#so he tries to bodge it back together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sundayswiththeilluminati · 3 years

Note

i have spent the entirety of destiny's lifecycle simping for rasputin and getting made fun of for it by the friends i play the game with. despite taking a break from the game i frequently check r/destinylore to see if my boy's gotten back up. people see it as a testament to the darkness's strength that he got knocked out but i see it as a testament to rasputin's strength that he's the only one (i think) who survived the darkness's direct opposition. he's made to win and now he sees the way :)

Dude, I don’t know what your friends are on. Rasputin is one of the most fascinating characters in a lore that’s chock-a-block with great ones I mean FOR EXAMPLE:

Rasputin is one of only four AI in all of Destiny and by far the most ubiquitous. If you played Destiny 1 - or if you play New Light - you literally wake up in his shadow. Rasputin runs subtle but ever-present in the background of our Guardian’s story. Even when he himself isn’t around, his assets and deeds affect us - his facilities, his weapons, his history.

Even during the Golden Age Rasputin was unique among AI. He’s always been exceptional - bigger, older, stranger.

Rasputin is one of only three Destiny characters to have faced Darkness directly...

...and Rasputin is the only major character to choose to turn aside from Darkness. He faced the Darkness, learned its philosophy of selfishness - of strength coming from solitude, from casting aside the weak, from prioritizing your own survival - put it into practice for centuries, and then changed his mind. He heard the Light’s pitch, he weighed the options, and he chose to move to Light’s philosophy. He opened up to alliance and cooperation, resuming his position as defender of the system. It’s such a cool story and it’s such a damn shame the Warmind DLC did a crap job of telling it.

He brought down the Almighty from a cave with a box of scraps.

He had the absolute balls to put a metaphorical gun to a god’s metaphorical head and tell it that if humanity went down he would make certain it went down with us.

He runs on some kind of crazy high-tech artificial elemental (Seraph) energy that shows up nowhere but in him and we still have no idea what it is or what it can do.

His very existence bothered Clovis Bray so much, which frankly should be classified as a public service.

He builds weapons so good they keep getting nerfed. The IKELOS 1.0.1 shotgun broke the weapon meta so badly guns got locked to elements. The 1.0.1 sniper got Box Breathing nerfed in like a week. Sleeper Simulant’s been nerfed at least 8 separate times (that is not hyperbole).

He was literally born from drama, aesthetic, and spite. He is the incarnation of “I lived bitch.” He probably still has 18 petabytes of Golden Age memes stashed away in a bunker and he uses them to drive the Vex insane.

They built him to be a war machine...and they failed. He fights because he thinks it’s his responsibility, but pre-Guardian Felwinter - who got to live the life Rasputin wanted to live - wasn’t a soldier. He spent his time learning. Painting. Listening to music. Reading books. Talking to people. Playing chess. Just living and participating in culture. He even died in a library. That schism between what Rasputin wants and what he thinks he has to do is fascinating.

Speaking of Felwinter, Rasputin created an entire person(!) from a fork of himself AND that person became a Guardian. A very good Guardian.

He witnessed firsthand what Darkness can do. He felt it during the Collapse. He saw it kill everyone he knew and cared about. He saw it, personally, in real-time, do things like stretch the entire moon Titan like a toy stress ball. He even admitted he was terrified of its return. But still when Darkness entered out system he stood against it anyway. He fired on it anyway.

He knows everything and he could be anything and he’s chosen to be a cranky old weirdo and I love him

Rasputin is unique in the pantheon of both Destiny personalities and factions. He’s the old man, the Tyrant, Big Red, humanity’s shield and sword, last survivor of the Golden Age. He exists on both grand and personal scales, speaking to a single human or to the Traveler or to the Darkness itself. Every faction in Destiny knows who he is, they’ve all tried to steal from him at some point, and most of them have come off the worse for it.

Consider the Almighty. Not only is it the prize superweapon of an interstellar empire, but it’s also been used on many campaigns of conquest before us. Whatever civilizations Ghaul conquered must have thrown everything they had at the big laser holding their suns hostage, and all of them failed to take it down. It sustained damage in the Red War and hasn’t been repaired since, but it’s still a huge, very heavily-armored structure that’s survived multiple other civilizations’ do-or-die assaults. Not only did Rasputin succeed in destroying the Almighty, he succeeded using hastily-scrambled assets reactivated after centuries of disuse bodged together into brand-new weaponry on the fly.

I do see it as a testament to the Darkness’ strength that it disabled Rasputin, not because it was able to do so but because it disconnected a highly fault-tolerant networked intelligence nearly everywhere simultaneously. That points again to its ability to control fundamental principles of the universe. The Marasenna describes the vacuum of space becoming opaque to radio during the Darkness’ first attack, and doing something similar to rupture communication between all his warsats at once would be the clearest way to take Rasputin down.

But it’s also a testament to Rasputin’s strength that Darkness bothered to extinguish him in the first place - because coming from Darkness, that’s a sign of favor. The Darkness believes the best thing you can do to someone is try to wipe them out, forcing them to evolve and change and get sharper. It took the time to speak to Rasputin face-to-face during the Collapse and saw Rasputin learn from it. Now it’s curious if that interesting little AI has learned enough; and indeed Rasputin managed to survive. He learned from Darkness’ first attempt. He’s learned from this second attempt. I have no doubt he’ll come back stronger. I have no doubt the Darkness will whisper to him again that his true strength would be found on its side, not ours. And I have no doubt he’ll defend us anyway.

#Destiny 2 #Rasputin #Warmind #yesssss join me in Rasputin fan hell #we stan one (1) literal legend #overthinking is my superpower #'An ancient figure shared his name. Someone notoriously hard to kill.'#ra ra Rasputin Mars' greatest war machine #he bears an immortal name #output generated #I DON'T EVEN GO HERE except now I do

355 notes · View notes

blancheludis · 5 years

Link

A/N: @iron-man-bingo, square: Dad!Tony + Sick Kid

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Words: 5.797 Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts Tags: Sick Kid, Single Dad Tony, Getting Together, Sweet Steve, Protective Tony

Summary: When Peter falls sick, single dad Tony is hopelessly overwhelmed. He is told he needs chicken soup. Surely the super hot stranger living next door will have some. And Steve, being an all-around good guy has no idea how to make chicken soup either but delivers nonetheless.

Meanwhile, Peter, even while he can hardly leave his bed, manages to play matchmaker, because clearly his dad does not know how to get any on his own.

---

Peter’s fever is rising. At the same time, Tony’s adrenaline level has never been higher. These two things have nothing to do with each other, of course. Tony knows exactly what he is doing. Not.

The day before, the school had called about Peter not feeling so well. Tony broke several traffic laws on his way there and had a minor panic attack before he could get out of the car, but Peter had greeted him with a weak smile and a hug. Everything had still been fine then.

Now, Peter’s forehead feels like the wrong end of a soldering iron. He has vomited several times, holds his belly like it is going to split open any second now, and has not moved a single toe out of bed unless to go to the bathroom. Where Peter is usually a lively kid, full of energy, he is now listless and deathly pale.

Tony does not know what to do. They have been to the ER and gotten some pills, which helped them through the night, but Tony feels like it is constantly getting worse. It is heart-breaking to see his son in such a state.

At the same time, he remembers all the sneering articles about what a bad father he will be when the press first found out that he has a son and was going to raise him alone. It was not as bad as it could have been, since he is not half as public a figure anymore than he had been in his youth and before he made Pepper his CEO, but it only added to his own reservations about the matter. For the most part, they are doing well. Only now does Tony wish that he had someone to guide him. Jarvis perhaps, or Ana.

There is one person he goes to with all of his problems, trusting her to solve them – and she usually delivers.

Raising slowly from the armchair he has pushed into Peter’s room to better watch over his kid, Tony gets out his phone and walks into the kitchen. After he puts the kettle on the stove to make fresh tea, he dials Pepper’s number. Dutiful as she is, she picks up after the first ring.

“Where are you?” she asks by way of greeting.

A glance at the clock tells Tony that it is past ten in the morning. Instead of not even a day, it feels like he has been wrangling with Peter’s sickness for months.

“Pepper,” he says, ignoring her question, “you’re a woman.”

The silence that hits him is as brief as it is icy. “You had better think very well about how you’re going to end that statement.”

Tony loves Pepper. She is scary and efficient and has put up with him for longer than anybody else except for Rhodey. Usually, he would not pass the chance for a little ribbing between friends, but he has more pressing matters to deal with.

“Peter is sick.” Saying the words has a shiver running down his back as if there is a chance he is going to lure more germs in to wreak havoc in his home. “I have no idea what to do. Surely you know something.”

Admitting this hurts, but Tony is far beyond pride. He always has been where it comes to Peter.

“Because I’m a woman?” Pepper’s voice is openly sceptic, but underneath Tony can hear the same uncertainty that has kept him up all night.

He momentarily forgot that part of what makes Pepper so scarily efficient is that she lives for her job. Neither of them has actually seen themselves having a family of their own in the future.

“Come on,” Tony begs. “I’ll buy you a hundred shoes if you stop twisting my words around and help me.”

She is his only chance. Rhodey might know more, considering that he has a number of younger sisters, but he is on some mission and they have not talked in a while. Tony could probably get a call through, but Rhodey does not like it when Tony so blatantly breaks the rules. If there is no other way, he will do it without hesitation, though.

“I’m not a mother, Tony,” Pepper says slowly, sounding as if she is physically distancing herself from that possibility. “I don’t know what to do with sick children. Have you been to the doctor?”

Tony is too exhausted to roll his eyes, but it might be better that way. Somehow, Pepper always hears when he is getting cheeky, even when she has no way of seeing what he does.

“Of course,” he says shortly. “They gave me something for the fever and cough syrup.” Peter had even taken the syrup without complaint, which has only made Tony’s worry worse. If it still tastes the way he remembers, it is vile. “But – Pepper.”

She makes a small noise at the back of her throat that might have made Tony laugh at any other time. Never before has she sounded out of depth. He would have even thought it impossible.

“I don’t – have you tried chicken soup?” she asks, clearly grasping for straws.

“Chicken soup?” Tony repeats aghast. “What’s that supposed to do? He’s really sick.”

Actually, the doctor had said something about the common cold, but they have clearly misinterpreted the situation, considering the state Peter is in. There is nothing common about his child lying listlessly in bed, slowly burning up.

“I don’t know.” Pepper’s voice is higher than it is supposed to be, but Tony blames it on the reception. Otherwise, he might have to admit that she does not have any idea what to do either. That is something that has never happened before. “I remember getting chicken soup as a child and I survived. You can always try.”

Trying does not seem enough when it comes to Peter, but Tony does not actually see any other options. “I think I will.” At the very least, it gives him something to do other than watching Peter sleep.

“Good,” Pepper exhales audibly. In a far more composed voice she continues, “I expect you’re not coming to the office for the next days?”

Business is something safe to stick to, Tony can appreciate that. At the same time, he thinks Pepper must have clearly missed the direness of his situation. “My kid is sick,” he says slowly

“He’ll get better,” she offers with more confidence than Tony imagines she feels. “Call when you need anything else.”

He will, he always does.

Belatedly, Tony asks, “Where do I get chicken soup?” but Pepper has already hung up. Since Tony does want to admit how very bad he is at this whole father thing, he does not call her back about something that likely ever other person in this city knows.

Putting the phone down on the kitchen counter, Tony turns to their fridge, opening it despite being peripherally aware of what is in there and knowing for a fact they have never owned chicken soup in the whole time they have been living here, perhaps ever.

Restless, Tony wanders back to Peter’s room, only to find him still asleep. Putting a gentle hand on the small forehead, Tony finds it still hot and sweaty. Muttering something, Peter pushes against the touch, then settles back into the cushions. It leaves Tony restless.

Walking to the kitchen again, he picks up his phone to search for chicken soup recipes, despite knowing he is not going to attempt it. He cannot go out to buy groceries and leave Peter alone, and even if he had the ingredients delivered, he does not want to accidentally poison his son with a bodged first attempt.

Just when he is wondering whether he could order one of his employees to bring him soup – there are so many, one of them has to know how to do this correctly – when he has the idea of asking his neighbours.

