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variousqueerthings · 3 years

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Daniel LaRusso: A Queer Feminine Fairytale Analysis Part Two of Three

Part 1

Part 3

6. Sexual Awakenings part 1: Love, Obsession, & Size Differences

[Insert that post talking about the creators making sure that Daniel’s antagonists were much bigger than him so that the audience would sympathise, spawning 10000 size kink fics]

I’m sure this won’t awaken anything in Daniel

Corporate wants you to find the difference between these two pictures

The hallmark of feminine fairytales tends to be growing into womanhood, with all those symbolic sexual under/overtones, searching for a prince, encountering monsters (or evil stepmothers), on the surface tending to be quite passive/reactive, but actually being about young girls and women getting out of their environment and choosing to tussle with those deep, dark desires – monsters. They’ve got to function within the limitations of power that they have – escaping an abusive situation through marriage, chasing forbidden desires under the guise of duress, asking questions about sexuality through things like symbolic plucking (flowers) or consumption (fruit) or pricking (needles), etc.

Daniel isn’t striking out to find his fortune or win a girl or a kingdom Like A Man, he’s not a threat to Silver, who – like Jareth in Labyrinth – is in control for almost the whole of the narrative, he’s not actually able to do much more than react until he makes the decision to stop training, and even then he’s immediately ganged up on and assaulted, needing to be saved by Miyagi while he stands and watches, bloodied and bruised.

Daniel’s journey in the third movie is to be forced into an impossible situation, seduced by Silver, and then prove that whatever violence Silver did to him isn’t enough to destroy him. It is incredibly similar to Sarah’s in Labyrinth, who by the end declares: “you have no power over me,” and that’s her winning moment. Not strength, not wits, not a direct fight, (although Daniel does fight Barnes and gets beat up again – only winning in in the end by taking him by surprise, unlike in TKK1 or TKK2 where you could argue that he proves himself to be a capable physical opponent to Johnny and Chozen), but by declaring that whatever power was held over her is now void.

Daniel’s narrative isn’t satisfying in the same way, because the dynamic of Silver and Daniel only accidentally emulates this - it’s not an intention on the side of the film-makers.

When Miyagi tells Daniel that he has strong roots, when he tells him not to lose to fear and Daniel wins over Barnes (in an almost fairytale-esque set of events), on paper he’s defeated whatever hold Terry Silver has over him. In the film itself though, Daniel never defeats Silver (which will likely be confirmed once he returns in Season Four). Daniel cannot simply say “you have no power over me,” and see Silver shattered into glass shards.

The film is a contradiction: It wants to be a masculine sports film, but it exists in the same realm as Goblin Kings seducing young girls with the promise of: “Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave.” Unlike Sarah, Daniel doesn’t claim the power that’s been promised to him on his own terms. His subtextually sexual awakening is so corrupted that all he can do is pretend it never happened.

Still, Daniel proves in the film that his strength is not in his fists. It’s in his praying to the bonsai tree that’s healed despite a violent boy brutally tearing it in two.

These looks on Daniel and Silver though?

So why does Silver become obsessed with him? What’s up with all those red outfits (that he doesn’t wear in Cobra Kai)? What does the temptation reveal about Daniel? How does it recontextualise TKK1 and TKK2? Is Daniel bisexual? (yes).

Ah, beach-Daniel, in your red hoodie and your cut-off jorts. Iconic hot-girl summer vibes.

If you didn’t want me over-analysing this, you shouldn’t have put him in so many red outfits and then have this man leering at him like he wants to eat him alive.

Surface-level it’s not hard to read into a Dude Story: Masculine power fantasies are about strength in a very direct way. Fighting, control, suaveness – and if you’re not the most traditionally masculine of guys, asserting dominance through being a good lover or intelligent or overcoming that unmanliness in some way through beating the bully or convincing the hot girl to go out with you, levelling up in coolness. Being A Man. It’s not too dissimilar from Daniel’s arc in the first movie, if you watch it without taking later events into account, although Daniel is never interested in proving himself as a man, and more in making Miyagi proud. Still, he does win and gain respect, and arguably “get the girl,” although Ali’s interest in him was never dependent on the fight.

7. Sexual Awakenings Part 2: Sexual Assault, Liberation, and Queerness

Feminine power fantasies are often about sex. Metaphorically. More accurately it’s “owning sexuality.” Even more accurately: “Freedom.” They also inhabit a fluid space in which empowerment through monstrous desires and non-consent can happen at the same time. And on top of that, many of these “fantasies” are actually being written by men, so whose fantasy is it really? A lot of them are based in oral traditions so presumably they were originally from the mouths of women, even if modern iterations (starting with Grimm’s collections) are filtered through cis men’s perspectives.

All of that being acknowledged: In Angela Carter’s “The Company Of Wolves,” Red Riding Hood unambiguously sleeps with the wolf. Belle discovers her freedom from expectations and unsuitable suitors (and in some versions, evil stepsisters) by falling in love with a Beast (the original novel was written by a woman, the 18th century Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve). Jareth informs Sarah of his obsessive devotion to her in Labyrinth. To lean into horror for a moment – Buffy is stalked and eventually has relationships with both Angel and Spike, Lucy in Coppola’s Dracula (which I have mixed feelings about) is raped by the werewolf and Mina is stalked by Dracula, The Creature Of The Black Lagoon kidnaps Kay (the lead’s girlfriend) – subverted in both The Shape Of Water in which Eliza forms a consensual relationship with the amphibious sea-god and in the short-lived horror series Swamp Thing, in which the connection is purposefully framed as seductive…

and in The Karate Kid Part Three Daniel LaRusso punches a board until his hands bleed because an attractive, older man tells him to and in this moment he gives in to what he (thinks he) wants.

Not all of those examples are equal. Some are consensual, some are hinted as abusive and/or stalkery, all of them have large age gaps, and a few are outright non-consensual.

But they’re all fantasies.

They’re all power-fantasies.

Except for Daniel, because he’s a man and the idea that being obsessed (lusted) over by an older man who keeps you in his thrall, specifically because you tickle his fancy for whatever reason, because you’re beautiful, breakable, different – could in any way be considered empowering is a difficult concept to wrap your head around. It doesn’t contain that “but I’m a good girl, I’d never go off the path and pluck flowers if a bad wolf told me to, honest,” societal context or the social context of rape culture. It’s closest comparison is closeted (perhaps even unknown until that point) queer identity.

There have recently been some comparisons of Daniel LaRusso to Bruce Bechdel in Funhome (and everyone who says that Ralph Macchio ought to play him in the upcoming movie: you’re right and I’m just not going to enjoy it as much without him). I’ve written a post about Sam being the heir to his legacy and trauma, specifically as a queercoded man. It’s not dissimilar to the plot of Funhome in a lot of ways.

The other interesting source that’s been going around in connection with Daniel is the essay “The Rape of James Bond,” which discusses the use of sexual assault as a plot device for women and not for men: “About one in every 33 men [in the US] is raped. … [your statistically average, real life man] … doesn’t have a horde of enemies explicitly dedicated to destroying him. He doesn’t routinely get abducted, and tied up. Facing a megalomaniac psychopath gloating over causing him pain […] is not the average man’s average day at the office.” That last bit is just a descriptor of Terry Silver, (although I take issue at the blasé use of psychopath).

The two part youtube essay Sexual Assault of Men Played for Laughs posits that there is nothing more de-masculinising than the threat of sexual assault and therefore any narrative that features this “rightfully” must mock any man who has been a victim or who fears being a victim of sexual assault. It is feminising. There is nothing more humiliating – and therefore unheroic – than a man dealing with sexual assault.

So what do we feel when we see an attractive young man being put into a vulnerable position by an older man? A trope associated with female characters, a trope that is considered unpalatable for men (see reactions that happened when the hint of sexual assault was introduced in Skyfall).

Was it the fact that he was being threatened, or the fact that James’ next line is: “what makes you think this is my first time?”

Some thoughts added by @mimsyaf are around the idea of safety in how a lot of cis women might relate to this narrative through Daniel’s eyes. He’s not a woman, he has – societally – more power than a girl or woman would have, which makes this a different watch to, say, if Danielle were to go through the same narrative. Daniel doesn’t carry that baggage of rape culture, or of the male gaze that you might find in a similar scenario of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Christine in Phantom of the Opera (and once more the age differences between these characters and the men who love/lust over them are substantial), which makes the narrative “safer” to engage with.

I agree with that, although as a transmasc person I also come at it differently. I specifically like to headcanon Daniel as a trans guy and find his fraught interactions with masculinity through his own non-toxic lens relatable, as well as the way other boys and men react to it – also I think Terry Silver is hot. I know there are people who write Terry Silver with female OCs, which is also a form of empowerment.

On the flipside putting Daniel in this space runs a risk of fetishising him as a queer youth who is either Innocent and Pure, or a bisexual stereotype that deserves to be assaulted for not being a real man. After all, Real Straight Men don’t run the risk of sexual assault.

Alas, the road to empowerment never did run smooth.

The comparisons between the way Daniel is treated by the text and how female characters are often treated in texts are undoubtedly there. Through Ralph Macchio and TIG’s casting and the direction and acting, but also within the text itself.

It might not be with the same purpose as Neo’s symbolically trans journey, but it puts the whole narrative that Daniel’s going through from TKK1 under a different light than if there had only been one movie that ended on a triumphant sports win and a girlfriend.

Johnny’s masculinity and the use of tears as liberation, now that’s a whole other analysis….

#daniel larusso #terry silver #the karate kid part three #the karate kid #cobra kai #ck #cobra kai meta #part two of three #we're going into labyrinth and james bond in this one fellas #(non-gendered fellas)

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ramble-writes · 3 years

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So here comes another valentine's gift for the glorious @franks-mixtape ! If y'all remember the 2 Franks that are brothers and werewolves that I wrote some time ago, this is going from that again because I thought about it randomly and felt like I then needed more of it sooooooo yeah! If you DON’T know, the gist is being that his Frank and my Frank are half brothers. Father being a werewolf to both which resulted in his Frank being a halfling, while mine is whole werewolf due to different mothers. 19 years apart until both came to Ormond where they met up and figured out they’re brothers. So there ya go!

Warning(s): probs just standard cussing, buuuut that’s it lol

Don’t forget to like, reblog, and follow if ya wanna see more! (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

A Wednesday. Worst day for the 14th to fall on. Especially since it’s in the middle of the school week. Frank James Morrison sat there in the last class for the day, English. The teacher decided to focus on how Valentine’s day started from some dude who got executed in Rome or some shit. He wasn’t paying attention, finding it useless to learn about. Emerald green eyes lazily gazed around the room till they landed on his brother’s russet hair.

Frank Fenik Morrison was there a few seats to James’s left, amber eyes were trailing over the printed paper the teacher had passed out previously. As much as he was into literature, if he wanted to learn history on a subject of a man who was killed for trying to teach his religion to the Romans, he would’ve in his history class.

Fenik really was just idly taking his pencil to scribble a random design on a blank spot on the paper, the teacher’s voice seeming muffled in the background. Darkening some lines on the drawing, he felt a nudge in his mind, like someone nudging him with their arm. He lifted his eyes up and flickered to the side where gemstone eyes met and locked.

‘Dude. This shit is boring. Can’t we just.. skip out on this?”

‘I wish. But we can’t or shit’ll go down. Plus, they’ll know it’s us since we have the same exact name, minus the middle name.’

This made the raven-haired Frank sigh out loudly. He slightly scrunched his face up at hearing his other half chuckle both from a distance (thanks to his heightened hearing) and in his mind. Since figuring out the two had the same father, name, preference in tattoos, music, and other things, it made for the two getting along pretty easily. It resulted in a sort of bond to form. Since their father was a werewolf, it resulted in an animal like bond to form, that ran deeper than a standard sibling bond. Emotions, feelings, and thoughts were connected. It resulted in a mind link to have basically silent conversations.

‘Jesus fuckin Christ we have thirty minutes left of this bullshit. Feels like it’s taking foreverrrr!’

Fenik had to cover his mouth to stifle the laugh that bubbled up. Hearing him complain like a child made for lightening the boring mood. The internal complaining actually helped pass the time till the bell rang. Kids instantly got up with grabbing backpacks and shoulder bags alike and hurried for the door as the teacher called out that their homework from 2 days ago is due by Friday. Most likely, no one paid attention.

