#i keep thinking 'how would someone who's never read tactics see their dynamic here?'

[desperatepleasures]

ugh I have chores to do but what I really need to do is lay down and think about harukan for at least 4hrs while listening to labrador by aimee mann on repeat

[nonbinarypirat]

physical affection and how it relates to iruma: part 1, parental touch

iruma reads as someone who is touch starved and doesn't like/understand touch until he now has affectionate people in his life. His parents have probably never touched him besides the required amount when he was a baby and maybe a headpat or quick hug (which would more than likely just be a manipulation tactic to get him to do their crazy schemes). They left him alone for days on end, there's no way they even could have been affectionate with him. And it's not like he ever went to school, his "friends" at school couldn't even remember him because of how many days he missed.

Overall, Iruma reads as touch starved but doesn't know he's missing it since he never had it to begin with. Here comes the love trio, the misfit class, Balam and more. Suddenly he has a lot of people in his life who are comfortable with touching him, even want to as a sign of how close they are. And we can see iruma very much becomes happy with it in turn.

That's why Balam and iruma's relationship is important, a parental type person he trusts is actively choosing to be affectionate with him, not to manipulate him but just because he cares about iruma. He even told him the reason is just to bond and get to know iruma, not some sort of underhanded method. This is just Balam's way of connecting. And they are close to each other enough to be comfortable in each other's spaces. Whether Iruma reads balam as a parent or not, balam is very much like a momma bird, keeping him close and safe in his arms. And Iruma becomes more open to it as time goes on with them knowing more about the other.

This is also a great dynamic because balam gives him the affection that he doesn't recieve from kalego, someone he clearly holds in high regard. Almost every time iruma reflects on the people that matter the most to him, kalego is there. which i find fascinating because what is kalego to iruma? on a subconscious level, i think he views kalego as a parental figure to him as well, one of the first to give him clear and concise rules to follow. his parents were just a fucking mess, they barely parented. never really taught him life lessons besides "just say yes" and "run." Kalego clearly cares a lot while also helping iruma navigate the netherworld making it easy for him to project a father role onto kalego

But kalego isn't an affectionate man from what we have seen. And even if he was, he is his instructor first and foremost so he may not feel comfortable being so with iruma (and also imagine the fucking annoying comments about favoritism from the other misfits LOL). Any touching has been fairly limited to him picking up Iruma like during the teacher dorm visits and Kalego's final hours as a familiar. Which honestly make these few scenes even more precious. Because he is actively choosing to be like this with Iruma. Affection does not come easy to Kalego like it does Balam. More than likely because of his upbringing and family beliefs (always needing to remain vigilant, dignified) and him as a person. So while he doesn't touch Iruma often, his one on one moments with him are extremely personal and parental in nature. And when he does interact with Iruma physically, the rarity adds to the specialness.

And then there's Opera. Opera has been especially more affectionate in the latest volumes with hand holding and hugs and all sort of touching. Which is very wholesome to see because Opera wasn't a character that had much of a strong relationship with Iruma at the beginning besides guarding him. I always got the impression that Opera didn't know how to feel about him, not to say they wouldn't protect him with everything they have. But the feelings and affection started up after the battler/batra Party when Iruma grabbed both Sullivan and Opera (though the care for him had been growing steadily before that). I have seen two main headcannons for their relationship, some see it more as a big sibling relationship while others see it as a parental one as well. For the sake of this post, I will be using it as a parent and child one.

Opera has been right there with Sullivan watching Iruma grow more and more confident as time goes on. And through Iruma growing up, we see how proud of him Opera is. From a scared child to a more bold child, Opera has helped cultivate this in him. I also love that whenever Sullivan isn't around, Opera takes over for taking care of him, allowing the two to have solo family time. Obviously their relationship is more of a weird dynamic seeing as how Opera is a security devil, but that doesn't stop the story from developing their relationship. The physical affection for the two is started from both sides, Iruma hugging Opera or Opera holding out their hand to hold as they walk home. In this case, their relationship is the most parent like as the story progresses.

And finally, we have Sullivan who is the most affectionate of the four. Come on, you can't beat grandpa when it comes to love and devotion to Iruma. He is the first one to introduce Iruma to physical affection in the first place. Now granted, in a slightly overbearing way at first because Iruma is not used to this and Sullivan is too happy to have a grandson. But now, we can see the genuineness behind each of his interactions with Iruma. He very much acts like a doting grandfather, and he really does love him too. Touching clearly comes more naturally to him so it's his way of showing Iruma love which opened the doors for more people in Iruma's life to show this too. When Iruma first started touching Sullivan back at the battler/batra party, it highlighted that Iruma is now more comfortable with Sullivan to do so back. He has been taught by Sullivan this way of caring and cares about him in the same way too. There's a lot of mutual love.

They have come a long way as a family unit. Sure, grandpa has always been Iruma's number one supporter, but at the beginning of the story it felt way too over the top? As the audience we were right there besides Iruma in feeling overwhelmed by Sullivan. This far into the story though, the emotional trust they have in each other is beautiful. They are no longer just two individuals thrown together by fate, they are two people who care about the other and their weird little family. And its even more wonderous when we think about Sullivan's past, having lost someone deeply close to him and has no way of knowing if he'll ever return (aka Delkira). From what we know, it seemed that Sullivan truly loved him like a son/grandson/family member and loosing him is still something he's grappling over. And yet, he was still able to create this, push through his pain to make a family with Iruma. He's not a replacement for what he lost, but somone he allows himself to care about in a similar way in the past. By pushing through the trauma, he has been able to give Iruma what he never had in his past life.

I see both Balam, Kalego, and Opera as parents who provide him with different styles of parenting (with grandpa also providing that but also being a "ill give you anything you want" guardian hehe). Through this, he can learn varied viewpoints and, more importantly to this post, the affection he never had as a child. Does it make up for never having grown up with it? No, it never could. But it's not about making up for what it lost, rather its about making new connections and love with what you have now. And displaying that love in small and bigger ways with touch.

[tsarinatorment]

Hi! This is totally random & meant in good faith but i see a lot of people say "Riordan made Nico gay out of nowhere/for diversity attention points only!!1!1" I'm wondering if you have any theories on this- when in the writing process do you think riordan decided to make nico gay and why him? also why will solace be the love interest?

Quite frankly, anon, I don't have a clue when he added that detail to Nico's characterisation. Unfortunately I'm not inside Rick's head, so there's only so much I can guess from the outside anyway, and even from that - when I first read PJO, I was a sheltered good little Christian girl at a Catholic school who didn't even know people could be anything other than straight, and while I took a big gap in keeping up with Riordanverse (I stopped reading after MOA for about a decade), when I did pick it up again, I'd already been spoiled on Nico's sexuality and Solangelo, so I honestly never had a chance to spot where Rick might have started trying to sneak hints in.

That being said, as someone who does work on original stuff as well as fanfiction, and therefore has a whole cast of original characters lurking in the back of my brain, it would not overly surprise me if it just felt right to make Nico gay (heck knows some of my own ocs like to surprise me with little factoids about them I was not intending in the first place). That being said, given the massive push for diverse representation in HOO (regardless of how well or poorly executed parts of it are), especially compared to the far less diverse PJO, I would also not be overly surprised if Rick had thought "I should include a gay character", looked at the interactions he'd already written between Nico and Percy, and went "that works, I don't even need to bring in a new character" (especially given how a lot of Rick's worldbuilding is full of glossed-over holes that he can conveniently fill later without contradicting himself too much; it's certainly not a world-building tactic I could follow - I get way too bogged down in the minute details which is why my original novel has existed for seventeen years but has never got past chapter four - but it's one he's mostly managed to make work for him).

It also works to pulverise/ostracise Nico even more, as though he's not been bullied by the narrative enough already... Rick, bullying Nico is now a very, very dead horse, it's time to let him have his happy ending and not throw him back into Tartarus, just saying...

As for why Will; honestly, I suspect there's at least one of two factors coming into play here. Firstly, Will is an already-existing character of similar age who has no narratively important links to the main cast. (Malcolm could also have fit, except for the fact that he's Annabeth's half-brother and given the whole Nico vs Percabeth thing, a child of Athena was likely out of the question). Rick did not need to pluck a brand new character out of the air, but Will was minor enough that he had a lot of space to expand and explore (which he has still mostly not done, I would add, and the scenes in BOO are painfully obviously setting up the ship - a little too blatant and sudden, if you ask me). Secondly, people love the opposites attract trope, and a son of Apollo is pretty opposite to a son of Hades, especially if the life/sun aspects are emphasised compared to the death/shadows ones.

I don't think he picked Will because Will could be Nico's personal healer, however - for starters, as I keep saying and will continue to keep saying, that's an incredibly unhealthy/toxic relationship dynamic, and throwing your one canon gay character into a toxic relationship... that's a really, really bad move. Also, we clearly see that not being the case in TOA - they have a very good, well-balanced relationship where Nico supports Will at least as much as Will supports Nico (if not moreso), and Nico is going to Dionysus for help, not dumping everything on Will and expecting him to fix it.

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

I just wanted to quickly give y’all some insight on how Jasmine came to be as a character and how her fighting style is structured.

Spoiler warnings for these movies/games

Logan from Marvel

Black Widow from Marvel

The Last Of Us Part One

Metal Gear Solid: Phantom Pain

Trigger Warnings: Cutting, violence, child soldiers, and attempted rape.

Laura/X-23 from the movie Logan and Marvel comics:

I’ll start with the movie Logan first. (God I love this movie)

Jas almost fights almost exactly like Laura in her movie introduction scene, just a little less skilled and precise due to protesting her own training. Instead of claws, Jazzy uses her never ending abundant of knives in the same manner but also incorporates gun use. She has the same amount of fiery fury Laura expresses down to the raging snarling and grunts.

Here’s a link to the scene in the movie. (Warning, it’s very graphic) Yes, Jas is terrifying to fight when she is at her peak, maybe more when she is running at you bloodied.

Logan/Nick kinda have to teach these girl how to human, with Laura not knowing how and Jasmine forgetting from brainwashing. (Although it’s worth pointing out that Logan and Nick have a little more different moral values and standpoints)

The gas station scene in the movie did the best of drawing parallels. Laura/Jas gets touched by someone and they resort to beating the crap out of the person only to be told, “Not okay!” by Logan/Nick.

The childlikeness shines through both of the girls despite the torture they endured. Laura/Jas like kiddish and girly things, with Laura liking the rideable toy horse and pink sunglasses while Jazzy still likes playing with toys and wearing dresses. (Don’t judge her, she’s been though hell)

And now we go a little more into Laura’s comic counterpart which I think is the most like Jas. You can do some reading on her, and you’ll see it.

Pure torture is best to describe their time in training. While X-23 had people like her Mom or Sensei to give her some sort of comfort, Jas only had her memories to keep her warm and grasp sanity.

Both teen girls have an activation mode were they see red and go into a, “kill everything mode.” Difference is that Jas has more of a controlled state of mind and can mostly distinguish from friends and enemies while X-23 goes straight into killing everyone no matter what.

X-23/Jas express to their father figures that when they had killed people in the past, they had been emotionless to doing so and it haunts them. X-23 even cuts herself with her claws, and much like Jazzy, she heals completely from it.

I could draw more example's, but we’d be here all day.

Black Widow from Marvel:

The Red Room program inspired a bit on what Jas had to go through. It had a similar goal of training, master assassin weapon who can blend in virtually anywhere.

Jazzy fights like a Black Widow when doing a more stealthy or non-lethal approach. So a lot of jumping on people and using the momentum to take them down. Again, she is not as trained and tactical as one would be.

Natasha can be seen using objects as improv weapons/distractions in her fighting. Whether it’s a chain, table, curtain, basket, or chair Nat can use it to her advantage. Same thing with Jas, she’s almost a master of making a weapon out of anything on a whim, especially more knives.

Like Jasmine and Laura, Nat is bothered and tortured by her past even though it’s not entirely her fault, she was groomed and brainwashed from the start of her life. Jasmine was able to resist it more than Nat because she was raised by a family and didn’t get induced until she was nine, but that only added more guilt.

Ellie from The Last of Us: (God I love this game and it’s DLC Left Behind, not a fan of part 2 though)

The dynamic between Joel and Ellie is absolutely amazing and was a big inspiration. You’d have to have played the game to know what I’m talking about, I can’t put it into words.

Jasmine is a bit more like Joel on the relationship part, more unwilling to bond with the other due to past events and loses but they eventually melt and give in.

Nick doesn’t really have to play protecter as much as Joel does, but there are circumstances where he will and it’s terrifying because much like Joel, it’s a parent protecting their kid.

Ellie has the childlike wonder about the old world and eventually Jasmine gains that same wonder about the new world she was dropped kicked into.

The time after the Winter deer scene expresses Jasmine and Nick the most. Joel/Nick being talkative while Ellie/Jas is more absent and quiet with the trauma they just endured. But one little event can start making Ellie/Jas bloom again, although Jazzy is more prone to reverting back to being absent and cold calculating.

Ellie and Jas are actually the same height, which is 5’3. And oh Lord does Jas swear just as much as Ellie does throughout the game, maybe more.

Quiet from Metal Gear Solid Phantom Pain:

This one is purely off Quiet’s fighting style and not really anything else. Quiet is an enhanced human who has extreme super strength, but is still light and easy to carry like everyone else on this list. She is seen pushing back a man then holding up two men by the neck with only her hands, but later is easily knocked down or picked up. Jazzy is the same, stronger than an average man but still as light as someone of her size. Here is the link to the scene. (Quick insight, Quiet breathes through her skin so that’s why she is barely clothed)

Other than fighting and skill levels such as perception, I don’t think there is any more similarities. They dress literally polar opposite and Jazzy actually talks or at least tries to communicate in some form to the people she likes.

There is a certain scene in the game that I have to specifically point out. You’ll have to look it up on your own but in summary, Quiet is captured, suffocated, and almost gets r*ped by a gang of men. She escapes like a badass and goes BRUTAL on them, again you’ll have to see for yourself. It’s exactly what Jas would do to her former captors if she ever met them again, minus the superpower abilities.

So… yup, all these cobbled together helped shape Jas as a character. Everything else I patched together with ideas I came up with from either my own experiences, or similar to someone else’s.

[nagipops]

Hi! Can you do headcanons for Shikamaru with a S/O that’s as smart as him and really likes reading? Either way, have a good day!

SMART S/O HEADCANONS!

FEATURING: shikamaru nara!

we all know why shikamaru fell for you

no one else in the entire village could compare to the pure attraction he had for you, who could hold your own with your sharp mind and keen intellect

he catches you in the library a few times when the two of you were just getting to know each other, and it made his heart melt seeing how studious and intelligent you were

ever since then, he’s made very frequent trips to the library, because he definitely needed shogi books for dummies. definitely.

you caught him red-handed one day, as you noticed how often he just happened to walk by the area you were sitting at, and you beckoned him over

the two of you talked and really hit it off as the conversation started with small talk at first before quickly spiraling into a philosophical discussion about the meaning of life

it was intriguing, finding someone who could actually match your pace with quick-witted remarks and a sharp tongue, and the warm, excited feeling in your heart was proof

you two continued to meet at the library, always debating a new topic every single time

until one day, he proposed the topic of love

it took you completely aback at first, since shikamaru seemed to be quite a detached man who only focused on his work and shogi

but you were curious to see where the conversation would lead, so you bit

it was one of the most fascinating discussions the two of you had to date, learning about what he looks for in a partner, what you like in a man, if love was merely a survival tactic, if soulmates exist...

that definitely led to the two of you dropping some hints here and there

“well, you know... i like a man who can keep up with me. also, i’m a sucker for dark hair.”

“ah, i see... i think it’s cool when people read books. it tells a lot about what kind of person they are.”

the air was so thick with unspoken words and feelings, you could cut it with a knife

until one of you broke the silence

“hmm... how would you feel if, say, the person who you liked was... right in front of you?”

“well, i would say i like them back, of course.”

and the rest is history :)

as your loving boyfriend, shikamaru will always nag you to play shogi with him, since you’re the only one that can keep up with his impeccable strategy

but you’re just trying to read, so you tell him to leave you alone you just got to the good part!

he sighs exasperatedly, spouting his signature catchphrase:

“troublesome.”

he then flops onto the bed and beckons you to lie between his legs and read, since he definitely wants to read the good part too

he probably doesn’t, he just wants some cuddles with his braniac troublemaker

you comply, smiling in content as you get comfortable with shikamaru’s arms wrapped around you as your eyes flit across the pages

“oi, oi, slow down a bit! you’re turning the pages too fast,” he whines, his chin tucked in your shoulder

you giggle, reading even faster as you reach the climax of the story, and eventually shikamaru gives up, yawning loudly before falling asleep with his head perched on your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your torso

two braniacs in a pod make for the best relationship dynamic, one that is never ever boring!

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Colours

Word count: 1754

Genre: Angst and fluff

Pairing: Natasha x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: How about a natasha x reader Soulmate AU?

Summary: Soulmate AU. Reader has never really liked the idea of a soulmate and is fine with not having one until she wakes up in a hospital able to see colours and Natasha is on a long mission.

A/n: This one took me awhile to get around to, but at least it’s here now. This was requested by both an anon and @casperlikej​ so I hope you and everyone else likes it! I keep deciding to catch up on my fics and then procrastinating so sorry I still have a lot I haven’t written yet. Enjoy!

You zip up your tactical suit, grinning across the jet at Natasha. She smiles softly back as she straps her guns to her thighs. You can’t help but stare at that movement, admiring how hot she looks before quickly taking your eyes away before she notices.

“Alright team,” Steve speaks up, “we need to find the weapon’s stash which is located in the red building in the north cluster.”

“Um Stevie, some of us don’t have soulmates and don’t fucking know what red is.” You remind him and he sighs, exasperated with your nickname for him.

“Just follow me.” He tells everybody but Tony, Bucky and Bruce. “And Y/n, how many times do I need to tell you that you haven’t found your soulmate yet, not that you don’t have one.”

You roll your eyes. “You know how I feel about soulmates Stevie.”

He opens his mouth to respond but Tony cuts him off. “As much as I would love to see the two of you argue about soulmates for the thousandth time, we’re landing.” 

The mood instantly turns serious as the jet touches down and everyone gives themselves a quick check over to make sure they have everything. You once again look at Natasha and grin as everyone makes their way off the jet. She doesn’t notice which is probably for the best because sooner or later she was bound to notice your small crush on her.

“Let’s get ‘em guys.” Tony says as you all rush towards a building in the back, following Steve’s lead.

The fire fight when you got to the cluster was heavier than expected and you were dodging bullets left and right. The hydra agents were dropping fast though and before long there were only a few of them left. You smile at your assumed success when you feel a sharp pain in your chest and you hit the ground and your vision starts to blacken. You can vaguely make out the voices of your teammates shouting at you to wake up but it takes too much effort so you let the darkness overcome you.