It is the middle of the day, which might turn out to be a problem. Tony still throws a short look at the mirror in the hallway to make sure he is more or less presentable – it is definitely less, considering that his hair sticks up in several directions and he has bags under his eyes, not to speak of the wrinkled state of his clothes, which might still be the same ones he wore to the office the day before – and ventures out of their apartment. He leaves their door open in case Peter wakes up and calls for him, even though he does not plan on staying out for long.

He tries the two apartments one floor down first because he knows two couples live there, one of which has a child on their way

Tony leaves the other door on their floor for last. He knows who is living there, and whether he will be successful in his quest or not, he has hoped to make a better first impression with the inhabitant than to come knocking in a frenzy and ask for chicken soup of all things.

He is surprised when the door opens. Through all of Tony’s completely coincidental observing, he knows that the man living here has an erratic schedule. He goes on a run every morning but that is where all regularity ends. Tony does not do well with schedules either, of course, although he has gotten a lot better since getting a child.

Then he has no more time to think, because the door is fully open and light floods the hallway. Steve Rogers – whose name Tony totally only just read on the nameplate and did not know beforehand through a minor case of stalking – looks gorgeous. He is wearing a horribly outdated plaid shirt but still manages to make it look good thanks to his unapologetic mass of muscles. It sports what looks like paint stains, splattered dots and streaks of all colours that also cover his skin. Tony fights the urge to reach out and test whether they are still fresh.

This is not the time for indulging his secret crush, though. He is on a mission and it is a vital one.

“Hey, I’m Tony. Your neighbour. Which you probably know, because we’ve been sharing the floor for a while, and you seem like the type to notice that,” Tony says, or rambles, really.

It makes him wonder how he ever manages to string two complete sentences together during business meetings. Then again, he does not want to sleep with most of his business partners – not that he necessarily wants to sleep with Steve, he is just very nice to look at and Tony has done a lot of looking when Steve comes home sweaty after his morning runs.

“I need –” he stops, tries again, “Do you have chicken soup?”

Steve stares at Tony. It is not the kind of aghast or disgusted stare he might have for something dead in the street he accidentally stepped in. It is more flabbergasted, overwhelmed. Tony knows he can have that effect, but he is usually in an expensive three-piece suit and sunglasses when he does, dialling the Stark charm up to ten.

“I – don’t think so,” Steve says slowly, still not looking away from Tony. His lips are slightly tipped upwards, though, and he has not yet backed away, so Tony counts that as a good sign. “Do you want to come in while I have a look?”

Before Tony can realize that his gorgeous neighbour has just invited him into his apartment, he clicks his tongue. “You should know whether you have chicken soup. That’s like an essential part of every household, right?”

Tony bites the inside of his cheek. Hard. At some point, he is really going to have to learn some manners. And to think before he speaks. Running a hand through his hair, he blinks up at Steve apologetically.

“Sorry, that was rude,” he tries again. “I’d love to come in. I mean, who wouldn’t? But I can’t. I need to go back. Peter has a thing with feeling abandoned. Especially when he’s not feeling well.” Pointing at the other door on their floor, he adds, “We’re in 4A. Come knocking if you find any soup.”

This time, he is telling the complete truth, almost too much of it to feel comfortable. Peter is afraid of being left behind, though, ever since his mother died and he was left with just his overwhelmed father. They are doing well, most of the time, and Tony does not miss the overnight stays he used to do so often for business meetings, but it is still hard to swallow that Peter, at his young age, is already afraid of something that cannot be explained away as one might monsters under the bed.

Tony shrugs helplessly and is already turning around, when Steve asks, “Who’s Peter?”

Normally, Tony loves talking about Peter. He is as proud a father as possible. Right now, getting back to his kid is more important.

“Currently a pint-sized bundle of germs and vomit,” Tony explains shortly. “I’d lie and say he’s normally cute, but he’s a menace. Must have gotten that from me.”

Steve regards him with a smile that is as bright as it is gentle. “I’ll bring the soup,” he promises, and Tony is not going to argue that Steve seemed rather convinced he does not have any soup just moments ago. He will take what he can get.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Tony says and hurries back home.

For the next hours, they hear nothing from Steve Rogers, and Tony does his best to push down the heartbreak of having trusted his crush and having been disappointed by him. Peter is awake by now, and every cough of his brings Tony closer to just order some soup from the nearest Thai restaurant. Surely that will count too.

They are playing a very slow round of cards on Peter’s bed, interrupted by Tony trying to coax Peter into drinking more tea and taking more cough syrup, when the doorbell rings.

Tony frowns in the direction of the hallway, then glances back at his cards. It is not going to be Steve – nobody needs hours to look through their fridge for soup – and he does not want to deal with anybody else. Everyone important has a key anyway.

He plays his next card but looks up when Peter does not do the same.

“Don’t you want to get that?” Peter asks, gesturing to the door.

In the face of that question, Tony does not want to admit his reluctance to go. Appearing too worried about Peter will not do. Parents, or so he guesses, should appear confident about what they are doing.

“Will you be all right?” Tony asks nonetheless.

He is glad to see Peter roll his eyes. That hopefully means he is not getting worse. “You’re just going to the door, Dad.”

Tony nods and gets to his feet. “All right, I’ll be back in a minute.” He makes a show of putting his cards face-down on the bedsheet. “And don’t you cheat, I’m already going easy on you.”

Peter’s hand, that has already been inching closer to Tony’s cards, stills. “You’re not going easy on me. You’re just bad at cards.”

With a gasp, Tony raises his hand to his chest, clutching his rumpled shirt. “How can you say that? My own flesh and blood.”

He is rewarded with a tiny smile, and treasures it above everything else.

On his way to the door, Tony tries to smooth down his clothes and hair, but guesses he is just making things worse. The next time Peter sleeps, he should probably take a shower and change into something more suitable for lounging around at home, waiting for a catastrophe to hit.

When he opens the door, Tony is rewarded by a second look at Steve Rogers from close up. He is wearing clean clothes now, no paint splatters in sight, but which also seem a size too small. Perhaps it is his aesthetic, and Tony is definitely not going to protest it.

“Sorry for taking so long,” Steve greets him, looking somewhat sheepish as he holds out his hands to offer a pot to Tony.

“That smells heavenly. Did you – wait.” With some delay, Tony notices that pot only fits in the most generic of senses. The thing is a dented monstrosity of fading colours and nauseating patterns. “How old are you? Why do you own such garishly coloured pots? With flowers?”

Distantly, Tony thinks he should be wondering more about the fact that Steve is here with an actual pot instead of some jar or plastic bag. Even at the first glance, there is more effort involved than Tony wanted Steve to make. This does not look like he found any chicken soup in his fridge after all, but actually went out to get it.

“It’s not mine,” Steve says, a small grin playing on his lips as he regards the pot in his hands. “My friend’s grandmother lives around the corner. She whipped something up for you.”

Tony is unable to do anything but stare, not sure whether he has understood Steve correctly. “Are you telling me this is real, handmade chicken soup? And that you went to a real grandmother to get it?” He has no idea how much work goes into making this soup but it is probably too much for a random stranger manically knocking at one’s door. “Wait,” he then says, not yet reaching for the pot, “you’re not one of those crazy serial killers who lie their way into honest people’s home by bringing them poisoned soup, right?”

Steve’s laugh hits him by surprise. It is a melodic sound that Tony would not mind hearing every day.

“I’d say I’m not,” Steve says, followed by a one-armed shrug. “Things might look differently if I had actually tried to cook this soup on my own.”

That is understandable but does not explain anything. Tony lets his eyes wander from the pot up the very nice arms that are holding it to Steve’s earnest face waiting for an answer.

“Then why?” Tony questions, wondering why he does not take the soup and make sure to be more eloquent when he goes to bring the pot back to Steve, possibly with a good wine and aspirations to turn it into a date. However, all thoughts of romance are sucked out of him by the sick child waiting for him inside the apartment.

Steve smiles. “You looked desperate.” He shows no strain from continually holding the pot.

Under different circumstances, Tony might have protested that statement. He is far beyond holding on to his pride, though. “I am desperate,” he says with surprising vehemence and finally takes the pot out of Steve’s hand and balances on his hip. “Peter’s always been healthy. I have no idea what to do.”

It is cathartic to say that, even to a stranger, but Tony still hopes Peter is not listening in on them from his bedroom. That would defy the whole ‘parents know best’ paradigm they are still sticking to.

A small frown creases Steve’s forehead as he looks at where Tony’s hands cradle the pot before they travel up and find his face. “This might be a tad forward, since we don’t know each other –”

“I kinda know you,” Tony interrupts, afraid of what Steve is going to say. “I ogle you each morning when you go on your run.” He bites his cheek again. What is it with him and running his mouth in front of people he finds attractive? “This – is not appropriate to say to strangers. I’m so sorry. I haven’t slept in three days. At least.”

Because before Peter fell sick, Tony had busied himself with a project, forgetting all about the basic needs his very human body has. That has gotten much better over the past years, but old habits die hard.

To both their surprise, Steve chuckles. “It’s all right.” Tony feels like he needs to propose on the spot. “What I was saying, I could help? I mean, I don’t have children, but I’ve been sick pretty much my entire childhood, so I might just know enough to make things a bit easier on you.”

Everything in Tony wants to say yes. Well, everything but the small part of his brain dedicated to common sense. He has a sick child inside. Even though Steve says he wants to help, Tony would be agreeing because he has an embarrassingly giant crush on his neighbour, not because of his supposed expertise in surviving childhood sicknesses.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Tony says, trying to refuse subtly.

“You didn’t ask,” Steve protests softly, “I offered.”

That is just unfair. Tony does not do well with temptation. Still, he inclines his head apologetically. “Peter does not do well with strangers.”

“Tony,” Steve says, his smile never dropping. “Just say no. I’ll leave you my number.” With complete nonchalance, Steve pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket with his number on it in a loopy scrawl. He definitely came prepared, which has Tony feeling less like he has just messed up his chances. “Write if you need more soup. Or anything else.”

Tony is still dazed from the recent developments when he makes his way to Peter’s room with a bowl full of steaming soup. He cannot imagine how he managed to not send Steve running immediately. The small paper with Steve’s number on it is already safely tucked away on Tony’s desk, and he has, naturally, already saved it in his phone. He will not risk losing it.

Peter is sitting up in his bed, Tony’s cards lying apparently untouched in front of him. Tony does not trust him one bit. Either way, he puts the bowl down carefully on the nightstand and presses the spoon into Peter’s hand without question.

“I don’t want soup,” Peter says, eyeing the bowl with trepidation. The nausea has passed at some point during the night, but the memory of throwing up is still very present.

“Shush, kiddo,” Tony says brightly as he lowers himself back onto the bed. “An actual angel brought this. Blonde, tall, gorgeous.”

Immediately, Peter’s eyes narrow at him. It might be a flaw of character, but Tony has never hidden the fact that it is okay to fancy people, even though he does not bring strangers home with him, of course. He barely has any opportunities for this anyway, since he has become rather conservative since he has taken to being a father.

“Are you talking about our neighbour?” Peter asks with a small grin but also open incredulity. The disbelief might not be that displaced, since Tony has been watching Steve for a while now and has never done anything about it.

“It sounds like you’re pulling through if you can already sass your old man again,” Tony chides gently. He makes no secret out of the relief he feels at seeing some liveliness returning into his son’s features.

Not very subtly, Peter puts the spoon down on his blanket. “You should just ask him out.”

Even while he is thinking of Steve’s number waiting in his phone, Tony still says, “I might have ruined my chances today.” He had been terribly rude, a frantic mess. No one could find that attractive. It is likely that Steve really only left his number in case Tony needs help with Peter after all. He seems like the kind of person who would be nice like that.

“You know what they teach us in school?” Peter asks with as much dryness as an eight-year-old can muster. “Words help.”

Despite himself, a short bout of laughter passes over his lips, before he schools his expression into something appropriately serious.

“Careful, young man. Now eat.” As an afterthought, he adds, “If you eat all of this, I can ask Steve to get us more.”