The two Morrisons waited at the bottom of the steps of Fairview, waiting on the other three of their odd pack in the snow. It didn’t take long for Julie, Susie, and Joey to come out. Julie adjusted her coat she has on as she hurried a bit down the stairs, being mindful of the snow-covered steps as she went over to the russet-haired Frank and planted her lips to his. This drew a very pleased growl from him as he kissed her back. Thankfully, those dreaded words to the holiday weren’t uttered.

“A’ight sluts! What’s the plan for today for shit to fuck up?” James asked, the name making Joey chuckle. “I’m lookin’ for chaos to burn down the grossness I feel from all this love shit.”

“I second that. There’s this jackass that’s been trying to feel Susie up in history when it comes to turning in work,” Julie huffed out. This made Joey look at the pinkett with concern on his face.

“And ya haven’t said anything?” Susie looked away at the tallest’s question which made him sigh. “Sus, ya gotta tell us when this kind of stuff happens..”

Her head only lowered before she pulled her hood up to hide her face. Joey had let out a sigh and draped an arm over her shoulders before looking at the other three. Amber, emerald, and brown eyes met and they all shared the same thought.

‘Trash the fucker’s place’

To cut things short, finding where the guy lives wasn’t hard. They did the standard: Egging the house, toilet paper thrown and draped over trees and parts of the house. But the brothers took it an extra step by managing to get up on the house with wadded up toilet paper, where they then shoved it down the chimney to block it up since smoke was coming out of it. And they were out as quickly as they came with a job well done.

They all split to head to their homes, hearing distant sirens meaning the house called the fire department which was sweet music to them. Of course, the russet-haired teen snuck over to Julie’s place after her father passed out for their... usual time together. Raven, as another nickname to call James rather than by his middle name like Fenik, was laying there in bed till about midnight he heard his name being called through that mind link.

‘Thought you were busy bangin’ up Jules.’

‘Shut up and get your ass out here.’

‘Fiiine. But I still wanna hear about your adventures in the pussy caaaave!’

James snickered when he bet the other was rolling his eyes outside, but he got out of bed to get dressed in his usual letterman with an extra layer underneath since it is midnight and it’s still winter. Out the window he went and onto the ground below where his brother is standing and waiting.

“Alright, whatcha want butt sniffer?”

“Don’t. Anyway, thought it be nice to hang out since school has been riding out asses with work to get us “prepared for college” which I could care less for.”

The raven-haired teen nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot of bullshit. Ffffuck I hate being a senior.”

“I feel that,” Fenik agreed with a nod of his head. As usual, the two headed into the forest since it is their escape, and the only way that the wolves within the both of them can be let out. It’s a nice reliever since a lot of the times going out was never an option and it would make them feel cramped.

Usually, they don’t speak when out in the forest unless they do their usual practice. But for now, it was nothing but a run. Fenik in full wolf with James keeping up at an easy stride. Surprisingly, there was no clouds which let for the moon to shine bright in the sky and reflect off the snow, practically lighting their path.

They didn’t know how long they’ve been running, but they did come to a stopping point when the two Morrisons came across a big tree. It was there they stopped and flopped down at the base at the big roots, James leaning on Fenik and a hand running through the rust-colored fur in slow strokes.

“Ya know... I’m a bit jealous you can shift and I can’t..”

“Seriously? I dunno. I’d be pretty happy with just the heightened senses n shit.”

This made for emerald eyes to look at the wolf, which in return, amber looked back at the halfling. Concern was felt on both sides. Concern for how one felt left out of things, and concern for how the other didn’t care if shifting was a thing or not. James scooted himself a bit close to be able to wrap an arm around the back of the head of the large wolf and pressed his forehead to his, letting silence overtake the quiet between he two of them.

Something happened since one moment the raven-haired teen was small in comparison to the wolf with clothes on, to suddenly not and... the same size. It was like his body just relaxed for him to suddenly shift, but the realization got for the two to jump up onto their paws and look at each other.

James now was suddenly the same height, same build. Black fur made him look like a shadow o the white snow. Vibrant green eyes stood out like unknown lights in the darkest parts of the forest. The two were quiet, before sounds of excitement left them and they became nothing but giant mounds of fur and limbs with barks and yaps leaving them.

What felt like hours of nothing but romping around in the snow, they both flopped down panting with tongues hanging out of open mouths and tails swishing in the snow. Two sets of gemstone eyes gazed up at the night sky, the moon nothing but a white orb to the side of their vision.

“I hate valentine’s, but this? This is the greatest fuckin’ gift nature let me have haha!” James boofed out, letting his paws stretch out in front of him. It felt like all his limbs were sore from being contained, and finally was allowed to be out.

“Oh trust me. Being this way is heavenly. Feels like what freedom from the system should be. And now that you can shift, we can do this a hell of a lot more. And no one can stop the hell we’ll raise.” Fenik let out a chuff, a canine version of a chuckle. The black pelted one chuffed as well before rolling onto his side and laying close to the rusted pelt one and pressed close.

They were content like that, black mixing with rust, emerald and amber. It took only a nudge from Fenik to say that it’s best they get going. James got up and shook the snow from his fur, waiting for his brother to get up. Both standing, they trotted off to the edge of the forest where they shifted back to their human selves.

“This weekend. Can... we go running again? And... maybe teach me some wolf stuff since now I can shift?”

“Hell yeah man! I’ll be waiting ‘round seven. Sound good?”

James nodded with a slight smile before it fell. There was hesitation, but Fenik could feel it and brought his brother close for a hug. He melted into it and hugged the other back. They stood like that for some beats before breaking it off and headed to their homes with goodbyes through the link. Days and nights for now on were gonna be different, but they were gonna be hella enjoyable and that feeling of being left out vanished. Everything felt right, just as it should be.

#frank morrison #wolf frank #brother franks au #franks-mixtape #legion dbd #dbd #dead by daylight #my writings #HERE'S TO YOU YA TWINK HAPPY VALENTINE'S

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presidentrhodes · 5 years

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How about some IronHusbands? Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home :)

See, I was going to write a cute 700-word fic for this, but your prompt was too good and this turned into a 5K monster. I’m sorry. :(

Title: The Other Mr Stark: Pilot, Scientist and Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour

Rating: PG

Pairing: Tony Stark/James Rhodes

Summary: Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“

This ignores the chronology and canon from Iron Man 2. It’s not yet beta-ed so, I apologise for all mistakes!

***

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stark,” Clint says from the lounge floor, where he sits cross-legged, trying to build a house of cards on the table. Natasha’s lying on the sofa next to him, her feet on Steve’s lap as he massages them. Bruce sits in an armchair opposite them, his attention fixed on the Starkpad in his hands. Thor stands by the floor-to-ceiling window behind Bruce, watching the cars driving along Park Avenue 80 floors down. “You’re making shit up."

It’s team-bonding night: Steve came up with the idea a month after the Avengers stopped an alien invasion and moved into the spacious penthouse atop Stark Tower. New York began the long, arduous process of rebuilding; tall construction cranes wedged between damaged skyscrapers carried out repair work and men in reflective vests and bright yellow helmets became a common sight all over the city.

Tony’s at the bar mixing drinks for the team, even though he hasn’t touched alcohol in over a decade. His cocktails, he claims, are still kickass. "Why would I lie to you, Barton? I am going to get nothing out of it."

They have been going back and forth for an hour since Tony let it slip that contrary to what the New York Post says every week, he’s happily married. His husband’s a decorated Air Force Colonel and a rocket scientist by training and, Tony insists, he once fought a homophobe bare-chested outside MIT in the freezing Northeast winter, for insulting Tony.

"It was my birthday. Honeybear had no time for assholes,” Tony says, shaking the martini he’s making for Natasha. “The fight was brutal, and this guy was built like a horse. I thought Platypus wouldn’t last a minute but I was wrong. Dead wrong.” Tony gesticulates at appropriate moments in his recounting of the tale and embellishes it with just the right amount of spice to impress upon the demi-gods, assassins and supersoldiers in his audience that his husband is a goddamn hero.

Tony’s husband had apparently exchanged punches with the bigot that left both men bleeding profusely from their noses. “Then Honeybear uppercuts him out of nowhere and it’s a total KO,” Tony says, moving on to make Steve’s drink—a mojito; how typical of Captain Boyscout McSexypants. “I thought I was watching Ali versus Foreman on replay. It was beautiful.”

Bruce snorts at the comparison without glancing up from the tablet.

Clint’s face contorts and he knits his brows in frustration as the sparse details from Tony fail to add up in his mind. The stacked cards look dangerously close to toppling over. “You want us to believe in this ‘mysterious’ paramour, and all you’re giving out are a bunch of ridiculous nicknames and made-up stories with no evidence and no pictures. Sounds completely legitimate.”

“Hey, why did I never come across this husband of yours when I was your PA?” Natasha chips in, the corner of her mouth quirks up. Steve grins at the way Tony’s face turns red and his nostrils flair—from what he has learned, courtesy of Shield and Ms Potts, Tony’s pride hasn’t recovered from being thoroughly fooled by the Black Widow two summers ago.

Tony tosses a lime at Natasha. She swats it away with an expert backhand, and the lime crashes into Clint’s deck of cards. The archer snarls a string of expletives, forcing out Steve’s stern 'Captain America is disappointed in you, son’ look. Tony flashes a lopsided smile from the bar. “Well, Ms Rushman, I don’t discuss all aspects of my life with personal assistants. Even ones as attractive as you.”

“Call me Rushman one more time and—"

Thor finally turns to join the conversation and butts in before Natasha delivers the rest of her threat. "Your husband must be a good, honourable man. I’m sure he’s worthy of his place in Valhalla." The response draws surprised looks around the room. Even Tony double-takes at first, his eyes wide and bug-like as if he can’t believe what his ears are picking up. He recovers fast and rubs his hands together in glee. "See? The god agrees with me. It’s settled, I win.”

The conversation turns to Fury and Shield—specifically, determining if Phil Coulson is a human mimicking an AI or an artificial intelligence pretending to be a 39-year-old homo sapiens sapiens. Tony brings over the drinks and sinks to the floor next to Clint. The archer leans over and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re married to Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker."

Tony rolls his eyes. "You’ll eat your words soon enough, birdbrain."

***

‘Soon enough’ turns out to be a month later when the topic of Tony’s mystery husband makes an unannounced appearance in the middle of a mission. Taking on a small army of unidentified robots possessing a hive brain, near a country fair, leaves Steve, Natasha and Tony in charge of shepherding a group of children away from the direct line of fire. Thor and Hulk keep the main fighting focused on them while Clint takes out the spare droids, one by one, from his spot on a nearby roof.

Natasha leads them past smouldering scraps of metal and burning tarp, towards the carousel where the children huddle together, their faces white as sheets. Behind her, Steve’s limping along. He’s bleeding into his suit after taking several hits earlier from the droids and their shoulder-mounted plasma cannons. Tony provides aerial support, keeping the stray robots away from the kids.

"You know,” he begins on the team’s shared comms channel, watching Natasha approach the terrified children with an unnatural, almost enviable, ease, like she has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of looking after them. “Platypus is really good with kids too. His sister sometimes leaves her daughter with us when she’s travelling, and he’s a natural with her. I always thought kids are fussy about everything.” Clint groans. Tony ignores him and continues, letting JARVIS take control of the armour to round up and disable the remaining droids.

“Jeannie always says Lila is a fussy baby at home. She has made a career out of screaming when things don’t go her way. When she stays with us, she turns into an angel because of Platypus.” No one responds. Tony’s attention shifts to how pale Steve looks in his viewfinder. He watches the Captain stagger behind Natasha and asks JARVIS to scan his teammate to take stock of his injuries; Tony knows once the mission is over, Steve will downplay his condition. He’ll brush it off as “just a couple of knocks, nothing too serious,” and bury himself in paperwork in his office to avoid medical attention. The man hates hospitals. Tony can’t blame Steve—he detests them, too.

“My scans detect Captain Rogers has sustained three broken ribs and severe lacerations,” JARVIS drawls in his thick, mechanical voice. “Readings indicate his supersoldier abilities have already contained the bleeding, and the ribs should heal on their own by the week’s end.”

“Thanks, J.” Tony lands on the ground next to Steve. They watch Natasha usher the children towards the perimeter that Shield agents, who finally arrived at the scene, have set up. Worried parents, some of them openly sobbing, stand behind the barricades, waiting to be reunited with their children. “Captain. You’re hurt,” Tony informs Steve as a matter of fact.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Steve says, deadpan, and lets out a pained breath.

