#starspangledboy

[hoouna-archived-blog]

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shapedbyothers

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[thenamesallison]

starspangledboy replied to your post: ❤️

i’m excited to write with you! we’ve only just met, but i can already tell you’re just wonderful and i look forward to our interaction!

i'm excited to rp with you too!! you also seem like such a cool person i'm pumped to get to know you better and chat here and on discord!

[hoouna-archived-blog]

are you gonna kiss me or what?

valentine’s day starters || @starspangledboy

Fingers curled into fabric of a uniform and Steve doesn’t even realize he’s been doing it.  Hasn’t even picked up on the fact that Captain’s breaths have gone shallow and all eyes are on him, that he’s leaned in so close he’s been enveloped in everything that is Steve Rogers. All supersoldier and not; from the bitter coffee he drank this morning or even the donut he’d eaten too. And he smells like winter; that cool yet warm feeling. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten because he’s suffocating ----- swallowed whole. Where the breaths that dance against his lips leave him wanting to chase. 

          are you gonna kiss me or what? 

The agent swallows hard. Because he’s thought about it more times than maybe he’d like to admit. But it’s childish isn’t it ; a boy looking up to his idol and that’s how all of this feels. Because maybe inspiration to be the soldier he was before S.H.I.E.L.D picked him up was the very man who’s staring at him head on. and he’s not... he doesn’t...  america over here surely couldn’t have felt that way. 

but there’s fingers grasping light of an kevlar jacket that says otherwise. 

A shallow breath, that is shaky on it’s own. Not for fear but because Steven McGarrett has always been a man to take what he wants. A man of actions, and no words. And there’s a flick of pink tongue between parted lips, gaze traveling down to the lips almost begging to be kissed. 

And god, how could Rogers be any more perfect? 

So maybe whatever resolve he’d been holding on to, fades.  Hands gripping tight into that suit of armor that makes the man across from him Captain America instead of Steve Rogers.  Where lips find their home, hungry and waton all on their own.  Grabbing a taste he’d been craving. And there’s a small growl that rattles his chest, body pressing firm against the other and keeping him pinned against that back alley wall. Where one hand ghost over Steve like he’s a canvas, picking him apart from the hero he was and the man he wants desperate to be. Cause to hell with his pride, right? Well... he asked for it anyway. 

Where he becomes consumed in everything that is the other. A spark in his chest that ignites in a fire, that flows through his veins and is electric at his fingertips that find their way into blond hair. Holding on to this moment, and on to him. Until a voice over the comms breaks through, teeth dragging a bottom lip as they pull apart panting. 

But something tells him, it may not be the last. 

[starkdissembled-arc]

@starspangledboy continued from here 

Tony’s tie laid on the back of the chair where he flung it, the jet black piece of finery standing out against the pale tan of the chair. His top three buttons were undone, collar flipped up on one side, making him look every bit the mad scientist most people thought him to be.

‘Mad’ was a good word for how Tony was feeling, actually. Angry, frustrated, annoyed, irritated - all acceptable synonyms that accurately depicted Tony’s emotional turmoil. He got where the disconnect in Steve’s brain came from, now. He understood that Steve was a hands-on, get it done and get it over with kind of guy. That was clear as fucking day to Tony by this point. That didn’t mean his reactionary bullshit was helpful in every scenario.

Especially not in front of a panel of world leaders hellbent on seeing his career come to a sharp and abrupt end. Tony registered Steve’s apology.

Good. Finally. They were getting somewhere.

Except wait - they weren’t. Because just like every other apology that had ever passed through Steven G. Rogers’ lips, there was a caveat attached. A little post script note that basically said ‘I’m not sorry’ between the lines.

Tony’s shoulders sagged and he rubbed a hand down his face. He was nearly fifty and on days like this, he felt every year and then a few more.

“I’m not asking you to stand back and let anything happen, Steve. But you need to realize that those people - each and every one of them - has the power to ruin your life. Do you understand that? They can take your military pension, your back pay, your Captain America mantle - they can have you brought up on court martial. Do you know what happens to a practically indestructible super soldier who ages at a fraction of the normal speed when he’s contained indefinitely? Because I don’t want to find out, Steve! Several of the people in that room can have you summarily executed. Do you understand that? I’m not blowing smoke out of my ass here!”

Tony sat down on the chair, letting his weight pull him into the cushions. Both of his hands came up, bracing his face on either cheek while he looked up at the ceiling.

“I don’t want you to end up stuck in The Raft for the rest of your natural life - or worse - because you don’t want to play by the rules of engagement. They suck - I know they suck. But you have to change it from the inside out because they can and will destroy you.”

[scvietassassin]

Colours: The world is in black and white until you meet your soulmate. Afterwards, the world is in colour until your soulmate dies.

SOULMATE AUS ARE MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE OKAY | accepting always tbh

Russia’s beautiful, but it’s cold. New York just so happens to be filthy AND cold. She supposes it makes it a little bit easier to adjust to her new life here. It’s overly optimistic, she’ll never get comfortable somewhere, not here, not anywhere.

Wanting to stay somewhere meant attachment, that was the exact opposite of everything she was taught when she was younger. Attachment meant weakness, one that could be exploited, that’s what they’d told her about just about every ‘good’ thing other people had in their lives. The idea of ‘soulmates’ had largely been why they started girls so young, before they could be exposed to the world and potentially meet that soulmate.

Regardless, it wasn’t something that Natalia was very interested in. Maybe the full spectrum of color would have made missions easier, made it possible to identify targets more clearly, but this was fine. She was only here to keep an eye on a community of scientists anyway. They were easy enough to spot a mile away. 

