[knightinironarmor]

tony stark, armor-less, in the presence of two magical people objectively stronger than him, strutting alone across the entrance hall of the sanctum samctorum and being the one to open the door as soon as he notices people running in distress outside, is a fucking million reasons why he’s an eternal favorite

[im-a-goner--foryou]

i love him more than i’ll ever love myself

[van-dyne]

Tony just wants Thor to stay (｡･ ･ ｡ ) ♥︎

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

@littleostentatious

It’s warm on Earth, warmer than he remembers. Sweat starts to bead up around the contact points of his armor, still streaked with paint and gore, though he’s cleaned it twice over since. It’s easier to breathe here, in this living atmosphere; he’s never liked the filtered air of any craft. 

Face to face with a man that’s built himself everything, Thor’s hands feel emptier than ever. It’s a small gratitude, knowing he no longer needs a funnel, but Mjolnir was never a clutch, and he misses it’s heavy weight. He wonders if Stark ever misses the glowing reactor, or if he’s merely grateful for no longer having something he needs to rely on. 

Not for the first time, he marvels at the strengths of these fragile creatures. 

“I do not mean to intrude,” he says, still armored and smile wide, teeth sheathed by his lips. “Except, well, I do. Not entirely of course. I’m looking for some assistance.” 

Thor looks at Stark, really looks, and takes in the clean cut of his hair, the circles under his eyes, the hands resting casually in their pockets. He’s not ashamed of his own appearance, but for the first time, he thinks how roughly shorn his hair was, jagged strips of scalp peaking through nearly brown hair. 

“You look well,” he adds, because there’s no need to keep it to himself. 

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

The blanket of space still makes him feel small, after all he’s seen. The countless stars in the universe, and he’s seen them all blow right on past, mere spectacles that are gone in a blink as he travels from point a to point b. 

It’s only after the luxury is gone that he finds he misses watching them streak past, beyond the marvelous haze of all the known colors. 

His eye aches, but it’s a manageable pain, something tangible he can lock onto; a punishment for his mistakes, a lesson in adapting. It should link him more to his father, but the more he thinks about the man the less he realizes he ever knew. That pain is a dulled thing, pushed down by the weight of the hundreds behind him, looking to him for guidance, for some semblance of stability. 

A breath fills his chest, and he forces it out slowly. Asgard is a fiery ruin, all on his order. An unavoidable loss, Heimdall keeps repeating, like a litany to a teenager: he saved the people, and thus Asgard. It was just a place. 

And he’s not wrong. But they have no home, now, and it’s hard to look past his hands in that. 

A new pain blossoms behind his good eye, a reminder that he hasn’t slept a natural sleep in days, and he closes it for a beat, two, three. When it opens, the stars twinkle back at him as they list through space, back to the only other home he’s ever known. 

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

18) things you said when you were scared

He’d always prided himself for not being scared of any trivial things. Sickness, Starvation, those are tangible things, things that can sneak up on you in the dead of night and take with no remorse. 

The dark has never held anything to fear. Neither had cramped spaces. 

Peter goes plunging down the narrow staircase, the basement dank and reeking, hollering words of comfort into the depths. Bucky goes to follow, but his feet freeze on the steps. When he stops, Peter stops, his light feet noticing Bucky’s boots have stopped following. 

There are kids down there his brain says, but it also says you could be stuck. 

“You go,” he says. Leaning forward, he gestures to the kid, someone far braver than he is. “I can’t - there could be another quake. Go.”

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

@spidercoverband

She blinks awake slowly, the world a warm and groggy thing. The heavy blanket lifts as she counts her breaths, fighting the tightness in her lungs, timing herself into full wakefulness. Shifting, she moves to sit up, but is restrained by something. 

Spitting some of her hair out of her mouth, Gwen coughs low in her throat, then cranes her neck. Miles is out like a light, arm draped over her side, mouth slightly agape in sleep. She smiles, pleased at how relaxed he looks, how content. 

Watching someone while they sleeps can go from charming to creepy in no time flat, though, so she snuggles back into him, turning her body so she’s facing him fully.

“Miles,” she says quietly, smiling, before having to turn her face to cough into her shoulder. When she turns back, she wrinkles her nose, watching Miles’ eyelids for movement. “You’re gonna get sick, you goof.”

[dailybuckybarnes]

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

saiyaniisms:

A part of Vegeta feels empty. Of course, he knows that Kakarot is probably still training, getting strong. Even while he’s dead, he’s still so persistent, but it’s the fact that Vegeta can’t feel him here that is the most…upsetting. Not that the Prince would admit to it. Kakarot was about the closes thing to a friend he’d ever had. Sure, he could have considered Nappa a friend, but his blind devotion had meant nothing to him. It should have meant more, he knows this.

