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Obsessive Cat Mom Pt
Many cat pics behind the cut.
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Did the Deadpool Movie Queerbait?
Maybe I’ll regret writing this, but I’ve seen posts concerned about it, so here are my thoughts.
By the standards of what we consider queerbaiting (two male or female characters who are clearly close friends and who, were one character of the opposite gender, would automatically be considered romantic interests), Deadpool didn’t queerbait (Wade Wilson’s closest male friend is very clearly in the Bro-zone and not so much in the sharing long, lingering looks zone). But here’s the thing. It doesn’t matter. Why? Because there is a backstory behind Deadpool, a history of canon that affects who he is as a character and as an icon in the larger Marvel universe. And moreover, the lead actor has gone on record saying that Deadpool is pansexual. There is an expectation, a hope, that has been placed for those of us who would like to see overt indications of queerness in a superhero film headliner. And Deadpool doesn’t deliver.
By the standards of what we consider queerbaiting (two male or female characters who are clearly close friends and who, were one character of the opposite gender, would automatically be considered romantic interests), Deadpool didn’t queerbait (Wade Wilson’s closest male friend is very clearly in the Bro-zone and not so much in the sharing long, lingering looks zone). But here’s the thing. It doesn’t matter. Why? Because there is a backstory behind Deadpool, a history of canon that affects who he is as a character and as an icon in the larger Marvel universe. And moreover, the lead actor has gone on record saying that Deadpool is pansexual. There is an expectation, a hope, that has been placed for those of us who would like to see overt indications of queerness in a superhero film headliner. And Deadpool doesn’t deliver.
If Ryan Reynolds had not gone on record in an interview stating that Deadpool is pansexual, there is nothing in the film that would indicate queerness. There are scenes that I know people will immediately point to as a counterargument for my claim, so let me preemptively touch on those.
“But Wade kisses a guy on the cheek almost right at the beginning! That’s queer, right?”
Wrong. Context. The dude he kisses is his mark, a man he’s been paid to threaten. This is not a dude he’s flirting with; it’s a dude he’s scaring shitless. It’s made clear very quickly that one way Wade keeps his marks and enemies off balance (this is Wade before his torture and insanity) is by acting amiable and friendly one moment and terrifying the next. He get’s his mark off his guard by treating him nicely and joking with him, and in the next moment threatens him with a gun. Just after that, he’s smiling again and saying bygones are bygones, and then he’s got his mark by the throat. On top of all this, the kiss (to the cheek, mind, not on the lips) just plays out as another way of fucking with someone. It doesn’t come across as Wade considering this guy a possible partner.
“But Wade gets pegged by Vanessa! You can’t tell me that’s not queer.”
Uh, no. Wrong again. Anal sex does not automatically translate to queerness. There are heterosexual men in this world who enjoy anal sex with women. There are heterosexual women in this world who enjoy anal sex with men. A given sexual act is not an expression of sexuality; it is coded as belonging to a certain sexuality by our society. The assumption that anal sex automatically equals homosexuality, bisexuality, or pansexuality is a false one.
And what’s more, it’s made abundantly clear that Wade does not enjoy this sexual act. He winces and frowns and looks generally nervous through what the camera shows, and when the camera pans away, he makes a few noises and then says “Nope. No.” It is evident to the audience that this is a favor he was doing to Vanessa, that he didn’t enjoy it, and that it likely won’t happen again.
“Just because he doesn’t make a pass at a dude doesn’t mean he’s not pansexual.”
While this may be true, in our unfortunate society, the base assumption is always heterosexuality. If a character does not act overtly in a queer manner, that character will always be assumed, by and large, heterosexual. This is a fault in our societal thinking, and an unfortunate one. I’m not asking for Deadpool to be campy. I’m not asking for him to fit the unfortunate stereotypes associated with queerness. But I am asking that we be given more than a token statement after the fact. And that does not happen in this film.
