#about how bruce might teach his kids how to withstand torture

[cairoscene]

thinking about bruce training his kids. thinking about bruce as a teenager and a young adult training with the world's best and how that meant a lot of the time suffering daily pain and abuses for the sake of becoming the best. thinking about bruce passing along none of the abuse but all of the skill to his kids. learning how to teach better than he was taught. looking at dick and then jason and then tim etc and knowing that he can't hurt them the way he was hurt. wondering if that will underprepare them, if they will be weaker bc he himself is too weak to do it. thinking about bruce being a strict teacher still. he pushes them to be better, uncompromising, unsympathetic, but still training them in his own way, not in the way he was taught. thinking about bruce realizing his kids are better than him, will be better than him. despite all the times he fucked up, despite the things he couldn't spare them, the things he thought were too important to overlook.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Nothing Good Happens After Midnight: Six

Bruce wakes groggy and irritable and walks into a flurry of bobby pins and petticoats. 

Apparently, in the hustle of watching 12 baby witches, he’d missed a memo. You were about half-dressed, hair up and wearing a corset and a few layers of skirts. You had your hands in someone’s hair, curling and pinning. “Bruce!” You say with a quick smile, “Can you hurry up and get dressed, please? It’s parade day.” Bruce is too groggy to ask questions he just turns back towards the stairs and find clothes. There is so much noise and so much giggling.

He’s not sure this was really a good idea. He’s the only adult male in the house and... There’s just so much he doesn’t understand. He’s not used to being around this many women at the same time. Or dealing with this many emotions and the casual disregard for boundaries. You’re all always touching. Adjusting clothes, hugging, holding hands... It makes a lot more sense why you’re so casually touchy. As he pulls on clothes and heads back downstairs, he pauses, not wanting to interrupt the conversation. 

“Y/N, really. He’s sweet. Quiet, but sweet.” It’s a cousin he’s not met yet be he recognizes the voice from walking in on phone calls on speaker. “But,” you prompt calmly. “He’s just... I mean. Do you really think he can take care of you?” The implication in her voice is clear. They don’t think he’s worthy of you. You sigh, “Clara, just because I haven’t fucked my way down the eastern seaboard...” There’s a shocked gasp and then laughter. Another cousin, one he has met and likes much better pipes up, “To be fair, while being a slut has never been a crime in this family... Y/N is a big girl. Bruce is a good guy. He might be older than her but he’s not acting like a total smarmasaur... Leave it alone.” He knocks into a table and you turn, cheeks coloring as you look down. His heart twists a little. It’s clear that the agitation from the last few weeks is wearing on you. You’re putting on a brave face but you’re getting tired. 

You brush past him and pause to stand on your toes and kiss his cheek. It’s time to get dressed and you need to get out of the house. You need to go. The other girls follow with giggles at Bruce’s blushing and he sighs, helping himself to coffee while he waits. “They’re overwhelming, I know,” a now-familiar silky voice says, proffering breakfast. He offers Lea, your godmother, a smile of thanks and takes the bagel, “A little, yeah.” She chuckles a little and sips her coffee, “It gets easier to deal with I promise. I’ve been around mortal witches for 400 years now. Surprisingly, they’re more tolerable now.” Bruce takes that information in, letting it roll around in his mind, “So. You’re not human.” Lea snorts, “Nope” she says with a sharp pop. He nods. He’s learned not to ask more questions. The answers tend to leave him more confused. She shakes her head, “Y/N is a good girl. My star pupil... You hurt her and not a force on this Earth can protect you. White Witch does not mean Doormat.” Bruce nods, “Star pupil?” he asks. Choosing not to focus on someone threatening him. That tended to make everything go a disastrous shade and this was a nice house. “Watching her write spells and make sigils is like watching Mozart compose symphonies,” she says. “She does it as easily as she breathes.” She touches the notches on the door frame and sighs, “Drove me to distraction trying to teach her... She was always so far ahead of what I thought she was ready for. Flying before I was ready for her to walk... Silly girl.” Bruce smiled a little, “That sounds like her,” he says softly. She nods, “And it stayed that way. Even after the Witchfinders got hold of her.” He stopped, bagel halfway to his mouth, “They had her?” Lea paused, listening to the chatter and flurry of movements upstairs, gauging how much time she had to relay this to your not quite lover. 

