#feralego

[timetell]

@feralego

luz //: what do you call a fish with no eyes?

[milehighmechanic]

@feralego moved from here

  “I– Yeah. I do.”

          Harry thinks that, at one time, his father had been like him too. At least a little. His mother certainly wouldn’t have looked twice at Norman if that hadn’t been the case; if there wasn’t a motivation to bring about positive change, one way or another. And Harry’s read all he could scrounge up about Norman’s college days, including the partnership he fostered with Otto Octavius, even digging through old paper files in a hidden room his father didn’t know he had access to.

          He’s seen the evidence that, once upon a time, Norman Osborn had wanted to save the world too. But the man’s focus had shifted years ago, drawing in on itself. Growing selfish with his desperation as his wife’s health had declined.

          “More than anything.”

          Harry thinks about Peter, and how he’s sure he’s heard the same sentiment from him, but how he never seems to get anywhere with his plans. And he is determined not to be his father, or Peter.

          He will get things done. He will make good on his promises to himself, his community, and the planet.

          “Thank you, by the way,” Harry tells him. “I– Even with Peter, sometimes, I don’t really feel like anyone’s actually listening.”

          Red blotches color the hollows of his cheeks, and his throat burns with the thought of all the cancelled after school engineering sessions; all the times he’d been left out in the dark and forced to push himself further to finish things alone.

          Lost in his own thoughts–and a little ashamed of himself for speaking negatively about Peter at all to his friend’s mentor–Harry doesn’t initially realize how deep into R&D they’re venturing. But soon enough, he’s brightening again, recognizing devices for their functions, but floored by the obvious improvements.

          “I knew you had to be working on some of this stuff, but–” Harry, wonderstruck, approaches the schematics of one of the prototypes being worked on and immediately loses himself in the beauty and precision of the science and mathematics employed within them. “This is incredible.”

“It’s not always my strong suit,” Tony admits, unbothered by displaying his faults. And, partly, to distract from talking about Peter------ because Tony knows exactly why Peter is often distracted, even appearing flakey sometimes. Not necessarily an excuse, but it’s easy for Tony to say so from hindsight, from having done the exact same thing when he was younger. Neglecting his friends, pushing them away. He’s sure Pete doesn’t mean to, because he’s a better man than Tony ever was, but, well. Everyone needs a reminder now and then.

So he doesn’t make excuses for Spidey, just glances sideways to watch Harry as they walk, dark eyes catching on the morose expression that falls into place. He opens his mouth to say something, but as he navigates them through the mess that is the R&D workshops, the kid suddenly brightens, and Tony can’t help but grin.

“Saving the world isn’t just about superheroes.” And doesn’t he sound all wise and mentorly saying shit like that. It’s true, of course. Tony Stark wants to save the world. That had been a headline back when he still made weapons, he remembers that interview. Twenty-five and so fucking naive. 

Saving the world comes with a cost. He rolls his shoulder joint and tries to think of something else. He taps a rhythm on his wrist, waves at Marcia across the floor, and then focuses in on the way Harry’s eyes are lighting up. The ache in his chest eases a little. 

“You understand how it works?” Tony asks, casually, leaning on an absent engineer’s desk. Tony knows a Lot of geniuses, and most of them work in this room. Most kids would be awed by the tech here but Harry’s looking at it like he understands why it’s groundbreaking. 

There’s not many people that can do that. Even in this room.

This is a bad idea. It’s such a bad idea. But------

“You want a job, Osborn?”

[inhcritance]

@feralego asked: [ REUNION ]:     after spending a considerable length of time apart, the sender reunites with the receiver after saving their life from an immediate and potentially lethal threat. — from peter 👀

It had been almost two years, and the signs weren't easy to miss. Small as some were: some shops had changed, closed or opened. Different names on the newspapers -one of them familiar and dear both-, different faces on TV. New York, however, remained New York, and for the first half an hour of his first day outside, he let the familiarity and the strangeness both comfort him.

He hadn't told anyone he was back, not yet. Not until he fully believed it, until it all felt more real than the last two weeks had, reading over newspapers when his father wasn't home and trying to catch up with a world that had kept going. But he was there to see it now, walking on his own two feet and dressed in comfortable, discreet clothes.

And for the first half an hour, everything was nice. Familiar, in a strange way. Comfortable enough to make him the kindness of letting him pretend he hadn't been gone at all, lie that they all knew it. Then, with that half an hour gone, gone was any mercy the city held for him: he'd been moving with the crowd, trying to get away from the chaos when a blast hit one of the buildings nearby.

