#mcu-supersoldiers

[omaano]

If you're still taking requests on the polyam drawing thing, D2 with Padme/Rex/Anakin?? (with Rex in the middle getting smoochies 😚🙏💖)

If you're not, then just thank you for sharing I'm enjoying seeing the cute poly/platonic art! 😊

Changed to E3 for a pose, and I’d turned it super self indulgent (pretty purple background for me yay!☺️) I hope you will like it too! Thanks for asking!💕

I really like this look for Padme (mostly because of her beautiful hair), and I also wanted to deck Rex out in something pretty too. It’s a nice pink tinted dream :3

Polyam/platonic poses for these sketches

[willowcrowned]

Hello! Sorry to be weird about something from 3 whole years ago, but I just discovered your Phantom of the Past AU and my GOSH, this thing is banging pots and pans around in my brain. Would you be alright with someone treating this crack seriously and writing more of it?? If not that's okay. Or if you don't want it ever published. I just... my inner Writing Gremlins are making grabby hands at it real bad.

By all means, indulge the writing gremlins! Just be sure to tag me if you ever post the results :)

[heroesfromtheashes]

A Change In The Timeline

Asgard hadn’t been home for a long time for the younger god, and after everything he didn’t trust Odin not to throw him into a dark pit and just leave him or worse, execute him. So when Thor believed him dead, Loki left it like that.

Calling all of his remaining seidr, hand over a sizable and annoyingly painful spot on his side he jumped worlds. Landing in a forgotten, and more importantly abandoned warehouse. The god collapsing on the floor.

“Sir.. I have a new report of a disturbance in the gravitational forces in an abandoned warehouse about 40 minutes away.” Jarvis intoned. @mcu-supersoldiers

[obimaulartfire]

Friend I see your tags. I am always asking! I am Specifically asking! Please, feel free to reblog that post with intros to your SithyWan variants!!

Of course!! I didn't reblog it (because my post is also very long) but I did tag you in it! Please feel free to give me your thoughts on them if you want :)

[noprisonersjustorder]

random soft starter for @mcu-supersoldiers ‘s steve

“I’m telling ya, man.” The STRIKE team leader chuckled into and took a sip out of his steaming cup of late night coffee before setting it down to pour a cup for the captain as the latter joined him in the common room.

“It’s an easy mission; we go in, you do your thing, I got your back, we get outta there. We’ll be done so long before sun up I’m tempted to pack us all a picnic.”

[fabledgalaxies]

mutuals stop posting about the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie. Not because I want to see it or anything because I DONT but because I genuinely hate Marvel Studios and its shitty business practices. Also Marvel as a whole has a character who is an israeli supersoldier like????? And they’re going to be releasing the film featuring her possibly while this is all still happening.

[martianbugsbunny]

Here u can have this screenshot of a...idk a thing I found in my notes app this morning

I'm pretty sure when I wrote this I was considering a post-Endgame fic and I was thinking about the "historians will call them best friends" trope and I was like yes...but when they're actually best friends is that ever important? or is the importance of a best friend to history only when the label can be used to ignore a sexual/romantic queer relationship

So I was doing this thing where Bucky thought about how in a couple of years his legacy would probably be erased from Steve's because he was just his best friend, no big deal right? nobody wants to read about that anymore, they want to read about the epic love story with a female British agent and anyway this is literally all I have I'm so annoyed at myself for not following through more because it looks like it would've been amazing and very sad

[ronearoundblindly]

Autumn Is Healing (Oct 8th)

Flufftober Day Eight-- shooting stars

drabble for steve rogers x super soldier!reader (see previous or series)

Warnings: adorable, pining Steve. Very, very, very vague illusions of time with Hydra. WC 525

It took some convincing, but Steve did it.

You’ve been confined to your room each night for weeks, allowed out under Bucky or Natasha or Steve’s supervision while in the compound, and going outside for an hour a day with an ankle monitor.

At the end of one of those hours, Steve found you laying in the grass, watching the sky, and he didn’t think much of it until today when he found you sleeping on your couch. You’d turned it around and shoved it against the windowed wall.

You couldn’t possibly see many stars with all the light pollution from the compound.

Steve can do better than that. He’s gotten lucky, too, because Hill is in a good mood and there’s a meteor shower expected.

He gets everything ready, even packing up a mini-picnic with the blanket to lay out on, and arrives at your door with the anklet out like a present. You two walk as far from the compound as your little green light allows.