The faceplate lifts. Tony gives a half-smile at Steve. “Let me carry you back to the infirmary. You need medical attention and my husband is a big fan. He’ll lose his mind when I tell him I carried Captain America bridal style back to base.” Fortunately for Tony, whatever objection Steve’s about to raise dies on his lips as exhaustion wins him over. He collapses face-first on the muddy field, and Tony’s kneeling by his side in a flash, checking for a pulse. He sags inside the suit in relief when he finds one, and JARVIS helpfully diagnoses “severe fatigue” for the Captain. The AI chooses that precise moment to reveal to Tony that Steve Rogers hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in three months.

“Avenger down,” Tony tells the team. A chorus of concerned voices floods the comms channel. “The Captain’s had a long day. I’m taking him back to medical, you guys handle cleanup and Coulson. I am busy in the evening, so, don’t call me or page me unless the world is on fire and one of you is actually dying."

No one speaks for a few moments. Clint cuts through the static in a flat, disinterested tone. "What’s keeping you busy, Stark? Sexy date in the Bahamas with your imaginary husband?"

"If you have to know, birdbrain, it’s our anniversary and I’m going to the base to see him.”

Clint chortles.

“You still won’t tell us what base he’s stationed at. Let me guess, is it Area 51? Is your imaginary husband an alien, Stark? Holy shit, you’re married to Superman."

The words vex Tony. "Do you ever shut up, Barton?” He doesn’t wait for a reply and turns off his comms. Tony carries Steve in his arms and flies back to the Tower.

***

A few weeks later, after pulling another all-nighter in the lab, Tony walks in on Steve, Natasha and Bruce gathered in the kitchen for breakfast. Clint’s on vacation. Tony counts that as a blessing. He knows despite Clint’s cynicism, at some point, the archer started tailing Tony’s every move, inside and outside the Tower, to find out more about Platypus. Working as an assassin over the years, Clint honed his ability to stay under the radar, but all of that training didn’t stand a chance against JARVIS and his all-sensing presence.

“Barton’s been following me,” Tony says, pouring himself a coffee. He curses—someone, and he knows it’s Thor, keeps leaving coffee grounds inside the pot. That barbarian. “He thought he was being clever by using the vents, but nothing gets past JARVIS.”

Bruce narrows sleep-heavy eyes at Tony: “I thought J doesn’t surveil us.” The words come out as nothing more than a low, gruff mumble. Stifling a yawn, Bruce slouches forward and rests his face on the granite countertop. His eyes droop; for all of his unparalleled work in anti-electron collision theory, Bruce Banner remains incapable of being a morning person.

“He doesn’t when you’re in your private quarters. The vents are public areas, and standard building security protocols apply.” Tony strains his coffee. He makes a mental note to speak to Thor—the Asgardian proved himself to be a fast learner of Earthly etiquettes. He’s come a long way from smashing coffee mugs to ordering customised drinks at Starbucks without pissing off the baristas. Even Captain America sometimes gets the stink eye when he asks for soy milk instead of dairy. Tony suspects baristas around the city are too enamoured by Thor’s godly presence to ever crib about his order.

“Why would Clint stalk you through the vents?” Steve asks. Tony finds the puzzled look on Steve’s face endearing. “50% of his DNA is bird. He’s just following his instincts,” he says. Tony bites back a laugh at Steve’s hardened expression; he appears genuinely distressed by the idea that one of his human teammates may not be 100% human.

Tony admires the way the Captain works hard to adjust to his new life in the 21st century—waking up to an alien invasion led by a horned Norse god proved to be a hell of a way to get over the initial culture shock. And, while Steve made a quick study of smart kitchen appliances and most of the Internet, genetic modifications and other advances in technology set off regular alarm bells in his head. Noticing the way Steve’s lips curl downward, Natasha offers a quick clarification: “Tony’s being an idiot. Clint’s not actually part bird, even if he is as obtuse as one."

"Well, birdbrain has to get more creative than vents to get the jump on JARVIS,” Tony says, squeezing between Steve and Natasha. They hear Bruce’s gentle snores—he really hates mornings—and Tony whispers. “Honeybear is the only one who has gotten past J.”

On cue, JARVIS chimes in softly: “That is correct. His method was delightfully inventive, one that has enhanced my detection abilities tenfolds.”

Without being prompted, Tony volunteers the information to his teammates in a hushed tone: “We had a bet. Each of us picked a random day to break into Stark Industries. The goal was to get into my office without alerting J."

Steve and Natasha listen, their expressions dull, as Tony explains in unnecessary details how his husband got the jump on artificial intelligence—Natasha makes mental notes to make her own attempt later if only to test her own skills against an all-seeing machine.

"Honeybear set off a small and easily contained fire in our backyard while I was sleeping. Because J’s primary protocol is to protect me, he had to assess its threat level. But, it was in a contained environment; the variables were known, and the calculation should’ve been easy, except his protocol says he cannot dismiss the threat until it is eliminated,” Tony says, watching Steve’s eyes widen. The Captain, ever the cynic, is probably working out a hundred different world-ending scenarios about a rogue AI. He and J aren’t so different in their personalities, Tony thinks.

“JARVIS spent most of his processing power keeping an eye on me. His second protocol says he must at all times protect the Stark Secure Server, my private server. And, no, Natasha, I know that look. It’s not at Stark Industries, I know you’ve looked, and I won’t tell you where it is so that Shield can go snooping.” Natasha glowers at him, her cheeks flushed at being caught red-handed. “That left J with very little juice to handle everything else for all Stark Industries offices around the world. He didn’t even notice Honeybear walk onto the premises or enter my office.”

Tony pauses to let his teammates absorb and appreciate his husband’s ingenuity: Steve looks impressed, Natasha scowls at Tony. Bruce, with his eyes still closed and head down, breaks the silence. “I’ve seen J’s documentation. You wrote him to back himself up on local servers precisely to avoid this situation. You said your roommate at MIT gave you the idea. Plus, you use an insane amount of RAM, I’ve seen your set up.”

Tony claps.

“Finally. Someone who sees the obvious error in this story. And yet, somehow, Honeybear got into my office undetected. Either he’s the superspy of the millennium—sorry, Widow—or someone is lying.” Tony glances at the ceiling. “What? You like him better or something?” JARVIS doesn’t respond. Instead, music flits in from the overhead speakers: Tell me lies. Tell me sweet little lies (Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies). Oh, no, no you can’t disguise.

“Smartass.”

***

On Christmas Eve, Tony arrives at the common floor and overhears the team in deep conversation. His curiosity plants him in a corner outside the lounge, within hearing distance, but strategically hidden from the occupants inside. He picks up on Natasha speaking with an underlying worry in her tone. “That’s not the point, Clint. When I assessed him, he was dying. Very painfully, if I may add. He’s proven himself to be a team player and he’s a vital member of this team—"

Clint cuts her off. "He’s delusional, Nat. He’s making up an entire person and coming up with these larger than life stories. It was funny the first time, but it’s clear he believes in the stuff he says. If he’s losing it, we need to know because we’re a team. We have got to have each other’s backs at all times.”

Steve chimes in: “His life is his own. We should respect his privacy, Clint. I’m sure when he’s ready, he’ll introduce us to his husband. Don’t force it on him.” Tony’s built-in cynicism would have once made fun of the unadulterated optimism behind Steve’s words. But, hearing the Captain speak in his, and Platypus’, defence like that makes Tony want to immediately buy the Brooklyn apartment he knows Steve’s eyeing and give him the keys in a gift-wrapped box with a bow.

Captain America’s assurances fail to convince Clint or soothe his exasperation. “Your optimism is misplaced, Cap. There is no husband, no boyfriend. Nothing! Nat and I have looked everywhere and there’s not a trace of Stark ever getting hitched, let alone to another military man. I get it, don't ask, don't tell when that was still the law, right? What about now? There has to be some kind of a legal record, somewhere, if Stark's really married.”

“Maybe it’s a manifestation of his trauma,” Bruce supplies. “He’s well overdue a psych evaluation. He hasn’t talked to anyone since the invasion. We should cut him some slack.”

Clint doubles down. “We need to know if he’s hallucinating before someone tries to take over the world again. It’s one thing if he’s making it up for street cred, but if he genuinely believes in it…"

"He’s creating another armour,” Natasha says. Tony feels vindicated by the admission—he knows she pokes around his lab whenever Stark Industries business calls him away to the other coast. Her clandestine efforts fail to outsmart J’s all-sensing presence, but confronting the Black Widow about it, and risking dismemberment, ranks low on Tony’s list of priorities. To have her admit it in front of their teammates takes a small weight off his chest. “I’ve seen the blueprint. This is a leaner, tougher armour with some serious firepower.”

“Yeah. Fury commissioned it,” Steve says. Someone—Bruce—curses out loud at the revelation. Tony bites his lips and presses a hand over his mouth to stop himself cackling. Fools, those god-damn irredeemable fools, Tony thinks. Steve continues. “He wants to recruit that Air Force Colonel he always raves about.”

“James Rhodes.” Clint jumps in. “See, now he is an impressive man. I’ve read his files and I can see why Fury’s in love with him. Hell, I’m in love with him, too.” Tony’s close to tears from holding back his laughter at the archer’s enthusiastic tone; he doesn’t want to risk giving away his location and miss the rest of the conversation about the new recruit. “So, Stark’s agreed to make a suit for the Colonel. That's…surprising, seeing how possessive he is of his tech. He tased me last month when I tried to get a good look under the hood.”

“Maybe, Fury made him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Does Stark know?” Natasha asks. “About Fury’s plans to recruit the Colonel? I heard Nick mentored him in college.”

“Shit,” Clint shouts. Tony regrets the lack of visual cues to go with the congregation inside and makes his own: Clint jumps on the sofa without warning next to Bruce, who turns a deep shade of green. While Steve and Natasha work to calm Bruce down, Clint squats on top of the backrest, like a bird perched on its nest among sky-high branches. Tony laughs at the imagery in silence.

“Rhodes went to MIT too, didn’t he? He studied aeronautics and astronautics—basically, rocket science. And, he’s Stark’s age. It’s not impossible they crossed paths there. Do you think Stark is holding onto some creepy university crush or did he make up his fake husband based on the Colonel?"

"He really needs that psych eval."

That’s when Tony decides he’s heard enough. He can barely keep himself together and in his excitement, he knocks into a solid, immovable mass. "Fuck,” Tony mutters and looks up into Thor’s dark blue eyes. Maybe the city baristas had a point, Tony thinks, and it’s futile to fight the Asgardian charm that oozes from every pore on Thor’s body.

Tony still pinches himself from time to time and wonders how a god fell out of legends, waltzed into his life and took up residence in his penthouse. After butting heads over Thor’s murderous brother Loki, they forged a friendship based on mutual respect—another thing which puzzles Tony because Thor’s a deity and he’s just a guy. Thor protested once when Tony blurted it out. “You’re not just a 'guy’.”

Thor’s quieter and more reserved than his broad GQ-model-like physique suggests; he prefers to observe instead of participating in the team’s special brand of eccentricity. Everyone on the team agrees that Thor is immeasurably perceptive.

“Hello, Pointbreak,” Tony says, clasping his shoulder. “What are you doing out here? You’re missing all the fun inside. They’re talking about having me committed because they don’t believe Platypus is real. They think I’m hallucinating.”

Thor’s face twists into a frown, a contrast to Tony’s playful grin. “Then they are silly,” he says. “I have seen how fondly you speak of him, Tony. You love your husband."

"More than I can put into words, buddy.” Tony sighs as his smile falters, his arms crossing over his chest. “Platypus is the bedrock of my life. Got me through some really bad times. After everything he has seen me say or do, he’s still here, and I wonder what I did to deserve him. You know? It’s surreal. Which god answered my prayers that I got so lucky?”

Thor steps forward until he’s up in Tony’s face, mere inches separating them. That man may possess a delightful and exuberant personality. But he has no concept of personal space, which Tony files under 'Usual Asgardian Oddities’, along with Thor’s habit of speaking to inanimate objects when he thinks no one is looking. Large hands rest his bony shoulders in a hard grip, and Tony thinks Thor is about to impart some godly wisdom. Interruption, if only to point out the awkwardness of their proximity, may come across as rude. "Listen here, Tony Stark. I have lived and watched over your realm for a thousand years. I’ve seen civilisations rise and fall, kingdoms destroyed by greed, great men brought down by hubris. But, you, my friend, you are among the best of them. Midgard should be proud to call you her son. Never ever doubt your worthiness.” Thor beams.

