and prevent any sitting-down and talking reasonably through this, which might have allowed for the recognition of how extremely bullshit the entire concept was.

Tony was being used. Tony was a tool of bad people for most of that movie, and while Zemo banked on using his wrath for it, the politicos were leaning on his guilt.

And there’s honestly little I hold in deeper scorn than going out and hurting other people to assuage your own guilt and treating this as having the moral high ground. No. You don’t have the moral high ground on account of your guilt motivation. You have it if the actions you took were just, or at least could reasonably be assumed to have been so at the time.

And Tony fucking knew they weren’t. He didn’t even last to the end of the movie before recognizing that he’d been manipulated and fucked up, and doubling back.

That he then walked into a different manipulation, turned on a dime, and had to be stopped from doing a murder doesn’t unwrite that.

And it drives me nuts that people will say Tony was acting out of principle while Steve was acting out of personal attachment. Because sure, the Bucky thing was important, was the reason he was walking forward against all opposition instead of standing still to argue, but it wasn’t the reason Steve said no, while...

Tony wasn’t acting out of principle. Tony isn’t...very good at having principles. That’s not even a criticism or condemnation, it’s just how he functions. Since Iron Man he’s been substituting good intentions and emotional investment, which has worked out to varying degrees. It works best for huge, difficult, very straightforward decisions like ‘ride the nuke through the portal and save my hometown.’ It works less well for nuanced situations.

Tony was, as usual, acting out of emotion. And some awful shitheads who’d figured out where his levers were had calculated how to jiggle his emotion switches in the right places to make him do exactly what they wanted.

And you can tell he wasn’t acting out of principle because, for example, someone who was trying to get the superhero community under outside control for the sake of harm mitigation...

...well, firstly wouldn’t have chosen to stage a massive battle? But it’s possible someone in the UN specifically told him to do that, and in theory they at the very least signed off on it, presumably for its PR value of making Captain America look deranged and violent since it’s a deranged decision from every other angle, so yay, he can pass that responsibility up the chain and not have to angst about it, as promised.

But I was going to say would not have approached a minor who (this timeline takes pains to show us) had no prior experience of battle or even, somehow, serious violent crime, to recruit him to go be a government child soldier on another continent, without his guardian’s knowledge or consent. There were overtones of blackmail in Tony’s approach, before it turned out Peter was such a big fan he didn’t need that. What the fuck frankly.

That is not the action of someone who wants to start doing things by the letter, scaling the violence down, keeping within the law and putting the power of decisionmaking in other people’s hands because he’s realized he can’t trust his own.

And frankly even if he did act like that I wouldn’t necessarily support his choices, in particular his snap decision to behave coercively toward other Avengers with vastly less social power and security than he has.

And that’s the other thing! Everything about ‘Tony + Accords BFFs’ rings so hollow because he has never thought rules applied to him, and he knows perfectly well the entire time he’s fighting to force this surrender of agency down other people’s throats that he is going to be practically immune.

This man was technically a terrorist, proabably the most prolific single terrorist in world history until his rogue android exceeded his body count, but he was immune to prosecution because he was in tight with the United States military-industrial complex and basically untouchable due to his status within capitalism, and pursuing their international goals anyway. In the time between Iron Man and Iron Man II he was basically a one-man upgrade of the US drone program, and so good at it that the crest of blood he carved through the Middle East allowed him to announce he had ‘privatized world peace.’

(You are never going to get a world peace worth anything on the basis of a giant flying gun, okay.)

He went to war as a private individual, against non-state actors who were not directly threatening him, which is very much defined as ‘mass murder’ in all domestic and international law, and the US army in response sued him for control of his weapon. And lost! Lost.

No one attempted to press charges. No one. Because Tony Stark is above all that. And he knows it.

And like. I’m willing to accept the mass murder under the heading of ‘superheroing’ within the terms of this setting! Even if, after his vengeance rampage on his specific kidnappers, this violence was kept strictly off-screen for a reason. I did that! I bent that far! Genre convention!

But this history is kind of vitally important to any analysis of what he thought he was doing, and what he actually was doing, when he decided to become the iron gauntlet of the Sokovia Accords.

The currently active member of the Avengers who needed muzzling most was very manifestly Iron Man, and he knew even as he jammed the muzzle on all his comrades to make himself feel better that it would affect him the least, even if he didn’t finally retire for real this time. You don’t force Tony Stark. Not if you want anything out of it but blown up. You persuade him.

And once you have...oh, look at what he can do.

#hoc est meum #mcu #tony stark critical #i am so angry with this man and i will never stop #i throw salt #an ocean of it

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thebestofoneshots · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt: Bucky needs your help after a girl won’t stop unwantedly flirting with him.

Warnings: None, there’s a bit of Drunk!reader but nothing too crazy.

“Please, please, Please PLEASE!!” begged Peter as you tried to ignore him. “Just this once!” He repeated pleading with his big brown eyes. He wanted you to introduce him to Mary, the read headed technician Girl, which you wouldn’t have a problem with, but, she was Bruce’s niece, and if anything didn’t go as planned, you and that little spider kid would have a big green problem.

“I don’t know Pete, it might be a terrible idea.”

“Believe me, I will be the biggest gentleman to ever exist, I’d behave better than Cap, I promise,”

I rolled my eyes. “You better, or else, I will be the one to use you as bait with the Hulk, and he can beat up Gods,”

He nodded rapidly a bunch of times, swallowing hard but attempting to hide it.

“Fine, now get out, I’m gonna change so we can go,”

“Affirmative captain,” he said before doing a military salute and leaving the room.

“This kid,” you denied with your head and walked to your closet picking a dress and putting it on. Your makeup was done, in fact, Peter was there because he helped you with the eyeliner that you were shitty at no matter what, and he surprisingly had a great pulse for wings. It was another of Tony’s galas and everyone with money or contacts got invited.

You walked outside and Peter offered you his arm, to escort you, you laughed and rolled your eyes before grabbing it and walking side by side with him towards the elevator.

You were thinking of how funny a 17-year-old boy would look next to a 26-year-old woman when the door opened and you entered the party lobby, some people were leaving their coats but as you had arrived from just a few floors bellow neither of you had taken yours. Which you regretted as the ambient was rather chilly.

“There she is!” You heard the boy whisper at you.

“Relax, you’re gonna look desperate,”

He rolled his eyes as you practically dragged him to the bar and ordered two cocktails before remembering he was underage and cancelling the second one.

“Hey!” He exclaimed.

You raised your brows towards him and he nodded like a little kid, which he was to everyone on the team.

After a while, you saw Wanda talking to Mary and you smiled to yourself pulling Peter towards both girls, you went and greeted Wanda and after a few seconds Mary.

“Mary Jane Watson, this is Peter Parker, Peter this is Mary,” you said with a smile and gave Wanda a look which she immediately understood.

