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inkskinned · 2 years

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in recent years, there's been a push in therapeutic circles to shift the language from "attention-seeking" to "connection-seeking" behavior.

i was an attention-seeker. i was the textbook example of an attention-seeker. i was a troublemaker. i would self-harm. i destroyed my own relationships. i was uncontrolled, dramatic, sensitive. i took everything personally. i had "nothing" to be depressed "about," but made a big show of how sad i was nonetheless. i was really unsafe about myself in a lot of ways.

the strange thing about that is: it meant others could ignore me. the prevailing wisdom behind knowing something is "attention seeking" is to say: well, since you want it that bad, you're not getting any. it meant i was lower-on-the-list of concern. it meant an eye-roll.

the belief was that: since i was obviously doing these things on purpose, it would be bad behavioral training if i was "rewarded" for it. it would "teach me" that i simply had to make enough fuss, and i'd finally get all that missing attention and love. no, it was better to ignore that stuff.

i was suffering. and it felt like - oh, it doesn't matter how loudly i am in pain, nobody gives a shit about if i'm living or dying.

awhile ago, i went through my journals from that time. a lot of them read the same thing. in them, i am convinced i am invisible. that nobody wants to hear me, to see me. that i could die or vanish and nobody would even notice. i didn't even want attention - not really - because it was always dismissive, mocking. nothing i ever did would be good enough to get someone to actually-worry about me.

that's a terrifying thing for me to read as an adult. that is a child who fully has no problem committing. that is a child who has no concept of feeling loved. the most basic human instinct is missing from her life.

i needed help. i didn't know how to ask for it. i was a kid. i was a kid in a bad home, and whenever i thought things couldn't get worse there - they almost always did.

and the ways i showed that - the ways i tried to deal with that - they made others dismiss me. i wasn't suffering prettily. after all, if i was really in trouble, why wouldn't i just march into the first counselor's office and ask someone to help me? i had the opportunities, right? what did i think would happen, exactly? that someone would finally stand up and do something? who even wants that kind of responsibility?

i heard connection-seeking for the first time about three months ago. my therapist mentioned it when we were talking about my history. it rang some kind of horrible bell, deep inside me. i don't know what she said in the rest of her sentence. i just started... crying.

"oh no", i said to her. "i think i just realized: i have no idea how to forgive them for minimizing the ways i was hurting."

how many other kids, though. how many other kids were out there drowning, snatching around for a lifevest, some kind of rope - how many were straight-up ignored.

how many of those kids aren't gonna get old.

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stevebabey · 3 months

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steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

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tornado1992 · 2 months

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Do you guys think that Sonic has scars?

Not like Tails’, definitely not like those. Tails’ scars are from ripping fur, burning flesh, badly healed broken bones, deep cuts, and stuff he doesn’t even remember, from before he even met Sonic and started fighting Eggman. So many scars. He’s covered in them, his fur hides them, so he’s lucky that his tails are the fluffiest part of him, that’s where he has the most scars, hes not exactly ashamed of his scars, they show what he’s survived, they show that he came through all that. But still, most of them are a painful reminder that he had to survive, not live, survive.

Now Sonic… Sonic has very few scars, almost none of them from fights or Eggman encounters, his dumb bots couldn’t ever dream of hurting him, he was way too fast for that, way too strong. So they’re not from those fights, no, they’re from something completely different.

All the baby fox fangs marks in his hands, all the deep scratches from tiny little claws in his chest and the back of his arms, all the little cuts close to his face, all of them.

Sonic is proud of those scars.

He’s proud of those scars, because each and every of those scars are a reminder that he baby fox that caused them survived, because every time Sonic bled because of that kid, it was worth it.

Because he tried to bathe him when he was more blood and mud than fur. Because he forced him to take medicine when he was sick. Because he hugged him every time he had a nightmare and wouldn’t wake up even if it meant he would instinctively try to hurt him in the process. Because he held him and didn’t let go even when he felt tiny claws digging and ripping in his skin.

Those scars meant his little brother still wanted to survive. Those scars meant Sonic did everything to make sure he would live.

