#meme threads. alana stark.

[godblooded]

do you know what it is to be unmade? oh, stark does. he’s felt the terrible weight of reversal clamping around his chest — life trying to turn you backwards with a vice grip. he’s felt the blinding agony of backwards creation; he’s felt every kind of suffering a man can take. it doesn’t cross his mind that @herrage might not realize the enormity of that — how unafraid it makes a person. how pain is secondary to experience, and all else, and how tawdry, how pitiful pain is beside want.

he’s seen into dark corners he’s completely unafraid of now and he would do it all again. this is a hero in truth and in fact — blinky flickers quicker and a deep flush of pure pink blasts across that freckled face of his. his grin is boyish, borders shy, contorts metal around the heavy square of his jaw.

“life is pain, highness. anyone who tells you different is selling something.”

pop culture bereft, usually, but a touch of romance is lent to him. his eyes flutter shut the second that kiss is bestowed, and it’s instinctive — his palm reaches to his own chest, shadows that bright flicker, tries to muffle it.

“bitte sehr, jederzeit. very much my pleasure.”

every dress shirt is too tight, stark is well-aware. if physicians could bother with him they’d be constantly admonishing — mottled flesh beneath is expansively roughened pink and tender, crimson and violet and all alabaster at once. he’s given up every inch of himself to the world and he’ll keep doing it; he isn’t afraid. he’s all thin muscle and sinew straining ever so against crème linen.

“you’re incredibly pretty.”

he isn’t self-conscious enough to feel stupid — that comes a few seconds later.

[astormofagirl]

I figured it was time to make a mains page. If you want to be a main for Sansa Stark  just like this post and I’ll add you to the list. Below is a description of what being a main means for me.

What does being my main mean?

• Your reply will be prioritized when I do drafts, inbox replies etc • You’re the first one I’ll come to with plot ideas (and boy do I have plot ideas for like everyone) • I can send you all kinds of random headcanons/gifs/etc and tag you in things for our muses

Rule Type Things

• I will take at most three of the same character. (Possibly less depending on which character) • We have to be mutuals. Realistically if we’ve NEVER interacted neither of us know how the chemistry between our muses will be whether its romantic/friendship/enemies/etc. So, I am going to require that our muses have interacted at least twice or that we’ve talked or done some kind of plotting. • I want people I can talk to IC and OOC so we can plot and just to know each other because I feel like threads are always better with people you actually get to know.

This in NO WAY means I won’t RP with non-mains. I will RP with anyone who wants to send a meme or plot as long as our muses work. This is really just so I know who I can bug at 2am and like throw plotty things at and tag in stuffs lol.

Note: I will accept SOME exclusives, but it will depend on the muse and such. Poke me if that’s something you want. My Current Exclusives are listed below.

Exclusives:

Alana Snow - @stcrmswithskin

Mains:

Jon Snow - @ofimaginarybeings​

Jon Snow - @raiisedwolf​

Jon Snow - @thedragoninthesnow

Robb Stark - @ofimaginarybeings 

Arya Stark - @condemnedtragedy

Tyrion Lannister - @ofimaginarybeings​

Brienne - @oathkeeperwench​

Brienne - @ofimaginarybeings

Daenerys - @ofimaginarybeings​

[godblooded]

@hraunwyf (x)

you stare at her. for. like. a minute. you literally can’t believe that worked. you don’t know how to deal with the fact that that worked. why did that work from, like, the other room? better than raising your own volume? why are you so stupid?

“ yeah. uh. i know you’re shorter than me but you have cool magic and i can’t reach the flour. i don’t even know how it got back there. did i put it there? i’ve been sober for like. a month and a half. holy shit. is that flour like a year old? oh fuck. ”

[itsnotpatsy]

trish and daphne

IF THEY HAD A KID MEME.

STATUS: NOPE.

Name: dakota kluger (yes, trish is very gladly taking daphne’s last name)

Gender: cis male

General Appearance: relatively short for his age, auburn hair waved long down his back into a ponytail he prefers to have braided, pale and thin. eyes are a very clear shade of almost translucent green. charmingly childish in expression, silently wide-eyed, leans toward ringer tees and oversized tees of every possible kinds. tends to lean toward blue and yellow, which often means favored yellow hi-tops, blue shirts of all kinds, the soft white-and-blue of faded jeans.