Even now, with Bulma and Trunks, he feels a wave of something that is apathetic. Getting close to anyone is a concept he hasn’t yet grasped, but here he is, following the Ki of the young half breed that Kakarot had produced with that awful human woman. He wasn’t sure why he was following it really, besides the fact that it was closer than usual. He’d landed right behind the other, slowly approaching on foot then.

“What? Are you taking a nap all the way out here?” Vegeta can’t help but taunt the teen, despite this, he takes a seat beside him; crossing legs and looking out to the city. This is your home, he said to himself, but it didn’t rightly feel like it.

Vegeta’s power level is at one of it’s most neutral points, and yet Gohan feels it on the back of his tongue all the same, that sizzle in the air, the strength he exhibits by merely existing. He’s grown used to it, in a way, but it’s almost always noticeable. When the Saiyan powers up, sometimes Gohan thinks he’ll choke from the push of it, how the air expands around him. 

When he lands, the ground shifts a bit, and Gohan doesn’t turn. If he had a tail, he doesn’t think he’d be able to keep it tucked around his waist; there’s a lot to be said about control there, about wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

“Maybe,” Gohan says, just to be annoying. a strong breeze blows, and he waits until it’s done before speaking. “I like watching the city. Seeing what I can hear, trying to pick out individual energies.

“Why are you out here?” It’s a good question. He doesn’t know what Vegeta gets up to nowadays. Is he training in futility, waiting for a sparring partner that might never come back? 

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

spiderlingman:

“Y’know, teachers have ears everywhere here.” He warns jokingly, nudging her shoulder with his as they walk into the library. He’s careful with her, has been since she told them about the Peter Parker in her universe — since she broke down crying, and asked him to please put on the mask.

And while Gwen’s made sure to tell him none of it is his fault, that she just needs time to process this, to not see her Peter whenever she looks at him, Peter can’t help but hesitate before every touch. He doesn’t want to see her cry like that ever again.

“And…they play favorites. Well, some of ‘em do, but still. I think it’s worth taking into account.” 

Gwen tosses her head, hair flying in a curly curtain over one shoulder. “Let them have their ears,” she says. “It’s not like I’m talking about Mr. Cobbwell and the pot brownies he was allegedly selling at the last pep rally.” 

They’re both very good at talking about anything at all, and it helps. It might be avoidance, but it’s also coping, getting back into the swing of things. Normalcy, Gwen has learned, is something she has to work at. 

When she looks at Peter, she notices it’s a commitment, something she does with intent, and when she does she really looks, as if trying to memorize his features, or accustom herself to them; even she doesn’t know her true goal, but it helps. It’s spotting differences, or rediscovering what she knew was different between the two all along. 

She makes herself look away before it gets too weird, but knowing it probably already has. 

“Do my grades really matter though?” 

It’s the wrong thing to say, and she knows it. Because they shouldn’t, but they do. Because she used to think of this as a temporary engagement, but now it’s anything but. Returning to her dad is one thing, but leaving these boys already feels like she’d be losing a part of her. “That was dumb, I know they do.” It’s a little late, and she frowns at the smudged handle of the library door before pushing her hip into it. 

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

littleostentatious:

“Oh really?”

And just like that, all that attention is turned on Jon. It’s a hell of a lot of focus, and lesser men have buckled beneath it. (Tony likes to point out that his Dad was ten times worse, that Tony’s a butterfly in the garden compared to his old man, the pit bull.)

His coffee is put down on the desk, immediately forgotten, and the smile that unfolds across his lips can only be described as one thing. 

Predatory. 

“By all means, Mr. Snow. Enlighten me. Show me how you’re going to help me breakthrough.”

The only way his flirting could be more obvious is if Tony hit him with a wrecking ball. 

It’s a hairpin trigger, and Jon toes the line with falling for it. He licks his lips before he can regret the reflex, and makes himself meet the attentive gaze Tony’s got leveled at him. 

It’s not unsettling, but Jon doesn’t know what to do with it, so he falls back on old habits. 

“Organization, for one thing,” he says, pursing his lips and gesturing to the crowded work tables. Looking away is equal parts relief and regret, and he really wishes he didn’t know what Tony Stark saying “Mr. Snow” sounded like. 

There’s no misread here; Jon just isn’t sure how to reply. He’s been with the man for too long to know he’s not setting Jon up in a trap, but Jon’s never been one for playful flirtation that goes nowhere. 

“The right level of attention.” 

Jon meets his eyes again, and bats his eyelashes once, 

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

spiderlingman:

Peter’s taken to showing up at the Avengers’ compound on weekends and holidays. Partly for training, partly for the labs, mostly to see Tony. Though he’s currently off on some important meeting, which means Peter’s just here for the food.