He spreads the big blanket out while you strain your neck to the night sky in awe.

How long has it really been, Steve wonders; when did you last get to stargaze as you?

He resists the urge to offer his arm as a pillow, instead tucking his hands behind his head and desperately trying to keep his eyes up rather than sideways to watch your reactions. His mind runs away with him though, thinking about how one day he might even be able to show you outer space. It still blows his mind every time; he can only imagine how you'd feel.

“There,” you breathe, quiet as if you’ll spook the falling pinpricks of light, pointing in excitement.

He’d been watching you again, dang it. Steve has to turn back to the sky.

They streak across the black one at a time, maybe two, for minutes on end, and just when Steve thinks maybe he’d hyped up the experience too much, it rains bright little slashes.

You gasp and fling out your hand to get his attention.

“Wow.”

Yes, Steve thinks, wow. Out of reflex, he grabs your wrist when you smack his chest, but when you leave your arm out, engrossed by the shooting stars, Steve chances to lay his hand over yours.

Technically—technically—it's you who takes his hand and grips it…at least that is what Steve tells himself when his heart rate spikes and he loses count of the meteors’ progress.

The shower of light has varying shades of blue and white and yellow laced within. Your fingers are a few degrees cooler than your palm in his, and he can just barely feel the bite of your nails when you squeeze for his attention.

He’s not sure whether you think you’ll scare the stars or him now.

“Thank you,” you say softly, not meeting his eye, “I missed this.”

Steve’s not looking up again, and while he’s never experienced this before either, he knows he missed it. He knows he’ll miss it the second you go back inside, too.

So he settles for a simple promise he will desperately try to keep.

“Anytime.”

divider by @silkholland; banner and challenge details @flufftober

[Day Seven; Day Nine]

[Chronological Next Part]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[tatangadragon]

mcu i hold nothing but disdain towards you

[jasposeyblog]

My commission of Captain Carter, Union Jack and Captain Britain sketch cover by Erik Fidel 

[sarge-of-my-heart]

i now know how hard it is to write help me

[natr0manova]

MCU:

Natasha's a human born 1984

COMICS:

Natasha's a supersoldier, who was born 1928

MCU:

Natasha's a ballerina

COMICS:

Natasha was never a ballerina. The Red Room brainwashed her into believing it to keep her loyal

MCU:

Alexi is Natasha's father figure, who sold her to the Red Room

COMICS:

Alexi is Natasha's ex-husband, who took part in her brainwashing. Logan (Wolverine) is her father figure

MCU:

Melina and Yelena are apart of Natasha's family. (Melina being her mother figure and Yelena being her sister)

COMICS:

Both Melina and Yelena are her enemies

MCU:

Natasha doesn't have any biological siblings

COMICS:

Natasha has three older brothers

MCU:

Natasha doesn't kill anyone anymore

COMICS:

Natasha still kills people. Bad people, obviously

MCU:

Natasha is one of many widows

COMICS:

Nat is one of 28 Black Widows (canonically even the best of them all). Also, she's the only survivor of the Original 28.

[ishipallthings]

Cap Iron Man Rec Week 2024 (Sat)

Smut Saturday - July 27th for @cap-ironman Rec Week

Smut Saturday (one day late!) - here are my recs for the sex pollen/Fuck or Die/Aliens Made Them Do It Trope 👀

Remember to show some love for your hard-working creators!

Full Body Workout by Nix (616)

Hank has a lab accident. Steve and Tony bear the consequences.

Love Across the Multiverse by Sineala @sineala (Ults)

Mojo presents: Love Across the Multiverse! In tonight's episode, a battle-hardened supersoldier finds himself drawn to his handsome, genius teammate! It's an agonizing duel between his long-held beliefs and the secret passions of his heart! Will true love conquer all? There's only one way to find out! Don't miss the highlight of the season! (Viewer discretion is advised. Mojoworld residents who do not vote for their favorite participants of the season will be summarily sent to the arena. All hail Mojo.)

All the Love You Hold and Hide by Mireille (MCU)

On a mission, Steve triggers a booby trap that turns out to be a skeevy sex curse, of the "fuck or die" variety. Tony volunteers as tribute.

honey from your hive by meidui @meidui (MCU)

"Steve, stop that," Tony says, sounding strangled as his grip tightens and Steve stops, letting Tony grab his face and tilt him up. "You're kind of scaring the crap out of me. What is it? What's going on with you?" "We blew up the lab," Steve manages, and something dawns on Tony's face. "Everyone had a reaction 'cept me. Think 'm having it now."

