#likehephaestionwhodied

[invncibleiron]

@likehephaestionwhodied said “I’m still really upset and I don’t think I’m ready to talk about any of that just yet, but…I shouldn’t have let you leave.” (from Steve)

Tony didn’t really use the bedroom anyway. Not to sleep. He usually wished Steve goodnight and went down the workshop or else never came up in the first place. They just usually weren’t fighting before he left. This time, the distance felt like distance. And maybe that had been the problem all along--they’d been too busy, spent too much time apart, gotten so caught up in all the world hung on their shoulders, that they’d fallen out of sync. Tony couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a date not interrupted by a near world-ending calamity.

FRIDAY had alerted him of Steve coming long before she’d actually arrived--he could have locked the workshop door, changed Steve’s code; he hadn’t. Maybe he’d been hoping she’d come. Working was usually a good enough distraction--clear out his mind by tinkering, because failure in the lab was just a part of the process, exciting even. He tried, and failed, and tried again, and science never told him he was out of chances--he wasn’t sure how long he could say the same about Steve.

As she entered, as she started talking, Tony turned, wrench still in hand, and wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. It hadn’t been working tonight--the distraction hadn’t been distracting, the work wasn’t fulfilling, and there was nothing in his head except Steve’s voice, except playing back the last few hours on repeat like an equation he’d missed a step in. Hadn’t carried over...something, and now the answer was wrong. He set down the wrench. 

“So where does that leave us?” he asked. They’d both said things they didn’t mean--at least, things Tony hoped they hadn’t meant--but it was something they’d need to work out sooner or later. But Steve wasn’t wrong; Tony was tired of fighting, and he didn’t think he had it in him to go another round tonight. 

[itswasteland]

@likehephaestionwhodied gets a starter 

Pretending Iron Man was his body guard had seemed like a good idea at the time: a perfect excuse for why he, Tony Stark, and the suit should always end up in the same place at the same time. The fact that he already had a bodyguard--and a very good one at that--complicated things, sure, but he’d thought he had everything under control. 

The truth of the matter was, Tony didn’t need a bodyguard anymore. He’d also never particularly wanted one--but that was a different issue, one he should probably be talking to a therapist about but, hey, that was what work was for: therapy with a wrench and a circuit board. There was nothing like a 50 milliamp shock to the system to put your priorities in order. The point was, Tony didn’t need a bodyguard or a driver or a whole lot of other things that a super-powered flying suit took care of. But short of learning that his employees were murderers or completely indifferent to the cost of human life, Tony wasn’t particularly good at firing people. Which meant moments like this were stacking up with frightening regularity: Kal scowling in the doorway of his workshop while Tony froze like a deer in headlights, holding an icepack to his black eye. 

“I tripped,” he lied. “On a fish.” He mentally slapped himself--which wouldn’t have helped the bruising; why had he added the last part? It was a perfectly fine excuse (sort of) before he’d made it unnecessarily aquatic. “Nothing you could have heroically saved me from. Let’s be honest, this is not the worst thing you’ve caught me doing. So you can go home now. Unless you think the walls are going to attack me in the next twelve hours, I think we’re all safe here. Anyway, Iron Man is on the job.” He gestured at nothing in particular, as he’d already disassembled the suit, and anyway, pretending someone was inside it was just weird when he was home alone. Or almost alone. 

[invncibleiron]

@likehephaestionwhodied said “If you have a problem, we will fix it together. I just need you to get in the car so we can go home.” (from Steve)

Home. When Steve said it, it sounded real. Sounded possible. Felt like all the things it was supposed to feel--warm and right. Somewhere along the line, the tower and its separate floors had turned from home base to just...home. To falling asleep on the couch, head on Steve’s shoulder, after walking her through the long and wonderful history of Star Trek. Of catching up on 70 years of musical history while he tinkered in his lab, and she sketched. Of arguing over the remote and the best breakfast foods. Of things in the tower feeling easy, even when the rest of the world seemed impossible. 

