#mostly because it's in italian and while you could use google translate- I doubt it's worth the effort

[mollymarymarie]

20 questions Writer’s Edition

Thanks @blitheringmcgonagall for tagging me in this! 

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

34

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

696,047

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Harry Potter (Marauders Era) Marvel (Stucky, Bucky/OC, Pietro/OC) And then one about Sam Kiszka from Greta Van Fleet (that I wrote as a commission, sort of) and one I wrote about Lee Pace (cause I saw it in a dream lol)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Lad That Loved You - sort of canon Hogwarts-era fic with a twist on The Prank (Remus and Sirius pretend to fight to cover up their relationship)

When It Counted - Remus gets spiked with Veritaserum and makes Sirius (and everyone else) believe it was Amortentia to cover up the truth

Vow Under the Covers - Remus is getting married. And not to Sirius. And Sirius has to decide if he can live with that.

Save Me, Save Me, Save Me - Remus thinks Sirius is in love with his neighbor and offers to help cook her dinner (Sirius and Marlene have to pretend to be attracted to each other, despite being VERY GAY, to cover up Sirius’ feelings)

Heavy In Your Arms - Sirius is the Slytherin prefect and has to nurse Remus Lupin back to health after a vicious full moon 

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

ABSOLUTELY - comments make my whole day, my whole week, I want people who take the time to comment to know that I LOVE THEM DEARLY

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

It’s a one-shot, but the angstiest ending is definitely in Where The Willow Don’t Bend (the story is about Remus becoming one of the ghosts at Hogwarts, so it’s OBVIOUS that it is not going to exactly end ... happily)

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Generally, I tend to write all my fics with happy endings? Real life has enough terrible endings on its own AND I’M HERE TO ESCAPE FROM THAT OKAY 

But honestly, I think the ending in Heavy In Your Arms is QUITE happy :)

8. Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I’ve never written a crossover! I don’t write for enough fandoms to have done that, I guess. Mostly just HP and Marvel and there isn’t a lot of room for crossover there, lol (besides, I haven’t written for Marvel in ages)

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Somewhat. In Show Me Everything I Missed, I had someone tell me they were disappointed with how I made Remus be the emotional weight-bearer of the fic. But it was DIRECTLY after Sirius had gone through a VERY traumatic event, so of course Remus would be trying to help him through it. I get where they were coming from, and I guess I should be honored that my characters made them upset? isn’t that kind of the point of angst?? 

10. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do. For me, I went to private school (read: religious), so it was heavily instilled in me that sex is bad and disgusting and dirty, but then you get married and suddenly it’s beautiful and holy and important? So it took me a long time to be comfortable with sex in general, even more so with the idea of writing it down, but the idea of “smut” is kind of nonsensical to me. We go through all these things as human beings and those are all okay to write and to read and to experience, but a BASIC HUMAN NEED for most people is something to be hidden?? I’m going on a rant, but basically, I’m tired of the stigma, I guess.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not ... directly?? I have had people tell me, after the fact, that they posted my fic on a site outside of AO3 but it was still listed as being written by me, but I didn’t have an account with that site. I was still sort of weirded out by that one. 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! I had someone ask my permission to translate to ... Italian? I think? I can’t quite remember, but that was kind of cool, I guess. Again, it’s sort of iffy with those things because I think this was on a third-party site, too, so I was kind of indirectly attached to it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I never have! I have a problem with deadlines and working as a group looool I think i have control issues?? hahahahah 

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Wolfstar, hands down. I’ve been writing Wolfstar for, gosh, almost ten years. Which, comparatively is not that long, but it’s longer than any other ship for me

15. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I have a couple WIPs for characters that are NOT Wolfstar that I’d like to finish (mostly the one about Cassidy from Preacher, because I have a MASSIVE Joe Gilgun crush) but I haven’t written on it in YEARS so it’s probably not happening

16. What are your writing strengths?

oh gosh. okay, so i’m not good at answering these. I think I write smut relatively well? I do pretty good angst I think?? My characterization is usually something people enjoy? (honestly, i just write them as MY own versions of the character, but people seem to agree with me for the most part??)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I FOUND THIS OUT RECENTLY - i am not always good at following through with a plan for a fic and also i am not good at writing down what i see in my head. for example, if a character has black hair and glasses in my head (but maybe not necessarily in canon), i often have to go back and add these details because halfway through, i’ll be like DID I EVEN TELL THEM WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE AT ALL??? 

18. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

oh i’m SHITE at it. I wish I could speak another language well enough that I could incorporate it into my fics, but I doubt that will ever happen for me! (I had quite a bit of French dialogue in We Can Pretend and it went okay, but I did have someone tell me I had a grammatical error because I just used Google Translate lol)

19. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

this is going to be a HILARIOUS answer, but ... the Good Charlotte fandom. I never posted it, just my friends read it (I had quite a few fics about boys in bands back then, I was sixteen) but yeah it was a total soap opera. Like. outrageous.

20. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

They all have uniquely special places in my heart, but I have two favorites:

We Can Pretend - Remus and his father are the butlers for the Black family, and Remus has to figure out how to take care of Sirius while hiding his feelings

Heavy in Your Arms (the Slytherin!Sirius one, and also Ravenclaw!Remus!)

#tag game #Thanks Mia! #fic asks

[imperialstark]

choke on me—chapter four

breathe me in (prequel fic)

chapter three

chapter five

a/n: this is a pretty chill chapter, and chapter five is going to be the exact opposite so have fun with this one while you can ;)  also for my bilingual readers, if i have any, please excuse my shitty Italian in this chapter, i'm literally just working off of google translate

rating: pretty gen...this time

warning(s): n/a

—————

Carmen couldn't have picked a better day for a carnival; It's not too hot out for it to be August nonetheless. A slight breeze ruffles Tony's ungelled hair, sending his bangs into his eyes. He smooths the hair back with a huff. So much for keeping it casual today. His brief irritation dissipates when he looks, truly looks, at his surroundings. 