Breathless by KandiSheek @kandisheek (MCU)

How do you even start a conversation like that? Hey, sorry, but last night you sort of jerked me off through our bond and now I know the serum makes you shoot off in like two seconds, oops. Wherein Tony can feel everything Steve feels and it makes things very awkward.

Fervor by erde (MCU, post-IW)

Steve finds himself in some particular kind of trouble after breathing a chemical. Tony, who supposedly doesn't want anything to do with him anymore, gives him a hand.

Previously Thought to be Impossible by Impala_Chick @impalachick (MCU, EG)

In 1970, SHIELD HQ was working on a powerful aphrodisiac prototype. Tony Stark from 2023 happens to cut open the wrong box at the wrong time, and Steve Rogers from 2023 doesn't know how to feel about it.

the thorn in his side by fohatic @fohatic (MCU, EG)

It had been there from the beginning. There was no end to it, that mutual wanting between them—forever unresolved—that had grown so terribly soft and unbearably romantic with age... But there was an unspoken rule between them, as well: an understanding that they could never act on it. That is, until an alien parasite's brood nest gets violently dislodged from its Chitauri Leviathan host during the Battle of New York, dispersing its contents directly over two time-jumping tourists who are very much in the wrong place and the wrong timeline.

Strong as Death by babesrgrs and the sequel Between the Shadow and the Soul (MCU, post-EG)

Steve is hit with a curse that has unexpected consequences, and Tony, who's never going on a diplomatic mission ever again, has a religious experience. The sexy kind.

Hope you guys enjoy the recs! Please mind the tags before reading. Check out my tag for previous years’ rec lists :)

[darsynia]

The Smoke That Roams (post-apocalypse AU Bucky/Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | lmk if you want to be tagged for Bucky fics!

Summary: You and Bucky find each other after the world almost ends

Length/Warnings: 3,080 | sex, allusions to violence

Notes: I tagged this on AO3 as 'romance and survival soaked in metaphor,' lol. It's post-apocalyptic angst. Stop typing, Darsy.

Excerpt:

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

The Smoke That Roams

You used to compare him to a solid, cold hunk of metal. Non-reflective but uncorroded, with a metaphorical melting point so high it’s practically unreachable. A weapon when thrown but otherwise safe, foundational, inexpressive.

That was before he touched you.

Bucky Barnes is not safe. He is expressive, though. Just not with words.

now

The world isn’t destroyed. There are still plants, there are still animals, and there are still safe places to spend time. The planet may actually be better off now than in the last few hundred years, because the humans who were in the process of ruining things just barely failed.

There are no regulations, no government-enforced exclusion zones, only good- and bad-intentioned people living day to day. You figure humanity has around twenty years of 'every man for himself' to realize how difficult it is to grow crops and sustain life. Until then, everyone’s subsisting on canned food and shelf-stable meats while hating every second of it.

Boredom is an unexpectedly dystopian pandemic, post-apocalypse. Books still exist, so there’s that. Unfortunately, even if there were experienced people to keep the electrical grid going, it’s completely unsustainable without an accompanying society. When you’re really depressed, you picture various survivors all around the world hunkering down to read Jurassic Park or Gone Girl next to pine-scented candles or last year’s Pantone table tapers. Once, you imagined a group of miserable assholes warming their hands next to a bonfire of Live, Laugh, Love wall hangings outside of a Cracker Barrel. It helped. You doubt any Karens survived the apocalypse to object.

then

You survived out of luck, if you could call living in the aftermath of a failed nuclear response ‘luck.’ 

Given the honest-to-fuck alien invasion, those nuclear strikes should have taken out the whole area. Instead, a strange golden dome repelled the worst of the damage, but you knew better than to assume it would stick around. After gathering some important provisions (including a gun and all your ammo), you spent some time bundling up your lawnmower’s spare gas can. You'd read The Stand. There's no way you're strong enough to pilfer gasoline from an underground tank.

That was when you found a leather-clad warrior man standing beside your motorcycle. He didn't seem surprised to see you. “You know how to ride this?”

“You after parts or gas?” you asked, hand on the butt of your gun. You were high on survivor’s guilt and low on bravado. He noticed both.

“A bodyguard,” Bucky told you sardonically.

He eventually told you the real reason, but at the time you’d pulled courage out of the sulfuric smell of danger in the air and suggested you watch each other’s backs.

now

“Still awake?”