Personality: quiet but exuberant when addressed kindly or spoken to directly, dakota’s the kind of kid who gets along with the other children remarkably well for a natural sort of charisma he carries about him and an easy smile in spite of his childhood. he’s very prone to silliness and can be a little hyperactive when allowed, the sort who only really shines when faced with those he’s most comfortable around. an introvert at heart, however, he’d prefer to spend all day reading books and doodling. the sort of boy who gets invited to all the class birthdays, enthusiast of bowties and bright colors, perhaps too prone to coloring on the walls in bouts of excitement, art shared, need to confine it to the refrigerator. intelligent though not tremendously well-spoken, his vocabulary’s moderately impaired and he has an ear for making up words. genuinely surprisingly happy, he has a tendency to be shy in spite of himself when meeting new people, though shakes it off fairly quickly. educationally far behind other kids his age, this is supplemented with personal tutoring and painstaking attention from both parents that eventually allows him to catch up. trish learns his social situation, thankfully, is so beneficial because he was, at least, surrounded by other children. he has no shortage of fascination for people.

Special Talents: an excellent little artist with a talent for colors and a penchant for shapes, he does very well expressing words through images, a human game of pictionary. he’s very good at getting his points across expressively. he can also do a handstand, which he is tremendously proud of. a very patient listener though an active fidgeter, he can parrot back most anything said to him, and he’s always very very locked onto what’s being told to him. a very meticulous follower of instruction once he’s informed. can touch the tip of his nose with his tongue.

Who they like better: there is no such thing in the kluger household, no one or the other. daphne and trish have mostly equivalent understanding, as though dakota’s young, he’s not so young that it’s impossible for trish to understand. daphne is the less stern parent, though more likely to be a bit sterner when he’s out of hand at first, and trish, though good at deflecting, is regimented and a little tighter where scheduling is concerned. daphne is much beloved for being the one willing to follow just about any flight of fancy– the boy loves, loves, loves her and this indulgence is something so rewarding, the attention so lovely, that she returns it in spades. his favorite thing to do with daph, who is mommy, happens to be piano lessons, since daph knows loosely how to play fairly decently, and honestly he likes trying to make up melodious sounds. with trish, who is mama, he likes getting to finish drawings– she’ll sketch a line and he’ll complete it, and then she’ll do the next one, and on and on, until it makes a tangible shape or something like it. he has no preference– he knows only that these are his moms, and even if he misbehaves, even if he’s scolded for something, the important thing is he knows how loved he is.

Who they take after more: his charisma and willingness to speak, charm glowingly welcome, is all daphne, as are larger portions of his personality. he’s let her take point in most conversations, and learned from her how to inflect tone in ways that most would likely consider dramatic, mimicry of his more outgoing parent. while he’s definitely more like daphne in a social setting, his penchant for quiet alone time has been mostly learned– yes, learned– from trish. she reinforces the idea of being alone with yourself and it being okay, and as a result he has a very, very developed playroom that’s more or less filled with every activity imaginable. he likes reading best, and he’s a few grades above his level. he’s more than frequently found sneak-reading with a flashlight under the covers of his gratuitous spaceship bed, something both his parents let go for… at least twenty minutes.

Personal Head canon: one dark, dark, dark evening hellcat had headed down into the very forbidden sewers of the city (how many times had daph said she wouldn’t put up with a kitten trekking around in the refuse of new york) after hearing about an underground drug smuggling operation whispered above on the streets, courtesy of contacts and some very special super-hearing. she’d trekked through and through and through the labyrinth, and things had gotten stranger the further she went. it had started to look deliberate, labyrinthine. it had started to look like a place people were.

by the time she found this ludicrous structure of wooden boards and tin roofs, she’d skulked around, discovered a very small populace squatting down, down, down in the dark sewers with the biggest meth lab operation she’d ever seen, and by then? she’d certainly seen a lot. cowl radio had only half worked to drop a contact location to a police in, one acquired and shared with younger brother spidey, not so little anymore. a legal operation would arrive, but she’d wanted to get a head-start, case out the possibility of what was happening, the diversity of the operation.