Tony tries to think up a response to that, but his mouth snaps shut. How does one top a speech where an actual god calls you worthy? In the end, Tony nods and stays still until Thor lets him go. “I will consider it a great honour the day you choose to let us meet the man who has stolen your heart. For one who’s deserving of your love, I also consider him worthy.”

On his way out, Tony texts his husband: You won’t believe it but I think Thor just blessed our marriage.

The reply comes immediately: Holy shit. I feel blessed already. Merry Christmas and see you soon xx.

***

Fury calls the team for an urgent meeting after New Year’s Day. His memo reads like every other missive he sends, curt and to the point: Meeting at 10 @ HQ. Don’t be late.

They take Tony’s private jet to DC because the Quinjet was out of commission, undergoing repairs after their latest mission—a villain holding Manhattan’s power grids hostage—damaged the engines. Onboard, they huddle in front of the flatscreen watching CNN analyse Justin Hammer’s trial. Tony gives them a breakdown of his business rival—how Justin tried to sabotage the Stark Expo by presenting cheap knockoffs of the Iron Man armour that blew up the entire venue. The anchor reads out charges levelled against Hammer: money laundering, racketeering, fraud, public endangerment, copyright infringement. And a dozen lawsuits from Stark Industries and affected civilians.

“Ouch,” Clint says, reclining in his seat. “That’s a bit excessive, even for making cheap knockoffs of your suit and blowing them up at your expo, Stark.”

“Trust me, birdbrain, we take corporate espionage very seriously,” Tony replies. A live feed shows Hammer arriving at the courthouse in orange overalls, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair in disarray. The press swarms around him, shoving microphones and cameras in his face. Hammer tries to push his way through the crowd. “Oh, Justin. You know, if he had even an ounce of charm in his bones he could’ve gotten the charges reduced.”

“You can’t charm your way through everything, Tony,” Bruce points out.

Tony smiles. “Not everyone can, no. My husband on the other hand—” The shift in the atmosphere is palpable. Clint tunes out of the conversation to stare out the window. Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his seat, Natasha presses her lips together in a frown, and Steve surveys the lines on his palms. Only Thor shows interest, so, Tony continues. “Few years ago, I dared him to charm a store manager at Macy’s. They had this perfume set from their exclusive collection. I wanted to see if Platypus could convince her to give him a set for free. You should’ve seen him, Thor. He knew all the right things to say, the right moments to smile, and I think if he had asked, she’d have given him the keys to the store. We gave it back later because it would’ve come out of her paycheck, otherwise. Platypus is a real charmer. You’ll love him.”

Thor’s laughs drown out Clint’s audible scoff. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“We should buckle up, we’re about to land,” Steve says, pointing to the seat belt sign.

***

Fury waits for them in a conference room on the top floor of the Triskelion. One by one, the Avengers fill in, with Tony being the last to enter. He takes the seat closest to the door.

“I’ll keep this short,” Fury says, without preamble. It’s one of the few things Tony admires about the director—he loathes wasting time as much as Tony. “The Avengers Initiative was started to be Earth’s first and last line of defence against extraterrestrial threats. We’ve shown the world why we need to exist and your heroic efforts have won us more goodwill from the public than we have anticipated. My bosses have instructed me to expand this team. You will meet the new recruits over the course of the year. They will train with you and Stark has agreed to house them at the Tower.”

Clint perks up. “Colonel Hottie said yes?"

Natasha kicks him under the table.

"What? He’s perfect. He’s smart, brave, and real. No offence, Stark.” Tony shoots him a dirty look. Clint turns to Steve. “Hey Cap, what’s your opinion on team romances? Yay or nay?"

"Clint,” Steve gives him his best 'Son, stop disappointing Captain America’ look. “This is neither the time nor the place.” The archer slumps in his chair and says loudly, “Look, I just want to know how many protocols I’ll be breaking to ask Colonel Rhodes out on a date."

Before Steve or Fury can answer, a new voice replies. "The answer would be none, Mr Barton. As flattering as your proposition sounds, I am unfortunately off the market.” All seven pairs of eyes turn to the doorway—James Rhodes leans against the doorframe in a grey polo shirt, a black bomber jacket and a pair of tight-fitting black jeans. Clint swallows and stammers. Natasha kicks him again.

“Colonel Rhodes,” Fury says and motions him to come forward. “Meet the team."

Rhodes takes stock of the room, his eyes resting a millisecond longer on Tony, and says, "Hey. Call me Jim."

Steve’s the first to rise as he moves in to shake Rhodes’ hand. "Good to meet you, Colonel. We’ve heard a lot about you from Fury, and we’re looking forward to having you on the team.” Bruce and Natasha go next: They exchange quick, courteous 'hello’s before Clint almost trips over himself to greet Rhodes. He tries to play it cool but stutters at the last moment, and the words—"I’ve read your file, Colonel, where have you been all my life?“—come out all jumbled, lacking the charm and finesse he had practised ever since Steve let it slip that Fury was trying to recruit Rhodes. On his turn, Thor flashes the Colonel a knowing smirk, and despite never reading any of Rhodes’ files, he says, "Good to finally meet you, Jim. I’ve heard a lot about your adventures."

Finally, Rhodes turns to Tony, who has been hanging back with his hands jammed in his front pockets and a closed-off expression on his face. "You look like the cat peed in your cereal today."

"It’s your fucking cat,” Tony grumbles. He doesn’t move away as Rhodes treads over and steals a peck on the lips. The rest of the team stare in stunned silence; except Fury, who rolls his eye, and Thor, whose indulgent smile suggests he feels pretty damn good about himself for uncovering some hidden knowledge before everyone else. Steve notices the identical wedding bands on Tony and Rhodes’ fingers first, and it finally clicks. “You’re married to Tony?"

"I am afraid the secret’s out, Captain. I am the mystery husband you’ve been hearing about and I assure you, I’m very real.” Rhodes slings a hand over Tony’s shoulder, and Tony melts into the touch, leaning on him for support, with a hand around Rhodes’ waist. No one speaks—no one fully overcomes the shock around the revelation, and though Steve looks like he’s working out the right words to say in his head, he stays quiet. At some point, Thor starts recording the confusion in the room as it unfolds—for a Space Viking who gives off strong Luddite vibes, he turns out to be exceptionally adept at using Earth tech. Tony isn’t surprised that Thor not only knows how to use a smartphone camera but he also developed a keen sense of when to use it—Barton looking like a flustered deer caught in headlights should be memorialised in every medium.

“I’ve been told the secrecy around my existence has become a matter of concern among the team,” Rhodes says, fixing his gaze on Clint. The archer shrinks in his seat. He avoids looking at Tony. Or Rhodes. “I’m happy to answer questions, perhaps over dinner, and provide clarifications on whatever my husband has told you about me. He likes to exaggerate, as I’m sure you know. But if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy with Tones right now. We haven’t seen each other in a year and this meeting was not my idea of a reunion. It’s lacking in some quality action if you know what I mean.” He leaves very little to the imagination. Steve’s scandalised; jaws clenched and his eyes dart from Tony to Rhodes and back to Tony. Thor continues recording as he holds the smartphone in front of the Captain’s face until Steve tries to swat it away, and misses. Only Bruce, Tony notices, shows remorse for doubting his accounts and questioning his sanity.

With a final nod at the team, Rhodes walks out. “Coming?” He asks from the doorway. “I’ll catch up,” Tony says and lingers long enough for Fury to dismiss the team and leave. Clint’s sour expression—his nose crinkles as if he smelled something horrible—clashes with the way Tony’s eyes sparkle and his grin stretches ear to ear. “Hey birdbrain, how does it feel to be a clown? For what it’s worth, you never had a shot with him because I sealed the deal in '87. You were still working the circus. Yeah, that’s right, I read your files too—even the 'redacted’ ones.” Tony trots out of the room as Clint flips him off, with a big, smug grin plastered over his face. Some things are worth the wait—Rhodey has always been worth it.

–FIN–

#james rhodes #tony stark #ironhusbands #tonyrhodey #rhodeytony #avengers #mcu #fics #asks #rhea writes #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

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blancheludis · 5 years

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Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 11/?, Words: 61.605

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.

---

Steve looks up from his phone, not quite satisfied but calm in a way he has not been in days. Tony is safe for now, he knows what is going on and he will deal with it. If he does not want Steve to be part of that, it is his good right. It rankles Steve, of course, to be sitting idly while his soulmate is in danger, and perhaps this is not the right time to show restraint, but he is trying to do right by Tony.

Caught in his thoughts, he does not notice the shadow in his doorway until he speaks up.

“What are you doing?” Clint asks. He is wearing combat clothes and a matching expression, as ready to deal with the situation at hand as they all are.

In comparison, Steve feels comically small, sitting on his bed in a sweater. Waving his phone in the air, he replies cautiously, “Writing Tony.”

That was the wrong answer, Steve knows that as soon as it hangs between them in the air.

“So what?” Clint snaps, taking a step into the room. “You almost rip my throat out any time I said something about Stark, and now that we know who the actual bad guy is you sit there and write lover boy instead of doing something about it?”

It is thoroughly unfair to be blamed for something that Steve does not want to do. If not for Tony’s protest, he would be the first one out there to deal with Stane. He would not sit back, waiting for events to unfold, fearing for the worst.

“Tony doesn’t want me to –” Steve tries to argue but is cut off.

“Of course, he doesn’t.” Clint scoffs like it is obvious. Like he has defended Tony’s wishes all along. “But this is not just about him.”

This is still about revenge. Steve understands very well where Clint is coming from, but he is trying to be the voice of reason here.

“He has all the evidence,” Steve says as firmly as he dares and looks at Clint with a stern expression. He can afford his team dancing out of line even less than before.

“I don’t need evidence to take that asshat down,” Clint answers with careless confidence.

That is the point, though. The Avengers are supposed to come in where the justice system fails. There is conclusive evidence against Stane, enough so that he will be taken in and prosecuted once Tony sets that in motion. If that does not work out, that is the time where the Avengers act. Not before that.

“Violence isn’t the answer to everything,” Steve says, despite feeling his knuckles yearn for the opportunity to knock that smirk off Stane’s face and keep Tony safe.

Crossing his arms in front of him, Clint stares down hard at Steve. “That’s rich, coming from Mr. Punch-First-Ask-Later,” he says. “What are you afraid of?”

It has never been more obvious that Clint is looking for a fight. That he is restless and unhappy and needs something to focus on. Steve knows his team, and he knows that Clint, when he feels guilty, wants to make things right through whatever means possible, until it seems like he is hell-bent on making them worse.

Steve shrugs, deciding on honesty, although he thinks that is obvious. “Losing Tony.”

Clint does not know what to do with Steve’s calm. “That ship has already sailed,” he says, shaking his head with a sneer. Then he leans forward. “Listen, he’s not going to do anything with the evidence.”

In one smooth motion, Steve gets to his feet, glowering. As suspected, Clint does not back down but straightens further in anticipation.

“What is your problem, Clint?” Steve asks, despite having no intention of giving in to Clint’s baiting. “I’ve listened to your grumbling about Tony for long enough now. He’s a good man and he’s not going to let Stane get away with this. It is his right to do this in his own time and –”

“Stane is his godfather,” Clint snaps like that is a viable argument.

His expression is pinched, eyes fixed somewhere over Steve’s shoulder as if he is not completely in the present. That is when Steve remembers that Clint has a brother. Specifically, a brother in jail who tried to take Clint down with him, and for whom Clint almost went to jail too. Perhaps he does know something about how hard it is to go up against family.

The air between them takes on a different tension, not ready to explode anymore, but one filled with the uncertainty of having said too much.

“He’ll do the right thing,” Steve says, voice gentle.

With renewed stubbornness, Clint stares at him. “That means running from you too.” The firmness of his tone leaves no doubt that he means his words.

Swallowing, Steve says very quietly, “I know.”

They look at each other for a long moment, unsure where to go from here. The will to fight has evaporated, but neither of them is satisfied. With a scoff, Clint turns around and goes. Steve does not try to stop him.