You roll over to see Bucky’s familiar shape standing at the window, outlined in moonlight.

“Yeah. It’s too quiet.” Yesterday the two of you had retreated further into the mountains, judging your previous temporary home too close to the river after seeing two small groups using it for through travel.

“Never thought I’d like the quiet this much,” he muses.

Getting up, you move to stand beside him, still dressed in multiple layers to ward off the colder elevation. “That’s because it matters why it’s quiet.”

He doesn’t look over, but his smile is gorgeous in the dim light. “That’s a war reference.”

“You’re damn right.”

The two of you stand in silence, watching the shadows of the nearby trees play in the wind until he speaks again, gruff and oddly defensive.

“I was right about the shelter.”

“There’s a radio? Was it the right kind?”

“Yeah. Months worth of food, too.”

You’re embarrassed at how excited you are at the thought of MREs. “That’s great,” you say, reaching out to touch his arm. It’s sopping wet. Turning to look at him more fully, you see that his hair is wet too. He’s been dripping the whole time he's stood there; there’s a halo of wet, dark spots on the floor around him that feel almost symbolic.

“Most of the food was untouched. Ghosts don’t eat much.”

“How many?” You have to dredge to find enough moisture to rub your vocal cords together.

“Just one. Buried him in the woods pretty far out, washed up in the river.”

Bucky leaves so much unsaid, but you’re good at decoding him by now. This new cabin is miles from the river. As a good ‘bodyguard,’ though, you have one more clarifying question. It’ll matter, if you want to stay here for longer than a week or two.

“Was there evidence of-- did someone else--”

“Self-inflicted.”

“Yeah, aren’t we all,” you sigh, pushing away the guilt of relief.

then

You learned him slowly.

Bucky didn’t need a bodyguard as much as a body, or more accurately a second person to help carry the items he was gathering. It made sense; even a loner like him wouldn’t separate from the other Avengers without a reason. Their version of ‘strength in numbers’ was too complicated to understand and he didn’t really explain, but it had something to do with scattered communication, whatever that meant.

The parts he needed were in military bases, abandoned (and guarded, which was fucking terrifying) high rises, and one notable item was in a corn field. Eventually he gave you his motorcycle and upgraded to one with a sidecar.

You didn’t ask why it was wet when he showed up with it, but you had an idea of why he might have needed to clean it off.

By then you were used to sharing a room with him, dressing and undressing when he was out of the room or faced away. He didn't seem to mind, but you couldn’t really tell, and he didn’t say. 

You were more like coworkers than anything else, to the point that he barely spoke once one of you started readying for bed, like an unwritten boundary. Not that night. He’d broken into a hotel with two beds, one for each of you. That night, instead of his usual steady rhythm of breaths that eventually lengthened into sleep, there was just pensive silence.

Silence was the worst part of your new life. Silence allowed doubts and fears to creep into the gaps between breaths, clawing out space for larger worries. Bucky was quiet, but he was rarely silent.

“It’s not cold,” he finally said, almost accusatory.

You didn’t know how to respond. You weren’t cold, you were in shock. Death was everywhere and nowhere; either you fought for your life or saw the evidence of those who’d lost that battle. Each choice came with terrible necessity. Had that sidecar been a necessity? 

The flashlight clicked on. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not cold.”

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

now

“I need to build it as high up as I can,” Bucky says.

“Not ‘we?’” you ask, nowhere near as breezy as you hoped.

“I need you to be here, safe.” He reaches out and grabs your hand with his smooth, river-damp metal one, squeezing just too much. It’s as calculated as it is unintentional, like your relationship. “This time, ‘safe’ is not with me.”

He can run for days, heal his own wounds, kill in so many ways it would take a week to list them all, and you still don’t want him to go alone.

You don’t say that, though.

Instead, you tuck yourself against Bucky’s chest, wrapping your arms around his drenched torso. There are no dryers, no radiators to hang your wet clothes on, no fireplace to dry them by. It’s a message.

He holds you close in the moonlight, his river water soaking into you, your unspoken love seeping into him.

then 

Bucky learned you fiercely.

After begrudgingly joining you the first time, he slept beside you from then on, handling it the same way he handled everything: with little explanation and an air of inflexibility. Suddenly you were two people who slept (slept, mind you) together, the metal plates of your lives shifting perfectly to fit that new reality. 

