I actually loved this moment, because I didn’t see this as Steve being incompetent and completely unaware of what was going on. This, I felt, was Steve being extremely sassy. “It seems to run on some form of electricity,” he says, with a huff of a sigh and a smile. What he means is, “Of fucking course I don’t know what this shit means, I’ve never been exposed to this, are you serious right now” and that is not because he’s stupid or inept. Actually, Steve adapts very, very well and very quickly to new technology, evidenced in the Avengers with the ease and familiarity that he navigates his tablet with, but also in Captain America, where he takes everything Howard gives him (modified, highly advanced Hydra weapons) and uses them to full capacity.
It’s just that Steve’s never seen the inside of a control panel like this, so there’s no way in hell he’d know what to do with it, and he’s pointing that out to Tony with his dry sense of humor. And I think Tony gets it, because he doesn’t get angry or snark back at him; he returns with “Well, you’re not wrong” and a lopsided smile, which I read as his “duh, what was I thinking” moment.
I just have a lot of feelings about Steve and his sass and his dry sense of humor, and now I will crawl away to have feelings elsewhere.
Marr wanted a sleepover UuU
The kiss is anything but pre-meditated. It is the polar opposite of pre-meditated, which Tony can’t even think of a word for, and fuck if that isn’t a kick in the pants: the fourteen year old genius with multiple doctorates in his future can’t even think up the synonym for ‘pre-meditated.’
It’s- it’s totally out of the blue. Out of the left field. Out of absolutely fucking NOWHERE, and one second Tony is struck dumb by how the lamp light hits Steve across his eyelashes, how the moonlight filters through the curtains and curves across his face, how Steve’s mouth is kind of flushed and pink-looking, and then bam, they’re macking face.
At which point Tony’s brain short circuits, processing the data that shouldn’t be there: Steve’s lips, soft and unmoving under his, their noses only just brushing, their chins bumping, before it all hits Tony in one big rush and he’s bolting backwards, which is next to impossible in a sleeping bag so he ends up doing this pathetic, frenzied shuffle in which he nearly knocks over a chair.
Steve looks like he did that one time Thor caught him on the head with a golf ball, before he had to spend the next eight hours in the hospital nursing a concussion. “Um,” he squeaks, his voice cracking like it’s been doing a lot lately, this time with a more confused edge to it.
“Um,” Tony agrees. His voice, if possible, is even higher, and their cheeks are an identical fire engine red, and he’s squirming away from Steve as fast as he possibly can without falling onto the floor and turning into a sleeping-bag caterpillar. “Sorry, shit, uh-”
“It’s fine,” Steve says, still squeaking it, “It’s- I liked it.” Then his blush deepens in a way that would probably be hot to the touch, like he didn’t mean for that to come out.
It takes a second for that to sink in, but when it does, Tony’s awkward butt-shuffling stops. “Um. What?”
“I liked it,” Steve mumbles, barely loud enough to hear him.
Tony stares. Steve, the stubborn bastard, is meeting his gaze, even though Tony suspects he wants to do what Tony was trying to do and wriggle the fuck away as fast as his sleeping bag allows him to.
“Me… too,” Tony says after a moment, trying desperately to ignore that he can still taste Steve on his lips, which are buzzing. “Was-” he coughs, tries to be suave, fails entirely. “Was that your first? Your first kiss, I mean?”
Steve says, “Maybe,” in a way that means it totally was, and Tony has a second of insanity where he shuffles closer, just a bit, so the chair leg isn’t pressing so hard into his leg. “Was it yours?”
“No,” Tony says, on default, and backtracks rapidly when Steve shrinks a little in his sleeping bag, like he’s trying to retreat down into it. “I, I mean, uh, it wasn’t my first kiss but it was still nice, really nice, wecankeepdoingthatifyouwant?”
The last part comes out in a garbled rush, and his voice breaks at least twice during it, and he’s in the middle of silently damning puberty and everything that comes with it when Steve says, sort of hesitantly, “Okay,” and Tony’s brain does that short-circuiting thing again.
He thinks he stammers for a second before blurting, “Okay,” back at him, and then Steve is butt-shuffling closer and Tony makes his limbs work enough for him to wriggle in his direction and then they’re kissing again, and Tony forgets everything his previous kisses and kissers have taught him, and he’s still partially convinced this is a dream and wow, wow, wow.
When Tony wakes up the next morning, he and Steve are curled into each other through two layers of sleeping bags, and there are suspicious snapping sounds going off around them, like-
Tony opens his eyes, swears loudly, and struggles out of his sleeping bag enough that he can reach over and start lobbing cushions at all the cellphones that are currently pointed at him. “Not cool, guys!”
He goes kind of melty when Steve sleep-mumbles something into Tony’s pyjama-d shoulder, wrapping a still-sort-of-skinny arm tighter around Tony’s torso.
Clint starts sing-songing, Steve and Tooony, sittin’ in a treeee, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, and gets almost everyone else to join in before he gets a pillow to the gut and goes down.
OMGGGGG SO CUUTE THANK YOU AAHHH
“A bond that will complete them both in ways they cannot yet realize.”
(To the Steve of my Tony.)
I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
And I will not be afraid
of your scars.
I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.
-Clementine von Radics, Mouthful of Forevers
I hope I’m the man for the job
A cute puppy VS A little dog.
There are no differences.
I love how majestic the bald eagle looks from the side
but from straight on it just looks scared and confused
Just like the United States