Instead, he brings his phone up again and writes Tony, I really am sorry.

He is not actually surprised when he does not get an answer.

Despite the eagerness to deal with the situation, things calm down after the rather monumental revelation of Obadiah Stane, long-time figurehead of Stark Industries, being the one they have been looking for.

If Steve said the word, they would readily swarm out to take Stane down, but when he tells them to wait, they settle down. Even Clint follows without much further complaint. They have sent out their information and now it is not their turn but Tony’s.

Despite his worry, despite the constant burning of the soul bond, this is the first time in a week that Steve feels like he can take a deep breath. He thinks a lot about what Bucky said, and Bruce before him. How rushing into this, hounding Tony, does not do either of them any favours.

He is not sure he will stay this calm if it looks like Stane is making a move, but for now, he has decided to let Tony deal with this in his own time.

For the first time since accepting this last job, the Avengers feel like a team again, not pitted against each other, not riled up by nerves and bad memories. Their whole group is based on trust, on having a common goal. All of them have been discouraged by life, by the purpose other people thought they had.

Steve and Bucky returned from war, not quite whole anymore, and wondering what they had even been fighting for. Those nice ideals they were taught to protect seemed to have vanished once their eyes were opened to the real world.

Natasha and Clint decided that whatever government agency they were working for before was just too shady, too close in nature to the people they were fighting, that they were looking for a way out.

No more ulterior motives, Natasha had said when they had their first meeting, which altogether felt too much like a conspiracy, the vague idea of the Avengers in mind.

No more bureaucrats pointing where they need us to shoot without knowing what it’s like out there, Clint had added, less eloquently but just as determined.

Sam had more or less stumbled into the group, turning from counsellor to friend to ally. He never knew when to keep away, and Steve does not want to think about where they would be without him.

They gathered the rest along the way. Scott had been caught up in some bad things. Pietro and Wanda had always been part of that seedy underworld that swallows good people whole and spits them out twisted.

The idea has always been to help. To go where no one else could and sort out the bad seeds, to find evidence to allow the police to arrest the untouchables, the moguls. Despite the name, they have never been about revenge. Not before.

Waiting makes Steve restless, but he carefully keeps that to himself. He insists on intensifying their training program to keep his team busy. He talks at length with Sam in DC to avoid both parts of his team going off the rail while he is otherwise occupied. He insists on team dinners and movie nights, just to get back some piece of normalcy, even while he feels like he is making a mistake by not watching over Tony.

He does not sleep well, haunted by dreams of what he did and of what could happen if he does nothing now. It is an impossible situation.

One of these evenings, when he cannot decide whether to try sleeping, he wanders the base, drawn in by the faint voices of his friends. He is not in the mood for conversation, but he would not mind the company.

“Do you think you’ll have it in you to apologize to Stark once all of this is over?” he hears Natasha ask when he is close enough.

Stopping abruptly, Steve holds his breath, hoping they did not notice him.

“I doubt he’ll want to hear it,” Clint answers. His voice is muffled like he is half-asleep.

Cautiously, Steve inches forward so he can peek through the half-open door.

Natasha and Clint are sitting on the couch. She is stretched out, her feet in Clint’s lap, wet hair piled up on her head. She has been out all day and Steve did not hear her coming in. Bruce sits at a table, reading a book but looking up at their conversation. He does not offer his thoughts.

“So you admit you were wrong,” Natasha points out, her voice free of accusation.

That is the difference between them. Steve can never ignore his emotions, can never just use words without attaching them to what he feels.

Clint huffs but not like he wants to argue with her. “He didn’t exactly make it easy.”

This, Steve thinks, is the closest they will ever come to an admission of guilt.

“Things like this are never easy,” Natasha says, resting her head against the back of the couch.

“He’s still shady,” Clint speaks up, sounding more awake now but still not upset. “I mean, are we sure he didn’t know about the weapon deals?”

Just like that, all thoughts of sleep are gone from Steve’s mind. He is ready to storm in and fight it out with Clint once and for all. Tony is not part of Stane’s double-dealing. He does not have any ultimate proof, but he still has Tony’s voice in his ear, still sees the determination on his face.

“Clint,” Natasha cautions. With just one word, she manages to convey everything Steve feels but without setting Clint off.

“I know,” Clint hurries to say, sounding chastised if not exactly guilty. “Still, Steve decided to trust Stark just because of their tattoos. Shit like that gets you killed.”

The thing is, Clint is not wrong. Once the bond was established, it was like Steve lost his ability to think rationally. Everything is centred around Tony now, no matter how much he tries to focus.

“Is that jealousy because you haven’t met your soulmate yet?” Natasha questions, but there is humour in her tone.

Clint shudders visibly, exaggerating the motion. “I’m glad I didn’t, considering our line of work,” he says, shaking his head. Turning a bit more serious, he adds, “Look at how it’s turned out for Steve.”

As far as Steve knows, no one on the team has met their soulmate yet. Apart from Sam, of course, but he does not talk much about Riley. The grief of losing him is still tangible whenever Sam allows himself to think about him. They do seem to be very unlucky where fate is concerned.

“Story’s not over,” Natasha offers lightly, causing all of them to look at her with varying amounts of scepticism.

Straightening in his seat, Clint pats her feet and says serenely, “Bet you twenty it is.”

Before Natasha can accept – sometimes it seems like her hidden agenda is to bankrupt the Avengers from within – Bruce speaks up.

“Considering how long you’ve known her, you should know better than to bet against her,” he says, pointing his book at Clint, although he seems amused too.

“One of these days, she’s going to lose,” Clint replies sullenly, obviously not convinced of that himself.

Natasha simply smiles. “Not if no one’s left to tell the tale.”

Outside, Steve straightens and sneaks away, leaving them to their bickering. He does not want to let Clint’s words get close to him, but they hit exactly where it hurts. What if his story with Tony truly is already over?

He cannot afford to think about that while Tony is still in danger, while Stane is still out there. At the same time, he cannot stop doubting.

That night, he barely sleeps at all, curled around the words on his arm that constantly burn now, almost like they want to tell Steve something, urging him to listen. He is just afraid that he does not want to hear whatever it is.

---

Days pass, building up to almost an entire week. Hours blur into each other while Tony digs up exactly how deep this betrayal goes. Years and years of it. Millions of dollars. Thousands of lives.

Tony finds names and accounts. He finds evidence that Obadiah started his double-dealing when Howard was still alive, although he has been much more careful back then. After his death, with Tony in no shape to lead a company, distracted by misery and booze, he grew bolder, turning it into something really lucrative instead of just a side hobby.

Tony hides. His bruises are merely an afterthought now, easily covered if necessary and not an actual reason for him to lock himself away in his penthouse. He fields calls from Rhodey and visits from Pepper, worries about the conspicuous silence from Steve. In their own way, they are all being supportive. Yet, Tony still feels on the brink of falling apart.

Every day of inactiveness increases the chance of more lives being lost. Tony is monitoring the channels Obadiah and his smuggler ring use, ready to intercept any new shipments. That does not stop the weapons that are already out there.

Speaking up most likely means pushing Stark Industries into ruins. He might have announced their withdrawal from weapons manufacturing, their readiness to move into new directions, a new future. That does not change the fact that they were the number one name in the weapons industry and are rapidly losing investors even without a fresh scandal. Also, it will be hard to build his case against everyone calling for his downfall. He can already hear their arguments, declaring the impossibility of him not knowing about the double-dealing, especially considering how close Obadiah and he are. Were.

The more evidence he is gathering, the more it feels like he is putting his head on the chopping block, waiting for an axe of his own making to end him and everything he has built his life on.

That is no reason to give Obadiah any leeway. He should not be sitting on this knowledge. And yet.

“Sir, Mr. Stane is on his way up to the penthouse,” JARVIS announces, sounding like he is seriously considering sucking all the air out of the elevator and thus dealing with the problem that has been keeping Tony up for several nights.

Tony loves him for it. That does not keep his insides from curling into tight knots, immediately frozen in anticipation of the confrontation he has been avoiding for almost a week now.

He knows why Obadiah is coming. Or suspects, at least. A board meeting is planned for later this day, which Tony declared he is coming to. That alone warrants a visit from his CFO since Tony usually avoids these meetings like the plague.

Still, there is a small chance that Obadiah knows that Tony found out about the double-dealing. Tony is not ready to have this conversation, probably never will be. At the very least, he needs to have it on his own terms.

“Tell him I’m busy,” Tony says, eyes lingering on his file with evidence.

“I tried. He showed himself unwilling to reconsider,” JARVIS replies with some dismay. Tony is not surprised. His godfather has always shown a particular disinterest in doing what others tell him to do. That had been an admirable trait once. “I could trap him in the elevator, though.”

The thought is tempting, causing a shaky smile to slip on Tony’s lips. For all that he is not ready to come face to face with Obadiah, he is out of time.

“Thank you,” Tony says not bothering to hide his fondness or his regret, “but I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

Above all, Tony needs to keep Obadiah from getting suspicious that Tony knows more than he should.

Right now, the greatest obstacle is getting over his hundreds of childhood memories to allow him to throw his godfather to the wolves. Obadiah deserves it, no question asked, but the act of actually abandoning him to the police is still enormous to consider. The small flame of anger is still burning bright inside Tony, but it is kept small by the sheer sense of betrayal and the numbness accompanying it.

All the information he has gathered, all his inescapable evidence, is packed into a file. He has several copies and an actual paper version. They are ready to be handed over. A small part of Tony still wishes that Obadiah’s visit right now will not be the thing that pushes Tony into finally doing that. Howard had always told him how weak he was. Perhaps the old man was right after all. Obadiah had no qualms sacrificing Tony. It gets harder every day to argue that Tony is the better person for not doing the same.

Saving all his progress, Tony leaves his workshop and decides to wait for Obadiah in the living room. He sits on the couch, trying to make himself appear busy with a tablet in hand, but there is no hiding the painfully straight line of his shoulders or the way his knuckles are white from gripping too hard. For years, he has played people, has worn masks and been exactly what strangers wanted him to be. Faced with the prospect of meeting his godfather now, all of that crumbles.

Then, too soon, Obadiah is there. The elevator doors open and his steps come closer, as unhurried and familiar as ever. Tony turns around, waiting, wondering whether his perception of Obadiah will have changed.

It has not. Obadiah is still tall, unbowed, smiling in greeting as he has done for decades. He still opens his arms in greeting as if Tony was still at a hugging age.

“Tony,” he greets upon entering, jovial and entirely unsuspiciously. “It’s been impossible to get a hold of you for the past days.”

He walks over to the couch and lets himself sink into it, not close enough to touch but definitely too close for comfort. Tony cannot shift away, however, not without making it obvious that something is wrong.

“Sorry, Obie. I was busy,” Tony replies, voice too strained. He can do better than that. Pointing at his tablet, he shrugs. “I’ve been working on possible new projects to present to the board. Are you coming with me to the meeting?”

Something flickers over Obadiah’s face that has Tony thinking he might have miscalculated. Perhaps they are done posturing, done pretending that everything is fine. Then Obadiah’s expression shifts into one of regret and the moment has passed. Like a predator has decided not to join the hunt.

“The board meeting was cancelled.”

Has Obadiah’s smile always been like this? Too quick and too sharp. Too hungry. Tony cannot remember. He does remember soaking up any kind of positive attention without really questioning why he got it.

Now, the apology lurking under Obadiah’s words is sharp enough to cut, a trap to lure him in.

“Funny,” Tony says slowly, not a trace of a smile on his face, “I didn’t hear any of that.”

Nodding, Obadiah reaches out to pat Tony’s shoulder. It is all Tony can do not to flinch away. Betrayal, it turns out, is something he just never gets used to. And being betrayed by family is infinitely worse than by possible lovers or pretend-friends.

“I did that,” Obadiah says, much to Tony’s surprise. Admitting it this easily somehow seems out of character. “Don’t look like that, my boy.” Chuckling, Obadiah withdraws his hand, puts it down on his own leg in plain sight. The whole thing appears orchestrated. “Nobody is happy with your public announcement. I’m just trying to soothe their tempers.”

The concern Obadiah displays is painfully familiar. It is the same expression that accompanied his condolences for Howard and Maria’s death, and a hundred bottles of liquor finding their way into Tony’s hands, and even more of Tony’s projects being rejected. Tony always interpreted it as Obadiah being on his side, caring for him.