Tony looked at Steve now and almost laughed. Her determined expression was so familiar, Tony could trace the outline of that frown in his sleep, but it belonged on a battle field, not a seedy bar. Certainly not directed at him--and not when he had everything perfectly under control. There were four shot glasses in front of him, but they were all still full. "I’ve got a lot of problems, Steve,” he said honestly. “And they’re not going to get fixed tonight. But I’m fine. I’m just testing a theory.” He gestured at the neon sign in the window: shots for chips. Tony had been sober four years, had four AA chips, hence the four shots. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have drank them. But the flooding sense of relief to have Steve standing there suggested otherwise. 

“Who called you? Bruce?” His eyes narrowed. “JARVIS? The snitch.” Tony knew he’d been off lately, spending less time with the team and more time in the lab, laughing a little too forcibly at Clint’s jokes and making fewer and fewer of his own. But he’d told Steve everything was fine, and he thought she’d believed it. “Can I buy you a drink? That was a joke. I’d ask if you ever missed it, but you probably didn’t drink before the--” He gestured toward all of Steve’s muscles. “Right? Wouldn’t have been advised.” Not with Steve’s long list of health problems. “They have nachos.”

[itswasteland]

@likehephaestionwhodied said “How do I know you're real?" hector for apollo (uncharted sentence starters)

“How do you know I am really a god?” Apollo raised a perfect eyebrow and looked pointedly between the mud splatters upon Hector’s clothes and the sweat on his brow versus the pristine gold of Apollo’s own clothes or the way his dark dreadlocks neither moved in the breeze nor ever fell in his face as he raised his bow to shoot. He would have thought the answer to that question was perfectly obvious: between his devastating good looks and the fact that the day had been rather dismal before he’d arrived, he’d thought he’d more than proven his godhood. “How do you know I am really here?” That question was even easier: without taking his eyes off Hector, he shot an incoming soldier straight in the chest with a wooden arrow and watched the man crumble to the dirt at Hector’s feet, groaning in pain. Hector’s men cheered for their brave and powerful prince, a man whose enemies, it appeared, fell before him without need to ever lift a hand.

For Hector was the only one who could see the archer god by his side, a god who had appeared suddenly that morning and was here still, following the prince around, illuminating Hector by his golden glow, which was as much for appearances--making him look more impressive, stronger, larger-than life--as it was for protection: no approaching arrow, no lazy swing of a sword could penetrate the aura that the god of healing had crafted around his hero. Which rather defeated the point of a sparring session.

“This is a foolish exercise.” Apollo pulled the bow off his shoulder and plucked one of the wooden, nonlethal arrows he had procured in order to join these ‘training’ activities. He had noticed the prince during his chariot ride across the sky, and so, like with any whim, he had come for a better look, a greater understanding of why a prince lucky enough to be born in the city Apollo had once served himself, should practice so earnestly within the walls the god’s own hands had built. “Do you think my walls will fall?”

[destruqtivist]

“ i don’t wanna be scared anymore. ” (for steve from Bucky)

It would be a line to say there were not reasons for him to be scared. Nothing was constant in their world. Nothing remained suspended for long and it seemed gravity had a way of making things crash down far too harshly around them. Steve believed, as strongly as he possibly could be, Bucky deserved a life that lacked fear. Everything he had endured and everything he had been forced to do—it only seemed right that the universe try to rectify that in some form or another. 

