A blog about art, music, sex positivity, words, love, transgenderism and anything.
Currently into: Teen Wolf, Dylan O'Brien,Avengers, Sherlock, Jem and the Holograms, Doctor Who, Monster High, Feet, the French language, Food, big women.
Male omnisexual polyamorous aquatic alien, 24 earth years of age, born and raised in Corona, California. ISFP personality type.
I actually loved this moment, because I didn’t see this as Steve being incompetent and completely unaware of what was going on. This, I felt, was Steve being extremely sassy. “It seems to run on some form of electricity,” he says, with a huff of a sigh and a smile. What he means is, “Of fucking course I don’t know what this shit means, I’ve never been exposed to this, are you serious right now” and that is not because he’s stupid or inept. Actually, Steve adapts very, very well and very quickly to new technology, evidenced in the Avengers with the ease and familiarity that he navigates his tablet with, but also in Captain America, where he takes everything Howard gives him (modified, highly advanced Hydra weapons) and uses them to full capacity.
It’s just that Steve’s never seen the inside of a control panel like this, so there’s no way in hell he’d know what to do with it, and he’s pointing that out to Tony with his dry sense of humor. And I think Tony gets it, because he doesn’t get angry or snark back at him; he returns with “Well, you’re not wrong” and a lopsided smile, which I read as his “duh, what was I thinking” moment.
I just have a lot of feelings about Steve and his sass and his dry sense of humor, and now I will crawl away to have feelings elsewhere.
Something I’m working on but who knows when I’ll finish it because I’ve been kicked out of my own room.
The first thing Tony says to Steve is, “Hnghh,” which even he and his colourful vocabulary can’t count as a word. But he doesn’t even blame himself, because the peak of human perfection is standing at his doorstep, his arms stacked with art supplies, blonde and stupidly chiselled and smiling uncertainly.
Tony blinks blearily through the sleep in his eyes, considers putting on a proper shirt, absently calculates the angle of the part in the guy’s hair, blinks some more, and says, “Steve Rogers?”
There’s a pause before Steve nods. “Yeah, he’s me. I mean, Steve is me. My name-” he clears his throat, nodding harder. “Uh, are you his little brother?”
“What?”
“My roommate,” Steve says. “I was told I was rooming with someone named Tony Stark?”
Tony bites back a sigh. It is way too early for this shit.
He steps back, smothering a yawn with his good hand, the one not knotted with bandages. “Take a seat, buttercup. Something tells me it’s going to be a bitch of a year.”
