#unequivocally good that one meeting with him and Bruce knows

[violent138]

My personal headcanon for Clark Kent interviewing Bruce Wayne (when neither of them know each other's secret identity) is that Clark is the one person Bruce doesn't flirt with and leaves with a halfway coherent interview. A reluctantly impressed Perry White sends Clark repeatedly to get quotes, and work on more articles, leading to Bruce and Clark having several calls, some of which jokingly get called "off the record calls". This goes on for several months before they realize that's just called being friends, they hang out, and they have their identity reveal, it's less jarring because they know a lot about each other and Bruce informs Clark that he's sending Clark a suit made of more durable materials when Bruce realizes how rippable it is during making out.

[froggyfics]

How We Became Strangers

Prequel to Strangers

We used to be close.

Me likely angst :)

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome! 

Pairing: Damian Wayne x gn!reader

Theme: Angst

Word Count: 3,410

“Can you talk some sense into him?”

“You’re the only one that can reason with him.”

“He listens to you the most, ya know?”

You used to think it was a compliment when people would recognize your impact on Damian. You were constantly commended for your efforts to tame the wild beast. It used to send a shiver down your spine that felt so good. 

But lately, those compliments made your stomach churn. You found yourself gritting your teeth, clenching your hands into a fist, curling your toes – anything to distract you from the pang within. 

As childish naivety slipped from your fingers, the blindfold you had on began to slip dangerously. These weren’t compliments. According to the dictionary, a compliment is defined as “a polite expression of praise or admiration”. 

Bruce wasn’t complimenting you when you convinced Damian not to pursue case leads by himself. He was simply tired of being the one to discipline his son over and over and over again.

Tim wasn’t complimenting you when you pried Damian off him, preventing an all-out brawl. He was just glad that the fight didn’t become serious enough to invoke a conversation with Bruce. 

And Alfred, sweet ol’ Alfred, wasn’t complimenting you when you persuaded Damian to join you for a nighttime excursion around town. He was worked to the bone, and only wanted one night to himself in the manor with minimal distractions. 

Their compliments were not compliments. They were transfers of responsibilities. Bless Damian - he was an honorable man, but stuck in his own ways, nonetheless. When you came around, Damian was poached onto you.

And you took that as a form of flattery. You thought it was because everyone understood that you and Damian were two peas in a pod, Bobbsey twins…friends. Best friends. So, it was natural for people to want to hand Damian over to you.

You were so utterly wrong. You simply had the best temperament and the most patience to deal with him. Nothing more, and nothing less. You were his unequivocal buffer to society. No one wanted to take accountability for his actions, so the task was transferred over to you.

“Oh no, he didn’t mean it like that,” you comforted Jason. “He’s just tired from patrol.”

“Please excuse his behavior. He’s had a bad day.” You slid the waitress a large cash tip.

“He does love you! He just has a funny way of showing it,” you said as you comfortingly patted his ex-girlfriend on the back. 

Excuses, excuses, excuses. You made so many excuses for him. You were unsure when exactly you fell into this…unique role, but it had become exhausting. You were longer just Damian’s friend - you had become so much more. Too much more. There was not a single word that could encompass the responsibilities that fell upon you. You were his therapist, his lackey, his moral compass, his PR firm, his friend, his supporter, and ultimately, his enabler. 

There has no doubt been some extra tension between the two of you recently. You’ve had arguments before, but they used to be few and far between. Lately, your temper flares at a moment’s notice. Your patience runs thin like sand between your fingers. There’s something tickling the back of your throat. There’s something you’ve been meaning to say to Damian, even if it falls on deaf ears. 

But you can’t. You’re…scared. It pains you to realize it, but Damian is violent. Not with his fists like he is with criminals. No, not like that at all. He’s violent with his words. They leave invisible scars that are only visible to you. If Damian has taught you anything, it’s that you’re not a strong person. Your mental state is like wet paper, floating on by until it meets the slightest force to rip it into shreds. 

You want to say something to him. It’s masochistic to continue living like this. But it feels like barbed wire surrounds your throat every time you attempt to be brave enough to say anything. 

It’s just you two out here on the grassy hill. Lately, your mind is a haze of anxiety and self-doubt. But for some strange reason, the night sky brings you and your cognizance a calming synergy. You lay shoulder-to-shoulder, your hands snug underneath your head, facing towards the starry night. Your hand travels from behind your head, stretching upwards, as if you could touch the stars above. It’s peaceful out here. It’s finally a moment of calm between you and Damian, which is much needed after weeks of brewing tension. 

Damian’s talking about a fight he had with Tim. You can hear his garbled voice in your ear, but your ringing ears mask most of the conversation. 

“He said I needed therapy,” he scoffs. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Your head rips to the side. Damian copies your movement to return your gaze.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

You gulp nervously. “Need therapy. Do you…need therapy?”

“No,” he sneers. He lets out a taut chuckle. “I’m not crazy.”

You say absolutely nothing and continue to stargaze. You wonder what it would be like to be there – up there – and not down here. Not with Damian. Not even with yourself. Just…outside of it all. Outside of responsibilities. Outside of loyalties. 

You can sense Damian’s change in position. His once relaxed position is exchanged for a rigid, upright one. He’s still seated, but hovers over you. His eyes are sharply boring into your face. 

The alarm bells start to ring in your head. Panic arises from your stomach and burns into your esophagus. You did something wrong. You said something wrong. What did you do wrong this time?

“Do you think I need therapy?” 

Oh, no. Not this question. Anything, but this question. Has your mouth ever been this dry before?

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” you finally reply. Yeah, that’s a good response. Because it truly doesn’t matter what you think. Not to Damian, at least.

“Yes, it does,” he sharply corrects. 

“Damian, please, not tonight,” you groan. You mimic him by shifting your body into a seated position. “Let’s just relax.”

A few seconds pass before he replies. “I don’t need therapy,” he emphasizes.

Yes, you freaking do. But you don’t say that. At least not out loud. Your face on the other hand, reveals your innermost thoughts. 

He looks out into the distance. He wants to see anything, but your face.

“Damian, look,” you reach out to him, but he pulls back. The rejection leaves your hands burning, so you twiddle your fingers on your shirt instead. Your hands twist the cotton fabric, but despite his rebuff, you’d rather touch his scarred hands instead. “I’m not saying that you’re crazy. Alright? Going to therapy doesn’t mean that at all.”

“Might as well,” he interjects.

“No, Damian! Look, I love you. And because I love you, I have to say this. You asked what I thought earlier, and…” You trail off, unaware of how to finish the sentence. “I just think therapy would be good for you.”

“Damian,” you whisper as his silence greets you. You breathe in every molecule of air around you to gather the courage. “I’ve been going to therapy myself recently and it’s been help –“

“Therapy?” Damian whips his head towards you so quickly, an audible – POP! – resounds in the air from his neck joints. “Is everything alright with you?”

His concern with your wellbeing makes your beam internally. This is how Damian shows his love and affection. It’s short and simple, but oh, so sweet. It’s the little crumbs that he gave you that kept you coming back for more. 

“I’m fine, Damian.” You hold your hands to your chest for emphasis until you realize the dishonesty in your statement. Your hands drop into your lap. “Actually, I’m not. I’ve been dealing with some intense anxiety lately. Ya know, ‘catastrophizing’ or whatever my therapist calls it.”

Damian motions for you to continue. “I’m just really struggling.” Your voice quivers and you’re teetering on an emotional breakdown. “It’s honestly really hard. The panic attacks that I have sometimes…it feels like I’m dying in that moment.” A tear drops onto your hand, but you can’t even feel it. Your limbs are slowly turning numb, and your anxiety pushes outwards to become the center of your world. 

Damian’s voice chips at your withdrawal. He says your name and you ask him to repeat himself.

“What happened?” he grabs your hands tightly, protecting them from whatever forces that dare try to harm you. “Did something happen?”

You squeeze his hands to ground yourself. Talking about your mental health was new, even for you. But this is Damian, and if there is anyone you should talk to about it, it’s with him.

“I – I’m not sure,” you admit. “I can’t pinpoint where it all began. I just know that it’s this overwhelming feeling that I get. Like I can’t breathe.” You look up at Damian to stare into his mossy colored eyes. “My chest would burn, my stomach will twist into knots…my sleep schedule just goes out the window!”

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. What were you talking about? Therapy for Damian, right.

“All I’m saying is that it’s really helped me so far. With my anxiety. And I think it would help you, too. You have a lot of unresolved trauma from your childhood and even now. I mean, pummeling people’s heads in every night can’t be great for your mental health! Right?”

Damian yanks his hands away from yours in a fury. “I don’t need therapy.”

You smack your forehead with your hand. This is so typical. He’s so bullheaded that he refuses to be told what to do, even if it might be beneficial for him. 

“I’m not your mother, but –“

“You sure as hell aren’t,” he mutters under his breath.

“ – I can’t continue like this with you. You’re always looking for a fight or an argument. Why can’t you accept that you need help?”

“I don’t need help!” His tone becomes increasingly more strained. 

“Yes, you do! Everyone needs help, sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not you.” He stands up and pats his body down to rid himself of dirt and grass. “I don’t need to run to my little therapist after my order comes out wrong at a restaurant or – or – or when my boss doesn’t let me leave five minutes early. I can handle myself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You stand yourself and puff your chest out. Your primal instinct to fight, flight, or freeze clearly chooses fight. You’re unsure why, as Damian could easily break you.

“You heard me.” He looks up and down in disdain.

It was as if someone poured ice cold water on you. The chill of your anger froze every inch of your body. You couldn’t shiver even if you wanted to. 