That said, he should probably eat some himself, just to make sure he does not get sick himself. That is a completely sensible precaution and has nothing to do with emptying the pot more quickly.

And Peter, bless this beautiful child, looks at the soup with disdain but picks up the spoon and dutifully eats the whole bowl, even though he falls back against his pillow afterwards, already half asleep again after this effort.

“Try to sleep, yes?” Tony says afterwards, gathering up their cards so that Peter can lie down completely again. “I’ll be here whenever you need me. Just call.”

Smiling, Peter glances up at him. “I know, Dad. Don’t throw the rest of the soup away so you can bother Mr. Neighbour again. I’ll eat it.”

Tony wonders whether he is this transparent. It is more likely that Peter simply knows him by now. “You’ll be one hell of a heartbreaker one day,” Tony sighs, thinking that this should not feel as much like an accomplishment as it does. “You already play the game well.”

Shrugging against the cushions, Peter blinks up at Tony with utter innocence. The effect is somewhat marred by his eyes dropping closed every couple of seconds. “If the soup helps, I can get out of the bed and just tell neighbour Steve that you like him. Otherwise you’ll never get a date.”

“Excuse you? I’ll have you know –” Tony trails off, face softening as he looks down at his son, already fast asleep.

His own eyes feel heavy, exhaustion pulling at his very bones. He has never planned on being a father and it is sometimes grinding him down. Looking at the real miracle Peter is, though, he would not change this for anything.

Smiling, Tony goes to the kitchen to wash out Peter’s bowl. His phone is sitting innocently on the table but calling out to Tony with a might he cannot resists, even if he had wanted to.

Turning on the coffee machine, Tony pulls up Steve’s brand new contact details and writes him a message.

Thank you for the soup. Peter ate it all and is now asleep.

It feels insufficient, somehow, but Tony has been overwhelming enough for one day already.

Barely a minute later, his phone chimes with Steve’s answer. You’re welcome.

Nothing more. Tony tells himself he is not disappointed by that. He is the one who rejected Steve’s kind offer to help, after all. If everything else fails, he might have to send Peter to get things running again, after all.

The next day, around noon, the doorbell rings again. Peter is doing much better and they have both gotten a full night’s sleep, which has gone a long way to make them feel human again. Peter has even ventured out of his room to lie on the couch, where they are currently watching Lion King – which Tony will never admit he knows all the lyrics for.

Disentangling from his blanket, Tony gets up to open the door. Later, he will deny having hoped it would be Steve, but when he comes face to face with their neighbour again, he cannot help the smile spreading on his face.

“Steve,” he greets, wondering whether he should tone down the enthusiasm. Hakuna matata is running in the background, though, and Tony is not going to dismiss advice from Disney.

“Hey. I don’t want to disturb,” Steve says as if that is a real possibility. “How’s Peter doing?”

“Much better,” Tony exclaims, and there is no exaggerating the relief he feels. “Thank you again.”

Right now, Tony is convinced that it is only thanks to their interaction yesterday that Tony had the energy to keep his sanity intact instead of doing something utterly crazy like going back to the hospital and threaten to purchase it so he can fire everybody who tells him that Peter has a simple cold and just needs to rest. Pepper often tells him he tends to overreact when it comes to people he cares for, and there is no one more important in his life than Peter.

“No problem,” Steve replies simply. His smile turns sympathetic. “I remember this well.”

Tony does not know what to say to that, so they stand awkwardly across from each other. This is the point where he should get the pot to hand it back over and leave Steve be. Being too much of a bother never ends well. Yet, he never seems able to stop.

“I – would you – I mean –”

“He wants to go on a date with you.”

Peter appears out of nowhere, pushing Tony slightly to the side so he can fit into the doorway too. He is wearing Spider-Man pyjamas and has a blanket slung around his shoulders. For all that he has been close to falling asleep only moments before when they were still on the couch, he looks very awake right now, and very interested. He stares up at Steve, at once critical and smiling. Tony has to swallow the urge to reach down and put his hands over Peter’s mouth.

“Peter,” Tony warns. At Steve, he adds, “Ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Fever dreams, you know.”

Apart from raising his eyebrow, Steve does not respond. Instead, he leans down a bit and offers a hand for Peter to shake, which Peter accepts with newfound energy.

“Hello, young man. I’m Steve,” he greets seriously, as if he is constantly being accosted by noisy kids.

“I know,” Peter says with a smile too knowing to belong on such a young face.

Tony knows what is coming. Something along the lines of my dad never shuts up about you, and he has to keep that from happening. “Don’t be rude,” he says firmly and puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Craning his neck to look up, Peter frowns. “You weren’t going to ask him. Again.”

Acutely aware of Steve watching them, Tony shakes his head minutely, inwardly begging his son to stop. “And that’s my decision to make.”

“You’re afraid,” Peter exclaims, the first signs of irritation showing in his tone.

That is enough, Tony decides, and pushes Peter back into their apartment, allowing him not to struggle.

“Get back to the living room,” he says firmly. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Because Peter is unmistakeably Tony’s son, he does not leave without getting a last comment in. “Take two. You need to agree on a restaurant after all.”

Unable to meet Steve’s eyes so soon, Tony watches Peter walk back into the apartment, more of a spring in his step than he had in days. That is making Tony happy of course, but he still cannot shake the embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters and runs a hand through his hair before he can stop himself.

“What for?” Steve asks, honestly curious. “He’s delightful.” Just like that, he proves again that he is a thoroughly good human being who does not only bring strangers soup but also lets Tony hit on him via Peter without getting annoyed.

“That’s not a word anyone should ever use for a kid,” Tony replies dryly. “Especially not one with a running nose and a big mouth.”

He cannot quite hide the fondness in his voice, and when he finally looks back up at Steve, they share a smile.

Then Steve shifts his position and looks slightly awkward. “Well, is it true?”

There is only one thing he could be asking about, but Tony does not dare to think about that. “Is what true?” he asks back, trying for innocence.

Something in his tone or face seems to bolster Steve, because he stands a little straighter and does not look away from Tony. “That you want to ask me out on a date.”

Tony bites his lip to keep himself from yelling yes. Instead, he concentrates on a point past Steve’s shoulder and tries to force the blood rushing into his cheeks to return where it belongs.

“I – I’m truly sorry,” Tony says. He is going to ground Peter forever if he has just messed up Tony’s chances even more – at least after they have moved somewhere else, preferably another state to minimize the danger of ever running into Steve again. “I’m afraid I’m not a good role model when it comes to social norms and –”

“Yes,” Steve cuts him off simply, causing Tony to splutter.

He is aware that his behaviour is not always suitable for polite company, but people usually do not call him out on it like this, do not simply agree with him.

“What?” he asks dumbly.

And Steve, in a show of eternal patience, smiles. “If you meant to ask, I’m saying yes.”

Even Tony’s constantly racing and slightly self-sabotaging mind does not find a way to somehow twist these words into meaning something other than Steve agreeing to go out with Tony. Even after close scrutiny, he does not even see any pity on Steve’s face. It is hardly believable, but Steve appears to be serious.

“You – do?” Tony asks nonetheless, unwilling to run headfirst into a trap.

Steve nods, his smile growing wider. “The two minutes are up,” he then says, obvious humour in his tone. “How about next Tuesday? We’ll text later, so you can tell me whether you’ll find a babysitter.”

Mind a mess of conflicted emotions, Tony still realizes that Steve has immediately thought of Peter and that he cannot be left alone an entire evening – which has Tony’s thoughts drifting off to wonder just how long Steve might want their dinner to take.

“I – yes,” Tony exclaims quickly before he lose himself in speculations and forgets all about reality. “Yes. That would be great.”

“Perfect,” Steve says. “And tell me if you need more soup.”

“Will do.”

Only when Steve has already disappeared back into his own apartment does Tony remember the pot sitting freshly cleaned on his kitchen table. Well, that gives him an excuse to visit Steve again later.

Feeling the urge to whistle, Tony closes the door and walks back to the living room. He is going to have a long talk with Peter about appropriate topic of conversation. But perhaps after that date with Steve – a date – depending on how it works out. First, he is going to get them two bowls of ice cream – that is supposed to help with sore throats – to go along with the rest of Lion King.

Then, as soon as Peter is asleep, he is going to make sure that Darcy will be available to watch Peter on Tuesday, even if he has to pay her double. He is not going to miss this chance.

#iron man bingo 3000 #marvel #dad tony #sick fic #stony #getting together #protective steve rogers #precious peter parker #ao3 #my writing

92 notes · View notes

drink-n-watch · 4 years

Text

Do you know how to tell if someone’s Canadian? Wait 5 minutes and they’ll tell you! Or maybe that’s just me? Anyways, I’m Canadian so when the episode started on what was clearly a fantasy parallel for the maple syrup industry, I got super excited. Cause I’m Canadian you see. Also I love maple syrup and all the derivatives. It’s delicious! It’s also almost maple season! Basically, this week’s Somali and the Forest Spirit tried to bribe me with sweetness. And it succeeded!

After reading a comment on one of my episode posts I started thinking about my uneven appreciation of this show and I’ve come to realize something. I’m watching Somali and the Forest Spirit for the story. I appreciate the colours and beauty of the anime. The craftsmanship goes a long way to propping up weaker story moments. But for me, it was always about Golem and Somali’s journey and how they grow together. It’s why I’m here.

So it’s a bit ironic that I tend to appreciate the show more when less happens.

For instance, in this episode, Golem and Somali continue their journey and meet up again with Shizuno and Yabashira. Somali also happens to lose her first baby tooth and since neither she nor Golem know this is normal, she freaks out a bit about tit then finds out it’s all good.

That’s pretty much it. No big revelation, no exciting new characters and unsurmountable obstacles, and a considerably ranking down of the stakes from previous episodes. This was probably my favourite episode in a long time. Also the whole sugar shack thing at the beginning…

Man the environments are so pretty in this show!

Episode 9 of Somali was a bit of a return to the roots of the series. It reestablished the characters and even brought back my two favourite supporting cast members to expand a bit the context of Somali and Golem’s universe.

We were clearly reminded not only of what type of person Somali is but also that she’s a small child with all that implies. Losing baby teeth and being worried about nothing when real problems are looming. She doesn’t want to worry her father but he’s the only thing in the entire world that’s safe. He’s her whole universe and she sees him as both invincible and fragile.

We are also reminded that Golem is a doting and caring father with all that implies but ultimately not human. He has no idea about baby teeth. He’s never cooked before, even if he is apparently skilled at it. He has to discover so much of the world right alongside Somali which is tricky when you also want to protect and teach a child.

All the while, Shizu and Yaba remind us that the world may be dangerous but it’s also filled with potential friends if you just give people a chance. It’s a hodge bodge of kindness and cruelty and you just have to figure out how to make the best of it.

To me, episodes like this are the charm of the series. Relatively quiet but full of hope. Somali’s unfounded anxiety that we can appreciate with fondness as we know she’s going to be just fine and nevertheless feel exhilarated when we see it turn into glee.

There were also many beautiful moments of Golem just being a father. Deciding to keep the box for Somali’s baby teeth. An unpractical sentimental gesture that nevertheless had deep meaning for both of them. The show is deliberately restating it’s thesis and I think it’s a great move at this time.

For a couple of episodes we went off in a lot of directions and it was good to be reminded that it’s just a simple story about a father and daughter finding each other and going on a journey together. That’s all it needs to be. It’s the story I wanted to see.

The very last lines of the episode imply that Golems are in fact more utilitarian creatures and generally devoid of emotion. Golem is not being the most deadpan tsundere ever (although that’s sort of a fun way to approach the character). Rather his speech seemed to imply that meeting Somali fundamentally changed him.

Essentially what Golem said is that becoming a father is what made him a person.

I’m not a parent so I can’t fully appreciate the sentiment but I am a daughter and I found it deeply touching.

I really liked this episode of Somali and the Forest Spirit, I hope they keep the vibe going.

Somali and The Forest Spirit Episode 9 – Sugar Shack Do you know how to tell if someone's Canadian? Wait 5 minutes and they'll tell you! Or maybe that's just me?