Wanda runs over to you, the first to see you fall, checking for a pulse, sighing in relief when she finds one.

“She’s still breathing.” She calls out and the rest of the team follows her lead, sighing in relief before taking down the few remaining hydra agents.

Steve steps forward, gingerly picking you up. “I’ll bring her back to the jet to get medical attention, the rest of you finish the mission.”

“But-” Natasha starts to protest but falls silent under Steve’s stern gaze. Steve takes you back, trying to find the balance between quickly getting you to the jet and trying to to jostle you. When he gets back he yells for the medics and places you on the table.

You feel as though everything is blurry. “Stevie?” You slur.

“Shhh, don’t speak, it’s going to be alright.” He tells you. You hear nurses come into the room, then the sharp prick of the needle then nothing.

Only a few minutes pass before the rest of the team comes bursting into the jet.

“Is she okay?” Bucky asks frantically as Natasha walks over to you and the others look on.

“She’ll be fine,” one of the doctors assures, “we just need to stitch her up and she needs some rest.”

“Good,” Natasha says shortly, reaching out to hold your hand, “HOLY SHIT!!!”

“What?” Multiple voices ask her.

She lets a small smile spread across her face. “I can see colours now.”

---

The first thing you hear is the tell tale beeping of machines that let you know that you were in either the hospital or medbay. You shift around in your bed, opening your eyes, taking in the room.

In your dazed state it takes a second for you to realize that you can see colours. “What the fuck?!?!?!??” 

“Isn’t it exciting?” Steve’s voice asks and you turn to the side to see him and Natasha sitting in the two chairs by the hospital bed. 

“Exciting?” You ask. “This is horrible! I don’t want a soulmate!”

“Don’t say that.” Steve says sternly.

“If that’s the way she feels it’s ok Steve, no need to get mad at her.” Natasha says before turning to you. “Now that I know you’re awake I have to leave for a mission.” With that she strides out of the room. 

“Be safe!” You shout after her.

When you turn back to Steve he’s shaking his head at you. “Why don’t you want a soulmate?” 

“Because the concept is stupid,” you explain as though it should be obvious, “I touch someone skin to skin and suddenly I can see colours? Now I’m automatically supposed to be in love? What the fuck is that?”

Steve sighs. “It’s hard to explain but Bucky makes me the happiest I’ve ever been, give your soulmate a chance.”

“No can do,” you say apologetically, “tell whoever it is sorry but I don’t want to shack up with some random person just because I’m supposed to.”

Steve looks disappointed in you but doesn’t disagree. “If that’s what you really want.”

---

It had been two months since the soulmate thing and honestly things were good. As much as the idea of soulmates still repulsed you you had to admit that seeing colours was pretty cool. The only bad thing was that Natasha had been gone on a top secret assignment since she had talked to you in the hospital and you missed her more than you should have.

Tony and Steve walk by and you stop them. “Do you guys have any idea of when Natasha is going to be back?”

They exchange a look before Tony speaks up. “We actually just got off the phone with Fury and her mission just ended but he’s giving her a little off time so she’s not coming back until next week.”

“Is Natasha okay?” You ask, frowning. “She doesn’t usually take off time.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. We’ll see you around later.” Steve says, brushing off your concern and walking away with Tony. You watch them walk away, suspicion clouding your thoughts. It was unlike Steve to not seem to care about his teammates so you know that something is wrong. You also are a bit suspicious of the glance Steve and Tony had before answering and you know for sure they are hiding something about Natasha’s mission. You snort to yourself, being a spy was your old job and they still thought they could hide things from you.

You decide to go and see if Fury will tell you anything about Natasha. You aren’t super concerned because you know if she was seriously injured or even dead Steve would have told you, you’re just very curious. 

“Come in.” Fury says when you knock on the door of his office.

You get straight to the point. “Why is everyone acting weird about Natasha’s mission and why is she taking time off? And don’t feed me some bullshit answer.”

He stays silent for a minute, appearing thoughtful. “I will tell you because I fear otherwise could damage team dynamics. However if this is information you don’t like, you have to pretend not to know it.”

“Of course sir.” You respond confused.

He slides a file across the table and you eagerly grab it and start to read, only to find out it’s your file.

“Why are you giving me my own file?” You ask him. He points his finger at a spot near the bottom of the page.

Soulmate: Natasha Romanoff

You look up in shock. “Natasha’s my soulmate???” He nods. “Shit!”

“I assumed you would be happy to find out she was your soulmate.” He tells you. “Please don’t let anyone, even Natasha, know that you know.”

“No sir,” you explain, “I am happy she’s my soulmate, I thought it was some random doctor I had never met, but I said, right in front of her that I didn’t want my soulmate.”

“I know Y/n, who do you think she begged to be allowed on a mission?” You look down sheepishly after he says that. 

He takes pity on you and scribbles an address down on a scrap of paper and hands it to you. “Take one of the small jets and don’t mess this up.”

“Thank you.” You tell him before rushing out of the room, immediately making your way to the jets.

---

Ten hours later you’re exhausted but finally are here and you knock on Natasha’s hotel room door. 

“Hello?” She questions when she answers the door. “How did you know where I was staying?”

“I know we’re soulmates.” You tell her, ignoring her question.

Her eyes grow wide. “You better come inside for this conversation.” You step in as she holds the door open and take a seat on the edge of the bed as she closes the door. Instead of sitting beside you she stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, her stance defensive.

“You can sit down.” You tell her, patting a spot beside you. 

She hesitantly makes her way over and takes a seat. “Thanks.”

You look at her, unsure of how to exactly express how you feel. “I’m sorry Tasha.” 

“There’s no need to be sorry,” she responds, “I’ve always known how you felt about soulmates.”

“Yeah but that was before I actually had one.” You say.

She scoffs. “Don’t back track now, I was in the hospital when you said you didn’t want a soulmate.”

“Tasha,” you breath reaching out to touch her hand with yours, biting her lip when she pulls away, “that was before I knew it was you.”She scoffs again, looking away. You put your hand on her chin and turn her to face you again. “I’m serious Tasha. I thought my soulmate was some doctor I didn’t know, not my friend who I happened to have a little bit of a crush on.”

She blushes and bites her lip. “So you do want me?” She asks, in a heartbreakingly timid voice.

“Always.” You say before leaning in to kiss her. She kisses super softly at first, like she’s scared you’re not there but quickly getting more comfortable. When you break apart you rest your forehead against hers, lips still close to touching. 

“My soulmate.” She says in a voice that’s the perfect mix of sweet and possessive to make your knees weak and your heart jump.

“Your soulmate.” You agree.

---

Tagging: @fayhar​ @stephanieromanoff​ @acertainredhead​ @stop-drop-and-drumroll​ @peggycarter-steverogers​ (if you want to be added, comment, send an ask, or message me)

[bandsanitizer]

Okay but that scene in the hospital as letting Buck know what he means to Eddie and Christopher, not just as Eddie’s coworker or firefighting partner. Not just as someone who cares about Christopher. Not just another person there to help make being a single parent easier for Eddie. No, that scene was Eddie informing Buck that he is family—for real. That he’s Eddie’s best friend and the person he trusts the most. That he’s both a good friend to Christopher, but a remarkable guardian in his life, too. And this is so important in timing. (Explained after the “Keep Reading” because it’s a long post.)

Disclaimer: I recognize that everyone has different experiences, views, and definitions, regarding family, parenting, and the interpretation of canon. This is mine and yours are yours. This isn’t heavily romantic-Buddie inclined, nor is it intended to be, but it can be read as such. Also, spoilers for up to the s4 finale.

At the beginning of season 3, we learn what Christopher means to Buck. In his fight to save and find Christopher—risking his life—Buck showcases that he loves Christopher, that Christopher is important to him, and, in how he doesn’t have the “Oh, shit! How do I tell Eddie?” moment until he sees Eddie, it solidifies that Buck’s care for Christopher is not lenient on Christopher being Eddie’s son.

Later in s3, in the market, we see how Eddie views Buck regarding Christopher. By bringing up Christopher in the argument (“Christopher misses you.”), Eddie acknowledges a level of responsibility Buck has regarding Christopher. Granted, Buck loves kids and he’s a softie so that comment would hurt either way, BUT Eddie is not the kind of person to just use Christopher for the sake of a guilt trip. Eddie knows Buck cares about Christopher, Eddie knows Buck probably didn’t think things through, and Eddie wishes that Buck did. As much as that stands, however, it’s made clear that Eddie expected Buck to consider how it might affect them and Christopher. A big responsibility to place on a typical friend.

Yet, since this is coming right off the tsunami incident, Eddie’s expectations aren’t unexpected, but an extension. He said that there was “nobody else in the world,” that he would trust with Christopher more than Buck. And then for Buck to cut everyone off? Like it wouldn’t even matter? That doesn’t fit the way Eddie views how Buck cares—particularly, how he cares about Christopher.

Then jump to Eddie Begins. This is where we clearly see how Buck views Eddie and further confirmation that Christopher is in fact Eddie’s everything.

Buck’s reaction to the well collapsing on Eddie is very similar to his reaction to losing Christopher in the s3 tsunami arc. Distinctly different levels of reaction than he had towards Bobby being in danger and Maddie being held hostage with the rest of the dispatchers. Something Buck mentions to Sue about the latter, is that Maddie has Chimney. Bobby also has Athena. Hen has Karen. Eddie has... Well, Eddie has Buck and Buck has Eddie. The show has been pairing off characters and naturally, Buck and Eddie are one.

So his reaction to losing Eddie being similar to his reaction to losing Christopher, is a way of non-verbally conveying that Buck cares about Eddie a lot. To the same degree or within the same intensity as he cares for and loves Christopher. That it’s not just what they mean to other people in Buck’s life, but what they mean to Buck, himself. And with the contrast for worrying about Maddie or Bobby, it’s a recognition by Buck that in the same way Eddie and Christopher have a place in his life very different from the rest of the firefam, so does Buck in their lives. That he knew Maddie needed Chimney in that moment, and in losing Christopher and Eddie that he was that person in their lives. The one that’s supposed to fight with everything they got to make sure they’re okay.

We already knew how much Eddie loves his son prior to Eddie Begins, but we see his love and care for Shannon, as well. Plus, we get some sort of recognition that Eddie has much regrets over not being there for Christopher when he was younger. This is significant, particularly if you ship Buddie, but even without a romantic lense, it emphasizes the relationship between Buck and Eddie & Christopher.

The show pushes the idea that Shannon fell short at being a good mother to Christopher. Granted her running away wasn’t great parenting, but so did Eddie, and it’s not like Shannon didn’t try later. (Also that’s a completely different post.) What matters here is that Eddie trusts Shannon with Christopher. While it isn’t easy and he certainly has hesitations about Shannon leaving again and how that instability affects Christopher, it’s not that Eddie doesn’t trust Shannon with caring for Christopher. Eddie expects her to also be his wife and to have his back, and it’s in the emphasis on their marriage and getting a divorce, that focuses in on how much Eddie&Shannon weren’t working, not how much EddieShannon&Christopher were not. They both ran, under different circumstances, and they both stepped up to the plate when it came to caring for Christopher. (Again, it’s a different post for me to go into my thoughts on how them running wasn’t ever out of a lack of love or care for Christopher, and how much it was likely their marriage not working and worries about how that would affect Christopher.)

So, anyways, the point is that Shannon was there to care and love Christopher when Eddie was not. Eddie was there to care and love Christopher when Shannon was/is not. And in the s4 finale, Eddie points out the fact that Buck was there for Christopher when he was not. This, also tied to the having each other’s backs being used with Eddie and Buck in the beginning of s2 and later with Eddie and Shannon, points out that Buck role in Christopher’s life is heavily parental.

In the living room scene about Hildy and video games, the tactic of Christopher switching from reasoning with Eddie to asking Buck is very much the “ask the other parent” strategy. The look Buck gives to Eddie then (similar to the one he gives in the playdate scene in the s3 Christmas episode) is very easily read as “Eddie is the parent,” but Eddie giving Buck a look back becomes permission for Buck to handle it and that’s not just Buck being Eddie’s best friend, but Buck as someone with a parental/guardian role to Christopher. (Also consider Buck’s dynamic with the other kids of the 118–he’s very much and very strictly young fun (uncle) Buck, no?)

And with Christopher running to Buck when he was upset with Eddie and didn’t know how to express everything he was feeling—a moment when Buck was there for Christopher when Eddie couldn’t be, as well as something along the lines of knowing parents talk but still going to the other parent for something you don’t know how to talk to the other about.

The brief phone call was very parental—there’s no discussion regarding why Christopher would go to Buck or if Buck was okay with it or Eddie apologizing for it or any realm of discussion outside of Christopher is okay and Eddie is on his way. Granted, as a parent, priority just being Christopher being okay since he was missing makes a lot of sense. But there’s this underlying sense of “Of course he’s at Buck’s” as well as the innate trust Eddie is displaying with Buck.

This trust in Buck is also seen with Christopher as Christopher opens up to Buck. And the tone Buck takes & the conversation they have, is also fairly parental. Buck’s empathetic to Christopher and he listens and he gets it—he knows how scary it is to feel like you’re losing people—but he’s also pretty clear that Christopher running off wasn’t okay and that he needs to talk to somebody. And then, Buck says Christopher has him and promises that Christopher isn’t going to lose him.

This is an promise of permanence. Buck can’t technically promise he’ll always be there for Christopher—that’s something that cannot be truly certain. And interestingly, Shannon and Eddie have also promised something vaguely forever towards Christopher as well. Notably, in Shannon’s letter about loving Christopher “even if it’s from a distance” and like everything that went on in the flashbacks of Eddie Begins. So, the scene becomes Christopher and Buck recognizing the importance they have to each other.

Which means: Buck knows he cares for Christopher and Eddie. Eddie knows he cares for Christopher. Eddie and Buck knows Christopher cares for both of them. Buck and Christopher are aware of each other caring for each other. Buck’s always been aware how much Christopher means to Eddie. So what’s left?

Eddie recognizing he cares for Buck and the two of them being aware that they both care for each other. The first of which the s4 finale tackles and the second that becomes alluded to by the end of the hospital scene.

There’s a lot of reasons for why that over the year Eddie never told Buck about changing his will. It’s scary, it’s a lot of responsibility, etc. It means that while Eddie is aware of how much Buck loves and cares about Christopher, the responsibility of being a parent is a whole other thing. And yet, Eddie doesn’t really have many doubts about it. Yes, there’s the small thought that just maybe, just maybe, it’s asking Buck for too much—but as it’s said in the finale, Eddie knew Buck wouldn’t refuse.

So why not tell Buck and why tell Buck then? Because Buck needs to know that Eddie cares about him. That in telling Buck earlier or even going to Buck earlier, could come across to Buck as Eddie measuring something—whether that be how much he cares about Christopher or how much he can trust Buck or something else—it leans heavily on Buck means something to Eddie because he cares about Christopher. And while that’s true, that’s not it.

Eddie says he’s telling Buck now because Buck said he thought it would’ve been better if he was the one that got shot. Because Eddie is well aware of Evan risk-taker, doesn’t think before he does, “it would’ve been better if I was shot” Buckley does majority of what he does and thinks majority of what he thinks because he believes he’s expendable—but he’s wrong. And Eddie is trying to show Buck he’s wrong.

That Buck matters to Eddie. That Eddie trusts no one with Christopher the way he trusts Buck. That if he can’t be there, then there’s no one Eddie wants more than Buck to be there for Christopher. It’s a huge responsibility to say, “If I die, you’ll have to take care of my son,” but it’s also privlege. It’s a trust. It’s saying that I’d trust you with my world if I wasn’t around to care for it. If Buck didn’t matter to Eddie, Eddie couldn’t have possibly changed his will like that. If Buck didn’t matter to Eddie, then Eddie wouldn’t have set forth the very possible risks of upsetting the family he has—that Christopher has. That while it comes from caring about his son and wanting the best for him, considering not just what is best for Christopher but what Eddie believes is best for Christopher is very fueled towards caring for Buck.

Because, note that logically there’s a lot of ways that Eddie and Christopher moving back to Texas would’ve been better for Christopher. There’s a lot of ways that Christopher being taken care of by Eddie’s parents that would’ve been better for Christopher. Because it would mean being surrounded by family. It would mean foregoing many of the real financial struggle single-parenting can have. It would mean 100% security that Christopher would have people to care for him—given Eddie’s risky career. And yet, that’s not what Eddie believed was best for Christopher—or at least it wasn’t what he wanted for Christopher. That Eddie would fight tooth and nail to secure a stable and fulfilling life for Christopher on his own, if it may be, if it meant Christopher being with his father. Because Eddie wasn’t there for a few years, and he regretted that, and wanted to be a father for Christopher now that he had a chance to.

So, where logically, leaving Buck to have custody of Christopher if Eddie dies doesn’t make the most sense because Christopher has extended family in both Texas and LA, it was what Eddie thought was best. It was what Eddie thought was right. Almost like how it’s pretty clear Eddie’s parents didn’t like Shannon, and yes their relationship was rocky, but Eddie stands by the similarities in their running from the family and Eddie doesn’t put up with insults on Shannon’s parenting. That while between the two of them, yeah there were issues and they both can agree they weren’t great parents to Christopher in the times they weren’t there, Eddie also doesn’t let it only fall on Shannon, doesn’t stand for implications that Shannon did anything less than love her son and do better when she came back. Like literally the worst part of both of their parenting comes down to the one instance they left. Yes, not great, but, especially as a tv drama, it’s never to say that they don’t know how to be good parents. Outside of leaving, they’re capable of caring for Christopher and loving him fully. (Again that’s a whole other post)

But the point! Is that Buck loves Christopher. Christopher loves Buck. Buck loves Eddie. Eddie loves Buck. And there is no one in the world Eddie trusts more than Buck to be there for Christopher when he can’t be and to fight for Christopher. Both are also notably traits that both Shannon and Eddie display to each other (taking over parenting when the other isn’t present & overall fighting to be part of their son’s life).

All in all, this is to say that the finale points out how much Buck means to Eddie—something that hasn’t be made completely clear before. And by Buck’s face after Eddie says Buck isnt expendable, it’s a bit of a new thing for Buck to realize, too. That while they’re both well aware how much they care for the each other and how much they care for Christopher—there’s been a lack of realizing how reciprocal that care is between the two of them. (Which like romantic shipper goggles on, that’s part of where Shannon&Eddie fell apart. That while they both saw they loved Christopher and loved each other for that, sometimes there was a lack of loving each other outside of that.)

This coming within the same time of them individually starting (sort of for Eddie) romantic relationships, emphasizes a permanence in each other’s lives (that is explained nicely by @/mistmarauder (link will be in reblog/notes).) It considers the many ways that them being best friends and family is a for-life sort of thing, that isn’t bound or restricted by romance or blood or anything of the sort. They chose each other. They choose each other. And whether or not Buddie becomes canon, Buck-Eddie-Christopher are 100% an established family unit within the 118/firefam and the s4 finale was meant to establish that clearly. That where Buck & Eddie naturally pair off as the 118 does, Buck-Eddie-Christopher form one of the smaller family units that are focused on within the 118/firefam.