The scent of cotton candy and funnel cake and something smoky, no doubt barbecue, carries on the wind. There are two long lines of booths, rides, and rest places alike stretching for a good yard. The other volunteers are zooming about, dressed in bright red tees like the Avengers, finishing up last-minute preparations. 

"She doesn't half-ass anything, huh?" Clint says. He sounds impressed and…a little excited. Tony can't lie...he's excited too.

"I'll say," Steve says, and there's no hiding the awe in his voice. "I can't believe some of these rides even exist." 

Out the corner of his eye, Tony sees Thor lean down to whisper something in Bruce's ear, blue eyes dancing. Whatever he said makes Bruce laugh, a real one, not the sharp little chuckle that's usually full of self-loathing or sarcasm or both. 

They're off to a good start. Even Natasha looks pleased, or as pleased as she can be, with her arms crossed in front of her. She's taking in their surroundings too, but Tony knows that a part of her isn't doing it for fun. She's looking for enemies, escape routes, any possible threats to her and the others. 

"You can take an agent out of the field," he thinks. He hopes that maybe she'll loosen up by the end of the day, preferably without anyone getting hurt. 

"Where's Solomita?" she asks. "I want to know what we’re doing.”

"I know where she is," Tony says and leads the way, picking out Carmen's chirpy voice, throwing out orders and praise with a megaphone, Jesus Christ. 

"Make sure you're at your booths in ten minutes! The kids are going to be arriving soon!" 

She's crossing things off on her clipboard when Tony and the Avengers following behind him pull up in front of her. 

She hasn't changed a bit since Tony's last seen her. She's still tan, still short, shorter than Tony. Her dark wavy hair is pulled back into what she used to call her "business braid" for when she had "shit that needs to be done." 

Tony clears his throat, and Carmen looks up, her big brown eyes going wide before a grin breaks across her face and—

Carmen pounces on him, full-on throwing her arms around Tony's neck. Tony catches her no problem and—Carmen's mood is so infectious—gives her a little twirl before setting her down.

"Jesus Christ," Clint says under his breath. "She almost took him out." 

"Did not," Carmen says, and Clint has the good sense to look bashful. "This is normal for us. Especially when someone hasn't reached out in two. Years," she says, slapping Tony on the arm twice for emphasis. 

"Ouch," he says, rubbing his arm. "I've been busy."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save the world a few times, and suddenly you have no time for your friends," she says, grinning, so Tony knows she's joking. She turns to the Avengers, who've all been standing there awkwardly like they're the new kids in school. 

"All jokes aside, I'm thankful for you guys, all of you," she says. "Who knows where we'd be without the Avengers." She sticks out her hand for them to shake and for a split second, nobody moves. Maybe it was the genuine gratitude in Carmen's voice, or the others were still trying to process Carmen's everything, but the smile on her face starts to waver at their hesitation.

Steve is the first to act, taking Carmen's hand in his own. "Thank you, ma'am," he says. "I know I speak for everyone when I say that we're glad the team exists, and we'll help out any way we can." 

"Thank you," Tony mouths to him, and Steve gives him a slight nod, letting go of Carmen's hand.

Thor steps up next and, in true princely fashion, bows, bringing Carmen's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of her palm. "A pleasure to be here, my lady," Thor says.

Carmen's face is red when Thor straightens back up, releasing her hand. After that, it's like the others shift into gear. Clint apologizes for his comment. Bruce offers her a kind hello until it's just Natasha who steps up until she's right in front of Carmen. Even though they're the same height, Carmen stiffens up, looking at Natasha like she's about to get chastised. 

Natasha simply...sticks out her hand. "It’s nice to meet you,” she begins.

Carmen takes Natasha’s hand slowly like she’s expecting some trick. 

“I’m actually a fan,” Natasha says. “I saw your work this February while undercover. Very nice.” 

"Thank you," Carmen says. If she blushes anymore, Tony’s going to start worrying about her health. "I was actually inspired by your suit. The leather and the bodycon silhouette paired well with Fall and Winter." 

"Oh, really?" Natasha says, raising her brows. Natasha looks her up and down, and Carmen, much to her credit, holds her gaze. "I have ideas for your spring collection if you'd like to hear them." 

And just like that, the Avengers have won Carmen over forever. And Tony didn't even have to make any threats. Maybe today won't be a disaster after all.

"Yes, please," Carmen says, her voice coming out high and reedy. "I mean since you're offering—" 

“Carmen,” Tony interrupts before she starts melting under the full force of Natasha’s undivided attention, “what’s the game plan for today?” 

"Game plan. Right. We're here to work." Carmen clears her throat, a flush still staining her cheeks, and flips through some of the pages on her clipboard. "Okay, Tony, you're easy. You're running the basketball booth." 

Basketball. He can do basketball. 

"Mr. Rogers," Carmen says. Natasha starts humming "Won't You Be My Neighbor" until Steve shoots her an exasperated look. 

"Sorry," Natasha says, not sounding sorry at all. 

"Please, call me Steve," Steve says. "She already has that song set as my ringtone."

"Steve," Carmen says. "I know you're an artist. Think you could do caricatures slash portraits?" 

Steve nods. "Easy enough." 

The rest of the assignments go quickly. Natasha gets the sharpshooting booth, Clint's over Ring Toss, and Thor and Bruce will oversee the sack race. Now that introductions and assignments are over, there's a thrum of excitement to the air. Or anxiety. Tony's not sure yet. 

