#war machine lockscreen

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

koa is my child 🥹🫶🏻 also i finished the video game au, its here

part fifteen

❝ EXPLODING GATORADE ❞

MONDAY — JULY 23 — 8:01AM

THE DINING HALL WAS THE SINGLE LARGEST ROOM BENTLEY HAD EVER SEEN IN HIS WHOLE LIFE.

It had to be, like, two whole gymnasiums put together. The whole thing had this old, restored hardwood, the walls lined with dark wainscoting. There were iron chandeliers dangling from the ceiling that had to cost more than his internal organs, and there were at least, like, three hundred fancy wooden tables peppered across the room.

Bentley blinked. There were lots of uniformed students in there (probably, like, a few hundred), filling the room with an overlapping buzz of excited voices, moving here and there, from table to table.

Redwood Academy also had the absolute bane of his entire existence -- a food line.

Bentley hated food lines.

As soon as they entered the dining hall, Valor, who was leading the pack (and getting stared at, because apparently even metahumans weren't very used to wings.) plopped his bag down at one of the tables closest to the door.

"Man, the line is already closed," He muttered. Which had to be the single most pleasant thing Bentley had heard all morning. At this point, he'd take absolutely anything to help ease his crippling anxiety.

“We did leave over half an hour after we were supposed to,” Koa replied, putting his bag on the round table, too, with a thump. Bentley followed behind them and chose a random wooden chair — Varian ended up to his left, Bellamy to his right. Asten was straight across.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to save the day,” Varian said from Bentley’s side — he looked… not so dead anymore. Presentable, with a little actual color to his skin and life to his eyes. He pulled his red backpack off his back and unzipped it, stuck his hand in, and retracted it with a whole box of s'mores flavored pop-tarts that he tossed on the table. “Ta-da.”

Bentley almost wondered why he carried around so many pop tarts, but he guessed it was incase his blood sugar went low throughout the day. Bentley was starting to understand him a little more — if the machine said it was low, eat. If it said it was high, push buttons.

That was pretty much the extent of his knowledge. (But it was more than it had been, like, two days ago. Which was good.)

Valor grabbed the box of pop-tarts and pulled one out, passing it along to Rockie.

“Does anyone have Ms. Heidi for English first period?” Koa questioned, pulling a schedule out of his pocket that already looked crumpled and torn, like it had been through a war. “I think I might die in her class alone.”

Bentley blinked, pulling his phone out of his blazer pocket and clicking it on. (He definitely hadn’t made his schedule his lockscreen wallpaper so he didn’t have to keep up with the page… and his home screen wallpaper definitely wasn’t the map of the campus buildings…)

He hummed in acknowledgment when he scanned the teacher’s name under his first period class. “I do.”

"Thank goodness," Koa breathed, grabbing the pop-tart box as Rockie handed it to him, pulling one out and sliding it to Asten. "We can suffer together."

Bentley wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant.

"I have math first," Rockie announced with a shudder. He had already given up on opening his pop-tarts the right way and was now just shaking the bag violently, creating a loud rustling noise that made heads from a few surrounding tables turn. "Who wants to do math at eight in the morning?"

"Literally no one," Valor replied. Rockie's pop-tart flew out of his hand and hit Koa in the side of the head, to which Koa replied by impulsively throwing his own package of pop-tarts back at him. They hit Rockie's head with a flap and fell into his lap.

Bentley stayed quiet, watching the pop-tart box move from Asten, to Varian, and then to him. There was only one pack left by the time it made it to him.

He pulled it out, set the empty box on the table, and held it out toward Bellamy.

Bellamy looked at the silver package with a few shocked blinks, then shifted his gaze to Bentley, like he half expected him to snatch it away and laugh in his face as soon as he reached for it. Bentley didn't move -- only looked back at Bellamy for a quiet moment.

Eventually, Bellamy's gaze broke away from his own, and he slowly slid it out of his fingertips.

"I have trigonometry this year. Which translates to actual living hell," Valor muttered, taking a bite out of one of his pop-tarts. "And not a soul I know is in it with me."

"Ugh -- that's rough," Varian grumbled.

There was a sudden skidding noise, and Bentley looked down just in time to catch a pack of pop-tarts that was sliding across the table to him. When he glanced up, his eyes met Asten's.

He slid them back.

Valor kept talking, but Bentley didn't hear. He was too focused on the fact that Asten had narrowed his emerald eyes into nothing more than slits and was glaring at him like he'd cut off all his hair while he was sleeping.

Asten slid them back, again.

Bentley scrunched up his face at him, but Asten kept on glaring, like he was just daring him to slide them back. He got this triumphant look on his face when Bentley reached up and peeled open the silver packaging, pulling out one of the tarts.

Then he slid the other one back to him.

Asten feigned another glare as he caught the silver package, but said nothing; and even despite all the glowering he was doing, he never slid it back.

