#but I can’t help but picture his face to be a mixture of Barney (but green) and lizard Gunther from adventure time

[luna-the-cretar]

Sarnax wanting to get a toy dinosaur and a toy dragon for the children (although his idea of letting the dragon breathe fire is a little…out of touch…). Also, obsessed with the way he pronounced dinosaur.

I mean, Sarnax clearly doesn’t understand the kind of thing children like, other than what the children have already expressed interest in (which, evidently, are just reptiles. Huh, no wonder Sarnax is a hit with the kids), but he’s trying. He’s trying and I love that for him. He’s just so. So. HE 💜💜💜💜💜

[trickshxt]

"Hey, wait right there for me I have something for you! Hold on-" Bruce is quick in mentioning for Barney to sit, offering a half apologetic smile for the interruption. He'd be working late tonight and he wanted Barney to have it before his break away from this mess of a team. The carving set is delicate, personalised down the handles with a mixture of Orion imagery and initials. They all needed hobbies and hell if Barney carving wasnt incredible. "Here. For the help with Ross."

I’m soft send help / @incrediblewithin​ / always accepting

IT WAS RARE HE STAYED HERE ; storied halls not his own to proclaim, nor his to add to. Walls ominously tall with glory and if that wasn’t him he didn’t know what to say. The moments spent here, even as a favor, left him feeling faded around the edges and he was eager to leave for fear he’d lose his color to the dark ink he’d found himself painted in.

Still, when Bruce asks he pauses. Eyebrow raising and hand stilling in his jacket for the cigarettes he’d sworn he’d give up three weeks ago. An owlish blink, though slowly he sat. Expression uncertain. “All right…”

And despite the crawl of his skin he waited. Fingers finding the worry stone in stead and drawing it out. Rose quartz playing between knuckles like a wish. 

>When he’d become willing to do as bidden he didn’t know. Distinctly he remembered the lick of anger in his veins, the flash of bold arrogance that had him being waited on, not the other way around. A lifetime ago he knew, but sometimes, sometimes, he felt far more than just memory of it all within his chest. How easily it would be to become that person again…

Yet here he sat. Waiting. Unease only for the place they were in, not the act. And when had he gotten here he didn’t know, with Bruce Banner of all people. The near perfect picture of the consequences of anger - though that was unfair wasn’t it? Anger served a purpose, he’d learned by now. Crafted the corners that survival demanded and catalyzed the change they all needed. He’d never expected to appreciate that. Nor had he expected to see the forge of progress so brilliantly in the eyes of Bruce.

They shared that; in a way. And wasn’t it ironic how fire connected them? Capable of blazing sneer and crackling wit. Bruce was a fire starter in the deep cold of need and wasn’t that hard to see between the broad strokes of green and gamma painted by a world that needed an excuse for limitations set.

He could respect that.

So he waited. Rising when Bruce came back, question on his tongue and floating into the air like a spark. Fizzling out at the soft cloth pushed into his hands.

They’re beautiful. Red wood - the kind he favored - and delicate details. Handles made for the curve of his hands. The wink in the light; he can practically hear them laugh. And his teeth scrape his lower lip even as he smiles.

Secrets, after all, were such precious things. Weapon sharp in the right hands. Yet in Bruce’s they built. Crafted and created until he had realized that the bridge between them was made of well-kept moments.

“These are…” And he trails, overcome in a way he isn’t sure he can explain. A thumb rubs the stars of Orion’s belt. “Biggest waist of space ever…” He can’t help but smile at that, pun told a thousand times, and a thousand yet more times to come.

“These from you and Green Bean?”

But the smile on Bruce’s face - secretive and sly - and he knows the answer.

“Got just the project to use them on.” It’s hard to miss the way his own eyes shine. “Be perfect for pumpin’ out a few hundred armor scales.”

For a long moment he’s ready to leave. To flee the physical evidence of what can only be described as a tumultuous friendship with his best friend’s alter.

He’s not twelve anymore though, nor has he kept the self-martyrdom attitude of a man repenting. Good things, he finds, are worth the small heartache. (And he is deserving, he has come to learn, to be taught by Hulk , of worthwhile things.)

His arms wrap Bruce in a hug. And though he tries to say it, he finds that words don’t ever express enough. Fortunately, he thinks Bruce will get what he’s trying to say.

Thank you.