And if, you want to take it more romantically, Buck and Eddie realizing how much they mean to each other as something reciprocal (so far on Buck’s end, we still need a clearer moment where Eddie goes “oh! Buck cares” but the “are you hurt?” moment came close) is a great continuation for growing feelings and extended slowburn, friends to lovers Buddie-endgame. Like they’ve established Christopher loves Buck, Eddie loves Buck, Buck loves them, and Buck fulfills the sort of parental role well. Not much more checkboxes to fulfill for canon Buddie excepting navigating feelings, epiphanies, and the romance of it all. It’s not set up to only allow for Buddie, so there’s, as usual and expressed, room for other paths of canon, but it’s good set up should they choose that to be the direction they decide they want to go in.

[haikyuuuuuhypeeeee]

Chapter 4

⚠WARNING: Swearing, mention of previous characters' deaths

• ────── ✾ ────── •

“I just don’t get why no one wants to help me plan the shrine visit and picnic lunch.” Oikawa pushes his now-empty plate away and turns his head. You share a look with Makki and Mattsun.

“We just don’t want to get in the way of your vision.” Mattsun replies. “You’re the most creative of us all and we don’t want to bog you down.”

Oikawa only glances towards Mattsun before glancing at you and Makki. You both put on your most sincere faces, hoping to placate your irritated friend. It seems to do the trick, as he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Well of course I’m the most creative. I guess I can plan everything and tell you all what to do.”

You smile at Oikawa, nodding. “That sounds good.” You enjoy the last bit of your dinner, keeping your eyes on your plate.

Since Hajime’s passing, there’s been a visible gap in your friend group. It’s not a gap that can easily be replaced or filled, but the balance of your group has been thrown way off course.

Makki and Mattsun try to lighten things up with jokes but most of the time they fall flat. And it’s not fair to always depend on them to keep the mood light when they can’t muster the energy to do it.

Most of the time you’ve remained silent on the outings. You’ll laugh at the jokes from Makki and ask everyone about their days, but nine times out of ten you’re hindered by the absence of Hajime to make meaningful conversation.

Surprisingly, the most consistent of your friends is Oikawa. But since there’s no Iwa-chan to reign him in, he has become the leader of your group - making plans, driving conversation and trying to keep your group from falling apart. The only problem is that Oikawa has utilized more...forceful tactics to get what he wants.

“For lunch tomorrow we’ll have to meet somewhere by the gym because I have training in the afternoon.” Oikawa states later, while everyone is leaving the restaurant. “And we have to get salads or something similar, I can’t eat anything heavy before.”

You send a quick glance to Mattsun, pleased to see Makki holding his boyfriend’s hand tightly. Of everyone Mattsun is the one who snaps back against Oikawa the most, unwilling to deal with his antics. Makki is the best at keeping him calm while you would try to keep Oikawa from escalating the issue.

“Oh, I can’t meet tomorrow, sorry. I’m getting lunch with my friend.”

Your friends all give you questioning looks - Makki and Mattsun look more excited (and ready to tease you if necessary.) But Oikawa narrows his eyes.

“Is this the same friend you ditched us for lunch yesterday and today?” His tone is accusatory and you inwardly sigh. So it’s going to be this kind of night.

“Yes.” You don’t want to beat around the bush but you don’t want to antagonize your friend with smart-ass answers. “He wanted to get lunch again so I agreed, I wouldn’t if we were planning on getting lunch.”

Oikawa scoffs. “You should always plan on getting lunch with us, Y/N.”

“Oikawa I think you’re skipping over an important detail.” Makki steps in, inadvertently stopping Oikawa from going off on you. But before you can relax he turns to you with a shit-eating grin. “You’re meeting with a guy?”

Shit.

Mattsun appears over Makki’s shoulder, giving a similar smirk. “Please elaborate, Y/N-chan. Who are you meeting with?”

“And when can we expect an introduction?”

You give Makki an annoyed look at his extra question. “His name is Osamu, and we worked on a project together for one of our classes. We worked well together so we decided to get lunch. It’s no big deal.” Your last sentence is directed to Makki and Mattsun, both waggling their eyebrows.

Despite their childish behavior you’d take it every day over Oikawa’s snide attitude.

“Osamu, huh?” Oikawa looks down at you with his head tilted to the side questionably. “How come this is the first we’ve heard about him?”

You shrug. “It’s no big deal, Oikawa. Don’t be a jerk.”

“Hey I’m just wondering why you never wanted to tell us about him.” He held his hands up innocently. “Are you keeping other secrets from us perhaps?”

You feel your eyes narrow and you can’t help but let a little venom into your words. “I’m not keeping secrets, Oikawa. Osamu and I worked on a project together, he found out about Hajime and I found out that he lost his twin brother, so maybe I’ve found another friend who I can relate to.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen marginally at the mention of Hajime and he doesn’t reply. His hands lower and he looks off to the side. You see Makki and Mattsun stiffen before Mattsun steps closer to his boyfriend.

It’s no wonder that people tell you not to joke about death or dying. It’s easy for people who haven’t understood how devastating the loss of a loved one is to make those simple jokes, because they’ve never experienced the instant the mood of a group plummets. It’s a powerful weapon, made to bring the strongest down a few notches. It’s one you wouldn’t ever use unless absolutely necessary, and even this time mentioning how you and Osamu were able to bond over your shared trauma was a slip made out of anger. But it was effective in shutting Oikawa up.

“Oh.” Makki says into the stifling silence. Oikawa still hasn’t looked away from the ground and now you feel guilty again for bringing the mood down. Twice in two days is not a record you wanted to make. Makki speaks up again. “That’s so sad, how did you find out about that?”

Here is where you hesitate, because you can’t say that you were texting Hajime’s old phone number and serendipitously the stranger receiving those messages not only is a student at the same university you attend but also lost someone close to him, and you agreed to meet with him for coffee after five minutes of your “meeting.”

“I think it just came up organically,” you reply, hoping you sound somewhat nonchalant with your fabricated explanation. “I don’t really remember the conversation exactly.”

“Huh.” Mattsun says. “Well if you guys are going to hang out more maybe see if he wants to come to our group therapy sessions. The next one’s in a few days.”

At this Oikawa whips his head up and glares at Mattsun. He doesn’t say anything in response to Mattsun’s suggestion but he looks livid. Mattsun in turn meets Oikawa glare with his signature, unaffected gaze.

“Okay, we’re gonna head out now.” Makki grabs his boyfriend’s arm and steers him towards their apartment. “Oikawa, we’ll text you about lunch tomorrow. Y/N, I want all the details from your ~date~”

“It’s not a date!” You call, but Makki doesn’t reply save for a little hand wiggle he sends over his shoulder. You sigh out loud and shake your head at your friends’ antics.

You turn to your silent companion, who has taken to glaring at the ground again. “Are you ready to leave?” He doesn’t answer you, not even nodding in agreement, but he stands straight and you both move together towards your apartment buildings.

Oikawa speaks up after a few blocks of walking in silence. “Did Osamu really lose his brother?”

“Excuse me?” You turn to your friend, appalled at such a question. “Are you really fucking asking if he was lying?”

“I’m just looking out for you.” Oikawa doesn’t meet your angry gaze but his voice has lost its disapproving tone. “Some idiots will lie to get sympathy or try to connect and get closer to you. It’s fucked up.”

Still feeling aggravated you turn forward and roll your shoulders. “I guess. But you didn’t see him. You’d have to be blind to take one look and think he’s okay.” His tired face pops into your head again, the look of a person just trying to scrap by one day at a time. It hurts to think about.

“Do you like him?”

You turn back to your friend, angry again, to see him giving you a calculated look. There’s something else there too, almost something like indignant hurt.

You know why he’s looking at you like that and it makes something in your stomach twist.

Oikawa is the only other person to know of your love for Hajime. He pried it from you years ago but had sworn on his own hair products that he wouldn’t tell a soul. In spite of Oikawa’s general obnoxiousness and seemingly fictitiousness, deep down he’s a very loyal friend. And even though he knew one of your deepest secrets, you knew it was safe with him.

But he badgered you for days on end to confess to Hajime and every time you told him no. He was annoyingly persistent, but not once did he say well what now? after Hajime passed.

You missed that annoying weirdo. You don’t like the possessive, mean and cruel Oikawa that’s taken his place.

“I don’t like him like that, Oikawa.” You say now, turning back ahead first this time. “He’s just a friend.”

You feel Oikawa’s gaze on you still but you don’t look back. He doesn’t say another word to you, save for a short remark when you leave to go into your apartment building.

“Have fun on your date tomorrow.”

He drops that line and walks away, leaving you to stare after your friend with your gut twisting.

Why does he have to do this?

Insecurity, jealousy, anger, depression - maybe a mix of all four and more. It’s partly why you’re giving him a pass for now.

Your phone pings when you get into your apartment, and you feel the tension from the day leave your body when you lock the door. You feel wrung out and you honestly just want to sink to the floor and just lay there.

Before you give into your urge to become one with the floor you pull your phone out to see who texted you.

If it’s Oikawa I’m going to flush my phone down the toilet.

But you’re pleasantly surprised to read the screen and not see it was Oikawa who messaged you. You unlock your phone to read the text, feel a smile tug at your lips and send a reply back.

Glancing down at the floor, it suddenly doesn’t look as appealing as it did before. You walk through the apartment, heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: And we get a bit more of a glimpse into Y/N's friend group, and the dynamic is.......not ideal. Hopefully the friends can work through their problems and help each other......anyway, thank you for reading!

Taglist Open! Please send an Ask with the request to be added to It’s [Not] Okay Fic & SMAU: @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @roro-707 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @cerealfrdinner797 @ara-mitsue @gray-444 @tanakasimpcorner @rintarovibes @jellien @everytimeswift @bongofrito

[diamondcitydarlin]

what do you think about the arguments that lokius is being queerbaited? I want to enjoy and ship it so bad but it seems like im setting myself up for disappointment

And I can't assure you with full confidence that you wouldn't be. I can't be certain I won't be, though I've personally chosen to enjoy what is there and extrapolate from what we are given, even as I know that historically, statistically, it's best to assume a mainstream depiction of a m/m relationship in a Disney-Marvel production is pretty slim. But then...not nonexistent and, in many ways, the likelihood of it actually going there is higher than it's ever been. So there is that.

I've been independently studying LGBTQA+/queer representation in mainstream media for over a decade now. The term 'queerbaiting' is relatively new in fandom spaces (if we're looking big picture, back into the earliest films and TV shows, some of the earliest shipping fandoms like Star Trek), as I only started seeing it maybe around 2012-2014. It's a term I appreciate, because it represented a switch in cultural thinking from holding no expectations of creatives in Hollywood to large swaths of LGBTQA+ fans gaining the confidence to say 'no, this isn't good enough'.

It also represents the switch in Capitalist approaches to LGBTQA+ citizens, from catering solely to the religious, satanic panic morality by pretending gay people simply don't exist, to deciding that gay fans are in fact lucrative and need to be included just enough to feel inclined to monetarily contribute to a brand. They'll write scenes between characters with intentionally confusing, ambiguous energy, give them moments that are meant to be read into deeply, but rarely, rarely, with any kind of payoff that would alienate homophobic investors. The insidiousness of this tactic is in the fact that when payoff does not happen, viewers can be easily gaslit into thinking that was never the intention in the first place, they were the ones who were wrong in their takes. As I've worked professionally in entertainment as actress, director and producer with rather big capitalist brands I won't mention names of, I can assure you this -is- very much a thing, please stop giving corporations the benefit of the doubt.

There is no clean definition or qualification for queerbaiting, despite how often people want to gatekeep how gay viewers use this term. To be clear though, it is an accountability term before anything else. Not an insult, not an accusation that someone isn't good at what they do, it's a reminder that we're owed more than what we're usually given. If we don't speak out, if we don't label things queerbaiting (when they very much usually are), if we don't demand better we will never, ever, ever get it. I promise you that.

Okay, so now that we've established what queerbaiting is at least in my mind...

Do I think Lokius is being queerbaited? Yes, possibly. I'm waiting to see how the rest of the narrative plays out before I come to a definitive conclusion on my own (yes I'm actually optimistic I say as I put on clown make up), but I'm also not going to deny LGBTQA+ fans the right to feel like that's what's happening and voice their opinions. Anyone tasked with writing/creating content for mainstream audiences has a huge responsibility, in that this content will reach millions of people and has the potential to help shape our culture, perceptions- it even has the potential to help normalize and give broad optics of what it means to be queer and have queer relationships, romantic and otherwise. None of this is as trifling as, 'it's just a TV show', because it's never that simple.

As far as Lokius itself is concerned, the show spent a great deal of time first developing their bond and dynamic before (seemingly) switching gears towards elevating romantically the first feminine-presenting character Loki ran into even though there are some clear, uhm...conflicts with the idea of this actually being a thing. If it becomes a thing. It also seemed to first build a solid, unique platonic bond between the 'fem' and 'masc' character that a lot of gay fans would have appreciated seeing playing out before having them mashed together haphazardly as a romantic pairing, as has been done in media for 50+ years now. That's to say nothing of the fact that the most visible feminine character being forced into role of 'love interest' for a broken main character is one we've had to see play out over and over and over and over again too, poorly. People have a right to feel frustrated about that and voice their frustrations accordingly. We expected more of this show than that. (And yes, I am bisexual, I know that it would still technically be a queer relationship, but please consider the broader history/picture here of queer rep in media and the optics of that against that mosaic, please consider the heteronormative lens that so often claims any and every possibility for itself, please consider the long history of how feminine characters are often used as coping tools and objects of lust before they are treated as individuals deserving of their own development)

Now, again, I want to say that I am not convinced of anything really right now. I'm not taking any of the writers at face value because they are all bound by contracts and NDAs and aren't going to come out and say what the outcome of the show will be, so nothing they're putting out on twitter or in interviews is something I will be taking as absolute truth beyond assuming they're trolling, maybe even have been instructed to keep the pot boiling in the fandom through social media antics. Don't rule it out.

Things really could go either way, but my point is I do not deny the possibility of what this is and I'm certainly not going to gatekeep how other gay viewers feel they're being queerbaited, and I really don't see any reason why anyone else should either.

[writingwithcolor]

Intolerant Parents of Color of Nonbinary Child (Mixed Asian)

I’m a mixed-enby writer. I’m writing a nonbinary mixed person who’s been kicked out of their house because of their identity. I want them to be of some kind of asian-mixed descent from the very start, dark or light skin doesn’t matter to me (partially because I figured mixed asians might need more rep than b/w mixies). The problem comes when I try to decide the races of the parents. A lot of the time I make characters without thinking of a specific race for them (Not with MC though), and so I decided that one of the parents would play a bigger role in kicking out the MC than the other.

I liked the dynamic of one parent being more in control/kind of toxic & abusive, and it leading to something the other parent never wanted but was too afraid to stop (kicking out their kid). But when I really get into it, I either run into the issue of the mother being a bossy/controlling [East] Asian woman (see: tigermom trope), or the father being a meek/humiliated [East] Asian man who lets his wife trample over him. And if I made the more cruel and aggressive of the parents darker skinned, I feel like that’d feed into the “angry Black/brown person” stereotype. I think I’ve seen and hated all of these tropes before. The parents have more depth than that, but they aren’t huge players in the story and are mostly remembered bitterly by the MC, MC goes so far as to think of them as “Calloused” and “cowardly” so those would be the main imprints the audience is left with when reading about them. 

It’s important to the plot that MC is kicked out of the house too, and I thought it’d be important that it was because of their identity to show that even interracial couples can be intolerant too (their personalities are vaguely based off my parents but taken to extremes, so it feels disingenuous to just change the whole dynamic) so I don’t want to just scrap that. I want to keep this dynamic between the MC’s parents because I genuinely think it’s an interesting one to explore. How can I do this without perpetuating stereotypes? 

Note: We’re interpreting this ask as the OP being Asian themselves, although it’s not abundantly clear.

Hello! Fellow enby here :)

I personally am a huge fan of this concept. I really think that commentary on intolerance within communities that are expected to be less bigoted is great! Just because these characters are expected to be more accepting because they’re in an interacial relationship, doesn’t mean that they’ll be accepting to gender nonconformity, marginalized orientations, etc! I think a lot could be said about the importance of intersectionality within marginalized communities.

Of course, I wouldn’t want someone who hasn’t experienced first-hand discrimination or isn’t part of said POC group targetting/placing the blame on Asians only. 

I’m not sure what the best way to go about describing it is, but oftentimes pitting one marginalized group against another is a tactic that supremacists use in order to divert blame for discrimination. 

That being said, as this is a kind of OwnVoices situation, this is a topic that you can write about without coming across as unauthentic or appropriate-y.

In Perpetuating Stereotypes of Abusive Asians:

Referencing the examples you listed: I honestly don’t think that there’s any way you can’t assign races to these characters without playing into Asian stereotypes (to a greater or lesser extent determined by how you execute this).

In Diverting from These Stereotypes:

Your story’s only representation of Asian characters shouldn’t be abusive/intolerant parents. 

I think the best way to make up for the fact that you have characters with racially stereotypical traits is by having several other characters of the same race not have these traits.

If Asian characters without these traits are made the norm in your story and as it seems that the story’s main focus isn’t on these two characters, then I would say this story isn’t necessarily perpetuating stereotypes.

I’m not that concerned with you, a mixed Asian author, drawing from your own experiences to write these characters- especially if these traits are true to people in your own life.

Especially if you have an “Asian tiger parent”– the stereotype does come from a normalized, faulty issue in actual Asian parenting that you could commentate about in your own story. (If you don’t, then I would refrain from this of course.)

In the end, I really think that having a couple of characters with stereotypical traits is alright given that you’re actually part of that group, have other characters without racially stereotypical traits, and you’re making an effort to address issues within the community. Good luck!

~ Mod Emme :3

Avoid including a Black parent if you’re not Black

And if I made the more cruel and aggressive of the parents darker skinned, I feel like that’d feed into the “angry black/brown person” stereotype.

I cannot tell exactly whether you’ve decided on keeping this an interracial relationship or not, but…

Yes, please avoid portraying a Black character in this role. I understand you as the author had experience, and it’s certainly your right to draw from them. But if you’re not Black, please don’t cast this narrative onto Black folks. Black communities are already painted with the broad brush as somehow being more intolerant of differences, homophobic, etc. than others (As if conversion camps are full of Black kids as opposed to white ones?). 

Now, I haven’t seen many portrayals showcasing Black parents who are intolerant and unsupportive of their nonbinary kids, but let’s keep it that way. I would rather Black people with these experiences lead those narratives. 

Stereotypes and balancing portrayals

Some things you said regarding portraying these parents fairly were contradicted by other statements you made.