it had turned out it was a village of sorts, of people trying to make a living off the mass production and the distribution of their product. a village filled with people, children, even, living lives far below the pay-grade of any child. trish had known that all too well all on her own, corralled the cluster of children, the small group, and begun to lead them outside as carefully as possible. the ruckus could wait– this was more important, and it seemed all the ‘grownups’ were busy doing what it was they did. she couldn’t fathom the understanding for why this operation had happened down there, though she was sure eventually she would find out.

the police raided the underground situation way deep down beneath the city itself, the underbelly of the place, and dragged out droves of people, adults tried for accounts of child endangerment, neglect, drug trafficking, the list went on.

and then the mighty hellcat went about contacting one alana stark, trying to be absolutely sure all these kids would have safe places to go. a sharp tug had accidentally sent the great cat toppling, tumbling over when she took two steps forward against the sudden force of her own step. dangercat not alert, not a thread, but a little boy, long hair and eyes a green not too unlike hers. he’d smiled at her warmly and then squeezed his arms around his middle shyly, asked in a small voice, h-e-double-hockey-sticks-cat? and the hero had turned over, not even gotten up, just rolled with a mouth full of bright, pointy fangs. h-e-double-hockey-sticks-cat the hero had said back, brightening the child’s smile.

throughout the overseeing process the little boy hadn’t let go of a clawed glove, small hand tightly squeezed in a palm. (she would learn from his time then with a child psychiatrist that he’d known about her, mythical cat hero over the aboveground, drawn outrageous little pictures, images, like she’d been the hero without ever knowing.) she’d watched alana make as many arrangements as possible– iron man, anyway. and once everything had been set, the boy’s smile dropped, and he’d looked down, maybe, maybe, maybe beginning to tear up.  she’d knelt, pressed her hands into his, asked lightly, you okay, little man? his head shook. does something owch? another head shake.

big kitty.

she’d watched the other kids talk, seen them in little throngs and groups, watched how none had spoken to him, not really, but he’d stuck to her like glue the entire evening. logical, of course. spooked, new, though they hadn’t seemed mournful to be out.

so the cat had asked, soft and a little hopeful, do you maybe want to come have pancakes with me? for a little while. a wife to ask about it, of course, pancakes could not yet become home with. couldn’t just make such a decision without important input.

outside a manhattan diner, the cat watched the boy shred apart soft pancakes with his hands, tearing with little fingers into strips and dunking into syrup slathered all over a plate. he couldn’t be more than five years old, though she didn’t know for sure– not with that kind of malnutrition or deprivation to light. kept her eyes on him through the thin glass, still assured to pay attention.

i think he might’ve been the one who didn’t have anybody. i think he has a hard time with the other kids– i don’t know how it worked. it was fucked up. i think he hoped one day i would help, somehow. he knew who i was.

a beat in the silence and then daphne’s voice, why don’t you bring him home, hero?

Face Claim:

jacob tremblay!

[godblooded]

alana stark is, for once, being a ceo. or whatever her version of that is. red, hi-top chucks squeak on linoleum as the man of iron moves across his office, to and fro, to and fro, scrolling through his phone on a display that projects a hologram transparent into the air.

a notification pops up. @knightwar is there, bruce’s smarmy, handsome mug staring from his contacts. he waves it away with a flourish or fingertips like conducting an orchestra.

it doesn’t escape his memory that he’s sent the billionaire a good ol’ fashioned stark gag gift. mug of coffee lifts to his lips, WORLD’S OKAYEST IRON MAN written across porcelain.

when he opens the email stark almost kicks his chair, instead slamming his knee into the table and, being the lack of organic limbs, tries to brush it off as just an embarrassingly clumsy gesture. to no one at all looking at him. great. a hand passes through dark, silvering hair.

hand in the air, stark opts to text with his brain for the fuck of it.

you really nailed the showgirls aesthetic i was hoping for.

[godblooded]

stark feels a certain comfort here in a golden glow that maybe has never made him near so whole as this moment. periwinkle blues glance up adoringly at @herrage and his chin makes a neat point in the air when his head tilts back, throat bared carelessly without so much as a thought. a ravaged body rests at peace where it’s dropped, prosthetic limbs whirring silently within the confines of their artful creation. metal is warmed by the radiance of heat, materials built painstakingly to retain a humanity the technical cyborg only somewhat possesses. but that azure luminescence in those eyes is nothing but moonlight.