Bentley took a small bite out of the corner of the tart, which tasted like cardboard and very fake chocolate.

"You're eating these without a toaster? Psychotic, all of you," Koa grumbled, though he, too, was opening his package. "What a bunch of weirdos."

"No one puts pop-tarts in the toaster!" Varian argued, and Koa made an exasperated sound.

"They're called pop-tarts because they pop! Out of a toaster!"

“You’re canceled,”

Bentley simply watched the exchange play out in front of him, keeping quiet. If he listened hard enough, he could hear other conversations from around the room, and if he listened harder than that, he could hear hundreds of heartbeats. He made purposefully sure not to listen that hard.

Instead, he watched the other students move about the room. They were all wearing uniforms that matched his, except the girls were wearing green and gold checkered skirts that he was pretty sure some had rolled at the top so they were purposefully shorter.

There wasn’t much personalization that could be done with their uniforms, so most students seemed to take liberties with other things, like jewelry, makeup, and hair. There were a lot more kids at Redwood with colored hair than there had been at Gotham Academy. Asten had stuck out like a sore thumb there with his blue hair, but here, he sort of fit in — just in the dining hall alone, Bentley could see heads of blue, green, red, pink, and orange peppered across the room. Some of the girls wore dainty, pretty jewelry, while others covered every available part of their faces and ears with piercings, and had their wrists completely hidden from view by bracelets. There were some girls he wasn’t even sure what their faces looked like through all their makeup — and while there had been a few of those at Gotham, there were not nearly as many as there were at Redwood.

(He did guess Redwood was in New York, though — which probably made a big difference in variety. It took a special kind of person to settle down and have kids in Gotham.)

A few more minutes passed where he simply listened to his roommates chatter about everything and nothing, continuously glancing at the time on his phone. It felt like hours of listening and staring and checking until the time flicked from 7:54am to 7:55am, and a loud bell emanated through the hall, bouncing off the walls and echoing out the doors.

Everyone moved at once -- including everyone at his table -- the already loud chatter increasing in volume. Bentley stood and gathered his things with a sigh, shoving the rest of his half eaten pop-tart in his mouth. His first class was English, which was in the Austen building, he thought, which was… somewhere outside. Among the dozens of other buildings that all looked the same.

The seven of them integrated into the crowd of students moving like a school of fish toward the doors, and Bentley made sure to keep Koa’s curly blonde hair in his view, because he seemed to know where he was going.

As they worked their way out of the building with what seemed like every other teenager in the world, all packed into the halls like sardines, Bentley felt a tug on his blazer sleeve.

When he glanced down, Bellamy had the fabric balled up in one of his hands, staying close by his side to avoid getting lost in the crowd.

Bentley let him.

—

Completely unbeknownst to Bentley, the Austen building was all the way across the entire campus. Which left him and Koa no other option but literally running to make it there on time — which most of the students were also doing, so at least they didn’t look out of place. Bentley was one-hundred percent sure they looked like they’d just survived a hurricane by the time they stumbled through the doors of the building, and he was thankful there were no teachers in the nearly-empty halls to give them dirty looks about running indoors. The place looked very similar to the dorm buildings, though the halls were swirling by so quickly Bentley didn’t have much time to look in much detail — hardwood, fancy lights, and dark wainscoting was about all he really managed to catch.

He and Koa pounded up a few flights of wooden stairs, Bentley staying right on his heels. He’d said he knew where he was going, so he was relying on him entirely — thankfully, it paid off.

They crossed the threshold of a classroom Bentley definitely wouldn’t be able to find his way back to, mere milliseconds before the late bell rang.

(He was never leaving the dorm after seven again.)

Unsurprisingly, they seemed to be the last ones there. The room was large, set up like a lecture hall with several ascending levels of tables that were all curved to face a center podium. There was almost a whole wall of windows, one of which was open to let the breeze in. There had to be at least twenty-five other students in there, chattering softly, and even when he scanned the teacher’s desk nestled into the front corner of the room, there was no teacher in sight. All eyes were immediately on them -- Bentley took to scanning for empty seats instead of looking at anyone, which rewarded him with an empty two-person table in the very back left corner of the room, on the highest level.

Koa seemed to see it, too, because he was making his way there before Bentley even got a chance to move.

He followed behind, painfully aware of all the dozens of eyes that were on him, keeping his gaze glued to the hardwood that was moving under his feet. (Of course they’d be the last ones to class on their first day, looking ridiculous because they’d just run full-speed across the entire campus. Why wouldn’t they?)

He and Koa made it to the back desk without doing anything dumb, like falling or embarrassing themselves.