In the rooftops, a Spider-Man Harry didn't recognize was fighting yet another new face, and apparently winning easily enough. At street level, however, someone crashed into Harry, the debris from the building atop him crashing on the spot they'd been just a moment before, and Harry only had a moment for relief, to try to stand up and move, before he saw the face of the other and that was enough to halt, for a moment, the very reasonable instincts to get away and keep running.

Instead, Harry's expression lit up in a mix of disbelief and joy, and then -as he realized that his friend probably thought he'd been ignoring him for years- something almost wary and sheepish both.

"Pete." He said, however, resisting the urge to hug him, trying to figure out where they stood, until common sense kicked in. "Let's get out of here?"

[glacierfront]

feralego knows what it's about..

[vitalphenomena]

Marcus is going to die one day, and that day is coming sooner rather than later. Spirit can't prognosticate; she has no idea what Marcus's fate will be.

But this is beginning to feel like the end of things. And it feels natural; it's easy enough for Spirit to accept. Some things just have to be over. Some people just have to be left — as long as those people aren't her. As long as that person is just Marcus.

They're underneath one of Marcus's blankets with bright, colorful photographs of food printed onto it. They don't know that this is the last time they'll sleep together, but they know something is happening. Something is shifting.

Spirit is choosing Daniel. Maybe she was always going to choose Daniel — maybe this is cruel. But she won't dwell on that. —

@feralego // marcus says: just squeeze my ass and tell me everything will be okay.

— because Marcus refuses to let her dwell on that.

She coughs out a laugh, looks at him with a dopey, post-orgasm smile. She reaches so that her arm is behind Marcus's back, then squeezes his ass. It's a nice ass. This is nice. Everything is going to be fine.

"Everything will be okay," she murmurs. "You don't have to worry about anything, okay? It's all going to work out. You'll see."

He will be dead in a week.

[pathfaring]

Starter for Efren @feralego

They say there's a dragon in the mountain.

They had dragons in Earthsea, far out in the west, noble and ancient and dangerous. but Ruskin had never met a dragon there and he doesn't know what dragons of this world are. The locals seem scared enough to ask a stranger for help, but neither are their crops burning and their town ravaged.

But in spite of himself, in spite of what he tells the villagers, he is curious. He's allowed to be curious, he tells himself, even if still the feeling sometimes makes him nauseous with memories.

The path up the mountain is rocky, steep. Unforgiving, perhaps, if he couldn't soothe the ache in his feet and lighten his pack with a touch of his hand. Anyhow, he's used to walking, and it's a bright, crisp day, rays of sunlight dropping through cloud and leaving a shimmer in the air.

Still, he should probably, he thinks, as he stands on a grassy ridge, unable to see an obvious path, have checked exactly WHERE they thought the dragon was. He's passed a small tarn, the odd nook that might be a prime spot, but found nothing alive and larger than a rabbit.

It's dark before he gives up the search for the night. he slings a hammock between a tree and a rocky outcrop, fastening it with deft fingers. He has nothing to cook so he doesn't bother to light a fire--- he can keep himself warm well enough. But he does light a torch, a soft orange flame that will keep burning the small kindling of dried leaves all night.

Footsteps in the twilight. Ruskin looks over his shoulder, and thinks he can see a half silhouetted figure hidden in the foliage. "Is someone there?" he calls, soft, uncertain he's not just seeing a trick of the light.

It doesn't look like a dragon.

[tahitiwoke]

                             HERE IN THE SPIRIT OF COOPERATION.

[exspiritment]

@feralego // daniel said: a kiss to anger a third party 

@wristful // stevie & @withbeasts // andrew 

It’s one of Spirit’s favorite restaurants in the city. It isn’t far from Andrew’s apartment — and proximity to there is what brought her here, anyways. She wonders if Daniel realizes this, wonders how much he cares. 

Spirit and Daniel are leaving after their meal when Andrew and Stevie arrive. (Stevie looks like shit. Perhaps Andrew is trying to comfort him, to revive him, like he had done countless times with her.)

Daniel recognizes Andrew and Stevie even though he shouldn’t, even though he only can because of the night he followed Andrew after the play and all the times he’s spoken to the doorman about Spirit’s visitors. He wraps his arm ‘round his girlfriend’s shoulder, turns her head towards him — always towards him, always away from any other distractions or interferences or people who she doesn’t belong to, not like she belongs to him. He kisses her quickly, chastely, on their way out the door. But it’s enough. 

Spirit feels an invisible wall between herself and Andrew, feels too stunned to say anything after he left with an I’m sorry. She’s frozen and rigid when Daniel kisses her. She’s not thinking straight when she whips her head back towards the boys, walking out as they walk in. 

She doesn’t expect to see Stevie staring at her — cold, almost angry. No, definitely angry. His jaw is set in a way that Spirit thinks must be uncomfortable. Her lips part, and she wants to say something, but Daniel has her steered out the door. 