“this isn’t breakfast. i will make breakfast. —though, this is just a doctoral diet.”

a deep inhale and eyes flutter shut, long, dark lashes touching flushed pink cheeks. handsome, beautiful, ruddy with scrap and weathered by time, tempered by violence, stark fixes her gaze with his as it tick tick ticks across her face like reading a book. his shoulders fall slowly when the plume of smoke dissipates into nothing. a shaky little cough follows on the heels of his next breath.

“I miss the days when my abdomen had room for lungs. —i don’t want to get up… but my mother certainly didn’t raise me to be inhospitable to a beautiful woman. i’m having a conundrum.”

he’s handing this cigarette back. a tiny pile of embers float onto his skin, fade to ash, unfelt and thoughtless. he waits for her fingers to brush his with a calm smile. blinky surges a warm blue.

[godblooded]

“mmm, hard disagree.”

the man of iron gives a single hum and doesn’t jump when the plop resounds, but he stays perched at the counter beside @mrscoultxr , tilting his head with an owlish blink.

he doesn’t zip to touch or comfort immediately — gives her the moment to regather herself, has learned, perhaps, it’s best to do. sometimes a creature of great brilliance is also capable of tremendous overwhelm, and stark knows decisively that his own barometer for comfort spikes and plummets constantly. he just lives in a world that’s quite loud, and he’s gotten used to navigating it.

“i knew a brilliant doctor once — there is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so.”

and he believes firmly in the very human power of thought. had her ‘sins’ not been justified to her, had his refusals to adhere not seemed rebellious? in his eyes, any man, woman, person is an avatar on which the axis turns. a person’s world becomes their own completely — perception is reality.

“i’m not a good person. and neither are you. we’re people, and we do people things. to live, get by. to be happy. i just… have never found it in my heart to step back when the pool of another’s blood edges too close. it’s not in me to turn away.

—truly? definitely makes me stupid. dumb as a box of rocks, i think the saying goes.”

[godblooded]

stark blinks, and it does border on helpless. it does seem to be precisely who she is. being the most fragile yet the most resilient person alive. in short, all of it broken down, stark is the most human of them all. he leans into lillian’s touch with a tender quietude. she lets the moment linger in the air. she allows it to stay and it never seems to outstay its welcome, this feeling of lingering warmth. his eyes close and he leans in, surprisingly excellent at the precarious balance on just a crutch.

“ i’d love that, yeah. two heads, better than one, etcetera, stuff i forget? i’m just like, goin’, you know? ”

has anyone’s smile ever been so much like the sun? has anyone ever seemed so happy when they felt the light of such a thing as love. she never thought she would understand it. but he understands one thing: stop trying to understand it.

godblooded​:

@amazonluthor asked : ” I– Can I– I don’t know, can I hug you? ” / for stark

periwinkle baby blues blink. stark doesn’t comprehend the idea of comfort. stark doesn’t imagine the idea of someone making him feel better if he’s having a bad time. he just doesn’t. there’s no computing the idea that he’s even worthy of the idea. why bother? it’s just going to pass and—

the man of iron gestures inward to say yes, leaning heavy on a crutch to stay up. damage to one side’s prosthetics leave her repairing the mess and therefore without for the moment. just two ravaged, smoothed stumps of scar tissue carefully covered by a seemingly thin, intuitive cap of netting stretched over them. she balances excellently on her remaining organic limb— left leg— one scarlet and grey arm clutching. she’s gotten good at hopping around like it’s second nature until she’s reassembled.

“ i’d love one, actually. ”

Despite being told that she can, Lillian hesitates. Stark looks strangely small, so battered and bruised that for a moment she’s afraid that she could hurt him, simply by hugging him. Her chest feels tight, and for a moment she remembers how afraid she used to be to hug people, because she felt like she didn’t know how. She was always afraid she’d end up hurting them, somehow.

But she wants to comfort Stark, somehow, and that overwhelms the fear lodged in her throat. She steps forward to wrap her arms around Stark, looped loosely around her waist to avoid her injuries as much as possible. She tilts her face down against Stark’s hair, breathing in the smell of metal and blood, and tightens her embrace as much as she dares. She takes a slow, trembling breath, and murmurs, ‘thank you’. She feels better, somehow, now that she’s holding her. Like it’s easier to remember that she’s here. Her voice sounds choked and rough, and she clears her throat before she says, ‘I know… I know you’re perfectly capable of repairing your prosthetics, but I… can I help?’ She pulls back enough to carefully cup Stark’s cheek in her hand, stroking her thumb gently along his skin. ‘Will you… let me help you?’