She’s only been in the country for a few days when it happens. On her way out of the cafe for the morning, she nods politely to the boy who holds the door for her, turning to acknowledge the shorter boy he’s with, only to be a little bit taken aback by the sudden acknowledgement of color.

For a long moment she just stares at him, frozen in the doorway as she tries to find words for the different hues she’s seeing now. It’s almost blinding, after seeing the world in black and white to suddenly see so much more vividly, to acknowledge the skinny boy in front of her, wrapped up in a thick coat, which is what reminds her that she needs to move and let these people get out of the cold, and quite frankly, she doesn’t know what to say, so she does exactly that.

She steps out into the snow and nearly sprints off down the street. Except she collides with someone’s large form in an effort to scoot around a corner before she can be found, knocking her into the snow for a moment before she pushes herself back to her feet, glancing down at the blood on her hands from where she skinned them in her fall. It’s a similar color to her hair as she’s coming to find out by the locks that fall into her face as she stands there, a little dumbstruck by the situation, not even remotely considering where the two boys could be, or that she hadn’t gotten far. 

[starkdissembled-arc]

"Grief" // lmao bring on the angst

Tony sat on the couch in the same sweatpants he’d put on when he got home from the funeral.

That was seven days ago. It was seven days ago and he hadn’t shaved, he hadn’t showered, and god did he stink but he couldn’t. He couldn’t shower without Steve, without him standing behind him so he wouldn’t get water on his face. He couldn’t shave without Steve, making faces in the mirror while Tony tried not to cut himself as he laughed.

He couldn’t change without Steve, whistling when his pants dropped. Winking when his shirt came off. Kissing his scars and groping him and reminding him that he was loved in oh so many ways.

He couldn’t eat without Steve, criticizing the way he took his coffee black with sugar on the side because he didn’t like people mixing it for him. Chastising the way he never ate anything substantial for breakfast, the way he ran on a steady stream of caffeine running through his blood.

He couldn’t sleep without Steve, curled around and in him like the safety blanket he never knew he needed. He couldn’t sleep without seeing Steve and every time he opened his eyes it killed him, over and over again because Steve?

Steve was gone and he was never coming back and it was Tony’s fault.

It was supposed to be a good day - a special day. A day like no other day because it was the day Tony was going to propose. He was going to make Steve the best dinner he’d ever had, he was going to kick everyone out of their wing in the compound, and he was going to get down on one knee and oh it was going to be perfect. How could anyone say no to something like that?

Everything was fine until the flashbang flew through the window. Tony was incapacitated almost immediately, the loudest, most uncomfortable ringing in his ears. Bright white spots danced in his vision and for a split second he was back in Afghanistan and he was laying in the hot desert sand, bleeding out through his kevlar and oh he was going to die wasn’t he -

But then Steve was there. Steve was shouting at him. The suit - he needed the suit. He should call the suit. But he couldn’t... Why couldn’t he call the suit? Why wasn’t JARVIS or FRIDAY responding? Had something happened? What was happening?

Steve was there one minute and the next he had three men on top of him. Tony scrambled for the dresser - for Steve’s gun. He didn’t like guns but he could make an exception. Vertigo took over and Tony nearly hadn’t made it. But he did. He did make it and his hand closed around the grip just as the butt of an M-16 came down on him. 

Tony bit his tongue on the way down, falling unconscious before he could even register what happened.

He’d wake up to Steve’s body, full of holes and hours cold. He’d wake up from a dream that he was proposing and Steve said yes. He’d wake up screaming, to a home full of broken glass, pieces of furniture, and oh god so much blood.

Steve died because Tony wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t fast enough. Wasn’t smart enough. Tony wasn’t enough and Steve was dead because not even a super soldier could handle being riddled with bullets.

They left Tony alive for whatever reason. They left him alive and he wished... He wished he wasn’t. He was the weak, fragile human, not Steve. He was supposed to grow old while Steve still looked like a twenty-something. He was supposed to hear all the snide comments from the old biddies at the supermarket as Steve slid his hand into Tony’s back pocket.

He was supposed to die. Well before Steve. Not after - never after.

Tony couldn’t handle the silence without Steve, who filled it with chatter that drove Tony insane sometimes because Tony needed the quiet to think. He needed white noise or no noise, not conversation and banter.

Tony couldn’t... He couldn’t clean up their wing as the team investigated. He couldn’t scrub the blood out of the carpet or have the window replaced or buy new furniture or get himself dressed because there was no point.

There was no Steve.

Just the man-sized rust and burgundy stain on the cream carpet and the vestiges of their last conversation floating through the halls like a ghost.

“Stop worrying about everyone else, Tony. Stop working on everyone else’s projects for one night. Just one. We’ll get takeout, watch a couple movies...”

“I just want to make sure they’re happy here, Steve.”

“They are happy. It’s your turn now, Shellhead. It’s your turn.”

[forgedasset-a]

                  「✯」- - - Finger rests near the trigger, itching to be the one to pull it. Hesitance is wearing the Asset’s patience thin, has been ever since Bucky seemed to fade mid-mission and caused the Soldier to take control. Fully aware of what was happening, who was around and what they were supposed to do. And while he decided to play nice and do the job, it didn’t mean he was actually happy about the way they had decided to handle it. Lips are pinched tight, and he finally draws in a sharp, deep breath. “Move.” Orders had been to detain if possible, rather than going straight for the blood shed. A solution that never works, not in his opinion. With the way he’s adjusting the rifle, it’s evident if they’re going to continue waiting around for the right opening, he’s just going to end the mission now by putting a bullet between the eyes of their target. 

@starspangledboy rєquєstєd thє αssєt! [ clσsєd ]