Bentley took a seat in the rightmost wooden chair and hung his backpack on the back of it. He took a minute to scan the room in better detail, this time -- all the available wallspace was taken up by various posters of musicals, plays, books, and the like. The desk in the front corner was littered with little figures and knick-knacks that looked really weird and confusing. There was a bookshelf shoved against the wall in every spot there could be, full of colorful hardcovers, a giant, multicolored rug spread on the lowest level beneath the podium, and curtains varying in color on all of the windows. It was then that he noticed the tables were numbered, too -- the one he and Koa had claimed had a blue laminated paper stuck on it, with the number 14 written on in fancy calligraphy.

“Where’s the teacher?” Bentley questioned softly, glancing over at Koa and unzipping his bag. He pulled out a blue binder that he had dubbed his English binder.

Koa sighed lightly when he sat down in his chair, pulling out a small ringed notebook from his bag.  “You’ll see.”

Bentley said nothing; but, for the record, he did not enjoy the cryptic responses.

“Have you had her class before?” He continued, and Koa glanced over at him, nodding.

“Yeah, I had her last year. She’s very… eccentric,”

“What’s that mean?”

“Weird,”

Well, at least she wasn’t going to kidnap them and turn them into metahumans, Bentley thought sourly. The class continued to sit and chatter, reveling in the newfound freedom of, apparently, having no professor at all. There were two tables of girls a few rows in front of them that kept giggling and looking back, their faces flushing pink every time they stole a glance to their table. There was a table of two boys next to them, too, who kept looking at the girls, then across the room at Bentley and Koa like they were considering murder.

It didn’t take a genius to realize those girls were utterly mesmerized by Koa. (Why wouldn’t they be? He was California.)

As much as Bentley expected him to make some kind of response, he just sighed, turning to face him instead. “So… how are you liking Redwood so far?” Was what he came up with to say, though Bentley was pretty sure he was just trying to get those girls to stop being so weird about him.

Bentley shrugged, glancing down at his binder. “I mean, I like it. I like you and our roommates, but the party thing was a little… stressful.”

Koa shrugged. “I get that. Sorry, by the way. I guess we should’ve given it some thought before going and getting everyone drunk with new kids in the dorm.”

“It’s okay,” Was all Bentley said. “You don’t have to change what you do on my account.”

Koa shrugged, glancing down at his notebook. “Not just you -- I’m pretty sure Bellamy is traumatized.”

“Why?” Bentley questioned. Koa glanced back up at him with a shrug.

“He was sleeping on the couch when Valor started dragging us all back to the dorm. We were all pretty sick and out of it, woke him up. He ran to his room and I’m… pretty sure he started crying. But I’m not sure why,” Koa admitted, blinking at the table beneath his hands. “He’s… I don't know. Seems really… young. I’m not sure why they roomed him with us. I think he’s horrified of all of us except you.”

Bentley shrugged lightly. Why, of all people, did Bellamy gravitate toward him? He wasn’t like Dick, or Jason, or Bruce, or any of the people he gravitated to when he was younger.

No, he was like Tim. Tim who had anxiety, too, who thought he was a burden, who wanted the very best for everybody but himself. Tim who dealt with the same things Bentley dealt with, who knew what to do because he’d been through it, too. 

Was that why Bellamy…?

“Do you think he’d be more comfortable with kids his age?” Bentley questioned, glancing down at his binder, then back up at Koa.

Koa shrugged, repeatedly flicking the pages of his notebook. “I’m not sure he’d be comfortable anywhere. Feeling safe at this school is a process for everyone, since pretty much none of us have pleasant backgrounds.”

Bentley hummed in agreement, quietly noting the fact that Koa had basically admitted to not having a pleasant background, tabling that fact in the back of his mind. He didn’t know much about Koa, really, other than the fact that he was from California and lived with a really young guy who took care of him. He wondered where he came from.

Suddenly, a crumpled up piece of letter paper hit Koa in the back of the head with a quiet thwack, bouncing down onto their table. Bentley blinked, glancing across the room to see who it’d come from -- the four girls were now quieter, facing forward, and the two boys were watching them like hawks with these mischievous looks on their faces.

Koa rolled his eyes, grabbing the paper and unraveling it. Bentley could see words and a drawing faintly from the underside, but he couldn’t quite make it out. So he paid attention to his expression instead, watching carefully as Koa scanned the words, seeming mostly unbothered -- but his eyes widened slightly when they flicked down to the drawing. He kept his expression closely bridled, probably to not give the other boys the satisfaction they wanted, but Bentley was in-tune enough with the subtleties of people's mannerisms (thanks to his father.) that he didn’t miss the quiet inhale Koa sucked in upon first glance at the doodle, the way his eyebrows pitched inward the slightest bit. Bentley heard those other boys laughing and muttering from across the room.

Koa crumbled up the paper again and shoved it in his blazer pocket, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t look at anyone, either.

Bentley glanced over at the pair of boys, who were chuckling and laughing amongst themselves. The left one, one with black hair and dead, brown eyes, turned back toward Koa and made a sad face where he puckered his bottom lip out. Then he laughed with his friend and reached into his bag, withdrawing a bottle of red Gatorade. 