[godblooded]

drops in to press a kiss to stark's cheek, for no particular reason other than she can. so she does, and her smile is equal parts affectionate, and equal parts mischievousness when she's done. ❛ you're looking very handsome today, mr. stark. ❜

the way boy genius's face lights up! is unmistakable the moment @asteritmeritm's lips touch his cheek. smitten and flushed a ruddy pink, truthfully, but the tin can man can't repress a grin in return. shyness can only go so far when it comes to him-- impish glee wins out over a childhood stutter.

" you-- uh-- you think? i mean. i slept in this eyeshadow. "

[godblooded]

@agentharrisonofshield (x)

all the thunder ‘ s out of the man of iron. gone. done for. he doesn ‘ t have anything left to give anymore. running on fumes is an understatement. there is nothing to run on left. all she ‘ s got are the skin and bones left that line her body , thin and taut as they are these days , and the horrible thought that every single thing is both his fault and irreparable because of him.

in a more present state of mind , stark would ‘ be been wolffish and quick. would ‘ be swiped that bottle back and guzzled it out of sheer defiance. but this state of mind is far from present , and bloodshot eyes prove that. the dark circles embedded beneath them like bruises. the bruises she sports to begin with seem pale by comparison , and those are fresh from a bar fight only two days ago.

“ i don ‘ t like movies. “

attention ‘ s struggling to be kept. she doesn ‘ t. she thinks they ‘ re boring and they never keep her focus. she doesn ‘ t understand how people sit through four hours of stuff moving on a screen. or two. or even one. that level of sitting still. that level of undivided attention. not exactly the tin can ‘ s talent.

“ that ‘ s a forty year macallan. at this rate , it ‘ s probably the last forty year old vintage left in the world. — give it back. “

even stark recognizes the lack of conviction in his own tone. it ‘ s run right into the ground. it ‘ s dead as dead can be.

“ christ , don ‘ t make me beg. “

[godblooded]

stark ‘ s positioning changes swiftly — as swiftly as stark can be. it ‘ s almost like watching someone in a musical go through fluid choreography , but in reality it ‘ s just the strange way he moves. it ‘ s simple to drop her head to lean against char ‘ s shoulder and carefully apply her weight. everything is relatively hard when you only have one actually feeling arm. he has to account for a lot more. like not dropping someone because he can ‘ t figure out if he ‘ s leaning too hard on a limb that can lift a car.

affection is stark ‘ s language , when he ‘ s allowed to communicate with it. it ‘ s a telegraph of honest emotion that she seldom allows. in stark ‘ s world , a facade is as important as knowing how to properly tie a Windsor knot.

those blue eyes flick upward and that smile flicks on again , near instantaneous. it ‘ s easy to see how denying the west ‘ s most beloved prince is narrowly impossible. there ‘ s nothing but love in her eyes and in her mouth and in her throat where she ‘ s just overwhelmingly brimming with it.

“ an investor wants to pitch me an idea. i already know i ‘ m saying no — i hate working with the guy. i ‘ d rather play space golf with geoff benzos. “

that ‘ s not the correct name at all but stark doesn ‘ t , frankly , give a shit. john ibiza sucks to do business with. ( again. not his name. )

the way that expression flattens out to something like adoration takes mere seconds. her mouth pinches at the corners , brow furrows , eyes enormous. stark ‘ s nothing if not grateful. he leaves a shiny red lipstick mark pressed against char ‘ s cheek , an obnoxious gesture of appreciation. it ‘ s relatively amazing that , truth be told , she ‘ s actually marvelously romantically inclined.

“ will you share my cupcake with me ? “

eyes up again , tilting with an imploring question. like he ‘ s not just asking to share some of his cupcake. what ‘ s to beg about ?

godblooded​:

@bornbreathless​ asked :  “I bought you coffee.” ((For Stark)).

oh , if that ‘s not the biggest smile that lights up her entire face. stark is a sucker for exactly one thing and that ‘ s being thought of. affording him even a little bit of consideration is enough to make blinky blink so briefly bright it almost startles stark himself. buzzes underneath her hand when she touches him , helpless to do a thing about it to hide it. 