"Nervous?" Carmen says to him. She's tucked her pen behind her ear. 

"Maybe," he says. "Maybe not. It could just be indigestion."

"Gross," she laughs, wrinkling her nose. "I'm sure it'll be fine. I meant what I said, you know. I'm glad you guys showed up. You know how much A Helping Hand means to me." 

Of course, he does. Carmen's like him...in more ways than one. She had been orphaned at nineteen when her parents' plane had gone down over the Atlantic. 

And at twenty-one, she had also found herself the sole heir to a family fortune and no family to share it with. She got the idea for A Helping Hand after Tony's own parents had died. 

Tony repeats what she had told him all those years ago. "Us orphans gotta stick together."

"Damn right," she says. "Siamo famiglia."

"Siamo famiglia," Tony echoes. 

"Congrats on your new additions, by the way," Carmen says. 

Tony's brows furrow. "What new additions?" he asks.

Carmen tilts her head at him like she used to whenever she thought he had said something stupid. "You're telling me that those five supermodels you call teammates just came here for shits and giggles?" 

"They needed a day off," Tony explains. "I offered. Nothing else to it."

"They came because you asked them, dumbass. They're your friends." 

Tony's not going to argue with her, mostly since the others have stopped talking amongst themselves and are looking right at them. 

"Anyway," he says pointedly, "can you point me in the direction of my booth?" 

*********

For the next three hours, Tony shoves Carmen's words from his mind and throws himself into teaching anyone who steps up to the basketball booth about physics. It wasn't cheating per se; Tony simply calculated the angle the kids would have to throw the ball along with the perfect amount of force. The looks of shock followed by unabashed glee after they made a basket more than made up for any guilt he was feeling.  

His break comes faster than he wants it to, but he has to take one eventually and decides the best way to do that is to take a walk. His fellow volunteer, a young man named Jake, says he'll be able to hold down the fort while Tony's gone. Maybe Tony will check on the others, see how they're faring. 

“It’s a great day to fly,” he thinks. The sky is a soft pale blue that soothes his heart. Cirrus clouds, like pulled apart cotton candy, lazily make their way across the horizon. Maybe after the carnival is over, he’ll take the suit out for a ride and cruise through the skies. 

He wanders without direction, letting his feet carry him wherever they fancy. Seldom does Tony get quiet moments to himself like this. There was always a fire to put out, a project to work on, kittens to rescue from trees, that sort of thing. Not that he ever doubted her, but maybe Pepper was right. Maybe he did work too hard. 

The sound of children squealing pulls him from his thoughts and brings a smile to his face. Carmen had spared no expense, not that he expected any less, as he takes in the Tilt-a-Whirl lifting its arms higher and higher. The riders throw their arms up in the air, their laughter carrying on the wind. For today, they would get to fly too. 

Tony continues on, the shouts and whoops and laughs fading into the background; he's made it to a quieter part of the carnival where they tucked off all of the arts and crafts booths. 

There's the finger painting table where plenty of toddlers and adults alike are flinging paint onto sheets of canvas. One kid rises from the face painting table with Cap's shield emblazoned upon his cheek and a booth over...there's Steve, drawing caricatures for the kids. There's a curve to his lips. Steve's biting back a smile at the little boy trying (and failing) to sit still in his chair as he draws him. Tony's heart jumps at the sight. He's tempted to slide into the line for Steve's booth himself, but something holds him back. It could be the look of contentment on Steve's face or the kid's near infectious excitement—Tony feels like he's intruding on something private. Someone else's life. Someone else's dream. 

His heart pangs in his chest as the little boy jumps as soon as his drawing is finished and throws himself into Steve's arms. Steve startles but recovers quickly, giving the kid a polite hug back. 

For some reason, Tony thinks of the kid he met not even a year ago when everyone thought he was dead: Harley. Tony didn't hug Harley. He didn't have it in him to hug Harley. The kid deserved it, though, for dealing with Tony's shit. Tony liked kids well enough, but having one of his own? He would never admit it out loud, but it scared him. And Steve...Steve deserved more than a coward. 

There's less energy in his steps as he turns around and walks right back to the basketball booth. 

He knows he still has time left on his break, but for some reason, he can't bring himself to care. 

He finishes his shift with little fanfare, the carnival-goers opting for the rides and fair food after loading up on prizes for the day. 

His head's all foggy like he just got up from a nap. He's so out of it, he doesn't even realize that the others are walking up to his booth. Tony blinks slowly, trying to ignore the pressure building in his forehead, a sure sign of a headache. 

"Hey," Steve says when they make it to his booth. "You about ready?"

Tony winces, prompting the others to look him up and down. 

"You okay? What's bothering you?" Clint asks. 

"Just got a headache," Tony says, stepping out from his booth, giving Jake a wave. Jake waves back, trying his best not to look starstruck at the sight of the other Avengers.

"Did you eat at all?" Natasha asks, and as soon as she says something, his stomach growls. 

"Guess not," Bruce says. 

"You must eat," Thor says gently. "A warrior such as yourself must maintain your strength."

He knows they're right, but being confronted by all of them at once has his hackles rising. Carmen's words are getting all tangled up with Pepper's, and he can't. Stop. Thinking. 

"I will," he says, aware that they're watching him more closely now. He hopes that he doesn't look as unsound as he feels. "But why leave just yet? Don't you guys want to check out some of the booths or rides before we leave?" 

Steve starts to object, but Natasha is one second faster. "I did want to beat Clint at Shoot 'em Up," she says with a smirk. 

Steve looks ready to protest, but Clint cuts him off. "Oh, you're on," he says. "Loser has to do the other's paperwork for two weeks." 

"Prepare to drown in files, Barton," Natasha says, catching Tony's eye. 