So Bentley just sat there, looking awfully innocent as the drink all but exploded in his face with a pop. Red liquid went everywhere -- up his nose, in his hair, all over his uniform and the table and his friend. The girls next to them burst into laughter, as did most of the other students around the room.

Koa blinked a few times, then glanced over at Bentley, who looked back at him and shrugged lightly.

A small smile tugged on the corners of Koa’s lips, and Bentley watched the boy rise from his desk, wiping his red-coated face with the also-soaked sleeves of his blazer. “What the hell, McClaine?!”

Koa shrugged innocently. “You know what my powers are -- I didn’t do a thing.”

Apparently, Bentley either looked too innocent and harmless, or the mean guy didn’t want to waste time on him -- because he marched out of the classroom, closely followed by his friend, and left all the other students catching their breath from laughter. 

Koa glanced over at him, smiling lightly. “Thanks,” He whispered, though it still had sort of a sad sound to it, if he listened hard enough.

Bentley smiled faintly back at him. “You’re welcome.”

--

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere @skylathescholarly @beatyoutothatusernameloser

[themculibrary]

Idiots in Love Masterlist

About Damn Time (ao3) - Neda5555 yelena/kate E, 7k

Summary: Kate has a very raunchy one night stand after completing a recon mission in Paris.

And the World's Alright With Me (ao3) - Abraxas sarah/bucky M, 26k

Summary: ‘You wanna be fighting Thanos every week? I mean, I’m sure we can get you a time-machine and you can go fight Thanos every week.’

‘Hardly,’ Bucky says, ignoring the spiky sarcasm in Sam’s tone. ‘But, c’mon: two weeks ago we had that jackass on the stilts. Stilts, Samuel.’

He huffs out a breath of laughter. ‘Yeah… What was his name again?’

Bucky’s feet stutter slightly and he blinks at Sam. ‘Stilt-Man.’

‘Oh, yeah, right.’

‘Not like he was hard to take down, I don’t know why they even called us in.’

‘Yeah, I remember.’

‘All we had to do was string a rope across the road and he did, quite literally, go down.’

‘I know, Buck, I was there!’ Sam shoots him an exasperated side-eye and sees the faint curl of Bucky’s lips because, right, it’s the patented Sam-baiting grousing.

‘And now this guy? And what’s with the stupid costume?’

It was supposed to be a day off. But there's a supervillain in Delacroix, the press have descended and Sarah's wearing her short shorts. There's no way this ends well, right?

Right?!

Broken Hearted (ao3) - MoreThanAFeeling (Daretodream66) steve/bucky G, 6k

Summary: Steve and Bucky were together before. Bucky believes that he's finally going home to Steve, but misunderstandings happen.

Can't Stop the Feeling (ao3) - MoreThanAFeeling (Daretodream66) steve/bucky, pepper/tony E, 31k

Summary: Sniper James Barnes is taken by Hydra and tortured into a version of the Winter Soldier, then he's experimented on and changed. Steve and the Avengers find him and bring him home to the Compound. He only trusts Steve at first and a relationship builds from there.

Come Home (ao3) - Devilbearingtrouble loki/mobius T, 1k

Summary: Farmers markets, bad coffee, and gods with their hands in the dirt. - ooey-gooey-lovey domestic fluff; you've been warned.

devil's in the details (but you got a friend in me) (ao3) - lovecamedown sam/bucky T, 12k

Summary: TFATWS Sambucky falling in love. That's it that's the fic

/

“You have me as your lockscreen?” Bucky asks. “Do you even know what that means? You sound like you don’t know.”

Hits Different (ao3) - e_afterlife wanda/natasha E, 69k

Summary: Natasha loved having Yelena and the Avengers together, with her. She could get used to eating every night with Wanda on one side and her sister on the other. Her two families, together, finally. But she wished her sister had come under different circumstances, not because she needed her help. Oh, they'd destroyed most of the red room, but they still had to get rid of the roots, and Yelena had come across the most persistent of them all. And maybe Natasha will have to accept help from the other Avengers in progress, and maybe her relationship with Wanda will evolve during all this.

Basically a fic of Natasha’s journey to put an end to the red room once and for all, and accept other people's love (well, especially Wanda's).

This is a slow burn that takes place after the events of 'Civil War' and 'Black Widow' but they're still one big happy family together after that... So it's an AU, I guess.

in the veil of night (ao3) - minhyongi loki/tony T, 8k

Summary: “You would have me use my magic on you to aid with your sleep?” Loki asked, disbelief and curiosity of equal measure glinting in his eyes. And something else that was telling Tony that this was probably not a good idea. Then again, he had barely managed three hours of sleep over the past two days and fuck, he was simply desperate.

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I was hoping for,” Tony answered truthfully.