“ you did ? you did ! “

maybe sometimes he ‘ s unguarded in the worst way. it ‘ s no wonder the so - called emotionless man in a tin can fails entirely at being apathetic. those sweet baby blues hide nothing. he takes the cup gratefully with an even bigger grin. 

“ i just wanted to see you , so i don ‘ t know how you just knew. but you also brought coffee , so at least i can pretend it ‘ s about more than me wanting to get out of an hour long meeting. it ‘ s not just you being here and distracting me from a meeting that i don ‘ t want to attend. it ‘ s you with caffeine to keep me awake. you ‘ re just helping me survive the last home stretch of my day. so this ? this is not an excuse at all. “

to get out of the meeting that she ‘ s just hoping she can stall long enough maybe everyone will forget it even existed. 

Sometimes, she wonders just how little attention Stark thinks she’s paying her; for how many years they’ve known each other it should hardly come as a surprise that she can tell when there’s something he’s trying to avoid, especially when he’s been bringing it up constantly for the past week.

Char only allows her gaze to drop to Blinky for a moment, fighting against the smile that threatens to bloom at the brightness of the little arc reactor as she hands over the drink. “Figured you could probably use a little pick-me-up by now. Oh, and this,” she adds, digging into her purse for a moment to produce a little brown paper bakery bag. “Maple bacon cupcake totally counts as a balanced lunch, right?”

She sets the bag on the table and settles back in her chair, offers a grin as Stark rambles away her justifications. “Uh-huh, definitely, this has nothing to do with your meeting whatsoever. You’re just here for a quick coffee and going right back to work.” It almost sounds believable.

“Remind me again what it is that you’re not avoiding today?” she asks as she taps her fingers against the side of her own drink.

[godblooded]

@ironhardpacker (x)

“ postmates a cheesecake this way. i almost died. “

alana has a far smaller definition of ‘ disaster ’ than most people. largely people would say a hurricane was a large disaster. alana ? alana would say a hurricane was infinitesimal and then begin to describe an actual unfathomable seismic event the human mind probably could not even grasp. ( we ‘ re trying not to drink. oh so hard. it ‘ s four days but it ‘ s still four days. she keeps reminding herself of that. four days is still four days.

“ some dickwalnut fuckbag ceo tried to take my ass out. bam , right in the arc reactor , full shoulder. and like , i ‘ m fine now but peppy ‘ s gonna be crazy worried and like i ‘ m cool and i ‘ m frankly freaked out she ‘ s gonna think i ‘ m being insensitive if i ‘ m fine ? because i still have a meeting in an hour and if i go … should i g — o ? “

she hadn ‘ t let anyone see her crumbling. and fuck if she would. but tones is different. he ‘ s her brother. he ‘ d be straight up with her and she doesn’t ‘ t feel like she has to be afraid about it. ( she ‘ s fucking terrified. pepper is too good for her. four days , stark. )

[godblooded]

@soulavenged (x)

her eyes are almost preparing to well with tears in the adolescent way she can feel that ‘ s a little bit like — what she figures rejection in high school would ‘ ve been like. maybe it ‘ s because nat makes her want to be a better man , and stark does not give a shit or twenty about being ‘ a better man ‘. just one who can be known for the good things he ‘ s left behind. alana doesn ‘ t expect , and she ‘ s got a i mean i was just kidding — in the chamber — 

…. but she doesn ‘ t need it ? 

there ‘ s whiskey on her breath that ‘ s liquid courage desperate to hurdle the hump that is this fear. that ‘ s what she ‘ s called it referred to as , being shit - housed. liquid courage. nat makes the suggestion and stark brushes her lips against hers , nose to nose , now , and it sends a shiver up a spine made almost entirely of adamantium. she wants to touch — she ‘ s nervous. it ‘ s a need to ask permission without truly asking it — her hands want to find a waist , and they want so badly to find hips and to just stay there.

“ that ‘ s incorrect , as it is my goal from here on out to find as many ways as i can to make you more in love with me in hopefully what can only ascend in opinion. i can hope. but call me an optimist. — you mean it , like you — y - y - y - you mean — you mean it ? “

she has to repeat it , leaning in because she ‘ s murmuring quietly like she cannot believe what she ‘ s just been told. by nat. 