Steve was not the type to burden those he cared about with his thoughts and feelings. Not when there were endless existential crisis’ around every corner. But he did know what it was like to live with fear gripping his insides until every thought, every action, every hope was consumed with it. He feared those he lost, those he might lose, and what would happen if he failed. It was a spiraling cycle that just turned and turned. It’s why he wants more than anything for Bucky to find some peace. Even if only a little bit, a fraction, a barely-there thing. Anything to make him feel more in one piece. More in the moment and not stuck in some nightmare of what used to be. ❝ I am here for you, Buck. ❞ He finally says because it’s the only thing he can offer him. His constant and undying support. ❝ No matter what. ❞

[invncibleiron]

@likehephaestionwhodied said “Oh wait. I thought I was gonna be the one who was gonna bring the heat and you were gonna calm me down. So we’re switching?” (from Bruce)

“Well, you haven’t exactly brought the heat!” Tony yelled back, ducking to avoid a blast of gunfire, then almost immediately throwing himself in front of Bruce to take the next round of bullets anyway. They hit the Iron Man armor one after the other, leaving tiny dents but nothing more. “You having trouble getting riled up there, Mr. I’m Always Angry?” 

The attack had been sudden, Tony suiting up and darting to the basement the moment FRIDAY had alerted him of an intruder. He hadn’t called for backup, hadn’t even woken up the other Avengers, figuring he could wrap this one up on his own, that it would be easy. 

He’d been wrong. Whoever the attacker was, they were in a suit twice as big as his with ten times as much gun power. By the time Tony had realized he was in over his head, his comms were busted, and it was too late to call. So when Bruce had shown up--unasked, unannounced--Tony had nearly cheered in relief, expecting the Hulk to, as he’d said, bring the heat. But Bruce was still Bruce. 

“Maybe it’s time we switch it up!” Tony said. “Maybe this time, I smash. You just look awesome.” Bruce ‘bringing the heat,’ so to speak, had always worked for them for a reason--he got mad and that scared everyone around them near shitless when his eyes turned emerald, and Tony smirked beside him because there had never been anything he feared less than he did the Hulk.The last time Tony had tried to be intimidating, he’d ended up singing ABBA until the men with guns put them down in sheer confusion. He had a feeling that wasn’t going to work this time.

A blast to his right took out most of the wall, leaving a smoking crater behind. “Bring the Hulk, or get out!” Tony yelled, picking Bruce up and flying him to the nearest door. 

[destruqtivist]

“You’re dripping blood on the carpet.” (from my Nicky to your Yusef)

𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄 

 He had been solely focused on one thing only. His dark eyes were searching Nicolò’s person to see if he was injured. There was the all consuming worry dominating him to ensure that the man before him was okay, that there was no lasting damage, and certainly nothing that would be irreparable. And truthfully, it had been as if he was looking past Nicky into memories of things that had already transpired. 

Things that made him feel very much out of control. 

The haunting memories of time and time again when things went astray and someone was harmed. Yusuf isn’t always able to shake the feeling and of course, it extends to his better half. His fingers move to dab the wound that was slowly closing. Immortality had it’s advantages. But it’s borrowed time. “You’re okay? Nothing hurts?” He’s invading his space similarly to after any mission reaching blindly for Nicky to know he’s there and that he’s fine. 

Somehow, it doesn’t make sense to Joe: how the kindest and seemingly gentlest man he knows is also attached to this world of disarray. A paradox. Had not made sense back then when he first met Nicolò and certainly didn’t make sense now. His thumb brushes the other’s cheekbone lightly only content then when the solidity of Nicky grounds him from his worrying. 

“The carpet—I will clean it up.”

[bastxrdsisgone]

"What is that?"

The rest of their group would be returning soon, and he knew that having dinner waiting was better than them coming back with nothing to eat. Usually, he and Nicky would handle the meals together. They both had a lot of knowledge when it came to food and he knew that some sort of comfort food would be good for all of them. Except looking at the pot he had no idea just what it was Nicky was making. It smelled good, but whatever it was wasn't something they'd ever made before. Unless it was something that had and he hadn't been around when it had been prepared. Either way, Yusuf knew his curiosity had been piqued and he wanted to know so maybe he could surprise Nicky or one of the others with it at a later day. If the other was willing to share with him. "And what can I do to help."

@likehephaestionwhodied​ // nicolo de genova