“(Y/N)! Remember about that girl I said I would introduce you too, I think she’s here. Come with me,” she said pulling you with her and leaving the two kids together.

“Did you just play cupid with those two?” She asked when you were far enough.

“He asked me, I just never told him they were secretly my ship,”

You both laughed and then Vision arrived and left taking Wanda with him, you were left sitting on the bar alone, you ordered another cocktail and then found the person that had been trying to make you notice him for at least 10 minutes now.

You turned to the soldier confused as he kept giving you looks and signs that you barely understood.

He motioned you to look at your phone.

You rolled your eyes but did as asked “Please help me, she won’t get off of me, even if I’ve told her it makes me uncomfortable,” as you read it you laughed and looked at him, who was pleading with his eyes as a girl with a really short dress rubbed her boobs to his arm, on purpose, you laughed at the sight, if only she knew the winter soldier wasn’t really into that kind of stuff, still stuck in the ’40s.

You asked for two drinks and walked towards him. This was gonna be fun.

“Honey, I’m sorry I took so long, Tony stopped me and he wanted a bunch of pictures with the girls. You know how he is,” You said handing him one of the glasses in your hand.

“He’s been alone all the time at the party,” the girl spilled with sass.

“Oh, I know, he came first to get seats, seems though like you’ve taken mine,” you said as they were on a two-person couch “but don’t worry, we’ll figure this out,” you observed right before sitting on one of Bucky’s tights and crossing your arm in his neck, still looking at the girl. Bucky used his left hand to hold you in place. You felt your heart rush a little from the closeness with him but you blamed it on the martini and the excitement of putting the girl in her place, even if you weren’t sure why it was so exciting. She rolled her eyes and crossed her leg facing Bucky, showing even more skin. Was she really going to continue this up?

“Babe, remember that time my hair got stuck in your arm after a mission,” you asked, to which he nodded.

“Of curse doll, how would I forget?”

You smiled brightly to avoid the mild blush being evident. “I was just thinking that I’m gonna have to tie my hair tonight if the plan is still on, to avoid any other incidents,” you articulated with a wicked smile. He gulped when he understood what you were implying, then you got close to his ear and whispered “now act as I told you something really dirty” although you didn’t mean for it to come out in a dirty voice. He squeezed you tight in response to it, you weren’t sure if it was acting or your voice had an actual effect on him. The girl rolled her eyes and left.

You started laughing and ended up giggling in the crock of his neck as you tried to calm down.

“Thanks for that,” he said after a little while.

“That’s what friends are for,” you cleared and then stood up to sit on the couch next to him. But right at that moment, Peter pulled your arm for you to turn towards him.

“She wants to go somewhere more private,” he said with a worried face.

“Why aren’t you there with her?” You asked confused.

“I have no idea what to do,” he shrugged.

You rolled your eyes in a friendly way “What did you even tell her?”

“That I’m in the bathroom.”

You laughed “Ok, 2456, that’s the code, tell FRIDAY that I let you, it’s for Tony’s private terrace, it has the best view in town.”

“But What do I DO?” He asked again, desperate.

“Well, you talk, and if things go well enough, you give her a kiss and ask for her phone.”

“How do I know if things are going well?”

You rolled your eyes while you thought of a way of explaining to him. Then you got an idea. You pulled Bucky up and next to you.

“You’re Parker, I’m Watson,” you explained to him and then looked at his eyes with the sweetest face you could pull up. You batted your eyelashes and smiled. You laid your head on his shoulder looking at nowhere in particular and then at him again, this time with the biggest heart eyes you had ever made to anyone.

That’s when Bucky did something you were not expecting, he located his hand on the back of your neck, the heat from his palm almost made you shiver, but it all was so quick, he pulled your head towards his and planted a kiss on your lips. It didn’t last much and when it was finished you were left blinking in confusion for a few seconds before turning to Peter with a smile “See, that’s what you have to do,” you told him and he smiled.

“Thanks for that, both of you,” he said right before running off.

Bucky sat back on the couch and pulled you next to him.

That’s when you spotted the same girl now torturing another poor man. “Looks like she moved to different prey,” you nodded towards her and he laughed when he saw what you meant.

“Poor guy,” he said before turning to you and noticing your fast rubbing hands over your legs, you were evidently cold.

“Why didn’t you say you were cold?” He asked.

“I wasn’t, not while I was on your lap at least,” you explained. He smiled and swiftly pulled you over him again, using part of the suit he was wearing to warm you. “How are you so hot?” You asked.

“I was born with the blessing of good looks,” he answered to which you softly hit his arm.

“You know I don’t mean it that way,” you laughed, Bucky was quiet most of the time although sometimes he acted so open and confident and funny it amused you, you had been told how he was a ladies man back in the ’40s. Maybe that’s how he was before they turned him into the Winter Soldier.

“You think the insect boy is going to make it?” He asked then.

“He has a name.”

“You do too but I call you doll anyway,” he shrugged.

“Well, MJ has definitely a slight crush on the kid, at least that’s what Wanda told me, and he’s trying hard.”

“I’m kinda happy we helped. The kid kinda reminds me of Steve before becoming Captain America, he wants to help and everyone thinks he’s too small for the job.”

“I wouldn’t be as happy, she’s Banner’s niece.”

“Wait, for real?” he said worryingly, Bucky hadn’t seen the hulk in action but he knew enough. Getting trouble with the big guy was terrible weekend plans.

“I hope Nat helps us in case shit happens,” was your only answer.

“Like what?” Asked Bruce who sat on the couch next to you yours, he was holding a small whiskey glass.

That took you completely by surprise “Ah... you know... world-destroying stuff,” you replied, you weren’t sure if’d sound like a question more than an answer, you hopped it hadn’t but you felt like it had.

“Hm,” was his unconvinced reply “Either way... have you seen Mary Jane? I’ve been looking for her for a while, can’t seem to spot her.”

“I... uh...”

“No, we’ve been together pretty much all night, we haven’t seen anyone,” Bucky Answered for you.

“Shame...” he said before taking a small sip from his drink “I was hoping to introduce her to Peter, she always complains about the lack of people her age in these parties.”

After that you relaxed a bit, at least you weren’t going to he smashed soon “Maybe they’ve already met? This isn’t such a big venue.”

“Maybe...” he shrugged still searching around the area, to see if he spotted either of the kids “why are you sitting in Buchanan’s Lap?” Was his next question, which was pretty fair since there was a perfectly empty space next to the two of you.

“Eh...” You started but stopped yourself mid-sentence to think about it for a second “Well, it’s a long story, but basically... cold.”

He seemed to be about to say something but by then Nat stood in front of you with her hands full “it’s time for the fun!” She interrupted handing each of you a shot.

“Thanks, Nat? What is it?”

“Vodka, for must of us, the one for James has some of Thor’s more potent stuff.”