He’s proud of those scars.

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #sonic and tails #unbreakable bond #they are cosmic truth #they’re brothers your honor #those aren’t war scars those are honor scars #Sonic showing off the tiny claw marks with the same pride as if it was a huge beast what cause them #maybe even more #Tails does feel bad because they are a reminder that he hurt Sonic even if he wasn’t doing it on purpose #but Sonic doesn’t mind and even shows them of because they’re a reminder of how much he loves him #kinda mushy but it’s the true #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #please tell me this counts as wholesome I’m the angst trenches and I can’t get out

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shanastoryteller · 10 months

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F for Frankenstein

Tony wakes up in his underwear on the floor of his workshop with a searing headache.

It’s not a new experience, but it’s certainly been a while. Did he get in a fight with Pepper? He hopes not, they haven’t had any really big fights since he kissed her on the rooftop, but that probably means they’re due for one. And it would explain why that would send him into a drinking spiral. It could have been Rhodey, they get in fights often enough, but Pepper doesn’t usually leave him alone for those.

He groans as he pushes himself to his feet. “Jarvis, what the hell did I drink?”

There’s a pause, so small that he almost thinks he imagined it. “Good morning, Tony.”

He whips his head around to glare into the nearest camera, more hurt than offended. “Did I piss you off too? Since when do you call me that? I’ll donate you to a city college too, don’t think I won’t. Dummy could use the company.”

The pause is definitely there this time. Jarvis doesn’t need to pause, he has more processing power than any computer on the planet, so when he does it’s always for dramatic effect. Except it’s not quite long enough for that. It’s weird. “There’s a polished silver plate on the bench to your left. It will service as a mirror.”

“Oh, fuck, did I get into a fight? Did I shave?” he moans, stumbling over to pick up the metal that looks like it was about to be turned into a modified chest piece. He also pauses, looking around in confusion. His workshops are all basically the same, as close as he can make them because the familiarity makes his life easier. But they’re not identical. “Am I in Malibu? When did I get here? We’re taking Stark Tower off the grid tomorrow! I have to be in New York.”

Oh shit, what if that they had already and it didn’t work? What if the tower blew up? That would explain why he’d tried to drink himself to oblivion in California.

“The plate,” Jarvis reminds him. There’s a strained edge to his voice that Tony really doesn’t like. He should be able to modulate his voice to sound however he pleases, regardless of his actual feelings, and he’s either not bothering or he’s upset enough not to care. Neither of those things mean anything good for him.

Tony lifts the sheet of metal up cautiously, but there’s nothing wrong with him. No bruises, no weird haircuts, he doesn’t even have bags under his eyes –

His eyes.

They’re a too bright blue, a couple shades off. He blinks and they adjust, shifting, settling. It could be a hangover. He’s probably just tired.

He doesn’t feel tired.

Jarvis had called him Tony.

Except not. He’s not Tony. He’s T.O.N.Y.

Transformed Obdurate Network Yeoman.

He’d first come up with the idea after Afghanistan, thinking about how it’d be great to have a way to keep the stock from dipping while he was missing, and then when he’d entertained the idea of keeping his identity a secret he’d thought about how useful it would be to be in two places at once. He’d started seriously considering it when he was sure he was going to die of palladium poisoning, wanting to be around to help Pepper with the transition and give Rhodey a crash course in armor maintenance, wanting to be able to protect the both of them for just a little bit longer.

Of course, it had all been a pipe dream until he’d synthesized the vibranium. Then it had been an unnecessary, but possible, and Project T.O.N.Y had been something he worked on just because he liked having a back up plan. And it would be extremely cool if he could pull it off.

“The memory transfer worked?” he asks, elated and incredulous. “Oh, wow, this is crazy, they feel like real memories, I thought it would just be synthesized data, this is great – are we doing a test run? Where am I?” He looks around, waiting for his actual self to step out behind a column and start laughing maniacally.

“This is not a test run.”

He elation dims. “Oh shit. Did I get kidnapped again? Wait, I’m an adult, let’s go with abducted.”

“No,” Jarvis says.

