Give me a Scotch, I'm Starving

FEETIES <33

because I like babies and I like kisses and I like babies getting kisses so there u_u <3

“Would you like a cigarette?” he asked, holding out the pack towards Benjamin.  Then, reconsidering, he pulled his hand back, snatching the pack out from the ex-soldier’s reach.  “Actually, you had best not smoke,” he said, tucking the pack back into his breast pocket and pulling out his lighter, lighting up his own cigarette nonchalantly.  “You are recovering.  We do not want to jeopardize that.”  Clicking his lighter shut, he stashed it back in his pocket, taking a long, deep drag of the cigarette, staring at Benjamin with cold, dark eyes, and then let out the smoke in a satisfied exhale in the ex-soldier’s general direction.

“You are recovering quite well,” he commented, nodding approvingly.  He paused, and then indicated towards the older man’s bandaged right eye with his cigarette.  “I apologize about your eye,” he said.  “I tried, but there was really nothing more I could ‘ave done.”  Shrugging, he took another drag on his cigarette, and then commented, “Besides, blind is very in these days.  It is sexy, no?”  He glanced back at Mad Dog, as if expecting some sort of backup for this statement, and then turned back to Benjamin again, serious once more.  “Regardless,” he said.  “That is not why I am ‘ere.  I wanted to offer you the chance to be a part of a new and, er… in…”  Manette paused, and then turned, looking at Mad Dog.

“What is the word?” he asked.

“Innovative?” Mad Dog suggested.

“Yes, that is it,” Manette said, nodding as he turned back to Benjamin.  “A new and innovative program.”  Pulling a business card from his breast pocket, he leaned forward, handing it to the ex-soldier, and then sat back again, taking a drag of his cigarette as he allowed the older man to look over the card.  “Project Protection is an elite task force of sorts that works closely with the government to bring unity to mutants and ‘umans,” he explained, his eyes never leaving Benjamin’s face.  “They make sure the peace is up’eld by monitoring mutants and rooting out ones that would ‘arm others around them unnecessarily.  They are like a specialized police force that deals specifically with mutant cases.”

His dark eyes moved down Benjamin’s form, taking in the extent of the damage to the ex-soldier, his gaze resting for a moment on the man’s stiff right hand.  Then, realizing that most of the damage was concentrated in or around the ex-soldier’s head, his attention returned to the older man’s face, nonchalant as ever.  “The technology involved in Project Protection is state-of-the-art,” he continued as if nothing had happened.  “As is the medical care.  Becoming a functioning part of Project Protection assures you ongoing medical protection.  If you ever get ‘urt, even a small bit, our doctors will fix you right up, good as new.”

A cold, sleazy smile slowly crept across his face as he continued to stare at Benjamin, expectant.  “What do you say?” he asked.  “Might you be interested in joining?”

From fic: Rescue Me

After the events of Fallen Son, Tony goes home to think and ends up in his training room, pitting his internalized anger against a punching bag.  He didn’t expect the see Steve there, though— as a figment of his imagination or otherwise.  Based loosely on the 2010 Rescue oneshot of the same name.  Rated T, some language.  Not Steve/Tony.

Having said his piece, he fell silent again, staring down at his hands, and loosely clenched and unclenched his bare fist, testing to see if he could still feel the pain from the cramp anymore, but it seemed to have all but disappeared.  “It makes sense, I guess,” he finally spoke up again.  “That he would… you know.  That he would hate me.  For that.”  The industrialist massaged his palm for another moment, and then, letting out a heavy sigh, he leaned back against the back-rest of the chair, folding his strong arms across his chest, and his blue gaze lifted to meet with Steve’s once more, brutal and honest.

“I betrayed you,” he said, his voice flat, as if he could not bring himself to show any of the emotions he was feeling lest he lose all composure.  “You can’t deny that.  I deceived you.  Lied to you.  …Killed you.”

“You didn’t kill me,” Steve replied, giving a soft sigh.

Stark arched his dark brows, pressing them together into a look of incredulity that caused the lines of his forehead to bunch together, and gave another scoff of disbelief.  “Are you saying that because you mean it?” he asked.  “Or are you saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

Steve paused a moment, considering this question, the expression on his strong face unwavering.  Then, leaning forward in his chair, the crusader rested his elbows against his thighs, lacing his fingers together between his knees in a peaceful act of contemplation.  The pads of his red-clad thumbs tapped together, the tough, stitched gloves giving off a soft scuffing noise as he did so, one that Stark would normally have found to be annoying but which now seemed oddly comforting.  “Is it what you want to hear?” Steve asked.

Stark hesitated, a bit taken aback by the Captain’s response, and then gave a light, almost contemptuous breath of a humourless laugh as he looked down at his hands again.  “Honestly?” he responded.  “I don’t even know anymore.  Part of me thinks it is, but… part of me knows it’s not true.  Part of me… part of me wishes I had been the one to die on those courthouse steps, not you.”

I discovered the other day that Tumblr user Norsegays and I share a (silly) headcanon about Tony Stark and tattoos.  So, naturally, I had to draw it.

I’m still missing Tony’s right arm and Pepper’s left before it’s finished and I can colour it… arms are always the hardest part for me.

The speech bubbles read: “How’m I s’posed t’ know what I’ve got tattooed on my back?  I can’t turn my fuckin’ neck that *hic* far…!”