She nodded sadly. “They got both my girls,” she said, “Lenora, her mother tried to hide her but... Illusions were never her strong suit. It took everything Lenora had left to get her out of that... place... alive. And I still don’t think we got all of her back.” Bruce nodded. When he first heard about witchfinders, he’d done some digging all his own. They literally believed that they were going to torture the devil out of the witches they found. Torturing any of them that they could find. Indiscriminately. They thought they were knights but they were charlatans and frauds that had preyed on terrified people. Made a living persecuting marginalized groups and deluded themselves into thinking they were Brave. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Just the thought of those people having a hold of you made him feel the start of fury. “Bruce?”

The sound of your voice and the rustle of fabric made him turn. He couldn’t help it. The rage drained out of him. You stood in the doorway, dressed in a hunter green riding habit. Hat perched on your head as you pulled on your gloves. He’d hated history in school but seeing you dressed like you stepped out of a sepia-toned photograph might have changed his mind. He’d not seen a corset up close before and the thought of taking one off of you made him forget being angry. A split second and he wanted to be near you so badly he took an involuntary step forward. “You look beautiful,” he said softly. Your cheeks color and he holds out his arms, inviting you to walk into them. He needed to hold you. As much to comfort himself as to comfort you. You look so tired. Not leftover from yesterday tired. Soul deep tired. You take the invitation and nestle into him. He pushes what he knows out of his head and focuses on the fact that you’re here. That in this house, you’re safe. That with the Hulk’s help, he can keep you safe. He’s spent enough money on therapy. Spent enough time reading self-help books. Learned enough about secrets. 

You don’t know they ever had you. 

As far as you know, the Witchfinders killed your mother. She died to save you. And that’s where it ends. You were never found because you were never lost. He’s willing to bet that this is the time of year they had you. That your general, unexplained malaise is based in the awful fucking things they did. The gaping hole in your memory where you know there should be... something but there isn’t. That they told you was just your kid brain dealing with your mother’s death but you know. You KNOW in your heart it isn’t true and you’re too afraid to find out what so you don’t ask. He looks up as Lea ushers the cousins out the door to the waiting convoy of horse trailers and trucks. She knew. She knew exactly what she was doing telling him that story. She was begging him to keep that secret. Trusting him not to tear your mind apart out for some misguided sense of honesty. He hugs you tighter and nods slightly.

He doesn’t like secrets. They feel too much like lies. But even the Hulk isn’t strong enough to withstand watching you relive that. Their secret is safe. If only because the one person he’d tell it to is the one person he’s keeping it to protect.

Out of habit, he glances at the clock. It’s 9am and nothing good happens after midnight. Even in the middle of the morning.

Tags: @lancsnerd @stevieang @golddaggers @blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts @process-pending @xmarveled

[starkbarnes-lovechild]

Five Platonic I Love Yous from an Avenger (and a Special Romantic One)

Part 6 (Bucky)

Bucky was self-aware enough to know something was wrong with him. Being under the control of Hydra would do that, even if he was only ever out for missions (which were rare, to be honest) and reprogramming before and after his missions. It would fuck anyone’s mind, especially when one remembered every kill.

Headshot. Precise and quick. Asset could easily run if needed.

A long, thin blade through the back of the neck; paralyze target. Interrogate.

Asphyxiate target. Break target’s neck. Slice wrists. Should look like a suicide.

Accident.

So, yes, he was not the poster boy for good mental health but he was pretty sure none of them were.

Steve had lost so much time, asleep the whole time—at least Bucky was awake now and again, was able to catch up on trends and the like because he needed to blend in. Sometimes, he would look at the blond, see him staring at nothing, lost in thought and Bucky knew he was probably reminiscing what it was like with the Commandos, the time was ripped from.

(Tony and Howard helped Steve a lot, he could see that, the latter probably more so since they began to explore their romantic tension—Tony’s incessant babbling and Howard’s silent support reminding him now exists and the past was not something he should be holding on to, that it was something he should let go because holding on would be deadly).

Natasha—he remembered her, a little girl, no older than four, who looked at him with barely hidden awe whenever he moved for a kill, as if he created the galaxies. He remembered what he taught them, what everyone before him had taught them. He has read the files S.H.I.E.L.D. had on her and it was bad. She might have been trained to kill, trained to withstand torture, trained to not feel anything every time she would slit someone’s throat but she was only human and he could still see that little girl in her eyes sometimes.