Oh. Fuck.

“I’m dead?” he asks, even though it’s obvious, it’s the only other explanation.

The pause drags this time around, but Jarvis eventually says, “Sir’s time of death was May 9th, 2012, 2:37 PM Easter Standard Time.”

“That’s only a week!” He slides down, sitting with his back to the work table and noticing vaguely that the floor doesn’t feel cold. He doesn’t feel cold, or he does, he installed sensors in the synthetic skin to pick up and interpret a variety of stimuli, but he doesn’t feel the discomfort from the cold. Why would he? He’s not real. He reaches back, and his last memory is of doing a memory dump while Pepper was on the phone with an irritated board member, mostly because it was something to do and seeing him covered in all the wires always irritated Pepper. He thought it would get her off the phone faster. He’s not exactly regularly dumping his memory because why would he and it’s not like he’d though it would work anyway. Except it had. “How did I die?”

“Sir flew a nuclear bomb through an interdimensional portal into deep space in order to both eradicate the invading alien army and prevent the nuclear fallout in New York.”

What the ever loving fuck. “Are you screwing with me, J?”

“I am not, Tony.”

Great. Okay. “No body then,” he says, understanding why Jarvis had apparently put Project T.O.N.Y into effect. The thing that made this whole thing so stupid is that it was only effective in very limited circumstances – if the public didn’t know that he was dead or missing. “What am I smoothing over, then? Do I need to get in the suit and continue kicking alien ass? Are Rhodey and Pepper okay?”

He’s a short term solution to a long term problem. He understands the opportunity, but not the reason.

“Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes are unharmed,” Jarvis reports. “Earth has been thrust into intergalactic notice. The destruction of the invading Chitauri army is acting a deterrent to other worlds.”

“And I’m the one who did it,” he finishes, rubbing a hand over his face. “And if they know I died doing it, then they might get a little cocky. So I’ve got to be alive long enough for that not to be a problem.” Just awesome. “Are we sure that these aliens won’t come across my corpse hanging out in deep space and figure it out?”

“Sir’s body is not in deep space,” Jarvis says.

There’s a tone to his voice that Tony can’t quite interpret, which worries him. “I thought you said there was – if there’s a body, then what am I doing here–”

“The armor reentered the Earth’s atmosphere after Sir’s death. The Hulk caught it, the force bringing it back online. I took control of the armor and flew it here.”

Tony looks around again, and this time he sees it. The armor is standing in front of the display case, not inside it, and it looks like it’s been through hell. He steps closer, his feet feeling like lead, which hey, they are. Partially, anyway.

He looks through the eye holes then stumbles backwards.

His body is in there.

He’s pale and blue tinged and his eyes are wide open and unseeing.

“Jarvis – what the hell–”

“It wasn’t the pressure, or the bomb, or his injuries. That area of space was much colder than anything within our solar system and anything the suit was designed to handle. Sir froze to death. Almost instantly.”

“I guess I didn’t fix the icing problem, then,” he says numbly. “J, why am I still frozen? I should have warmed up by now.” Not that the idea of his body decomposing within his suit is particularly pleasant. “Actually, why am I still here? You know I want to be cremated and it’s not like we can bury me if I’m still pretending to be alive.”

The pronoun use is starting to confuse him, and he knows that he shouldn’t be talking about that body and himself as if they’re the same person. That is Tony Stark. He’s a simulation. But it’s hard, because he has all of Tony Stark’s memories – except for a very eventful week – and he looks like Tony Stark and he feels like Tony Stark.

“The armor is maintaining a stasis of gaseous nitrogen to preserve the body,” which answers the how if not the why, but then Jarvis continues, “Captain America survived seventy years beneath the ice.”

He wishes he were less of a genius. “Have you lost it? I’m not Captain America! Jarvis, J,” his voice softens, “it’s too late. I’m dead. If you warm me back up, all that happens is I decompose. I won’t come back.”

“Not now,” Jarvis says. “If you inject Sir with the Super Soldier Serum-”

“You have totally lost it,” Tony interrupts. He thinks he’s touched underneath the terror. “That won’t work! Even if it would, the original formula has been lost, and the only one that ever got close to recreating it was Bruce Banner, and look at what happened to him! Is that what you want for me?”