“Sweet!” You heard him from behind. Sadly, there had been a mishap somewhere in the path from Nat having them served and them getting to you. You took the liquid in one gulp. “Woah, that ehm... You sure it was vodka?”

“Definitely,” she shrugged.

“Ok,” was your only answer. By then, Wanda had come and sat beside you an James with a bottle of wine. A server brought some glasses and she started serving one for everyone.

“I uh... I don’t think I should drink much more...” you said as she handed you a glass.

“Don’t be silly (Y/N), you’ve only had one shot,” she said taking a sip of her own glass.

You grabbed the glass and took a very small sip before leaving it in the table again. You knew you’d only taken one shot but you were starting to feel as if it had been 4, or more.

Thor arrived you your little gathering sometime after and sat alongside all of you, by then people had already started to leave the party.

“Hey, Thor, your stuff wasn’t as hard this time,” said Buck as he took a sip of wine.

“What are you talking about? The Captain had to stop drinking after his first glass, he said it was harder than normal.”

“I’m not quite feeling it, felt like regular alcohol.”

That’s when Nat noticed how off you were acting, too quiet, almost as if trying not to move, like a drunk person trying to play sober. “O der’mo,” she muttered under her breath.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Bruce who sat next to her.

“It’s just that, I might have given (Y/N) the mead and Bucky the vodka.”

By then you had already grabbed the empty bottle of wine, “Hey, look Bucky,” you said calling for his attention and pointing at the tag “It says you can’t drink if you’re pregnant, and also if you’re a car,” you giggled at your own joke, wondering if it would have been as funny if you had been sober.

“You definitely did,” whispered Bruce after seeing that exchange.

Meanwhile, you were determined in not showing that you were drunk, not after just one shot, and attempted to stand up, in an attempt to go for some water and perhaps eat something that would help sober you up enough to act decently, but as you tried to get up you feel right back on Bucky’s lap. “Sorry,” you mumbled, “must have tripped with the rug.”

Nat decided to speak up then “I think I know what happened,” by then the talk had already drifted to a different subject, so she realized she’d have to explain again “yeah, regarding the mead, I think (Y/N) might have accidentally drank it, instead of Barnes.”

“So That’s! Why I’m so happy,” you exclaimed in a very childish manner. Which just served as a way to confirm Nat’s hypothesis. “I should really go to bed.” You mumbled after, trying to get up again, Bucky was fast this time around and he helped you steady with his hands.

“I’d better take her.”

Everyone waved goodbye at the two of you and he walked to the elevator with you, once the door closed you were the first one to speak, “Hey Buck, did you really kiss me earlier or was I hallucinating?”

He was taken by surprise, he’d never seen you drunk before but he wasn’t expecting that “It wasn’t a hallucination.”

“Ufff... that’s great, I thought my crush on you was already making me crazy,” you replied causally.

“Your what?” He asked then, a pinch of hope in his heart.

“Well you know, that my brain had already gone cou-cou from liking you for so long.”

He smiled, he would have never thought he’d be thankful that you’d accidentally got drunk, he only wondered if you’d remember your love declaration the next day.

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years

Text

the way it was - chapter 29

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1914

'cause you're a sky, you're a sky full of stars

such a heavenly view

Their pride and joy had careened into their bedroom loudly at six o’clock in the morning – on a Saturday – to announce loudly that it was her birthday.

Roy groaned quietly in Riza’s ear, and she couldn’t hold back her own either. Her eyelids fought against her desire to open them, sleep keeping a tight hold on Riza that morning. Even cracked open to the bare minimum, Riza’s vision was blurred and her lids ached.

“Mia?” Roy sounded as tired as Riza felt. The mattress shifted as he sat up, removing his arm from around her waist. The warmth and security of his hold was missed immediately.

“It’s my birthday,” Mia sang happily, bouncing on the spot at the bottom of their bed as she broke out into a happy dance. The six-year-old was completely oblivious to the plight of her parents, too excited at what the new day would bring her.

“Mia,” Roy scolded lightly with a yawn. He rubbed his face tiredly, running his hands through his hair as he smacked his lips. “Listen, you need to quieten down,” Roy scolded her gently.

The dancing stopped. “Why?”

“Mummy is sleeping, and she needs to rest.”

Riza was really trying to wake up, but her body refused to cooperate. Sleep was beckoning her once more, not ready to give her up to the rest of the world just yet.

Rolling over, she struggled to lift her head. “No, it’s fine…” she mumbled.

“Oh…” Mia sounded guilty. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s all right, bear.” The use of her nickname softened Roy’s scold a little. “Come on, why don’t we go and talk in your room? Then we can let Mum sleep.”

“It’s… fine…” Riza sighed but was already drifting.

A hand was pressed to the top of her head. It ran through Riza’s hair then fell to the mattress behind her head. Then, Roy’s lips were pressed to her forehead.

“Get some more sleep,” Roy urged gently. “I’ll keep her entertained.”

The next time Riza woke, two hours had passed. She batted her eyes open, hearing Roy and Mia talking somewhere in the house. The latter sounded extremely excited as she chatted away happily, while she heard Roy’s laugh and the occasional yip from Hayate.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Roy greeted with a smile as he spotted Riza entering the kitchen.

She shot him a tired smile in response, but still made a beeline for Mia and crouched by her chair. Cupping her six-year-old’s face in her hands, Riza grinned at her daughter. “Happy birthday, our Mia Bear,” she announced, kissing Mia’s cheek.

“Thank you, Mum,” Mia smiled brightly. “Look! Look at this badge Dad gave me!” She grasped her t-shirt and thrust it forward, showing off the comically large birthday badge on her shirt. It was a baby blue colour and had a bear on it – of course – holding the number six in its hands. Riza had seen it at the supermarket the week before and knew instantly Mia would love it.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“Yeah! He said it was from you and him, so thank you! I love it!” Mia threw her arms around Riza’s neck and hugged her tightly. Laughing, Riza pressed a hand to Mia’s back and gave her a quick squeeze.

“Glad you like it.”

“And Dad made me a birthday breakfast,” Mia added excitedly, turning in her chair to look at the table. “I’ve ate it all now, but I had some grapes, a piece of toast that Dad turned into a face,” Mia giggled. “And I even had some of his porridge! I didn’t like it very much.” Mia wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“But you tried it though, didn’t you?” Roy reached for a teaspoon in the centre of the table, picking it up so he could stir his coffee. “You were a big girl and tried something new,” Roy praised.

“Yeah,” Mia grinned. “This breakfast was very yummy! Almost as good as the fun breakfast I had a while ago,” she added, trailing off and looking up at them daringly.

Riza smiled from behind Mia, shooting Roy a look. She was so clearly fishing and was hopeful for more chocolate at breakfast, but that was a no-go. Luckily, Roy remembered his error in judgement from that day.

“Ah, no chocolate for breakfast this time,” Roy reminded her as he popped a stray grape into his mouth. “You don’t want to feel ill like you did last time, do you?”

