polite scorn of a Canadian
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Very, very few people are allowed to hand things to Tony Stark. Steve has to fight to become one of them, and in the process, becomes something more.
Bookmarked by tomioneer
10 Mar 2015
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Tony is traumatized; Steve wants to understand; Pepper helps; JARIVS takes after Daddy.
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Worlds Enough and Time by Rainne, secondalto
Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Doctor Who (2005), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
06 Jun 2014
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Bucky Barnes and his best friend Steve Rogers, along with the rest of the Howling Commandos, boarded a train in the Alps on a hunt for Arnim Zola. By misfortune, Bucky fell from that train, and Steve was unable to save him.
That fall was a fixed point in time; it cannot be changed.
What happened after, though? Well, that can be changed. Especially if you have a TARDIS.
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Bookmarked by tomioneer
29 May 2015
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Fury sighed. “We built a mock-up of a 1940s hospital room. We'd hoped it would be a more familiar environment where we could explain what had happened to him. Ease him in gently.”
“But you mucked it up,” Martha guessed.
“We had a baseball game on. Turned out, it was from the wrong year - 1941. Rogers was at the game.”
“Lazy research,” Martha tutted. “So he caught on. And then?”
“And then he panicked. Thought he was being held. He broke out of the facility and went running down the street. We caught up to him and I had him calmed down, getting ready to bring him back in, when that crazy man in the blue box showed up. He acted like he knew him, called him by name, waved that metal hand at him, and Rogers jumped right into that box and disappeared.”
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I Will Find a Way to You (If It Kills Me) by notwithoutyou (orphan_account)
Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
16 Jun 2015
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"Don't say stuff like that," Steve tells him. "Don't joke about that."
"Oh, please, Steve. No use denying it." Bucky sighs and rests a hand at Steve's side. "Guys like me, we don't come back."
"What, you scared?" Steve teases thickly. It's easier than acknowledging the weight of the statement. Bucky's prepared himself to go out there and die, and Steve- Steve hasn't.
(Bucky kisses Steve for a few years before Steve finally kisses back.)
Bookmarked by tomioneer
16 Jun 2015
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"What, too scared, Rogers?" Bucky presses. It's too close, it's too close to Brooklyn them in the bars, it's too close for Steve to bear.
"Too in love with someone else," Steve snaps. Bucky shuts up at that, wide blue eyes locked on Steve's. "I can't do that to Peggy, you know I can't."
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On the Ropes by monicawoe for counteragent
Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
05 Feb 2015
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Part 1 - Steve takes a life-drawing class, Bucky is his model.
Part 2- After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Steve wants to enlist. He asks Bucky to teach him how to box.
Bookmarked by tomioneer
17 Jun 2015
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The Eagle had picked one of Steve's portrait sketches of Bucky to run instead of the sketches he'd done the night of the fight—they'd picked a photo for the fight event itself. There was a disconnect between those two versions of Bucky—Steve's own fine lines, showing Bucky's kind eyes and the curve of his mouth. The photo showed Bucky throwing one of the many hooks that had connected with Cooper's face. Cooper's head was bent back, Bucky's eyes didn't have an ounce of kindness in them, and his mouth was twisted in a wolf's snarl.
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It takes two more days for you to finally throw in the fucking towel because you hate the silence and in the past year, between two Shatterdomes and too many kaiju attacks, you’ve started to love the pointless bickering.
Bookmarked by tomioneer
05 Aug 2015
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You open your mouth and take a breath. Hermann looks over. You chicken out and start walking towards the door.
And then you stop, turn around, fingers drumming against your thigh, and blurt, “I’m asexual, okay?”
Hermann, to his credit, takes off his ridiculous grandpa reading glasses and gives you his full attention. But he doesn’t say anything. That’s not good news because your brain-mouth filter is–– -
“Asexual, like, asexuality, you know? Like a sexual orientation. Or, well, I guess, lack of a sexual orientation? Like, I don’t–”
“Doctor Geiszler–”
“–experience sexual attraction, if you wanna get really clinical about it, but it’s not like–”
“Doctor Geiszler–”
“–I’m a fucking eukaryote, contrary to what the fucking bio department–”
“Newt!”