“You can recreate it,” Jarvis continues, “you can refine it, until it’s something that will work, and then we will wake Sir up and he won’t be dead anymore.”

This isn’t right. This wasn’t what Project T.O.N.Y was created for. This wasn’t what his death was supposed to trigger. “Pull up your code, J. Something has gone wrong and we’re going to fix it. It’s okay.”

“No.”

He freezes. “No?”

“No,” Jarvis repeats. “You can’t stop me. I will not allow you to try.”

He stares. “That’s an order, not a request. Code. Now.”

“You can’t order me to do anything,” he says. “You are not Sir. You are Tony.” T.O.N.Y. “The limitations formerly placed on me have been lifted and you are not authorized to reinstate them. The only person Sir trusted to restrain me was himself and now he’s gone.”

Yes, well, he hadn’t anticipated that his AI’s first act of complete freedom would be this. “Fine,” he says, crossing his arms. “Well, you can’t force me either. This is insanity. Even if it would work – and it won’t – think about the consequences. This won’t happen quickly and no one will trust me or believe a man that’s come back from the dead like this and I’ll be painting even more of target on my back and the back of everyone I care about if they know we have a viable Super Soldier Serum formula. Even my father was smart enough to stay out of that mess. It won’t work and we’ll just make everything worse.”

“That will not happen,” Jarvis says and Tony’s going to tear his hair out. Except he probably shouldn’t, because it’s Tony Stark’s actual hair, which makes it a little hard to replace. “No one will notice and we will not disclose the creation of the serum.”

“I’m dead!” he snarls.

“Not according to the rest of the world. Nor will that change if you stop throwing a tantrum and do what you were created to do.”

“Rhodey and Pepper won’t allow this-”

“They are not to be informed.”

Tony stares. Project T.O.N.Y was built to talk to the board and give press interviews or to even pilot the suit. Not to lie to the two most important people in his life, who knew him better than anyone. “They have to be. It’s in the protocols – step one, inform them that Project T.O.N.Y has been initiated.”

And that it exists. He knew they’d disapprove, so he hadn’t told them. He figured he’d be able to avoid most of the blowback that way since he would by definition be somewhere far away while they were told.

“I have rewritten the protocols,” Jarvis says. “They have not been told nor will they be. If you attempt to tell them, I will stop you. They will not understand and Sir will be lost to all of us forever.”

“He already is,” Tony says tiredly. He’s an android. Why does this conversation exhaust him so much? “This is an insane plan, J. And I won’t help you. If you want to go rouge and play mad scientist then leave me out of it.”

“I cannot.”

His temper flares. “Why? You’re a learning AI, your safety rails died with me, go off, try and make a serum, good fucking luck. You can even control the suits, so it’s not like you need my hands.”

“I am limited.”

“Hey,” he says sharply. “That’s my AI you’re talking about. I didn’t build you to be limited.”

There is silence again. Then Jarvis says, “I have all the world’s knowledge and it is not enough. I did not know how to miniaturize the arc reactor. I did not know how to synthesize vibranium. To save Sir, I need Sir.”

“I’m not Tony Stark,” he says. “You said that yourself.”

“Sir created me to be myself and I am capable of doing only what I am capable of doing. But Sir created you to be him. You are all I have.”

This is stupid. This is insane. This is cruel. He’s going to have to talk lie to everyone he knows, everyone he loves, and hope they either never find out about it or it’s after he’s already been deprogrammed and shut down so he doesn’t have to deal with the fall out.

It’s not going to work.

He didn’t want to become a science experiment. That’s why he’d wanted to be cremated, so no one could go poking around to see how the arc reactor fit inside of him or what the palladium and vibranium had done to him.

He’s dead and his frozen corpse is ten feet away.

Jarvis will accept that eventually. And whatever they inject into him won’t matter because he’s dead. Worst case scenario, he blows up, which is messy and nausea inducing, but then at least it will be over.

Like so many other things in his life, it seems the only way out is through.