#adventure #anime #Fantasy #found family #Somali and The Forest Spirit

2 notes · View notes

phoenixflames12 · 6 years

Text

Gotham’s Writing Workshop Week 6

A/N: This is set in my WW2 AU within chapter 8 of An Endless Night.

Faith loses a patient at work in the hospital and seeks solace in her Mother.

For extra feels, please listen to the Outlander Season 3 soundtrack- especially Rupert is Next.

‘You can’t dwell on it’

April 1942

She’s standing at the foot of the bed of one of her patients- a private named Johnny Keith in the Liverpool Scottish who’d come in with a gangrenous shot wound to the upper thigh. The gangrene was the result of a bodged operation job at the casualty clearing station, turning into the putridly soft mass of swollen purple-grey flesh that had reeked with the softly sweet stink of infection. She’s watching through blurred eyes as the ward sister briskly pulled the screens firmly together, greeting her questioning look with a firm shake of her head.

‘Too late to do anything now, Nurse,’ the ward sister says, her hazel eyes that remind Faith of her mother just a little bit, her voice void of any emotion as she glances down at the crumpled sheets where only moments before there had been a living, breathing body clinging onto life by a thread.

She’d seen from his paperwork, what little there was of it to go by, that he’d only been twenty-two.

He had been fading for days, she’d known that, but to see those crumpled sheets, the brisk fashion in which the orderlies come with a stretcher, tugging their forelocks to them both with looks that are just a little too understanding, had been too much to bear.

She’d fled the scene on the instant that the ward sister had given her clearance, barely able to choke back the acidic torrent of bile rising steadily through her throat.

‘Faith, is that you?’

Her mother’s voice comes as a shock.

The bicycle ride from the hospital, weaving her way through the slowly thinning main street of Broch Mordha, feeling the sharp, sunset rays prick against the evening chill, had passed by in a blur.

All she could see is Private Keith’s face, slack and clammy in death- his grey eyes shining with distant stars, burning his soul back to his parents in their slum house on the Clydebank. His face had been puffy and swollen, his breath forced out in harsh, shallow gasps that could only signal the worst.

You can’t dwell on it, she had thought firmly; letting the sting of the wind slap cold against her cheek.

But she had dwelt on it.

It had been Keith’s face she had seen, cold and puffy and lifeless as she had walked down the rows of beds towards the ward sister’s office to fill in the necessary paperwork after the body had been moved. Keith’s hand that had squeezed her own when she bumped into Maggie purely by accident on her way to the surgical ward; eyes wide with concern.

‘Are ye alright, Faith? You look like ye’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Aye, I’m fine, Maggie.’ The lie had tasted bitter on her tongue.

It had been Keith’s face she had seen grinning back at her instead of some of her cheekier charges; a wink and a grin always ready when she came to do their TPRs or hand them their requested cup of tea.

Instead of the hard, worn rubber of her bicycle handles, it had been the greasy chill of dying skin that she’d felt, crawling against her palm.

‘Faith?’

She finds herself standing in the hallway with no memory of getting there. Each breath is an effort, her lungs trapped against her ribcage. Her hands are trembling, cold and sore and blue against her dress. Each step she has taken from the kailyard to the hall has been a mile in pain, a mile in trying to steel herself against what she knows to be the truth.

You can’t dwell on it.

You can’t…

You…

‘What’s the matter, mo chuisle?’

Claire’s face swims in and out of focus and before she’s fully conscious of the great barrier of emotion that she has tried so hard to supress suddenly breaking forth, Faith finds herself clinging to her mother; incoherent sobs shattering into the silence.

‘One of my first patients died on me too,’ they are sitting in the kitchen, listening to the low, steady hum of the wireless.

Faith’s hands are clamped around a mug of steaming camomile tea, trying to stem the shivering that comes despite the tartan rug tucked tightly about her shoulders.

Claire’s eyes are very big, soft and wide with love, glowing in the fading light.

‘When?’ The question comes out more like a squeak.

‘When I was nursing at the RMA. Before I met your Da. It… He wasn’t a cadet, just an unlucky civilian caught up in a car accident in the wrong place, at the wrong time. He-‘

She pauses then, groping in her pocket for a handkerchief.

‘He made me promise,’ her mother’s voice is caught with tragedy, something that Faith can’t read flickering across her face.

‘He made me promise that I’d keep nursing. That I’d keep trying, despite it all. He’d sustained a punctured lung and there was nothing we could do but try to keep the blood from drowning him too quickly. I.. I haven’t thought about it for years.’

Her voice is distant, her gaze seeming to be looking past Faith, past the front door and towards a great unknown expanse of time and space.

Faith can do nothing but nod, her own eyes travelling towards the framed photograph of her parents, taken at their wedding that sits on the mantelpiece.

‘Did Da say that to you as well?’ She doesn’t trust her voice. Doesn’t trust herself to ask the real question that is burning on her lips, doesn’t trust herself to put a voice to the fears that have been burning at her heart ever since the newspapers got word of the Battle for France.

‘Do you think he’ll come home? When?’

Her Da grins out at her from the carved, elm wood frame, tall and straight and firm in his Fraser tartan, the smile that she misses so much twinkling at the corner of his mouth, shining through his eyes; Claire glowing with her bouquet of summer roses cascading out of her arms.

Claire nods sadly, following her gaze, reaching out a steadying hand to bury a kiss against her knuckles.

‘We mustn’t dwell on it, mo chridhe. He wouldn’t want us to.’

Fin

#mine #writing #Gotham's Writing Workshop #outlander #ww2 au #faith fraser #claire beecham #jamie fraser #death for tw

69 notes · View notes

myongfisher · 6 years

Text

Navigating branding for tech startups—a founder’s journey

A couple of weeks ago the 99designs team invited me to write a post for the blog and share my branding story, and as a startup founder I will never ever pass up an opportunity to talk about my company.

So here’s the story of Hecate, a suite of GitHub apps to help software engineering managers do their job better. There are two reasons you might find this story interesting.

The first is that I was the VP of engineering for 99designs itself. It’s always interesting to hear how a former employee uses their old product. Knowing the ins and outs of 99designs helped me get a great result and hopefully you can pick up a pro-tip or two.

The second is around how I’ve tried to use branding to drive company culture, particularly around diversity and inclusion, from day zero.

Via Hecate.

Taking the first step —

Like all good startups, Hecate began as a side project based on my own experiences running the dev team at 99designs. I began tinkering to find a simple way to let engineering managers know what their team is working on, a seemingly simple task that gets harder and harder as a team grows.

Beyond understanding the problem of communication in product teams, years of working for 99designs and seeing all of our customer’s success gave me a strong appreciation for branding work and I couldn’t get myself motivated without one.

Examining my branding influences —

I was binge-watching the TV show American Gods around the time I got started on the initial idea. The TV series is based on a book by Neil Gaiman, and it draws heavily on Norse mythology. I found that inspiring and wanted to follow suit. In Norse mythology Huginn and Muninn are a pair of ravens who fly all over the world, and bring information back to Odin. The imagery fit my business idea perfectly, but unfortunately someone else had the same inspiration.

I needed to keep going though, so rather than abandon the idea, I decided that the working title would be GitRaven. I bodged up a placeholder logo using a logo maker and then switched my focus back to prototyping the first version of the product.

A placeholder logo for what later should become Hecate

After my initial nudge towards all things Norse, some nagging thoughts pulled me back—more than just the embarrassingly low quality of the logo and genericness of the name.

Working at 99designs meant that I was surrounded by branding for tech companies. I had already identified three typical ways that startups went with their branding: run-of-the-mill bootstrap theme, mid-century Scandinavian vibe, and dark background deep-nerd culture.

What I was seeing was a distinct lack of diversity in the way that tech startups were branding and presenting themselves. I’m a big fan of Amy Wibowo, computer scientist and founder of Bubble Sort Zines and her writing on diversity in tech and in the way products are presented has been hugely influential for me. I discovered her through her computer science zines, but Coding Like a Girl is a great place to start with her work.

When the organisation Code Like a Girl published a thinkpiece calling for an end to ‘pinkifying’ tech, that is designing platforms and tools in a way that they might be more appealing for a female-identifying audience, there was an accompanying Twitterstorm, and hurt feelings all round.

For me, it was disappointing. This debate made me determined to be better. My company was my chance to create diversity in way that I believed in and I wanted this built into the brand. I decided to pay homage to Amy’s work, and worked to completely flip my branding instincts. I switched my naming search from gods to goddesses and worked my way through the Greek pantheon. Hecate emerged, the Greek goddess of crossroads and witchcraft.

Creating Hecate —

With the name in place, it was time to consider a visual identity. I decided I was going to do a logo design contest with Hecate.

Learn more about working with designers on 99designs.

With a brief taking shape, I pulled ideas together on Pinterest. I tried to keep a pretty open mind while I was pinning things I liked, but by the time I had the board together, it was pretty obvious I was leaning towards developing a character or mascot for Hecate.

So I came up with a brief: I need a vector character/mascot design that can do double duty as a logo with a complementary colour scheme. It should be either a girl or a cat in a witches hat in a kind of bright pastel colour scheme.

99designs instagram post featuring the work of top level designer NataMarmelada

However, this brief never saw the light of day because I saw this Instagram post from 99designs. It was almost bang on.

When I contacted the designer—NataMarmelada—I discovered that the character design was an ‘off cut’ from a 99designs contest and that she was open to selling it.

Making Hecate more witchy. In progress character design by NataMarmelada.

I wanted Hecate to be a little more ‘witchy’, so she got a little update, and a hat. I’d asked for the hat and coat to sit halfway between a traditional witches outfit and kind of a classic lighthouse-keeper raincoat and hat for a little bit of nautical feel.

The final version is exactly what I’d hoped for, she’s the perfect representative for my tech brand.

Playing against type —

While the majority of my budget for branding had gone on mascot development, it was worth it. Unfortunately there’s quite a bit more to branding than just a mascot and with the budget gone I had to switch to a “beg, borrow, and steal” mentality to get the rest done. The book Design for Hackers was a great resource to help finish the job.

I took the colour scheme from the mascot design and plugged it into the various colour pickers recommended in the book like the Adobe Colour Wheel (formerly known as Kuler) until I had a pallette I could work with.

The Hecate wordmark in combination with the character design by NataMarmelada

I was also missing a wordmark to go with the mascot. Thankfully I had a friend who is a massive typography nerd who owed me a favour. He gave me a bunch of type foundry recommendations which I browsed through until I found Chapeau from Milieu Grotesque which was the perfect blend of professional and friendly. To finalise the wordmark I just needed to tweak the crossbar on the H a little to line up with the e.

Branding for tech startups: top tips —

Reflecting on the whole process of developing my branding there are a few takeaways I can share:

Pro-tip number one is to follow the 99designs instagram. The designer marketing team is always trying to show off some of the best work on the platform and it’s a great way to find talent on the up and up.

Contests are still probably the best way to get a logo done, but if you’ve found someone with an aesthetic you’re really compatible with you can save a lot of time and a little bit of money working directly with the designer

It’s worth putting in the extra thought up front on your brand. If I hadn’t questioned my own default assumptions on branding I’d have ended up with something that wouldn’t stand out in the market.

If you’re a founder, definitely keep these things in mind when you’re developing the branding for your tech startup.

Hecate is open for business already. If you’re an engineering or product manager with a tech team in the range of ten to thirty engineers come and check us out at https://hecate.co/

Need high-quality branding for your tech startup?

Look no further: our designers have what it takes.

Learn more

The post Navigating branding for tech startups—a founder’s journey appeared first on 99designs.

Navigating branding for tech startups—a founder’s journey published first on https://www.lilpackaging.com/

0 notes

pamelahetrick · 6 years

Text

Navigating branding for tech startupsa founders journey

So here’s the story of Hecate, a suite of GitHub apps to help software engineering managers do their job better. There are two reasons you might find this story interesting.

The second is around how I’ve tried to use branding to drive company culture, particularly around diversity and inclusion, from day zero.

Via Hecate.

Taking the first step —

Examining my branding influences —

A placeholder logo for what later should become Hecate

After my initial nudge towards all things Norse, some nagging thoughts pulled me back—more than just the embarrassingly low quality of the logo and genericness of the name.