(On one memorable night, when both he and Natasha were plagued with nightmares and only had each other for company, she had said, “You taught me how to be a killing machine,” he flinched, ready to run, but she continued, “but you also taught me how to be a human.” He tilted his head confused. She smiled, “You told me I did a good job.”

After, weeks later, he would lie in bed and realize she wasn’t the only one who learned how to be a human that time.)

Clint and Thor, they were both soldiers in their own right. They have always fought for the people, protecting innocent lives and have gone against many. They’ve seen horrors nobody would even dream of and they survived, they surpassed every nightmare they encountered and lived on. They fought, kept on fighting, for the greater good.

(Thor was a naturally jolly person and Clint always had a joke at the tip of his tongue, sometimes a challenge to get the ball rolling.)

Bruce. He was a little more relatable. He knew what it was like to not have control of yourself, to desperately cling to the smallest bits of yourself left while everyone kept on taking and taking until you were simply a shadow of who you were. Bruce knew what it was like to be a failed experiment, to be a tool for people to use. He has caused destruction as he tried to cling to his own humanity and Bucky, Bucky got that, got the feeling of being not strong to enough to keep your head straight, to lose to your own mind and body, to destroy without your consent.

(They were not close, not really, but they fully understood each other in ways none of the other Avengers probably could.)

Loki was a little bit of a wildcard to him at first but soon enough, he and the younger Asgardian were good friends. It surprised most of them, simply because Loki loved to play tricks while he preferred to mind his own business, Loki loved the attention at times while he blended into the shadows. The two of them found similarities far more important than their differences, though.

(Bucky couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get the image of Steve dying out of his head. He has always been the one to protect Steve, keep him out of trouble and make sure he would live for another day. He couldn’t do it for now, though, because he wasn’t cleared to go out on missions with them. He couldn’t watch his best friend, his brother’s back and he felt helpless, more so after this mission which actually landed Steve on bedrest.

He was in the living room, letting sound of the TV wash over him when Loki, who seemed to have come out of nowhere, sat down beside him, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand which he offered to Bucky. The former assassin, took the beverage, trusting the Asgardian and took a sip. The other man simply sat beside him, silent for a few moments. “I know what it feels like to have to protect your brother. I’ve done as much for Thor and I will never stop feeling as if it would not be enough someday. That someday, I would be too late to save him.”

Bucky relaxed with the knowledge that someone fully understood.)

And then there’s Tony. The boy was so young, so naïve about the world and yet he chose to fight—for people who loathed him because he was much better than they could ever be. He chose to help the world, to keep it safe as much as he could. He chose to protect people even when they condemned him when he couldn’t save everyone. He chose to keep on fighting, keep on defending people, because he saw it as his responsibility.

(“It scares me sometimes,” Steve started one day, while they were taking a stroll out, “Tony’s so willing to throw his own life away just to save everyone. People think he’s selfish and self-centered and, other horrible things but if you learned to see beyond the masks?” the blonde had smile, small but filled with fondness, “He’s one of the most selfless people I know. He’s one of the kindest and brightest and…” he breaks off and shakes his head slightly, as I he was trying to find the right words.

They keep walking. It was silent for a moment. “He’s like a star,” Steve continued, “you see him shine from afar, a small blinking light and you wouldn’t know how big or how bright it actually is until you actually try to get close.”

They didn’t talk about it again but Bucky knew it was because Steve understood that he did [does] see what the blond—what their closest friends—saw in the boy.)

Tony was selfless beyond imaginable but he also knew the line between being kind and being used by someone. He was never afraid to say no when he knew the other person was simply using him. He had a sharp mind and Bucky adored that. He loved Tony’s sarcasm, the way he would not let someone walk all over him. He loved the way Tony pushed people to learn, knew just how to encourage them to want to learn more.

Tony was amazing and he couldn’t get enough.

Watching Tony had become a habit, one he couldn’t shake or outgrow. It seemed at every turn, the boy had a surprise under his sleeves. Tony never did what was expected and even if he did what was expected, he did it in the most spectacular way, in a way which would leave people either breathless or shaking their heads. He seemed to enjoy keeping people on their toes, gleefully watching their surprised faces.