Or: Tony can't sleep and Loki is the only one who can help him. What could possibly go wrong?

my plus one has a plus four (ao3) - starksnack steve/tony T, 7k

Summary: five first date attempts + one first date

Right Where He Ought to Be (ao3) - allthecleverusernamesaretaken matt/karen M, 5k

Summary: A postscript to S3E11. If Matt had gone to Karen after Fisk was arrested.

Send in the Clowns (ao3) - Daretodream66 steve/bucky M, 25k

Summary: Steve wakes up in the 21st Century and everything is still wrong. He finds friends in the strangest places and finds out that he doesn't have to hide who he is. There's marriage, mating, babies and Bucky loves him through all of that.

Simple Man (ao3) - Daretodream66 steve/bucky T, 13k

Summary: Fury does the unthinkable and Steve runs. Hiking in Northern California Steve finds what he's always been searching for. Yeah, it's Bucky.

And Alpine is in this one, but not what you think.

Six (thousand) Kisses (ao3) - Ducking_Mad wanda/natasha G, 902

Summary: A catalog of ScarletWidow kisses

Something just like this (ao3) - lexi531 yelena/kate E, 12k

Summary: After the events of Christmas, Kate is feeling lost and alone.

And then Yelena comes crashing back into her life. Bringing chaos and hopefully happiness.

spark me up, i'm a firework (i'll burst into light) (ao3) - coffeeinallcaps sam/bucky E, 6k

Summary: "You know how the super-soldier serum makes everything, well, super? I guess you could say that's what happened to my sex drive."

"Okay," Sam says, processing. "So you..."

"I get really turned on," Bucky says. "As in, really turned on. I don't lose control or whatever, it's not like that, but I get really desperate for it. I start begging for it. I don't even know what I'm saying half the time, I just want it so bad."

"Okay," Sam repeats slowly, nodding in a way that he hopes conveys "Go on, I'm listening respectfully," rather than "This conversation is giving me a raging hard-on."

The Box (ao3) - KatrioneSpecterRossi bucky/tony E, 10k

Summary: “...so you see I couldn't digitize it yet because of the--”

“--yeah, yeah, corporate espionage, file servers, arithmancy, encryption, terametaflops….I get it. You said it was on a green sheet of paper?”

"I said it was on a blue sheet of paper. Did you try the box?”

“The box under the desk? No, lemme take a loo--”

“NO! Not in that box!”

“Tony, what is all this…” Bucky’s line of thought trailed off as he fingered through a rather large box that was stuffed full of old Captain America comics. No, not Captain America comics. It took him all of two seconds to notice that these were all comics (and action figures, and….oh god, why did they even make these?) that exclusively featured one James Buchanan Barnes.

“Tony, why do you have all this….Tony?”

It was then that he realized the connection had gone dead. Eight unanswered phone calls later, he realized that something very, very bad may have just happened.

You Remember? (ao3) - WaitASecondWhat steve/bucky, pepper/tony T, 9k

Summary: Steve's journey of getting Bucky back and Bucky trying to remember his life before Hydra.

Kind of a Civil War rewrite because I hate it when they fight.

You're My World (ao3) - whiskeyandsparks sam/bucky E, 6k

Summary: “I… oh, I get it now.” Sam tilted his head, perceptive as ever, goddammit. “All this flirting with my sister, that was just to get my attention, wasn’t it? I know it was. Say it.”

“That wasn’t—” Bucky croaked, but Sam wasn’t having it.

He huffed a low laugh, and bulldozed right through Bucky’s feeble pretense. “You like it when I pin you against the wall? Take away all that power you have, that strength that your arm gives you? Make you feel small, maybe?”

[stuffsebastianstan]

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Avengers Endgame lockscreens

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Tony & Rhodes Lockscreens

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Tony + Rhodey Lockscreen🖤

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Catch me always making iPhone wallpaper that I never end up using. Might as well share it with you guys.

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Wallpapers/Lockscreens

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Our Marvel Mens Background/Lockscreen

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Get to know the Mun

What’s your phone wallpaper: My lockscreen wallpaper changes semi-frequently, but right now it's one of my favorite screenshots of my Quintus alt because I Just Think He's Neat. My actual wallpaper on there, though, is this pretty starry dusk sky to try and match with my Sailor Moon phone case.

Last song you listened to: Foo Fighters - Saint Cecilia, which I am ... currently listening to again, for the fifty-billionth time today.

Currently reading: I haven't sat down to read a book in forever; my attention span won't let me. But I am currently reading a gathering and crafting melding guide? So we'll just smile and nod and pretend that counts.

Last movie: A WWII movie called "Come And See". If you're into that sort of thing, I do recommend it.

Craving: Absolutely nothing. 8D

What are you wearing right now: Uh... khakis? In all seriousness, I'm wearing jeans and a purple slightly-bell-sleeved top.

How tall are you?: 5'7"!