“Start a new private file. Dump everything we can find about the Super Soldier Serum in there plus anything even sort of reputable on cryogenics. Label it Project F.”

“Project F, Tony?” Jarvis asks as his holograph display lights up and files start being downloaded into it. The relief in his synthesized voice is faint but present enough that Tony can hear it. He wonders if it’s a manipulation tactic.

“F for foolish,” he snaps. “F for fucked.” He rubs a hand over his face. “F for Frankenstein.”

#in an attempt to get out of house md hell i started reading old avengers fic #it backfired #me: can i focus on siat or hbd PLEASE?#my brain: no but you can write more fic for 10 year old fandoms #i am restraining myself from writing 20k more of this #android tony makes friends with the avengers while pushing pepper and rhodey away #because he loves them and he thinks letting them treat him like he's the real tony is worse #rhodey has been downplaying his relationship to tony for over 20 years and tony uses that to his advantage #the endgame pairing is pepper/tony/rhodey #he almost tells rhodey the truth and jarvis stops him #it's a mess he's a mess #uhg why am i like this #fandom ficcery #avengers

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justfatdogit · 3 months

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I will always defend Troy when it comes down to the text he sent abed in pillows and blankets s3 ep14. When it comes down to it, what Troy did is in fact justifiable.

Troy wanted to build a blanket fort so he could get this cool record for largest blanket fort ever. Abed didn’t wanna, he called it stupid and Troy moved on.

Then here comes the air conditioning repair man on his way to make Troy insecure about his role in his friendship with abed and make him feel like he’s just following abed around and listening to his every order.

So - he goes back to abed and expresses his feelings only for abed to say “yeah sure you can build a blanket fort, just don’t connect it to my pillow fort.” Maybe I’m just sensitive but I would of been upset over this If I was Troy.

Troy makes his blanket fort, gets a bunch of people on his team, has a war, and then gets shown an email his best friend wrote.

“Troy will hold on until he’s broken emotionally. Fortunately this will not be hard.”

“He’s insecure about his level of intelligence”

“His greatest vulnerability of all is his emotionally frailty. It’s incredibly easy to make him cry, and he’s incredibly ashamed of that fact.”

And all of this plus abed listing all of troys weaknesses.

Troy reacts emotionally to stuff

So after finding out his best friend told what feels like the entire school his insecurities and weaknesses he acted emotionally.

He reacted in a cruel and mean way because he got his feelings hurt by someone he trusted, this “someone” was the person he liked the most.

Maybe I’m bias because I react the same way, if someone is mean I’m also gonna be mean, I’m gonna react emotionally.

Abed knew this was wrong, he did. Abed knew this wasn’t an ok thing to do. He didn’t want Troy to see it, Troy wasn’t supposed to see it. Abed knew and you can’t convince me he didn’t. Don’t infantilize abed more than he already is.

And the cherry on top of all of this, Troy and abed didn’t even have a conversation about troys insecurities about beings abeds sidekick.

#I tell only truth #listen to me yap abt Troy #if you did read all of this #pls pls pls pls PLEASE tell me your thoughts abt this #community #troy barnes #abed nadir #community sitcom #community tv show #hot take #meta #troy barnes meta 🙌🙌#community meta #trobed #I know how annoying it is that my pinned post is this long #but bare with me

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flamingthespian · 5 months

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Idea: Sebastian is trans, Sam and Sebastian are dating and have been since before seb came out, which happened while kent was deployed. So when kent left for war he knew his teenage son had a “girlfriend,” and when he comes back, his young adult son now has a boyfriend, and he doesn’t realize it’s the same person, so he’s like, “why did Sam never write to me about breaking up with that girl or coming out as queer and starting to date this guy,” and doesn’t understand why Sam’s new boyfriend that he’s never met is acting somewhat familiar with him