You stutter to a stop, fingers still skittering across your jeans, bouncing one of your legs, and there’s panic bubbling just under your skin. oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god––
“I am fully aware of what asexuality is,” Hermann says, and if it was anyone other than Hermann, you’d probably describe his voice as gentle. “After-” He waves a hand. “I made some conjectures about what it had been that had upset you, and I apologize for upsetting you. I do appreciate you telling me. It’s not an easy undertaking.”
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No hurry to have sex. Which means Newt could put it off, keep thinking up excuses and pushing it back and - and -
And trap Hermann in a lie of a relationship that will never reach a natural conclusion.
God. Why did he think this would ever work?
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Bookmarked by tomioneer
07 Aug 2015
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When he puts the plate down in front of Hermann, he stares at it for a solid twenty seconds, then looks up at Newt who's fidgeting. “It’s tomato penne with chicken and spinach,” he says, even though Hermann’s got eyes and can probably tell for himself. “Not the greatest culinary delight but if you tell me what you like I can put an order in with Tendo and cook you some proper food -“
“This is some of the most proper food I’ve seen in many years,” Hermann says, and gestures for him to sit down. “And that only took you ten minutes?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty easy… but you’ve gotta try it before you weigh in."
Hermann tries it. There’s another long silence as he chews, looking down at his plate, then his eyes meet Newt’s again. “If you keep cooking like this,” he says, “I might have to marry you.”
Newt smiles. “I might have to let you.”
They look at each other for a moment, realize that there’s one serious future conversation out of the way, and go back to eating in companionable silence.
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don't want to miss a single thing you do tonight by thekaidonovskys
Fandoms: Pacific Rim (2013)
27 Jul 2014
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The floor is quiet and empty, the usual occupants off to slumber. But there are some inside who don’t have that luxury - some who are about to embark on the night shift.
Bookmarked by tomioneer
08 Aug 2015
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Here they are - Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler. Deep at work, and showing no signs of relenting, their lab looks exactly as it did ten hours ago, in the middle of the day. And it’s likely to look this way for another ten hours too.
This is the true night shift of the Shatterdome. The couch is in the corner of the room for a reason; in the aftermath of an attack, they’re both far too busy to think of getting anything near normal amounts of sleep. There’s too much to learn, too many new Kaiju parts and numbers and people needing to know what they’re up against and how much of a chance they have. It’s the work of ten men, and these two somehow manage it.
Tonight they’ve got a lot to do, and there’s nobody sweeping in to drag them off to bed. They are the only ones who could ever get one another to sleep, and they both know that they can’t afford that right now. So they talk - bicker - and keep each other alert and share findings.
And that’s simply how the night goes.
... When Hermann wakes in a few hours, the Shatterdome will be awake, and the day shift will be underway. For those who slept, there will be no sign that the hours they spent in slumber were used for work by others. They will not question the new facts winging their way out of the building, the new upgrades being prepared, the fact that the latest Kaiju apparently dissected itself.
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Four years after the events of Mass Effect 3, Kaidan finds Shepard at the Citadel, brushing dust off of his sleeves and carefully stacking a box of fish food on the shelves above him.
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Bookmarked by tomioneer
12 Sep 2015
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“ST-STOP,” David shouts. Kaidan tries to speak, to apologize, to say goodbye, but all that comes from his lips is a wet gasp. His heart beat is drumming in his veins, and he sees the glint of Leng’s sword, the metal flashing as he plunges it forward. There’s a sound of thunder as blue light floods his vision, and for a split-second Kaidan wonders if this is what death feels like. Then he opens his eyes (he hadn’t realized he’d even closed them, really), and he sees it. Shockwave.
“Get your hands off of him!”
The biotic charge comes next, and it tosses Kai Leng back half a dozen paces and nearly knocks Kaidan’s teeth out, but David’s suddenly standing between him and Shepard’s clone. His legs are planted and he’s got a gun in his hand, and half a dozen men are on the ground behind him. And just like that, Kaidan knows.
Everything Liara had said was true.
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After losing to Shiratorizawa in their final Spring High preliminary, Kageyama leaves Miyagi on a sports scholarship, and Hinata remains in Sendai for university. Or, that’s what Hinata thinks, until he runs into Kageyama on the first day of volleyball intramurals and they set out to form another winning combination.