You didn’t fully understand what it all meant until the night Bucky went for a walk instead of getting into bed. He’d killed a man right in front of you that day--brief, brutal, and bleak--and you'd waited for him to come back, alone with your own brutal and bleak thoughts. Had survival destroyed your morality? Why had he been beautiful as he’d ended the attacker’s life? Couldn’t things go back to the way they were? You didn’t ask for this!

Then it hit you.

Neither did he.

You got to travel with him in 2019 because someone did things to him in the 40s that he’d never asked for.

Bucky came back, but that didn't help you purge those horrible thoughts, not until he sighed in obvious annoyance and threw an arm over your hip, dragging you back against his chest like it was an obligation.

Only then could you sleep.

And so could he.

now

The moon is too high to shine through your borrowed window anymore, so Bucky leads you back to the bed in the dark. He guides your clothes over your head and down your hips as unerringly as a marksman who knows the specs of his weapons. When he kisses you, it’s sloppy and imprecise, like he doesn't have time to come up with a plan other than 'must touch, now.'

He drops you onto your back on the bed and straightens up, stripping off his shirt. You figure that out by the sound the sodden fabric makes on the hardwood floor, a wet thunk followed by the metal pinging noise his belt buckle makes.

A strange realization hits you: for the first time since everything went to hell, you don’t want water stains on the floor. This could be your place, yours and his. The thought warms the places where you’d pressed up against Bucky’s wet clothes, but soon his kisses do that for you, furnace-hot yet gentle as the curl of smoke from your frequent campfires.

You burn for him, and you have since before he touched you with intent and looked at you with desire. 

then

Post-apocalyptic isolation was finally getting to you.

The warehouse was cold, impersonal, and dangerous enough that no one lived there, despite being a single building surrounded by miles of possibly-fertile fields. Back when it was operating, that had protected the county population, and now that it was not, its position could best be called strategic. No one could sneak up on you if you were diligent, but the monotony of guard duty was wearing on you. So was the wind coming off of the unrelenting central plains.

You'd never seen Bucky that frustrated before. He came to bed each night tense and sullen, even angry, and instinctively, you’d done your best to give him space. It was only in the last few nights that ‘space’ had included sleeping separately, despite the chill of early autumn that seeped into your bones from the concrete floor.

Day five of that singular brand of loneliness happened to be day thirteen at that location. You weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“Let me help you.” Your tone was wounded, but you didn’t raise your voice.

“You are helping.”

“There’s no point in me watching for nonexistent scavengers when whatever you’re doing isn’t working down here! Especially since--” Your words turned to ash in midair. You’d been about to say ‘especially since you won’t sleep with me anymore,’ which made your relationship sound vastly different than what it actually was.

Bucky smiled for the first time in days. “Go on.”

“No way. Mad Max himself couldn’t drag it from me.”

“I think I saw that one,” he said, swiping a precious candy bar from the special stash and sitting on a stack of pallets. “Sand and cars?”

You choke out a laugh. “If any of the filmmakers are still alive, can you even imagine--”

“They probably murder anyone that brings it up.” Bucky wrapped up the rest of the candy bar and held it up like he was about to toss it to you. “Tell me.”

Your chest felt like you’d swallowed lighter fluid. He looked happier than he had in days, and you had no idea if telling him the truth would toss a match or douse it.

Well, you lived with enough fear as it is.

“Fine,” you said with fake annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s hard to sleep without you breathing on my neck and hogging the blanket.” The plan was to be flippant, to avoid seeing his response, but an arsonist can never look away from their own blaze.

Bucky was still sitting the way he had been before, but you could see the tension ebbing from his shoulders. His metal hand relaxed its grip on the pallet with the same slow relief as the growing smug look on his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, impudent and inflammatory.

“Yeah. Give me the candy bar.”

“Oh, I will,” Bucky grinned. He stood up with the kind of confident menace that had sold many an action movie ticket.

“Oh my god, turn that off!” you yelped, poised to run. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Sand,” he said. You bit your lip as he continued, “I can use it to shore up-- Never mind.”

Bucky’s gaze was intent as he started walking in your direction. It was the same kind of focus he used to defend your lives, with only difference being the impudent light in his eyes. You backed away (never turn your back on a predator) as swiftly as you could, heart pounding in your delighted chest.

Seconds later you realize he’d herded you against a dividing wall and he was still advancing. It was absurd, sexy as hell, and the aforementioned lighter fluid had completely replaced your blood volume. One touch and you’d be aflame. 

Bucky didn’t touch you.