Tony nods at her. A Thank you. 

She flips her hair over her shoulder. You're welcome. He doesn't know when they learned to read each other so well. 

Clint and Natasha make their way to the sharpshooting booth, Thor and Bruce walking along behind them. 

"You sure you're okay?" Steve asks, scanning Tony from head to toe. Steve can see through him so easily, his skin might as well be made of glass.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Tony says. "Come on. Let's catch up before they kill each other."

*********

Natasha and Clint tie in Shoot 'em Up. Since Tony is on a team that consists entirely of children, they extend their competition to every booth in the carnival. Steve warms up as the day goes on, even joining in on their little competition along with Thor. Tony and Bruce are just content to watch. 

Thor ropes Steve into the strongman game, which attracts a crowd, but who would turn down the sight of two handsome, well-built men lifting heavy things and showing off their muscles? Tony certainly couldn't, and given the way Bruce eyes the bulge of Thor's biceps, neither could he. 

Steve rings the bell easily and wins, of all things, a Captain Ameribear for his trouble.  

"Aw," Tony says. "It has wings on its helmet too." 

"Are we just going to ignore the fact that it came with a shield pillow?" Clint asks. 

Steve blushes, but it's all in good fun. Thor, of course, breaks the game, the bell flying clean off the top of the tower. The game runner in awe (and a little bit of fear) gives Thor a prize regardless. Tony promises to compensate the man as soon as possible. Despite all of that, his headache has receded slightly. He needs to eat now, and that barbecue is starting to smell better and better. 

Tony's so caught up in drooling over a rack of ribs or some trashed wings he barely notices the others walking off to the next booth, Steve lingering behind to wait on him. 

"Sorry," Tony says. "Guess I'm out of it. You...you don't have to wait on me, you know." 

Steve shrugs. "No one's forcing me. Spending time with you isn't a chore. This actually works out." 

Tony smiles despite himself. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing," Steve says. "I just wanted you to have this." Steve hands the bear over to Tony, and Tony...Tony melts because Steve is so fucking cute and sweet, and how did the hell did he end up in Tony's life? 

Tony takes the bear, and maybe it's the lack of food in his system, but the urge to cry at Steve's kindness strikes him. The bear is cute with Steve's signature red, white, and blue suit and the shield to go along with it. "Thank you," Tony says. "You sure you want me to hold onto this?" 

Steve looks at him from underneath his lashes. "Tony," he begins, "it's a gift. I want you to have it." 

"Okay," Tony whispers, feeling like the air is closing in on him. It's hard to breathe when Steve looks at him like that, like Tony means something to him. 

"Besides," Steve says, leaning in close to him. "I'm gonna clean the booths out. I'm trying to beat the super spies. Can you keep him safe for me?" 

Steve's breath, cool and minty, washes over his face. Tony has to blink a few times, processing what just happened before he can even think about speaking. 

"Are you guys coming, or are you just going to gaze into each other's eyes?" Clint shouts from the next booth over. 

Tony jumps and hurries to rejoin the others, Steve right behind him, staring into his back.

True to his word, Steve cleans out every booth they touch,  until he's practically drowning in stuffed animals. They attract a crowd as they make their way to the food court. Tony's feet are aching, and his stomach is outright roaring for sustenance. He and Thor get the biggest plate of ribs they've got to offer. The meat's so tender it's falling off the bone and smoked to perfection. The sauce they used is homemade, all tang and smoky sweetness. He eats until his stomach is about ready to burst. 

Thor's singing the cooks' praises and their delicious Midgardian cuisine and rises to go get seconds, Bruce trailing after him.

Clint runs off to the bathroom, and something catches Steve's eye. Tony follows his gaze to the herd of children trying (and failing) to watch them eat without freaking out. Steve rises from the table, taking his prizes with him, leaving just Tony and Natasha behind.

"Sometimes, I can't believe he's real," Natasha says, breaking the silence. There's no need to wonder who's the "he" she's talking about. Tony thinks it himself sometimes. 

It's hard not to when kids start lining up single file for their turn to receive a stuffed animal from Steve. 

"Me neither," Tony says. "Howard...he'd tell me all these stories of Steve and the 'good old days'...Steve single-handedly storming a HYDRA facility. Throwing himself on a grenade to give others the chance to live. I always thought he was embellishing a little. Making war stories more digestible for a kid, you know? But seeing him, knowing him? You can't help but wonder how someone can be so good."

"He's not like you," Natasha says. He doesn't even have it in himself to be offended. She's right. Steve isn't like Tony and will never be like Tony. A little rough around the edges. "He's not like me, either," she admits, catching Tony by surprise. 

"He's the best of us," Tony says. He glances at her. Natasha sits forward, resting her head upon her palm. Her face is smooth, her cheeks still tinged pink from their rowdy tramping through the fairgrounds. She looks...raw. That's the only word to describe her. Raw and real and human. Not the robot switching personalities and names and appearances like most people change clothes. 

"You make him that way," she says, shocking him again. His stomach drops, and whatever peace between them quickly disintegrates. What does she mean by that? What could she possibly know about him and Steve and all the complexities of their relationship? 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tony says, his voice coming out thin. 

Something in Natasha’s face softens, and she tilts her head at Tony. “I’m not going to pretend I know all of the details, but…you’re good for him. And I think he’s good for you. You’re both...softer. You look happy.” 

It’s like someone’s dumped cold water down Tony’s back; he’s so in shock he can barely register what Natasha is saying. He swallows. Natasha knows. Of course, she knows, and if it weren’t her job to gather intel and pick up on context clues, he’d be a lot more worried that the others knew. But she wasn’t blackmailing him or threatening him to stay away from Steve? She...approved of them? He remembers that debriefing after they had defeated Loki, what felt like a lifetime ago, and her casual dismissal of Tony and his relationship with Steve. He wants to bring it up, to confront her, but what’s there to confront? 