He lifted the bowl of grapes, extending them towards Riza. Picking a few off their stalks, she gathered them in her hand and started to eat them slowly.

Mia sat back in defeat. “No, I guess not,” she mumbled.

“It would be a very good birthday if you felt sick, would it?” Riza placed a hand on Mia’s head and bent to kiss the top of it.

“No, it wouldn’t be fun,” she agreed. The sullen tone had left her voice as she realised their logic. “But… Can I have some later?” Her wide and earnest eyes were begging her mother to say yes.

“Hm,” Riza hummed, pretending to think. “I don’t know…” she trailed off.

“Please!”

“I suppose,” Riza relented. “You are the birthday girl after all. This day is all about you.”

“Yay!” Mia clapped, legs kicking wildly in her chair. It made her little body jerk from side to side in her chair.

After breakfast and they’d all showered and dressed, the small family made their way into their living room so Mia could open her birthday presents. There was a pile on their couch which Riza had arranged while Roy got Mia ready for the day. She’d picked a lovely green dress to wear to her party. It had a floral pattern on it, the flowers just a shade lighter than the green of her dress so they were almost hidden. It had been an early gift from her grandmother.

The birthday girl’s eyes lit up when she saw the presents, diving for them.

It turned out Roy was also rather adept with a brush and a comb.

“Grew up with a bunch of sisters, remember,” he quipped with a wink, noticing Riza’s inquisitive smile as she admired Mia’s hair.

The perfectly braided hair bounced in their pigtails with Mia’s energy. She looked incredibly cute. Her hair was passed her shoulders now, long enough so that it could be split down the middle and tied off with two green ribbons at each end. However, her fringe was still a lost cause. Even with it styled like Riza’s it had a mind of its own and more often than not, fell over her eyes or ended up mussed up, skewing her parting completely.

Roy wrapped his arm around Riza’s shoulders as they watched Mia animatedly tell Hayate about the present she’d just opened. The dog was shown the toy so he could give it a sniff.

“And see? I have some sense of fashion.” Roy gestured to Mia’s attire.

Riza already knew he did. Around the house he wore shorts or sweatpants with t-shirts, but she’d seen him getting ready for formal military events. He looked incredibly handsome in a suit and tie and knew just how to style himself to make Riza’s heart flutter inside her chest.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second, dear,” Riza smirked, turning her head to peck his cheek.

“Mia,” Roy called, stepping forwards. “Before you get too excited and open any more, I have a present for you to open first.”

Riza shot him a questioning look that Roy very obviously ignored.

“Oh?” Mia asked, intrigued.

“Be back in a second,” he grinned, looking rather mischievous and proud of himself.

Riza narrowed her eyes. Just what did he have in mind here?

There was the distant sound of rummaging that made her raise an eyebrow, then Roy re-entered the room, lugging a huge, rather crudely wrapped, gift. In his arms, it passed just over Roy’s head, and he had to duck to get it through the doorway. From the shape, it was clear that this was another bear for Mia, but it was so large it was ridiculous. It was almost double the height of their daughter and would be nearly as tall as Roy and Riza if it could stand on its legs.

Mia gasped excitedly, carefully but quickly removing the wrapped present from her lap. Her eyes boggled as she took it in, brain struggling to comprehend what she was seeing.

Riza could sympathise with that.

“Uh,” Riza stated eloquently in her surprise.

“Is it a bear?” Mia was in awe, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ll have to open it and see,” Roy smirked. He was practically bouncing with excitement himself.

Mia did so, carefully. She had to get Roy to help her unwrap from the stomach upward because it was far too tall for her. Squealing happily, she hugged her new best friend and looked up at its face in wonder.

Hayate wasn’t sure. He growled quietly at the hulking form, his hackles raised as his head dipped low to further take in this new thing on his territory that was so much larger than him.

“It’s okay, Hayate!” Mia peeled herself away from her new toy and reached out tentatively for the dog. Once her hand contacted his fur, Hayate flinched and licked his lips, looking up at Mia. “It’s just a toy. Look!” Standing tall, Mia poked the bear and its head flopped to the other side. Poking it again, harder, it tipped over and fell onto its side, making Hayate jump at the sudden thump that sounded. He growled louder while Mia laughed with glee.

“And just where are we going to put that?” Riza muttered the question in her husband’s ear while Mia was distracted.

Roy shrugged. “Let me worry about that.”

Riza rolled her eyes as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders again. The bear was honestly absurd. Where had he even bought it from?

“Where did you even hide that? I didn’t see it anywhere.”

“It was hidden in the garage,” he smiled mischievously. “Chris dropped it off late last night when you were already in bed. It was from the guys at work.”

“Really?” It was one shock after another this morning.

“They’d planned it beforehand after hearing her talk about how much she loved bears while Havoc and I were in the hospital,” Roy chuckled. “But…” He trailed off.

Everyone had been moved across Amestris.

Roy cleared his throat and shot her a reassuring smile as she hugged against his side. “Havoc ordered it into his family’s store and got it shipped out. Everyone still chipped in for it though before they left.”

Riza was touched by the lovely gesture for their daughter. “That was so sweet of them.”

“It was all Havoc’s idea. They can’t wait to hear what Mia’s reaction is,” Roy chuckled, nodding at their daughter. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, a happy squeal emitting from her throat every now and then as she couldn’t quite believe the present was real. “Fuery more so than the others. Havoc says he isn’t bothered, but I know he wants to know.”

Riza grinned. She’d always thought of Roy’s team being somewhat unofficial uncles to Mia. Now, it definitely felt like it, and the thought warmed Riza’s heart.

* * *

Gracia and Elicia were the first to arrive at their house for Mia’s birthday party.

“Happy birthday, Mia!” Elicia giggled, handing over a parcel to Mia that looked a little too heavy for her. It dipped in her grasp as her arms shook with the weight.

“Elicia!” Mia’s cry was full of glee as she ran towards her friend. Skidding to a stop, she grinned at the present in Elicia’s hands and eased it out of the younger girl’s grasp. “Is this for me?”

“Yep! Mummy and I picked it out especially for you. It’s from my Daddy too!” Elicia’s happiness made the three adult’s expressions soften.

“Thank you, Elicia. That’s very kind of you,” Riza replied on her excited daughter’s behalf.

“Yes, thank you!” Gently, the parcel was placed on the ground and Mia hugged Elicia tightly.

All three adults simpered at the sight, looking proudly upon their friendship with one another.

“Can we go and open it now, Mum?” Mia’s eyes were wide and bright with excitement.

“Well,” Roy interjected, eyes already on the path up to their home, looking over Gracia’s shoulder. “It looks like you have some other guests to greet first.”

Mia poked her head around Gracia’s legs to see who was approaching. Chris waved to Mia as Vanessa and Roxanne beamed, arms laden with gifts.

