#omuses

[oriiginalwasp]

she sits perched on the leather vest,   material rough and textured.   tiny hands grip at the threads for support as she journeys with the winter soldier.   the wasp has never stepped foot into the shadow world,   operating in stealth mode.   her modus operandi has always been offensive,   following the charge.   she’s never hung back and took things slow.   this is her chance.

tiny body thrums for action and spoils for a fight.   “how do you stand it bucky?   watching and waiting?   i’m chomping at the bit to kick some henchmen.”   tiny voice huffs as she settles herself back on his shoulder.   the wait is agonizing as they pick their way through shadows.

@omuses​ (bucky)   asked for a starter !

[soulcluster-moved]

@omuses​ / logan howlett / marvel sc.

“Tell me if I have this right: You sit in the dark, completely quiet, and watch moving pictures on this screen.” Gamora gestured to what had been explained to her as a television. She was familiar with the technology, but this was some kind of recreational activity meant for...ugh...bonding. Humans had an obsession with that. “And this is supposed to be fun? I can think of at least 10 other things to do in the dark that would be more fun.”

[hitsharderarchive]

             Bucky is a menace to society. He’s threatened to microchip me and killed my boners one too many times. I used to think that left hand was sexy but now I know he’s boring.

[servitored]

@omuses (steve) / Steve stumbles into the kitchen, late for him but still early, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Morning.” His voice is all gravelly and he cleared his throat before continuing. “Tony’s gonna… sleep.” Steve can’t hide the little smirk at that. “Can I help with breakfast?” 

Professional courtesy dictates to not indicate he’s aware of what that awkward little pause covers, nor why the good Captain is finding his way into the kitchen well past his custom.  That being said, at the moment there is nothing professional about his making breakfast in the kitchen, this is simply old habit.  While the mansion may no longer be Avengers Mansion, there are certainly enough Avengers past and present that manage to find their way here at meal times and...

Well.  Truth be told, after the peanut butter incident involving Clint Barton (for which he will certainly have to devise a suitable punishment), it seems safer to have things on hand with which to distract the troublemakers of the bunch.  The bananas have been looking a bit overly ripe, so he’s thought to add banana nut muffins to today’s offerings.

“Good morning, Captain.  I trust you...Slept well?”  He is not asking what it may seem like he’s asking and he can only pray Steve Rogers remains as he always has and has not, for instance, decided to take lessons from Clint Barton on oversharing in every department of his personals. 

He starts to offer the bowl he’s intended to start adding the over ripe bananas to, and, thinking better of it, pulls it back.  He’s perfectly fine with having assistance; the Captain takes direction well, at the very least, but it’s more the particulars.  “Bananas peeled in this bowl, if you please, after you’ve washed your hands.”

[overclocksaa]

@omuses sent for a lil thing for steve:

“You said on the phone that you weren’t hurt.”

[overclocksaa]

@omuses​ (steve) / Steve carefully navigates the mess on the floor to find a spot behind Tony, absently eating his yogurt as he takes in the papers and pictures around him. "Is this wedding stuff? What're you doing?"

“Do you realize.”  Tony shuffles through the piles of paper - the wedding planner has destroyed a literal forest with how much paper is in front of him and spread around in piles, separated by topic , he’s going to have to fund reforestation efforts - before finding the one he’s looking for.  Or, rather, several, he’s been checking invitations accepted versus the seating chart, and making corrections because some people are not allowed to sit together under any circumstances.  Not if they want a mansion to come home to after the honeymoon.  “We have a month.  One month.  The last month.  This time next month we’ll be counting down literal hours.”

Maybe it’s that it’s finally hitting full force that this is happening; the months since his terrible, awful, botched, messy proposal in February have just evaporated, and here they are, down to the wire.  This is happening - it’s really happening - and he’s winding himself up into full blown panic mode because the clock is absolutely ticking closer to midnight.  Has he ever gotten this close to this before?  No.  Is he freaking out?  Little bit.  It’s been all fun and games, honestly, up until this morning when he’d woken up in a panic realizing the seating chart for the garden is all wrong, and that some people that had been initially invited and rsvp-ed probably needed to be uninvited and there is...No really good way to do that.

Not this late in the game.

“We had the Fantastic Four sitting in the same clump as the group from Krakoa-”  He gives Steve a sidelong look, but being fair, at the time, Tony had figured Reed and Charles got on well enough, had during the Illuminati days, but that was before everything he knows now which makes this impossible.  “-And I’d really like the mansion to stay in one piece.  And we never did decide if former Avengers were going to have precedence over non-Avengers, which is important because we’re snubbing someone either way, you realize this, right?”

He drops the stack of papers, running both hands through his hair and sending it sticking up in every direction.  He’s going to also have to get a haircut soon.  “And then what about Ororo.  Logan.  Do we put them with the Avengers or do we put them with the X-Men, they’ve literally been both.”  He carefully doesn’t mention Hank, who is firmly going to be with the Krakoa group and is part of that contingent that should be uninvited, but at this point anything can spark off a conflict.

“I am trying to give you the best wedding I possibly can but at this point I am this close-”  He holds up two fingers, a very tiny distance apart.  “-To wanting to just elope and be done with it.”