For while you say this:

The parents have more depth than that

You also say this:

…but they aren’t huge players in the story and are mostly remembered bitterly by the MC. 

MC goes so far as to think of them as “Calloused” and “cowardly” so those would be the main imprints the audience is left with when reading about them.

I liked the dynamic of one parent being more in control/kind of toxic & abusive

The parents, in my opinion, are either abusive (and utterly crappy people) or they’re not (and aren’t perfect, but have some redeeming qualities). Obviously, it’s much more complicated than that in reality, but adding a sympathetic angle to abusive parents doesn’t bode well and it likely isn’t gonna “take.” Therefore any depth you may be trying to build up isn’t likely going to come through in the story, based on your current choices. This is especially true because

these parents have a minor role in the story

as readers, we’re more inclined to sympathize and believe your character, who thinks of their parents as callous and cowardly

which we have proof of. They kicked them out of the house!

The parents are vaguely based off of yours, but “Taken to extremes.” Without knowing your personal story…

 Is this your story to tell? 

If it is, and it very well may be, you’ll want to determine your goals for writing this. 

Do you wish to show a truth about intolerance in the communities you’re from? 

Is this fictional story the right place to do it? 

How broad of a brush are you painting parents of X race[s] in the story? 

Are you balancing the portrayals with more X parents who aren’t like this (See Em’s answer above for great advice on balancing it all out)

How extreme are these exaggerations that are based off your own parents? To the point where it doesn’t truly reflect the experiences you had? 

Are the fictional parents reading as real people or abusive caricatures of Asian & [other race] people?

Your approach of assigning race to characters

I do recommend minding more about the race of the other characters you represent. Assigning identity to characters at random & after the fact can cause you to run into some problems, like the ones illustrated in this ask. On the same vein, having a “colorblind” approach can be an issue too. Either way, neither bode particularly well for representation.

Here’s some reading to help:

Character Creation: Culture or Character first?

Character Design and Assigning Race and Ethnicity

Characters’ Races Added Last During Development

Determining your Characters’ Race and/or Ethnicity

More on Assigning Race after Writing

~Mod Colette

I  have a comment here as a mixed race Asian person, which I hope might prove helpful.

The stereotype that mixed race families are more tolerant is a new one to me. I suppose I can imagine people thinking “Well they must be tolerant to marry that kind of person”, but those tend to be the kind of people who think mixed race children solve racism, somehow. When I think of a mixed race family, particularly a mixed race Asian family where xenophobia, conservative values, cultural expectations and familial obligations often loom in the background, conflict is the dominant theme. 

Lots of interracial marriages don’t work out in the face of family discord. The pressures of balancing two very different worldviews (and families who are initially either dubious or unsupportive) tends to make things difficult. The vast majority of non-white Asian interracial couples I know are divorced. 

So, when I imagine this interracial family you call callous and cowardly, who are willing to throw out their child, I immediately have a number of questions:

How/ Why is this couple even still together?

Does it seem reasonable for this couple that has likely already faced so many obstacles to suddenly disown their child?

Given how serious disowning a child is for Asian families, what was the reason?

Without knowing more details, I can’t say anything definite,  but as a mixed race Asian, your characters’ motivations sound off to me.

Assuming you are Asian, you may be better off simply telling the specific story of your mixed race upbringing, warts and all. It is your story as a mixed race Asian, and therefore the truth. 

If you are not, I agree with Colette that this might not be your story to tell, not because I think you shouldn’t, but because I’m not picking up on any compelling cultural beats at the moment. I also agree with Colette to avoid having one of the parents be Black if you do decide to use a cruel Asian interracial couple. At least in Japan, many Black Japanese kids often cite their Black parent as an invaluable source of love and support when addressing Japanese anti-blackness.

- Marika.

Commentary:

magnetofanboy

just chiming in with my own voice; my mom is SE asian and she is transphobic towards me, but not a tiger mom. I think there are definitely ways you can portray an asian mom without her falling into that trope (acting more like a victim, getting her way without being loud and forceful, etc).  On the topic of representation I’d personally like to see more SE asian characters. (but dont make them thai as there is an added dimension on the culture of transgender people in Thailand.) Best of luck, feel free to PM me if you want more input. :-)

my-fandom-side-blog

Not to sound like an asshole but as a mixed Asian something about the ask just rubs me the wrong way 😭 I really don’t want to sound nitpicky or anything but I do want to just give a few more thoughts. 

If the asker doesn’t have a specific culture in mind why is it so important for the character to be Asian? Asian cultures are quite varied and differ from each other. Like yes it would be wonderful to have more mixed Asian representation, but not at the cost of potentially typecasting Asian parents as abusive.

The ask didn’t strike me as an ownVoices situation. But maybe it is. If I’m correct, though, I don’t think carrying this plan out would be great.

Other racial dynamics to avoid are the stereotype of an abusive, cold/heartless, distant Asian father. And, of course, specific stereotypes about the other parent’s race.

If the asker goes this route, not only should there be other Asian parent characters who aren’t abusive, but there should also be other families that are interracial in the same way and not abusive. Otherwise it may seem like the dynamic between the two races is presented as inherently going to cause abuse.

There are common stereotypes about specific kinds of mixed Asian people and mixed Asian families that should also be avoided based on the race of the other parent, the religion of the family, the skin colors of the family members, etc. They will require separate research to learn about and avoid.

kimyoonmiauthor

Sticking my head in as an Asian (who also have emotionally abusive white parents… adopted). I think there is a way to navigate this without going “Tiger” Mom or abusive Dad. That is to make them loving *outside* of the identity itself, but make the community pressure such that the identity itself is an issue. I’m doing something similar with a story I have with a Korean adoptee, where the parents of the adoptee are super religious, and are good, kind parents, until she tries to assert her identity as a Korean and adoptee, in such a way it causes a rift in their relationship that can’t be repaired. (which happens a lot in real life and also causes breaks).

From what (little) I understand from listening to enbys around me, and me being a part of the A part of the LGBTQIA community (not claiming expertise), sometimes asserting the identity in a strong community setting is part of the problem. This way you can defer the problem to the community, as a whole, and the parents’ unwillingness to accept the identity as social pressure rather than solely because they are terrible people. Asian communities (and I know this first hand) can be very close knit (But not like how often white people portray it as never letting white people in… but more like close knit for supporting each other–studies have pointed, particularly in the US close knit communities of color help combat some of the effects of racism, for example, but it has its downsides too). If you can established the mixed relationship is fraught in some fashion because of the community’s pressures, this takes the responsibility to be a lot more nuanced. It doesn’t mean you have to put in a redemption arc, but it does mean that you can make the parents care more about their family image (which should be relatable to other people too) than they care about their family member. This gives room for nuances in characterization of the parents and cracks to appear in the relationship without making the main character’s parents stereotypes. So they could kick them out for being enby and/or hanging out with other LGBTQIA people, but the decision isn’t directly theirs. (Plus emotionally, it would pack more of a punch if you don’t have evil overlord type, but people that the MC cares about, has fond memories over, and actually remembers with something positive, but still gets kicked out. That’s a gut punch well served.)

Otherwise, you’d have to look at the traits of the Tiger Mom and try to spin them so it’s still abusive, but not specifically that way. There are more ways to be abusive than you can dream. Expunge the ones that are Tiger Mom and try some of the other ones on the abuse wheel. (Somehow that sounds wrong… Ummm.. I mean applied to the story.)

[downtonabbeyrevisited]

Season Two Episode Two

Following a typically chaotic opener, Episode Two of Season Two strikes a far more sombre tone. The arrival of Henry Lang as Robert’s valet brings the first of this episode’s three plot points that address the impact of WW1 on the mental health of its soldiers. There is nothing funny to say about either shell-shock or suicidal ideation both of which are vast, complex issues that, for my money, Downton Abbey isn’t the vehicle explore in (because they require more time and depth than the pace of the plot in Season Two affords) and it certainly isn’t my place to make light of them in this rather irreverent corner of the internet. So I’m going to have a go at treading a fine line here. Forgive me if I stumble. 

Lang is clearly in the grips of something awful and yet in an attempt to avoid the indignity of having maids in the dining room, he is bumped up to footman duty. He struggles throughout, culminating in him depositing his cargo on Edith’s dress. Mrs O’Brein has firmly taken Lang under her wing, recognising that he is struggling and offers him assurance and comfort that she has never gifted to Thomas. 

Across the Village, Lieutenant Edward Courtenay is in the hospital having been blinded by gas. The use of gas (both chlorine and mustard) had a devastating impact on soldiers in WW1 but was also the root of the development of Zyklon B. Frtiz Haber, a German Jewish chemist, enabled chlorine gas to be used a weapon in WW1 and his research was later developed into the Zyklon process which was used by the Nazis to murder millions, including his own family. This is only one of a dizzying number of appalling ironies to be found in the World Wars but as I said last episode, I’m not a military historian so I’m going to leave it there. Edward had plans to return to the country after his graduation from Oxford to pursue the simple life (although one gets the feeling that his idea of the pursuit of a simple life will still be one that is very well upholstered). Thomas has taken it upon himself to read Edward’s letters to him and  together with Sybil is helping him to adjust to living life with a different set of parameters. But growing pressure on the hospital’s limited capacity means that he is to be transferred elsewhere. All three voice their dissent at varying volumes to Major Clarkson who falls back on the very real backlog of wounded men. After Edward has died, Major Clarkson, Isobel and Sybil talk about a renewed need for the Abbey to become a convalescent home, an idea that has been bubbling under the surface for a while now. Meanwhile, Thomas has been left on his own to process both Edward’s death and the implications of witnessing a lack of support given by his own physician to those with depression.  

The usually reliably jovial Mrs Patmore also has a more somber episode with her pursuit for the truth about the death of her nephew Archie. Robert finds that he has been shot for cowardice. Not only does this mean that her family is in mourning but they will now have to navigate the stigma and undue shame that came with having a relative die in this way. So entrenched in British life was the derision levelled at those who were shot for cowardice or desertion that it was only in 2006 that pardons were offered by Britain for 309 of those that were executed by firing squad during WW1. I know I said I’d leave it there with the military history, but that felt like an important bit of context. 

We are now in 1917 and Matthew is still in the same trench that he was in 1916 (a detail I hadn’t actually noticed until I got the screen cap for this) so it looks like his strategy of downing tools mid-fight and continuously popping back to Blighty for important plot developments isn’t really paying dividends. Perhaps the addition of William to the ranks will help him? William certainly seems to think so and if the speed at which he moves through the various stages of his ‘relationship’ with Daisy is any indication of his tactical prowess, the British Front will not only be well within Germany’s borders but will be breathing down Russia’s neck in a fortnight. In any other episode, this would certainly get the award for oddest relationship dynamic but Sir Richard Carlisle exists. 

Sir Richard makes his debut at Downton, having been introduced in name only in the previous episode. He and Mary met at Cliveden which is a regular haunt of mine, giving me hope that one day I too will from a strategic alliance with a newspaper magnate. He may know how to talk his way around a boardroom but he is lacking in the sartorial department. Whilst Sir Richard manages to avoid catching fire in his tweed, Lavinia is not free from the heat as he threatens her with his connection to her uncle. He may not know much about navigating the niceties of Downton, but at least he has cottoned on to the fact that any major disagreement should occur under a specific tree. Whilst Mary’s signature move is weeping into her gloves, Sir Richard’s is grabbing women by the forearm. A female friend of mine told me that one of her favourite things about the pandemic and the compulsion to keep 2m away from anyone (and not just emotionally) is that she has not been ’steered’ by a male hand on her lower back since 2019. It turns out that she can enter and exit rooms just fine on her own and I get the impression that Lavinia could get the gist of Sir Richard’s rage without the vice like grip of a man probably about twice her age. 

Twinned with the ’tree of emotional conflict’, the ‘platform of romantic uncertainty’ provides the backdrop for Sir Richard’s proposal of marriage to Mary which is a declaration that really feels like it should come with a series of well-formatted charts. Mary’s heart, however, is still very much with Cousin Matthew. After being counselled by Carson in a type of conversation I cannot imagine her ever having with her father, she is on the verge of coming clean with Matthew. But in the second round of Lavinia vs. Mary, Lavinia declares that she ‘could not go on living’ without Matthew and Mary winds her neck in. 

Also having a romantic entanglement this episode is Edith. Drake, previously of dropsy fame, has lost his farm hands and Edith turns up to offer her help in a wildly unsuitable trouser and heeled boot combo. But she soon gets down to it by pulling up a tree stump and flirting in a barn whilst a rather lovely border collie looks on (I’m currently trying to talk myself out of getting a border collie and this incident has done nothing to help things). After showing Drake that she can drink from a bottle like literally every single other human on the planet, the two share a kiss and some highly awkward dialogue that only slightly resembles ‘Carry on Downton’. 

Whilst Edith is more than happy to crack on in a barn, Mr Molesley is much more backwards about coming forwards. Apparently having predicted the creation of ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’, he figures that a book is the perfect kindling for romance when you exist in a glossy depiction of the past. Sadly neither Elizabeth nor her German garden can lure Anna from Bates who is fast shaping up to be schrodinger’s boyfriend. Anna proceeds to make some odd analogy where she compares Mr Bates to her moon-based child, revealing a rather unhealthy amount of codependency in that particular relationship. 

Romantic declaration of the moment 

Again, it feels like anyone but Sybil and Branson should get this but I am an agent of chaos and here we are. Branson defends Sybil’s will to work and has ample opportunity to see her shine in her chosen field. The admission that she will not be returning to her old life is a little chink of light that Branson basks in. 

Expressive eyebrow of the week 

I nominate Carson’s entire face when he realises that he has taken on too much and goes an impressive shade of red. As Carson frets about spoons, sauce, and something I can’t quite fathom, he starts to resemble a man who is re-arranging the deckchairs on the Titanic. Carson’s battle to get a cork out of a bottle and knocking into chairs is a warm up to his rather dramatic collapse which is accompanied by a pretty disturbing groan. Sybil springs to action and he is soon efficiently ensconced in his own quarters. 

Wait, what? 

“I got a lot done on the train” Clearly Richard was on a train that was unencumbered with the wifi issues that plague the Pendolino.  

“It takes a good deal more than that to shock me.” Mary’s shock-o-meter is a pretty odd instrument. It is unresponsive to corpses of diplomats but goes into absolute meltdown at the notion that she might have to live in a cottage. 

“Let's hope my reputation will survive it.” I’ve not checked (and I categorically never will) but I would put money on the fact that someone has created a rarepair out of this. 

“How can Matthew have chosen that little blonde piece?” Is Lavinia blonde? Women’s hair is not really my forte but I would have thought she was more akin to Tim Minchin than 1998 Justin Timberlake. 

“I believe in this war. I believe in what we are fighting for.” William seems to have a better grip on what all of this is about than I ever did in high school history. The ‘A’ that eluded me is heading his way. 

“I thought he might've died for love of you.” How I love snipey Thomas. It’s good to have him back. To borrow a quote from Bottas (another man who is currently living a life in which his destiny is his own demise) ‘traditions’. 

“Fold it in, don’t slap it” The more season two goes on, the more I think that Moira is just an amalgamation of some choice elements of Julian’s kingdom. 

[internalsealpanic]

Lesson Learned

summary: Pinning exercises are a lot easier when you ask nicely.

a/n: The backstory to this piece was that I went to the church part of our discord server and told people about me being thirsty about Slade and they collectively went: DO HIM. The reader does have a backstory which boils down to rich girl from a crime family is a little shit because I thought this would have a funny dynamic with Slade.  Special thanks to @batarella and @knightfall05x for proof reading and giving me ideas. Would this count as my one entry for kinktober? 

warnings:  This is straight up smut. Please read responsibly. Brat taming, strength kink, daddy kink, orgasm denial, and hinted size kink. (Hilariously half of these were by complete accident.) There is some injury mentioned but not too graphically. Both characters are assholes.   

masterlist

Slade was on the ground, his head was swimming even as the sharp shriek of sirens rang loud in his ears. His senses were at once too sharp and too unfocused. Whatever drug he'd been hit with had to have targeted the nerves in his muscles too. He couldn't move. Not substantially anyway. Not in a way that would actually help him.  Through the haze he hears the clicking of heels against the floor, then a sharp pain shoots through him when said heel dug into one of his still closing bullet wounds. 

 You stood above him, your shark's smile hidden behind your mask.  "Well old man, I didn't think you would be caught this easy. I might need to rethink this meeting." You hummed tapping your chin as you lean down your heel digging further into his flesh. It's a tactic your sister had taught you. People were less inclined to think clearly when in excruciating pain.  If Deathstroke was this easy to capture, was he really worth your money? 

 He was watching you, blue eyes looking defiant. You whistled low. You liked a hard negotiation. It kept things more interesting. The rapid footsteps of men drew you out of your contemplation much to your annoyance. You debated on just paying them to go away. It would make your life easier but there's a chance these men were truly loyal to the man you had just paid a visit to.

 You weigh your options. His reputation may be enough to keep your siblings away. Maybe just long enough 'til their petty little war is over. "I'm going to hire you-"

 "-this assumes I'm going to say yes"

 You snorted. He noted the confident roll in your shoulders, the kind of cocky self-assured gesture of someone who knows they're going to win.  Every movement, every angling of your form deliberately used to show a difference in power and lack of respect. In short, it made you very punchable.

 "Your statement assumes you have a choice." You chuckled tilting your head to the side in challenge. He scowled at you and you try to keep the sheer delight you feel out of your body language. You weren't sadistic by any means but for one, brutality was practically bred into you, and two, you are, what your darling eldest brother had so kindly put, a  little bitch.  "I'll tell you why you'll say yes to my proposal." You said stepping off of him and pirouetting towards your duffle bag. "One, I'm offering your more than a million dollars in cash for the simple job of training me-" You observed his face as it remains carefully impassive. You expected as much. You heft your bag into your arms and unzip it rummaging through the cache of weapons you had stored just in case plan A through F failed you. "Unless we're associated, I'm the only one walking out of here with any money for their troubles." You said tossing the severed head of his target in front of him. You gave him an all too pleased grin. 

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

 You find yourself pinned down again in the span of 15 minutes, face squished against the training mat, your arms pinned behind you, and most annoyingly your ass raised while your bastard of an instructor laughs in your ear, his lips dangerously close to your ear. You hiss and bristle feeling the fibers in your muscles burn from the uncomfortable angle they've been forced into.  You squirm trying to buck him off but his strength rendered your efforts moot. His enhanced strength keeps your body firmly between the sweat-covered mat and his large, toned body which just made you bite your lip to keep anything vulgar from escaping you. 

 You were 110% sure he was fucking with you at this point but any smart remark you had was either smothered by the mat or died whenever you felt acutely aware of your skin against his.  