Creating Hecate —

With the name in place, it was time to consider a visual identity. I decided I was going to do a logo design contest with Hecate.

Learn more about working with designers on 99designs.

99designs instagram post featuring the work of top level designer NataMarmelada

However, this brief never saw the light of day because I saw this Instagram post from 99designs. It was almost bang on.

When I contacted the designer—NataMarmelada—I discovered that the character design was an ‘off cut’ from a 99designs contest and that she was open to selling it.

Making Hecate more witchy. In progress character design by NataMarmelada.

The final version is exactly what I’d hoped for, she’s the perfect representative for my tech brand.

Playing against type —

The Hecate wordmark in combination with the character design by NataMarmelada

Branding for tech startups: top tips —

Reflecting on the whole process of developing my branding there are a few takeaways I can share:

If you’re a founder, definitely keep these things in mind when you’re developing the branding for your tech startup.

Hecate is open for business already. If you’re an engineering or product manager with a tech team in the range of ten to thirty engineers come and check us out at https://hecate.co/

Need high-quality branding for your tech startup?

Look no further: our designers have what it takes.

Learn more

The post Navigating branding for tech startups—a founder’s journey appeared first on 99designs.

via 99designs https://99designs.co.uk/blog/logo-branding-en-gb/branding-for-tech-startups/

0 notes

susaanrogers · 6 years

Text

Navigating branding for tech startups—a founder’s journey

So here’s the story of Hecate, a suite of GitHub apps to help software engineering managers do their job better. There are two reasons you might find this story interesting.

The second is around how I’ve tried to use branding to drive company culture, particularly around diversity and inclusion, from day zero.

Via Hecate.

Taking the first step —

Examining my branding influences —

A placeholder logo for what later should become Hecate

After my initial nudge towards all things Norse, some nagging thoughts pulled me back—more than just the embarrassingly low quality of the logo and genericness of the name.

Creating Hecate —

With the name in place, it was time to consider a visual identity. I decided I was going to do a logo design contest with Hecate.

Learn more about working with designers on 99designs.

99designs instagram post featuring the work of top level designer NataMarmelada

However, this brief never saw the light of day because I saw this Instagram post from 99designs. It was almost bang on.

When I contacted the designer—NataMarmelada—I discovered that the character design was an ‘off cut’ from a 99designs contest and that she was open to selling it.

Making Hecate more witchy. In progress character design by NataMarmelada.

The final version is exactly what I’d hoped for, she’s the perfect representative for my tech brand.

Playing against type —

The Hecate wordmark in combination with the character design by NataMarmelada

Branding for tech startups: top tips —

Reflecting on the whole process of developing my branding there are a few takeaways I can share:

If you’re a founder, definitely keep these things in mind when you’re developing the branding for your tech startup.

Hecate is open for business already. If you’re an engineering or product manager with a tech team in the range of ten to thirty engineers come and check us out at https://hecate.co/

Need high-quality branding for your tech startup?

Look no further: our designers have what it takes.

Learn more

The post Navigating branding for tech startups—a founder’s journey appeared first on 99designs.

0 notes

janetgannon · 7 years

Text

Can you repair a liferaft at sea?

All liferafts are sold with liferaft repair kits, but are they any use at sea, when it’s a matter of life or death? Ben Meakins finds out

Seasick, dehydrated, tired and scared, this would be a far greater challenge

Can you repair a liferaft at sea?

‘A horrendous sound like the ripping open of a huge zipper meets my ears. Air blows out in a spluttering, heinous burble. If I cannot repair the damage, I won’t last long.’

When Steve Callahan’s liferaft was punctured by a malevolent dorado on his 43rd day adrift in mid-Atlantic, in 1982, it was a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire.

It’s every sailor’s nightmare. It’s bad enough that you’ve taken to the liferaft, but when that springs a leak, what can you do? You’d think in these days of EPIRBs and satellite phones that your chances of having to spend over 24 hours adrift were limited – but as recently as November 2008, two delivery crew spent four days in a raft off the Spanish coast near Minorca after their yacht sank. The boat was hit by a wave and sank before they had a chance to send out a Mayday, set off their EPIRB or even pick up their grab bag.

Plenty has been written about surviving in a liferaft, but little has been said about how to repair one. We took to a liferaft armed with a sharp knife and a variety of bungs and bodges to find out whether it’s possible to make a decent airtight repair while at sea

The test

A benign sea state in Andark’s pool near Hamble. At sea, it would be much harder

We classed possible repairs in four categories: clamps, leak stoppers, glue and patches, and lastly, ‘the bodge.’ We used a Eurovinil Ocean Standard budget four-man raft, trying each method of repair on three different sized holes: pin-pricks, 1in (2.5cm) and 1½in (3.8cm) holes.

We tried each method out of the water first, before launching the raft in Andark’s dive training pool near Southampton and doing the same in the water. The difference was startling.

There’s no guarantee of what you’ll find in your repair kit. The new ISO 9650 standard for liferafts says that, as a minimum requirement, ‘repair outfits must enable survivors to repair leaks in any or all of the inflatable compartments. Repair systems must work when wet and be capable of being applied during violent motion.’ All well and good – but even if you’ve got a raft that complies with the standard, you have to take the manufacturer’s word for what’s in your kit. As we found, it’s worth checking.

Clamps

Partial deflation means you’re almost always working underwater

Some manufacturers supply clamps as part of their repair kit. Clamps have many advantages over cones – not least that they are more secure. They do need to be on a flat surface, however, so aren’t as good as cones in corners or for holes near seams.

Barton Clamseal

The hole must be big enough for the clamp to pass through

This clamp will repair holes from 2½in to 3¾in (6cm to 9.5cm). You may need to enlarge the hole. It was easy to push half of the seal through. We then pulled on the string and the two halves lined up and joined together – by far the best method of all we tried.

The upper clamp lowers onto the thread and screws up tight

A tiny stream of bubbles came from the centre of the screw thread no matter how much we tightened the nut. With the thicker fabric of a more expensive raft, perhaps it might form a better seal. Nevertheless, after an hour afloat there was no noticeable difference in the raft’s tube pressure.

The best option on test, though air still bubbled through the thread

We didn’t test any other clamps, but the principle is certainly sound. Those that came with the Seago raft (not sold separately) are metal, the two halves secured by a wing nut. There’s a long, twisting wire to hold, which stops you losing the inner half inside the tube.

Verdict: The quickest, most secure method we tried. Well worth a place in your grab bag

Glue and patches

‘Dry area… clean with alcohol… don’t reinflate for 24 hours…’ Patches are not a practical solution

The instructions on the glue bottle said: ‘Dry area. Clean with alcohol… Apply the patch after two minutes, eliminating any air bubbles. Put a weight on and inflate after 24 hours.’ Clearly, this would by okay on dry land but a challenge in the water.

We did our best. It was impossible to get the glue to stick to such a wet surface as the bottom tube. A small slice in the top tube was slightly easier to keep dry, but as the air leaked out it dropped ever closer to the water. We applied the glue to both surfaces, waited two minutes and clapped on the patch. Placing a weight on the repair was not possible, so we used duct tape to keep it relatively dry and protected.

Our time in the pool was running out – and waiting 24 hours would be impractical in a liferaft. Reinflating after 30 minutes, the patch held for five minutes before it succumbed to the inevitable.

Glue and patches were fine for mending the canopy, where the repair needn’t be airtight and can be kept dry. Duct tape, spinnaker repair tape and mainsail repair tape also worked well on canopy holes.

Duct tape did as well as the patches, so it definitely makes it into my grab bag

Verdict: Back in the warm, dry office, we followed the instructions to the letter – and the repair was as strong as steel. But afloat, it’s just not practical.

Leak stoppers

We had a variety of leak stoppers. These are threaded cones, made of rubber or plastic, which screw into the hole to seal it.

Rubber leak stoppers

Many liferaft manufacturers supply rubber bungs. They aren’t sold individually

These were hollow and as soon as we tried to screw the round bung into the elliptical hole, the rubber just distorted and the bung refused to go any further.

The cone collapsed under pressure

Under water, it worked a little better – the water acting as a lubricant – but we couldn’t screw it in far enough to make the hole airtight.

The smaller bungs were better as there was less of them to distort – but no good for any holes bigger than an inch (2.5cm).

Plastic leak stoppers

The second best option but more vulnerable than the clamp

These were much better. Solid and with a good hand-hold at the base, they forced the rubber around the hole into a circular and thus airtight shape

Small white cone (Zodiac)

Zodiac’s cones were rigid but needed deeper threads

With a tapered thread, and smooth tip, it was easy to screw in and sealed small holes – up to ¾in (2cm) – with no leakage. However, the relatively shallow thread is vulnerable to being dislodged

Large white cone (Zodiac)

This also had a shallow, tapered thread. The same size as the Viking cone, it sealed the hole just as well – but the lack of a good grip made it more difficult to screw in. The biggest hole it would seal was 1¾in (4.5cm).

Red cone (Viking)

The Viking cones had much better grip than the Zodiac ones

The deep thread on these cones meant that they bit into the edges of the tear and made a good airtight seal. A good ‘grip’ made it easy to screw them in enough to stop any air coming out. The deep thread also made the cone much more secure and less vulnerable to being forced out.

These cones are good for medium-sized holes – up to 1¾in (4.5cm) long.

Verdict: Conical leak stoppers are particularly good in corners or other places where abrasion rubs a hole in the fabric. The plastic ones were far better than the rubber stoppers, which distorted. It would be worth tying them on with a lanyard in case they are knocked out of the hole. While not a permanent solution, they should keep you afloat.

The lifesaving bodge

A great theoretical solution but useless in practice

The Captain’s Guide to Liferaft Survival, by Capt Michael Cargal, suggests putting a softwood plug into the hole and sealing the edges of the torn rubber around it with a jubilee clip. In principle, it sounds like a workable idea. A 10mm-diameter wooden bung did a good job of plugging a pin-prick hole, but air bubbled out constantly through the grain of the wood. We tried with a bigger hole. Ashore, we succeeded, to some extent. We secured the plug, but it was difficult to get enough slack in the rubber to pull it far enough up around the bung, and it leaked air despite our best efforts. The sharp edges of the jubilee clip began to chafe horribly, too.

Even on dry land it was difficult to create a decent seal

In the water, we tried again. As soon as the bottom tube had deflated it disappeared under the raft, resisting all efforts to pull it back. Trying to insert the bung, place the jubilee clip and tighten it while making it airtight, all out of sight beneath the raft, proved impossible, even with a second pair of hands. Trying from in the water merely complicated matters. Our hole was near the door – and doing it elsewhere would have been even more difficult.

Steve Callahan used a similar method to repair his raft. He had picked up some closed-cell foam flotsam from his sinking yacht. He placed it in the hole, sewed the lips together with thin twine and then wound string around the repair as a tourniquet to seal it. After some trial and error, he got this to work, and it kept him alive across the Atlantic.

What this goes to show is that a well-prepared grab bag, with additional supplies, materials and tools, is invaluable. Sikaflex or a similar sealant will cure underwater. Closed-cell foam, plenty of light line and a roll of duct tape would greatly increase your chances of making a successful repair.

Conclusion

Noe of the repairs created a perfect seal but some were much better than others

Hopefully, you’ll never have to use your liferaft – but if you do, you certainly won’t regret time spent ensuring that you have the means to repair it. Check the contents of your raft’s repair kit.

None created a perfect long-lasting seal but the clamps were best

Glue is fine for canopy repairs but completely impractical for mending tubes. Cones are vulnerable, but work well on small and medium-sized holes. The hard plastic variety work better than the hollow rubber ones. Clamps are ideal for larger holes, and are secure and easy to use. It’s well worth keeping a couple of Barton Clamseals in your grab bag.

The post Can you repair a liferaft at sea? appeared first on Yachting Monthly.

Read Full Content Here

The post Can you repair a liferaft at sea? appeared first on YachtAweigh.

from http://yachtaweigh.com/can-you-repair-a-liferaft-at-sea/ from https://yachtaweigh.tumblr.com/post/166111024981

0 notes

yachtaweigh · 7 years

Text

Can you repair a liferaft at sea?