[overclocksaa]

@omuses​ (steve) / ’ i was hoping to convince you to, you know, maybe go on a date with me. ’ international iron man / accepting

It’s punctuated by the pop and hiss of a bottle being opened, and a sudden, hysterical bubble of laughter out of nowhere. 

So, things as he understands it are thusly:  He’s an idiot, no one is actually surprised by this, but it is, as always, at the forefront of everything.  While maybe that’s cleared up now, he has for months been operating under the impression that his one little slip at New Year’s has been a catalyst for everything he has left that he cares about slipping through his fingers.  Which has in turn lead to him acting like Steve has cooties of the radioactive sort and avoiding him in a way he’s considered casual but has apparently been incredibly obvious and painful to watch (according to some members of the peanut gallery).  Which has led to drastic measures to get him to stay still long enough for what he’s been sure will be a confrontation about Steve’s discomfort with the whole thing and their (not necessarily mutually agreed) parting of ways, which has, thankfully, been disproved.

To add to this, he’s sitting here on what used to be the outdoor seating of a bar and grill that has thus been refurbished as his home and less-delicate workspace, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean which is surely full of mutated horrors the likes of which he tries not to think too terribly hard about, considering the dolphin carcasses that wash up on the shorelines occasionally.  In a dilapidated shanty town functioning as a trading post in the ruins of Nahant and its causeway, with Stephen Strange having taken over the creepy mansion up the hill behind the treeline doing God knows what.  Two hundred and some change years after nuclear exchange ended civilization as they’ve both known it.  While by some ridiculous twist of fate, they’ve managed to ride out the worst of it by both being effectively frozen, of a sort, to emerge into the world once more when Avengers couldn’t be needed more.

And Steve says that.

How can he not laugh?  Because at this point it’s either that or he starts to cry and maybe never pulls himself back together again.  Over all of it.  Their friends being gone.  That it’s taken a nuclear war to get him to admit to anything.  That the world’s a wreck and he knows he won’t live long enough to see much of a difference made in it.  The fact that this soda is flatter than hell and it’s going to take time and resources he doesn’t have right now to ever see carbonated drinks again.  That here, at the end of all things (and by God, does he still hate Tolkien), he’s still got Steve, by some absolute miracle.  That he actually has a shot at this, maybe, long after he can actually do it the way he wants to, the way he thinks Steve deserves. 

So he laughs.  He laughs until there are tears streaming down his face and his stomach hurts.  And he knows he has to pull it together, before Steve can read it wrong, think Tony’s laughing at him.  But the absurdity of them, how stupid they both are, the situation they find themselves in, all of it, hits him just right, and it takes a minute to get himself back under control, to lock that laughter up, badly concealed with the way his mouth keeps creasing and flattening to quell the way it wants to keep curving upward at the corners.

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages, sitting the bottle on the deck by his feet and reaching up to wipe his eyes.  “I’m not laughing at you, I swear I’m not.”

He glances over at Steve, has to bite down on his bottom lip before he starts laughing again.  There’s a lot he can say, that he probably shouldn’t.  That he’s not going to.  It’s...It’s so much.  Too much.  “I’m just-”  Convince him, Steve says, like he hasn’t been the surest bet Steve could ever make, two hundred and thirty something years and counting. 

Okay.  He breathes in, out.  He’s together.  Unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth where it wants to stay before he can trip over his own words.  “Okay, I’m convinced.”  There.  That’s the hard part, really.  “So...How does that work, exactly, in the great radioactive Beantown.  All the places I can suggest are full of ferals now.”

[overclocksaa]

@hitsharder / (Clint on the phone) *sniffles* Please come pick me up, I'm at the hospital and they keep asking for my insurance feat:  @shespy​ / @omuses

So the real question here is:  How many kids does Tony actually have.  All along he’s been thinking it’s just the one he and Steve have, you know, adopted.  And yet here he is, knowing full well he has access to Clint’s insurance info (and tax info, and-) like a parent keeping up with an errant child’s social security card.

It’s ridiculous.  He’s the long-suffering parent of a guy two years younger than he is, and it’s happened without any conscious decision or consultation on his part whatsoever.  He kind of resents that, to be honest.  He absolutely does it out of familial love and obligation, but he’s gonna complain about it the whole time.

He doesn’t ask where Clint’s insurance card is.  He doesn’t, because he knows exactly where it is, which is in Tony’s own wallet (he really needs to pass that on to Nat because she’s the one hitching her wagon to that lovable yet infuriating disaster and it’s not his problem anymore) tucked behind three credit cards and a punch card for a coffee shop two blocks away.  He’s already digging it out before Clint gets through his plea for Tony to come get it, and frowns at it a moment.  Why.  Why does he even have this, Clint is a grown ass man who can handle keeping up with his own insurance needs.

“Do you need to stay at the hospital?”  He asks hypocritically, like the hypocrite he is, because he’s literally lost count of all the times he’s checked himself out against medical advice.  “What hospital are you at.  Why are you in the hospital to begin with.  Did you at least call Nat first?”

All important information he needs to know, right, in order to assess whether he’s going to spring Clint or just drop off his card.  He catches Steve’s eye as he passes by, mouths Clint with an exaggerated eye roll and a wave of the insurance card.  “I literally have your card right here.”