 "Get off of me, old man," You snarl, making a futile attempt to kick him off with one of your legs. He chuckles at your weak attempts, the reverberations from his chest pressing against your back sending a thrum of excitement rolling over you concentrating into more distracting areas. You can't see it but you know he's grinning smugly above you and you can't decide whether it's your horniness or your anger that will win out. You sincerely hope it's the latter. 

 "C'mon, kid, you can get out of this," He encourages but you don't miss the playful mockery dancing in his tone. You squirm and wriggle and sigh. "Just let me out," You demand, politely. He doesn't budge. You turn your head to pout petulantly at him. That doesn't do anything either. 

 You sigh again. You hated pinning exercises with a carefully cultivated passion which you would normally direct at whatever instructor was dumb enough to force it upon you. However, that wasn't really possible as of this moment. One of the reasons for this hatred was that you were never pinned down unless you wanted to be, even then they were usually too hesitant to follow through so you never really saw any practical use for the skill. That is until last week when you found yourself being pinned down by the Red Hood which was honestly a fantastic position if you weren't trying to get away from him. Apparently, the large man didn't take too kindly to being shot at even when your very professional self explained that you were in fact a decoy. After you were entirely unable to slip his hold, you begrudgingly agreed to let Slade teach you a few maneuvers. The other reason was that you liked being pinned down. Your body is far too enthusiastic about the feeling of being pinned down. You're pretty sure you've expended more energy into suppressing your thrilled shivers than you have trying to get out of any of the holds he's demonstrated so far.  The fact that he was an attractive asshole with no shirt did not help.    

 "Maybe if you ask nicely, princess" He drawls his teeth grazing your ear, beard bristling against the sensitive skin of your shoulder. You bite back a groan and stop the cant of your hips. "Or are you even capable of that?"

 "I am, sir" You grind out but it sounds too breathy to be threatening. You feel the curve of his lips against your shoulder.

 "Dunno, brat, I've never seen you do it," He taunts pressing closer to you. You're suddenly aware of just how close you two are. You hate how the way he called you brat sent thrills up your spine. You try to even your breath but you're entirely too feverish both body and mind. You had to think of something before you were lost in a haze.

 You nudge your arm one last time before an idea strikes. A familiar shark-like grin spreads like wildfire across your features. Pressing your ass against his crotch, you roll your hips, the movement slow and deliberate and painfully tempting. Sure, it was a dirty trick but 1) he never said anything about using your assets 2) you've been wanting to do that since the first hold. You feel his muscles tense and you can't help but radiate smugness.  Your smile vanishes, however, when he rolls his hips against yours giving you a feel of his hardened length through the thin fabric of your gym shorts. The slow, tantalizing friction against your core draws out a vulgar moan from you. 

 "Do you wanna run that by me again, brat?" He whispers low and husky emphasizing the last word with another grind of his hip. You pant, hips answering back with their own desperate movement. You want to let your hips keep moving, to make him move, to feel his cock against your core but pride flared in your chest. "Make me." You bite out. "I really should teach you some manners."You feel the low rumble of his answer in response seemingly amused by your continued resistance. He rocks his hips against yours drawing out another breathy moan from you. Out of spite you bite your bottom lip and rock your hips in tandem with his. What did you hope to accomplish from this? You don't know but it certainly felt good. Your skin feels hot and oversensitive as your bodies continue to move at this rhythm. The feel of his muscles rippling against you makes you arch your back. You wanted more but you had too much pride. As if spurred on by the movement, he presses a kiss on your shoulder and sucks at your flesh, a rough hand grips your waist tight enough to bruise. "Slade!" You choke out losing your composure.  The cry sounds more like a plea than you would like. You sound so small and needy beneath his ministrations. 

 Distilling your anger into your weakening limbs you try to buck him off again. You make a small noise of triumph when he budges but whine when his grip on you just gets tighter. "Not quite, princess,"  

 He flips you onto your back. A hand pins both your arms above your head as he situates himself between your legs. His lips capture yours in a rough kiss, the type where you feel two bodies fighting each other for dominance. His teeth bite lightly against your bottom lip asking for entrance. You open your lips less in concession and more of a challenge. The wet muscles of your tongues entangle. Your nose is filled with the musk of him. It was overwhelming. You moan into the kiss and you feel him smile into it. Another small victory. 

 Slade ends the kiss having undeniably won the match. You try to move your hand to punch the grin off his face but again your hands don't budge. You curse his enhanced strength halfheartedly as the feeling of the heat coiling in the pit of your stomach takes over. Instead of diving back in for another kiss as you expected, Slade trails kisses down your jawline, your throat, and your collar bone leaving very defined very visible hickeys. There was something oddly possessive in his actions.  The look in his eye was predatory. 

 You, foolishly, let your attention wander to your hands seeing what angle you could possibly force them into so you can slip his grip and maybe turn the tables. Your attention snaps back to him when the pressure around your chest loosens and the distinct sound of a zipper fills your ears. Your eyes widen as you watch as he unzips the front of your sports bra with his teeth. Your breath catches even as your chest fills with the lack of constriction. Your too hot skin is grazed by the training room's cold air. He places a kiss in the valley between your breasts but when you whimper and move slightly urging him to proceed. He moves on to your stomach. "Asshat" You seethe through gritted teeth. You let out a groan of frustration. You were going to kill him. You honestly don't care if you've just wasted half a billion dollars on this asshole. 

 His kisses drift down to your inner thigh drawing a moan from you. Slade chuckles seeing your desire seeping through the thin fabric of your shorts. He isn't entirely surprised considering how unsubtle you are about your interest. A rare moment of embarrassment blankets you. Your legs try to close but rough hands pry them apart placing them on his broad shoulders. You bite your lip when he plants a kiss on your inner thigh. Your lips are puffy and red at this point, looking delicious as you panted. Slade wonders how your lips would feel around his cock but he decides he'll save that for another time. He hooks his fingers on the waistband of your shorts and his eye widens momentarily when he doesn't feel a second layer of fabric underneath it. He looks at you incredulously.

 You shrug trying to keep the mischief off your face looking absolutely unapologetic. "It's laundry day-" You shrug a little amused that this is the detail that caught him off guard. "-I did tell you I had stuff to do~"He also supposedly had stuff to do but, apparently, you were stuff. He chuckled and without dignifying your comment with an actual response, he rips your shorts off with ease and tosses them somewhere behind him.  A complaint or a threat, you weren't entirely sure, died on your lips when his tongue gave your core a nice long lick. A loud, needy keen escapes you. Your hands now free from his grasp dig into his scalp.  Pleased with your reaction he continues. His skilled tongue exploring your core hitting spots you didn't even know were there. Your hips meet to match his pace as he fucks you with his tongue. You whine when he withdraws his tongue but mewl loud and wanton when you feel two rough fingers stretching your insides. His mouth latches onto your sensitive bud, fingers pumping in and out.  You throw your head back not being able to contain your moans.

 "Look at me, brat," The command is deep and resonant. Your whole body buzzes with excitement. Slade can see your eyes dilate as his voice drops an octave. 

 "Yes," Your breath hitches when he doesn't move. "Sir" You add as a concession hoping it was enough. You felt your pride waning from the small piece of power being given away. Thankfully, he rewards you with another long lick before you can dwell on it. Slade watches as your face twists in pleasure trying your best not to throw your head back. You see the smugness on his face even when half of his face is buried between your legs. You don't attempt a threat simply because you don't trust whatever comes out of your mouth to be coherent. You were so close. You rock your hips trying to chase your high. Your skin is flush and glistening with sweat. You were so close. He feels your walls tightening around his fingers. Another needy keen escapes you as you were about to tip over the edge. 

 The motherfucker pulls back. You snarl at him but it comes out sounding more like a needy croon than anything else. He chuckles at you even as he captures your lips for another kiss. His tongue is thick with the taste of you. Your hand tangles itself into his hair while the other tugs at the waistband of his sweatpants.  He pulls away giving your lips one last nip before his body is off of you. It's funny how just moments ago you wanted him off of you badly enough that you'd play any dirty trick you could think of but now your skin is burning for his touch.  He takes off his sweat pants and his engorged cock slaps against his abs. It takes every brain cell at your disposal not to drool at the sight of it. He was BIG. You wonder briefly if he would even fit.  

 He spits on his cock rubbing his head against your thoroughly soaked folds. You mewl. A playful look in his eye does not go unnoticed but you were far too preoccupied with other concerns. Thankfully, so did he. Slade eases into your pussy in slow shallow thrusts. You can physically feel your walls stretching inch by inch as he works his way into your tight pussy. He can feel every bit of resistance your pussy is putting up. It's his turn to hiss when he finally bottoms out. Your walls cling to his member trying to milk it for all its worth. You drag your nails down from his shoulder to his arms. You pout when his skin heals immediately. You wanted to mark him as he did you but apparently, his healing factor was not up to being kinky today.   

 He laughs at your little protest and gives you a quick kiss. He begins to thrust shallow and languid. Your lips are locked in, sensually nibbling at each other's lips. You arch your back pressing your chest against his musculature savoring every bit of stimulation you could get.   You cant your hips against his urging him to go faster. His large hand grips your hips and pins them down. The coil in your stomach grows tighter at the ease at which he stops you. You feel him grin against your hot skin. 

 "Didn't I say I would teach you some manners?" He pulls himself out leaving you feeling hollow and wanting. You're pretty sure if you weren't drunk on your arousal the look in your eyes would be nothing short of murder, however, this was not the case, Whatever venom you had in you vanished in a swirl of neediness that racked your body. Your cant your hips uselessly trying to find friction only to be met with cool air. 

 "Slade pleeeeaaase!"

 You gasp, as a sharp stinging sensation on your pussy knocks the breath out of you. Slade gives you an expectant look. 

 "Sir, plea-"

 Another slap. Your back arches.  You’re panting heavy, mind swirling and searching. 

 "Daddy please!" The words tumble from your lips thoughtlessly. You both freeze. Slade's face is unreadable making you want to shrink away and let the earth swallow you whole. Panic rises in your chest until you feel his hips slam against yours. The force is enough to knock the breath out of you. He manhandles your body to fuck you at a better angle. His grip on your thighs tight and bruising. You whimper when he dips his head down near yours pressing kisses to your jaw and the pulsating flesh of your neck leaving your mouth free to moan his name like a mantra.   A deep resonant growl rumbles in his chest sending thrills through your skin into your spine. Your hardened nipples drag against his chest as they bounce with his pace. His cock pumps in and out of you at an animalistic pace. You were absolutely going mad over his rough pace but it wasn't enough to push you over. You were both so close.

 "Daddy, please! I- I need-" Slade's cock twitches. His pace goes from animalistic to punishing in the space of a heartbeat. He growls into your ear as he reaches down to rub your clit with skilled, calloused fingers. Your walls tighten around him as you go over the edge.  Your orgasm hits you in a flurry of heat and electricity. He fucks you through it as he chases his own. He pulls out his cock. Ropes of cum covering your chest and your stomach. 

 He lays beside you pulling you close. You moan quietly still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, planting an open-mouthed kiss. You ease into his hold and close your eyes. 

 "See how easy your life is when you're a good girl, princess," He whispers mockingly into your ear. You raise a middle finger at him too fucked out to care whether it actually conveyed as much venom as you wanted it to. 

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Thanks for reading! Next week will be our regularly scheduled fluff unless I get possessed by the thirst muses. 

tag list:  Tag list:  @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes ,  @boosyboo9206 , @americasmarauders , @l-horizondepeu , @arestorationofbalance  , @cloudie-skay , @knightfall05x

[rapeculturerealities]

Before giving birth, check that your family has sufficient toilet paper. Prepare ready-made meals for your husband, who surely “is not good at cooking.” Tie up your hair, “so that you don’t look disheveled” even as you go without a bath. And after the baby arrives, keep a “small-size” dress in sight — you’ll need motivation not to take that extra bite.

These words of advice, offered to pregnant women by the authorities in Seoul, have created a backlash in South Korea, where the government can ill afford to fumble as it desperately tries to compel women to have more babies and reverse the world’s lowest birthrate.

The pregnancy guidelines were first published on a government website in 2019. But they caught the attention of the public only in recent days, causing an outcry on social media, where people said they reflected outmoded views that persist in segments of the deeply patriarchal society and petitioned for their removal.

Yong Hye-in, an activist and politician, said that under the guidelines, a woman’s child-rearing responsibilities were doubled by having to care for her husband too. A better tactic for those married to men incapable of doing things like throwing away rotting food, Ms. Yong wrote on Twitter, would be divorce.

Experts called the government’s advice a missed opportunity. “I think it is written by someone who never gave birth,” said Dr. Kim Jae-yean, chairman of the Korean Association of Obstetricians and Gynecologists. He added that the government should have provided practical advice on issues like breastfeeding.

A petition started online last week, which has been signed by more than 21,000 people, called for a public apology from officials, as well as disciplinary action against those who released the guidelines.

In an email to The New York Times, the public health division of the Seoul city government said it felt “responsible for not reviewing and monitoring the contents, approved at the time, thoroughly and closely.” It said it would review its online content, and improve gender sensitivity training for all municipal employees.

While the most offensive parts of the guidelines have been removed, some of the advice remains online, and screenshots of the original text continue to circulate on social media.

“Why are we looking for the cause of the low birthrate from far away? It’s right here,” wrote one person on Twitter. Another said women were infuriated by the rules: “Who made this guideline? There are lots of things to be corrected.”

Some lawmakers criticized the messaging as damaging for South Korea’s reputation.

“It is awkward that the anachronistic admonition on how pregnant women should serve their families is still being distributed,” Woo Sang-ho, a lawmaker of the governing Democratic Party, wrote on Facebook last week, before the guidelines were removed.

Others, however, said the online criticism went too far.

“I don’t think it’s that ridiculous to suggest women prepare food and the house,” said Kyung Jin Kim, 42, a former lawyer based in Seoul, who recently left her career to start a family. But she said the guidelines could have been more useful “if the tone were not so like a middle-aged Korean guy or an old Korean mother-in-law.”

Under the recommendations, women were advised to check their household essentials so that their family members would “not be uncomfortable.” They were also urged to clean out the fridge, prepare meals and find someone to care for their other children.

The advice made no mention of any responsibilities for husbands. But it did have some suggestions for how to remain attractive to them.

“Hang the clothes you wore before your marriage or small-size clothes you would like to wear after childbirth by putting one in a place you can easily see,” the original text from the site read. It added that “when you feel like you would like to eat more than you need to, or skip exercising, you get motivated by looking at the clothes.”

Though South Korea has become an economic and cultural powerhouse, many women still experience misogyny in very practical terms.

According to a 2017 report by the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, the gender pay gap in South Korea is the highest among its 37 member countries. Working women earn nearly 40 percent less than men, and many stop working when they have children, often pressured by their families and workplaces.

Other countries in the region, including Japan — which also has an aging population and a low birthrate — have broad gender disparities, especially in relation to pregnancy. In Japan, the term “matahara” (short for maternity harassment) caught on when a woman’s claims of workplace bullying after she gave birth were heard in the country’s Supreme Court in 2014.

These declining populations pose a threat to the countries’ economies, making it all the more important that governments tread carefully in incentivizing women to have children.

Last year, South Korea’s population declined for the first time on record, dropping by nearly 21,000. Births fell by more than 10.5 percent, and deaths rose by 3 percent. The Ministry of Interior and Safety acknowledged the alarming implications, saying that “amid the rapidly declining birthrate, the government needs to undertake fundamental changes to its relevant policies.”

Though the Seoul government may have fumbled in its advice, the backlash, some said, proved that attitudes were changing.

“This is just outdated advice,” said Adele Vitale, a birth doula and Italian expatriate who has lived in Busan, a port city on the country’s southeast coast, for a decade.

Ms. Vitale, who works primarily with foreign women married to Korean men, said that though Korean society had traditionally perceived pregnant women as “incapacitated,” she had increasingly seen their husbands adopting more egalitarian views toward childbirth and child rearing.

“Family dynamics have been evolving,” she said. “Women are no longer willing to be treated this way.”

[joaquinwhorres]

shots (Diego Hargreeves x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› Dating is hard. But it's even harder when you know you're dating the wrong people. The right guy just isn't interested.

REQUEST ››››› ANNA HI HELLO FRIEND. okay, you're taking requests? i'm gonna SCREAM but okay could you do number 45 and diego, please? also i'm gonna look at the thing you sent me last night right now (45. Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb.) 

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,016

WARNINGS ››››› takes place partially at a shooting range

A/N ››››› I wrote this as a continuation of alone together, but it can really be read as a standalone. I just loved the reader + Diego's dynamic, so here's more.

You've been into Diego Hargreeves since your police academy days, which is to say, a nearly obscene amount of time. It's hard to pinpoint exactly how long it's been, though, because as with most things, falling for him was a rather fluid process. One minute you were reveling in the fact that you were suddenly single for the first time in three and a half years. The next, you were hanging off every word in his tirade about saving teargas for bad guys rather than protestors. And yet, it also felt so sudden. As if he had come out of nowhere and clotheslined you the way he did one of the instructors in restraint training.

And while it's hard to say when you fell for him, why is entirely too easy. You liked him because he wasn't afraid. He was stupid and brash, but he was bold and honest when it mattered. But more than that, you liked how he cared so deeply and passionately about doing the right thing rather than doing things the right way. Even when it cost him. 

Also, his forearms.

You’re watching them now, muscles rippling under his tight long sleeved shirt as he raises the gun, his gaze intensely focused on the target. You hope he doesn’t see you staring in his periphery because it’s pretty obvious you’re not just checking his form. There's a breath and then he fires five rounds into the piece of paper, every shot precise and lethal. 

“That’s how it’s done, baby,” he grins, laying the gun down as he steps back to direct his excitement at you. As if he'd ever done anything less than absolutely perfect at the range. Still, you can’t help but smile back even as you roll your eyes. You love it when he calls you baby. Even though he only ever says it to tease you, it still feels like it's your nickname that he has for you. 

Yeah. You’ve got it bad. 

Which is unfortunate because he simply doesn't. He's never so much as shown a single bit of interest besides the first day he met you, and let his eyes linger on your body a little too long. But after that? Nothing. It soon became clear that he only had eyes for Eudora, and while it was tempting to be jealous it was all too understandable. She was gorgeous and smart and kind and obviously going to make a damn good cop. But even after that imploded, he never seemed interested. You'd come to the conclusion that you were simply too close, which was unfortunate but also fine.

It would be fine.

You just need to follow your friends’ advice and find someone new to focus on. And not just flings. You've tried the "get over by getting under" method and it just doesn't work. You need romance, a good personality, someone you want to see again outside of the bedroom. What you need is a boyfriend. Instead you've gotten:

Ghosted more times than you can count

Four no-shows for dates

One catfish

Five break up texts

Seven dick pics

Six angry men calling you a whore

Three dates that were meant for other people

The most recent of the “oops I texted the wrong girl” dates had been a week ago, and you suspect it's also the reason Diego dragged you out to the shooting range today. Diego doesn't talk about feelings--you learned that real quick--but he is more empathetic than he looks. He just doesn't know how to translate that into words. Thus, shooting range. It's sweet. 