WHAT

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN

WHAT WAS THE CONTEXT

YOU GUYS DON’T EVEN PLAY MASS EFFECT WH—

NOW YOU’VE STARTED THIS CONVERSATION YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME STRANDED NOW I GOTTA KNOW MY CURIOSITY MUST BE SATED

The door opened, and Jeff’s light footfalls could be heard from the front room, followed by the heavy, telltale thump as he dropped his bag on the floor in the front entry.  Tommy looked up, abandoning for a moment his son’s math homework, which the boy had somehow convinced his father to do for him yet again, and raised his curved brows, surprised.

“You’re home,” he said, stating the obvious.

“Yes, Thomas,” Jeff replied, deadpan.  “I am home.”

Jeff’s use of his legal name to address him was no surprise to Tommy – Jeff had stopped calling him by his nickname a few years ago, instead opting for the more morose, adult ‘Thomas’.  At first, Tommy had thought that he was in some sort of trouble, but the more Jeff used the name, the less meaning it held, until finally Tommy simply got used to the fact that the young nurse was intent on calling him that from now on.  That was not the only thing that had changed about Jeff – everything about him seemed to have faded with time.  His once bright blue eyes now seemed dull and lifeless, his heart-shaped lips ostensibly drawn into a disenchanted frown, and lines had formed across his once-young brow.  He cut his hair shorter now, more professional, no longer the puff of a baby chick’s first down, but more like someone who was paid to hold elevator doors in a hotel.

His entire demeanour, in fact, seemed to have changed, but the process had been a slow one, so slow that it had been difficult to see until one morning when Tommy had woken up to find himself suddenly sleeping next to a drab, dour, depressed machine.

“You got sent home early from work?” Tommy asked, watching as Jeff crossed the living-room, coming to drop himself down onto the faded couch, leaning his head back against the cushions and letting out a long, tired sigh.

“Something like that,” Jeff replied, cryptic.  “Couldn’t do much with an injured hand.”

“How’d you hurt yourself?” Tommy asked.  In the background, Starling smashed two of his action figures together, imitating the sound of an explosion as he did so, wrapped up in his own make-believe world.  “Did you cut yourself on surgical equipment?”

Jeff scoffed, picking up his head and staring at Tommy incredulously.  “Really?” he asked.  Then, leaning his head back against the cushions again, he pointed a bandaged hand at Starling.  “Ask him,” he said.  “I’m sure he can tell you exactly how it happened.”

“Who, Starling?” Tommy asked, glancing over towards his son, which caused Starling to look up as well, his brown eyes wide.  Turning back towards Jeff then, Tommy shook his head.  “Whatever it was, I’m sure it was an accident,” he said.  “Starling’s a good kid, he wouldn’t do anything on purpose that would hurt you.  He just likes to pull harmless pranks sometimes, I’m sure whatever it was, he was just playing around—”

“Playing around?!” Jeff exclaimed, his head shooting up again as he glared at Tommy in disbelief.  “There was dried lighter fluid on my cigarettes!  When I went to light one, I damn near burned my entire face off!  I had to get treated at my own fucking workplace for burns on my hand!  And this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, either!”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t smoke,” Tommy returned.

“That’s funny, Thomas,” Jeff hissed.  “That’s really funny, coming from you.  Ex… drunk, ex drug addict.”

“Ex,” Tommy repeated, quieter.

“Either way, you’ve got a lot of nerve, trying to tell me off,” Jeff snapped.  “You know the only reason I smoke is because I’m stressed out all the time.  And it’s because of that—kid!”

“But that’s all Starling is, Jeff!” Tommy told him, glancing over towards his son again, fondly.  “He’s a kid!  What do you expect?  He’s ten years old!”

“He’s a sociopath, Thomas!” Jeff shouted, pointing to the boy, who had conveniently busied himself with his action figures once more.  “And I’m sick and tired of you always acting like he’s blameless!  He’s going to grow up thinking he can do no wrong – for god’s sake, let him face the consequences of his actions for once!”

“I can’t do that,” Tommy said, a sudden twinge of almost panic in his voice as he turned his doe-brown eyes up towards Jeff again.  “I promised, when he was just a baby… I promised to always give him the benefit of the doubt.  I said I would never stop being proud of him, no matter what he did—”

“Can’t you see that that’s not healthy?!” Jeff insisted.  “You’re poisoning his mind!  You think you’re doing the right thing, Thomas, but you’re really just turning him into a monster!”

“I love him, Jeff!” Tommy shouted, angry now.  “He’s my son!”

“But he’s not MY son!” Jeff exploded, jumping to his feet.  “And I don’t have to put up with him anymore!”  Then, crossing angrily back to the front door, Jeff grabbed up his bag, slinging it over his shoulders with an angry toss.  “Have a nice life, Thomas,” he hissed, and then, without even bothering to pack a suitcase of his things, he left, slamming the door behind him.

He never came back.

Why do you wanna know more about Tommy

are you a spy

I feel the same way about a lot of characters

I’m going to start marketing flyswatters designed especially for comic book writers’ hands and every time they start to make a stupid decision about what to do with a particular character you can smack them across the hand with it and say “NO” and it should deter them for at least a short period of time

I should also look into marketing some spritz bottles to the same effect

absolutely nothing can go wrong from this plan

Damn son that’s one of the nicest things anybody’s ever said to me ;n;