“Last time I checked, I’m still the one who’s supplying R&D with the most ideas,” Tony says, finally sharpening his voice into something that does not sound like he is already defeated.

It is certainly true. Getting rid of Tony means slaughtering their golden goose. Obadiah must be very confident in his ability to kick R&D into better shape – or that Tony has enough projects secreted away.

Obadiah leans forward, looking Tony directly in the eyes. “Nobody’s saying they want to push you out.”

A weight presses down on Tony’s chest, rendering him unable to breathe. The sheer audacity of it. If he had doubts before that his godfather could do such monstrous things as handing weapons out to terrorists and sending the mob after family, he does not have them anymore. The very calm with which Obadiah speaks, the unwavering smile. That is not a man moved by compassion or bound by honour.

Slowly, Tony’s back straightens and his heart rate evens. He still feels on the verge of breaking but not like he cannot do this.

“They just want to lead the company without me,” Tony adds, reeling as he realizes there is no more waiting. Looking up sharply, he asks, “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that?”

Obadiah’s composure is to be admired. He cocks his head like he is surprised by Tony’s question, like he does not know where it is coming from.

“Why would I?” he asks, all honest confusion. “I’ve been at your side since Howard died. I’ve helped him keep the company alive before that.”

That is the worst thing, that all these years apparently meant nothing.

“And you must have grown a taste for leading then,” Tony states dryly, feeling the last remnants of a friendly expression slip from his face. “Why did you even make me CEO? That must have been inconvenient for you.”

Tony did not even want the job. He was happy, ruling over R&D. His workshop was the only place he really needed. Yet, Obadiah pushed him to pick up the mantle of CEO, of living up to the Stark name. In the long run, that did not make either of them happy.

Before him, Obadiah frowns, looking almost grieved at the sudden argument building between them.

“What’s gotten into you, Tony?” he questions, voice dripping with concern that Tony would have believed two weeks ago. “We’re on the same side.”

This is it, Tony thinks. Now he will find the courage to confront Obadiah with what he has found. With Steve’s data of how Obadiah hired the Avengers. With the far more condemning logs detailing how Obadiah has made deals with terrorists and enemies of America for years. With treason.

It might even be gratifying to see that jovial expression drop and shatter, to talk clearly for the first time in – forever, really. Tony realizes he does not know his godfather at all, while Obadiah knows all about him. All his weaknesses and dreams, all his scars and lies and imperfections. It is no wonder he had such an easy time betraying Tony.

He does not want another fight, though. Not one he is going to lose.

“I’m tired,” Tony says instead of offering his evidence. He withdraws, making himself small. This is the Tony Obadiah knows. “I was excited to do something new. Something that does not mean more death on our conscience.”

Tonight, as soon as Obadiah is gone, he is going to take all the evidence he has and hand it over to the law enforcement. Tonight, he is going to end this. He has thought a lot about personal revenge these past days but in the end, he just wants this to be over.

Obadiah is still talking, but Tony is barely listening. “And this is not the way to do it. We need to start small. We can talk about opening a smaller division, see if it’s able to carry itself.”

If he remembers correctly, promises like this have been made a dozen times before. Tony did not study robotic engineering only to never apply it in real life other than building his helper bots. Yet, no one jumped at the prospect of progress the way he thought they would.

“I’ve already announced that we won’t make any more weapons,” Tony says as if either of them needs the reminder. “I think it’s too late for small steps.”

The sheer dismissal passing Obadiah’s face is grating on Tony. “I’m handling that.” Suddenly, the light in his eyes grows sharper as he focuses on Tony. Almost slyly, he adds, “You know, someone on the board has filed to replace you.”

Someone or you, Tony thinks and knows the answer. He does not for one second believe that this is not Obadiah’s plan. Tony will not let himself be pushed out. He might have become CEO only grudgingly, but Stark Industries is his responsibility now. He does not run in times of crisis.

“Then it’s all the more important to show them I’m not only serious about this but that it will work, don’t you think?” Tony keeps his tone pleasant, thinking he deserves a medal for that. Finally, the anger inside him is roaring, no longer cowed by trepidation.

Getting to his feet, Tony looks down at Obadiah. He stares and stares but does not find anything familiar, nothing worth saving. “Now, if you excuse me. There’s a lot of work to do.”

His neck prickles as he turns his back to Obadiah. That is probably not the smartest move, but Tony is tired of hiding.

“Tony,” Obadiah calls when he is almost out of the room, “this is not over.”

But Tony thinks it really might be.

Ten minutes later, when Tony comes back out of his workshop, Obadiah is gone. He is gripping his folder with evidence, keeps his breathing carefully calm. This is it. JARVIS has alerted Happy to wait for them downstairs and then they will go hand his evidence over. Tony will watch Obadiah be taken in, taken down. He will not feel any regret.

Happy is already waiting out front when Tony steps out into the cool evening air. He looks concerned like all of his friends do lately, but Tony greets him with a smile. Everything will be fine.

Tony gets into the back of the car and watches New York slip by in the dark as they drive. He is glad that Happy does not try to talk to him. Afterwards, he owes them all some explanations. For now, silence is more fitting.

He does not see the man on the motorbike. Neither, apparently, does Happy. There is a shadow appearing suddenly in front of the car and while Happy slams down on the brake, they cannot avoid the crash.

A horrible screeching sound fills Tony’s ears as they hit the bike frontally and something big and dark rolls over the hood and vanishes into the darkness behind them. The car careens off the street, spinning until Tony loses his sense of direction. After an eternity, the car comes to a shuddering halt, causing Tony’s head to smash against the window. Then, everything goes black.

#stony #fanfiction #soulmates #mob au #leave the gun on the table #i'm sorry #tony stark #steve rogers #obadiah stane #cliffhanger #poor tony #he just doesn't get a break #my writing #ao3 #happy hogan

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ronanwazlib · 6 years

Note

Godfather Sirius and Baby Harry please?? I just love them so much

“Sirius, what are you doing?”

Sirius chuckled, craning his neck back to look upon Remus leaning in the doorway of the Potter’s house in Godric’s Hollow.

“Moony, do you mind, you’ve interrupted my bonding.” He tossed back petulantly, tossing his head in feigned annoyance. His hair was longer than it had ever been at school, brushing his collarbones, which were helpfully revealed since Sirius had begun cutting off the necks of all his tee shirts, whining about how the tight material had felt too much like being collared. “We were having a good time before grumpy Uncle Moony spoiled our fun, weren’t we, Prongslet?” Harry, only a few months old and perched upon the pads Sirius’ feet up in the air, gurgled in reply.

“Padfoot, come off it, that’s hardly comfortable for him.” Sirius staunchly ignored Remus’ warnings and continued what he’d been doing prior, which was hoisting the baby, clutching at the wizard’s fingers in his miniature fists, up with his knees, and singing to him. Remus would bet ten knuts he didn’t have that Harry got sick all over him in the next five minutes.

Remus didn’t know why people saw Sirius and thought he couldn’t sing. Maybe it was that when he laughed, his loud guffaw sort of… barked its way out of him, even before he’d met the rest of the lot or mastered complex and illegal magic (though it was, truth be told, at first a much haughtier guffaw). Or perhaps it was his height, he was after all, the third tallest Marauder, and since he was generally no less than 9 inches from Remus at any given moment, the werewolf’s statuesque form often seemed to dwarf him by comparison. Still, on his own he wasn’t by any means a short man, and often times the tiniest persons revealed to have the largest lungs. Sometimes Remus would chuckle at the notion that people probably just assumed someone who seemed to have it all on the outside: money, intelligence, prized friends, an impeccable jawline, and a rather attractive physique, couldn’t possibly carry a tune to boot. They were so very wrong.

Sure, Sirius was nothing like his beloved Freddie Mercury, but after years of hoarding memories of muggle music to get by without a record player at Hogwarts, or when his mother blasted the thing far beyond any Reparo, he had nearly perfect pitch. His voice was soft, the kind of singer whose vocals are unused to performance, a man whose songs are most often sung only in his own company, and a touch throaty, probably from the constant stream of cigarettes he kept tucked behind his ear before lighting them quickly with the tip of his wand at every Order meeting or during Auror training. And now here he was, doing what for most would be impossible, but for him of course came naturally, being Sirius Black as he was: laying flat on his back, lifting an infant above him, and crooning at Harry’s smiling cheeks. For some reason, the song of choice was Blackbird by the Beatles, who James always affectionately referred to as “those Buggy Buggers.” He and Lily weren’t entirely sure if it was a jab at their name, or his pureblood memory being entirely unable to recall the actual title of one of the most popular bands in Muggle Musical History. Either way, Harry seemed to enjoy it, and Remus had to concede that from his doorway perch, the sight wasn’t entirely unfavorably. Harry, as always, was adorable and cherubic, not a blemish on him, and from his vantage point he got a good earful of Sirius’ gentle crooning and a rather delicious sight of his abs and collar as his shirt rose and fell with holding the baby up, sort of crumpling together at Sirius’ middle.

When Sirius finished his song, he just took it up again, or repeated the chorus. Eventually he lowered the baby, sat up and cradled Harry in arm as he sang. Harry’d giggle every so often when Padfoot’s fingers would poke at his tummy, but for the most part he was tranquil, wide green eyes transfixed on his godfather’s mouth as it moved to murmur the words as he brushed a kiss across the child’s sweet smelling forehead beneath his already unruly tufts of brown curls.

Remus moved to sit beside Sirius on the floor, leaning against him back to back. “Is it supposed to be about you, then?” He dropped his head against Sirius’ shoulder.

“Is what?” Sirius replied, not faltering in his singing even as Lupin turned his cheek to nuzzle against his neck.

“The song, Padfoot. Blackbird singing in the dead of night.”

Sirius chuckled. “I’m not much of a Black anymore, am I, Moony? And it’s not the dead of night, is it?”

“Come off it, its close enough…”

“Moony,” he chuckled. “It isn’t even half past eight!”

“Maybe, I like to retain the belief that art is open to interpretation.”

“Snob.”

“Heathen.”

“Arse.”

“Prat.”

“Oi, I can’t HELP my prattish ways-”

“Git.”

“Moony, come on, that WAS uncalled for.”

“Animal. OW! What did you bite me for?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Loon.”

“Wanker.”

“I’m the wanker? Are you serious?”

“In fact, I am.” God, he sounded so smug. Remus had really walked into that.

“What luck.”

“Your luck.” Sirius smiled.

“My luck indeed.” Remus mused, coming round front to meet Sirius face to face, or rather, mouth to mouth. Harry, at first entertained by his exchange, but hating that his song time was so rudely interrupted by banter and kissing, reached out a small hand and thwacked Sirius’ Adonis-esque chin.

“Oi, Prongslet, use your words. No hitting. Hurting people is bad.” Sirius scolded rather lightly, feigning seriousness.

“Says the man who hexed more Slytherins than anyone else in Hogwarts, probably.” Remus deadpanned, taking Harry from him and rocking him to settle the baby down.

“Well be fair! I broke my fair share of noses too!”

“Oh yes, this coming from Godric Hollow’s pacifist in resident… right, Harry?” Remus finished with a sarcastic coo.

“Don’t bring the baby into this, Moony, fight your own battles like a real man.”

“Half man.”

“Fine then, like a real wizard.”

“Sirius he’s terribly fussy, can’t you sing to him again?” Harry, quite happy to be comforted by his Uncle Moony, had begun screeching once the banter started up again. Lupin also suspected maybe being jostled around on feet didn’t help his stomach any.

“Alright,” Sirius agreed, throwing himself down into the werewolf’s lap. “But only if you sing with me.” He grinned up at Remus.

“Sirius…”

“Oh don’t sigh like that, I know you know the words.”

“Maybe but that doesn’t mean I should sing them.”

“Do it for Harry!! He’ll love it.”

“He’ll probably cry harder once he hears me.”

Sirius slapped his thigh. “Shut it, he won’t because you sing fine. At least do it so he’ll nod off and Lily won’t boogey bat us for having riled her son up on their first night out since he was born.”

Remus finally let up, tucking Harry further against his chest to keep him warm, and mostly whispered the words along with Sirius one final time. Apparently the song in hushed tones worked to lull the little boy to sleep, so soon was he nestled against the jumper and dreaming. Sirius got up and knelt behind Remus, arms looped around his neck, chin on the taller man’s shoulder, and together they murmured the last few words, “You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

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sustraiii · 5 years

Text

TEAM ZRCN - CHAPTER 6

Here's chapter 6! A bit of a short one in comparison to the last chapter, but this sets up for things to come!