Combine this with the very dudebro attitude of some of the humor, and Wade doesn’t come across as the first openly pansexual superhero. He comes across as just another white dude who likes ladies and teases villains by implying they’re gay. (Did I forget to mention that? Because it definitely happens.)
I don’t blame Reynolds for this. I imagine somewhere in the reels of cut adlibbed material, there are probably (my optimistic mind hopes) jokes and statements that made it clear Wade wouldn’t have minded hooking up with anybody, regardless of gender. But this wasn’t just Reynolds’ movie. There were directors and executive producers and studios involved, and they remain as they ever were: self-assured in the belief that a queer superhero will never track well in America.
I enjoyed Deadpool. It felt like a movie length Netflix type superhero film. There was no saving the world–there was just a dude living his incredibly fucked up life. The humor and writing is sharp, and I did laugh, because there are jokes in there that are just for the fans. The tongue-in-cheek nods to us all are great. I’ll even say that Vanessa is perhaps one of the best female love interests to ever be portrayed in a superhero film–she feels like a person who has her own agency and she is clearly not just there to prop up Wade’s character arc.
But I’m still disappointed by the queerbaiting. Deadpool was supposed to be the pansexual hero we needed, but instead, he just wound up in another hetero story line we didn’t deserve.
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Campus Gothic
In the dark cool of the basement, the pastors wait, year in and year out. Their white robes gather gray coatings of dust that seeps in through the drafty cracks of grimy leaded windows. Though they move, they move imperceptibly, so that if you watched them for five minutes, you would not notice, but if you looked and then looked again, something will have changed. Every so often, the old wood of their chairs settles and creaks and groans under the weight of a faded, sunken body. The pastors do not eat. They do not drink or sleep or dream. In the pale gray of Midwestern mornings, thick with muggy, cloying humidity, they raise their voices as one, and praise a god ancient and terrible, a god who does not speak but watches and watches and waits. Their song drones out a long and faint , and those brave souls who happen to be passing by turn their heads and then just as quickly look away. Their parents warned them, and their grandparents before. Even if the gaping arched maw of the church looks inviting, you must never go in. The sign outside the church changes irregularly, and no one ever sees who shifts the spidery black letters. Its messages seem insidiously friendly. “Church Luncheon, We love having students for lunch.” “Join us in prayer, Pray for Our mercy.” “Do not fear Death, It comes for us all.” One hundred, fifty-eight long years the pastors have been waiting, waiting for you, dear student. Won’t you come in? Won’t you come in?
Random Avengers Headcanon Vol. 5
I know for CAWS we’ve all basically decided that Peggy was in DC, but just consider that deleted scene from the Avengers where her address is listed in Manchester and how her funeral was in the UK, too, and reimagine a CAWS where Peggy was in the UK after all and then think about Steve flying to the UK once a month just to see her and flying straight back because he’s got to report for duty the next day and think about how he doesn’t get enough sleep those days and his eyes are dry and aching from the airplane and think about how being in the UK makes him sad for other reasons because it’s where he and the commandos took shore leave and think about him thinking about that dance in that pub that he and Peggy never had and then cry a lot.
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(In response to a request to send the Avengers to IKEA.)
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Days, weeks, really, like the past few are the kind that make me want to become a mountain hermit and never speak to another human being ever again.
But because I don’t just want to be whinging, let me share with you this headcanon which may or may not be inspired by autobiographical events.
