ani_bester: (Toro Flaming)
([personal profile] ani_bester Jun. 20th, 2020 01:21 pm)
Ohhhh looky I did something with this . . .

Hello, and welcome to my journal of art and fics. Originally this was just gonna be for my art, but I figured what the heck, I'll put some of my fics up here as well.


Enjoy!
valtyr: (Default)

From: [personal profile] valtyr

Too long for LJ comment cause I didn't count the spaces. >:[


"What are you watching?" said Stark, and Steve glanced at him before turning back to the screen. Fury had apologized for the crappy little television, but to him it looked huge and clear and - well, it was in colour.

"Maury," he said curtly, and Stark chuckled. The mattress shifted as Stark sat down next to him, and Steve gave him a glare that rolled right off the man's smile. He might have only known Stark a day, but he knew a presumptuous asshole when he saw one. And a drunk, too, by the faint aroma of whiskey that he carried with him even at three in the afternoon.

"You must be bored," Stark said, and Steve shrugged. He wasn't bored at all. His initial disgust at being forced to spend another day in bed 'recovering' had quickly dissipated. Two hours staring at the gaudy screen had convinced him he was in the future the way hours of briefing hadn't. He'd been convinced it was a Nazi plot, but channel after channel of bright images had slowly changed his mind.

"Is this real?" he said, and Stark raised his eyebrows. "Are these people... are they actors?"

"I'm afraid not," said Stark. "These are real people."

"Right." That confirmed his conviction that things had gone dramatically downhill during the time he'd been frozen.

"I brought you something," Stark said, and put something small and gleaming blue down on the bed, something with a thin cable attached to it. He looked at Stark, then down at the... whatever.

"What is it?"

"It plays music," said Stark, and Steve frowned.

"I'm not really interested in the kind of music they play nowadays," he said, and Stark grinned, smug.

"If only I had thought of that," he said, and picked up the end of the cable, which split into two and ended in little blobs. Stark tried to poke one into his ear, and Steve's hand snapped up and fastened round his wrist before he realised they were probably tiny headphones. Stark was breathing faster, but there was no fear in his expression as he tested Steve's grip. He braced his other hand against Steve's ribs and tried harder; Steve held him, and scowled until he stopped pulling. He had the urge to tighten his grip, leave bruises to show Stark he wasn't a toy, but Stark grinned that smug grin again, confident that Steve wouldn't hurt him. He was right, of course. Steve let go, and Stark rocked back. In a second, he was poking at Steve's ear again.

It felt odd, but not uncomfortable, flexible rubber fitting into his ear canal. Stark tapped at the body of the thing, and then music poured in clear as water. The opening notes made him set his jaw, and he turned his head away, so Stark wouldn't see him swallowing back the emotion. He'd taken Gail to see Casablanca, once.

The music stopped, and for a minute there was only the raucous voice of the television, and Stark's off-key hum as he fiddled with the device. When Steve looked back at him, he tilted the thing so Steve could see.

"Press here to play, and again to stop. Here will move to the next piece of music, here will move back. The name of the song shows on the screen. Press here to get a list of songs, and move like this to scroll - I mean, to move up and down."

"Scroll," said Steve, and Stark nodded.

"Computer documents aren't limited to page sizes, they're more like scrolls, so you scroll up and down them. And side to side, now, although that's not very scroll-like. Old words have new meanings. I've loaded it with music from about 1930 to 1950." He put it down on Steve's lap, and he picked it up gingerly. It felt pleasingly solid, not like the fragility of the remote control device for the television. He turned it over, and grinned before he could stop himself at the silver star engraved into the back. He ducked his head, but knew Stark had seen.

"It's just a toy," Stark said, and Steve looked at him. "You don't have to be grateful or anything; kids wander about with these. You're not obligated to anyone here for anything."

"What are you suggesting?" said Steve carefully, feeling his heartrate pick up just a fraction. If Stark was plotting... something? Against... Steve didn't know anything, and whenever he tried to plan he ran up against walls of ignorance. He could feel the tense muscle jumping in his jaw.

"I'm saying you don't owe anyone anything. Not me, not Fury. Not America. America owes you. Just remember that, when people talk to you. Don't be distracted by shiny toys or new costumes or weapons."

"A new costume?" said Steve involuntarily. That meant action - Stark tutted.

"What did I just say?"

"Right," said Steve, and Stark shook his head.

"I know you're not impressed by me. You're more impressed by Fury, he's a man you can understand. But I know Fury. And don't get me wrong, I like the guy. But things are different now than they used to be. Nowadays, a woman can have fifteen possible fathers for her kid and go on TV about it, and the guys do dances when they find out it's not their kid, and that's normal. Soldiering's changed too."

"Right," said Steve again, slower, and Stark nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Okay," he said, and turned back towards the television. "Now shh. I'm dying to find out if this guy is the father. I hope not; she can do better."
.

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