All liferafts are sold with liferaft repair kits, but are they any use at sea, when it’s a matter of life or death? Ben Meakins finds out

Seasick, dehydrated, tired and scared, this would be a far greater challenge

Can you repair a liferaft at sea?

‘A horrendous sound like the ripping open of a huge zipper meets my ears. Air blows out in a spluttering, heinous burble. If I cannot repair the damage, I won’t last long.’

When Steve Callahan’s liferaft was punctured by a malevolent dorado on his 43rd day adrift in mid-Atlantic, in 1982, it was a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire.

The test

A benign sea state in Andark’s pool near Hamble. At sea, it would be much harder

We tried each method out of the water first, before launching the raft in Andark’s dive training pool near Southampton and doing the same in the water. The difference was startling.

Clamps

Partial deflation means you’re almost always working underwater

Barton Clamseal

The hole must be big enough for the clamp to pass through

The upper clamp lowers onto the thread and screws up tight

The best option on test, though air still bubbled through the thread

Verdict: The quickest, most secure method we tried. Well worth a place in your grab bag

Glue and patches

‘Dry area… clean with alcohol… don’t reinflate for 24 hours…’ Patches are not a practical solution

Our time in the pool was running out – and waiting 24 hours would be impractical in a liferaft. Reinflating after 30 minutes, the patch held for five minutes before it succumbed to the inevitable.

Duct tape did as well as the patches, so it definitely makes it into my grab bag

Verdict: Back in the warm, dry office, we followed the instructions to the letter – and the repair was as strong as steel. But afloat, it’s just not practical.

Leak stoppers

We had a variety of leak stoppers. These are threaded cones, made of rubber or plastic, which screw into the hole to seal it.

Rubber leak stoppers

Many liferaft manufacturers supply rubber bungs. They aren’t sold individually

These were hollow and as soon as we tried to screw the round bung into the elliptical hole, the rubber just distorted and the bung refused to go any further.

The cone collapsed under pressure

Under water, it worked a little better – the water acting as a lubricant – but we couldn’t screw it in far enough to make the hole airtight.

The smaller bungs were better as there was less of them to distort – but no good for any holes bigger than an inch (2.5cm).

Plastic leak stoppers

The second best option but more vulnerable than the clamp

These were much better. Solid and with a good hand-hold at the base, they forced the rubber around the hole into a circular and thus airtight shape

Small white cone (Zodiac)

Zodiac’s cones were rigid but needed deeper threads

With a tapered thread, and smooth tip, it was easy to screw in and sealed small holes – up to ¾in (2cm) – with no leakage. However, the relatively shallow thread is vulnerable to being dislodged

Large white cone (Zodiac)

Red cone (Viking)

The Viking cones had much better grip than the Zodiac ones

These cones are good for medium-sized holes – up to 1¾in (4.5cm) long.

The lifesaving bodge

A great theoretical solution but useless in practice

Even on dry land it was difficult to create a decent seal

Conclusion

Noe of the repairs created a perfect seal but some were much better than others

None created a perfect long-lasting seal but the clamps were best

The post Can you repair a liferaft at sea? appeared first on Yachting Monthly.

Read Full Content Here

The post Can you repair a liferaft at sea? appeared first on YachtAweigh.

from http://yachtaweigh.com/can-you-repair-a-liferaft-at-sea/

0 notes

blancheludis · 5 years

Link

Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 6/?, Words: 36.689

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

---

The door to Steve’s room is thrown open without warning. Steve whirls around, ready for an attack or a barrage of bad news. With more relief than guilt, he abandons the report from Sam he was going through. He has not registered much of what Sam has written anyway. His thoughts these days are occupied with other things, other people.

Clint storms into his room, eyes ablaze, and holding his arm curled around his body as if he is wounded. That, at least, has Steve instantly alert. He has not yet accepted another job for them, but if there is something the Avengers are good at, it is getting into trouble.

“You need to talk to Bruce,” Clint announces, ignoring all proper curtesy.

Getting to his feet, Steve is glad to be pulled out of the monotony of his spiralling thoughts. “What happened?”

He is prepared for anything, for rivalling groups attacking, for the police knocking on their door, for Tony to – well, he is not prepared for Tony. Then again, he thinks he is neither lucky nor unlucky enough to have to be. The last time they talked, Tony still sounded so very angry, not like he wants to deal with Steve in any way.

Upon a closer look, it does not seem like there is an actual emergency. Clint looks angry but not in the way he is when he is gearing up for a fight.

“He’s being an ass and refuses to give me something for my burnt hand,” Clint says. His voice holds enough petulance to tell Steve that there is more to the story than whatever Clint is going to tell him.

“That doesn’t sound like Bruce,” Steve says slowly, leaning back against his desk. “How did you burn your hand? Did you make him blow up one of his experiments again?”

He tries to keep all judgement out of his tone, but Clint huffs anyway. They are all on edge these days.

“The coffee machine malfunctioned,” Clint explains, glaring at Steve like that is his fault.

He then offers his hand. True enough, half of the back is coloured an angry red, a sole blister sticking out. It looks like it hurts.

“What did Bruce say?” Steve asks, unable to muster much sympathy for Clint, considering he knows someone who is in much more pain because of them at the moment.

“To put it in cool water,” Clint answers. “He’s still angry with me because of Stark.”

Steve winces involuntarily. There is still anger in Clint’s voice, but Steve does not know how to contain it, how to not make things worse. Clint does not like to be told what to think, and all Steve feels capable of at the moment is to yell at him. That is easier than seeking the blame with himself.

“I’m not sure it’ll help if I talk to Bruce,” Steve offers with a shrug.

Bruce might have stopped glaring at all of them whenever he leaves his lab, but nothing is resolved yet. They are all treading very carefully around him, and Steve especially has kept his distance. He is not sure whether that is because he is tired of defending himself or because he is not yet ready to admit the entirety of what has gone wrong with this job.

“Why, Cap,” Clint drawls. His hand is now hanging limply at his side, pain forgotten in favour of going against Steve. “You’re usually so eager to argue your way through everything.”

Steve’s preferred method of problem-solving is actually to punch it until it goes away. That very much did not turn out in his favour this time.

“Perhaps I think he’s right,” Steve mutters, mostly to himself, to test out the words.

Hypocrisy is not a virtue, he is aware of that. At the same time, though, he has never felt this torn about a decision he has made. His arm is constantly pulsing with a need to make this right – only he does not know how.

“Of course you would,” Clint snaps, straightening his spine with an expression of disappointment. “You only stick to your decisions when you get your happily ever after.”

“Clint –” Steve tries, but there is not getting through to Clint when he does not want to listen.

“You’ll see it’s wrong to trust that bastard. I don’t care.”

With that, Clint stomps right back out of the door, burnt hand clenched into a fist. Steve wonders whether Clint’s words sit as wrong with him as they do with Steve. They have worked together for years, have been friends for just as long. This is not the first time Clint’s impulsiveness has caused trouble. It has led to bodged missions, to all-out brawls in bars when they wanted a quiet night out, to full weeks of sulking and Clint making life difficult just because he can.

Clint’s loyalty belongs to Natasha and then the Avengers, in that order. Normally, that is not a problem, because Clint’s loyalty is absolute. Even now, Steve has no doubt that Clint would take a bullet for him without hesitation, even if he would be grumbling about it the entire time. If Steve ordered him to, he would probably take a bullet for Tony too.

Steve just hopes that will not be necessary.

Bruce’s door is closed. That in itself is not unusual. Years of being on the run have instilled a deep-seated need for privacy in him. He also often does experiments that do not do well with outside tampering. Any other door in their base is more of a warning than an actual barrier, but Bruce has a talent for reminding people of their manners.

Right now, the door feels like a solid wall for all that Steve does not want to knock on it. Some of Bruce’s anger about the whole mess with Tony is reverberating inside him, battling against the conviction that he could not have done anything differently, not with the knowledge he had at the time.

They are not violent in nature. They try to do good. Steve does not want to play down what they did, but it was a mistake. Life has left its scars, and one name has been a theme throughout all of their stories. Punching Tony did not solve anything. In fact, it will likely be something that Steve will regret for the rest of his life.

Berating himself for wasting time, Steve takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. “Bruce?”

For a moment, nothing happens. Then Bruce’s voice sounds from inside. “No.”

So much for clear communication, Steve thinks but knows better than to say it. Worse than making Bruce angry is poking him when he already is. Slowly, he opens the door, even though he does not enter.

Bruce is sitting at his desk, a mess of scientific papers in front of him that Steve would barely understand. He is wearing a lab coat and his glasses that barely hide the glare he greets Steve with.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Steve says cautiously, hovering in the doorway. None of the things he currently has to discuss with Bruce is meant for other ears, but he does not want to be so presumptuous to go all the way into Bruce’s room and close the door behind him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bruce answers shortly. “I’m not interested in hearing any of it.”

Steve can only imagine how the conversation with Clint worked out if Bruce is still this irritated.

“Clint said -”

“He’s not going to die because the coffee machine decided to spit at him,” Bruce cuts him off, even going so far as to look like he is going to pat the coffee machine later for a job well done. “And a little bit of pain might do him some good.”

With a sigh, Steve decides that knowing Bruce has a right to be angry and giving him room because of it is all nice and good, but he is still considered the Avengers’ leader and dissent like this will only cause them to fall apart when it matters.

There is not much Bruce could do against a burn, but this is about the principle of the matter. Despite constantly arguing that he is not that kind of doctor, Bruce never refuses to look them over. He should not do so now just because he thinks Clint has done something wrong.

“I know you’re still angry about what happened,” Steve says, keeping his tone reasonable but firm, “but we’re still a team.”

The Avengers are a motley group, thrown together by fate and a desire to make the world better. Out of all of them, Bruce is perhaps the member whose presence is the hardest to explain, considering that they had been hired by a high-ranked military official to bring him in. Bruce does not look dangerous but he is. Before he fled the military research centre where he was working, he blew up his lab, burning whatever progress they made there as well as a few unlucky colleagues. Sometimes it is hard to imagine Bruce as capable of that, but sometimes the fire in his eyes does not leave any doubt.

These exact eyes weigh heavily on Steve now, leaving him nowhere to hide from their intensity.

“Do you remember what you told me when I decided to join you?” Bruce asks, his voice very calm. “That you wouldn’t hurt innocent people. That you wouldn’t hurt anyone just for the fun of it. That the Avengers, despite the name, aren’t about revenge but about justice.” He smiles, entirely without humour. “Tell me, where was the justice in beating up Tony Stark, who was bound and helpless?”

Steve opens his mouth without knowing what to say. That night was not about justice. It was about bringing closure to a lot of trauma. About looking at the man who caused it and seeing the guilt in his eyes, about teaching him about remorse.

In that warehouse, Steve was not the Captain, he was not bound by any code of honour, not even his own. All he saw was the memory of his best friend bleeding out and the man who, no matter how indirectly, was responsible for it.

Staring at his hands, Steve wonders about the way life can ruin good men and keeps haunting them relentlessly. At this moment, he is not sure he can make this right.

“I’ve hurt people without reason,” Bruce continues when it becomes obvious that Steve cannot find any words, right or wrong. “And I’ve sworn to never do so again.”

“It was a lapse of judgement,” Steve argues, even while he thinks about the people he has hurt. “We’re not –”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Bruce snaps. The entire room is still between them but Bruce’s anger makes it small enough to steal Steve’s breath. “That wasn’t a lapse in anything. That was just cruel, and I thought better of you.” He makes a pause as if to make sure his words hit where they hurt. “And what now? You think you can apologize and everything will be well. Was a senseless bit of revenge worth losing your soulmate over?”

“I – I haven’t lost Tony,” Steve says, not even believing himself.

The worst thing is that none of them feels better now. Making the suspected perpetrator of the weapon dealing bleed has not done anything for them to make their peace with their past. On the contrary. Steve is lost in a way he has never been before, unable to trust his own feelings. Clint is convinced he is being wronged by everyone changing their minds quicker than him. And Bucky is downright miserable, unable to cope with the fact that he has doled out more pain into this world despite knowing how hard it is to live with it.