“I promise though, you can play with it after.” Riza gestured for Mia to hand it over. As she stooped low, there was a niggle of pain in her lower back, but she shook it off. “You’ll get to open all your presents once everyone is here.”

“Okay!”

Unfortunately, Edward and Alphonse were up in North City, so were unable to attend Mia’s birthday, alongside the rest of Roy’s team. She was disheartened to hear her “uncles” wouldn’t be coming, but Mia took it in her stride. Both parents reassured her that they’d come and see her as soon as they were able to.

Rebecca, however, arrived from the East with a surprise appearance from Havoc.

Mia gasped loudly, a hand flying up to her mouth when she saw him enter through the door to their living room. Roy walked behind with a wide smile on his face.

“Aunt Becca! And Havoc!” Her screech pierced Riza’s ears painfully while Mia hopped to her feet and sprinted to the door. She threw her arms around Rebecca tightly, who’d knelt in place and opened them up for her.

“Happy birthday, Princess,” Rebecca greeted, kissing her on the cheek before letting her go.

“And – And – Havoc!” Mia gripped the arm of his wheelchair tightly, her knuckles white as her eyes boggled up at him. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“It was a surprise,” he winked. In his lap was a poorly wrapped gift, which was handed over to Mia. “Happy birthday, Mia.”

She took it in her hands carefully, marvelling at the gold and red wrapping paper. “This is for me?”

“All for you,” Havoc confirmed.

“Oh, wow.”

“What do you say, Mia?” Riza prompted her daughter’s manners as she lifted herself from her armchair.

“Thank you, Havoc!” Mia threw her arms around his torso in a fierce hug, which made him chuckle in response.

He patted her shoulder fondly. “You’re welcome, Kiddo.”

“Now that everyone is here, who would like tea or coffee?” Roy announced it to the room as Riza made her way through to their kitchen. Some peace and quiet would give her a reprieve to try and relieve some of her fatigue.

Her back was bothering her a lot today, and it made Riza wonder if she’d slept in a funny position. No amount of stretching would grant her relief, unfortunately. And she was so tired today, too. That extra two hours in bed should have been enough, but apparently it wasn’t. It was unfair. It was her daughter’s sixth birthday! She had no time to be tired.

It was happening more and more often lately after she’d entered her third trimester. That niggle in her back was the most prominent one, as well as aching ankles. That was easy enough to deal with though, seeing as most of her work was done at her desk. Life went on as well, so she’d shouldered the pain while running around after Mia and rested when she could.

After placing the water on top of the heat to boil, Riza closed her eyes and rested her hands against the counter. Her spine was perfectly straight, but she was leaning forwards, letting her hands take some of her weight. Relief washed over her ankles, granting her a reprieve. Her head was held high, but her chin dipped as she rolled her previously hunched shoulders.

“Hey, you okay?” Roy’s hands were instantly placed on her tight shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

“Yes.” She leaned back into him, relaxing completely as he steadied her like a rock. A kiss was pressed to her temple, causing a smile to quirk up the corners of her mouth.

His hands ran down her arms to her waist. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think there’s something wrong?”

Roy hummed quietly in her ear. His head moved so that his nose was in her hair and he pressed a kiss behind her ear. “I’ve noticed you grimace every now and then. I just want to check everything is alright.”

“You’re too observant,” Riza grumbled good naturedly, making him laugh quietly and pull away from her.

“It’s to be expected, Riza, my dear.”

She had been mourning the loss of his embrace, but his hands ran back up her bare arms to rest atop her shoulders. It was a beautiful contradiction how his hands lit a fire with his touch but still managed to lift gooseflesh on her skin. Riza shivered.

“Expected?”

His hands began to knead at the knots in her shoulders and Riza let out a light moan. It felt heavenly. It was exactly what she needed.

“Of course,” he replied. “I love you too much not to notice when something might be bothering you. Plus, we’ve been together for so long, I like to think I’ve become quite attuned to you,” he grinned.

Again, her body shuddered. Hearing him say such things…

Roy noticed her reaction and laughed. “Do you like that?”

“Yes,” she breathed. It felt like her legs would turn to jelly, she was becoming so relaxed, but hearing Roy’s low voice, telling her how much he loved her and how much he noticed about her… “What else have you noticed?”

“That you’re tired today. And your lower back and ankles hurt, am I correct?”

Riza huffed but nodded.

“Yes,” he hissed in triumph at his correct guess, making Riza laugh.

“Are you happy that I’m suffering for your child?” She made her amusement clear.

“Not at all,” Roy reassured solemnly. “If I could take some of the stress from you, I would. You know that.”

Riza’s heart fluttered in her chest.

“I’m just pleased I can read you so well.”

“I’ll have to make it harder next time,” Riza hummed thoughtfully.

“How can I help you if you make it harder for me?” A chuckle left him as he found a rather tight knot in her trapezius. His thumb dug in deep causing Riza to let out a strangled cry of relief.

“Your shoulders are very tight,” he remarked.

Riza grimaced. “I know. The kid is making them tense,” she added, fondly running her hand over her stomach.

“You can expect some foot rubs tonight for those ankles too. And feel free to let me know what else I can massage,” he quipped, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

Scoffing, Riza admonished him quietly while he laughed instead.

“Did this happen with Mia?”

“Yes. You’re a much more preferable masseuse than Rebecca though.”

A quiet snort left him. His head dipped, pressing a kiss to the bare skin at her neck as he gave her shoulders one last tight squeeze. “I’m glad.” His voice was a whisper against the crook of her neck. “Why don’t you go and get a seat,” Roy offered, straightening his posture.

Riza turned to look at him, noting the soft smile on his face as he gazed at her. “I can manage to make some tea –”

“Humour me,” Roy interrupted softly, taking one of her hands in his. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss upon the back of her palm. “If you’re tired then I honestly don’t mind.”

Riza opened her mouth to argue, but Roy’s eyes flashed with mischief.

“And don’t lie and say you’re not tired.” He chuckled at her frown. A kiss was pressed to her forehead. “Go and take a seat. I’ll sort the beverages for our guests.”

“Is that an order, Colonel?” An eyebrow lifted in light defiance.

Again, his eyes flashed at her challenge, and a grin spread across his face. “I can make it an order, if you like?” His smile was bordering on wolfish and Riza decided to quit while she was ahead. It was her daughter’s birthday. The party came first. Afterwards, once Mia was asleep, she would teach Roy a lesson for trying to order her around… After his previously offered massage.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll go,” she relented reluctantly.

Pausing in the doorway, she turned and watched him tap a nail on the countertop, staring out the window to their garden, waiting for the water to boil. Once it was ready, it snapped Roy out of whatever thought he was lost in and he jumped to reach for the pot, so he could pour it in the waiting mugs.

A corner of Riza’s mouth quirked up, smiling at her husband. He’d relaxed her completely and having his support meant so much to her.