He brings it up anyway. “Still think he wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole?” 

Natasha tilts her head at him again, and he hates how sweaty his palms have gotten, and the hummingbird beating of his heart, like his relationship with Steve hinges on her opinion. 

“No,” she says slowly as if to weigh her words. “He wants you too much. I don’t think he could give you up even if he wanted to.” 

As if summoned, Steve comes bounding back to their table looking boyish and vibrant in the evening sun before Tony can process her words. 

"What I miss?" he says with a breathless grin, holding onto one last stuffed animal. 

"Nothing much," Tony says before Natasha can say anything incriminating. His eyes dart down to the last stuffed animal in Steve's arms. It's an Iron Man bear, of course, all done up in the telltale red and gold of Tony's suit. "What's the deal, no one wanted him?" he says, nodding to the bear. 

Steve looks down at the Iron Bear, and what he says next might actually make Tony melt into a puddle. "Nah. Couldn't bear to give him up."

Tony ignores Natasha's pointed look and hopes that his face isn't as red as he thinks it is. 

“Clint, you’re riding with me on the Ferris wheel,” Natasha declares when everyone makes it back to their table, and Steve has successfully made Tony as red as his suit. 

“A Ferris wheel?” Thor asks, arching his brow. 

“It’s a carnival classic,” Clint says. “It’s a giant wheel that lifts you into the air. Perfect way to end the day.”

“It’s older than Cap,” Natasha throws in helpfully, smirking at Steve when he shoots her an exasperated look. 

“Your Midgardian traditions are so strange,” Thor says. “Interesting, but strange.” 

“I’m not hearing a no,” Clint says. 

“Hm.” Thor turns to look at Bruce, who looked surprisingly (and thankfully) content with himself. “Would you like to ride with me, Doctor Banner?”

Bruce reddens, and Tony doesn't feel so alone because it looks like Bruce has his own beefy blond problem he needs to deal with. "Sure, since you asked," Bruce responds, leaving just...Steve. 

Steve shares a look with Natasha, and Tony gets the sneaking suspicion that they planned this. Who knew that the fall of SHIELD would lead to one of the most dangerous alliances Tony had ever seen? 

"Tony," Steve begins, sounding like he's about to propose, he's so serious. "Want to ride with me?" 

His heartbeat quickens, and he's not sure why. It's not like it's a public declaration of love to ride with someone on a Ferris wheel. 

It'd look weird if he takes too long to answer, so Tony says, "Yeah. Sounds like a plan." 

They toss their trash and pick up their respective prizes they won throughout the day, Natasha with her light-up sword, Clint with his stuffed dog. Thor's lion hat from the strongman game sits proudly atop his head. Tony wants to make a joke about Hercules, but he also doesn't want to deal with the guaranteed headache he'll get when Thor replies with some mind-bending statement like he and Hercules are gym bros or other. Tony and Steve walk side by side, far behind the rest of their little group, bears in one hand, their free hands brushing with each step. 

Part of him knows that if he just reached over...if he took that extra step for Steve's hand...Steve would let him. It'd be so easy…

The line to the Ferris wheel isn't too long, and by the time Tony works up the courage to take Steve's hand, the volunteers are strapping them in. 

One of the volunteers lowers the bar over their heads, making sure that they're secure, and that's it. Tony's trapped. He's stuck on this Ferris wheel for the next ten minutes, and Steve is so goddamn close he can feel how hot his skin is from being out in the sun and—

"I'm not gonna bite, you know," Steve mutters when they start to ascend. He won't meet Tony's eyes. "I...I know you're afraid of me."

Tony swallows, his stomach twisting into knots at the thought of Steve thinking he feared him. 

"I'm not...Steve, I'm not afraid of you," Tony says. Steve's still looking down. He doesn't know where he gets the courage, but he cups Steve's face and makes him look at him. "You hear me? I'm not afraid of you." 

Steve's eyes have always been a weakness of Tony's, and right now, when they're so big and blue and so fucking sad, it doesn't do him any favors. They're almost at the top of the wheel. A stray breeze rustles a lock of Steve's hair, and Tony feels like he's on a cliff's edge. 

"Then why—" Steve begins, only to be cut off by Tony's lips. Tony closes his eyes and answers Steve the only way he knows how.

It's cliche, but Tony swears he can see fireworks going off behind his eyelids. Steve's lips are warm and soft and pliant against his. Tony deepens the kiss and slides one of his hands into Steve's hair, the other remaining on his face. He can taste the remnants of cotton candy on Steve's mouth. 

They break apart because, unfortunately, air is necessary to live. Tony has half a mind to invent a way for humans to survive without air if it meant he could spend the rest of his life kissing Steve. 

This high up, with the sun setting behind them, Tony wishes he had at least brought a jacket. 

Steve lifts his arm, "Here," he says. "Lean into me." Tony does just that and tucks his body into Steve's side, his arm is a reassuring weight around him.

The others are too far back to see Tony and Steve. It's easy up here, easy to forget that Steve's Captain America and Tony's a barely functioning former alcoholic with a slew of mental issues. 

He looks at Steve out the corner of his eye, takes in his features shamelessly and selfishly, the allure of being above everyone reeling him in. He loves Steve's face, the cut of his jaw, and his long, pretty lashes and those eyes. It's painful looking at him. Sometimes it feels like his heart's gonna swell up and pop right out of his chest when he looks at Steve. 

In that moment, he's glad they went to the carnival if only to forget the world for a little while.

