#overclocks

[thissquirrelgirl]

🐤

[positivelybeastly]

are you going to hold this over my head forever?

"I don't know. I haven't quite decided yet."

Hank's jaw is perched in an oversized hand, his elbow balanced perfectly on a hand railing. He's in no danger of slipping. Not with his balance. He's safe to perch. And the hand railing, that most basic of safety measures, will keep him from tumbling forward. Hurting himself. Hitting his head off the metal panelled floor. He's safe.

He reflects, for a moment, on the true meaning of safety when said hand railing is two meters away from an armed antimatter bomb.

"I suppose it depends on what happens first. We run out of these - " He gestures at row upon row of bombs, turning away from them in shame, giving Anthony a baleful look as he does and crossing his arms. " - or we run out of Earths to destroy. Or, I suppose, we all die, but I think we both know we're going to live more than long enough to regret all of this intensely."

He already does. He wants to take it all back, right now.

He knows, on a base level, that Tony does, too, how could he not? Tony Stark is an essentially good person, he's known that for years, believes it, deep in his heart, but Hank's been simmering for months now, and it's just too hard to resist blaming one of the original members of their cutthroat little band, because why in God's name did you deal me this hand, of all things?

And why did you make me deal it to Bruce just now?

"Don't worry. You aren't the one I hate the most, Tony. That would be Namor. You just."

He gestured.

"Happen to be the only other person in the room right now."

Apart from himself, of course. But don't worry, Hank's hard at work on hating himself already. He's got that on lock.

". . . Bruce is caught up to speed, just as you asked. His translocator and incursion clock are implanted and synchronised with ours. He lives his life a few days at a time, too, now."

Maybe, one day, Bruce will forgive him for that.

[spartax-prince]

"hey that flame guy . . . rockin' some pretty sweet facial hair, don't you think?"

[heavensdescentt]

❝ Hulk is... Sorry for smashing Tin Can Man's lab ❞

starter for @overclocks

[emeraldcast-archive]

@overclocks continued from [x]

❝ Well, I hardly think that's fair. For one thing, my hair is not that unruly. I wouldn't be seen dead with hair that looks like it's never seen a hairbrush. And for another, I think it rather short-sighted of you to assume I'm here for nefarious reasons. Can't a guy just want to drop in to say hello? ❞

[lastavenged]

@overclocks

❝ I could do that ⸻ ❞

❝ But why would I want him to do that? ❞

[movedmastcrmarksman]

"If you and @wrathbit are starting which shitty burger is shittier again, do it outside." Are those fighting words? Yes. Is one actually superior to the other? No, because Whataburger is not a contender, so they're both wrong.

His phone is shoved into his pocket, which one could win a bet on him calling Bobbi back and telling her all about this further. Especially now that Tony has decided to step in the conversation that Spider-man hadn't even been invited to in thee first place either. It had been his private phone call with Bobbi over animal style everything In-n-out.

❝ YO! HEY! ❞ He shouts rather loudly, turning away from Spider-man to give Tony his full attention now, as if he is literally going over to headbutt him (don't do that for the love of all that is holy do that, he still has the iron helmet on).

❝ Is that anyway to THANK ME for totally saving your tin hide back there? You could've been a slushie if not for me, and you know I am right about this! ❞ He points his finger accusatory towards the In-n-Out cup in Tony's hand.

[o-rusted-heart]

@overclocks .

"You've never asked to take a look at me." Nick's voice was soft, gentle even, though it seemed to fit the mood. It was quiet up on the roof of his office where he'd set out a couple chairs and a table to watch the stars. "I mean... as a tinkerer. An engineer. It just makes me wonder."

Tony had been treated to dinner delivered from the Dugout, sort of a bribe to sit still and rest for the night after getting sledged. Nick was content to enjoy a smoke while he tightened the screws of his wrist, but evidently there was more on his mind. "I mean... it had to have crossed your mind. Most mechanical types can't keep their hands to themselves around a catch like me, right? Then here's Tony Stark, patron saint of tinkerers, and you... don't even stare."

"Why?"