“You’re being mean, Damian,” you grit. Your teeth grind together, barely opening your mouth to speak to him. 

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’re just being too sensitive. I hope you and your therapist talk about me the next time you go.”

“You’re insufferable.” The nerve signals from your brain begin firing again. You move way too quickly, grabbing your personal items off the ground and walking away. Your head spins at just how fast you’re going, but you can’t bare to spend another second in his presence. 

You make it a few steps away before a hand grabs your upper arm. You spin to face Damian, again, so quickly that your world seems out of focus until you concentrate on his green eyes.

“Stop. Let’s just forget about all this.”

You violently shake your head. It’s too much. He’s too much. “No, Damian. Absolutely not. I have been belittled, disrespected, and humiliated by you for far too long.” You point an accusatory finger at him and step forward until it indents his shirt. 

He faintly calls your name, but you’re too far gone. Years of resentment has infected you until the pus could no longer be contained by your body. It oozes out as you look at him with fiery eyes and speak to him with a sharp tongue.

“You treat me like garbage when all I’ve ever done is love you!”

“I love you, too,” he insists, stepping towards you, driving your fingernail through his shirt and practically into his skin.

“I know you love me! Trust me, I know you do. Which is why it hurts even more. How can you love me and still hurt me like this? Why is this so easy for you?”

He pouts like a child, and if this was any other moment, you would comment on how cute he looked. This would be despite his insistence that he cannot be cute and instead should be referred to as “handsome”.

“I don’t know where all this is coming from,” he inquiries. “We were fine just ten minutes ago.”

“We haven’t been fine in a long, long time,” you seethe. “The way you speak to me…it’s just unbelievable. Everything I do or say is criticized. I can never be right about anything. It hurts to even be around you sometimes. It hurts to even breathe.”

You’re definitely crying. You can feel the tears pouring down your face, but your voice has never been so steady. The pang in your heart is so evident that you can practically feel it bleeding out.

Your chest heaves due to your incensed speech. This was a first. Sure, you’ve had fights with him before, but never like this. Your own anger surprised you. The feelings that swirled inside you were unfamiliar – was that hatred you felt? You weren’t sure if the hatred was directed to Damian or to yourself. Perhaps both. 

He reaches out to you. His arms are ready to engulf you and save you from yourself. But this time, you know better. You can see the mirage in front of you. 

“You need help,” you reiterate. “I can’t hold your hand any longer.”

His rescinds his arms quickly and throws his arms in the air dramatically. You scoff at his theatrical display. Damian has been known for his stoicism, but you knew he was quite melodramatic at his core. “You know what? Fine!”

“Fine!” you bite back.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“Fin – you know what.” He paces back and forth with his hands on his hips. “I don’t need this.” He throws his hand up to silence you when you attempt to reply. “And I don’t need you.”

For a moment, you think a thunderstorm has rolled around, but you soon realize that the booming sound is coming from your own head in the form of a headache. The energy is zapped out of you suddenly and you can feel your genuine tiredness start to creep in. 

I don’t need you. 

His voice echoes in your head. You dryly laugh at his proclamation. “You don’t need me? Ha, nice joke. Real good one, Damian. You sure sounded like you needed me at that gala your dad dragged you to. The one where you begged me stay so that you could have company the entire night.”

Damian turns around with a shake of his head, but you’re not done with him. “What about when there’s nothing to do on patrol and you call me ‘cuz you’re bored? Huh?” You step around to face him again. 

It’s ironic that for someone who faced supervillains and low-life criminals every night, Damian sure was intimidated by your confrontation. 

“Ooh, how about when you cried in my arms when you saw Tim nearly bleed to death? Hmm? You sure looked like you needed me then.” 

There was no escaping your cutthroat stare and your steely words. Every word you spoke felt like a ton of bricks dropped off your shoulder to make room for your confidence. 

“So, tell me again, Damian. Look me in my eyes and tell me that you don’t need me.”

You’re somewhat shocked when he complies. He looks at you with the sweetest doe-eyes you’ve ever see. You don’t think you’ve ever been more intimately connected to him than in that moment. Despite the tension and the fury and the sadness of it all, you see him. 

Damian Wayne: the son of two dueling personalities, balancing two difference legacies on his shoulders. The only Robin who still hasn’t figured out how to escape the Robin persona. If that’s even what he wants to do. The boy who has so many role models to look up to – Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Jason, yes, even Tim, Stephanie, Cassandra – but can’t see the good in himself like he sees in others. The child who can’t seem to break through the glass ceiling that he installed for himself in an attempt to surpass the superheroes that came before him. He’s sensitive and insecure in the most intense ways possible. He's human, despite his attempts to turn off his humanity. 

And in a flash, the mask pulls up again. His emotions are replaced with an indifferent expression. The Damian that the rest of the world sees comes alive in that moment. It terrifies you at just how quickly he could put up a front. You used to think he had only one another persona – Robin, but watching him now, you see that he had more than one. There was Damian, and then there was the Damian that the world had become accustomed to.

He opens his mouth and his lips curl upwards mockingly. “I…” 

Oh, no. You were in for it now.

“Don’t…”

Please don’t, you pleaded. You were silent, but you were hoping that your eyes would express everything for you. 

“Need…”

Your eyes widen exponentially. You were simply challenging Damian, kind of how an amateur athlete defies an experienced one. It was just for the experience, but now, you were about to be humbled. 

“You.”

The stars bear witness to his cruelty. If they were living creatures, they’d probably shed a tear for you. But unluckily for you, there was no one to share your hurt and disappointment with. Unfortunately, that was all reserved for you. 

Well, I need you, you wanted to say. You wanted to scream it at him! I can’t live without you, you wanted to declare.

Although - it was getting kind of late. You just didn’t have it in you to continue the conversation. Your eyelids drooped dangerously low in exhaustion. Fighting with Damian was a subscription that you wanted to cancel, but could only be done in the messiest way possible.

You hold your hands up in defeat. If you had a white flag, you’d have waved it prominently. He didn’t try to stop you this time when you drifted away. You weren’t sure if you even wanted him to, but it still hurt, nonetheless. 

You can’t even remember how you made it home before stumbling into your room. Your bedtime routine was ignored for the comfort of your bed. 

Who are you without this man? Who are you without all this hurt? What was Damian to you now? You were unsure of how to answer these questions, but for now, you chose to close your eyes to escape your reality. 

Your body begins to float as it drifts deeper into sleep, dreaming of a familiar stranger with dark black hair and enchanting green eyes. You couldn't escape his grasp on you, even if you tried.

[prettybuckybaby]

we lay here for years or for hours, so long we become the flowers; chapter six

The avengers babysit, part two

part seven of single parent peter parker

masterlist

read on ao3 here

“So. Tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I know I said we should tell them, but you know we don’t have to if you don’t want to? We can keep it to ourselves. We’ve been good at keeping it a secret, we can carry on doing that.”

“I know. I want to tell them. I do. Let’s just…not make a big deal out of it?”

---------------

It was Peter’s idea to do it like this, he’ll admit that. But, he’ll also admit this; telling his family is scary. He knows he doesn’t have anything to be scared of, nothing at all, but it doesn’t really get easier, if he’s being honest.

They’ve timed it well though. It’s the first movie night they’re having where everyone is there for a few weeks. Pepper hasn’t got any late-night meetings, Sam’s back from visiting his sister and nephews, Clint’s back from visiting his family, and Natasha is back from whatever mission Fury sent her on. Even Bruce and Tony have come down from the lab after not leaving for the best part of three days.

Because it’s the first time they’ve all been available at the same time in weeks, movie night has turned more into movie afternoon, which works even better for Peter’s plan.

It’s one of May’s Saturdays, technically, but she got called in last minute for an afternoon shift, and it’s movie night so she knew she wasn’t likely to see Peter until the morning anyway. He leaves for the tower at the same time that May leaves for the hospital, meaning he’s making it to the common room after everyone else. Which is perfect.

Leia’s running out the lift as soon as the doors are open.

“Uncle Tony!” She shouts as she sees him, laughing as she climbs onto the couch.

“Hello, sweetheart,” He chuckles as she climbs over his lap and settles in between him and Pepper. “What time are you going to be back, underoos?”

“I don’t know. Not too late. Should be back before Leia’s asleep.”

“You’re not joining us tonight, Pete?” Bruce asks, frowning slightly. Peter blushes, his cheeks dusted pink.

“No,”

“What is it that you’re doing, by the way?” Tony asks, settling a blanket over himself, Leia, and Pepper. “You call asking me to babysit and then refuse to give any details,”

“Oh,” Peter’s cheeks flush darker. “I, uh, I have a date,”

“A date?” Peter laughs as Tony splutters. “With who?” Peter looks down as he grins, cheeks still pink.

“With my boyfriend,” This time it’s Clint who splutters, eyes going wide.

“Boyfriend?” He asks, voice high. “Since when-” The archer is cut off by the lift door opening.

“Hey,” Harley grins as he walks into the room, straight up to Peter, seemingly oblivious to the confusion filling the room. “You ready to bounce?”

“Yeah,” Peter smiles up at him, pointedly ignoring the gasping behind him.

“Harley, honey, I thought you were seeing Brad?” Pepper asks, frowning lightly. Peter waves sheepishly.

“Hi. Brad.”

“But…you…what?” Clint stutters, eyes flicking between the two teens. “What?”

“So.” Tony coughs, looking awkward. “You two are…huh. Okay. How, uh, long?” The man frowns when Peter starts looking slightly guilty. Harley squeezes his hand gently.

“A little over two years,” The older teen replies, and then notices how uncomfortable his boyfriend is getting. “Well, this has been a blast, but we’ve got reservations to make, so we better be going,” He tugs gently on Peter’s hand as he moves them into the open lift.