He’ll text her later, Stevie will. He’ll say something that Andrew won’t — because Andrew won’t, because he’s Andrew’s hero, because he’s always got to protect him. 

Spirit will throw her phone against the floor and scream into her pillow.

[fakedsciences-a]

If they had a kid meme for Tao/Juniper 👀

Name: xiù grace song

Gender: girl

General appearance: juniper's bone structure, radiant smile

Personality: angsty for many years, because she just has those genes. passive aggressive. compassionate, loyal, serious.

Special talents: both of her parents possess some degree of gracefulness — maybe she's a dancer? idfk

Who they like better: juniper, sorry.

Who they take after more: tao.

Personal headcanon: can we get into this? lmfao? i want them to have a really angsty tortured artist kid neither of them really ~~understand now

Face Claim: kelsey chow

[wristful]

@feralego​ / for josh

    “-- don’t look at me like that, it’s not a big deal.” 

[timetell]

@feralego / luz

" -- you're gonna fall. "

[milehighmechanic]

@feralego moved from here

          It’s not really what he wants to hear, but he’s too old now, he thinks–and too involved in superhero matters; in the plays of life and death games on a cosmic scale–to be talked down to like a child. To be pacified with false hopes. With lies.

         He’s always respected Stark, but the feeling grows more personal now. Even if the honesty feels draining. Painful.

         His shoulders slump, and he lets his head droop forward before clasping his hands together at the back of his neck. Peter can barely remember the last time he felt this tired. Even as a small, sickly, often hospitalized kid, this level of fatigue had been a rarity.

         Stark rouses his attention when he slides it in his direction, and Peter gazes down at the iconic piece of armor, fixating on the eye slits as his breath catches in his throat. And he has to wonder if gazing into those cold, soulless eyes would make it any easier to record anything to have sent to May. If she’s even still alive.

         Part of him thinks it might be. Part of him thinks that distinctly mechanical visage might help him control the emotions in his delivery more, making it easier to say what he needs to say, and quickly.

         He lifts the helmet gingerly and moves to stand, tucking it under his arm.

         "Thanks��“ He tries to smile, or to look anything but glum, but he can’t manage. "I’ll– I’ll do that. I’ll be in the back for a bit if you need me.”

     Tony watches him---- the way Spidey droops, the look of defeat in his eyes. Probably a good reflection of Tony himself, ten minutes ago. It only steels his resolve. Tony knows he has a tendency to wallow in his own guilt---- his therapist has told him so. 

     He watches, silently, as the guy disappears through the doorway, and he’s just a KID, a teenager who shouldn’t have to be contemplating leaving a goodbye for his aunt. 

     Maybe losing to Thanos had been Tony’s fate, inescapable. The end of Iron Man. His last failure.But it shouldn't be Peter’s fate to die on this spaceship. To starve to death so far from home. Yinsen had lost EVERYTHING, but he’d never given up in that cave, he’d never let Tony give up. Maybe it’s Tony’s turn. ( Is this the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark? )

     It hurts when he stands, worn down muscles aching, pulling, weak. But pain is an old friend. It’s second nature to grit his teeth and ignore it, to control his breathing and keep on going. He’s not going far. The engine is one of their problems; the console at the front of the ship is the other. Nebula said that they couldn’t fix it----- but Tony will rebuild this whole damn ship from scratch if he has to. ( With a box of scraps. ) 

     Ideas spark across his mind, settling into one cohesive thought. He’ll have to discuss it with Nebula, with Peter even, because the kid is smarter than him, somedays---- but it’s a plan. 

     Maybe he’ll manage to not fuck this one up.

[milehighmechanic]

Tony reaches out a hand for the tool that Rafa holds up, dropping into the chair across from him as he takes it. Of course he notices Rafa’s deflection but it would be hypocritical of him to comment. Focusing on the tech at hand is a conversation that’s definitely more at Tony’s comfort level.

He’s not exactly surprised that Oscorp used proprietary, specialized parts and tools; neither is he surprised that the tools provided have lasted such a short amount of time. Planned obsolescence, or just shit quality control, he wonders vaguely, and decides it’s probably both.

He looks the tool over. It might be crude compared to the toys he’s had all his life, but it’s functional. Perfectly capable of getting the job done if not for Osborn’s shit. ( Tony’s worked with cruder. )

Still, it’s an easy question to answer. 

“If you wanted, you could get FRIDAY to do a scan of your leg, create a 3D model, render and fabricate an entire new toolset from that. Or if you want to go low-tech, I’ve got metal casting tools and a better workbench than the coffee table.” 

He still doesn’t mention that they could do a scan of his leg and fabricate a whole new leg in a few hours. A few more hours and they could improve its functionality tenfold. Rafa’s seen the Iron Man suits. He must KNOW that. 