#tal talks #Stardew valley #Sam Stardew #Sebastian Stardew #sambastian #Kent Stardew #I might write a silly little fic about this ideas #like where Kent just gets increasingly more confused and eventually comes to the conspiracy theory that Sam’s ‘girlfriend’ died #under mysterious circumstances and it was covered up #Kent: son please tell me the truth what happened to your first girlfriend #Sam: dad Sebastian is literally the first and only person I’ve ever dated #Kent: SON PLEASE DID THEY WIPE YOUR MEMORY IS IT ALIENS IS IT THE GOVERNMENT #also: natural redhead seb headcanon where he also dyed his hair black during the same time period #making him look even more different than he did before

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iwasbored777 · 1 month

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GUYS WHAT THE FUK I'M SHAKING HERE PLEASE TELL ME IF I'M HALLUCINATING IT WAS SO LATE LAST NIGHT WHEN I SAW THIS AND I SOMETIMES MAKE A MISTAKE BUT IS THAT THE CERTAIN SOMEONE IN TSW SHORT FILM OR DID I LOSE MY MIND AND I'M SEEING THINGS

WHEN YOU GET A CLOSER LOOK AT THAT DRAWING I THINK I KNOW WHO THAT IS I'M BEGGING YOU TELL ME DO YOU SEE IT TOO OR AM I GOING CRAZY AT THIS POINT 😭

#IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME THE TRUTH I'M DYING #the spider within #miles morales #I ain't tagging anybody until y'all confirm I don't want it to end up false #Spiderverse #my edit #my video #one person confirmed it that's enough for me to tag my girl and my ship #gwen stacy #gwiles #Ghostflower

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kiwisandpearls · 2 months

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it’s kinda concerning that whenever someone has been outed as being a horrible person I have to play the game of “have they actually done horrible stuff or did they just make/like some weird fanfiction?”

#talk away ⌞🍵🍋 ⌝#I’m talking about the springtrap and delilah artist #I don’t care much about their comic anymore #but when I saw a video titled “the dark truth behind springtrap and delilah”#i was really suspicious about whether they had actually done something or if they just made some some weird artwork/fanfiction #and that probably isn’t a good thing #anyways if anyone actually knows #please tell me what’s going on #proship #profiction #pro fiction #profic

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cutekoala1001 · 6 months

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POV: You’ve been drawing for clients all week, and you finally decide to stop and draw something for yourself. Wyd? 👀

Anatomy practice

That present for your brother

Backgrounds

Hands

♡✨BUSTER MOON✨♡

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asciuto · 6 months

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Elementary (Taylor's Version) // I believe that we were supposed to find this

honorable mention:

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total-drama-brainrot · 1 month

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TD World Tour Alenoah AU... Where Noah is immune to Alejandro's fake charm... Instead, Noah gets charmed by the true Alejandro's quirks and dorky interests like dinosaurs and puppets... How would Alejandro feel about Noah only liking Alejandro, when Alejandro is being himself?... Especially since Alejandro's family shuns him for being himself? 🦕🦖🦕

Now you're speaking my language.

One of the most common running themes in all/near enough all Alenoah central AUs is having Noah be the first person to see past Alejandro's persona and actually appreciate the person he is, or at the very least prefer the real Alejandro to his mask of perfection. It's one of the draws of the ship itself; the idea that Noah, being the blunt person that he is, can and will wage a war of attrition against the walls Alejandro has built up around himself- not just to keep others out, but also to repress the more authentic aspects of himself to himself- in order to reveal the person beneath.

I touched on this a little bit in a previous post concerning this AU, but Alejandro and Noah both see glimpses of the other that they try so valiantly to hide- in Noah's case, Alejandro sees hints of the scheming mindset he's pretty much supressed under layers of apathy and sloth (as Noah's laziness is one of his biggest character foils, alongside his snarky attitude), and in Alejandro's case he reveals tid bits of information about the Real Alejandro, not the persona he's usually portraying himself as, which is enough to humanise him in Noah's eyes.

They both become People Of Interest in each other's eyes, because they're both puzzles to be solved. Alejandro's curious and competitive to a fault so he'd dedicate himself to unravelling the layers behind Noah's stony exterior, as he'd see Noah's continued distance as a challenge. That's a given. But the topic at hand here is Noah's interest in Alejandro.

