is by far the most obnoxious and unrealistic wedding dress I’ve
designed so far, and it’s absolutely my favorite! I knew I had to make
Nora’s dress fit for a queen, so I pulled a lot of inspiration from the
dresses of Ariel, Vanellope, and Princess Peach!
I know a lot of you were looking forward to Nora, so I hope I didn’t let any of you down! Also shoutout to @sullivantwissarcana who had the idea to make her bouquet out of lotus flowers after Ren’s emblem. Genius!!
“Okay,” he replied, the word so soft it barely registered.
The air between them was electric. He didn’t want to leave, not just yet, like always. The feeling was getting harder and harder to ignore. He knew why they’d pushed this off - their promise to talk after the island hadn’t included his entire life being turned upside down by the sudden inclusion of his son in his life - but things were settling… slowly, but surely.
And it was getting harder to say goodbye to her each time he saw her, harder to say goodnight, to walk away from her.
He wanted her and he was done hiding it. He’d buried it for so long - too long - but now the door was open again and he wasn’t losing this, losing her, not for anything.
And yet… he was almost okay with waiting, just a little bit longer. There was something about the way that electricity between them crackled. It danced over his skin, searing his nerves with an awareness of her every single move that made his heart race. They were taking their time, exploring their relationship in a new way, and it was both frustrating and…
He wanted her, absolutely, but the waiting made it somehow more intense.
With another smile, Oliver stepped closer. He was going to move around her to go home, keep that space there, maintain the buffer…
But instinct flared and he moved towards her instead.
His hand reached for hers, his fingers sliding over her palm. Felicity immediately reacted, curling hers around his, turning into his touch with an ease that made it hard to breathe. God, how could one tiny touch set him on fire like that? He inhaled sharply and his senses flooded with her scent. His eyes fluttered shut, the urge to take that final step and turn towards her flooding him. He wanted to hug her, to hold her close, to bury his face against her neck and just breathe her…
He didn’t, though, because they weren’t there.
But they would be. He knew it with a certainty he could taste.
And she knew it, too, judging by the way her breath stuttered as she leaned into him.
Oliver clasped her hand in his and kissed her cheek.
It was soft, gentle, quiet, meant to say everything he couldn’t just yet, but it was so much more than that: it was a promise in and of itself. For them. For their future.
They moved at the same time.
Her front barely grazed his arm, but it was enough to burn him, almost as much as his lips where they were pressed to her skin. She warmed under his touch, her head turning into his. Her glasses brushed his temple as loose strands of her hair grazed his nose. His stubble slipped over her and Felicity gasped, her hand sliding further into his. The tiny puff of air coupled with her nails suddenly scraping his wrist had a shiver dancing down his spine.
It was over as fast as it began… but it also somehow stretched on for a perfect eternity until they both reluctantly pulled away.
“Goodnight,” he whispered. The word ghosted over her ear and she licked her lips.
“’Night,” she breathed.
They let each other go and went to their separate lofts, both knowing that someday they would be going to one, together…
The “Just the thought of Team Cap walking all over Tony makes me want to trash my room, I just want unashamed, biased, pro-Tony quality content, is that too much to ask??” inspired ficlet I’ve been holding back for a while:
Bitterness ahead, guys. Not Team Cap friendly. Nor is it particularly deep or rational. I just wanted to get a couple of thoughts out of my head. Basically Tony is done being the team’s sugar daddy, only it comes to light in a very roundabout way.
“When are my arrows gonna be fixed anyways?” Clint grumbles, rubs a hand over his sore shoulder. The one that wouldn’t have gotten injured, had his shot hit the target it was supposed to. Which it should have, his aim had been fine. The problem were the arrows. Someone must have screwed up somewhere in the production because they weren’t perfectly balanced.
They’re sitting in the conference room at the (mostly) restored compound. Tony is tapping away on his StarkPad, not even bothering to look up. He must have felt the questioning glances and noticed the silence, but he still doesn’t react.
Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t want to encourage the tension between them, things are bad enough as it is. If only Tony would put in some effort as well, instead of going out of his way to antagonise them, maybe they could make some actual progress.