—
Tony gets panic attacks. Really bad ones. The first few times Steve saw them, he’s wasn’t quite sure what to do, and was kind of just shoved to the side as Pepper or Rhodey or Nat shoved in to count Tony through breathing. Steve tries the count, but he gets just as riled up as Tony, so it’s not exactly calming for either of them. Instead he tries a different angle. The next time Tony starts shaking and hyperventilating, Steve says “Tell me how the weight to fuel ratio affects rockets when they’re trying to leave the atmosphere.” Tony blinks at him, and then blinks again, and between shaking breaths he says, “The weight’s everything.” “Good. Tell me more.” “Too heavy. Can’t fly.” “So how do you keep from being too heavy.” “Cut down on weight.” At first it’s just short replies. One or two word sentences. But Steve is persistent. He asks the most innocuous questions; Tony’s too freaked to tease him. He just answers, hones that amazing brain and aims it until it’s completely focused on one subject. And not focused on anything else. And slowly he comes down and describes to Steve how scientists calculate payloads and fuel efficiency. The next time he has a panic attack, Steve asks about temperature balance in the jet boots. The time after that, how touch-screens sense skin and why do those little touch finger gloves work. The time after that, how JARVIS reads gestures and facial expressions. The time after that…
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Tony texting Steve: 🍆🍆🍆🍆👍😏
Steve: *stares at text for a minute* Hey Nat? Does this mean Tony wants eggplant Parmesan for dinner?
Nat: …Yes, Steve. That’s exactly what he wants.
----
I have a confession to make. I’ve never found IKEA instructions difficult. It always makes perfect sense to me how things are supposed to go together, but I know there are a lot of people out there who struggle with them and I’m pretty sure there a few fics and art pieces floating around where the Avengers argue over IKEA construction, but for me, I figure if I, a pretty average woman can figure those diagrams out, they’re probably nothing for Tony. I imagine he probably finds them pleasing because they’re a relatively mindless task for him where his hands are going but his brain can be thinking on other things.
I think the Tony probably takes the Avengers to IKEA for the experience of it, and I feel like Nat and Clint stand back and hide outside the path (they’re brave enough to stray from the path) and take video which they will later upload to Youtube and frighten the bejesus out of people while Tony and Bruce amble along and play tour guides. I think Steve and Thor would be delighted, Steve especially because of IKEAs incredibly utilitarian approach to things. I think they’d buy too much lingonberry jam and too many meatballs and Steve would come home with a plan to make the Avengers’ living space as organized as humanly possible. All the organizers. All of them.
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Various thoughts about CEvans (and others)
I have watched Chris Evans rip a log in half at least a hundred times by now and not a single one of those times was wasted.
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Shower thought: Does Boston-boy-through-and-through Chris Evans die a little inside when he has to say he’s from Brooklyn?
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Sometimes I look at RDJ and think, “I shouldn’t find you attractive. All your features are just weird.” But somehow they combine into a human being who I look at and think, “Yes!”
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I cannot hear “Boom Boom Pow” without picture CEvans in his underwear. Halp. (Anna Faris is there too, but she doesn’t do it for me.)
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Shower thought: Does Boston-boy-through-and-through Chris Evans die a little inside when he has to say he’s from Brooklyn?
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Sometimes I look at RDJ and think, “I shouldn’t find you attractive. All your features are just weird.” But somehow they combine into a human being who I look at and think, “Yes!”
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I cannot hear “Boom Boom Pow” without picture CEvans in his underwear. Halp. (Anna Faris is there too, but she doesn’t do it for me.)
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I’ve had a horrifying thought.
Channing Tootem
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Things I have said about CEvans multiple times: Congratulations on your stupid long legs.
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(Superbowl)
I am imagining CEvans sitting on the edge of his seat freezing his ass off while his beloved Pats suffer and he’s just quietly reminding himself over and over, “They won in the last quarter last year. It’s fine. They’re gonna be fine. My babies are gonna be fine,” in his Boston drawl like some kind of Dorito-shaped mother-hen.
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I had a dream last night starring Chris Evans as a police detective, Haley Atwell as a spunky investigative reporter, and Jason Momoa doing I don’t quite know what. Evans’ detective character was investigating a murder in Chinatown, and Atwell was doing the same thing, and she spent the vast majority of the dream trying to prove to Evans’ character that he was terribly racist and was truly making a muck of his investigation. They, of course, had their usual delicious chemistry. I still can’t figure out what Jason Momoa was doing there. I just remember him kind of sitting at a table looking bemused.
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It is a wonder that Chris Evans doesn’t just fall over when he laughs too hard.