“Be good, Leia,” Peter calls out, not looking at any of the others. “I love you.”

“Love you, Daddy!” She calls back, waving until the lift doors close. She turns to Tony when the doors close completely, and the mechanics start whirring. She pokes Tony’s cheek. “Juice?”

“You.” Tony narrows his eyes. “You knew about this.” His eyes narrow further when Leia’s widen, and she pouts her lips. “Stop with the puppy eyes. I’m trying to be upset with you. I thought we didn’t have secrets,”

“Juice? Please?” She pouts her lips further.

“You’re fricking adorable,” Tony sighs as he stands up. He ignores Pepper and Steve berating him for his language as he picks Leia up. “So bloody cute. I don’t understand. Where’d you get it from?” He walks them into the kitchen area, bringing a box of her drinks out and letting her pick one. “I mean, Parker isn’t cute. Parker keeps secrets,”

“Thank you, Uncle Tony,” Leia grins up at him when she picks one of the bottles out. Tony fights a smile as he puts the box back and moves back to the couch.

“Yeah,” He mumbles as he sits down, taking care to cover her with the blanket again. “Whatever, traitor,” He kisses the top of her head.

“You’re not actually mad at them, are you?” Pepper asks once they’re settled. Tony sighs when he feels everybody watching him carefully.

“Of course I am,” He scoffs. “They’re horrible. Parker and Keener. Together. They’re going to be disgusting. Harley is going to corrupt my baby,”

“Tony,” Steve sighs, sounding exasperated. “Harley’s a good kid, he’s not going to corrupt-”

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupts Steve. “Mr Keener and Mr Parker have just taken number eleven from the garage.”

“See!” The engineer groans, throwing his head backwards. “It’s already happening.” Everyone laughs as Tony moans mournfully.

---------------

Harley is watching Peter carefully. They’re in the lift, the doors having shut, and Peter’s eyes are closed as he leans against the back wall. He’d collapsed backwards as soon as the doors had shut.

“Hey.” Harley kicks his ankle delicately. Peter hums, but his eyes stay closed. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Peter clears his throat a few times. “Yeah. I mean…I don’t know. I know they’re not going to think differently of me, but you know. It’s…”

“Yeah,” Harley agrees softly. “I know. I’m proud of you, though, bubs,” Peter laughs gently. Harley grins when his eyes blink open.

“’Bubs’? Also, do not. I’m emotional, I will cry,” Harley laughs as the doors open, pulling gently on his boyfriend’s hand, leading him into the garage.

“Come on,” He walks them over towards the collection of cars Tony has at the back of the room. Peter narrows his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Harley grins, spinning around so he’s facing Peter and walking backwards. Peter rolls his eyes.

“These are Mr Stark’s cars,”

“Aw. I’ve heard people calling you a genius, baby, but now I’ve seen it for myself. Truly, you are unprecedented,”

“You’re so mean to me,” Peter whines, dragging his feet slightly, making Harley laugh. The older teen brings them to a stop in front of a car. “He’ll get mad,”

“If he was gonna get mad at me drivin’ his car, would he have handed me the keys?” He pulls the keys out his pocket, holding them up with a grin. Peter narrows his eyes as Harley jingles them happily. “Okay, so, technically he gave me the keys to fix her up, but I finished fixin’ her up hours ago and he hasn’t asked for the keys back yet, so. She’s all ours, baby,”

“Are you…you know what. Sure. Let’s go,” Peter laughs.

“Your carriage awaits, Spider,”

“Okay,” Peter sighs, turning to face Harley again. “I know you’re making some sort of joke, but I don’t know enough about cars to understand it.

“Uncultured,” Harley shakes his head mockingly, opening the door for Peter to get in. “This is an R8 Spyder, Spider-man,”

“Oh,” Peter nods slowly. “Clever.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” Harley grins as he gets into the car, starting her up and steering out of the garage.

---------------

They decide to walk back to the tower, taking their time and meandering through the park. Their hands are connected, swinging them gently. Peter takes a sip of the sugary iced coffee Harley bought him and sighs quietly.

“Thank you,” He mumbles, glancing up at his boyfriend. Harley hums.

“For what?”

“You know.” Peter shrugs one of his shoulders, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Agreeing to tell them. I know you weren’t sure about it but…it means a lot.”

“You were right.” Harley sighs. “We couldn’t hide forever. And honestly? I didn’t want to,” He stops walking, pulling Peter lightly to a stop beside him. He lifts Peter chin with his fingers tenderly, makes him meet his eyes. “I want to be able to cuddle with you on movie nights and kiss you whenever I want to and I don’t want to have to sneak into your bedroom every night so nobody catches us. I want to be able to love you out loud, Peter. I don’t want to have to hide it anymore because-” He takes a breath, averting his eyes for a moment. He swallows before bringing his eyes back up to meet Peter’s. “I am totally, completely, unequivocally in love with you, Peter Parker. And you mean the world to me. More than the world. The world and the sky and all of the stars in the sky and in our universe and in every other universe in every other reality. I love you beyond the limits of our knowledge.” It’s quiet for a few moments.

“Wow.”

“’Wow’?” Harley laughs, poking the dimple on Peter’s chin where he’s grinning. “Just poured my heart out to you, Parker, and all you can say is ‘wow’?”

“I love you.” Peter tells him, voice quiet but face painfully open. Sincere. “You are…you are the sky. Everything else is just the weather.” He pulls Harley in by his jacket. Their lips meet delicately.

---------------

It’s still early when the lift doors open again. Leia is still awake, singing along softly to the words to Dumbo, making Bearbear dance on Tony’s thigh. She perks up when she notices the teens coming into the room, laughing.

“Daddy! Missed you!”

“Aw,” Peter coos, bending over the back of the couch to plant a kiss on her head. “Missed you, too, bambina,”

“Missed you, Harls,”

“Yeah?” The other teen asks, where his head is sticking out of the fridge to look at her. “I missed you, too, stink,” Harley comes out of the fridge with one of Peter’s sugary drinks in his hands. He takes a swig of it before grimacing, handing it off to Peter and moving to sit down on the empty chair. “God, that is awful,”

“Why do you keep drinking it then?” Peter takes the bottle with a scowl. He’s just sat down next to Harley when Tony clears his throat.

“Pete? Why don’t you go and get Leia into her pyjamas?” He asks. Peter frowns at the tone of his voice. He glances up, frowning more when he notices Tony watching Harley. He meets Pepper’s eye, sighing when she just rolls her eyes.

“Come on then, trouble,” He sighs as he stands up, holding his hand out as Leia untangles herself from the blankets. “Let’s leave Uncle Tony to do his best impression of a protective father threatening my boyfriend,” Bucky barks out a laugh as Peter and Leia leave the room, but his expression sobers when Tony glares at him. Harley shifts when all the attention turns to him.

“Is this the part where you ask me about my intentions with your son, Mr Stark?” He asks with a smirk. The smirk widens when he sees Tony’s lips quirk.

“Never call me that again.” He says, rolling his eyes. “I get enough of it from Peter.”

“Seriously, though. You’re giving me the shovel talk?” Harley asks with a raised eyebrow. Tony opens his mouth again, before he closes it and shakes his head.

“No.” He sighs. “I trust you,”

“Aw,” Harley coos, holding a hand to his chest. “This is the greatest day of my life. Hey, guys! Guys! I’ve got Tony Stark’s approval. Wow. What a feelin’,”

“Alright, kid, don’t push it,”

“For what it’s worth, I really like him.” Harley says, serious. “And you can’t be mad about him keeping it from you, either, because that was all me,”

“He’s not mad, honey,” Pepper reassures him, sending a soft smile. Harley matches the expression. “He just doesn’t want to see either of you hurt. He cares a lot about both of you. You’re his kids,”

“Have you told May?” Natasha asks him. Harley laughs.

“You know Peter. He told her the second I asked him on a date,” Sam laughs across the room. “Then he passed out. It was a pretty eventful day,”

“He passed out?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrow. “Why?”

“He got stabbed. Didn’t tell us,”

“How did May take it?”

“Peter passing out? Surprisingly well,” Harley smirks. “She took me out for coffee,” He tells them with a sigh. Pepper nods her head. “She said that she hadn’t seen Peter as happy since before…you know,”

“Yeah,” Tony smiles softly. “So, Pete’s happy. What about you?”

Harley looks up when he hears Leia giggling, running away from a laughing Peter.

“No! Come back here, you menace!”

“Yeah,” He smiles, looking down. “Yeah. I’m happy.”

[dragonnan]

This is faaaar from a complete list and will be spotty at best but I’ve been pondering MCU characters a lot as I’ve been getting slowly back to work on my mega-fic.  I LOVE minor head canons.  Simple stuff like favorite foods or what music they listen to or were they ever a smoker or whatever whatever.  So I’m gonna give myself the challenge of crafting some head canon and anyone else is very welcome to dive in! (some things are already established via canon)

~ Ethnicity ~ Faith ~ Smoker ~ Alcohol ~ Favorite food ~ Favorite cookie ~ Favorite animal(s) ~ Favorite music ~

Tony Stark:  Ethnicity: Mixed European-American-Jewish (he refers to himself as a “mutt”) Faith: “No thanks” being the initial answer but if he feels like opening up he’ll admit to believing there’s likely “something” out there but at the same time figures that “something” stopped caring about humanity a long long time ago.  Smoker?  Never liked cigarettes but smoked a few cigars when he was younger due to Obie’s influence.  He never was a big fan but wanted to fit in with his mentor.  Alcohol: Influenced both by his father and Obie, Tony started drinking hard liquor semi-regularly as young as 14 (his Dad let him try his first sip at the age of 6).  He pretty much sticks with Scotch or Bourbon but is not opposed to cheap beer at a ball game.  In fact the cheaper the better - a requirement for any self-respecting American.  Favorite food: hot dogs.  Neither one of his parents cooked.  Breakfast and lunch were whatever whenever for all three of them but dinner? You better be sure you were at that table before the plates were set down or you could go without (and Tony got a slap from his father when he’d observed that rule only seemed to apply to him).  But on the nights he was sent to his room, Jarvis would slip upstairs, later, with a sandwich or, on really rough nights, a couple of hotdogs.  Favorite cookie: Those Christmas wreath ones made with cereal and marshmallow with the cinnamon candies.  Favorite animal(s): he likes all animals but if he had to pick one for a pet he’d get an iguana.  Favorite music: well duh lolol.   