“The first suit, it was literally just a bunch of iron alloys welded together. Cheap and nasty. Did the job, obviously, but------” He doesn’t talk about Afghanistan. He never talks about Afghanistan. Rhodey knows what he saw, and Pepper knows the nightmares, but what actually happened in that cave is a closed book. And yet he had opened his mouth and the words had come out without Tony even thinking about them. Casual. Almost comfortable. And now he notices what he’s talking about, thinks of that last, desperate night in the cave, and his heart skips a few beats, chest aching with a vengeance. 

He shakes his head. Retreats to a safer subject.

“How does your leg stand up to the fire you’re chucking around? I can’t imagine Osborn had flamethrowers in mind when he designed it.” There’s an implied insult to Oscorp in his voice, but he keeps it mild. Tactful, for once, when he knows very little about how Rafa feels about Osborn and the company who had helped him.

"Cool, cool."

Some tension melts from his shoulders when Tony confirms that he's in a perfectly okay spot to be; that he's not overstepping his host's generous hospitality. And he's-- Well, maybe he's a little surprised when it's revealed that he's allowed in the workshops.

He eyes his toolkit. Most of the little handheld tools had been supplied to him when he'd been discharged from the medical facility.

But he'd managed to make a few of them himself for tinkering about with the specialized equipment when things the engineers hadn't foreseen had gone wrong, or when the provided tools had broken. Both of which happened frequently enough to give him plenty of opportunities to improvise and adapt his homemade solutions.

He's quite proud of them, actually, even if they are incredibly rudimentary: they get the job done, and he hasn't had to go back.

That's all that matters to him.

( God, he can't even imagine willingly walking back in to ask them for anything. Can't stomach the thought of sitting in one of those sterile, uncanny rooms again. )

A man like him makes do. Without all the fancy--and expensive--tools and machines and materials a man like Stark has available to him, he makes do.

But he's not so recklessly self-sufficient that he can't recognize an opportunity when it's presented to him. Even if he has to war a bit with his mind to capitalize on it.

Stark's not treating him as charity case: they are valuable to one another. They're teammates now, just the same as he and the boys in his company had been. One for all, all for one.

The simple reframing loosens his tongue, and makes it easier to ask for, and accept, the assist

"Do you have anything I could use to remake this?" Rafa lifts one of the cruder instruments he'd fashioned from a broken Oscorp tool: he'd spot welded the nonstandard driver bit onto a similarly sized hex key. Which had been fine until the repeated torque had somehow stripped the cheap metal of the bit. "Shit's all got specialty heads. Can't find a replacement for the trash they gave me."

It's easy enough to pretend this is what Tony is asking him if he wants to talk about. And maybe, just maybe, it'll work as a segue into the real meat and potatoes of it all.

They're a team, he reminds himself.

Tony might need to know it all eventually. And hell, if he--as a part of this team--ever makes the news and Osborn finds out that he's working with Stark, he may find it safer to assume Rafael's spilled it all anyway. And who knows what that might lead to.

[despiterage]

an exploration of:

secret identities and double lives; masking one’s true self for the comfort of others & the bitterness it breeds; civility politics; rage as a tool & as a crutch; found family as both a salve & as fuel to the fire; character growth not always being for the better; messy & imperfect representation.

full roster • main muses (wip) • guidelines

[vitalphenomena]

The circus. The community college student reporter all fixated on mutants and their rights and their unique communities. Daniel, speaking into a lavalier microphone about the different performers at the circus. The spooky, pallid girl who does acrobatics and tells your future. She waited with baited breath for Daniel to reveal their relationship — and had the nerve to confront him about it later that night, at his apartment.

And what she gets in response? With lighthearted brevity,

@feralego // daniel said: i almost called you a cunt on live television.

Fuck you. I'd have called you one right back. I don't have to put up with this bullshit.

Spirit folds her clothes with a newfound, misplaced aggression — shoving the delicate fabrics and laces Daniel has purchased for her into the bag that, yes, he also bought for her. She fumbles with the necklace around her throat — you'll never believe where that came from! — and tries to remember how to breathe.

"I'm the cunt you want to fuck every night. Or did that just slip your mind?"

[suffcring]

with the exception of my stuff with @feralego (who is never here and I hope they know I love them and chew on our muses consistently), I have dumped all unanswered threads from dates before October from my tracker. If you'd like to pick a thread back up, just make sure to tag me in it and I'll add it back, but I am largely trying to keep myself invested in things that have consistent forward motion.

I'm working hard on getting some things done today. I have been absent and stuck in a brain rut, but I know I am the kind of person who just needs to push through it or it'll never come back.

Thank you guys for your patience.