Turning in place, Roy frowned at her, his mouth turning downwards in exaggerated disapproval. “Go on, Mrs. Mustang. Shoo. I can handle carrying tea and coffees through.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” she placated, lifting her hands in surrender.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #the way it was #emma writes

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angerissue · 3 years

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Character Survey.

Real name: Dr. Robert Bruce Banner, Ph.D..

Single or taken: Single, and this probably isn't going to change anytime soon. He has a number of ingrained emotional issues, and ideological issues that pertain to his condition, that prevent him from seeking romantic relationships and even just becoming close to someone. One-night stands are possible, because they don’t involve emotional commitment from either party, but real relationships scare the hell out of him. The closer that someone gets to Bruce, the more he fears hurting them or being hurt himself.

Abilities or powers: He has an extremely high IQ, almost unprecedented intuition when it comes to the sciences and its numerous technologies, and a great ability to think outside the box and solve complicated, confounding problems. Also, he can turn big and green, which makes him capable of inhuman physical feats and gives him a ridiculous healing factor. This cannot be understated; he can literally recover from decapitation if the conditions are right. It's debatable whether these qualify as gifts or curses, because of the experiences they've created for Bruce in the past, but they're definitely abilities at the least.

Eye colour: Brown. Sometimes green if he’s in a mood.

Hair colour: Dark brown with some grey.

Family members: Rebecca Banner (mother / deceased), Brian Banner (father / incarcerated), Jennifer Walters (cousin / alive), Susan Drake (adoptive aunt / unknown), Elaine Banner (aunt / deceased).

Pets: In The Persistence, he owns a white knockout mouse named Eddie, who came from a selection of ailing lab mice that he experimented on with the Hulk's plasma. He doesn’t have pets in other verses, though he wouldn’t mind a cat, or a dog with a calm and mellow demeanour, as long as his living situation and overall routine is constant and undisturbed. Otherwise, it will never be a possibility. Back when General Ross' squad broke down his door in Brazil, he needed to abandon a mutt named Rick, and it hurt because he’d become very fond of him. He doesn't want to do this to another animal.

Hobbies or activities: He loves hiking and jogging (with trails in forested areas being his preferred location), cooking and baking, gardening, reading textbooks and science journalism, bait fishing, programming and experimenting, travelling, sightseeing, meditation, yoga, collecting and listening to vinyl records, and being a rebel by listening to police scanners and going after bad guys if he doesn't have much else to do. But even if it seems like he's not outwardly doing anything, he's probably still occupied — he tends to spend a profuse amount of time in his own head, ruminating and reflecting on future goals, whether it involves anticipating or dreading them. He also likes to contemplate new concepts and designs for technologies.

Animal that represents them: Definitely a pangolin, because you can’t look at a pangolin and the way it carries itself and not think of Banner from a purely visual perspective. Add on the fact that their bodies are covered in hardened scales for defense, and how they curl up into a ball whenever they're upset and threatened, and you have a metaphorical version of Bruce, who tends to shy away and retreat into himself whenever he's having a lower moment, and has a lot of deep-seated defensive mechanisms on display during social interactions. But seriously, these animals just want to walk around eating ants, minding their own business. They don’t have a bone to pick with anyone... Which is also similar to Bruce. And did I mention that pangolins are endangered, because they're frequently hunted and trapped by humans for their supposed “beneficial properties” in medicine (none of which are proven)? That's similar to how Banner has been followed all over the place by the U.S. military, just because they perceived his condition to be useful somehow.

Worst habits: Take your pick. Distancing himself from other people even when he could use the company, self-flagellation, humouring his guilt complex even when he's not responsible for certain negative outcomes, repressing or suppressing his emotions when he needs to express them (or the opposite, staying as the Hulk so he can stew in those strong emotions and therefore punish himself for whatever he “did wrong”), running away from connections that involve real commitment, especially romantic ones.

Role models: Steve Rogers for his patriotism and overall sense of morality, Neils Bohr for his defense of the Bohr atomic model (which had been a radical theory for the time) and subsequent successes, Ernest Rutherford for similar reasons, and his mother when he was younger, though he doesn’t remember much about her because he was only six when she died. Same goes for his aunt, Susan; while he spent more time around her than Rebecca in total, he was rather emotionally absent by this point because of all the trauma earlier in his childhood. In general, his role models tend to be people who remain strong in the face of adversity and judgement, and stick to their values for the benefit of others. All the above people qualify in that sense, for different reasons.

Sexual orientation: Heterosexual.

Thoughts on marriage and kids: Nope, and bigger nope. He would love to have a close connection with someone, however much he's actually repressed the desire for the time being, and some part of him does want to have a child — however, he always concludes that it wouldn't be worth it. Bruce believes marriage would be a shackle for anyone who's unfortunate enough to become his partner, and it would open them up to potential threats from people who could use them to get to him and his condition. And children are a no-go because Bruce doesn’t want them to have a father like him; he might be absent for a lot of their upbringing, and either unstable or otherwise unaccommodating in temperament if he’s upset. And he'll constantly be trying to hide his condition from them as well, because god forbid they find out their father is a monster, and they feel like a freak because of it. He's been in a position where he felt like an anomaly as a child, and he's not interested in subjecting his children to this. He also loathes the idea of bringing children into the world because he would not be able to ensure their safety — after all, he can’t even ensure his own. So to Bruce, he'd be setting them up for endangerment just because they’re related to him, similar to how his partner would become a target as well.

Style preferences: Safe and conservative, and not flamboyant by any means. He usually sticks to warmer and neutral palettes, and cuts/styles that are classic and unlikely to fall out of style; this includes his suits, jackets, pants, and shirts. We're talking chinos and slacks, poplin dress shirts, wool sport coats and blazers. Most occasions will see him wearing the dress shirt, slacks, and sport coat together. If he's feeling more adventurous, he'll pair a sport coat with a crewneck, or he could even go with a polo shirt and jeans, but the latter is rare. In general, Bruce's most interesting piece is a brown leather bomber jacket, which he usually wears in the warmer months; colder weather will bring out a peacoat (and he loves to pop the collar in lieu of using a scarf). As far as cost goes, Bruce is fairly well-off between the royalties from S.H.I.E.L.D. and other work he's done here and there, but even so, he doesn't purchase outrageously expensive clothing and tends to go for the mid-upper brands. He'll do made-to-measure, but not full bespoke. He finds any further spending to be superfluous.