“Yo, Stark!” Clint snaps, voice reaching that biting sharpness he reserves specially for the billionaire. “I’m talking to you!”
Tony shows no outward reaction, which is strange to see. Back when they first came back, he used to move at all times, sharp and erratic, never staying still. Steve shakes his head at their unnecessary power play.
Tony answers before he has the chance to reprimand them though. “How would I know?” he asks, a brief frown flittering across his face as he scribbles something down onto the tablet.
The outraged look on Clint’s face tells everyone present that this meeting won’t get back on track any time soon. It’s understandable, really. Clint has been forced to fight three battles with faulty equipment and frankly, the lack of concern Tony is showing for his team mates’ safety is nothing short of callous. Steve knows things haven’t been good between them but this is the first time he wonders if things could really be so bad, that Tony would hold necessary equipment back on purpose.
It’s a terrible thought, but try as he might, Steve isn’t able to shake it off.
At least the rising tension finally causes Tony to look up and meet Clint’s glare. He’s wearing sunglasses even though they’re inside, like he always does. Steve doesn’t like it. Makes it harder to read Tony, to tell what he’s really thinking. Absently, he admits that this is probably why Tony wears them so religiously.
“What do you mean ‘how would you know’?!” Clint snarls, enraged. “My arrows have been acting up for weeks and you still don’t know how to fix it?!”
Tony stares at Clint, the expression on his face unreadable. Then, after a long, long moment of heavy silence, the answer.
“I’m not fixing your equipment.”
For a moment, it’s deadly quiet, as Steve struggles to process the meaning of what Tony has just said.
“Tony,” Steve hastily inserts himself as soon as he finds his voice again, before Clint can throw himself across the room and deck him, “I know there are still some issues we all have to work through, but that’s not an excuse to-”
“Hold it right there, Rogers,” Tony interrupts. It’s never Cap, always Rogers these days. The pain the distinction causes still catches Steve by surprise more often than not. “I’m not sure where you get this from but I’m not your mechanic. I don’t work for you. So if Barton here has an issue with his weapons, he needs to take it up with the people in charge. Considering how often you remind me that it’s not me, you’d think you’d have figured that part out already.”
“But it’s not working!”
Tony sighs. The deep, heavy sort of sigh you usually expect from an exhausted parent after their insistent child asks, “Are we there yet?” for the 34th time. “Then take it up with the quartermaster. Or Agent Hudson. Or one of the techies. Seriously, Barton, you signed the Revision. Who’s responsible for what is right in there, section 12 to 17. Besides-” he pauses.
“What are you waiting for? Go on!” Clint demands between gritted teeth, hands curled into tight fists. Thankfully, he’s not throwing anything. Yet. “Don’t get shy with me now!”
Tony straightens in his seat. Steve inwardly sighs. That man has never been able to let a challenge go unanswered.
“Besides,” Tony continues, voice still surprisingly even, “chances are they’re working just fine.”
“You think I can’t tell when my bow isn’t fucking working the way it should?” Clint bristles.
The words actually cause Tony to lower his sunglasses for a moment, just to make sure there is no doubt about how stupid he believes Clint to be. “I’m saying you’re operating with a standard bow, Barton. The fabric and the construction limit the performance quality. Something I’m sure an experienced archer like yourself has picked up on.”
And yes, things are definitely getting ugly. That level of glacial cold in Tony’s voice is rarely achieved, even now.
“The why the fuck did you build a subpar bow?”
Tony sighs again. “You’re missing the point. Seriously, I can not believe we’re even having this conversation. I did not build that bow, Barton.”
And that’s–that’s a surprise.
Tony’s gaze trails over them all, taking in their confused, shocked expressions. “Really?” he asks, exasperation dripping from every syllable. “Did any of you even read the Revision? The Avengers’ are an official unit. Their weapons and uniforms can’t be provided by a private party, especially not one who is part of the team. Have you ever heard the term conflict of interest?”
“What about Stark Industries?” Natasha asks. From the furrow in her brows though, Steve suspects she already knows the answer–and doesn’t like it one bit.