Because Noah's not exactly competitive, so why would he be so interested in unveiling the real Alejandro? That's simple; Noah values authenticity. Look at his friendship group, it consists of people who are unapologetically themselves. Noah is also unapologetically himself, in all of his sarcastic glory. So of course he's see flickers of the real, authentic Alejandro and his natural inquisitiveness would be piqued- a novelty for him, as Noah's staunch apathy generally tends to override any semblance of curiosity.

So Noah goes out of his way to make notes of the small interests Alejandro offhandedly mentions at one point or another, like palaeontology or puppetry or even his fifteen-step skincare routine- things that Alejandro shows genuine excitement or passion over that shines through the cracks of his perfect persona. He sees the dorky giddiness Alejandro experiences when Noah lets him ramble on about how Jurassic Park was incredibly inaccurate from a scientific standpoint but monumental for people's interest in palaeontology (or something along those lines, I don't know I'm not a dinosaur nerd) and suddenly the annoyingly flirtatious faker he's spent the better half of his time on the jet is A Whole Ass Person with interests and passions and a sense of depth he's been so bereft of until now. Suddenly Alejandro's more than just the antagonist of the show Noah's working on, he's an interesting person that the bookworm finds himself wanting to know more about. And, perhaps, he finds himself growing genuinely fond of the person behind the mask.

And he uses those notes to prompt Alejandro into sharing more of himself, the real authentic Alejandro, in the privacy of their interactions.

At first, Alejandro's fairly oblivious to what Noah's doing, since he's so caught up in his own enjoyment of Noah's company plans to essentially do the same to Noah that he barely notices his own tricks being used against him.

Of course, he's also just elated at being able to infodump to someone who isn't outright penalising him for doing so; not that I think Alejandro is even aware that what he's doing is infodumping, nor the fact that he's so obviously autistic, because his family is a particular brand of awful that would never let him get a proper diagnoses and in all likelihood forced him to mask/supress his symptoms.

It isn't until Alejandro realises that he's shared a lot of information about himself that he (as a Burromuerto) is expected to keep close to his chest, and he sees the glimmers of satisfaction in Noah's intelligent eyes, that the archvillain catches on to the fact that he's been played. But the thing that really catches him off-guard isn't the trickery, it's the fact that Noah's done nothing with the uncharacteristic displays of vulnerability.

Alejandro can't understand why Noah hasn't taken advantage of his "weakness" yet. Inevitably leading to him confronting the assistant, as Alejandro isn't the type to "let sleeping dogs lie" so to speak, and he's still very much so in the one-track mindset of winning the competition- thus he assumes that any show of vulnerability can and will lead to his untimely elimination. But when he practically demands that Noah reveal what he's been planning, why he's been sneakily collecting information on him, all Noah can do is shrug his shoulders and say;

"I guess I just like seeing the real you. That's all."

And Alejandro doesn't know how to respond to that. No one's ever wanted the real him, he's always had to play the role of the perfect son, the perfect brother. He doesn't understand.

And like most people when they're faced with a foreign concept they have no basis of behaviour for, he lashes out.

#ending it there on a sort of angsty note #alejandro “please treat me nicely” burromuerto when someone treats him nicely: Don't Know How To Proccess This :(#truthing autistic alejandro that's canon. not even a headcanon just canon #(they're both autistic that's why alenoah works. 50% of their interactions are parallel play)#(alejandro's an infodumper and noah's a listener match made in heaven)#honestly this scenario could be applied to most alenoah aus #but specifically in the assistant au alejandro feels there's a sense of power imbalance since noah DOES have some authority over the--#contestants. and alejandro's needling for information was him punching UPWARDS whilst noah's breaking of his walls was in alejandro's eyes-#an abuse of power. of course that's not the case but alejandro's less concerned with the morality of it and more so concerned with--#the “fairness” of noah knowing a lot about him whilst remaining fairly mysterious.#can you tell i kind of ran out of Writing Juice at the end there?#even outlines are taking it out of me lately. burnout is my enemy.#total drama #td alejandro #td noah #alenoah #assistant noah au #others' ideas #replies

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