Piercings / tattoos ?: Just my ears pierced.

Last thing you ate?: I may have just finished eating a little chocolate pie before I started answering this.

Favorite color(s): It's a toss-up between silver and blue, or gold and red. But I also really like pink and purple, especially softer shades.

Current obsession: FFXIV, Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs even though the game is old as fuck by this point, uh. That's kind of all I can think of at the moment, besides history -- primarily late 19th century/American Civil War up 'til the end of the second World War.

Any pets?: Six cats and one dog.

Do you have a crush right now?: Not really.

Favorite fictional character: Hmm. That's hard. I'll limit it to FFXIV characters, for the sake of not making a miles-long list.

In no particular order: Ameliance and Fourchenault Leveilleur, Aymerc de Borel, Raubahn Aldynn, Quintus van Cinna, Menenius sas Lanatus, Jullus pyr Norbanus, Minfilia Warde, Venat, Hythlodaeus, Hermes and Meteion, Dulia Chai and Chai-Nuzz, Kai-Shirr, Anogg and Konogg, Lucia goe Junius, Yotsuyu goe Brutus, Fordola rem Lupus, Misija Votyasch, like half of the fucking IVth Imperial Legion, Marsak and Basaljen of the Bozjan Resistance. Ryne and Gaia, Loghrif herself and Mitron too, Magnus gets thrown in there for breaking my heart, uh. Lahabrea, Themis, Erichthonios, Agdistis of course. Igeyorhm, Nabriales, Emet-Selch. The Warriors of Light from the First. I'm probably forgetting some, ngl.

... Actually, I lied about limiting it to FFXIV characters. Speaking of Magnus -- Magnus from MapleStory, as well as Von Leon from the same game. (Roleplaying as Von Leon is actually where my name "Vonny" stems from!) Oh and Oswald Mandus.

Last place you traveled: My sister and I went to this dog school about half an hour away to see about enrolling the puppup there because of her anxiety, and to help train her to be a service dog for my sister and dad.

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[rcvenger]

war machine and iron man lockscreens! please like/reblog if you use :) who’s your favourite marvel character? mine’s tony!

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lockscreen masterpost

welcome to the masterpost of content for this lockscreen blog! this post will be updated monthly, and can be reblogged upon request. tags are below the cut! this is also its own page on the dropdown menu for my blog, so this post is mostly for mobile users and housekeeping purposes.

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[aslightstep]

You’ve Got the Love

Song here

“And you’re gonna be okay?” Rhodey asked for the millionth time.

“You mean you’re not tired of babysitting me?” Tony said into the phone, his voice straddling the line between teasing and razor-sharp.

“If anyone’s doing the babysitting here, it’s you,” Rhodey responded, and they both fell quiet. Tony pictured Rhodey on the other end of the line, sequestered off in some quiet corner of his mother’s house while his relatives laughed and danced in the other room. Sometimes he couldn’t bear to watch. Sometimes when they were together Tony would do the most mundane thing, like stretch up for a coffee mug on a high shelf or lean down to grab something off the floor, and when he turned back to his friend Rhodey was turning away, his hand over his mouth.

Tony, sitting in the quiet of his car as it idled in front of the empty Avengers compound, felt like he could finally understand that feeling, however superficially. New York had been on fire tonight, but he watched the people celebrate the incoming new year like a fish in a bowl. He had left the company party early, unable to stand it. Their happiness. Their easy companionship.

“Any New Years Resolutions, boss?” he asked, turning the car off. One thing at a time.

Rhodey, after a long moment, snorted derisively. “You know if either one of us make any we’ll never keep ‘em.”

“How about we keep it short term, then? Once we hang up, you put on your dancing legs and have fun with the family.”

“Yeah, okay. Only if you get out of the damn car and go inside. Go hug the bots or something, tell FRIDAY you love her.”

Tony swallowed hard. “Square deal, Rhodey-pie. Starting now?”

“See you next week, Tones.”

The call disconnected and he took the phone away from his ear. The lockscreen picture showing Iron Man, War Machine, and the Black Panther’s helmets stacked precariously on top of one another made him smile briefly, but it fell away with a sharp pang in his gut as he remembered the old version: Cap’s cowl, Thor’s winged helmet, and Iron Man’s faceplate, side by side.

That was a different phone. A different suit, a different team. 

A different year.

“Happy New Year, Stark. You made it,” he muttered bitterly to himself, then got out of the car.

The compound was dark, only a few lights on, but FRIDAY had raised the temperature at some point. He crossed through the lobby to the interior barracks, his plan of attack well-established by now: he would head straight to his room. He would not pass go, or Steve’s room, or Nat’s. He would not collect 200 hundred dollars, or make sure the kitchen was still stocked with all of Wanda and Vision’s crazy experimental crap or call a certain royal. He would go to his room. He would go to sleep. He would wake up and do it all over again.