High metabolism means he needs a huge breakfast, and their budget at home is note exactly fit to survive him.

The point is, that’s the reason he’s taken the kitchen hostage, and that’s the reason he’s caught by surprise when someone else walks in.

Cool metal arm aside, Peter was not particularly happy to find out Barnes would be staying at the compound. He didn’t know much of the backstory when they fought in that airstrip, but the look on Tony’s face when he made it back from Siberia was more than enough to warrant an opinion.

Of course, there’s no cool metal arm now (safer, but much less cool), and Tony’s explained that Barnes was a victim in all that mess. Which sucks. Because now he can’t even be mad at the guy. Especially not when Tony seems to be okay with him.

Doesn’t help make things less awkward, though.

“Uh…” Eloquence, thy new name is Peter Parker. “Breakfast? I mean, I’m—I’m making breakfast. Tony’s not here, if—y’know, if you’re looking for him.”

They’re both just staring at one another, and Bucky thinks Wakanda might be a better fit for him after all. 

Excessive, his brain fills in for him, feet rooted to the cool tile, and he forces coiled shoulder muscles to relax. There’s no threat in the kid, and he’s not a threat to him. Considering the last time they saw one another was on the opposite side of an exploding airstrip, Bucky thinks the stuttering is a perfectly acceptable response. 

“Oh,” he says, then decides he should be a little more specific. He doesn’t know how he feels about Tony being absent, so he decides it doesn’t matter. (It really does.)

But if he’s being slowly accepted by people that aren’t Tony, he should probably get used to acting a bit more like an adjusting adult, and not a flight animal on the cusp of bolting.

“I can help?” 

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

@littleostentatious

continued from here (seriously i get like 5 replies from you and i turn the one meme into a thread like a butt)

Right. The guy built a mechanized warsuit, along with half this building. He really doesn’t need pointers from a soldier born in the 20′s.

Ducking his head might not be the smoothest reaction, but then again, trying to tell Tony how to do, well, anything, might not have been the brightest idea either. Bucky feels his cheeks warm, embarrassed. How has he gotten comfortable enough to mouth off to the one guy he really shouldn’t be testing? How did he let himself? 

“No, sorry,” he says, but the words come out curled around a smile despite the discomfort pooling in his belly.  (Him pulling rank on him doesn’t help, either.)

“Well, I only have one, so,” he adds, waving it for emphasis. It’s acquiescence, admitting he was wrong without completely losing what little high ground he has to call his own. 

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

@spiderlingman

He’s not gone into the field yet, naturally. They don’t trust him as a fighter, and he’s down his most infamous weapon. It makes sense, really, and the bitterness of feeling useless has faded to a dull acceptance. 

He hasn’t earned the trust of his keep. 

People come and go, but he mostly hunkers down; out of sight, out of mind, and Bucky’s gotten really good at staying out of sight. So when he walks into the kitchen in borrowed slacks and an old stolen v neck, he expects an empty room. 

There’s a kid there instead, one he’s seen from afar but not outside of his somewhat garish red and blue suit. Bucky freezes, then tells himself he doesn’t need to run, he’s allowed to be here, it’s fine. 

“Uh,” he says to the quiet room, keenly aware that the only one that’s going to make this awkward is him. 

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

There’s a shield, bearing down at him, the cold metal lip sharp and unforgiving. The ground beneath him is solid, and the arm at his side is limp, sparking in the dark. The other is broken and pinned beneath a knee, and when he looks up, choking on his own blood, it’s Steve’s face that looks down at him. It’s haggard, but remorseless. 

When it comes down on his chest, he doesn’t feel anything breaking, doesn’t feel anything at all, but he sees the blood coat Steve’s jaw, and when he opens his mouth he can’t speak. The ground rocks beneath him like the deck of a boat, and when Steve yanks the shield up and out, all the pain that was mysteriously held at bay explodes in his chest. And still the blue eyes that stare him down show no compassion, only grim focus. 

Bucky screams and wakes, teeth slamming together so fast he almost feels something crack. He’s frozen beneath the thin sheet, muscles taut and shaking, and he takes shallow breaths through his nose until he can account for every muscle. It’s a sad comfort that he only has one hand to grip the sheets with. Only when his tally is done does Bucky let his body sag into the bed, blinking up into the darkness of the room. It’s waning, the window cracked in a feeble glow. 

Sitting up, he rubs his face and faces a new day. 

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

littleostentatious replied to your post: watches 1 ep of new tw season  oookay thats enough...

let us all just live in 3b

never have i felt a reply so deeply

[flcwerthroughdisarray-blog]

watches 1 ep of new tw season  oookay thats enough of that 

[fuckyeahtonystark]

Tony “I’m dying but I’m fine” Stark™