#stony #stevetony #steve x tony #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel #mcu #stony fanfic #stony fic #stony fanfiction #superhusbands #my fic #my writing #imperialstark fic #choke on me

[trippingonroads-blog1]

Teotihuacan

The final day: Los piramides de Teotihuacan. We booked a tour through TripAdvisor and set it on our last day based on the recommendation from one of Lindsay’s friends who said it’s a pretty exhausting half day that can have lingering effects on the creaky and weak like us.

We left the Airbnb a little before 6 AM to walk to the tour bus pickup spot at a hotel about 15 minutes away. Every city puts its funniest hats on before dawn and Mexico City is no exception. Mini rush hour, although the rush better described the pace of the vehicles on the road, not the amount. A few early-rising street vendors setting up their tents and starting to boil hot water for coffee and lay out the day’s ingredients. Finely dressed people stumbling from their cars to their apartments, truly inexplicable to us on a Monday morning.

There were a few people sitting outside the hotel when we arrived, a massive relief for Lindsay who had read a couple of reviews that said the bus had failed to show up in the past. Sure enough, at 6:20 on the nose it pulled up and 40 or so of us piled on in an early morning bilingual daze.

Leaving Mexico City isn’t easy and by the time the bus pulled onto the freeway, the sun had come up and the neighborhoods began to look a whole lot more like what we usually see in American media. One of our guides, Gerson, a boisterous, cheery performer with a squeaking rubber chicken in his shirt pocket, explained with glee that 12 million people lived in these neighborhoods and the favelas we were soon to pass on the highway. Million! Almost double the population of the state of Massachusetts in an area about 20 square kilometers.

“No es Roma Norte, La Condesa… eso es el Mexico verdad!”

He joked that the favelas of Mexico aren’t the favelas of Brazil, where you can sit and have a coffee, eat some street food, and admire the poverty. In Mexico, the favelas are dangerous as hell. My only knowledge of Brazilian favelas comes from the movie “City of God” and they sure look pretty dangerous to me but I don’t know enough to comment one way or the other. Gerson seemed almost proud of that danger and as we traveled away from the last vestiges of urban Mexico City, he told us to get our cameras ready. While the favelas of Mexico City are rough, Gerson energetically hyped the destitution of the upcoming ones on the outskirts, lining the mountains along the highway, like a seal handler at Sea World.

“Cameras! Cameras!” He insisted we document the poverty. Grim, but to be fair, destitution’s beauty is a shocking, photogenic irony.

The mountains outside the city are doused in a favela collage of teal, pink, yellow, blue, and grey while the fittest green emerges near the peaks, resiliently staying the hand of human advance. Wide avenues span up and down like ski slopes between the stucco cracks. Beyond the roads, it’s nearly impossible to tell where one wall ends and another begins, turning the hillside into an elaborate canvas. You tend not to wonder who’s inside the buildings in paintings; you wonder less in reality. I wondered where the grocery stores were.

About 45 minutes later, we pulled into a red dirt parking lot at Teotihuacan and split into English and Spanish tour groups. Our English group, surprisingly, was mostly comprised of non-Americans. Danish, Scottish, Israeli, Canadian, Australian, Italian… only five Americans out of 17 people. Kevin, our more-straightlaced-than-Gerson tour guide, spoke the most English of anyone we’d met all week and, dangit, the man knew his stuff.

I’ll hold off on trying to describe the city of Teotihuacan too much because, like the Grand Canyon, it’s really too magnificent to explain. The preserved area that you can see today is only about one-seventh the size of the original city at its peak around 800 AD, and it’s still mind-boggling to consider how an ancient civilization could construct such an enormous, sophisticated city with only stone tools.

The city features three primary pyramids, built at the head of vast public spaces that had varying uses over time. The Pyramid of Quetzacoatl stands on one end of the park, the Pyramid of the Moon stands at the other, connected by a 3-kilometer-long pathway dotted by sunken public spaces and surrounded by the ruins of family homes and workshops. The Pyramid of the Sun, one of the largest pyramids in North America at 64 meters tall, stands about 30 meters from that pathway, called the Avenue of the Dead.

The pyramids, as you could probably surmise, were built to honor kings and originally held temples at the top, where royalty and nobility would confer with the gods and demonstrate their hegemony over the public. In the middle of the squares sat elevated platforms where shamans performed human sacrifices of war prisoners and children (because they’re pure) to appease the gods. Once upon a time, the squares and pyramids were painted red and constructed with gargoyle-esque symbols and the faces of gods and animals. They’re imposing and beautiful now; they’d definitely make you believe in the celestial more than one thousand years ago.

Contrary to what you might think, Teotihuacan was not built by the Aztecs. It was built by a people called Teotihuacanos, about whom not a whole lot is definitively known. Mayans and Aztecs both lived in Teotihuacan at different times but they mostly pillaged the city of all of its riches years after the Teotihuacanos evacuated it under mysterious circumstances. Some archaeologists think the San Juan River dried up, depriving them of a primary water source and their main sewage outlet. (Yes, they built a subterranean sewage system in the 6th fucking century.) Some say a civil war purged the population and the varying tribes moved in separate directions. 

What is known is that the pyramids we see today are the final product of a series of escalating pettiness. After a new king took over, he’d build pyramids on top of the existing ones just to show he was bigger and badder than the previous guy. As such, the Pyramid of the Sun contains six smaller pyramids within it. Unlike the Egyptians, Teotihuacanos didn’t use pyramids as tombs. They were built to become closer to the gods and display a king’s power. In some, the innermost pyramid was used as a vault for riches. Of course, by the time archaeologists excavated these vaults, they had been picked over by the Aztecs who only left behind the stuff they didn’t want. Hence why it’s hard to know much about the Teohituacanos: A bunch of assholes pillaged their history. Sound familiar?