CORDOVAN

It had been just over two weeks since the confrontation at Hargrave Manufacturing. Bruised and worn down, Cordovan had reflected later that same night, just how lucky they had been to escape. There had been a number of difficult enemies the team had faced since they formed, but none had elicited quite the same response as Wisteria had. Their first meeting might have been brief, but it had been enough to leave a lasting impression.

After escaping the factory, it had not taken long for police to arrive, as well as a growing crowd of workers who had come to see what was going on. After clearing up things with the police, they had been passed into the care of what at first appeared to be a more senior officer, although as it turned out she was in fact an Atlesian Specialist, and one who just so happened to be his mother.

When Wren Honeycutt had greeted her son warmly, Cordovan noted the looks of surprise forming on the faces of his teammates. The surprise wasn’t completely unwarranted he noted, as he didn’t really look much like his mother, save for a few shared facial features. After greeting the rest of his team, she offered to let them come home with her, which they all readily accepted.

It felt good being able to recuperate within the comforts of his own home. It was smaller than his childhood home, but after his parents had divorced and his father left, his mother had seen no point in continuing to live in such a large home, so they had moved to a smaller house closer to the heart of Atlas. Zelde and Neela had taken up the small spare room, whilst Cordovan sorted out a makeshift bed for Xanthos in his room. Out of all of them, Xanthos had suffered the worst from the fight with Candy and Wisteria, so was put on bed rest for a few days to give him chance to recover. They waited until he was up and moving before they told him what had happened at the Vytal festival.

They only learnt of what happened the day after the fight at Hargrave Manufacturing, after seeing the news reports, and having Wren confirm what details she knew. None of them really reacted very well to the news of what happened, though Xanthos at least took it better than Neela, who had let out a pained wail when she heard the news, frantically trying to reach her girlfriend on her scroll. Though as his mother sadly pointed out, with the CCT down, there was little chance of that happening anytime soon.

Their recovery had become a rather sombre affair after that, with much of their thoughts dedicated to their classmates who had yet to return or make contact from Beacon, as well as for Tilia. Around a week later, the team were finally able to complete their initial Search and Rescue mission for the Princeton’s, after their remaining supplies had been found at Hargrave Manufacturing.

It had felt good being to return the supplies to the Princeton’s, or what was left at them at least, but despite that, there was still a sense that things had been left unfinished. Especially in regards to Hargrave Manufacturing and what had happened there and with Candy and Wisteria escaping.

Cordovan had relayed these doubts to his mother, who listened with a sympathetic ear, before offering a potential solution. “You should speak with James as soon as you can,” she had suggested, catching her son by surprise by the casual usage of General Ironwood’s first name. “I suspect he would have wanted to reach out to you soon anyways, regarding what happened at Verdant Storage and Hargrave Manufacturing. See if he’s willing to look into Candy and Wisteria for you.” Wren had paused momentarily to look her son straight in the eyes. “I don’t like the idea of you going up against her again, Cor. You were lucky not to have come off any worse than you did in this first fight with her, I hate to imagine how another one would play out.”

With his mother’s suggestion noted, Cordovan decided to broach the topic with his teammates the following morning, asking them to meet him in the sitting room after breakfast. His mother would not be due back till later in the day, so the hours they had to themselves would be perfect to discuss this.

As he came back downstairs from freshening up after breakfast, Cordovan spotted Zelde looking at some of the photographs on display in the hallway. He could hear Xanthos and Neela already talking in the sitting room, so took a moment to look at the photographs with Zelde.

When she sensed his presence, she turned her head and gave him a weak smile, before looking back at the photographs. She seemed particularly focused on one of a much younger Cordovan. “You look very happy here,” she said softly. “I don’t think I ever smiled this much at this age.”

“Don’t be fooled by the smile,” Cordovan said with a slight grin. The younger version of himself in the photo had a large grin on his face. “Just minutes before that was taken I was crying my eyes out because I lost a tooth. My father had to bribe me with the promise of sweets just to get me to smile.” He could still remember that day fondly. At the promise of sweets he had soon settled down, but his mother had not been impressed when she learnt of the secret deal that had gone down between her husband and son.

Zelde was looking at him as he spoke, smiling softly as he recounted the story. When he finished she looked back at the photograph. “Your father sounds like he was a nice man.”

“Hmm, yeah,” Cordovan responded, voice trailing off. He didn't really have the best relationship with his father anymore but as a young boy he had greatly admired and looked up to him.

Zelde and Cordovan continued to look at the photos on display for a little while longer. Most of them were of him or his mother, those that had his father in had been put away long ago. Zelde picked up one photograph of a group of students around their age.

“Is this your mother's team?” She asked.

“Yep,” he responded, taking time to point out each member of the team in turn and give their name. “There's my mom, Lorelei, Olive, and Stanford. They went by WLOW when they were a team.”

The four youths were all smiling in the picture, though the red-haired Lorelei's could be better described as a forced smile. It was strange to think they were around the same age as ZRCN in this picture. His mother looked especially young here, wearing a casual cream coloured blouse tucked into a brown combat skirt. Her chestnut hair was worn loose save for a single braid to the side, which differed greatly from her now preferred style of having it in a neat ponytail.

“Hate to interrupt the lovely bonding session going on out here, but I thought we were supposed to be discussing what to do next?” Xanthos's voice sounded from behind them. As Zelde put the photo back down, Cordovan turned to see Xanthos leaning against the doorframe.

“We were just coming, Ravi.” Cordovan said, following Zelde in brushing past him into the sitting room.

Neela, Xanthos, and Zelde all settled themselves on a sofa, whilst Cordovan seated himself in an armchair adjacent to it.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Zelde asked drawing up his legs so he was sat cross-legged on the sofa.

“Well, it's about what we should do next,” Cordovan started, earning some confused looks from his teammates.

“What do you mean?” Neela questioned. “We completed our mission. I thought we were taking things easy whilst things were sorted out from Beacon.”

“That's true, but I can't be the only one who feels as though we haven't finished just yet, as though we still have more to do.” Cordovan responded, eyeing his teammates in turn. “Candy and Wisteria are still out there, and we still don't really understand what role the Hargraves play into this.”

A little murmur of agreement went up from his teammates. It was Xanthos who spoke next.

“So what do you suggest we do? Do an unsanctioned mission to take them down?” Xanthos paused a moment, before adding in a more enthusiastic voice, “Cause I'd totally be down for that.”

“Ravi, please,” Zelde warned, shooting him a glance. “We can't just do that. We'd need to tell someone first.”

“Exactly!” Cordovan cut in, making Zelde jump in surprise. “I spoke to my mother about this yesterday, and suggested we speak to General Ironwood about this, see if he'd be willing to help us look into things, and maybe even sanction another mission to resolve things with Candy or Wisteria.”

“Hmm, that sounds reasonable,” Zelde admitted after a few minutes of consideration.

Cordovan nodded in approval. “Great. So are we all okay with this?”

“I don't have a problem with it,” Zelde responded quickly.

“Neither do I.” Neela and Xanthos both said at the same time.

“So it's decided then.” Cordovan said with another approving nod. “I'll send a message General Ironwood's way and hopefully we won't have to wait long to hear back from him.”

#team zrcn #team zrcn fic #zelde sewick #cordovan radcliff #xanthos ravindra #neela oxford #wren honeycutt

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texanredrose · 6 years

Text

By Moonlight - The End

Yang fidgeted all through the meeting, sitting beside her wife and trying her damnedest to appear like she wasn't counting the seconds. Normally, she'd have no problems at all providing her expertise, especially for such a unique problem as a rampaging unicorn driving people out of a forest along the western border; they were usually docile creatures, preferring to flee rather than fight, but this one had wounded six woodcutters and chased off a few children.

Quite frankly, she thought the villagers should just leave the unicorn alone and come back in a few months, but that was neither fair nor right.

"Has the unicorn left the forest at all?" Winter, equally anxious, managed to maintain her composure moderately better. Outside the window, the moon rose high in the sky, yet she remained in her human form. All things considered, it spoke volumes to the woman's iron will; they'd painfully gone through the flashes of memories she experienced upon first turning and tied them to ancient werewolf bloodlines.

Yang still could hardly believe it. Winter now stood as the last bastion of several old packs, ones driven to extinction by the Vacuon warlocks who stole their blood, some of the most fearsome werewolves to ever roam the land now sharing a blood bond with the Atlesian Princess. They'd been captured and tortured to madness before being released, spawning the many terrible stories that survived to present day regarding werewolves as a whole, and how Winter hadn't immediately began carving a bloody path through Atlas when she turned mystified not only the dragon but the Elders, too. They'd been wary at first but accepted Winter among them, just as Yang said they would, and it proved to be a bit awkward as more than half were tempted to defer to the younger werewolf's judgment, regardless of her inexperience.

The intervening years had greatly improved Winter's control of her inner wolf. The moon didn't hold the same sway, but she still turned once the sun set as opposed to remaining human, and they often ran through the forest together- up until recently, anyway.

"No, Your Highness." The harried messenger sighed heavily. "We've tried everything to appease it. We've sent virgins-"

"That's a myth," Yang said, her irritation beginning to show. "They're drawn to those pure of heart, but if it's charging children, then it's likely been wounded or it's protecting someone who is." She tapped the table. "Leave out medicinal herbs in a basket at the edge of the forest. If it's gone by morning, then it's someone else; if the unicorn is standing in the area, then have a healer approach slowly with a sage necklace. If neither occurs, then send urgent word to the guild." Her gaze slid to the guild master, a man Winter trusted unequivocally- a member of their pack. "James, send a few of the younger members with Ren to oversee the offering; there's a chance it might anger the unicorn, so they can at least turn its anger north rather than to the village."

"Of course, Your Highness." He inclined his head. "I'll see to the arrangements. Thank you for taking the time to hear this request out."

Yang didn't bother replying, immediately shooting up from her seat and heading for the door, her wife falling into step behind her after offering a quick, cordial farewell.

"Easy, Sundrop." Her voice, soft, held enough edge to be slightly reproachful. "We're not far-"

"We're too far," she replied, quickening her pace down the halls. "It's too late to be leaving the room at all- what if we miss them hatching?"

"We won't-"

"But what if we do?" The whole process had been long and drawn out. Two months of carrying the eggs before she laid them and another eight keeping them warm during the Atlesian winter, with only her duties as the kingdom's official authority on uncommon beasts managing to pull her from the room. Winter brought her food and water, sat with the eggs when Yang absolutely had to leave, but she didn't share the same attachment to them as the dragon did, instead more concerned about her mate's well being. It made sense- wolves and humans usually carried their young to term- but it frustrated the dragon to the core. "I won't have them coming into this world without me right next to them."

"I understand that, but you're running yourself ragged at this point." Winter sighed, realizing she wouldn't win the battle and dropping the offensive, her form shifting as she turned. Although the halls wouldn't allow for Yang's larger form to comfortably navigate, the werewolf could lope along the stone rather easily. She didn't hesitate to dig her fingers deep into white fur and pull herself onto Winter's back, pressing low so she could run, down the halls towards the dragon sized addition to the castle.

Servants, guards, and whoever else happened to be in the hallway quickly ducked down corridors to avoid the two, everyone more than aware of Yang's lack of patience for being away from her eggs. When they made the last turn, the royal guards standing at the doors wordlessly opened them, admitting the two without a word; they knew better than to waste time with pleasantries considering the circumstances.

"I feel like we should be offended you have so little faith in us," Weiss said, having taken off her crown and relaxed as much as she ever did, one arm curled around her eldest child seated in her lap. Blake, meanwhile, had the twins occupied with some manner of puzzle that Yang couldn't be bothered to decipher as she leapt into the air and shifted, gliding to the little nest she'd made and quickly checking her eggs, all of which were motionless and intact.

I told you. Winter padded over to her side as she wrapped her tail around the assortment of blankets and furs, all sprinkled with enchanted dust to prevent any fire mishaps; according to their father, Yang had hatched and immediately set fire to the nest, which he'd found funny only in hindsight. Their scents drenched the entire area, with Weiss', Blake's, and their children's scents much less prominent, and all others obliterated by periodic blasts of dragonfire. The staff thought it a bit odd but it set Yang's mind at ease, running more on instinct than sense ever since she'd gotten pregnant. We had time.