Except for the fact that he's an insufferable show off. That makes it a bit less sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, cheater,” you huff, moving forward to take his spot at the firing line. Obviously you can't tell if he cheated, but his arms had looked a bit too low for one of those shots to be as perfect as it was. You pick up the gun, waiting for his instructions, eyeing the target. 

"Head right 7, body right 9, body bullseye, head bottom 9, body bottom 8," he decides. Of course he gave you more body than head shots. 

It's tempting to insist that he keeps up the pretense that this is an even and fair competition and give you another head shot. But your time is running out, and who are you kidding--you'd like the win. So, you nod to confirm his choices before lifting the gun up and taking a breath in to clear your head of all else, the constant rejection, the unrequited crush, the stress at work, so you can focus. And then, you breathe out.

Your shots aren’t as pretty as Diego’s, but they all hit their marks. 

“Not bad,” he says as you place down the gun and then spin around to grin at him. 

“Not bad?” you echo back, gesturing to the target. “That’s the best all day.”

“That's the best you got all day,” he corrects, smugly. “Not the best.”

The smile vanishes from your face, replaced with narrowed eyes. "You're a dick."

He laughs then as you double check the chamber to make sure the gun's unloaded and ready to be packed up. "A huge dick," you clarify, placing the firearm in its case and turning to follow him out.

"Better than a small one," he shoots back, removing his headphones once the two of you enter the lobby.

If it weren't for range safety and all that, you'd kick him in the back of the knees. Instead, you settle on glaring at the back of his head as he checks the two of you out, stuffing your safety glasses and headphones into your bag.

"I really hate you, you know that right?" you ask as the two of you push through the door and out into the parking lot. 

"Not sure I'd say that if I was the person who needs a ride home," Diego smirks at you over his shoulder as the two of you reach his car. 

"Like there's even going to be room for me in the car anymore now that your head's so big," you say, reaching over to flick him on the side of the head. Before he has a chance to respond you speed walk to the passenger's seat and get in before he can lock you out.

"You're lucky I like you," Diego says, pointing a finger at you before he climbs in, sticks the keys in the ignition and shifts into reverse. You take your cell phone out of your pocket as he pulls out of the parking spot, hand resting on the back of your chair so he can look over his shoulder. You feel your cheeks grow hot and are thankful that his eyes are on the road and yours are on your phone screen. 

There are approximately 16 unread messages.

None of them are good.

In fact, you're feeling pretty crushed as you scroll through them. It doesn't help when Diego withdraws his arm to shift the car into drive. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, and you try to pull yourself together but end up just wilting into your seat. It's not your friends' fault. Yesenia's babysitter fell through. Galilea was caught up with more work than she anticipated. Lilly probably really did need the extra time to study for her actuarial exam. These were all reasonable excuses. But it still sucked.

"What's up?" Diego asks as you slow to a stop at the red light. 

"Nothing," you say absent mindedly, texting out a message to the group. Life happens 🙃How about next Saturday?? 

Diego's eyes dart to you before going back to the road as the light turns green. "Y/N," he prompts.

You turn off your screen and cast a look at him. "It's really nothing; my friends just cancelled on me tonight." He remains quiet and you try to push out the growing frustration that you've been planning this for a solid week and it's only now, hours before, that all of these conflicts pop up. "We were supposed to go out," you sigh. "You know, do drinks and dancing."

He's silent again, only the sound of the turn signal clicking echoing throughout the car.  "Alright, so what time tonight?" Diego finally asks, pulling you from your thoughts. 

It takes longer than it should to piece together what he's offering, but the thought of Diego taking you dancing is just too much on so many levels. The most immediate level being how absolutely hilarious it would be to see Diego dance. The thought alone elicits a surprised laugh.

"What's so funny?" Diego asks, his brow furrowing. It's clear he wants to glare at you but the car ahead moves, and he takes his chance to make the left turn. 

"You want to go dancing?" You ask, through giggles.

"And?" He sounds offended, but you're still trying to picture Diego on the dance floor and every resulting image is sending you into further hysterics. He catches on, eventually. "You don't think I can dance!"

"Mm-mm," you hum, shaking your head, and there's literally tears coming down from your eyes as you picture Diego doing the Hitch dance at the club. God, he always knew how to pull you out of your spirals. 

His face screws up into a frown, and you can vaguely tell he's annoyed. Unfortunately, you don't care. "I'm a great dancer!" he protests, turning onto your street. 

"Ok, ok," you say, finally calming down enough to stop laughing and wipe away the tears from your eyes. "Meet here at 9 and we'll decide on a place?" you ask as he pulls into a spot near your building.

He nods, still clearly annoyed, but he's a good friend, better than most, and doesn't rescind his offer. In return you give him a beaming smile as you climb out the door. Almost immediately you turn around and tap on the window. He raises an eyebrow and rolls it down. 

"Yes?"

"You know you're not allowed to wear that, right?" You check, pointing at his black on black tactical uniform. He looks as if he's a real life Batman. Right now he's giving you the Batman glower. "I'm serious, Diego. Go shopping if you have to." 

"Bye, Y/N," he says, pulling away from you without even bothering to roll the window up. You smile to yourself and walk to your building's front door. You cannot wait for tonight.

  Diego knocks on your door a few minutes after nine. It's tempting to give him a hard time about being late, to tell him that you thought yet another friend had abandoned you in your hour of need, but seeing as he had to rearrange whatever plans he had in order to take you out dancing, you decide to let him off the hook. 

You're kind of glad that you didn't come up with a witty line for when you opened the door because holy shit, he’s handsome.

In a way, he's stuck to the usual uniform. It's black on black, and he clearly has put no effort into his hair or shaving the stubble lining his jaw, but he's missing the usual tactical harness, armguards, and gloves. Instead, his arms are on full display, and while you're able to admire his muscles under his usual tight black shirt, it's nothing compared to what that short sleeved button up is doing for him. He looks broader, fuller, and more human than you've ever seen him.

"Look at you, all cleaned up," you say, allowing your eyes to run over his body under the pretense that you're teasing him. "Do a twirl for me," you demand, spinning your finger. He rolls his eyes, but slowly spins in a circle so you can admire each angle. "It'll do," you say, allowing him into the apartment.

"Glad I meet the standard," he says, coming in further. You're still staring at him and are able to see the exact moment his eyes land on the two shot glasses and bottle of tequila that you've placed out on your kitchen island. His eyes light up and naturally, he makes a bee line for the booze. Even more naturally, you follow him.

"We're gonna have a good time, then?" he asks, eyeing the tequila.

"Oh yeah," you confirm, grabbing the shaker of salt from the table on your way into the kitchen. Diego pours out a shot for each of you, sloshing a bit on the counter as you salt your hand. When you pass the salt over to him, your fingers brush causing a warm and tingling sensation to stir in your stomach. You probably shouldn't have already taken a couple of sips from the bottle. Maybe if you hadn't, you wouldn't be watching him so intently as he licks his hand. You're able to tear your eyes away to grab a lime and place one in front of him as he finishes.

"To a good time," Diego says, raising his glass to yours. You clink your shot glass against his before swiping the salt off your hand with your tongue, following it with the silver tequila burning its way down your throat. Placing the glass down, you grab the wedge of lime and bite into it, allowing the lime juice to ease the sweeten the sting.

"Mm," you hum, taking the lime out of your mouth and placing it on the opposite edge of the cutting board from the rest of the lime slices. Diego places his wedge over yours and looks at you. 

"Another?” he asks, and well, you can’t let the rest of the lime go to waste. Besides, even well drinks are expensive these days. 

After your second shot, Diego moves to clean up the island as you watch. “Taxi should be here at 9:30.”

“You decide on a place yet?” he asks, and you hum a yes, eyes on him as he places the bottle of tequila up with the rest of your alcohol. It's easy to blame the tequila, but you're not sure if that's 100% why you feel the surge of almost overwhelming tenderness for him. 

"Hey, Diego?" your voice comes out a bit smaller than you'd like, and he notices too because he turns to face you immediately, eyebrows raised. "Thanks for coming out tonight."

He relaxes, shoulders dropping slightly, and his smile which always looks like it's caught between being a smirk and a genuine grin comes out. "We're supposed to be alone together, right?"

"Right," you agree, and you're certain he'll see your affection glowing off you like some kind of aura. Except he turns quickly back to dump the cutting board and knife into the sink.

"How's all that going by the way?" he asks, still bent over the sink. He has to mean dating. Or maybe your feelings. You're proficient in Diego-speak but you're not sure if you'll ever be fully fluent. He's hard to read his words; it's much easier to read his face.

"I think I meant what I told you," you say with a sigh. "I think I'm done with all that."

He turns around to face you then, and you can see the concern and sadness on his face. Sympathy is a rare emotion for Diego, and you don't like how it makes you feel. "Look, if you want to find someone, you can't give up."

"It's just hard to put myself out there when I know none of them are right," you say, frustration and an aching loneliness fizzing under your skin. "You know? None of them are you." The words come out too fast to stop, and it takes less than a breath to reach you could grab them out of the air. Your face is growing hot, but you push it back down and quickly try to remedy the situation, “I mean none of them are like you.” 

He seems a bit frozen as well, assessing, and you wish to God that you had another shot of tequila right now to take your attention off of the way his brow creases slightly and mouth turns down. “You don’t want me,” he says finally with a shake of his head. 

You do. 

You really do.

“What’s wrong with you?” you ask, not liking his tone or the way he's still frowning slightly and can't meet your eyes.

He shakes his head again but steps forward to stand across the island from you. “I’m not going to psychoanalyze myself, but I gotta lotta shit. I don’t know if you could put up with two of us. And I'm not letting you throw me away for some guy who came after.”

You sit there quietly, taking in his words and trying to hear what he was saying. What he was really saying underneath and you don't like any of the deductions you're able to come up with. “Y/N?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, and you know you've been quiet too long right after he's been as vulnerable as he can be. 

“You know I don’t consider it putting up with you, Diego, right?” You ask, quietly. It’s important he knows. He has to know at least that. 

He gives an attempt at a smirk, but it doesn't make it to his eyes. “What else would you call dealing with my bullshit?”

You reach out to him, wiggling your fingers in an insistence that he take your hand. It takes a second, and some aggressive eye contact for him to take your hand, but when he does, you fold your hand over his, smoothing over the knuckles with your thumb. There’s scars there. Probably from his childhood. Or last week. “I’d call it returning the favor.” 

He snorts but doesn't take his hand away. Instead he squeezes your hand, and you know he'll never tell you that he loves you, but this feels pretty close. You squeeze his hand back.

[yellowocaballero]

hi i know it's been the hottest of seconds but director's cut for the prophetic spring if you're still doing these? 👀

Sure! I’ve spoken a lot about the prophetic spring, but I’m fairly certain I could give some meta information about my intense life-long obsession with Tim Drake. Dude has been showing up in my fics since I was 14.

But actually, the ficlet I wrote ages ago might be more interesting? So here it is. Exploring a dynamic that was WAY underserved for how important it is: the Steph, Cass, Tim dynamic!

No CW that haven’t appeared in the prophetic spring, but specific mention for drug addiction and drug depiction, as well as references to molestation, abortion, torture, and suicide. Story under the cut. 

Tim stared down into the toilet bowl. It was a little yellowed. He needed to clean it. 

He stared at the small baggie of pills in his hand. 

He visualized dropping it into the bowl, flushing it. Possibly mutating an alligator, or giving the race of mole people that lived in the Gotham sewers a nice surprise. 

Tim sighed, and pocketed the drugs. Maybe tomorrow. 

**

A month after the incident with a runaway foster kid and a, in retrospect, kind of embarrassing fake fight with his older brother, Tim got a text from an unknown number. To make matters worse, it was at an insane hour of the day - noon. 

Texts from strangers were hardly uncommon. Tim had an extensive contact network, growing larger by the day, but he had set up a Google Voice on his computer so they were all routed through a program there. Being bothered at all hours of the day on his phone was hardly his idea of a good time. The only people who really had his real number were his bullshit ‘friends’ and his asshole ‘family’. He hadn’t even given his number to his ‘friends’ - he had given it to Kon under strict confidentiality, and then Kon had given it to all of Young Justice. Asshole. 

405-555-1998: dropping by in three hours so make sure ur presentable :)

As Tim had just woken up, most of his brain was occupied by a single whuh? 

Just as his mind swirled in sleepy confusion, his phone buzzed again.

405-555-1998: B1706XQE45

The code checked out. It was an ally, not an unknown or an enemy. 

Tim groaned, covering his eyes with an elbow. He needed coffee.

****

The coffee was a new thing - rather, it was something he had drunk plenty of growing up, because there had been nobody around to inform him that coffee was bad for developing brains. Growing up completely unsupervised was probably why Tim was a drug addict now. He could totally blame this on his parents never loving him. 

Not a drug addict, Tim thought to himself anxiously as the coffee sputtered into the extra large gallon pot. Just someone who...uses drugs...in an unhealthy way. Substance abu - substance user, who just used it maybe as a bad coping mechanism. Not that Tim had good coping mechanisms, but it was better than sawing off heads or becoming a drug lord. When you thought about it, it was either being a serial killer or doing drugs, so logically it means that he should do more drugs to decrease the amount of fun little murders he does -

Tim made toast.

The coffee was a new thing, because he was trying to use it to replace the drugs. He had cut back. The stupid little sorority that called themselves the Birds of Prey had been talking to him about it. He had agreed to try. It was best to set expectations low, so he couldn’t disappoint. Actually, Tim loved disappointing, maybe he should set them higher. Maybe he could make inspirational speeches about how he was a good guy now? Ha ha. 

The three hours had been a deft move. The texter knew noon was his average wake-up time at best, and the three hours gave him enough time to sober up if he had been high or drunk at the time. Tim didn’t like to start popping the minute he woke up, but - well, sometimes he did. Or sometimes he was awake at noon because he had been on an all-nighter drug binge. They hadn’t given their name, either, which meant that it was somebody who he wouldn’t want to see. 

He could bounce, escape to some corner of Gotham until they gave up. Except he had the sense that whoever had gone through the effort to get his number wasn’t the type to give up. Almost nobody Tim knew was the type to give up. His ‘friends’ and his ‘family’ never gave up. On anybody but him. 

A voice in his head, not quite yet suffocated, sounding altogether too much like the Replacement, echoed in endless attempts to get him to come back. Oh, whatever. Kid was a try-hard. He needed better taste in made up families. 

Over the next three hours, he debated his tactics. If he wasn’t escaping and the texter was playing the buddy card, then the situation probably wasn’t dangerous. He strapped in his armor under the baggy pyjamas that he never took off anyway, and spitefully made no effort to control his hair. He did put on make-up, an old hand from keeping CPS off Bruce’s trail - man, he should have pretended Bruce was molesting him, that would have been funny as fuck - to hide the bags under his eyes. No use looking pathetic. 

He hid a few more weapons around his apartment. He anxiously checked his phone, staring not at the new texts but at Harley’s offer sent a week ago. He still hadn’t replied. He didn’t know what to do with it. 

As if he could ever feel safe sleeping under the same roof as her?

As if he ever felt safe anywhere?

Maybe he had nothing to lose. That was the greatest part about this, the most wonderful aspect of what he had done to everybody in his life. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. That’s freedom, or so Janis had always told him. She knew what she was about. Overdosing on heroin at 27 - that was understanding what it meant, to have nothing. To be free.  He was almost jealous. 

At two on the dot, a polite knock echoed through the apartment. Tim looked up from where he was relaxing on the couch, with all of the possible entry points in his line of sight. That wasn’t a knock he had memorized, and he had memorized everyone’s knocks. 

Nothing for it. He’d have to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Maybe he can pull the insane sociopath schtick again; that had always been effective in ditching his parents. Tim sighed, walked over to the door, swiped his thumb against the keypad, undid the three deadbolts, and opened door only to see - 

Stephanie Brown, hands propped on her hips and smiling widely. Cassandra Wayne, standing right behind her, serene as ever. 

Tim closed the door - or he tried. Steph had expected the move, and the minute he had opened the door her foot had jutted out and blocked him from closing the door. Effortlessly, she wrenched it back open and stepped into his apartment, forcing him to press against the wall and scowl as insane women infiltrated his space. 

“Wow,” Steph said loudly, “this place looks like a wreck!”

Tim groaned. 

***

The thing with Steph and Cass was this:

How to describe it?

The sister he had never expected, the best friend he had never thought he would have. Cass was his twin, Robin’s shadow, the other side of his mountain. Bruce had adopted Cass barely five months after he became Robin, and Tim had unabashedly resented her for stealing Bruce’s attention so quickly. He had always liked her more, but Bruce had liked everyone more than Tim, so maybe it was no surprise. She was sweet, kind, gentle, and no trouble. Tim wasn’t any trouble either, but he couldn’t be the rest of it if it bit him in his ass. 

Robin was the brain. Cass was the muscle. They were a team so closely linked, conjoined at the hip, that Tim couldn’t remember a patrol ever done without her. Bruce had let them start patrolling alone at fourteen (“You didn’t let me work alone until I was fifteen, and I was an assassin,” Damian had spat), and they had been an unbeatable team. Robin’s hand-to-hand was weak, but nobody ever got through Batgirl. Batgirl struggled with technical knowledge, reading and writing and investigating and chasing down leads, the only area where Tim had ever excelled. Together, they had almost been as good as Batman. Sometimes, Tim had let himself think that they might be better.

They had been so similar. Everyone had always said so. They’re both so quiet, the Justice League had said. Emotionless little freaks, the Rogues had said. Neither of them blink, their schoolmates had said. But there had been nothing to say, not between them: they could have a conversation without words, without even Sign. Cass had known every twitch of Tim’s body, had understood him down to his core. Nobody else ever had. Everybody had always called Tim inscrutable and impossible to understand - but to Cass, Tim had been an open book. She knew every inch of him. And she had loved him anyway. 

And Steph! When Steph had found them when they were fourteen veering on fifteen, and from then on it was as if she had always been there. She was so big, so smiling, so much, and she had never apologized for any of it. Nothing scared her. To Tim, that was the perfect vigilante - somebody who was scared of nothing, who never hesitated, who was good. 

Not even Bruce could intimidate her. When Tim was fourteen, he had thought that was the most amazing thing in the world. Bruce intimidated everyone, but Steph had just stuck out her tongue and kept badly backflipping off roofs anyway. Through twin convincing, Tim and Cass had convinced Bruce to give her a chance, and Spoiler had slot into their dynamic perfectly. She was their best friend, always. 

She wasn’t good at hand-to-hand at first, but Tim had improved by then, and they could cover her. She improved faster than he had, and judging from the reconnaissance footage Tim had frantically consumed after he came back to life, she was amazing now. She was wickedly smart, practical and down to Earth. If Tim was better at hacking into a computer, Steph was the one who found the post-it note with the password stuck under the desk. 