“I’m not sure if you noticed,” and now there’s no mistaking the mocking in Tony’s tone, “but SI doesn’t sell weapons anymore. It was kind of a big thing, couple of years back.”
“But- But yours are better!” Clint splutters. It sounds plaintive and weak, even in Steve’s ears, but at the same time he knows what Clint’s struggling to say. It’s not about getting your toys taken away. It’s about their safety and efficiency in the field. On bad days, it’s about the survival of their entire planet.
“I can’t believe you would risk the teams’ lives and safety like this because of a petty argument,” Steve says, unable to keep quiet any longer, nor bothering to hide the honest disappointment.
Tony, unimpressed as always, simply snorts. “You’re an official unit, but before that you’ve been working for SHIELD for years. Did you ever have the very best equipment mankind was capable of providing at the time? No,” he answers his own question in a breeze, “you didn’t. Why? Because you’re agents, soldiers. And sure, the government wants to protect us, wants to keep us alive and make sure our missions succeed. But they have limited funding, which means everyone has to deal with the best cost-efficient option available. If you’ve got the right connections to get something more, then lucky you, but that makes you an exception, not a rule.”
“You don’t need to explain real life to me!” Clint snaps aggravated.
“Then why do you feel entitled to something better?” That question, sharp and cutting, makes the archer still, his mouth open but with no retort forthcoming. Tony is blinking at him now, head tilted sideways in child-like curiosity.
“Of course, if I, as a private citizen, decided to build something that doesn’t violate any laws and give it to a friend as a gift, that would be something else, wouldn’t it?” Tony continues after a moment, voice softer now, but no less cutting. His eyes are fixated on Clint, sunglasses pushed back, eyes dark and unmoved. “The average update would take me what, a week or two? That’s a lot of time to invest into a single project, especially when the ultimate use is so limited. How many people can possibly profit from improved protective vest versus how many people improve from an exploding arrow is a really fascinating comparison to make.”
“So you see, Barton, even if I could improve your bow, there’s no logical reason why I should waste my time like this.”
“Tony!” Steve interrupts, scandalised. “Clint’s life depend on his aim! Our lives depend on it! How can you justify not providing him with the most basic necessities.”
Tony doesn’t even try and look abashed, instead he throws his head back and laughs. “This is how you want to play it, Rogers? Because I’m rich and a genius, I owe it to you to devote my time, attention and money to bettering your lives? What about the seven billion other people on this world? Don’t they deserve the same consideration, hm? What makes you so special that I should put your needs before anything else?”
Steve opens his mouth, but Tony doesn’t give him a chance to speak.
“I tell you what this is: this is you realising I’m no longer spoiling you rotten because you are in fact not my kids and I can cut you off whenever the fuck I want. And you don’t like it. Because guess what, I may be privileged, but so are you! You’re heroes, most of the time, as far as the world is concerned. You’ve been living off my money and resources on top of that. You’ve always gotten special treatment and you like that. You’re as far detached from the ‘ordinary man on the street’ as I am, you just don’t have the self-awareness to fucking notice!”
Tony sends them a sardonic smile that does in no way take the sting out of his words. “Don’t worry,” he says, “you’ll still be special. It’s just no longer my name footing that bill. Because we’re not friends. And as a business man, I’m not at all sorry to tell you that you simply aren’t worth investing into.”
And with that he stands, all blinding press smile, sweeps around dramatically, and strides purposefully out of the room. The automatic door closes noiselessly behind him, but he might have as well slammed it shut for all the difference it would’ve made.
It’s likely not a coincidence, that on their next mission Spiderman, Vision and Miss Marvel all showcase new, incredibly features and weapons that can’t have been created by anyone else. And it’s impossible to know for sure, what with the mask on, but Steve is one hundred per cent certain that Spiderman is smirking at them.
He is not wrong.
Let me know what you think? And please excuse any mistakes, I’ll re-read this tomorrow. Also this is the last post for today. I’m tiredtiredtired now and think I’ve spread enough bitterness for the day. And spammed your dashes with enough endless posts probably…oops.