(“He has that effect on people.” Howard chuckled, fondness shining in his eyes as he watched his son gesture widely, animatedly, in the center of an enraptured crowd. “If they’re not jealous of him, they want to worship the ground he walks on.” He tilted the whiskey glass he’s been holding since the beginning of the night towards a girl who seemed to half in love with the boy already.

Bucky hummed, felt something inside him clench and thought to himself, can’t really blame them.)

Tony never failed to surprise him at every turn but there were three instances he would never forget.

The first one, Tony was scolding a man, practically twice as big as he was and had almost a foot and a half over him. It was also noteworthy that the man had a military stance, and one who seemed to have been in the military for a long while.

Tony’s arms were moving everywhere, lips moving too fast to be read. His brows were in a deep frown, nose scrunched the tiniest bit to show his displeasure. Buck couldn’t help but think of an angry kitten.

A few moments later, he saw the other man nod and say something. From Bucky’s place he could read the man’s lips, forming an apology. That was when he noticed the two boys with them. The one in front of the bigger man looked like him and was quite big as well, leading Bucky to the assumption they were probably father and son. The other boy, this one much smaller, was standing just behind Tony, a stuffed lion in his arms, dirtied but in good condition.

The bigger man looked down at his son, expectant, while Tony laid a hand on top of the other boy’s head, a reassurance, Bucky assumed, as the taller boy hesitantly spoke. Bucky couldn’t really read the boy’s lips, seeing as he wasn’t moving them as much, but he could assume it was an apology as well, based from how the other one shyly nodded while Tony beamed, the father of the other boy obviously letting out a relieved sigh.

Later, Tony would tell him the bigger boy was bullying the smaller one, and that the father reasoned his son was simply pulling the other kid’s pigtails. “So I told him abuse shouldn’t be condoned and seen as a sign of affection. I mean, if you like someone, you don’t ruin their day and make a bad impression, do you? No! You do something nice and hope they appreciate it. I told him to teach his son good things, not things that would turn him into one of those bullies in school—someone everybody hates but never had the guts to go against.”

(It reminded him of Steve before he became Captain America—always standing up to the bullies).

Logically, he knew Tony could probably take on the bigger man, but all he could think of whenever he remembered the incident was a kitten trying to meow a tiger into submission.*

The second one, he was beyond ashamed because he shouldn’t have been surprised in the first place.

Steve was usually his only partner (opponent) on drills, Natasha on certain occasions, because he didn’t trust most of them. Eventually, Thor and Loki were paired with him as well, since he couldn’t accidentally kill either of them. Hulk was never an option as an opponent except for Thor and Loki, but sometimes he would get paired with him if it was a tag-team sort of practice. He’s even gone against Clint a few times and was paired with him more often because they were both long range assets for the team.

The one person he’s never fought with or against was Tony.

All along Bucky thought it was because Steve didn’t trust him with Tony. As it turned out, Steve didn’t trust Tony to go easy on him, he realized as he stared at the ceiling, his back on the mat, confused. He could hear most of them snicker and the few who were trying to pretend they were not laughing and he couldn’t move because. Well. That was not something he expected. He has been watching Tony have a go with all the other Avengers but it seemed like all his observations were useless since Tony still caught him off guard. He was a trained Hydra assassin, damn it! He taught Natasha everything she knew now, which he could tell was eventually taught to Tony.

The boy—call me boy one more time and I will end you—Tony, wasn’t as strong as either him or Steve. He wasn’t even as strong as Clint and he was the only one who wasn’t enhanced in some form, but he was quick, agile, and was incredibly creative. He knew how to use his opponent’s body against them, and when and how to use his own body to his advantage. He could somehow quickly calculate his opponent’s movement, finding a quick way to disable them. Moreover, he could quickly use whatever was closest as a weapon, probably from either Natasha or Peggy herself.

When he got his bearings, he sat up and everyone else who was watching stopped bothering to hide their amusement and laughed loudly. Tony looked so proud of himself that he didn’t have the heart to feel insulted. Instead, he gave himself a mental pat on the back for being the cause of that look.

“You shouldn’t have underestimated Tony, James.” Thor said with a smile, leaning back on the wall. He was still trying to get Thor to call him Bucky because James was too formal, too common.

“You were the one who taught me not to underestimate anyone.” Natasha smirked, arms across her chest.

Loki hummed, slowly twirling a wooden staff Steve made him practice with. “What was that Midgardian saying? You got your ass handed to you?”