Another thing we learned is that Teotihuacanos ate turkeys. Extension: There are turkeys in Mexico! I had no idea. On the walk between pyramids, I asked Kevin about the Teotihuacano diet and what the marketplace might have looked like and he gave me an extensive answer that attracted a few of the solo travelers to gather around as we walked.

One, an older American woman we had seen throughout the day trying to talk to anyone who would listen to her, caught on to the turkey bit. Turns out, this lady despises turkeys. According to her, they’ve become a scourge in Northern California (I called that this lady was from the Bay Area the second I heard her speak) and are “taking over.” Lindsay nor I had ever heard of turkeys in California so when this was happening, we bowed out of the conversation to look at each other and say “what the f is she talking about?” Googling later, turkeys have apparently become one of the most prominent non-native species in California over the last decade or so. Who knew!

Anyway, we didn’t know that at the time, which is why it was exceedingly difficult to keep from laughing while this lady exhorted her vitriolic fucking hatred for turkeys.

“They’re constantly in my yard, they’re everywhere. One of them scratched my son and he’s got a scar down his forearm. I had to put up a six-foot fence just to keep them off my property!”

I imagined a spiked wood fence, painted red in the blood of foolhardy turkeys, the points adorned with freshly decapitated turkey heads and a sign outside that read in red “Gobble gobble gob gob gobble dee goo” with English translation in Helvetica beneath: “Turkeys who cross pay the ultimate price.”

But then she said you aren’t allowed to shoot them. Nobody is listening to her at this point as she exclaims what an outrage it is that you can’t kill them on your own property. Lindsay and I drop jaws at one another in amusement as I realize, “Holy shit, I was just doing an imagination joke but this lady has definitely fantasized about turning her home into a turkey slaughterhouse.” But the God damn guvrnmint say she cain’t shoot what been trispassin’ on her pro’pty! (Based on my subsequent eavesdropping, she lives in Marin County, is married to a 76 year-old Mexican man, is the self-proclaimed most adventurous member of her family, has bad knees because she played soccer in college forty years ago, and was on this trip to “discover her husband’s heritage” which baldly means she’s bored by her own Western European heritage and needs to have some more culturally interesting things to say about herself at the next garden party. There is no doubt in my mind that she’s a bleeding heart liberal and would never bluntly denounce government overreach but I couldn’t help giving her a pissed off Southern accent.)

Nobody else on the tour was quite so interesting as to have a vendetta against a species of bird but we did meet two nice Canadians (duh) at the tequila tasting and buffet lunch after the tour. They were sisters, doing a catch-up vaca together, and were heading to Los Angeles after their stay in Mexico City. We gave them a few recommendations and when I was at the buffet for seconds, Lindsay discovered that their Airbnb was in our same building. I told you it was all Airbnbs! We walked home with them from the hotel drop-off.

Yes, we made it to the top of all the pyramids if you were wondering, so we were pretty beat when we got back to the apartment. However, my friend Kira lives in Mexico City now and she reached out to see if we wanted to get dinner. We did but it took some effort.

All for the best, though, as Kira picked the place — Taquitos Frontera — and we had yet another amazing taco night. Kira’s been in CDMX for two years, teaching some of the country’s wealthiest, most spoiled middle schoolers at an American school. She had some high school Spanish under her belt when she moved but she’s been pretty much learning on the job and kicking ass living abroad. I hadn’t seen her in five years and it was very cool to see how much she was loving being in the midst of this incredibly bold life decision.

After dinner, we got consuelitos — ice cream sandwiches made with cookies and cream ice cream and mini circular churros — and then caught an Uber home. We were asleep by 9:30.

[roamingholiday]

Sunday, September 3rd 2017-Thursday, September 14th 2017

Classes! I go to classes now! All the time! It’s very tiring! Here is what they are:

Italian Film: Mondays for three hours and Tuesdays for an hour and a half. We’re watching movies in Italian (obviously) with English subtitles because we are pathetic Americans who cannot speak perfect Italian yet. The course is an English course, so we write a journal entry for each film, and also something of a sociology course, so we talk about what the film suggests about Italian culture in each of our journal entries. It’s also something of a history course as well, because the subject matter of the films tends towards Italian history. I really appreciate that particular aspect, because while I know quite a lot about ancient Italian history, my knowledge of modern Italian history is essentially it existed? It’s a boot and it’s in Europe and it exists? Though apparently it doesn’t actually exist, or didn’t always exist, and in fact has only existed in its current form for less than 150 years? The United States is technically older? Even if Italy has Rome and all of that ~Roman~ stuff? History is wild.

Anyway, we’ve watched neorealism films about WWII, Anni Difficili and Roma Città Aperta, and a non-neorealism film (because is wasn’t filmed in the direct aftermath? Apparently that’s the distinction) about WWII, La Vita è Bella, which has been more successful at making me utterly horrified, sickened, and completely broken as a human being than any of the films I’ve possibly ever. (Except for Pixar films which don’t count because they cannot be measured on traditional scales of emotional devastation.)

So far, the films have been really interesting, and no one has had a dramatic and pointless affair with a douchebag yet, so that’s very promising as far as I’m concerned.

Italian 1: Mondays for two hours, Wednesdays for two hours. I have. Less to say about this class. It’s a language class. It exists. I’m learning the Italian language. There’s not much more to it? My professor is very intent on us learning by doing, so there is not a lot of note taking and not a lot of explanations for why we’re saying what we’re saying, which is not really my preferred method of learning, but it’s okay.