Stephen Strange: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American (borrowed from Benedict Cumberbatch’s ethnicity and adding the American) Faith: Originally atheist but now closer to Buddhist.  Smoker:  Never.  Even prior to becoming a sorcerer he has always been conscious of what he takes into his body; especially given the history of cancer on his mother’s side of the family.  Alcohol:  Wine, occasionally, though he isn’t really a social drinker per-say.  Favorite food:  The spicy shrimp and pork dumplings from a Thai place in Midtown.  Favorite cookie: Hmmm.... not a big sweets guy but he won’t turn away a few ginger-pecan cookies with coffee.  Favorite animal(s): dogs - unequivocally.  He had a border collie growing up on his family farm in Nebraska.  Favorite music: please don’t make this poor man actually have to choose.  

Steve Rogers: Ethnicity: Irish (as per comics) Faith? Irish-Catholic (as per the comics).  Smoker? Prior to the serum there was no way he could safely do so with his health issues.  After he started traveling with the performers all of the girls in the group smoked and he tried it out a few times but never developed a taste for it.  Alcohol: he drank A LOT - easy enough to do as it never had any real effect on him.  He enjoys scotch and bourbon (a taste he picked up from hanging around Howard Stark).  Steve seems to low-key always have the munchies (like most enhanced) and once Tony picked up on that there are always a variety of snacks scattered here and there throughout the compound (also of benefit for Bruce, Peter, Thor, and, later, Bucky).  Steve’s favorite foods typically remind him of his mother’s cooking.  While they’d never had much (especially after his father died) his mom could do a lot with limited supplies.  She used to make a fantastic meat pie with ground beef or tongue.  He hates SPAM.  They ate it in the Army, constantly, and just the smell will occasionally send him back to those days and not in a good way.  Favorite cookie?  Oreos.  He can clean up a family sized pack in like 10 minutes.�� Steve loves animals but is especially fond of horses and dogs.  There was a dog in his unit in WW2 and Steve, like most of the other men, would share bites of his rations with it.  Steve is nostalgic about music from the 40s but finds that 70s rock really resonates with him.      

Bucky Barnes: Ethnicity: Romanian-American (borrowing a little from Sebastian Stan’s ethnicity) Faith? Possibly agnostic.  Smoker? Heck yes - both cigarettes and cigars.  Like Steve, the serum he received (via Hydra’s experimentation) means he gets to dodge the detrimental side effects of smoking.  Alcohol: He likes to drink but is almost exclusively a beer drinker.  He has a big appetite but refuses to eat around others if he can at all help it.  His favorite food is corned beef with cabbage.  Steve’s grandmother was an Irish immigrant and would make it every Sunday before the war impacted rations.  Since both Bucky’s parents were dead he’d often have dinner with his best friend.  Also, unlike Steve, he actually likes SPAM.  But then, arguably, he isn’t terribly picky about food in general.  Favorite cookie: molasses.  Favorite animal(s): birds - eagles in particular - though he doesn’t look too deeply at the psychology of their ability to just fly away.  Needless to say a crafty observer might spot a former Winter Soldier tossing seeds towards the pigeons.  Favorite music: He’s pretty eclectic though he shies away from anything too loud like death metal.  He finds classical very soothing.       

Peter Parker: Ethnicity: Mixed American-Scandinavian-German-ish Faith: Protestant upbringing but unsure where he currently stands. If pressed he’d say he’s “leaving his options open” Smoker?  “Oh gross!” Alcohol: “Um, too young to drink, thanks! But if I WERE to... you know, try it just to taste it there was this mudslide at one of Flash’s parties that was super good...” Favorite food: spaghetti and meatballs.  Lots of meatballs.  Favorite cookie: chocolate chocolate chip with chunks.  Favorite animal(s): NOT spiders.  And NOT birds given how many rooftops he’s traversed layered in pigeon ick.  He’d probably say cats.  Favorite music: The B side of techno rock - especially Depeche Mode.

Peter Quill: Ethnicity:  Half mixed American and half celestial.  Faith: His Dad was a god and he killed him so he figures he probably isn’t on the best terms with the Big G God should He... or She... or Them... be out there.  Look he just wants to do his thing and cause a little trouble without mixing it up with any other celestial types but if they DO wanna throw down he’d like to point out that he’s 1 for 1 and willing to rumble.  Smoker: He would not say no to a really good cigar and may have possibly lifted a case from Yondu’s stash when he struck out on his own.  Alcohol:  Anywhere any time and in large quantities.  Favorite food:  A thick steakhouse bacon burger with potato chips right on the patty.  Extra cheese please!  Favorite cookie: He’s a simple guy with simple tastes.  classic chocolate chip no frills no fuss and fresh from the oven.  Favorite animal(s):  He likes dogs - who doesn’t like dogs?  But he really likes cows.  Just maybe don’t mention the burger thing.  Favorite music:    

Thor: He’s a Norse god of legend so I figure we can forego the ethnicity/faith questions lol.  Smoker: He has never understood this human custom nor has he felt any inclination to try it himself  Alcohol: Beer, mead, and anything capable of knocking him on his ass.  Favorite food:  chili with ghost peppers.  Though nowhere near as hot as the fire chilies of Muspelheim (which would be instantly fatal for humans so its just as well).  Favorite cookie: strawberry cheesecake with macadamia nuts.  Favorite animal(s):  It’s a tossup between bilgesnipe and whales.  Favorite music:  The mighty horns of battle!  He also enjoys old school country, much to Tony’s disgust.  The story aspect of that music is what appeals to him.

Bruce Banner: Ethnicity: Italian-American  Faith: Catholic in his childhood; currently Atheist or maybe agnostic.  Smoker: He tends to avoid any substances for, you know, obvious reasons.  Alcohol: See previous.  Favorite food:  Waffles with sliced mango.  Favorite cookie: Oatmeal.  Favorite animal(s):  Mantis shrimp - “did you know they can generate so much power in their attacks that they can briefly super-heat the water up to 7,700 °C??”  Favorite music:  Indian- especially Krishna Bhajan.    

Clint Barton: Ethnicity:  Mixed European-American and Panamanian.  Faith:  His parents were both Protestant but he’s never latched on to any specific faith and hasn’t really devoted a lot of thought on the matter.  He has a sorta loose idea of “maybe something out there” but that’s all the further he’s gotten on the subject.  What he tells anyone who asks it’s that his religion is coffee.  Smoker: Briefly when he was a teen.  Alcohol:  Beer - he’s a fan of dark lager.  Favorite food:  Coney Island dogs, Pizza, and pickle flavored potato chips.  Favorite cookie:   Monster cookies with the mini M&Ms.  Favorite animal(s): Dogs  Favorite music:  80s rock and some country.

Natasha Romanoff: Ethnicity:  Russian.  Faith:  She was not given much choice when younger and was raised as “state atheist” (per comics).  In the years since escaping that life, however, she has tried to discover more about herself.  Her parents were both Russian Jewish and there has been a pull to discover more about that faith - especially since meeting Wanda - who is Jewish.  Smoker:  No.  Alcohol: Some vodka - that’s a given.  But she actually prefers wine; and honestly her favorites are wine spritzers.  Favorite food:   Favorite cookie: Krumkake filled with creme and berries.  Favorite animal(s): Favorite music:  Overall she listens to a pile of little-known bands and whomever is playing at whatever bar in whatever city she happens to be in.  She also is a huge fan of old school Spice Girls.

[lapixie]

Ten Years Later Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4

At dinner, they were joined by the remaining Avengers that were in the area.

“Nat, Bruce, Steve. Howdy” Howdy? What the hell? What even was that?

Giving him a weird look, Steve replied, “Howdy Tony. It’s been awhile.”

“Actually, it’s only been a day for me. Bruce, I heard you tamed the Hulk? That’s awesome!”

Call him petty, but he still wasn’t completely over Siberia. Plus, that really was awesome!

“Yeah, Pete really helped me out. It’s been a lot calmer since that was all figured out.”

Natasha just nodded at him. He didn’t really expect more from the spy though. Then Peter walked in the room, and he couldn’t believe the difference. She looked at him, and her smile literally lit up her face.

“Паук, we actually get to see you at dinner? Has the world stopped turning?”

You could hear the love and affection in her voice.

“Hey Nat. Friday kicked us out. Pepper pulled rank.”

“I’m shocked Friday let her. Usually no one has higher rank than you.”

Peter laughed a little before replying, “Tony is back now. She's got her daddy back. She just wants to take care of him.”

“Yeah, but I bet she still has plenty of love left for her adopted daddy. Notice you’re both up here, right?”