He stopped mere breaths away, leaning his metal forearm on the wall. Bucky brought the half-wrapped candy bar up where you could see it and then ripped away the wrapping with his teeth, his eyes glittering with challenge. Holding your gaze, he brought it to your mouth.

You were breathing so heavily your breasts grazed his chest, sparking brushfires each time. Still, this was a contest of sorts, and you had precious few chances to go toe to toe with this man. You waited until the heat of your mouth smeared the chocolate on your lower lip, and only then did you move--shoving his hand to the side and arching up to kiss him.

His groan ignited something in both of you. He pulled you close with a rough hand at your thigh, curving your leg around him and taking charge of the kiss. It was exhilarating, full of the heat of something long-desired. You grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, dug your fingernails into his hair, your other hand skating over the bare metal of his arm.

Suddenly he pushed back on the wall behind you with enough force to shake the cinderblocks, eyes wild, hands at the hem of his tank top. You nodded, scraping your elbows in your haste to strip off your clothes. It took just seconds before you were on each other again, Bucky half carrying you to the corner of the warehouse where you’d piled up your bedding. He was already pumping his fingers in and out, sucking a brutal kiss on your neck even as he knelt on the pile of ragged quilts.

“You are so fucking strong-- yes, like that,” you gasped out with your eyes screwed so tightly you saw a spray of sparks. The white-hot pleasure practically rang in your ears, and then he was there, splitting you apart and putting you back together, with the taste of him healing the gaps.

“You smell just like every morning I wanted to do this,” Bucky growled into your skin. The pinpoint pain of his fingertips digging into your hip was so real, so him that you were speechless. All you could do was drag your lips across every inch you could reach, arching your back to drive the two of you toward the wreckage of your former selves.

When release came it was a second nuclear event, him panting into the join of your neck and shoulder, your hands buried in his hair.

now

There is a luxury to darkness and patience, one you never would have guessed at in the Time Before.

Bucky doesn’t have to see the ecstasy on your face to know his expert caresses are sending you skyward. You don’t have to watch him throw his head back to know he’s about to come apart inside you.

He’s seen the silhouette of your body backlit by the sunset as you ride him.

You’ve watched the lethargy of pleasure-bought peace lift months of his guilt.

Things will never go back to the way they used to be, but just as you’ve learned to navigate the chaos of the current world, you’ve also learned the comfort of being truly known.

Tomorrow, Bucky will head up the mountain to build one piece of a larger device various Avengers have been constructing across the world. Stark had called it a cosmic smoke signal, a last-ditch effort to call for rescue. After all this time, you’re not sure your heart is in it anymore. It’s engaged elsewhere; you haven’t just learned to adapt, you’ve learned to thrive with Bucky at your side.

Still, the others are counting on the two of you, and it’s all about balance. Whether the next mission is a fiery trip to the stars or the steady puff of a hand-built cookstove, you’re ready for what comes next.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

[gunsandspaceships]

Tony and ambition

Did you guys notice that MCU Tony never wanted powers? I mean, he could become a supersoldier – he had stabilized Extremis after all. But after he cured Pepper and healed his own wounds in Iron Man 3, we never heard about the technology. He could develop anything for himself, even become immortal. But he never did that. Only used external temporal enhancements – suits and nanoparticles.  

He didn't try to become richer. He was born a billionaire. He maintained the wealth but did not greatly increase it. His net worth was always about $10-20 billion. For comparison, the net worth of a real person Elon Musk is $195.3 billion. Tony could get richer. He had everything to do it. And still, he didn’t.

Or power. He could get anything – more political influence, rule Sakaar (What If? S 2, Ep 4), make a wish to rule the Universe, instead of just wiping out Thanos and his army in Endgame. He did not do any of that. Or anything like that.

He wanted to create “a suit of armor around the world” not because he had ambition, but because he knew what’s coming and wanted to prevent it and save lives. He never wanted more powers than necessary to save people.

He could be the commander of the Avengers, but he gave it to Steve. With all the credits. Because he didn’t want any.

What he really wanted – to get rid of the necessity of having superheroes. Like him. He just wanted to go home.

Do you remember his funeral? Did it look like a pompous farewell to the savior of the entire universe?

[meralasan]

at request of the amazingly sweet @earliebirb

Jealous/possessive Steve was SO fun to draw, thank you for the prompt!!! :3 Tony definitely enjoys riling him up and then getting slammed against the nearest wall and getting obliterated by an unhinged supersoldier

(next MCU fanart is going to be Stucky or Stuckony so feel free to drop any suggestions for that hehehe)