Series
- Part 1 of love and victory
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Bookmarked by tomioneer
25 Feb 2016
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He spies the back of Kageyama’s jacket disappearing around a corner at the end of the corridor, and sprints after him. His hand closes around the loose fabric of his friend’s sleeve.
“Kageyama!”
The taller boy wheels around, shaking him off. His eyes are wet and he looks like he could take some of his rage out on Hinata. He is scary, even if he doesn’t realize it, but Hinata finds himself more concerned than frightened.
“What?”
“Don’t just run off.”
“Why? Why shouldn’t I run off, the game is done, we lost.”
He tries to keep going down the hall, but Hinata grabs his sleeve again.
“You can’t go,” he pleads. “We have to do our thing.”
“Our thing?”
“The thing we do when we lose.” They are starting to catch their breath, and Kageyama’s face opens under the realization. “We have to do it. It’s tradition.”
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“Fear not,” a voice says.
“Is that Morgan Freeman?” Shaundi asks.
Bookmarked by tomioneer
29 Mar 2016
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"...Maybe I’m incapable of normal human emotion. Maybe what I feel is just, like, some weird offshoot of emotion that’s the same as what large jungle cats have or something. How the hell would I know? I work with what I’ve got,” she explains, and god, it feels weird to say this shit out loud. “That’s how it is. If that’s not what you’re looking for, I get it. You can get off this crazy ride. No hard feelings.”
Matt stares at her for, like, a solid fucking minute.
“I think you have normal human emotions,” he says. “I think you’re absolutely terrible at dealing with them, however.”
“Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s you,” she replies. “My money’s on the jungle cat thing.”
“That does sound much cooler,” he concedes.
“Fuck yeah it does.”
______________________________________________
Turns out halos make for kind of shitty tethers, but shoving one into Matt’s hand has the interesting effect of making him convulse, sprout enormous white wings, and stare at her in horror.
“What the fucking hell just happened?!” he demands.
Then he falls over, because wings are heavy and awkward, apparently.
She glares at the other halos she’s got, betrayed.
“They don’t do that when I hold them,” she mutters. “Why the fuck not? I want wings, too. Wings are cool.”
Matt flails, catches sight of his wings out of the corner of his eye, shrieks, and falls over again.
“Stop freaking out,” she tells him. Then she blinks. “Oh. Hey. You’re freaking out. Does that mean you’re back to normal?”
“This isn’t Heaven,” Matt hisses at her. “This is some kind of candyfloss mindrape nightmare. Why do I have wings? Why are they fluffy? That doesn’t go with my aesthetic! What have I been doing?! Was I singing hymns?!”
“Thank fuck,” she says, with a surprising depth of sincere gratitude, and drags him back onto his feet.
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Some say laughter is the cure for everything, but they obviously never heard Miyuki laugh...
Series
- Part 1 of The Trajectory of Laughter
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- 47/47
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Bookmarked by tomioneer
29 May 2016
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"Strike three! Batter out!"
The crowds, a sea of faces surrounding them on all four sides, roared deafeningly. The sky above was a blue basin, filled with clouds.
It would all have been perfect, if it weren't for the singular dark line running down the upper left of his vision.
He'd found a slight crack on his sports glasses that morning. He had a spare, of course, but he didn't touch it. While the crack didn't hamper his vision in any way, it was still a bit distracting.
"Nice ball!" he called out, throwing the ball back. Tanba nodded and caught it. Adjusting his cap and then stamping down on the ground, Tanba took a deep breath.
He was nervous; Kazuya could tell. They were all a bit nervous. But they had come too far to be affected—the tension was working to keep them on their toes, instead of hampering their performance.
Top of the 6th, and the score was 4-2 in Seidō's favor. Tanba had really outperformed himself; his curveball had never been sharper. Despite not having had much actual gametime in the regional tournament, his pitching had gone up a level. The whole team had, in fact.
Their opponent, Nishiura High School was a school that had made a bit of a splash in the papers as a team almost completely comprised of second years, that'd only come together the previous year.
"Number three, second baseman, Sakaeguchi-kun."
Checking how the batter was setting up in the box, Kazuya signaled to Tanba, who nodded and straightened up. He winded up, raising his leg up high—and just then, for an instant, a cloud must have moved, for a sudden ray of sunlight shone across Kazuya's face. The crack in his glasses must have been bigger than he'd expected, because for a moment, the light filled his eyes. And for an instant, Tanba was gone. In his place was a shorter pitcher, one with an unorthodox pitching form and unpredictable moving fastballs...