“Adopted daddy? Pete, did you steal my babies?” He said it all tough, but couldn't help cracking up when Peter turned red and started sputtering out assurances. “Pete, Pete, I’m just kidding! It’s not like I was only gone for a week. I’m glad they had someone to take care of them. They’re kind of needy!”

“Excuse me boss, but I’m not the one who has to be reminded about basic survival skills, like, ya know, eating and sleeping.”

“Yeah, yeah, ya sassy cow.”

“Don’t listen to him Friday, you know he’d be lost without you!” Pepper laughed as she walked through the door. “So what’s for dinner? Please tell me that Steve didn’t pick again?”

“Hey! The food I pick is good! And good for you!” 

Bruce just smiled and shook his head, replying, “No, in honor of Tony, we went with cheeseburgers.”

“Bruce, my man! I knew there was a reason you were my favorite! Hear that sugarplum? If you want the spot back, you’ll have to work hard. He got me cheeseburgers!”

“Tony, you’re such a food whore. You’ll come crawling back within a week. I know where to get the donuts you love.”

“Oh. Well. Yeah. Those are some good donuts…”

Dinner continued in a lively manner and Tony realized that Peter was right, back in that first conversation, when he said that the snap changed people. They were still themselves, but at the same time...not. Happy was quieter, and obviously closer with Pete. They must have bonded over missing May. Rhodey still laughed at all of his jokes, but there was a perpetually surprised look in his eyes, like he couldn’t believe he was talking to Tony. Steve was probably the most changed. He wasn’t as uptight. You would think it would be the opposite with everything that went down, but it was like he decided life was too short, and to live and let live.

Peter, as much as he changed physically, growing ten years older, was actually the least changed personality wise. Sure, his humor was more adult, but he was still the same bubbly, giggly, genius, amazing person. And his physical changes were the things dreams were made of. His face, his body, his voice, his...he really needed to stop thinking about this. Especially during dinner. That Peter was at. Looking so good that Tony wanted to just taste him. No, stop thinking that!

“TONY!” Nat yelled, causing his head to snap up.

“What!?” He didn’t know why she was yelling, he was sitting two seats down from her!

“I’ve been calling your name for over a minute! What were you thinking about?”

Her eyes bounced between him and Peter, and he could see her brain working. He hated working with a spy!

“Nothing much, just trying to get everything from the past ten years straight in my head. So what’s up?”

“I could tell you weren’t listening! We all decided to have a little get together to celebrate your return. Nothing big, mostly just us and a couple of Peter’s friends. You in?”

“For a party? Is my name Tony Stark?” He smiled wide, a party was just what he needed to get his mind off Peter.

“Uh, I thought it was Tony Stank…” Rhody piped up with a smirk.

“You’re sliding buddy! Now you’re not even my second favorite!”

Plans were quickly made for the part to take place in a week. It was going to be small, with only him, Peter, Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, Nat, Bruce, Steve, MJ, Flash, and Thor if they could reach him. He was looking forward to it.

The following few days were filled with plans for the party (just because it was small didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be amazing. He was Tony Stark), catching up with everybody, being confined to the tower (since they weren’t letting anyone know he was back yet), and lab time with Peter.

Lab time was simultaneously the time he looked forward to the most, and dreaded the most, both for the same reason. 

He loved spending time with Peter. Everyday he got to see a little more into his mind, and it was a beautiful mind. Even more beautiful than his body, and Tony could say unequivocally that that was a hard feat to manage. They could discuss theories for hours. The experiments they performed had already given results, getting them ever closer to a breakthrough in getting everyone else back. They hoped. 

He hated spending time with Peter. It was a torture that he had seldom experienced before. Usually, if he wanted someone, he got them. He wasn’t conceited, but he knew how he looked. And add his money and power to the equation and not many (any) said no. But with Peter, it was different. He couldn’t even try with him. It would be wrong. Peter thought of him as a mentor. So every brush of his body against Tony’s, every smile that lit up his eyes, every time he grabbed Tony’s arm when he was excited about a breakthrough...it was all a little piece of hell. Especially when sometimes he could almost convince himself that Peter had feelings for him too. When he would swear that his eyes lingered on his lips. When his hand held onto his body a bit longer than necessary. His wishful thinking was slowly killing him.

Natasha had also cornered him one day to...discuss...how she felt about him bringing Peter to the airport. In his defense, he didn’t think it would go the way it did, but she did not care.

“He was fifteen Tony! Fifteen! You don’t bring a kid to an Avenger fight! If I could go back in time, I would break your face! Make another decision that could hurt him like that in the future, and I will make sure you go so far away that they won’t be able to get you back this time.”

It seemed that they had gotten quite close in the last decade, spider solidarity and all. He had never seen Natasha break her stoic facade for someone like that before. He was actually really glad Pete had her in his corner.

“I promise Nat. I won’t hurt him again.”

“Good. See that you don’t. Now, about the party, how do you feel about drinking games?”

Talk about whiplash! “Uh, I'm good with them. Wait, are they new? Will I need to be taught the rules?”

“No, we’ll keep it old school, just for you.”

“Okay, sounds good. Talking about old school, let’s make that the theme! We’ll pretend it’s a high school party, with cheap alcohol, Truth or Dare, Spin the Bottle...how’s that sound?”

Natasha’s eyes seemed to glow as she slowly nodded, and he never wanted to take something back so bad before. But he’d be damned before he let he see him back down from her.

“Sounds good, Tones. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly.”

That did not terrify him. At all.

The day of the party finally rolled around, and Tony was ready to let loose a bit. He was wound so tight from being around Peter and holding himself back. He just wanted a drink or two and to relax. Everyone slowly started to gather in the living area, after grabbing a drink from the bar. Natasha had cleared all the furniture to the edges, with bean bag type chairs in a circle so they’d all be lounging together.

“Okay everyone, the first game in our old school night of fun is going to be Spin the Bottle, so everyone grab a seat! Tony, as person of dubious honor, you have the first spin!”

Natasha was way too happy. She was planning something. He didn’t know what, but he knew it was something. He sank down into one of the (surprisingly) comfortable bean bags, and Natasha immediately grabbed the one opposite him. Rhodey took the seat next to him, with Happy, Pepper and Bruce between him and Nat. Steve took the other side of her and Flash sat quickly next to him. Very quickly. Crush quickly. MJ then sat next to Flash, leaving Peter to sit between her and Tony.

On the one hand, now he had to sit next to him for the game. On the other hand, now he didn’t have to look at him the entire time. And he got to sit next to him for the game. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the bottle, and gave it a big spin. After forever, it came to a stop on...himself.

“Ha, Tony! Even the bottle knows you love yourself!”

“Funny, Pep. Personally, I think the bottle just likes me. Let’s try again.”

This time, the bottle landed on Bruce. Well, this will be...interesting.

“Brucie-bear, guess it’s me and you! And just so you know, I’m not holding back!”

Honestly, Bruce appeared a bit...terrified...but he still gamely started knee walking towards Tony as Tony went towards him. Meeting in the middle, he immediately placed a hand behind Bruce’s head and pulled him forward as he leaned in. He softly kissed his lips, then let his tongue out to lick the bottom lip. Bruce automatically opened his mouth, and Tony let his tongue slip inside. He ran it along the roof of Bruce’s mouth, and felt Bruce’s tongue enter his mouth. Sucking on it a little, he let himself softly bite it. When he finally sat back, Bruce looked a bit dazed.

“You okay there Brucie-bear?”

Starting to shuffle back to his seat, Bruce called back to him, “Yeah, just trying to remember I’m straight.”

Everyone laughed at that, and Bruce was the next to spin. He got Nat, and he really made sure to remember that he was straight. Nat landed on Flash, who tried to get handsy and learned real quick that the Black Widow don’t play. He landed on MJ, who wrinkled her nose and kissed his cheek. She landed on Happy, and gave him a big, exaggerated peck on the lips, and then he landed on Peter. They eyed each other up, then darted together to give the quickest peck possible.

“That was kind of like kissing my uncle. Weird. Okay, my turn!”

Holding his breath, he watched the bottle turn and turn until it finally started slowing down. He thought it was going to stop on Rhodey, but it kept going just that much more, to land on him.

Peter looked at him with a grin, saying, “Now, don’t go easy on me Tony. I want the full Stark experience!”

Heart racing, he leaned in and brushed his lips over Peters. It was like a lightning strike. Peter’s tongue demanded entrance to his mouth, and he gladly gave it, dueling for space with his own tongue. One hand was behind Peter’s head, while the other traced up his spine. Peter crawled closer, until they were touching, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. He was getting hard, and he had to stop himself from rutting forward against Peter’s thigh.

He was holding himself in check pretty well until he heard Peter give a little moan.  He dropped both his hands to Peter’s ass, pulling him forward and up, rubbing their cocks together. He was painfully hard, and he could feel Peter was too. He leaned him back a little and kissed his way down to his neck, sucking it into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. As Peter gave a loud moan, he vaguely started hearing people calling their names.

“Tony! Peter! Don’t make me get the hose! Enough!” That was Nat. And she really would get a hose. Slowly backing up to his own chair, he looked at Pete, who had collapsed back on to his chair, running his hands over his face.

“Wow. That was. Wow. Okay Tony, I can definitely see you earned your reputation as amazing in bed. Wow.” He couldn’t help preening a bit at that. Yeah, he was good, and he knew it.

“Okay Tony, enough peacocking, spin!” Pepper yelled at him.

Reaching down for his second spin, it landed on Natasha. Raising one eyebrow, she came to him before he could even leave his seat. She put her hands on either side of his head, leaned down, and proceeded to kiss him to within an inch of his sanity. When she backed up, he just stared after her, struck a bit stupid.