But more than any of that, she had brought the social skills. She had brought the calming presence, the sweet hand to victims and civilians, and her good humor was infectious. Steph was good with people. She was a born leader. Resilient. Brave. Everybody liked her. Everybody loved her. Tim had. She had loved him too. She could have done so much better than Tim and Cass, weird little societal rejects, but she had chosen them as her family. 

It had been the three of them. For as long as Tim’s life had meaning, for as long as he had been loved, they had loved him. Tim had grown up alone, in a world of one, and they had infiltrated it. They had expanded it, and they dragged his life into more than just Tim. Into Tim-and-Cass-and-Steph. Into Robin-Batgirl-Spoiler. Into meaning, and love. 

Tim hated them. And he wanted them to suffer. 

“That’s the Stephanie Brown I remember,” Tim sneered, closing the door behind him. Steph had quickly thrown herself onto Tim’s couch, clearly somewhat surprised at how comfortable it was, and Cass had  perched daintily on the arm. Cass had always refused to sit like a normal person - she would rather sit on the backs of sofas, or on the arm, or perched on chairs like a bird - “If I had known you were coming I would have jumped cities.”

“We would have chased you down and you know that,” Steph said cheerfully, like she said fucking everything. “Besides, if you had known we were coming you would have gone into witness protection. You’ve been avoiding the fuck outta us.”

“Wonder why,” Tim said, injecting as much mean-spirited sarcasm into his voice as possible. “I need more coffee, don’t go through my shit.”

The apartment was small, and the kitchen had a cut-away wall where he could see through into the living room. Stephanie hated nothing more than being ignored or looked down upon, and if he dismissed her and didn’t react then she’d grow infuriated with him and leave. He couldn’t fight with her, because if it came down to a battle of rhetoric or emotions she’d win single-handedly. She was so good with words. Cass...had no weaknesses. 

Which was inconvenient, because it was Cass he absolutely had to get rid of as soon as possible. She was very emotional, and more than a little sensitive. Especially to rejection. If he was cruel enough to her, she’d start crying and leave. There was only one problem with that. 

As he jammed more grounds into the machine he watched the girls out of the corner of his eye. They weren’t talking or whispering to each other, both fully aware of how well Tim could read lips. They weren’t even having one of those body language conversations they could only have with each other, aware that Tim could crack that too. Instead Stephanie was casually sprawled on his couch, looking for all the world like a middle aged dad watching the football game, looking around the room. Cass, as usual, was zoning out. Or, of course, looked like she was zoning out - Tim could tell that she was waiting for something to happen, and was preparing herself for it. 

Shit. Tim fought the urge to gnaw on his fingernail. Cass was going to be a problem. 

He risked another glance backwards. She could see him, so she knew. Fuck. He had never been on the other side of her mind reading. It was fucking inconvenient. Psychics should be shot on sight. 

The coffee sloshed into the biggest cup he could find in his kitchen, and Tim began draining it immediately as he leaned over the cutaway. He kept the cup held up to his face, obscuring it. Face covered, everything under the elbows covered - best he could do without preparation. 

“This little field trip sanctified by Sgt. Brother?” Tim asked, sipping the scalding hot coffee. Not hot enough. He needed - he needed - they’d see -

“We’re nineteen, we don’t need his permission for everything we do,” Steph said, amused. So she was going to speak for Cass - hardly unusual, as whenever they were all together Steph tended to be the only one who spoke - but seeing as Tim was Tim then it was definitely a strategy. 

“He lets his precious baby sisters knock on the door of drug lords for fun?” Tim sneered. 

“If they’re incompetent and retired, sure!”

Tim gritted his teeth. Don’t rise to her bait. Don’t. She was the best person in the family at getting a rise out of their enemies. He didn’t stand a chance. 

“What do you want?”

“We thought we’d take you roller skating at the rink,” Steph chirped. 

Tim stared at her. 

“Or the pool,” Steph said, faux-thoughtfully. “Or just the mall?”

Fuck this. Tim headed for the door, ready to walk out of the building barefoot in his pyjamas. He tugged at the doorknob, only to find that it wouldn’t open. 

Tim breathed in through his nose, then out through his mouth. There were other exits. He was not trapped. Had his apartment always been so small? He could have sworn that it was bigger. 

He turned around slowly. Stephanie was grinning at him, twirling what looked like a small plastic cylinder. Tim recognized it instantly - fancy League tech. Overrides all electronic locks and controls them. They all used it to trap perps and heighten their fear tactics. Tim jammed his thumb on the keypad. Nothing happened. 

Cass glanced at Steph, and made a small motion. Tim couldn’t interpret it. Why couldn’t he interpret it? Did they have a new code? It was Cass. When nobody else had understood her, Tim always had. Now they had their own language, one that Tim couldn’t interpret anymore. Tim was lost in translation, always drifting. 

“We aren’t bringing you in,” Steph said, just as light as ever. No trace of pity or caution or gentleness in her voice: just relentless cheer. “Literally all we want to do is talk. Play a board game, maybe?”

 Tim’s eyes flickered to the hidden panel in the wall next to him where he had stashed a gun and a sword. 

“Bro,” Steph said, “you really don’t want to escalate this.”

“Do you think you can take me?” Tim asked curiously, letting his hand drift to his arm. He shook his long pyjama sleeve down to cover his wrist. “That’s pretty cute. Last time I checked, you’re the shittiest at hand-to-hand in your team.”

But Steph just rolled her eyes. Shit, wasn’t he supposed to be ignoring her? He couldn’t, not so long as she kept pushing and pushing. Not so long as she was in his house. “Leave off. Just because Jay and I are the last people in the fam who weren’t trained in Mystical Ninja Arts doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. Hands in the air, by the way.”

Stephanie was overly sentimental. New tactic. He raised his hands slightly in the air, caught reaching for the weapon hidden in his armor. “Incompetent enough to let me die.”

There. Finally. Thank god, Tim thought he was losing his touch. The muscles clenched in Stephanie’s jaw, and just a twitch of her eye - banishing a bad memory. “Everybody’s been saying you’ve turned rude. I guess you’ve just been avoiding us because you don’t want to hurt our feelings, right?”

“I didn’t remember a lot when I was first resurrected,” Tim said casually, despite the fact that he had never told anybody about the first awful six months. Something about Steph and Cass just pried it out of him, like invasive surgery. Or an autopsy. “I remember everything about those six months, though. Homeless. Practically retarded. Brain damage does that to you, you know. I lived on the streets, did you know that? It was a miracle I lived through it.” He gasped, as if he was remembering something. “I slept on 34th street! You lived near there, didn’t you? Maybe you even walked by me.”

Steph went white. Cass’ expression froze. He was pushing hard, but these two wouldn’t react to anything less. Steph could trade barbs better than he could, even now. 

“It’s a good thing Talia found me,” Tim continued. “She was the only one who cared.”

That did it. Steph tensed, leaning forward, and even Cass stiffened. “Is that what she told you? How can you believe her?”

Tim just shrugged, walking back to the kitchen and hiding his body language again. He took an extra loud slurp of the coffee, just to be annoying. “Talia never lied to me. She said that nobody cared enough to save me. And guess what!”

Steph’s jaw clenched again. She was a hot head. A fierce temper, an impulsive girl who jumped in feet first and sanity second. Woman, now. When had that happened? “Cut that shit out. We all know what you’re doing. You’ve been doing it to everyone. Did you think Connor didn’t warn us?”

Snitch. Tim slurped his coffee again. “Connor’s been telling everyone to give me space.”

“Yeah, everyone but us.” She stood up now, ignoring the flicker of a frown on Cass’ face, and folded her arms. A challenge against the world. Against Tim. It didn’t matter. “You don’t believe half the shit you’re spewing. You’ve never believed your own bullshit, Tim. You’re just saying it to drive everybody away. It’s not going to work on us.”

“Why?” Tim asked innocently. “You’re too thick?”

“Because we love you!” Steph cried. Tim rolled his eyes. As if he hadn’t heard that one before. “Saving Richie proved it, you aren’t as insane as you keep pretending you are. You know what you’re doing is wrong, you just don’t care.”

“Wow, you caught me.” Tim took another long swig of his coffee. It was making his hands jittery. Good. “Local genius aware of his actions. Call the press. Call Uncle Clark, he needs a scoop.” He arched an eyebrow at Steph. She hated that expression of his - she had always found it so aristocratic and pretentious. Joke’s on her, he was pretentious. “Do you mind if I go do a line? I’m not high enough for this conversation.”

If she had told him who she was, he would have done a line anyway just to spite her, and she knew it. “You don’t want to try,” Steph said stubbornly, “but you’re trying. You don’t want to care, but you care. You don’t want to feel it, but it hurts so much you can’t bear it. You can’t get anything past us, Tim. It’s always just been us. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Doesn’t that mean -

“What that means,” Tim said, and he found the words scraping his throat. He found himself talking a little louder than he meant to. The coffee, you know. Made you jittery. “is that you should have saved me. If you loved me so fucking much, you would have been anything other than useless. You’ve always been the most useless girl in the world, Steph. You couldn’t save your crook of a dad or your junkie of a mom. You couldn’t save your baby and you couldn’t save me. You’re ghetto trash putting on airs, and everyone can smell it on you.”

As soon as he said it, he tensed. He shifted his stance, ready to throw the coffee and spill the scalding liquid on her. Obscure her vision. It would take a second for her to vault the cover, so he could duck down. From there he could get the gun, shoot the window, jump out the window. She couldn’t win. Tim had the most powerful weapon in the world in his disposal and that was his infinite, burning hate. His hate for Steph and Cass burned him to the ground, and his world with it, and he was going to burn them to cinders because he couldn’t do anything else. 

But Steph didn’t move. Cass got off the sofa. She walked up to Steph, and gently pressed a hand on her shoulder. She squeezed. Steph exhaled, long and shaking, and nodded at Cass. She walked into Tim’s bedroom - hey! - and shut the door. 

Then Cass stared at Tim, and there was no more need for words. Not between them. 

Tim vaulted the cut away wall, aiming for her feet first. Cass didn’t dodge - that would imply that she moved like an object moved. She moved like water moved - swift and supple, with such infinite grace and precision that it was like she wasn’t human at all. 

But he had gotten better. He didn’t spend two and half years trained by the League of Assassins in crochet. Tim lashed out with a foot, she dodged again. He threw a punch, she moved. He feinted, clearly leaving her an opening, and she didn’t take it. 

Bitch. 

Cass shoved away his coffee table, sending it skidding across the floor and opening the floor space. The rug became their arena, tight and intimate, no room for maneuverability. Tim acted and she reacted, Tim lashed out a sweep kick and she jumped over it, Tim tried to grapple and she broke his hold. She never threw him to the ground, never pinned him. She just moved. 

She was good, but not good enough to toy with him and win completely. The way to win against Cass was to leverage your height - Tim was taller than he once was, although that wasn’t saying much - weight, and strength against her. A couple good hits and she was down. 

The issue, of course, was hitting her. 

He got a hit in. It was much easier when she wasn’t even fighting back. She rolled with it effortlessly, taking the impact to gain a little space between them. She breathed deeply, sweat rolling down her neck. Tim used to take a cold compress and press it to that neck. She used to smile at him. Thank you. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

“Too bad,” Tim said. 

Fights weren’t like in television, long and choreographed extended scenes to entertain and thrill. When Ro - Tim was in a fight, a real fight, it was typically finished in less than a minute. The only way that a match can get long is if the other person was deliberately tiring you out - a risky strategy - or if you were of completely equal strengths with similar fighting styles. Or if it was a spar. 

As Tim tried to hit her again and again, he realized that it was a spar. 

No, not even that. It was a conversation. 

Tim grabbed her wrist, and said: I want you to hurt. Cass broke the hold, telling him that he can’t. Tim leveraged the motion and kneed her in the back, telling her that the only goal of this fight was pain. Cass let the impact take her down to the mat, an incredibly disadvantageous position, but rolled out of the way just as Tim tried to exploit the opportunity. I’m not scared of you. Tim hit again, and again, and again, failing every time. I want you gone, Tim said, and this is the only way I know how to do it. 

This is what Tim said: as much as I once loved you, I now hate you. The infinite depths of my love, my twin sister, how we moved in perfect sync. I hate it all. As much as I cared, I now hate. Feel this hate. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

They moved in perfect sync, even now. Cass couldn’t predict his movements before he made them, like she used to - his training was different now, developed and refined. But Cass knew the League of Assassins too, had been trained by them just as he had, and they were written into her bones when they were only carved into Tim’s. After his third patented Talia move, she adjusted to fit his style, and their fight metamorphosed into more of a dance. Like they used to. 

“Why not!” Tim screamed, the stupidest possible thing to do in a fight, but Cass didn’t take advantage of his exhale. He lashed out a fist to cover the opening, but it was lazy and over-extended, and she dodged easily. “I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tim desperately tried to call the green to his vision. It was so easy. All he had to do was tap into that rage. Talia had called it blood lust. Said it was normal, even good. But it wouldn’t come. Where was it? It was his only friend. 

Desperately, Tim went in for another punch to the face - Cass’ jaw was the weakest part of her body, an old injury - but he over-extended again, and this time Cass took the opportunity. She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, dropping him to the mat. She didn’t try to twist him around, instead landing him on his back. Bad move for her. 

She kneed him in the chest, putting her full hundred and thirty pounds on him. She twisted his hands behind his back, pinning him, and Tim could do barely more than wheeze. 

He looked at her in the eyes for the first time. They were infuriatingly calm. Her hair was tangled and clumped with sweat, but she wasn’t breathing hard. Her expression was placid and serene, as if she was watching one of her stupid fucking nature documentaries instead of pinning her brother to a hard and scratchy rug in a shithole apartment, three years after he was tortured to insanity and shot himself in the head. 

So much time had passed. So much had happened, nasty and festering and putrid, and Tim had let it happen. He had made it happen. There was a rot in Tim, and it had eaten him up until there was nothing inside. If you cut him open, would it spill out? Would it infect her, infect Steph? Could he make them suffer?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass repeated. “So don’t be scared.”

“Scared?! I’m not fucking -” Tim wheezed, cut off by the lack of air as Cass pressed down. 

“I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. But I did. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to kill -”

Cass pressed down on his chest again, cutting him off. She had finally done the one thing nobody in Tim’s life had ever figured out: how to make him shut up. “You can be as mean to me as you want. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll stay.”

Tim wheezed. In that, maybe, Cass heard something, because she continued as if he had spoken. Or maybe she just wanted the chance to talk. It had been stolen from her for thirteen years, and it was valuable to her. 

“You do not have to be kind. You do not have to hug me, even if I want you to. You do not have to be my brother. I know it hurts too much. But you are me. I am you. You do not even have to try for that. I do not have to give it to you. You have it.”

Tim couldn’t help it. He cried a little, and then he couldn’t stop. 

Cass got off him, but she kept her promise. She didn’t hug him. She just propped him up against the sofa, holding his hand, and didn’t speak. At some point the door creaked, and he felt Stephanie next to him. 

This is why, Tim thought hysterically, he had been avoiding them.

He knew this would happen. There was no hiding from Cass. There was no posturing, no pretending. She didn’t want anything from him. She never had. There was nothing he could say that would drive her away, because Cass did not listen to the words people spoke. She spoke only for clarity, when she could not afford for her words to be misconstrued, and for the comfort of others. 

Cass knew that he had been lying out of his ass. Cass knew that he wasn’t as insane as he pretended, as cruel as he wanted to be. 

He couldn’t make Cass hate him. Shit. 

None of them said anything. Nothing needed to be said, not between the three of them. Cass might be having a silent conversation in Sign with Steph, but he didn’t care enough to open his eyes and look. When they had first met, it used to make Steph so mad that Tim and Cass were having ‘secret conversations’. She had poured over her dictionaries, learning as quickly as physically possible so she could keep up. Everything Steph had, she had worked hard for. 

Steph was in college now. Premed. She wanted to be an ER doctor. Steph wasn’t a genius, she had to study hard. She wouldn’t be able to superhero in med school, so she was ready to hang up her cape for a few years until she achieved her dream. Steph said that she could do just as much good as a doctor as a superhero. She hadn’t always wanted it. When they were kids and Bruce used to ask her what she wanted to do when she grew up, in his awkward faux-dad way, she had always shrugged and said that she might be a nurse. 

“Why not med school?” Bruce had suggested, between sleepy spoonfuls of oatmeal. She used to spend more nights at their place than at her own. Her mom hadn’t noticed. 

Steph had just shrugged awkwardly, nibbling her whole-wheat organic toast that she would stare at suspiciously. Rich people, she would say, sighing. “I would never be able to afford it. And no way I’m smart enough.”

“You’re good enough,” Bruce said, which was the closest he ever came to praising somebody. “I’ll pay for it.”

Steph had gaped. Cass had eaten her Lucky Charms smugly. Tim had rolled his eyes. “An in-the-know doctor for the vigilante community would be invaluable,” he had informed her, pretentious and callous. “We could use you.”

“You deserve it,” Cass had signed. 

“You have a bright future, Stephanie,” Bruce said, buckling under the panic of being a responsible adult. “I would hate to see you waste it.”

He would hate to see any of them waste their future. He had hated to see what Tim had become. He knew that. The last time he had ever seen Bruce, it was just to disappoint him. Bruce was the only parent he had ever had, and his standards were so sky high it was impossible to do anything other than disappoint. 

The fact of the matter was this: he loved Cass and Steph more than he loved Bruce. He could hate Bruce. He could hate himself. But Cass and Steph…

Bruce had ear-marked a lot of money for Steph, both for whatever continuing education she chose and for her future. It had raised a lot of questions among the lawyer team, but ultimately she had been written off as another of his strays. Tim had left her a lot of money too. There probably wasn’t any point: when she married Cass she’d have equal access to the fortune. Rich people, Stephanie used to whisper in awe, looking at organic toast. 

Cass was majoring in dance. She wanted to be a ballerina. 

Tim’s future...Tim’s future…

“Or we can watch a nature documentary,” Steph said out loud. “If we all promise not to say a fucking word.”

Incredibly, unmistakably, irrevocably, Tim groaned. “Not the fucking bee one again.”

“I like the bees,” Cass said serenely. 

“If you aren’t going to get out of my house can I at least smoke up?” Tim asked miserably. 

“I brought gummy bears,” Steph said, chipper as ever, “which are way better.”

“I’m going to the fucking bathroom,” Tim grumbled, which everybody knew was as good as a yes. 

“If you take anything I’ll know,” Cass said serenely, and also threatened. 

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Steph and Cass high-fived, and Tim sulked angrily to the bathroom. He took a second to look at himself in the mirror - looking for Tim Drake, failing, as always - before opening it and grabbing his baggie of pills. 

He looked at it. He looked at the toilet. He looked at the baggie. 

He didn’t flush them. He put them back in the medicine cabinet. Tomorrow. He’ll do them tomorrow. Not today. He can hold out for 24 hours. It’ll be fine. 