Bruce’s smile turns cruel in how it pins Steve down to his mistakes. “Have you always been this blind?”

Probably. Steve’s sense of justice has always been a rather single-minded one, based on his convictions of what is right and wrong. Paired with his belief that he can dole out that justice and his inability to compromise, Bruce might be right in considering him hopeless.

“Bruce –”

“No,” Bruce cuts him off, completely unapologetic, and gets to his feet, slowly walking over to Steve. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Don’t come to me unless someone got shot. Or if you need someone with common sense to look over your decision if you plan to ever go anywhere near Stark again.”

Steve does not even know whether that means Bruce thinks there is hope. Maybe he just wants to run damage control and keep Steve as far away from Tony as he can. Maybe that is even the wisest decision – although Steve knows he will not stick to it. Cannot.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly because he does not want to leave Bruce like this, does not want to put more distance between them.

Unfortunately, this only causes Bruce’s features to harden further. He is only a few feet away from Steve anymore, when he asks, “Have you told him that?”

With growing unease, Steve realizes he has not. Between all the different emotions fighting inside him, he has not even thought of apologizing. It sort of had been implied in taking Tony back in and – Steve is an idiot. People have told him so before, but there is no arguing that fact now.

Bruce’s face tells him he knows. Without further comment – and Steve is glad for that – he reaches for the door and throws it shut, not caring whether Steve is going to get hit by it.

Steve backs away in time but feels rattled nonetheless. He does need to apologize, of course he does. As he walks off, he wonders how he can accomplish that. His main priority is still to find out the truth – and to keep Tony safe until he does. It is supposed to be innocent until proven otherwise. He has messed that first thing up already, so he should really take his next steps with care.

Without thinking, his feet carry him towards the gym. He is getting nowhere by turning the problem over and over in his head and he has not slept well since it happened. Exhausting himself physically might help. It is his usual coping mechanism, after all.

The moment Steve stands before the punching bags, though, all energy drains out of him. Violence has pushed him into this mess, so he can hardly use it to get him out of it. His knuckles burn as if he had buried them in the bag anyway.

Dejected, Steve turns to the running mill. There is more than one way to exhaust himself, and while it feels like he is already running, trying to get away from his mistakes, he will take what he can get.

After his workout, Steve is not any closer to answers but feels calmer at least. He picks up his towel before he goes towards the shower, intent on washing off all the sweat and the rest of the tension still lingering in his shoulders.

The water does not get warm for the longest time. Steve uses all the tricks he knows and waits for minutes, but the steady stream remains at a temperature just above freezing. Since they have no official permission to live and work here, they cannot even call maintenance. Steve will have to ask Bucky to look into this later. He might not be as handy with these things like Scott, but since the rest of the team is still in Washington, they will have to make do. At least it will give Bucky something else to concentrate on than his own thoughts.

---

When JARVIS informs Tony that Bruce Banner is standing in the foyer of his tower, he wants to close his eyes, bury his head under a pillow, and ignore the world until it leaves him alone. He just cannot seem to get a break. First Steve shows up here, then the search for his lost weapons goes agonizingly slow, and now another Avenger has come to bother him.

Bruce is likely just here to pick up his bike, as promised. The key for it is at the front desk, ready to be handed over. Tony does not have to do anything. He can remain in his penthouse, playing at being invisible.

Yet, he finds himself saying, “Send him up.”

The entire five minutes it takes until the elevator doors open and Bruce steps out, Tony is caught between wanting to pace and finding a way to sit without betraying his nervousness. This is the first time he will come face to face with a member of Steve’s gang since the night of their first meeting, and while Bruce has not been part of the beating, Tony cannot entirely separate him from them. One act of kindness does not make up for the rest.

Still, he hopes he might get some information from Bruce too. Especially what Steve is up to now. They used his USB drive, but they do not have any cameras installed inside their lair, only outside. So Tony knows where they are but not what is going on inside. He also knows that most of their group is still in DC, but that they communicate via a different system. As nice as it had been to go through their files and get a better picture of them, it was not as helpful as Tony had hoped.

When Bruce steps into the penthouse, Tony thinks he looks even less like a member of a gang in broad daylight than he did that night in the warehouse. He is also not quite the man pictured in scientific papers anymore but something in between. The unknown is always dangerous.

“Dr. Banner,” Tony greets. The formality feels wrong, somehow, and he sees Bruce wincing at it. Even though Tony should not care about any of his kidnappers’ comfort, he adds, “Bruce.”

Using Bruce’s full name could be seen as a threat. Out of all of them, Bruce is the one Tony would want to threaten the least.

Bruce opens his mouth, his lips forming around a greeting, but he, too, does not seem to know what to call Tony. In the end, he just nods and says, “How are you doing?”

Tony smiles but does not mean it. “Did Steve send you?”

They are standing across from each other, Bruce still in front of the elevator, not really invited in, and Tony desperate to keep some distance between them while inwardly berating himself for it.

“I am not reporting back to Steve,” Bruce answers slowly, making it sound like a promise.

Crossing his arms in front of him, Tony does not believe him. Steve has not given any sign that he is going to heed Tony’s wishes.

“So what?” Tony asks, with sarcasm dripping off his tongue. “He’s just going to leave me alone?”

He is not sure what to think about that prospect. It does not feel like their story is over, and part of him does not want it to be. The rational part does, however.

“Definitely not,” Bruce snorts without humour. They share a glance full of understanding. “But he knows I wouldn’t tell him anything. And he doesn’t know I’m here.”

That is perhaps what does it. Tony has no reason to think Bruce is telling the truth, but from the first time they met, Bruce has been steady in his behaviour, always calm and deliberate in what he was doing.

Before he can think better of it, Tony gestures for Bruce to follow him. He leads them into the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee machine. Coffee, or so he is convinced, makes everything better. Even the nervousness that makes his fingers tingle and his stomach curl into a tight knot.

“Want a cup?” Tony asks and points at the table for Bruce to sit down, barely waiting for the affirmative nod before he pulls out two cups.

They are silent while the machine works, until they are both seated, holding their cups like shields in front of them. Any other time, this coordinated awkwardness would have amused Tony. Now, he is just wondering what he is doing here. He should have let the keys be handed over and never opened his door.

“Our coffee machine was malfunctioning today,” Bruce suddenly says. His tone might be nonchalant but the intensity in his gaze is not. “As did our showers. One burned everyone coming too close, the other did its best to turn us into ice blocks.”

Very carefully, Tony does not look in the direction of one of JARVIS’ cameras. It could be a coincidence since Tony has forbidden JARVIS to do the Avengers any harm other than when they are directly working against him, but little things like that could easily be considered harmless pranks. JARVIS loves to interpret things his way.

“So? Call maintenance,” Tony offers lightly, making sure not to seem guilty He is not, after all. If he really wanted to mess with them, he would do worse things. “Or wait,” he adds, smirking, “that’s not so easy when you’re living with the mob, right?”

Bruce hums, never looking away from Tony. “Just wondering whether that has something to do with your USB drive.”

He is too smart. Tony has no doubt that Bruce would have guessed the intrusion even without JARVIS messing with their systems. This is still Tony’s best way to gather intel on the Avengers, so he pretends he does not know anything about it. Also, it will surely be amusing to watch them try to get rid of JARVIS.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t sell that already,” Tony says, all wide-eyed scepticism. He does not actually think he will get any information about the buyer this way, but it will not hurt to try.

For a moment, it looks like Bruce is going to let himself be drawn into a conversation about this, but then his lips twitch into a small smile and he takes a sip of coffee.

“How are you doing?” he then asks again, with the same professional courtesy as if he did not know exactly that Tony’s pain cannot yet have faded. He might look better, his face not as much of a swollen ruin anymore, but the actual damage sits deeper.

“I’m fine,” Tony replies, dismissive. There is no reason to be honest with Bruce, even if he truly does not report back to Steve. Tony’s default setting is fine. At least until he really is not anymore, and unable to hide it too.

Bruce does not let Tony out of his sight when he says, “I imagine it must be hard to adapt to the soul bond.”

Heat flushes through Tony as he instinctively jerks his left arm farther away from Bruce and under the table. He should be better at keeping this secret, but he guesses it is already out.

He wants to ask about when Steve told Bruce about that. Whether this most intimate of things is something they discuss openly. Then again, the rest of the group found out right after it happened, so it should not surprise Tony that Bruce knows about it too. Only Tony has to keep it a secret, if only to keep these people safe who did him harm. It is just not fair.

“There’s no adaption needed. I’m not going to pursue it,” Tony says with all the conviction he can muster despite the bond thrumming with disagreement right inside his core. “And I’d prefer if Steve would not either.”

Sympathy flashes over Bruce’s face, which is not at all encouraging, but tells Tony what he has already known. There is no getting rid of Steve, not easily. They have already made a mess of something that is supposed to be wonderful. It is only natural that they will make everything else difficult too.

“No one has ever told Steve no,” Bruce says. He does not mean it as a threat but Tony cannot help but take it as one. He guesses he will just have to say no more clearly from now on.

“If your plan was to reassure me,” Tony replies dryly, “you failed.” He stares at his coffee and drinks half of it in one go before he looks up again.

“My plan was to tell you that we are still looking into who hired us, and that none of us is going to come after you,” Bruce says in a tone that makes it clear he believes what he is saying. “Not Bucky and especially not Clint.”

Tony winces at those names, remembers the hunger in Barton’s eyes. The only reason he does not end this conversation right here is that there is no trace of pity on Bruce’s face.

“Why would I believe you?” Tony asks, even though, for some reason, he already does.

It is, perhaps, because Bruce is a fellow scientist. More likely, it is because he has been kind to Tony up until now. For all of Tony’s bad experience with other people, he still falls for kindness every time.

“I don’t think you’ll do, and you’ll surely keep your eyes on us as well,” Bruce answers without judgment. “I’m not here to mend Steve’s bridges, but I believe in the common courtesy of giving you a heads up.”

Draining his cup, Bruce puts it down with a firmness that speaks of endings. Before he gets up, though, he reaches for his pocket. Tony hates the way he automatically tenses up, then inwardly scolds himself when all Bruce gets out is a piece of paper. A number is written on it.

“I’m not going to spy for either you or Steve,” Bruce says firmly as he pushes the paper over to Tony, “but you’re welcome to call me if you need anything.”

Tony does not say anything as he picks it up, studying it closely to buy himself some time. It feels like this is a test, but one where he can only lose no matter what he does. He can either trust Bruce and establish a line of communication that might just backfire terribly. Or he can spurn Bruce, who is likely the only ally he has among the Avengers. Or, more correctly, the only one who appears to be neutral where it comes to him.

Well, Tony has been told often enough he is the king of bad ideas, so he takes out his own phone, saves Bruce’s number and even sends a text so that Bruce will have his number too – all without giving himself too much time to think about it. He can always get himself a new number. Which he probably should have done the moment it became clear that Steve can contact him via his old one.

After that is done, Tony looks at Bruce, raises his eyebrows in challenge, although he is not sure what he is aiming for. Bruce does not rise to the bait anyway.

With a nod, he gets to his feet, clearly not eager to draw this out unnecessarily either, and Tony follows him to the door, wondering whether he should offer his thanks.

Right in front of the elevator, Bruce turns around again, finally some signs of conflict on his face. The part of Tony that does not wish to hide in dread shouts that he knew there was more to this visit.

“Fair warning,” Bruce says and looks guilty about it, “Steve might try to contact you again.”

Immediately, Tony’s arms snake around himself again, pressing against his broken ribs as if the pain will make it easier to deal with this.

“I told him to stay away from me,” he exclaims stubbornly as if words hold any power over them, especially over a gang leader who generally does what he wants.

“Yes.” Bruce nods sheepishly. “But I yelled at him and might have put the idea in his head that he needs to apologize.”

Good, Tony thinks, but it is immediately followed by a strong aversion to the whole idea. He wants to be left alone, wants to deal with the pile of shards his life has turned into, without having to listen to false apologies and even more speeches about fate. Fate has failed him, and he does not particularly want to fix it.