That’s why the piece of paper on the door was particularly shocking. He stared at it for a long moment, confused by its mere existence until the familiar shape of his writing caught his eye, tangling alongside another’s, neater and more self-conscious.

It was the piece of paper he and T’Challa had passed between themselves the first time they met to discuss the Accords after the fight. The bureaucrats had shouted over each other and Tony had been nursing a headache since Siberia, so he wrote a note to T’Challa and slid it to him like they were in grade school.

‘You think they’ll even notice if we blow this popsicle stand?’

T’Challa had frowned at the note, then Tony, who had just gestured around the room with a succinct eyebrow lift. T’Challa huffed, lips quirking, and had actually written back. ‘In a fight this would be the time to launch our surprise offensive.’

‘Only if we weren’t fighting each other while we were at it. Tell me all your secrets, kitty cat.’

The paper was then filled with their hopes for the revised Accords. Now, a new note was written, in different pen.

‘The first time I truly met Tony Stark. To you, Tony.’

“Uh, FRIDAY?” Tony asked, pulled the paper down and running his fingers over the words.

“If you will proceed further into the compound, boss,” FRIDAY replied helpfully to his unanswered question.

“Is he in there? I mean of course he is, but where?” Tony asked, pulling open the door. In response, FRIDAY turned on one of the lights, revealing something on the wall.

“It’s still ten minutes to midnight, Cinderella,” she joked. “Why don’t you enjoy the ball?”

“You realize Cinderella has to run away from the prince afterwards, right?”

“Since when have you ever followed a script?”

Never, except in this case in might be a good idea. Tony hadn’t seen or heard from T’Challa in a month, and given the way they’d parted, it had made him incredibly nervous.

He’d kissed him. And T’Challa was gone the next day. 

Tony didn’t get to keep good things, he should have learned by now. It was pointless to keep trying. And yet, for T’Challa...for the chance that the kindness and humor and compassion he’d seen could even belong just a little to Tony, he’d do anything. He’d try again.

The second surprise was a picture that had grown somewhat famous over the past few months: T’Challa and Tony shaking hands amidst a sea of reporters and politicians, smiles on both their face as they finalized the first amended version of the Accords. ‘To legacy. To King T’Chaka of Wakanda.’

Three through five were pictures of the New Avengers, such as they were, in various states of exhaustion after battles. There was one that had been taken the moment after the publicity photos were finished, where Peter, T’Challa, Tony, and Vision had all sort of slumped into one huge puddle. It ended up being the front page photo instead. ‘To the battles we have won, and to those we have not fought yet,’ the note for this one read.

Next was Iron Man and Black Panther, feet entangled as they relaxed in a spider-web hammock Peter had strung up for them while they waited for an on-site debrief. ‘To the moments in between.’

Five was Rhodey’s first day back, in the truly massive War Machine they had designed together to accommodate his injury. The team had fought together better than ever that day. ‘To the Avengers,’ T’Challa wrote, and when Tony put the pictures in his coat he was surprised at how hard he was breathing, his face flushed as he was holding something back with great effort.

Six was a video message from Peter, who was at some science boot camp Tony had enrolled him in as a Christmas present. “Tony!” He said excitedly. His eyes were manic in the familiar I-have-been-in-a-lab-for-39-hours kind of way. “This is so great, I can’t believe this! I know I already thanked you, but seriously, thank you thank you thank you. I wish you were here, though; the instructors won’t let us blow anything up. I told them that Tony Stark said that explosions were the mark of true science, but for some reason they didn’t believe me. Anyway...Happy New Years, Mr. Stark. See you soon!”

Seven was a message from Vision, who had been asked to do some repair work on the International Space Station. “The men and women up here are fascinating, but I find it is the stars that are truly keeping me company. I hope you are not alone on this night, but if you are, I suggest a bit of star-gazing. Orion is supposed to be particularly bright, tonight.”

‘To good friends, old and new.’

Eight was a blanket of newspaper clippings and articles detailing his first few years as Iron Man. ‘2008 was the year that you became Iron Man. You changed the world, and despite what you may think sometimes, I believe it was for the better. To Iron Man.’

And below that:

‘To Ho Yinsen. May he be proud of what we’ve done.’

Tony closed his eyes, hoping the same thing. He remembered when he blurted out “Yinsen would have liked you,” to T’Challa one day while they were working in the shop together, T’Challa waxing poetic with stars in his eyes about bringing Wakanda closer together without cutting them off from the outside world. Tony had admired him for that. T’Challa had refused to let himself be warped by his grief or anger.

He’d never told anybody, but Yinsen was barometer by which he rated everyone he met. He knew he loved someone when he could look at them and think how much Yinsen would have liked to meet them. Sometimes that love had not be rewarded, but Tony kept to it still. And T’Challa...knowing him had so far been reward enough.