Approach to friendships: Cautious and uncertain about them, and tends not to approach people first, because he would hate to overstep his boundaries / make someone uncomfortable. Rather accommodating to people he considers friends, but he's extremely quick to duck out if they can’t meet him eye-to-eye regarding touchy topics, like decisions that affect the well-being of many people. This is the reason he shunned his friendship with Tony after they debated about the Sokovia Accords. Being an introvert, he’s one of those people who doesn't like bothering his friends; even if they make it abundantly clear that he's welcome anytime, he'll hesitate, but he’s completely okay and even happy if those friends approach him instead. He doesn't always like when his personal space is invaded, or if someone touches him, but he'll start to make exceptions if he becomes more familiar with someone. He loves the people that he can consider friends, but he always views the friendships as something that could dissolve in a heartbeat. On some level, even unconscious, he's always expecting things to end.

Thoughts on pie: An acceptable desert. Bumbleberry, strawberry rhubarb, and pumpkin are his favourites. He prefers the homemade variety, and because of it, he tends to make his own, butter crust and all, avoiding store-bought unless it’s particularly memorable — or if someone buys a slice for him. He’s appreciative like that.

Favourite place to spend time: Somewhere he can guarantee that he's not being watched; these are most commonly his labs in the Northwind Observatory, quiet and secluded trails, or his chambers in the Crown City citadel on Sakaar. Not only do these locations ease his anxieties about being studied, inspected, or followed, but he feels less of a pressure to put on false pretenses and exhaust himself with social niceties, many of which may be fabricated. He doesn’t need much external stimulation, because he’s fine simply turning inward and thinking, without paying much attention to his surroundings, but he’ll certainly admit to spending a ton of time tinkering with pet projects if he’s in the labs. Obviously, Bruce prefers to be alone in most of these cases. But if he's with someone he cares about, whether a friend or a romantic partner, and can openly express himself around them, that's nice for him too.

Swim in the lake or ocean: Lakes, without question. He has some bad memories of being in the ocean, whether it’s about the time he was tossing and turning in glacial waters after his failed suicide attempt, or clawing his way out of a quinjet that crashed into the water while his alter started to take over. Bruce remembers all that, and it's not pleasant. The openness of oceans perturb him as well; lakes are usually far more intimate and amniotic because they’re often surrounded by forests, which allows him to feel safer and less exposed.

Their type: Someone who is, and is comfortable with showing, some semblance of dependence on him, which would placate his need to fill a provider role and not simply be a charity case; he's had enough of that between begging on the streets and asking Tony Stark for boarding. (This doesn't mean he's looking for someone who's a total pushover, cannot make their own decisions, or is emotionally needy, because those would make him run in the other direction, frankly.) Someone who can hold their own and stand up for their beliefs when necessary. Someone who can challenge him intellectually, though not necessarily in an academic sense; it really just depends on how much they can expand his own perspective by giving their own. Someone who really understands his needs and issues. And obviously, someone who isn't scared of his condition, because it's going to manifest a lot. It needs to; he doesn't really have a choice in the matter. Hulk is another story, but fortunately, he doesn't show up enough to really be an immediate concern, and Bruce and his partner can cross that bridge when they reach it. Physically, he's usually attracted to women who are slightly shorter than him; their hair can be anything from blonde to brown, and he prefers body types that are similar to his own; more on the slender side but not necessarily fragile.

Camping or indoors: He’d rather be indoors. He isn’t extremely fond of camping, if we’re using the most common definition of "pitching a tent, cooking with a fire made from sticks and tinder, and spending the night in the woods with the bears and the bugs". There are indeed occasions where he cannot stand to be indoors, whether because he’s feeling claustrophobic (a common symptom of abstaining a little too long from transformations), or he simply needs some time away from other people in the geographic sense, but in those cases, he’s more likely to go for a walk or hike, not set up an entire campsite and spend the rest of the night outdoors. For him, camping is meant for a survival-type situation rather than a recreational one. The closest thing to camping he'll do is living in a cabin with a wood stove and local water supply, which he’s done a few times over the years. He's even purchased a few cabins by the time his Persistence verse rolls around, so if one of the properties are compromised, he could always retreat to another one.

Tagged by: @mynameisanakin! Tagging: @fallencomrade , @asgardianhammer , @alongingwithin , and anyone else who wants to do this.

#( meme response. )#( headcanon. )#( multiple. )

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pat78701 · 7 years

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Why 'Trump Administration' Is An Oxymoron

WASHINGTON ― Donald Trump took the oath of office two months ago, but is not yet running a real presidency. His administration, thus far, largely is playing like a junta that surprised the royal guards and seized the palace ― while still remaining unable to pacify the capital city, let alone inspire the countryside.

The White House is as stately as ever, but there aren’t enough friends outside the (porous) iron fence to make the inhabitants as comfortable as they should be in the first months of a new regime.

Rather, Trump is under siege from pretty much all sides.

Federal courts again are slapping down Trump’s first, signature move: a temporary travel ban on citizens from predominantly Muslim countries that he says harbor “radical Islamic terrorists.”

The joint Trump-GOP effort to “repeal and replace” Obamacare ― another key first promise and response ― is bogged down in multiple internal Republican divisions over everything from spending numbers to philosophy to legislative strategy.

With growing sharpness and specificity, GOP leaders are joining Democrats in dismissing as flat-out false the president’s repeatedly tweeted charge that former President Barack Obama “tapped” ― or surveilled in any way ― Trump Tower or its owner.

Trump’s new guns-and-no-butter first budget, which would literally take food from the poor and the elderly to give more money to Pentagon contractors, has been greeted with derision by many Republicans, who regard it as less of a blueprint than a political statement too harsh even for the tea party.

The nonpartisan polling “job approval” numbers for Trump have been in the 40s consistently in the first few months, and are the lowest launch average on record for a new president.

Trump has had his successes. They include the assembly, after some fits and starts, of a good ― or at least credible ― national security team of respected current and former members of the military or Congress. As a result, there is a solid chain of command for Trump in his role as commander in chief.

He nominated a man to the U.S. Supreme Court, Judge Neil Gorsuch, to whom the American Bar Association gave a sterling endorsement.

Trump has issued some executive orders that make good on other campaign promises ― such as the gutting of EPA regulations on the use of coal, building pipelines, getting out of multilateral trade treaties and instituting tougher domestic rules on the apprehension and repatriation of undocumented immigrants.

His tweets and campaign-style speeches, vowing tax cuts and the twisting of corporate arms to “buy and build American,” have had an effect: The stock market has been on a wild run.

But these successful measures ― the exception to the general pattern ― were comparatively amenable to direct White House control.

Everything else is harder to control or even withstand. And the dangers of drift are real. He elicited a new sense of hope from white working-class voters; their cynicism will deepen if he doesn’t deliver the jobs ― especially since his proposed new budget cuts are aimed at programs in rural counties.

Trump could well be tempted by the slow pace of change to ignore the law, especially since his aides, led by Steven Bannon, are telling him that the so-called “deep state” is itself a lawless force and is out to get him to preserve its own status.

He could use military confrontation ― such as the one brewing now with North Korea ― to emphasize the broad powers of a commander-in-chief who can’t be easily countermanded by institutions that constrain him now. Another terrorist attack on the “homeland” would give him a rationale ― if not justification ― for sweeping new executive actions in the United States.