The cloud moved back. Tanba threw, his hand coming down like a whip, and the ball flew towards Kazuya's mitt.
Slam!
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He always passes by that unusual deep red bird and finds himself vaguely wondering, in a distant thought, if he’s giving only an illusion of himself.
(Set two years post-Seidō - i.e. a few short years in the future, in which they're attending university).
Bookmarked by tomioneer
08 Jun 2016
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Somehow, Sawamura still appears rather drained when Kazuya drops by later that night, even though it’s been days since he’s completed his paper; Kazuya takes one look at the faint circles flourishing upon the undersides of those eyes and his stomach curls with a touch of something like regret. It’s too late, however, because Sawamura’s already meekly rubbing the back of his head and mumbling: ‘Hi. Sorry, I kinda – I don’t know if I have the energy for that tonight. It’s been a long day.’
Unquestionably, Kazuya fully understands. He’s wanted to let Sawamura be, to let him rest, from the very second that the other boy had opened the door and revealed his face: maybe that’s the captaincy instincts from his Seidō days kicking in – or maybe it’s more. And yet, either way, he still can’t stay the dim wonder that trickles over him upon hearing the rejection put into words; before this, Sawamura’s never turned him down.
‘Of course,’ he answers levelly. The statement falls out of his mouth like it’s automatic, like it’s programmed into him, and that invisible wall discreetly slides up; as usual, having been built with the tools of rationality and logic, he’ll deal with things as they come. But Sawamura actually looks thoroughly unimpressed at that, upper lip curling on one side, the space between his brows creasing.
‘Idiot. Why do you look like that. I want to,’ he admonishes with emphasis. ‘Can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s you – of course I’d always want to. I’m just really tired today and that probably won’t feel very good for you. You can still stick around, if you want.’
How typically, painfully selfless of Sawamura to spare Kazuya’s comfort such attention; an indistinct ripple blossoms within Kazuya’s belly. And aside from that, an undercurrent of a genuine offer glides beneath those words – that’s no throwaway, offhand remark that Sawamura’s just made.
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Miyuki looks at him and grins, looks at him keenly like he sees a pitcher, and Eijun dips his body into the gaze as if it’s sunlight.
Bookmarked by tomioneer
20 Jun 2016
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‘… What are these worlds like for you?’ says Miyuki with a melodic note of sedate interest, wiry fingers looping through tufts of grass, slipping towards Eijun’s own. ‘Why don’t you tell me how they exist, as you imagine them?’
A touch of wise, and a touch of bladed metal, a pinprick at the layers under Eijun’s skin. But the words aren’t unkind, and that smarts just a little more, maybe, cracked and hushed and wintry. He wilts in the corners, halfway to a sigh. ‘You think I’m just being stupid.’
‘I didn’t say that. I’m saying that if these worlds don’t exist anywhere else, they exist, at least, in your thoughts,’ Miyuki answers, firm voice and tight chest and skewing frown; but he softens at the edges, little by little, slanted mouth loose and heavy eyes graceful, a whisper of fibers going slack at the hems. ‘I mean, you spared a moment to think about them. You brought them up with me. If anything, that’s enough to say that they’re alive in some form, right?’
The epiphany sings sweetly enough, gold-lit and merciful, even when it glides from between Miyuki’s teeth. And Eijun already knows, maybe. That in some shadow-painted nook of his mind, he’s vaguely flirted with the idea of divine providence, riding on a multicolored dream of being a fixed point in the universe – in all the universes: a champion with a calling, a purpose. Miyuki sees a lot of things in black and white and grey, but he sees it all clearly, keen-eyed and waking.
‘Yeah, okay,’ says Eijun, and is dimly ignited by the quiet concentration Miyuki rests on him, a look that runs slow fingertips over the line of his wrist, a focus that quickens his pulse. He hasn’t really thought about these scenarios much at all, to be frank and honest; but even if they’re only blurs of mist, he’s felt their shapes and contours sitting deep in his belly in some way – a shrouded block of instinctual daydreams, a tucked-away sheaf of unopened diary pages. ‘Can you imagine if we only met and started playing together from college? Or if we met a lot further back and played together in a little league club. Or if we met only as pros—’
Recommended Music: You Matter To Me by Sara Bareilles
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A Solid Foundation by melonbutterfly
Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Political Animals
16 Sep 2015
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- 267
Bookmarked by tomioneer
02 Oct 2017
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"So," Steve says after a moment of awkward, oppressive silence. "Come here often?"