He would have defended himself, claim he had not underestimated Tony, but he realized he probably did. It wasn’t a conscious decision, he was sure of that. He knew how Tony fought and has seen him fight with all the other Avengers. He knew Tony purposely made himself appear smaller, weaker than he actually was and Bucky knew that but somehow, Tony still managed to fool him, so to speak. That was why he was caught so completely off guard and had rendered all his observations useless.

A large part of him was ashamed to have lost to someone as young and as small as Tony was. A larger part, though, was damn proud to be part of a team where this young man existed.

The third one, and probably his favourite one, was a week before Steve and Howard’s wedding.

It was an ordinary day, really, but realizations come at the most unexpected time.

He knew Tony baked. The whole tower knew Tony baked. He wasn’t at pâtissier level and he did fuck up more than just two baked goods, but when he baked something he was an expert at, it was bound to be delicious.

Bucky has never seen Tony bake, though.

Well. Until he has.

He and Steve have just finished a round in the gym and was cooling off before they hit the showers. They were on their way to the kitchen to grab a light snack to stave off the hunger, seeing as it’s almost lunch anyway.

AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long played softly in the background as they entered the kitchen and Bucky just, froze.

Tony was there, obviously baking, in just a tank top and basketball sorts. His bangs was tied up to keep it away from his face and an apron wrapped around his body. He has smudges of flour here and there and god he looked absolutely breath-taking and Bucky just wanted to kiss him and, wow, okay, that was kind of new.

He looked at Steve who stopped in his tracks when he seemed to realize Bucky wasn’t following him anymore. They had a conversation with their eyes, a feat that took a little too long to regain. Bucky looked like he was about to pass out while Steve, the jerk, was practically beaming and said, “Took you long enough,” and turned his back to the brunet to continue is journey to the fridge,

Later, they would sit down and talk in Bucky’s room, which used to be Steve’s before the blond moved to Howard’s room. He would panic and Steve would be calm, would tell him to take the chance, to take a risk for something more and Bucky would be on edge for the rest of the week.

(“Give him some credit, Buck. Tony’s a good kid, you might be surprised.”

Oh. He knew Tony was a good person but whether or not Bucky would handle the rejection well, that was up for debate. He didn’t want things to be awkward simply because he was too afraid to be in the presence of the genius.

When he said so to Steve, the blond simply shook his head with a small, fond smile.)

Now, as he watched his best friend dance with his husband, he took a deep breath and turned to the young man standing right beside him and held out his hand, “Wanna dance?” Tony looked surprised but delighted as he reached his own hand towards Bucky’s, a light flush on his softly tanned skin.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist while the younger man placed his own arms around Bucky’s neck. They swayed softly to the music, the acoustic guitars blending well with the singer’s voice. It must’ve been Howard who chose the song, knowing Steve listened to One Direction, Carly Rae Jepsen and Justin Bieber—Starks seemed to have great taste for music.

Bucky holds Tony tighter, still gentle but firmer, and he could feel the younger man do the same. Tony was almost a head shorter, the top of his head just reaching Bucky’s lips. He let his jaw rest by the younger man’s temple. They didn’t even seem like they were trying to dance anymore, simply hugging while swaying from side to side.

“I love you.” Bucky whispered, nuzzling the younger man’s head. He could feel Tony’s breath hitch, hear that air lodge in his throat. He knew, even if Tony didn’t feel the same, they would still be friends, that Tony wouldn’t let it be awkward. He valued the younger man’s friendship more than anything but Steve was right—you never know the chances unless you take the risk.

“I know.” Tony replied, just as softly and, okay. Maybe Steve was right and suddenly, Bucky can breathe. The, I love you, too was not explicitly mentioned but he knew what the younger man meant anyway.

Bucky chuckled, a little breathless, “Great. You just ruined the moment by Han Solo-ing me.” He probably looked deranged, by how big he could feel his smile was, but that was okay. Tony returned his feelings and yeah, he could totally do this. Besides, he could tell the younger man was probably smiling just as widely as he was.

“Please.” Tony huffed, tightening his arms around Bucky’s neck. “It wouldn’t be us if we don’t have ruined moments.”

Bucky simply turned his head and let his lips rest against Tony’s temple, the smile, softer now, still firmly on his face.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

AN:

[J1]You can’t tell me you didn’t laugh at this image. xD

Also, oh my fucking bloody hell! I am finally done with this! *dances around goofily*