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Random Avengers Headcanon Vol. 4
Whenever anyone on the team is feeling down, Steve leaves them little post-it note doodles to cheer them up. Natasha calls them Captain-grams.
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People think Steve keeps sensible things like zip ties and flash bombs in all of his utility pouches, and he does, but he also keeps some unexpected things. Lollipops for kids who are crying because they’ve been thrust into hell by some asshole supervillain. Dog treats to tempt dogs who’ve escaped in the chaos. A couple sets of stickers because sometimes fans like them more than getting Steve’s signature. Some chewing gum because Steve just happens to like chewing gum and Tony’s always bumming pieces off of him. Hair ties for anyone who forgets one. He likes being prepared not just for disaster, but for life.
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People think Steve keeps sensible things like zip ties and flash bombs in all of his utility pouches, and he does, but he also keeps some unexpected things. Lollipops for kids who are crying because they’ve been thrust into hell by some asshole supervillain. Dog treats to tempt dogs who’ve escaped in the chaos. A couple sets of stickers because sometimes fans like them more than getting Steve’s signature. Some chewing gum because Steve just happens to like chewing gum and Tony’s always bumming pieces off of him. Hair ties for anyone who forgets one. He likes being prepared not just for disaster, but for life.
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The ice cream in the fridge keeps disappearing. Clint’s the first suspect but it’s not him. He doesn’t like ice cream headaches and cookies are more his purview. Thor’s next to be accused after that, but he has his own dedicated fridge and he understands the sacredness of one’s own food. He would never steal from his teammates. Rhodey, Sam, Bucky, Bruce, Wanda. One after another they are all accused and one after another they all take it in good humor right up until they don’t. Tony and Nat (the two who keep ice cream stashes) are stumped, and JARVIS refuses to tattle on the thief. Eventually Tony decides that Nat must be the thief and she’s fibbing about her missing stash and Nat decides the same about Tony.
…
It’s Steve. The thief is Steve.
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(In response to the idea that Steve Rogers is magically summoned anytime any one of the female Avengers is feeling down and out. One of them tries to tell him she's just on her period to get him to stop hovering, but it backfires.)
But at the same time someone (my vote is Maria Hill) tells him about all the bullshit that goes into and along with women’s sanitary products and Steve becomes outraged. He brings it up luxury taxes and toxic shock syndrome in interviews apropos of nothing and everyone on the team watches with spectator’s glee as news anchor’s faces go redder and redder. Steve once made Bill O’Reilly so embarrassed he left the room.
And then, when other teammates are asked about his behavior (in ways clearly hoping they’ll condemn Steve) they respond with other questions designed to create the ultimate FOX reporter discomfort. Tony starts in on the marginalizing of pan, ace, and bisexual identities. Bruce brings up uncomfortable statistics about how menstruation affects women who don’t have access to sanitary products, and then often goes onto statistics and facts about pregnancy, mentioning the vaginal canal as many times as humanly possible. Nat starts asking about genitalia the same way trans people are asked, and she will frequently interject about North Carolina’s ridiculous bathroom laws. Clint’s personal favorite topic is accessibility, especially for people with invisible disabilities. Sam’s brings up the lack of streamlining and communication between the VA and the military, and the dearth of support for returning veterans. Wanda’s go-to is America’s shameful views toward refugees and the lack of reparations that are made in spite of civilian casualties resultant from American actions. Thor talks about gender identities on Asgard and often gleefully veers off into societally accepted polyamory. Bucky, for whatever reason, starts asking why the hell circumcision has become the norm in the US.
After two months of madness, FOX stops inviting the Avengers in for interviews. In fact, they stop reporting on the Avengers altogether. There is permanent trauma among the anchors. Brett Baier was allegedly spotted in a bar simply repeating the words “penile mucosa,” but there’s no video evidence. (There’s totally video evidence and Tony gleefully gave it to Bucky.)