[godblooded]

@fortislumen (x)

stark ‘ s recovery is slow and steady. cryostasis leaves the man of iron floating in a bath of hopeful bacta fluid ( yes he ‘ s named it that ) will restore what ‘ s been demolished of him. loki saw the remains. kara did her best , as swift as can be , to cauterize the horrific violence inflicted all over Alana ‘ s body. but stark ‘ s made of skin grafts , now. a handsome frankenstein ‘ s creature who can’t possibly control a need to pull her so far into the limelight. but before she can replace the limbs and get to the good stuff , she has to retrain her body from those painful nerves to once more become familiar limbs and bones — they never quite even out , but —

but pepper tastes like home. because this stood universe has never felt like a home , but the lingering taste of none other than the rescue remains on the man of iron ‘ s tongue , cheeks reddening. pinpoints at the highest points of cheekbones are sharp and naturally rouged. they look like the cheeks of a child who’s pinched them all day in the cold. stark twitches into that sudden kiss. too much , all of it, to say what stark can only say when she touches her forehead to the redhead ‘ s and needs little more than an ask for acceptance. it ‘ s begging , puppyish. pay attention to me.

granted , she ‘ s around a seven on the pain scale , but what else is really new ?

[godblooded]

“ all her artwork’s gonna go up on every inch of every wall or every frame of every part of this house. gonna be no more wall , just crayons and — she can draw on every single thing she wants to. the walls , the floors , the ceilings , the furniture. fuck it. she’s going to get to do so much and i want to — “

she’s long - winded. it’s what she does. it’s how she is. stark is verbose where it can be difficult for her to express her feelings properly. verbal communication is how she sets it across , even if she’s still learning the ropes of how to have discussions. human discussions. she’s a much better listener than she is a talker , interestingly. no one would ever imagine that. her eyes are starting to tear. there’s another little kick and one rolls down her cheek , a deep breath taken into her chest.

“ oh my god. oh my god. “

theyeardecembered​:

it doesn’t really compute to her. her brain is working overtime to try to understand anything – and then nat moves her hand to the next little kick and stark’s eyes flick up! to nat in what is half panic and half delight. it’s a teetering thing , is what it is – like one of those little wooden birds she used to make with the tilty toy dipping to and fro into an endless pool of water – and alana’s frightened to feel safe and adoring like her heart wants to. even with a prosthetic , fingers scarlet and gunmetal grey , she touches and feels with all those developed , tied - together nerves. her arm shakes , truly human in spite of itself , and the next sound she makes is a laugh. it’s a very light laugh. she looks up at nat again , sudden and swift and almost fearful , ears red , “ i’m sorry – wow. oh my god. wow. “ 

It’s a precious thing to get to share this moment together. Making a life together, and Natasha is worried all the time. Worried because at any moment her body could turn traitor. This life was hard fought for and they were not out of the woods yet. She counted days. Weeks. One more month and with a lot of help their child could survive outside the womb. But she tried not to let the anxiety get to her too much (that too was bad.) The best way she found was to take joy in these little moments. The shared ones. She brushes her thumb along Stark’s knuckles and smiles. Because … because they have gotten this far. And that is worth celebrating. “You know if she’s wowing you already we might need to get like … three fridges for all her artwork,” Natasha teased, “You’re not going to be able to put any of it in a box in storage.”

[godblooded]

@rejectory (x)

he ‘ s a little fucking shitheel. he ‘ s a little fucking shitheel. what kind of shitheel does steve think he ‘ s allowed to be. — how dare he. how dare he. she ‘ s just trying to eat this bowl of lucky charms , all shiny gunmetal grey and scarlet red , all molten into her face , all parts iron man outside and in now. her left leg is the last organic limb of hers left. and he puts pressure on it in his decisive sit.

and does he know he ‘ s not light …. ? he ‘ s not light. and he ‘ s all the fuck up in her personal space.

uh. she bounces her knee underneath his thigh — the metal one — like a motion of discomfort , but her face is startled and suddenly fairly pink all at once. blinky blinks quicker with that heart - rate of hers and he ‘ s too close for her to cover him. which is her general instinct.

“ you ‘ re a little fucking shitheel. “

nice recovery ! she managed ! but she makes her leg stop going bounce - bounce - bounce.

“ thanks for the lapdance , old man. “