The game continued on from there. Nat kissing Pepper (va va voom!), Pepper kissing Rhodey, Rhodey kissing MJ, MJ kissing Flash, Flash kissing Steve (if he had to guess, that was the best moment of Flash’s life), then Steve landed on Tony.

Smirking, Tony shuffled over to Steve and proceeded to give him the hardest, most bruising kiss he could manage. As he backed away, he felt that Steve had actually gotten turned on from that. He did not want to think about what that meant for Steve and Bucky. As he got back to his set, Nat announced it was time to move on to the next game.

“We’re going to play a little game called ‘Never Have I Ever’. Everyone know how to play it?”

Everyone nodded but Bruce, who was shaking his head no.

“What? Do I look like the type of guy who spent my high school years going to parties?”

“Okay, I’ll explain quickly. It shouldn’t be bad for you anyway. We go around in a circle, each saying something we haven’t done. Then, whoever has done it, needs to take a drink. It’s usually a shot, but I really don’t want Tony to die.”

Everyone looked at Tony like they expected him to say something about that, and he shrugged, saying, “What? It’s a fair point.”

Everyone got their drinks, and went back to their seats.

“Okay, since Tony started last time, we’ll let someone else start this time. Let’s start with…Peter! He should ease us in slowly…” Nat tipped her glass at Peter, who got a smirk on his face as he turned to Tony.

“Never have I ever had a threesome with a Victoria's Secret model and her identical twin sister.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open as he went to reach for his drink. After taking a gulp, he looked at Peter. “How did you even know about that?”

“When you gave me majority share in SI, it came with access to everything. Including your personal journals. I wouldn’t have normally read them, but I was searching for anything that could help me get you back. None of them did, but now I have lots of blackmail material!”

“Oh, that’s low kid, real low!” Tony laughed. He remembered what was in his journals. The kid knew more about him than anyone else now, including Rhodey.  And he still looked at him the same way, like he hung the moon. That was amazing, and he felt a little warmed by it.

“Okay,” Nat grinned before Tony could open his mouth to go next, “we’re going to go the other way around. MJ, you’re up next!”

Giving Tony an innocent look, that he immediately distrusted, MJ came out with, “Never have I ever been dusted.”

“Oooh, that’s low MJ!” Peter yelled as Tony took another drink. It continued in this vein, everyone asking questions to purposely make him drink, until it got back to him.

“Finally! Never have I ever been an enhanced person!” Ha! Got three of them with that!

Steve and Peter raised their glasses, tipping them towards each other before drinking, but Bruce did not. “Eh him. Bruce...gonna drink?”

“Huh? Me?”

“Yeah, you. Does a certain Hulk ring a bell?”

“Oh. Yeah. I didn’t think of that.”

The circle started again, thankfully with them all choosing not to gang up on him again. He still drank almost every time, don’t get him wrong, but that was just because of the life he had led, and he wasn’t alone anymore. It got back to MJ again, and she had a sly smile on her face. Uh oh. Here it comes…

“Never have I ever gotten caught in the library having sex with my engineering professor.”

Peter sputtered out, “I feel so called out!” as he raised his glass to drink. Tony could feel Rhodey’s gaze on him as he raised his glass also.

“You gotta admit though, MJ, Professor Dintova was hot!”

Tony spat his drink a bit, looking at Peter. “Professor Dintova from MIT?”

Finally realizing Tony was drinking too, Peter started laughing his ass off, cackling, “Oh my God, you too?”

Tony just nodded, shrugging his shoulders. “He was only 28 when I was in college. He must have been, what, pushing 60 when you were there?”

Peter smiled, while winking at Tony. “I like my men to be able to keep up with me intellectually. Why do you think Flash didn’t last?”

“Hey! Why you calling me out!?” Flash huffed, subtly moving closer to Steve, who just rolled his eyes and let him cuddle into his side.

They spent a few more rounds playing, with Tony and, surprisingly, Peter, needing new drinks more than once, that Natasha offered to go get for them. It seems Pete was not and innocent kid anymore. And it was kind of (really) turning Tony on. As everyone else was on their third drinks, and Tony and Peter on their sixth, Natasha called the game to a halt.

“Okay, now that we are all sufficiently inebriated, time for Truth or Dare! I go first this time!” With that, she spun her head to Tony, asking Truth or Dare.

Tag List

@stxrker-fan-xx @lokitonypeter

[bluerene]

RobStar Week #2 - Stardust

...and so, in a jet-lagged delirium, after sixteen hours of traveling, I present to you all another fic that has not been proofread in the slightest. Yet. We’ll see what happens. 

Feedback is love! I hope you all enjoy day two of RS Week 2019 <3

wayne manor | stardust | lost |

Stardust 

And her heart burst like the stars do in the end, and She fell on her knees. But the whole world looked her in awe. She lit the whole universe with her fire for a moment. In the end, she was as beautiful as the stardust falling from the sky and her heart didn't ache anymore. - Akshay Vasu

He was becoming accustomed to the idea of hosting an alien on his own terms. That is to say, he couldn’t just let her roam free after all the damage she had caused the night before, and he refused to ask Bruce for advice or help. So the simple studio apartment he had been using as a temporary base in Jump City went from housing Robin, the Boy Wonder, to also housing a pretty little alien girl who called herself ‘Starfire’. 

He was keeping her at an arm's length. He may not have been as paranoid as his father, but he had enough reasons to not completely buy into the bubbly persona he now bore witness to. All traces of the fierce warrior lady, who had hefted a car with the toe of her boot, and kissed him so bruisingly he felt he might faint, had vanished. And the woman that remained seemed impossibly different from the girl he’d met before. 

“You can stay with me on a trial basis until we have things sorted out with the others. I can try to get you something more permanent if you’re planning on sticking around for a while.”

“I am ready to do whatever you ask of me, Robin.”

They had been like that for about two hours, seated across from each other in his small kitchen. Robin was dead tired and deep into his fourth pot of coffee. The others - Raven, Beast Boy, and the guy they now called Cyborg - had agreed to meet with him and Starfire at the island later in the evening, so they could discuss a few things. Until then, or until she had somewhere else to go, Starfire would be staying with him. So there they were, a few hours after dawn- ground rules needed to be laid out before anything else happened. 

“We’ll have to go over some cultural review as well. You’ll need to brush up on Earth’s laws and fill out some paperwork formally declaring your presence in Jump.”

“If that is what you require, I will take care of it.”

“You might want to contact your planet of origin and sort out those affairs as well. If you were taken by those other aliens by force, you might have a case for -”

“I was not,” she interjected, a painfully tight smile drawn across her lips, “taken by force, unfortunately. But I will be sure to contact the ambassadors of my home planet and confirm I am well.”

Robin was surprised that she never questioned his requests, no matter how uncomfortable they seemed to make her. Sometimes she would fidget under his gaze, before taking a deep breath and staring at him with her wide green eyes. Her back would straighten and her fingers would release whatever they were gripping. And with a sweet smile, her nerves seemingly melted away, she would tell him, 

“I trust you, Robin.”

Which was the strangest thing she could have possibly said. 

 Trust. 

She trusted him. She took him at his word in matters that concerned her life and well-being. She trusted him to save her. She trusted that he cared. 

And Robin, while flattered, was far too pragmatic to let this slide.

“You...trust me?” He asked slowly, testing the word on his tongue.

She nodded emphatically. 

“Very much. You have been unequivocally...nice to me, even though you do not owe me anything, nor have you asked for anything in exchange for your kindliness. It does not go unappreciated. I admire your willingness to assist me in my hour of need and am indebted to you beyond measure. The very least I can offer is my full trust in your words.”

“Starfire, you can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Put that much faith in any one person,” he snapped, his temper beginning to rise, “you’re going to get yourself killed or worse if you don’t build some walls soon. Go back into crazy warrior mode or something. I don’t know what it’s like on your planet, but around here, it’s common for people to lie and cheat and steal. ”

“I do not believe you are one of those people.”

Robin rolled his eyes, “quite frankly, you don’t know anything about me. I think it’s pretty naive of you to think that every person who comes along and saves you at the right moment is going to be in your corner forever.”

He could have sworn he saw a ripple move through her, a sharp flash of green in her face. Just as quickly as it came, it had disappeared. Her hands came to the edge of her skirt, fingers digging into the shiny purple fabric. 

“I was offered as a prize by my own people,” Starfire said quietly, “given into service under one of the cruelest races in the galaxy. I was disillusioned by promises of loyalty and protection long before then. I do not offer my trust so freely and I am not as naive as you may believe. But if there is someone who has been as kind and just as you have been, who has succeeded in saving my life and gifting me the freedom I have always wanted, I am going to choose to trust them. I am going to choose to see the good and believe in something more. Just like you did.”

His brow furrowed, confusion crossing his face. 

“I did what?”

She rose from her seat and approached him slowly, holding both of her fists outwards. There was a crackle of green light around her palms, a warm flicker of energy that danced at her fingertips.

“I was standing like this. I could have killed you in an instant,” she said. 

His fingers itched for his utility belt, but he set his jaw and allowed her to make her point. 

“I had already destroyed much of your home. I was angry. I was a threat to you and many others. But you saw through me. You gave me a chance to prove I was worth more than what I appeared to be.”

Starfire drew her fists back to her sides and returned to her seat, looking at him squarely in the face. Her eyes drank in the curve of his jaw, the smooth line of his nose, and the slight flush on his cheeks. She stared into his mask so intently, he wondered if he was wearing it at all.

“I will choose to see the good, Robin. I will choose to trust and believe in others,” she said finally, “But most of all, I will promise to always trust and believe in you. Now you may call me naive or foolish, but do not forget - I will always have these to protect me.” 