For a wild, stupid, insane second, Tim wondered if he could say that tomorrow too. If tomorrow he would look at them and say: maybe tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that…

If there was a future, for a fuck-up like him. 

The faint strains of Cass’ stupid fucking bee documentary began playing through the thin walls of his shitty little apartment, and Tim turned out the lights of his bathroom and closed the door, locking it securely behind him. 

[just-fandomthings]

For the kiss writing prompt 💕 frostiron + 29. "...as a promise"

Read on AO3 (Post Avengers, 2012)

...as a promise. 

“During my invasion, why did you offer me a drink? You were trying to stall, I’m aware, but why was that the method you chose?”

Stark startles, dropping the gauntlet he’s working on. “What the hell, warn a guy before you appear like that, would you? I’ve got a heart condition.”

“Apologies,” Loki says honestly. “I would have thought you were expecting me; JARVIS told me you agreed I could come down.”

“Yeah, I said you could, but I wasn’t expecting you to be here thirty seconds later. Doesn't matter, I heard you say ‘drink’, are you here to finally collect on my offer?”

“Sir, Loki asked permission to join you ten minutes ago,” JARVIS inputs.

Stark blinks. “Oh. Guess I lost track of time. So, what was your question?”

Loki clears his throat. “I was wondering why you offered me a drink in your tower when you first came to threaten me.”

Stark gives him a strange look. “Well, I needed the bracelets behind the bar so I’d have a suit in case we fought- or, in your case, if you decided to throw me out a window.”

The words are said lightly but Loki still grimaces. “That doesn’t explain why you offered me the drink,” he points out after a moment.

“Why not? I needed to get my bracelets and was planning to pour myself a drink to keep you distracted, so I offered you one too. I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for here.”

“I was not your guest, you owed me nothing. I was your enemy who had just killed your friend- you should have left your armor on when you came inside, instead of selecting a new armor to don.”

“The other one was damaged,” Stark says. “Needed the upgrade- besides, do I have to remind you that was my tower you were using as home base? JARVIS had my back the entire time.”

“Indeed I did,” JARVIS agrees.

“Is this you trying to tell me I’m reckless?” Stark squints at him. “Trying to tell me not to take on an enemy in battle when I’m out of armor or something? Because I gotta tell you, out of everyone on this team except maybe Bruce, I was expecting you to understand that I am more than just-“

“No, that’s not it,” Loki interrupts quickly. “Well, I would rather you not die since you are the least annoying person on this team I’ve been forced on, but I know that you are more than well-equipped to handle any difficult situation with no more than the clothes you are wearing.”

“Thank you, I don’t know why people always assume I’m helpless outside of my armor. And right answer, by the way, I was gonna stick Dum-E on you with the fire extinguisher if you were trying to pull a Cap on me. So, what’s with the third degree, what’re you trying to figure out?”

“I suppose, I am trying to ask why you were polite to me,” Loki mutters. “You did cleverly insult my manhood not a mere minute later, but you saw me in your building, in your home, and your response was to offer me a drink. You certainly weren’t expecting me to accept and talk with you, so why offer it?”

“Uh, common courtesy? Because I wanted to?” Stark frowns at him. “Either of those, both of them really, have your pick. I really don’t see what the big deal is, you know. It‘s not like I had time to stop and think everything through beforehand, so I just did it. And either way, I was going to get a drink as a stalling tactic so I could get to my armor, so why not offer you one too? You haven’t even taken me up on it in the three months you’ve been here, by the way, what's up with that? I thought you would have, to be honest.”

Loki is quiet for a moment. “May I do so later this evening?”

“Seriously?” At Stark’s incredulous inflection, Loki bristles, about to take it back, insult him, and storm out, but Stark surprises him by agreeing, “About time you took me up on my offer! I’m game, but I need to finish this upgrade first. Is my penthouse at eight-thirty alright, maybe later?”

“It’s not as if I will be busy with nefarious plans at that hour,” Loki huffs. “Yes, that is fine.”

Stark grins. “It’s a date then.”

The first two minutes of their conversation is stilted and awkward, with neither of them apparently knowing what to say. It lasts until Stark glances at him, drains the rest of his glass of scotch and goes, “Oh what the hell, I’m going for it. Please don’t smite me for this, okay, because I know you’ve gotten defensive every time someone has asked, but I really want to know about your Seiðr. How you learned it- I’m assuming you were taught- what the scope of your abilities is, and mainly, how it works. From one genius to another, can you please give me some answers?”

Loki blinks, retort dying on his lips. “You truly wish to know?”

“Uh, why would I not? It's probably the most powerful and complex thing I’ve ever come across- which hurts to admit- and I know nothing about it, which sucks, by the way. I hate not knowing things, especially things that interest me.”

“And my Seiðr interests you?”

“Yeah, thought I’d made that pretty obvious by now. I mean, Cap told me off for practically drooling during that battle last week when you eviscerated those doombots. I would have paid good money to see Doom’s face when he saw you literally rip his bots apart with just a wave of your hand.”

“That is but a simple trick,” Loki murmurs. “You are truly fascinated by my Seiðr, aren’t you?”

Stark’s gaze is expressive and searching for a moment before he nods. “It’s probably the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, and I don’t say that lightly.”

Loki exhales slowly. He thinks Stark might just be genuine. “What do you want to know first?”

It takes only an hour of discussion for them to rearrange the furniture of the penthouse against the wall to give them an open floor space so Loki can show off his Seiðr. Stark keeps up with his conversations remarkably well for a mortal, far surpassing Loki’s expectations, and he finds himself relaxing, indulging in discussion of the more technical aspects of his Seiðr.

When they finally call it a night, hours into the morning, Loki is surprised when he finds himself wishing to stay longer and discuss his Seiðr further with Stark. So few have ever been kind in consideration of his Seiðr, even less have expressed an interest in it, and for Stark to have done both...

Loki doesn’t have words to describe it.

(Later, Loki will consider that evening as the dawn of their friendship.)

It is invigorating to engage in a battle of wits and intellect with Stark, Loki soon comes to find. Such was what had initially impressed him about Stark when he had been under the control of The Other, but with his presence in his mind gone, Loki finds himself naturally drawn to the inventor now. Their conversations are thrilling, and Loki finds himself leaping at the chance to flex his intellect with Stark.

They spend the following months spending an increasing amount of time together, even more so following the cease of Stark’s relationship with Pepper Potts. (Stark isolates for two weeks after that, before he emerges with an impressive performance of being fine.) They discuss in length his Seiðr, Stark’s technology, and other pieces of their lives that they both find interesting.

Stark’s technology, in particular, holds Loki’s attention, for while the designs that Stark has managed to come up with are far superior to anything else on Midgard, a select few are also unlike anything he has come across in his travels of the Realms. It’s an impressive feat, and Loki tells him so.

Loki is also especially fond of Stark’s creations, finding himself impressed by how his bots seem to have such curiosity and personality. (Dum-E and U both, he quickly realizes, are fiercely loyal of Stark.)

As their conversations of his Seiðr continue, it grows impossible to go without mentioning Frigga. Loki isn’t sure what he expects Stark’s reaction to be when he first mentions her, but Stark’s gentle smile and, “She sounds incredible, she must be proud of how talented you are,” far surpasses anything he had expected. The sentiment touches him, and something in their dynamic changes that night.

(Perhaps, it is because that is the night Stark changes to Tony.)

Despite this, they still do not engage in conversation easily about personal topics, both of them with too many difficult stories to wish to recall such information. Still, however, there are many nights where their respective nightmares leave them stripped of their shields, with only vulnerability left behind. It is on those nights that their bond is solidified; empathy and understanding found through sharing stories of past tortures and betrayals.

During one of those nights, Tony tells him of a man called Stane, sharing with him how Dum-E first, and then Pepper, had saved his life. His voice is broken, no more than a whisper, and his hand remains firmly on the device in his chest the entire time he speaks; a further testament to the pain of that betrayal.

Loki vows to him in that moment that he will never betray Tony, he swears it, for he would rather stab his own heart than cause his (only) friend pain in any way.

Tony just looks over at him, his expression sad and resigned all of a sudden. “I don’t think that’s a promise you want to make,” he says quietly. “Not when I’ll likely give you a reason to break it.”

“You know me; I say no less than what I mean,” Loki tells him. “And I can think of no reason that would ever make me want to hurt you or betray you.” He has betrayed others throughout his life, for reasons so little as for fun (stabbing Thor), but he knows he could never harm Tony.

Tony just shrugs. He doesn’t seem to believe him, but he provides no further argument. The blanket covering their laps as they sit together on the sofa suddenly feels stifling, but Loki resolutely ignores it. He understands that Tony’s skepticism is not personal, it is just a mere consequence of being betrayed time and time again by the people he cared about most. Loki knows he would hesitate to accept such a promise as well, even from Tony. Life has taught them both that it’s not safe to trust.

(Perhaps together, they can learn to trust again.)

The other members of the team remain wary of him, distrustful to the point that Loki is certain he will never be able to earn an ounce of trust with them. Outside of Tony, Thor seems to be the most accepting of the fact he is serving a ten year sentence for his attack on New York as a member of their team. Knowing he has Tony‘s friendship makes it easy, however, to disregard the fact that the others do not trust him, even on the field of battle. Never mind that his Seiðr has been limited to keep him in check, they clearly do not trust him to fight on their side. Loki pays this no mind; their belief in him or lack thereof is of no importance to him.

When he finally meets Pepper Potts, Col. James Rhodes, and a man named Happy Hogan, they all threaten him past the point of any return should he hurt Tony in any way. He believes them. The CEO of Tony’s company, his ex, however is the one whose threat genuinely gives him pause. He knows better than to anger her.

But for all their initial threats, the three of them all seem to accept him as Tony’s friend, therefore, as a part of their lives as well. It is awkward at times to be around Potts or Hogan, or even Rhodes when he is able to return home, but those moments of awkwardness, he finds, are worthwhile if it means he can remain at Tony’s side.

It’s a thought that should scare him, that he wants to be wherever Tony is, but he finds himself oddly at peace with that fact. They have grown close over the last five, almost six months since they first shared a drink in Tony’s penthouse, and Tony is incredible, a force of light wherever he goes; it is impossible not to be drawn to Tony, he thinks.

It’s a brisk day in mid-March when he and Tony crowd together on the sofa in his penthouse with a video feed in front of them to watch the fallout of their latest prank on Barton. Tony bursts out laughing at Barton’s indignation and leans against Loki as he praises their prank, saying they absolutely have to prank Cap next. Loki is overcome with joy realizing just how lucky and happy he is to have a friend who partakes and enjoys mischief just as much as he does.

That is also the moment Loki realizes he’s falling in love.

Tony has gone quiet as his side, eyes still sparkling with joy even as he asks, “You okay, Lokes?"

“I’m fine,” Loki reassures. “Just thinking of what to include in our next prank against Captain America himself.”

“I love the way you think,” Tony laughs, snuggling into his side the way he seems to do so frequently, now that Loki thinks about it. “Well, hit me with it. What’re you thinking?”

It’s easy enough to conjure a list of possible pranks at a moment’s notice, and from that moment onward, Loki’s feelings fall to the back of his mind, always quietly lingering in his every thought. Given enough time, he knows they will become a force he cannot hope to control, but that is a problem he can deal with in the future; the present includes planning a prank, and that comes first.

(Later, Loki will consider the moment he realized he was developing feelings for Tony as the day everything changed.)

“Can I join you?”

Loki startles minutely, so caught up in his reading, so relaxed, that he had not been paying attention to his surroundings in any capacity. But this is Tony who has come to his bedroom, and Loki knows he need not keep his guard up when the inventor is around. "Are you alright?" Loki asks, lowering his book to his lap.

"Fine," Tony says automatically. He looks uncertain. "I know you're reading and it's late, so if you want me to leave, don’t hesitate to say so.”

“Nonsense, I always enjoy your company,” Loki reassures absently, frowning at Tony’s haggard experience. He gestures to the space next to him on the bed, adding unnecessarily, “Please, sit.”

Tony hesitates for a moment and then sits down on the bed next to him, leaning back. His hands twist unnaturally together; a sign of his anxiety.

Loki marks his page and sets his book on the nightstand. “Do you wish to talk about what has you so tense?”

“Not really,” Tony mutters. “Not like there’s much to say anyway though. I fell asleep working on an upgraded set of arrows for Clint and woke up screaming. J said you were awake still, so I came up.” He pauses and then adds, "You've been reading all this time? Usually you call it a night at midnight."

"I got enthralled in an old journal on Seiðr and lost track of time. When I realized it was past two, I figured I would wait until I came to a natural stopping point before I retired for the night,” Loki admits ruefully. "I'll be tired in the morning, but it will be well worth it."

"I think I'm rubbing off on you," Tony says lightly. "Staying up until all hours of the night to finish something is my shtick, not yours."

"You have a point. You did, after all, initially encourage my pranks, then you took to assisting me with them, and now you have me staying up to all hours of the night," Loki points out, teasing, participating in the lighthearted atmosphere Tony seems to be trying to create. A distraction for his nightmare, perhaps, and Loki is happy to help. "You are a rather bad influence on me."

"Guilty as charged," Tony agrees, snorting. "Though I'm pretty sure everything prank-related is a result of you being a bad influence on me."

"A mere pleasant consequence of our friendship. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you first let me share a drink with you in your penthouse."

"I did knowingly sign up for all the mischief and chaos, you're right." Tony shrugs, looking pleased. "But as Rhodey will be more than happy to tell you, I caused plenty of trouble throughout my life, so you sadly don't get the privilege of claiming responsibility for all of my evil ways."

"I plan to ask about those stories, just so you know."

Tony laughs, looking lighter now than he had when he had first appeared in Loki's doorway. "Pretty sure you'll have to clear your schedule for the weekend when you do- but keep in mind, Rhodey did also participate in a lot of my plans. He was my partner in crime. So don't let his exasperated tone fool you, he's just as much a prankster as we are."

"In that case, we will have to include him in our plans to prank Thor whenever both your colonel and Thor are present in the Tower," Loki muses.

"Deal," Tony responds instantly. He goes quiet just a moment later, his expression darkening a little.

Loki frowns at the sudden shift in mood. "What's wrong?"

"I should probably go, let you finish the chapter you were reading so you can go to bed."

“I am more than happy to have you here," Loki says carefully, sensing that there is something else weighing on his mind. "But if you wish to go, that is your choice to make.”

“I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Then prepare for bed and lay with me,” Loki says without thinking. He pauses, realizing what he just said. Norns, he had not meant to offer that, but the offer has been extended and he is not one to take back his words. Still though, he clarifies quickly, “It’s an innocent offer, no more than the simple opportunity for you to not be alone tonight, if you don't want to be.”

Tony looks startled. “You want me to stay?”

“You are welcome to, if you want.”

“Why?”

“You are my friend,” Loki says simply. “We have fallen asleep watching movies together on the sofa before and that is fine, is it not?” At Tony’s nod he continues, “So too would your decision to stay here for the night. Nightmares are painful, and if I can offer some small comfort or reassurance of safety, I would happily do so.”

“You’re sure?”

“I mean every word I’ve shared,” Loki says gently.

Tony sighs and leans against him, his head on Loki’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he says softly. “For letting me stay and for not judging me.”

“You know how common my own night terrors are,” Loki points out. "I have nothing to judge."

Tony shrugs but doesn’t offer a response.

“Go, get ready for bed,” Loki says, nudging him with his elbow. “I have placed an additional toothbrush and nightwear for you in the bathroom.”

Tony nods silently and gets up, disappearing into the bathroom. Loki uses the privacy to lay down, trying to quell his racing thoughts and pounding heart. There is something charged and vulnerable between them; it feels like he is balancing precariously on a fraying line. What may happen if it snaps, he’s unsure.

When Tony exits the bathroom a few minutes later, he pauses at the side of the bed for a moment before he pulls back the covers. He doesn’t lay down, however, just says quietly, “You don’t seem as bothered anymore to be serving part of your sentence on the Avengers.”

“Is that a question?” Loki asks, never one to make things easy when he can help it.

“An observation, I think. Am I wrong?”

“No, you are not wrong,” Loki says. He takes a shuddering breath and admits, “I hated this team in the beginning. I was no more than a collection of broken pieces being held together by pure spite, and being placed on this team felt like a death sentence. I expected to hate every moment of my time here, for an abundance of reasons.” He swallows hard, suddenly certain he should not keep going, not when he has already stripped himself bare.

“But?”

As always with Tony, he is the exception to the expectations and restrictions Loki sets for himself. He finds himself staring up at the ceiling and admitting, “But I made a friend, someone who cares about me genuinely for all that I am. It took the work of months before I realized that all the reasons I expected to hate being on this team were insignificant in comparison to the friendship I had found. These last several months, I have found myself slowly recovering from the damage The Other inflicted on me- I am trying to at least- I am trying not to be the monster I was destined to be, and I somehow even find myself happy on occasion, something I thought I was only capable of when creating chaos.”

His bedroom is quiet for a moment. “Sounds like your friend is pretty special,” Tony quips.

“Special is not the most accurate term; short, on the other hand, or perhaps, talkative, or even-”

“You're an ass,” Tony interrupts him, laughing. His expression is pensive, however, as he lays down on his side and looks over at him. “Is that all we are though, just friends?”

Loki freezes. It takes a moment for him to remember to breathe, and then he exhales slowly, rolling over on his side to face Tony as well. “I’m not sure,” he admits, “Are we just friends, in your mind?”

“I asked you first,” Tony points out, smirking a little.

“I gave you a response, however vague, and then asked your thoughts. It’s your turn.”

“Uh huh, you want my thoughts on what exactly? You haven’t really specified what we’re discussing.”

Loki refrains from rolling his eyes despite the way his heart is threatening to pound out of his chest. “What are your thoughts on us,” he emphasizes. “That is what I wish to know.”

Tony’s eyes search him for a moment, perhaps trying to assess if this is part of a joke or if he is being genuine. “I think that you’re a royal pain in the ass a lot of the time, as well as dramatic and passionate, but I like that about you. You’re also mischievous and clever; you're a genius that speaks the same language as me. I also think you have feelings for me, just like I do for you. And I want to see if there can be an us...but maybe after I kiss you?”

“Is that a promise?”

“The romantic speech or the kissing part?”

“The part where you mentioned wanting to see if there can be an us, do you mean that?”

“Of course I mean it." Tony pouts at him.

It suddenly is so easy now to see what has been in front of him for months: their close proximity to each other, the way they are drawn to each other's side, their flirting; it has all been leading to this.

Loki leans over and kisses him. Tony gives a quiet sound of surprise and then relaxes, easing into the kiss with an approach that somehow already feels familiar.

“We need to do this more often,” Tony murmurs when they pull back. He's grinning.

Loki laughs, happy. “That is a promise I can easily keep,” he vows, and kisses him again to prove his point.

End.