You're lucky. The Dragon blew smoke through her nose. If we'd missed it-

"We would've sent for you," Blake said, the ears atop her head twitching. "They're moving around but they've not started trying to break through. There would've been plenty of time."

That's not the point.

Sundrop. Winter crawled atop her coils until she could rest her muzzle on the dragon's snout. You're fretting too much. You'll make yourself sick worrying over nothing. Her ears dropped to the sides of her head as she sides deeply. You'll be a fantastic mother. Of that much, I'm certain, so have a little faith in yourself.

Yang snorted, only a little smoke billowing from her nostrils. I'll never be as good as Summer.

"That's not even a fair comparison; Mom was the definition of Super Mom and you know it!" Ruby chimed in, slipping through the door bearing a tray piled high with cooked meats. "And she was also a witch, so I'm not sure if it really counts when almost all the chores did themselves."

That's-

"Beside the point, we know." Four voices chorused and Yang winced.

... okay, maybe I'm a little high strung. The way canine ears laid back spoke to the severity of that understatement but she ignored it. Can you really blame me?

Of course not. Winter nuzzled against her, tail wagging. But the faith you have in me, I have in you. Our children will be thankful for a mother so attentive. Her tail stilled. Between us, you certainly have a better maternal instinct, and a better role model.

"I'd take offense to that if I didn't agree," Willow said, striding into the room and bearing another tray like Ruby's. Between a dragon and a werewolf, they had quite the appetite. "You both have a much healthier relationship than I had with Jacques. You're already miles ahead in that department, and I'm certain the rest will fall in line, even with dragon... kits? What is the proper name for Dragon young?"

We call them hatchlings. Yang sighed, eyeing the plates of meat; she couldn't remember the last time Winter reminded her to eat, nor if she'd actually followed the advice.

Sensing where her mate's mind had wandered, the werewolf got up and loped over to her sister-in-law, grabbing a piece of meat in her jaws- lean pork, lightly salted by the smell- and snapped her head to the side, tossing it up in easy range for the dragon to snap out and pluck it from the air. The grumbling in her stomach said that it'd been far too long since she'd last eaten, making her disinclined to stop accepting the meat thrown her way.

"Hatchlings? Curious; at what point are they no longer considered that?"

"Once they've made their first kill," Blake replied, wincing and putting a hand to her swollen belly, the fourth royal child on the way for the ruling couple. "She's kicking again."

"You're sure? Another girl?" Weiss did her best to keep the hopefulness out of her voice but it shone in her eyes all the same.

"I'm sure." The Faunus laughed as the twins inspected their Mommy's belly, little feline ears twitching. "You have a little sister on the way. But first, cousins."

"Cousins?" Their eldest perked up, twisting in Mother's lap. "We get cousins?"

"You absolutely do, my little Grace." Weiss smiled, looking towards her sister, busy licking her muzzle after finishing a cut of beef. "When do you think they'll be ready to hunt?"

Anywhere between a few months to a few years. Winter tilted her head. Though I'm not sure how their mixed heritage might affect that.

Well, I'm only half dragon, too, Yang said, her hunger sated for the moment, freeing her up to consider the question posed. But the only difference it made for me is that I can't really change my human appearance. Dragons can usually assume whatever outward appearance they wish, but I look like my dad.

"Perhaps-"

Suddenly, her attention snapped away as Blake's ears perked up and her own hearing picked up something that sounded like faint scrabbling. She watched the four little eggs- all of them a pale yellow with splotches of light blue- and held her breath until one shifted, just slightly.

It's happening.

What? Winter jumped up onto her coils, peering down with her ears cocked forward. Are you sure?

Listen. Silence fell on the room until another faint sound came from a different egg, the top wobbling just a little. There!

I saw. Winter moved along her coils, nuzzling against her cheek. We're right here for them.

Minutes passed and Yang found it difficult to breathe, wanting to reach out and help the hatchlings and restraining herself by the barest measures. They would need to break into the world on their own. The waiting was agonizing but when she saw the cracks appear on one egg, her wings began to flex erratically, anticipation rising.

Snowdrift! Snowdrift, look!

I see. Winter pressed against her cheek. We're keeping to the names we picked out?

Yeah. She couldn't be sure- not as sure as Blake, anyway- but she thought the darker splotches of blue might be little girls while the more vibrant yellow might signify a boy, but she honestly didn't care, she already loved them. It shouldn't be much longer now.

All eyes in the room remained fixated on the four eggs, two of which moved around a lot, while a third had started to move as well. Yang could feel her excitement rising, shoulders bunching as Weiss and Blake came to stand beside her coils, while Ruby plopped down on her curled tail, and the children fluctuated between being bored and trying to get in the spirit of their parents' anticipation.

Then, after a small eternity, one of the eggs broke, a tiny scaled nose poking through and taking its first breaths of air, gleaming white scales visible beneath the fluid.

There you go, little one, she said, voice as soft as she could make it. Just a little more.

At first, the nose retreated, and then it pushed again, tiny claws aiding as the little dragon broke a bigger hole, the egg falling over. A little dragon head slipped out, blue eyes blinking and curiously taking in the world.

Hello, little Zephyr. Winter fidgeted where she sat. Welcome to the world.

The first hatchling twisted her head around, blinking up at them and opening her mouth, a sound halfway between a roar and a whine slipping out. Not words, not dragonspeak or even the language of werewolves, just the sounds of a newborn testing out vocal chords for the very first time.

Come on. Come out. Yang felt tears of pride stinging her eyes, happiness flooding her as the second egg broke. Come out, Zise. Her brows rose in surprise as the hole in the second egg was made bigger by a paw, a thin layer of fine fur instead of scales poking out followed by a little white dragon's head. Uh...

The werewolf beside her blinked. Is... that...

I have... no idea... Yang cast a look around, not that anyone else knew better than her as the second hatchling broke free into the world, revealing wolf's paws and a dragon's body, head, and tail. Little one?

Bright gold eyes looked up at her, long neck stretching towards the dragon as she let out a similar noise to her sister. The third egg broke, golden scales accompanied a dragon's head and front half, but from the belly down he was all wolf.

Well...

"They're... cute." Weiss didn't sound insincere but rather confused. "I've... certainly never heard of any creature like these. They're... unique."

"I wonder if this is normal, the combining of traits like this." Blake tilted her head, a quirk to her lips. "They're adorable."

"Are you kidding?" Ruby laughed, clapping her hands together. "They're perfect!"

They really are, Winter said, nuzzling against Yang's cheek. They're incredible.

Yeah. Now the shock had passed, the dragon could feel her pride and happiness surging forth, pressing back against her wife and mate. Just like their Mom.

I'd argue they take more after you. But lilac eyes fell on the fourth egg, still and unblemished, and her heart sank. Winter noted her shift in mood, following her gaze to the fourth of their eggs. Oh...

Three out of four... She shifted her right arm unconsciously. Guess that's a theme for me.

Oh Sundrop, this isn't your fault. The werewolf nosed under her jaw, rubbing at the soft spot in her scales. It happens-

Is that supposed to make me feel better? She sighed, lowering her head to prod at the three hatchlings. Come here, little ones. Let Momma get a good look at you.

However, now more or less mastering the ancient art of walking- it honestly looked more like stumbling around and luckily getting a claw beneath them before hitting the ground- they ignored her attention to look at the other egg, wobbling over until Zephyr could rear up and put her tiny claws up on the egg, sparking a flare of anger from Yang.

Don't-

Fire gathered on her tongue, a warning to be released high over their heads, but Winter wrapped her forelegs around the dragon's head to keep her jaws closed- a futile effort but as effective as a steel trap.

Wait. They watched as the other two hatchlings made their way over. Give them a moment.

Everyone watched as the three nosed at the egg until the eldest pulled her head back and rammed it forward, smacking hard against the egg.

Yang shifted slightly, whining a little, but her wife hushed her.

Then the other two began hitting their heads against the same spot, taking turns, and using the pointed tips of their mouths to peel back the shell, and the full grown dragon quite nearly ripped herself away from Winter in her distress until a tiny black nose poked through the new opening, twitching and sniffing.

What... Yang watched in slack jawed astonishment as the werewolf climbed down and approached the egg slowly, lowering her head so their hatchlings could press against her muzzle, recognizing her by scent and opening their little wings wide in a cute, playful gesture. Winter used her claws to carefully break open the last egg, revealing their fourth hatchling, mostly covered in white fur except from shoulder to tail, where she had the yellow scales, wings, and tail of a dragon. The wolf's eyes were closed, canine ears pressed flat against her skull, and Yang's breath caught entirely in her throat. ... Zajah...

She looks more mammal than draconic. Winter noted, placing their still blind hatchling among her siblings. No wonder she had difficulties.

The dragon lowered her head down, allowing for tiny claws to begin scrabbling against her scales and feeling a wet nose press against her chin. Hello, little ones.

"I can't believe we're witnessing the beginning of a new line." She looked over to see Ruby's wide eyes, shining with excitement. "Wolfdragons."

"Mommy?" One of the twins turned a curious look to Blake. "What are those?"

And with all the confidence of a seven year old, Grace answered. "They're scaly fluffy baby cousins."

The rest of the room stood in stunned silence until Weiss finally coughed into her hand. "It's not like she's wrong."

All of them burst into laughter, Yang's body uncoiling to allow Weiss and Blake to escort their family over to the hatchlings while Ruby darted ahead to scoop up Zise. Zephyr and Zachariah tentatively approached their cousins, with Zajah acclimating to the sudden increase in movement with little yelps that Winter soothed while Yang let out a low growl to settle all four of them. Eventually, the dragon turned her head to see Willow standing off to the side, speaking directly to the woman so it wouldn't upset her wife. Do you want a better look at your grandchildren?

The woman's lips twitched, responding in kind- one of the few humans to master the skill. The birth of my children are the few good memories I have out of nearly twenty four years. I wouldn't want to intrude.

You're part of this family, too. She smiled. I'm sure there's many new happy memories awaiting us.

Mother, Winter said, holding their last hatchling in one massive paw while using the other three to move. Look, she has a birthmark just like I do.

"Does she now?" Willow stepped closer, reaching out to accept the youngest of her grandchildren- for the moment, anyway. Blake had only a few months left before she was due, and the current betting pool around the castle expected more additions to the royal family. "Come to Granny Willow, little Zajah."

Yang smiled, chuckling as Weiss set the eldest atop her snout, the white dragon opening her mouth open wide. In time, they would grow- who knew how big- and maybe they'd fly the skies with her or run the fields alongside Winter, and maybe they'd look just like a combination of their parents in their human forms, too, and a million other possibilities whirled through her head as she made a solemn vow.

I will do my best as your momma, little ones. Yang's gaze was drawn up to the windows as a shadow appeared, black and red scales surrounding bright red eyes. The dragon on the other side of the glass looked at her for a moment before giving a single nod and disappearing into the night.

"Sorry I'm late!" The doors opened as Taiyang burst in, three royal guards hanging off the man. "I heard I have grandkids! Finally!"

"Guards! Let the man be; he's my father-in-law!" Weiss paused. "I'm pretty sure that's how it works."

"At any rate, he's allowed to be here," Blake said, the guards following orders and releasing the man.

"So where-" His eyes fell on Zephyr, Zise, Zach, and Zajah in turn, blinking for a moment before his smile widened. "Well, look at them! They're-"

"They're wolfdragons, Dad, and they're awesome!" Zach started licking at the underside of Ruby's jaw, making her laugh. "They're like puppies with scales!"

"Sounds like you're in for an easier time than I had." He laughed, striding forward and holding his arms out to Zach. "Now come here little guy! What's your name?"

Yang watched as her father embraced one of of his grandchildren, Zephyr scrabbling to the edge of her snout to inspect the newcomer, this man who smelled a little like Momma and a little different, and the dragon in her felt absolutely content with the treasures before her.

In her excitement, Winter tilted her head back and let out a long howl, following it with a few shorter ones that conveyed her overflowing emotions. Almost together, four tiny voices echoed her, the sounds not... quite the same, but close enough.

Weiss told the guards to send for Klein, James, and Healer Goodwitch, that the newest additions to their family might know the extent of their pack.

#Elderburn #Monochrome #TRR writes #Werewolf!Winter AU #By Moonlight AU #TRR and the discord shenanigans

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