She held up her hands and allowed a flare of green to pass through them, enjoying the look of surprise on his face as it was worn down into amusement.

“Well, then,” Robin said, clearing his throat, “you know what you’re talking about. I’ll...I’ll trust you can take care of yourself, at the very least.”

Starfire beamed and allowed the flames to die out. 

“Then it seems we have an understanding. If there are any other items you believe I must take care of in order to establish my presence on Earth, I am eager to know what they are.”

He felt his lips twitch before he gave in and allowed a genuine smile to take place.

“What do you say we get something to eat, rest up for a bit, and finish this conversation with everyone else? I’ll pay for food.”

Starfire grinned.

“As I do not have any Earthen currency, I am afraid it would have been your responsibility to cover the costs regardless. But yes, that sounds satisfactory. If it is not too much trouble, may I use your balcony for a moment?”

“Uh...sure. What for?”

His eyes widened when she yanked her tall purple boots down to the ankle and kicked them off, unbuckling the wide silver belt around her waist and setting that aside on the kitchen counter. Starfire made quick work of discarding her armbands and reached for the gorget around her neck, only to hesitate and draw her hands back to her sides. 

“Tamaranians require sunlight to recharge our energy,” she explained, moving a few feet past him to access the sliding glass doors that led outside, “it is preferable that the maximum amount of skin be exposed during the process. I do not yet know the Earthen standard for indecency, but I believe it is safe for me to assume nudity is frowned upon.”

Robin coughed and rubbed the back of his neck, fighting the urge to allow his eyes to trail past her long, ruby colored hair and down to her longer, deliciously golden legs. 

“Yeah, uh, you’d be correct in that assumption.”

As soon as the first drops of sun hit her skin, she closed her eyes, tasting the pure energy as it flowed through her veins.

This girl was dangerous. Ethereal. Wondrously and impossibly captivating. 

Robin didn’t dare speak. Teenage boy thoughts be damned, he was a professional. If he let himself turn to goo over every pretty girl that came his way, he would be no better than Bruce.

“You know,” Starfire said, tilting her face towards the sky, “I could inform you of the exact composition and properties of light and solar energy by a single taste. I know of the greatest beings in the galaxy, the structures of strange planets, the feeling of stardust as it grazes your body. And despite how normal these have all become for me, I cannot help but feel small in comparison. My power and strength is nothing compared to what the universe has to offer. In many ways, I am like stardust itself - the tail end of something far bigger and greater than I could ever be. Is that not a curious notion?”

It was the first of many incredible things she would say to him throughout their friendship as their feelings grew and bloomed and blossomed and changed and remained. But at the time, it was the most exquisite thing Robin had ever witnessed in his life, and his heart felt a hundred times more foreign in the moments that passed afterward. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly, allowing himself to melt for her, just this once, “it really is.”

[keishiko]

refuge

Black Widow joins the men formerly known as Captain America and the Winter Soldier in hiding after the events of “Civil War”.

(because I’m still in denial that “Endgame” has happened 😑)

[Oneshot ~2,000 words  |  Rated PG-13  |  Hurt, Comfort / Romance (Natasha x Steve)] [Revised from an early FFnet piece] 

[Part Two here]  [Optional companion piece “Into Infinity” here]

A little salt, a lot of pepper.  After another look at her notes, Natasha slid a minced onion into the bowl and cracked in an egg, followed by a sprinkle of flour. “The best way to do it is really to use your hands.”  His near-whisper teased the fine hairs at her neck.  Natasha instinctively tensed as his arm encircled her, but he merely guided her hands with his directly onto the meat mixture.  Calloused fingers entwined sensually through hers as she began to knead the ingredients together, hesitant in her inexperience. “Now you don’t wanna overwork it,” purred Bucky in her ear.  Natasha felt the heat radiating from his body as he stood directly behind her, all implacable, immovable muscle.  “You don’t want the meat to get tough.” Natasha smiled at the memory as she shaped the meat mixture between her hands.  The Winter Soldier, smelling of garlic and parsley, passing on to her his grandmother’s recipe.  Formerly shooting her through the kidney just to murder the asset under her watch.  How times changed.  Glancing at the clock, she set out a pan. “The carrots were my nonna’s secret, so you have to swear never to tell anybody else.”  His face was dangerously close to hers, his smile sly, his blue eyes mock-serious. “How in the world does James Buchanan Barnes have a nonna?" teased Natasha, acutely conscious of the scant inch of heated space between them as she stirred the sauce.  “And I still don’t see why I can’t just buy some at the supermarket...” “You’re killin’ me.”  His hand closed over hers, over the wooden spoon.  Natasha smothered a laugh as they began to stir together.  “Here I am entrusting to you the deepest, darkest secrets my grandma took with her to her very grave—she was my grandpa's second wife, I'll have you know, it was quite the scandal at the time—and now you’re saying you’d rather get storebought—” “Buck.” Natasha hid a grin as they both looked toward the figure suddenly looming in the doorway.  Steve pretended to lounge, but she easily read the taut lines along his jaw, down his neck, across his shoulders.  “Everything’s set up.  We fly out day after tomorrow.” Bucky’s smile was strained.  “Right.  Got it.” Smirking, Steve cocked an eyebrow at Nat.  “This guy bothering you?” “Not at all, soldier.”  And Bucky’s chuckle behind her raised goosebumps along her shoulder. They’d been like children, she mused, the two of them constantly joking and bickering so that she had to pointedly ignore them to get anything done.  Things hadn’t been quite so relaxed when she’d suddenly shown up on their doorstep that rainy night: Bucky had been wary and Steve had just smiled, utterly unsurprised.  She hadn’t been sure how to act or what to expect.  But Steve had invited her in, told her to make herself at home.  And despite herself, she had stayed. She hummed a little as she lifted the lid over the pot, let steam billow past.  The noodles she spun into the bubbling water, just as Bucky had taught her. She had simply watched that first evening when he wordlessly set about preparing dinner in the kitchen.  More curious than anything else, she had sat down at the table while he laid out some things he’d bought at the market earlier that day: sausages, vegetables, a dozen plums.  The man liked himself some plums.  Munching on a peanut butter sandwich, Nat had looked on as he picked out some more produce and found in a drawer the lone kitchen knife available in the sparsely furnished rental.  He’d begun to hone the kitchen knife, running it in slow, measured strokes across the bottom rim of a coffee mug, when he stopped and glanced up at her through long, inky lashes.  The blade glinted in his hand. “I’m not makin’ you nervous, am I?” After a moment, she’d met his smile with one of hers.  “Not at all.” If Steve trusted him, she would too. He still spoke with a Brooklyn drawl, she’d decided later that night, as Bucky’s spontaneous cooking demonstration led to conversation over glasses of cheap supermarket wine.  After Steve rejoined them from a meeting he’d had in the city, he and Bucky had competed to embarrass each other with increasingly lurid stories from their childhood and Natasha had laughed until she cried.   When Steve managed to drop his perfect diction, she remembered, he lapsed into that Brooklyn drawl too. She found herself smiling from the memory even as she glanced again at the clock.  Tucking a stray strand of newly blond hair out of the way, she hefted the pot over the sink to drain the pasta. She hadn’t had to come here.  She could have gone somewhere else.  She probably would have been better off somewhere else, too, on her own where she knew the terrain better, could access more resources to lie low.  She was, after all, now one of the world’s most wanted, just like them.  She hadn’t had to end up in this life, piecing together meals from printed-out recipes and Youtube tutorials, the reluctant picture of domesticity for lack of much else to do.  Yet here she was, frying up meatballs when she would have been perfectly content with another scrounged-up sandwich. The truth was, that night when she’d left the Avengers compound, she’d known exactly where she wanted to go. It wasn’t lust, she told herself.  And Steve would blush all over and jump out of a plane parachuteless before he seduced anyone.  Nat knew plenty of handsome men, as well as charming ones, sweet ones, dull ones, and smart ones like Tony Stark; men who knew their way around women and men who fell at her feet helpless.  By and large they were a blur to her, tried to use her, tried to keep her.  Even in the freedom she had gained when she defected, even when she could have opted for a new and normal life, she had found little in them to interest her.  They were all much the same, even Tony who was just a little smarter, worked just a little harder to stay on the side of the angels, for which reason she still more or less respected him.  Even though, like so many others, he still hadn’t been able to let go of his ego in the end. No, it wasn’t lust, even though she with her assassin’s eye could always appreciate the steel of a finely tuned muscle, the sleek lines of a well-developed body. But how else could she explain how she gravitated toward him?  The wordless, thoughtless, almost instinctual urge to be at his side, support him, protect him at all costs—she had given up trying to resist it, simply gave in to it, and the seamless rhythm of their combined fighting styles thrilled her every time.  But why she was here, now, toiling at a stove in the middle of nondescript suburbia and watching the clock like a... like a wife waiting for her husband to come home? He was, for that matter, increasingly late.  Natasha resisted the impulse to Google flight arrival times and instead began to fill the dishwasher.  She was just pouring herself a self-congratulatory glass of wine—she had only almost burned the garlic, after all—when she heard the telltale step on the sidewalk four floors down and pretended to ignore the sudden heat in her chest.  She was already pouring another glass of wine when the door swung open. “About damn time,” she called out as he shut and locked the door behind him.  “I hope you’re hungry.” “I probably am.”  He slumped into the couch and groaned, leaning his head back, stretching out his legs on top of the battered coffee table.  “Economy was terrible.” “Told you to try and borrow the jet.”  She slapped at his knees, one by one, and he obediently lowered his feet back to the floor.  She turned on some music.  “How was Wakanda?”  She placed a bowl of spaghetti in front of him. “It was good.  Beautiful country.  You should meet Shuri sometime.”  He paused, closing his eyes with a sigh.  “They put Bucky back under.” She longed to touch him.  Instead she sat back, curled her fingers around her wineglass.  She would miss hearing Bucky’s soft-spoken drawl.  “I’m sorry that had to happen.”  Her voice caught and she cleared her throat, then pushed his wineglass toward him in silent suggestion. “Well, I’m sure they’ll get him better soon.”  His tone was wistful, his expression clouded as he absent-mindedly took his first bite.  Halfway through chewing, he stopped and chuckled.  “I’m glad he got around to teaching you his grandma’s spaghetti first, though.” Natasha allowed herself a smile.  “He told me you used to love it, every time you came around.” “Yeah.”  Steve stared stoically down at nothing for a moment, and Nat knew he was battling tears.  “Yeah, I did.” He was too pure for her, she concluded, as Banner hadn’t been.  Banner, she’d wanted.  Somebody who felt damaged as she did, somebody who knew what it was like to fear and distrust and regret oneself, all at the same time.  In her loneliness she had been drawn to him, the man who was also unhappily the Hulk, a kindred spirit amidst her isolation; she’d craved what Banner had promised of understanding, of sympathy, of sameness. Banner she’d wanted.  But Rogers, she knew, she needed.  He was crystal clarity, certain and absolute.  He was, as he said, always honest.  More than that, he was unambivalent, unequivocal, uncompromising.  In this, as recent events had proved, he was even lonelier than her.  And although he had cut out the bright white star from the center of his uniform, uncomfortable about what it represented, for Natasha who had long since outgrown the need to believe in anything it had already taken on a different meaning.   Her pole star.  Her true north. Bruce had signified comfort.  But Steve gave her a direction, a purpose.  Even if, for now, it was only to make his favorite dinner on the night he came back alone, having left behind his best friend in all the world in a country twenty hours away by plane with not nearly enough legroom. He looked up as she refilled his glass without asking and left the bottle on the table.  Natasha smiled into shadowed blue eyes.  “I’ll clean up.” He protested less than usual.  Nat put away the food and dishes and came back to find his feet on the coffee table again and his head flopped backward in sleep.  The bottle on the table was empty. She brought him a blanket, not that he needed it.  She refused to admit that she had missed him.  She told herself he probably hadn’t missed her.  She tucked the blanket around him carefully, opting this time to leave his feet propped up on the table in peace. She glanced up to find him watching her, eyes dark, hair askew. She kissed him tentatively, telling herself it was the wine, knowing she wasn’t drunk, knowing he couldn’t be.  Even as she tasted the softness of his lips she cursed herself for what she’d dared to do, felt his hand on her wrist and braced herself— —but then he leaned up into her, his arm tightening around her waist and his mouth meeting hers with an urgency that flamed low in her belly.  He was tired, she reminded herself, tired and sad and so very alone, and she understood.  She had done more for far lesser men.  He kissed her so hard they both gasped for breath and then she laughed shakily, catching hold of his arm when he started to pull away. “Nat—”  Already he was apologetic. “You said once,” she interrupted, “you wanted me to be a friend.”  She resisted the longing to kiss him again just yet.  She would not seduce him.  “Will you let me?  Be a friend?” He exhaled.  His fingers splayed up her back, dug into her skin.  He could break her in a single movement.  “Nat...” She kissed him again.  She didn’t need to hear that he was sorry.  In the morning she could tell him she was, too. Part Two here