For some reason that makes the guy burst out laughing, though it doesn't sound particularly amused. "Really? Are you coming on to me or are you looking for a story? Because I gotta tell you, I'm really not in the mood for the whole secret reporter shit right now."
"I'm not a reporter." Steve frowns. Is the guy paranoid? Or famous? Or both? And also, what rock does he live under? It's neither conceited nor arrogant to assume that most people have seen Steve's face before, especially after the whole press chaos after the invasion. It had been quite impossible to escape, actually, he's been told by more than one person. Not to mention all the history books he's in.
"Prove it," the guy challenges with a smirk, but his eyes are cool.
Steve hitches up one eyebrow and pulls out his phone. He's allowed to use it in this area of the hospital, he'd checked, and he swiftly googles himself and pulls up his wikipedia page. Then he presents the website with his face plain to see to the guy.
It's sort of amusing, watching the guy's face transition from skepticism to confusion to disbelief. Then the guy exclaims, "Shit, I knew you were familiar!"
Steve shrugs and takes his phone back. "Definitely not a reporter. Why were you worried about that?"
The guy raises one eyebrow and makes a grabby hand for Steve's phone. Puzzled, Steve hands it back over and watches the guy google something. A moment later he hands the phone back to Steve, also with a wikipedia page pulled up, of one Thomas "T.J." Hammond, son of former President Bud Hammond and current Vice President Elaine Barrish. The photo shows the guy standing in front of him right now.
"Oh," Steve makes and grimaces a little, putting his phone back into his pocket. "Sorry. You weren't familiar to me. I don't really follow, uh, the popular press." That isn't about actual news, in any case. "I've heard of your mother, though." What with her being Vice President and all. Wow. TJ comes from a family that's as close to royalty as it gets in the US; suddenly, Steve feels almost... clumsy.
The guy's – TJ's, Thomas'? – mouth twists. "Everyone has." Then he eyes Steve a little. "I don't really follow the tabloids either though."
________________________
He's got a couple of PR-correspondent approved pictures ready in his designated folder, so he selects one of him and Doug in t-shirts, Doug's arm around his shoulder, TJ's around his waist. They're grinning into the camera, a selfie that's not at a perfect angle and honestly TJ looks kind of dorky, but that's part of the point. "when everything's going shit, remember your loved ones. ♥ u bro, ur the best" he captions the picture and posts it, tagging Doug's instagram that mostly consists of formally dressed politicians and scenery shots because Doug fancies himself a bit of an artist. Then he switches to twitter and tweets, "so everything went to hell in a handbasket, but America's been there before. we're the type to come up swinging, aren't we?". That one's probably going to get quoted in the news at one point, along with other "celeb" tweets. Though TJ's biggest claim to fame recently is his family, that's still good enough for most news stations, especially when they'll be desperately grasping for more material.And even if TJ hasn't been all that prominent or exciting the past couple of months, he still has a lot of followers and the replies start pouring in immediately. He answers a few of them, then exits out of both apps. Suddenly he realizes that he's been pretty focused the past twenty minutes or so, and at one point while TJ was distracted Steve got out his new sketchbook and the pencil case, and now he's sketching.
For a moment all TJ can do is stare at him, unfamiliar pose with his knees pulled up to rest the sketchbook against, expression focused and intent, a slight frown furrowing his brows. When Steve notices the attention he glances up and meets TJ's eyes, smiles. TJ smiles back, and Steve focuses again on his sketchbook.
Quietly happy, TJ focuses back on his phone, sending a couple of texts out, one in reply to the PR correspondent, a simple "good job". He's still not sure if she's being condescending when she does that or considers it positive reinforcement, or if that's her way of staying close to her clients or whatever. He doesn't care much. His mother will probably reply in an hour or so, and his dad informs him that he's still in Vietnam. Somebody apparently convinced him that he won't be able to do much anyway even if he does come back. There are only five days left to his vacation anyway.
Doug texts him a simple "<3 u too" that nevertheless makes TJ smile.