Nine through eleven were: a playbill for Cats, the first play Tony had dragged T’Challa to; the beaten up pack of playing cards they had once spent an entire night playing with one night in Berlin; and schematics they had traded back and forth, Tony’s notes both precised and filled with various machine-related innuendos that T’Challa responded to with delightfully dry sarcasm.

‘To partnerships, and belonging.’

Twelve made his heart plummet and then soar to catch somewhere in his throat. It was a tiny little picture, Iron Man sailing in the skies, but it was the familiar art style that hit him hardest.

‘Steve has told me that you two first met in 2012, in the middle of saving the world. He wanted you to have this, and I have promised him you wouldn’t destroy it. A king cannot break his promise, Tony. Be kind. To forgiveness, and to being forgiven.’

Thirteen was a status update on Barnes’ progress with BARF. ‘To kindness and intelligence, the depths of which I have never seen.’ Tony snorted. Like that didn’t come from T’Challa’s pushing, his insistence that Tony was a good man. Tony was really only ever as good as the man at his back. He wanted to keep being this good, though. He wanted the feeling he got when he looked at the positive prognosis on Barnes. He wanted the hope T’Challa gave him. 

He just wanted T’Challa, period.

And this? Maybe this meant he was wanted back. Even after a month of radio silence, maybe he could still hope.

Fourteen was a collection of cards from children all over the world that had been sent to Black Panther. The ones spread over the counter top all featured Iron Man, helping the Panther save the day, little kids and teens encouraging them to keep fighting. ‘Apparently, we have a good ‘aesthetic.’ We do look good together, I’ve always thought so. To heroism, however small, and the ripples it makes throughout the world.’

Tony stole a few of the cards, tucking them in with the pictures and Steve’s painting, and followed the lights, rounding the corner into the living room. T’Challa looked up from the last few candles he was lighting and smiled as a song began to play.

Fifteen. ‘La Vie En Rose.’ Tony felt his mouth work from grin to grimace and back again. “So my hope that you had dismissed that whole thing as a fever dream was kinda useless, huh?”

T’Challa’s smile faltered. “Tony-”

“I mean, Edith Piaf wailing away, us standing on the Eiffel Tower, and I kiss you? It’s a veritable storm of cliches. I would’ve marked it down to a dream myself.” His first instinct was always self-defense.

“Tony,” T’Challa said again, quietly, more firmly, stepping close. “I am deeply sorry. I did not mean to leave you that way. But our schedules are so hectic, and I couldn’t say what I wanted to say over the phone.”

“’Not interested’ is pretty easy to say, Pantherosity,” Tony mumbled to the ground, wanting so badly to lean into the embrace but not quite capable of letting himself. Letting himself have this. “Five syllables. Four, if you decided to mumble. Which, you don’t.” He was rambling. He was nervous.

T’Challa’s laugh rumbled in his chest. “Do you really think I would have done all this if I wasn’t interested?”

Tony finally gathered the courage to look up at him, giving in to his worse instincts, being selfish. “Okay. So tell me you love me, then.”

“I love you,” T’Challa said easily, as simple as breathing, and Tony felt his jaw drop. 

“You - you do?”

“I do. I should have called, I know, but I - I knew you might get the wrong idea, if you couldn’t see it -me- for yourself. The way I look at you. Ev-everyone has said I’m terribly obvious, but it can’t be helped. I want to be obvious. I want you to know how much I care for you. And I wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised,” Tony said dazedly. T’Challa smiled at him, dipping the pad of his thumb into the hollows of Tony’s face, as if memorizing him.

With his other hand, he reached to his neck and pulled out his necklace. There was another one now, tangled up in it, smaller and on a more delicate chain. A single vibranium claw hung from it like the world’s deadliest teardrop.

“I was also making this,” T’Challa whispered, lifting it over his head and placing it over Tony, fidgeting so it laid just so while Tony stared. Sixteen. “Be mine,” the king whispered, tugging Tony closer. 

“Turnabout fair play here?” Tony asked before their lips could touch, and T’Challa grinned. 

“I have been yours since that kiss, Tony. All you must do now is claim me.”

“10,” FRIDAY began. “9, 8. 7-”

“I can do that,” Tony said, to himself or to T’Challa or to both of them. “I can have this.” He’d lost so much, they both had, but T’Challa pressed impossibly closer he felt the pictures and paintings and letter in his jacket crunch in closer to his heart. Yeah, he’d nearly lost it all. But he’d gained more than he could have ever hoped for, too. 

“3, 2, 1! It is now 2017, gentlemen.”

Their lips touched, and fireworks exploded. Seventeen.

Happy New Year, Stark. You made it.

“Oh!” Tony said, pulling away, pleased at mournful little noise T’Challa made. “I love you, too.” T’Challa’s eyes lit up and Tony found himself laughing, pulling him back in. “Now we may proceed.”

To love, and trust, and your skin on mine. To us.