Leaders around the world, already confused and unsure of American leadership, could distance themselves further from U.S. aims and interests ― no matter how much more money Trump spends on modernizing the military and putting boots on the ground.

Why does a man who claims such great success as a business manager seem so overwhelmed?

Democrats have taken their time filling his Cabinet, arguing, with much justification, that Trump had presented them with a roster of conflict-laden billionaires and ideologues antagonistic to the goals of the departments they had been nominated to lead. But there a host of in-house reasons for the first months’ mess. Here they are:

He only wants to talk to people who have no choice but to agree with him, or who are glad to tell him why his enemies are scum.

I know poll-takers who shied away from doing polls for Trump because they knew that the numbers would not be favorable ― and that Trump therefore would never hire them. “I turned down lots of jobs with him for that reason,” one of them told me. “You never give Trump bad news.” Which means that he is constantly infuriated when his yes men are forced to tell him the world says “no.”

He has to lash out somewhere, and that place is still Twitter.

The Trump administration has been annoyed and distracted for a week ― a crucial week on the budget and on health care, among other things ― by the president’s false accusation of Obama’s purported “tapping.” He never should have said it. But he almost always does.

D.C. is not New York; politics is not real estate.

Trump’s tactical principle is that if someone “hits” you, you “hit back twice as hard.” I have heard him say it in private as well as in public, and it is a method he has used since he came to Manhattan decades ago with a million bucks from his dad. But the paradox of the presidency is this: You are the most powerful person in the world, but in dealing with the rest of government and all of politics, it’s better not to make threats, and certainly not threats in public. Everything Trump thought he knew about how to get things done in the midst of controversy is wrong now.

This is not a parliamentary system, it just looks like one.

The Founding Fathers knew that parliaments could be dictatorial, which is why they chose not to have one. They dispersed and divided power. Even when one American party controls the White House and both chambers of Congress, a president’s clout is limited by the size of the majorities, legislative rules and the courts. Trump can almost be forgiven for thinking that he had parliamentary power: Politics in America has been drifting in the one-party-rules direction for years. Obama passed his health care bill with only Democratic votes; Trump figured he could pass his with only the GOP. That already has been proven to be a faulty assumption.

The GOP doesn’t really like him, and the feeling is mutual.

Unlike Ronald Reagan, Trump did not build from the ground up a new party and a new movement that he then led in the White House. Trump essentially carried out a hostile takeover of the rundown hulk of the GOP, battered by the unpopular presidency of George W. Bush and the rebellious internal assaults of the tea party. Virtually every key figure in the House and Senate was for someone other than Trump, and some of them ran against him. Trump swept the primaries with money and jingoistic salesmanship, but he remains widely distrusted ideologically and personally on all sides.

Trump & Co. were elected because they’d had nothing to do with government ― and it shows.

The “transition planning” cobbled together by New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie was a joke, and even that work was ignored by the coup plotters who burst into the White House. Almost no one in Trump’s inner circle had any executive experience in government. The list of rank amateurs in the highest places includes son-in-law Jared Kushner, chief of staff Reince Priebus, policy strategist Stephen Miller and counselor Kellyanne Conway. They are big into concepts and messages ― sales, Trump style ― but so far not the blocking and tackling of running things.

Benign neglect.

If they want, the amateurs can console themselves with a semi-philosophical excuse: The government, which they regard as too big and too intrusive, can use a little neglect. And so we see unfilled sub-Cabinet posts, catch-as-catch-can administrative oversight, rule by fiat that demoralizes the denizens of what White House Big Thinker Steve Bannon calls “the administrative state.” Misusing a fancy academic word, he says he’s for “deconstructing” it ― and why not do it by not filling positions or following procedure?

Worse: a contempt for the process of government.

Republicans have joined Democrats in marveling at the sophomoric crafting of something as valuable to Trump ― allegedly ― as his moratoria on travel to the U.S. by citizens of six (originally seven) Muslim-majority countries. But the sloppiness is a sign of the contempt with which Team Trump views government itself. Yes, the Obama Nerds went over the line ― for example, some of what they did on drones is outrageous, many argue. But perhaps because they were Democrats (and lawyers for the most part, let by Obama himself), they showed enough respect for procedure to get things done.

What goes around comes around.

Team Trump seems shocked and outraged that so many forces in public life seemed arrayed against him, almost by instinct. What did he expect? He attacked the press at every turn, and at his rallies he all but sicced rabble-rousers on them. He attacked a federal judge as biased because he was of Mexican heritage. He called his rivals for the GOP nomination by crude nicknames, and reveled publicly in their humiliation. He hired and fired at will, dismissing aides but pulling them back in (because they could cause trouble for him in one way or another) with flattering phone calls.

The Senate alone is a monument to possible payback. Do “Lyin’” Ted Cruz, “Little Marco” Rubio, “One-Percent” Lindsey Graham, “Crazy” Rand Paul and “He’s No Hero” John McCain want to help the president out in a pinch? Trump tried to have House Speaker Paul Ryan defeated in his local GOP primary in Wisconsin. Yes, Rubio and Cruz accepted dinner invitations at the White House. They said they had fun, but revenge is a meal best served cold.

Money isn’t everything in D.C.

With his proud contempt for ethics ― or even the need to appear ethical ― Trump and his family are making a mockery of the notion that public service is a selfless exercise in patriotism. Trump has turned the presidency, at least in part, into a commercial enterprise that is enriching his family wealth. But as cool as that might seem in at least in some avaricious circles in Manhattan and Palm Beach, it doesn’t impress anyone in Washington, a city that needs money, but that doesn’t really value it per se. Money can buy you the White House, as Trump proved, but it can’t buy you D.C. Trump has yet to understand that people in the city care about the law, or at least procedure, because it is power.

Bannonism.

A master of cunning, apocalyptic, xenophobic narrative, Steve Bannon has given Trump a grander mission ― that of saving the Christian West from Islam, materialism, Wall Street, Hollywood, the Ivy League and the “Mainstream Media.” Reared and educated in a blue-collar, conservative Catholic family in Virginia, Bannon’s radical medievalism fits Trump’s royal conception of himself. But the risk is that the president will remain oblivious to what is going on outside the reality TV show Bannon has designed for him to live in, or that Trump will think that he has the kind of kingly authority that allows him to ignore the best parts of the Founders’ vision of a pluralistic, secular and welcoming America.

Too many cooks.

Bannon is not the only power center, despite having placed himself on the National Security Council and having created a new “Strategic Initiative Group” inside the White House with himself as head. Other power centers (for now) include Vice President Mike Pence, Priebus and Kushner, not to mention Hill leaders. So who controls the message in these crucial days and weeks? No one, except perhaps the person who has created the most trouble for the White House: Donald J. Trump.

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realestate63141 · 7 years