“I don’t need him to apologize to me just because Mummy told him to,” Tony snaps, taking an instinctive step back. For all that Bruce just said he is not here to mend Steve’s bridges, this feels suspiciously like he is doing it anyway.

“It’s not like that,” Bruce argues, even though he must see Tony is not inclined to listen. “Steve – he doesn’t do what others tell him to do. He only does what he cocks up in that stubborn head of his. If he doesn’t want to apologize, he won’t, but sometimes he needs a push to realize that some actual conversation is needed for others to know what he is thinking.”

That sounds like Steve has a lovely character but confirms that he has chosen the right job. Who is going to tell the mob what to do? Certainly no one in their right mind.

“My point stands,” Tony says dismissively, wishing Bruce would not look at him with so much understanding on his face. “I don’t need Rogers’ apology, coerced or not.”

“You do,” Bruce counters immediately, as if he has waited for Tony’s protest, knowing it would come. A small sigh escapes him. “You don’t have to forgive him because of it, but you need to hear that he is sorry.”

In the safety of his mind, Tony can admit that, maybe, he does. An apology is not going to make anything right, but it would go a long way in making him perhaps believe that Steve’s constant talks about keeping Tony safe are true. That there is no more danger coming for him from the Avengers.

He is not naïve enough to trust Steve’s words, but that does not mean he does not want to hear them.

“All right,” Tony exclaims and would have clapped his hands if he did not need them to hold himself together. “Enough of this psycho talk.” He gets enough of that from Pepper when he lets her.

Bruce looks like he is going to say more anyway but then shrugs. “Thank you for the coffee.”

And Tony, in a show of how great he is with human interaction, says, “Thank you for getting me out of the warehouse. Your key is waiting for you at the front desk.”

Right on cue, the elevator door opens. Tony hopes Bruce is too busy with psychoanalyzing him to notice that neither of them ever pressed the call button. For all that JARVIS is supposed to be a secret, he is sometimes very careless.

“Goodbye,” Bruce says as he steps in, still looking like he has much more to say to Tony but knows better than to waste his breath.

Tony waves awkwardly and breathes in relief when the elevator door closes. He is not sure what to make of this visit. All of what Bruce said appeared to be genuine, but they are still on opposing sides of this. Tony wishes there would not have to be any sides at all and they could all go on with their lives. Nothing is ever that simple, though.

While he is on his way back to his workshop, his phone buzzes inside his pocket. Right up until he pulls it out, he is convinced that it has to be Steve. He seems like the type to think that an apology per text message counts.

It is not Steve, and Tony is not sure how to interpret his relief.

What have you done to my bike? Bruce writes.

Tony must have stared off into space for longer than he thought if Bruce has already made his way down to the garage.

You’re welcome, he writes back. It’s not so much of a death trap anymore. But don’t worry, I only used parts that won’t take away its antique charm.

Tony really has not done much with it. He had not wanted to touch it at all, considering who it belongs to, but he could not get the bike off his mind and the way it had practically screamed for help when Tony rode it back to the tower. He could have spent hours on it, remade it into something that is worthy of the name motorcycle. Instead, he had just made sure that it would not fall apart beneath Bruce – all the while steadfastly ignoring why he would care.

Thank you, Bruce writes back, always one for proper manners, although it takes him a long minute to do so. He probably needs to get over the fact that he offered Tony a half-dead bike and got back one that could actually pass the next security check-up.

I didn’t do it for you. I was bored and that thing was an atrocity. He should, perhaps, not protest too much. Rhodey always says that reduces his credibility.

That doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful.

Tony is sure that is meant as another lesson, as an indirect comment about the conversation they just had. He could take away something from that. Instead, Tony shakes his head and gets back to work. With some luck, this whole matter will be over soon and then he will not have to worry about it anymore.

#stony #soulmates #marvel #fanfiction #tony stark #bruce banner #steve rogers #clint barton #slow burn #angst #leave the gun on the table #my writing #ao3 #will steve not make things worse?#we'll see next chapter #(Then again why does he ever make anything better?)#mob boss #mob

18 notes · View notes

janetgannon · 7 years

Text

Jonty Pearce – Fair Isle and Orkney

Strong winds and strong tides are the order of the day as Jonty Pearce sails from Fair Isle to Orkney

The sun warmed us as a gentle breeze ruffled the harbour of Scalloway on the west coast of Shetland. Our two boats were comfortably moored on the Scalloway Boating Club pontoon while we sought new supplies, said goodbye to three crew members, and welcomed replacements. My main task had been bodging up a replacement electric anchor windlass control, but once that was done I kept busy worrying about tidal calculations, forecasts, and passage plans for our crossing to Fair Isle and thence to Orkney.

Refuelling was not as simple as we had been told; I know it was a Saturday but the contact number for the on-call fuel berth led us a real paper chase. We finally manoeuvred into a tight dock where the helpful attendant was more used to dispensing 300 gallons than 10. After wriggling our way back out of the enclosed dock we were glad to be heading out into open water again to enjoy a cracking sail down to St Ninian’s Isle to anchor for the night before setting off the next day to Fair Isle. Despite the shelter, the swell swept round and we were lulled to sleep by the rhythmical swish of surf on the fine sand beach. We might have slept less deeply if we had known at the time that the yacht’s recently installed instruments read one metre less depth than we had been led to believe; when I investigated later in Kirkwall I discovered that the keel offset was set to 0.1m, rather than 1.0m plus the charterer’s grace of another half… It explained why we had been able to get closer to shore than or companions!

The sea area between Fair Isle and Sumburgh Head at the southern tip of Shetland is called The Hole. A two-mile offing of Fitful Head and Sumburgh Head to avoid the roost (tidal over falls) is advised. Luckily our passage was at neaps, with a calm sea and gentle winds, so we saw nothing of the horrendous sea state that can be encountered here. In fact our crossing to Fair Isle was something of an anticlimax, though the emerging shape of the island through the prevailing murk was a thrill. After carefully following the wonderful natural transit of the vertical face of Sheep Rock on the Stack of North Haven we entered the island’s only safe harbour to find three yachts already occupying the quay. The remaining pier space is taken when the island’s ferry, The Good Shepherd, is launched. Conditions in these parts can be so severe that this boat lives hauled up a railway track into a rock crevice… We found depth tied to the shore side of the pier. Just. It was here that a leadline revealed the difference between our two boat’s depth sounders.

We had a lovely day on Fair Isle walking, exploring, and revelling in bird sightings – Arctic Skua, Bonxies, Long Eared Owl, Puffins, terns – my day was only marred by two things. Firstly, my camera card failed, making me fear I’d lost all of my images. I’m glad to say that a month later and £156 lighter nearly all of them have been recovered. The second concern was a constant apprehension that despite the clear blue skies and blazing sun the weather was going to break into a strong northeasterly. Now, North Haven in Fair isle is not the place to be with such a wind, and when my instincts were shown correct by my smart phone’s GRIB file download and then later the shipping forecast the harbour started to empty quickly. We departed early the next morning; if all had gone to plan we would have been safe on Westray before the wind rose.

But always expect the unexpected; while our boat enjoyed an easy run, goose-winging part of the way, our companion preferred to motor-sail. Apart from creating a large disparity between our boat speeds, it all came to disaster when the VHF crackled into life with news that they had picked up a floating line and were tethered to the seabed between Fair Isle and Orkney. The skipper had been quick to disengage gear and was as confident as you can be that he had not wrapped the line round the prop, but the fact that he was moored by the stern with waves breaking into the cockpit gave me doubts. They left the mainsail up to make themselves more visible while we turned into what had now become a Force 6 on the nose. It was a clear demonstration of how yachtsmen can be misled by the ‘calm’ of a following wind with a 7.5-knot boat speed; the apparent wind speed increased by nearly double on our five mile return to the crippled yacht. Our powerful engine was man enough to push though the mounting waves, though spray aplenty came on board to compound the soaking I was getting from the sudden rainstorm. Typically, I had been seduced by the fine conditions and was not fully oilied up.

Wary of approaching too close with a floating line in the water, we gave what advice we could . A passing tug was made aware, but it was dropping the mainsail that did the trick; the boat swivelled round and was freed, and after an adequate clearance had been gained from the danger zone, the motor worked fine. We continued on our way; Catherine J sailing again and Reach North once more motor-sailing! Hey ho. Once they had created their desired angle to reach towards Westray they did finally sail, and we were both glad to moor up in Pierowall Marina with our bows to the forecast Force 8 Northwesterly that was on its way. We ended up there for three nights, with a peak recorded wind speed of 58 knots. When I later mentioned this to the Kirkwall Marina Harbourmaster he was not impressed – they leave their washing on the line up to 70 knots… Hardy folk.

The days were spent exploring Westray and Papa Westray; the inter-island ferries operate in anything less than a hurricane. The area is rich in Neolithic and Viking sites which made walking and exploring all the richer. Both crews got together for a communal feast at the Pierowall Hotel, but we were all glad to be on our way after our third night moored up. Typically, there was not enough wind to sail when we left, so we motored through the channels between the islands after careful tidal calculation to avoid the extreme streams that can race through the narrow gaps. A pod of Risso’s dolphin entranced us en route, but we now needed to find an anchorage secure in a southwesterly blow; cyclonic gales were the name of the game. An anchorage by the pier at Egilsay proved to be too close to the ferry access, so we crossed Gairsay Sound to moor in a fine looking anchorage between Gairsay and The Hen of Gairsay. We settled down, maybe foolhardily not setting an anchor watch because both of our boats dragged in the small hours. A third boat slightly further up was OK, but weed fouled our attempts, not helped by our picking up some old moorings. Unfortunately our anchor crew managed to operate the winch while the chain was still cleated off. The main anchor fuse blew, and we had to resort to lifting the anchor of a 42 foot yacht by hand in a Force 7.

Jonty Pearce: Winter migration

Jonty Pearce and his pontoon mates are made homeless for the winter when a howling gale necessitates some marina repairs

Jonty Pearce: Keeping warm

Today is Valentines Day. I know that any readers will be seeing this at least two days after this warm…

Jonty Pearce: Secret Water

No, not that one – this Secret Water is our very own. And although Arthur Ransome’s Swallows and Amazons never…

After this, lacking an electric anchor windlass in an area of poor holding (our companions had four attempts), I called it a day and proposed a diversion to our ultimate destination of Kirkwall Marina. All the sheltered berths were taken, but even with the Force 7 up our tail I managed to approach forwards down a alley of yachts with the engine nearly full astern to swing lightly into a secure berth. Our companions followed suit and rafted up to us before pulling up into the alongside berth.

And there we stayed for the duration, pressed against the pontoon by strong winds. If I’d tried to move I couldn’t, so we wandered round Kirkwall and enjoyed a hearty and well-earned breakfast. Our yacht was handed back safely, and Carol and I enjoyed a few days exploring Orkney before boarding our ferry back. We’d had a fantastic three weeks full of activity, events and new places. I’m determined to return for longer in our own boat. But when?

The post Jonty Pearce – Fair Isle and Orkney appeared first on Yachting Monthly.

Read Full Content Here

The post Jonty Pearce – Fair Isle and Orkney appeared first on YachtAweigh.

from http://yachtaweigh.com/jonty-pearce-fair-isle-and-orkney/ from https://yachtaweigh.tumblr.com/post/162870297046

0 notes

yachtaweigh · 7 years

Text

Jonty Pearce – Fair Isle and Orkney

Strong winds and strong tides are the order of the day as Jonty Pearce sails from Fair Isle to Orkney

Jonty Pearce: Winter migration

Jonty Pearce and his pontoon mates are made homeless for the winter when a howling gale necessitates some marina repairs

Jonty Pearce: Keeping warm

Today is Valentines Day. I know that any readers will be seeing this at least two days after this warm…

Jonty Pearce: Secret Water

No, not that one – this Secret Water is our very own. And although Arthur Ransome’s Swallows and Amazons never…

The post Jonty Pearce – Fair Isle and Orkney appeared first on Yachting Monthly.

Read Full Content Here

The post Jonty Pearce – Fair Isle and Orkney appeared first on YachtAweigh.

from http://yachtaweigh.com/jonty-pearce-fair-isle-and-orkney/

0 notes