[storm-leviosa-fanfics]

Batfam Week Day 1

Batfam Week 2020 Day 1:

AO3 link here

@official-batfam-week

Meeting the Justice League:

Batman didn't mean to join the Justice League. He was still convinced that ‘Batman works alone’ and didn't need backup. Gotham had a solid ‘no metas in Gotham’ rule. Batman enforced it. He wasn't a fan of aliens either. But Dick loved the other heroes, and Dick had been through so much, and Bruce wanted him to be happy. (It absolutely was not because Batman was lonely and needed friends. Dick lies).

So, he joined the Justice League even though he didn't want to. That was stage 1 of his plan. He remained unequivocally himself, brooding and solemn and stoic, but he went to meetings and helped them out occasionally. They never came to Gotham. They didn't need to. Still, they learnt to trust him and one by one they showed their true faces even though Batman never did. That was stage 2.

He invited Clark Kent to interview him and Dick. As Bruce Wayne, of course. Clark had no idea he was actually talking to Batman. Dick had no idea he was actually talking to Superman. That was stage 3.

Robin happened and it threw all of Batman's plans into disarray because now he had a sidekick to watch out for. He took less monitor duty at the watchtower and reassessed. The Justice League were safe. Ish. They were safer than Gotham, probably. Dick would be safe at the watchtower with him. Safer than running round Gotham alone.

He took Robin to the watchtower.

… He should never have taken Robin to the watchtower.

It took approximately half an hour for anyone to realise there was a kid. It only happened because Bruce took his eyes off Dick for 2 minutes, he swears. How did he get into trouble in 2 minutes? In any case, it's Superman that discovered him raiding the kitchen for a snack and sounded the alarm. Superman could be remarkably dim sometimes. Batman found them still in the kitchen moments later, after the panic of 'where did the small child go? I'm meant to be his guardian. How did I lose him?' had worn off. Robin was regaling him with the story of Robin's latest epic takedown (with no help from Batman of course; Robin's too good to need help from Batman) and Superman, Clark, was grinning without an adult's condescension. That was something Bruce, for all his trying to treat Dick like a partner, had yet to achieve. Clark smiled like Dick's story was the greatest he'd ever heard, and Bruce was a parent now and Bruce liked people who liked his kid. Batman gave him his identity.

That was not stage 4.

Robin met the others one at a time, under less stressful, more organised, circumstances. The Flash had a nephew not much older than Dick and socialising is good for children, even if they’re crazy-talented children who dress up in flashy costumes at night to catch criminals. He met Diana, Wonder Woman (but shush, Dick, no one's meant to know) at a gala along with various other rich and famous figures. (It was also the first time he met Lex Luther. Dick didn't like Lex Luther. Lex Luther didn't like Dick.) Green Arrow tracked gunrunners into Gotham and refused to leave until he was sure Batman had got them. Robin took offense. He picked an island vacation/training mission to meet Aquaman; the warm waters and promise of ice cream later kept it low-key. That was stage 5.

Superman was still Robin's favourite.

They all thought Robin was charming and sweet and bright as the stars in the sky. They didn't know about the heart attacks he gave Alfred as he swung from the chandeliers and jumped from trees without an ounce of fear, the pranks he pulled when he thought Bruce was being unfair, the mess he made the few times he tried to cook for him or Alfred on father's day or Alfred's few days off. He tried to tell them. They didn't believe him. (They would believe him one day, far in the future, after Dick had grown up and there had been 2, 3, 4, more Robins who were all just as chaotic and just as heart-attack-inducing, after they’d been jump-scared one too many times or on the receiving end of a family-wide prank of the entire Justice League. They would wish they’d believed him sooner.)

[setsailslash]

30 Days of Writing: 2/30

12. the place where we used to meet. (BVS: Clark&Diana&Bruce, canon divergence where Superman couldn’t save Lois, for @tumblethroughthekaleidoscope)

A demi-god, an alien, and a man walk into a bar.

There is a good punch line somewhere here that doesn’t end with a punch thrown.

“Bruce.” Clark says in greeting when the man sits down on the bar stool next to him. On the other side, she settles too. “Diana.”

Both of them find their drink of choice sitting in front of them before they even make the order.

“Clark.” They both say in answer, and he hears what goes unsaid. Their condolences never waver, year after year. They are weary, not wary and it shows the years in between. It is never the same bar but it is always the same date when another year goes by.

In every version of the universe, Lois is the key.

And the weight of her death is the one to tip the scale.

-

Superman disappears from the world in the aftermath of Doomsday.

In between this headline, in the pages that are read and flipped and flipped until the newspaper print is smudges of black at the fingertips, Lois Lane’s death is published. In the hundreds and thousands that are dead, her name is one of many.

A hundred years ago Diana walked away. A hundred years later, Wonder Woman stands with them for that single battle against Lex Luthor’s creation.

Standing beneath a tree on a cold Sunday morning, steps away from the gravestone they erect in her name, Bruce Wayne does not ask her for her help. They wait in silence while Clark mourns, a ring never offered sitting like dead weight in his pocket.

Because if it takes Lex Luthor to cause a ruin of this scale, there are plenty more to take his place in this cycle of destruction. Bruce knows what happens to those he recruits to fight his war, he has a glass case to make sure he never forgets.

It is Batman who still finds the metahumans but it is a warning that he leaves with them instead.

-

The lights are low, the grain in the wood of the bar top is worn down.

“Where have you been to as of late?” Diana asks, taking a sip from her glass before glancing at the plaid shirt beneath the thick coat Clark is wearing.

Clark tips his drink back to down a good quarter. He’s made the trek to the highest peak, he's touched the rocks of Marianna’s trench, he’s also been back home to his mother’s farm. “At this point, I think you can start asking me where I haven’t been to start.”

“Themyscira.” Bruce supplies in answer.

Diana laughs and neither one of them brings up the only man that’s been.

With a single battle between the three of them, there is little history. Maybe it is the visceral pain to grief that ties them together, to lose what is equivalent to hope for them in one fell swoop.

Life is bound to death, and loss unequivocally to hope.

What breaks can be put back together, but the dead do not come back to life. There is no justice to be found in a world like this, and it’s about time they stopped looking.