I understand more than I can say, so far, and I understand possibly more than there is to understand, because Italian is a horribly simplified version of Latin. Like. There are only two genders? Three ending groups, in two genders? Like? Where are the five declensions and three genders that don’t mean anything because after the first two declensions they can be any gender but also mean everything? And as far as I can see things are modified for plural and singular and then just? Not? For anything else? Where are the cases? Are you telling me that every other language that I could have taken in high school did not have five declensions with different endings for both the singular and the plural of six possible cases, with three different genders that are almost entirely unrecognizable from the root word unless you memorize them by rote? What is this fudgery? And that’s not even getting into the verbs. Do you have any idea how complicated Latin verb conjugation is? Please, please, google image search Latin Verb Conjugation, and recognize that that first chart, yes, that one, the one with 138 different endings for a single verb is only the chart for the 3rd conjugation i-stem verbs and that there are four conjugations with a variant in the third, which makes five conjugations with 138 different endings for each one which makes 690 different verb endings only some of them aren’t different some of them are exactly the same as others but mean totally different things because ANCIENT ROMANS HATED ME, ME SPECIFICALLY.

Anyway. So. Yeah. Italian is not as complicated as I was lead to believe by Other Language Courses and that offends me personally.

Also I can’t tell whether no one else in my class is trying to get the pronunciation and the accent right, or if I’m just gifted or whatever, or maybe I sound as godawful as they do, but can’t they hear the difference in the vowels? They say things with such a horrible American accent that the word is literally incomprehensible and I genuinely don’t know if they don’t feel like saying it right or if they can’t. The professor doesn’t correct my pronunciation so I assume I’m getting it right, and that what I’m hearing myself say is what I’m actually saying, but in that case why can I hear the super clear and obvious differences, and they can’t? These are the kinds of questions I might ask if I was utterly lacking in social awareness, or actively wanted to be hated by my entire Italian 1 class. I am not, and do not, so instead I’m bumbling around in confusion on this blog post.

Italian Renaissance: Mondays for an hour and a half, Wednesdays for an hour and a half. The professor opened class the first day with a forty minute lecture about how this course should actually be called Dante through the Renaissance, because Dante was the most important writer in the history of Italy and also probably the world. I genuinely can’t read the word Dante and not hear it in her voice.

She’s a lovely person, though. Been teaching the class for forty years, likes to sit with us and rhapsodize about the beauty of even the translated version of the Inferno. We’re going word-by-word through each Canto right now, but it is a beautiful text, and I’ve always been a fan of obsessive close reading, because I am very good at obsessive close reading (Latin Poetry Strikes Again), so I’m totally on board.

Also Dante’s being led through hell by Virgil, and hey! I’ve read the Aeneid! I’ve read the Aeneid so many times! Do you know how many times?! I have five different copies at home! Half of them are in the original Latin! I am a nerd with no life! So that’s nice. If I ever get stuck on an essay question I can just draw on my vast knowledge of what Aeneas liked having for breakfast (pietas and divine purpose), and exactly how Virgil invoked the muses (differing, by the way, from the Greek tradition of invoking first and asking questions later, something that Dante eventually followed, if you were wondering).

Ancient City Rome: Monday for an hour and a half, Wednesday for an hour and a half. Awesome class. I mean, for the first thing, I already know at least a bit, because I took a class called The Romans last semester which, you know, covered a bit of Roman History. Just a bit. I’m one of the only classics majors in the course, so the professor picks on me, but at least I sometimes know the answer, so that’s convenient.

The professor is also great. He was the professor of one of my most favorite teachers from high school when she was a student here, which is very cool, and he’s apparently still in contact with her because he knew me from her, which was also cool. (Thanks for that, by the way. I doubt it means he’ll go easier on me, but it does mean that he always remembers my name, which is nice.) He wanders around the class (and occasionally outside of it, like, just walks out of the room and continues to talk to us under the assumption that we’re paying close enough attention to hear him) and lectures, and has clearly taught this course enough to know it frontwards backwards and sideways, which in some professors means a very dry, very boring recitation that they don’t care very much about at all, but in this car means that his lectures both cover all of the information necessary, but also involves the interjection of excellent sarcastic quips like, “My life sucks,” and “Romans were assholes.” I agree, with both of those statements.

Sustainable Environments: Thursday for three hours. I have picked sustainability focused courses to fulfill science and technology requirements for my entire time in college, because apparently I actually know a fair amount about sustainability already. Probably what comes of going to an environmentally focused school for eight years. Apparently I absorbed more information there than I thought, or, rather, people who did not go to a school that had a class called Discovery for eight years know significantly less about sustainability than I thought. We really should be educating our children more thoroughly about stuff like this, people.

So I take sustainability focused courses, because I’m genuinely interested in the subject, but also after so many years of science AP classes I deserve to be in a science class where I already know everything.

This one is mostly an interesting lesson on the differences between sustainability practices in the United States and in Italy. Rome in particular is made up of so many ancient buildings that it’s practically impossible to make any new construction, so there’s no going for sustainable design. You have to weight that, though, with the amount of waste knocking down buildings to rebuild creates, as well as the fact that the buildings created hundreds of years ago, before the industrial revolution, are far more sustainable than those built during the 1900s. Of course, that is only dependent on the climate staying relatively the same as it was when the building was created, which is not at all the case, so you’re back at square one.

So that’s it. That’s my class schedule. Also, in case you didn’t notice, eight hours of classes on Mondays. Straight. Well, not actually straight, I go at nine and leave at eight, so eleven hours at school with eight hours of classes and one break near five.

Mondays are. Long.

#rome #movie review #book review #Dante's Inferno totally counts as a book #class review #sure let's use that that sounds like a reasonable thing to do #also let's not pay attention to how ridiculously confusing my date keeping has gotten #it'll all become clear at some point #to me as well as you hopefully #also look no food in this one #who said that this was turning into a food review blog? #well here have a class review blog #travels