Random Avengers Headcanon Vol. 3
Bruce Banner is a troll and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. At press conferences, he regularly growls and grunts into the microphone when he starts hearing a few too many questions he doesn’t like, and then plays it off like an accident. “Ms. Romanov, you have an absolutely fantastic figure. Tell us about your diet regimen!”
*snort, growl, cracking of knuckles* “I’m sorry, I was interrupting your incredibly rude question.”
“Mr. Stark, do you honestly expect us to believe that you, a well-documented drunken playboy, have truly reformed yourself?”
*growl, grumble, bare teeth, cough* “Oh. I’m sorry. I was just feeling a little…irritated.”
Avengers press conferences soon become the least newsworthy events on the planet because most of the reporters are too terrified to ask more than, “So what did you have for breakfast today?” Soon, the press conferences cease altogether.
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Natasha is the first one to move into the tower, and she doesn’t sneak in. She knocks like a normal person (if you can call asking JARVIS to let her in ‘knocking’), a half-starved, limping Clint draped over her shoulder. Tony welcomes them in without a word and immediately calls for takeout. By the time he gets back from the kitchen, Natasha’s passed out on the couch, Clint in her lap.
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For months after Bucky moves into the Tower, the only person he’ll speak with is Natasha, and then only in Russian. Strangely enough, it’s kind, jovial, Thor who shimmies in through the cracks of someone who badly wants to be human again. And he does it in true Asgardian fashion, by challenging him to an arm wrestling contest.
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When Natasha finds out Steve doesn’t know how to dance, she makes it her new goal to introduce him to every fad that’s appeared since he went down in the ice. Steve never takes to the lessons, but (perhaps unsurprisingly) Thor and Vision both become avid swing dancers.
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Every once and a while, the ladies of the tower need time away from the sausage fest. There’s an annual poker night whenever at least four of them are in New York at the same time. Pepper, Hill, Nat, Helen, Jane, Darcy, Wanda, and on rare occasion Lady Sif, sitting around a table, drinking wine and champagne, eating chocolate, and pretending that they can beat Natasha at cards.
*snort, growl, cracking of knuckles* “I’m sorry, I was interrupting your incredibly rude question.”
“Mr. Stark, do you honestly expect us to believe that you, a well-documented drunken playboy, have truly reformed yourself?”
*growl, grumble, bare teeth, cough* “Oh. I’m sorry. I was just feeling a little…irritated.”
Avengers press conferences soon become the least newsworthy events on the planet because most of the reporters are too terrified to ask more than, “So what did you have for breakfast today?” Soon, the press conferences cease altogether.
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Natasha is the first one to move into the tower, and she doesn’t sneak in. She knocks like a normal person (if you can call asking JARVIS to let her in ‘knocking’), a half-starved, limping Clint draped over her shoulder. Tony welcomes them in without a word and immediately calls for takeout. By the time he gets back from the kitchen, Natasha’s passed out on the couch, Clint in her lap.
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For months after Bucky moves into the Tower, the only person he’ll speak with is Natasha, and then only in Russian. Strangely enough, it’s kind, jovial, Thor who shimmies in through the cracks of someone who badly wants to be human again. And he does it in true Asgardian fashion, by challenging him to an arm wrestling contest.
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When Natasha finds out Steve doesn’t know how to dance, she makes it her new goal to introduce him to every fad that’s appeared since he went down in the ice. Steve never takes to the lessons, but (perhaps unsurprisingly) Thor and Vision both become avid swing dancers.
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Every once and a while, the ladies of the tower need time away from the sausage fest. There’s an annual poker night whenever at least four of them are in New York at the same time. Pepper, Hill, Nat, Helen, Jane, Darcy, Wanda, and on rare occasion Lady Sif, sitting around a table, drinking wine and champagne, eating chocolate, and pretending that they can beat Natasha at cards.
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Random Avengers Headcanon Vol. 2
Bruce is a huge college football fan. Unbelievably, enormously huge. In a way that none of the Avengers anticipated. They spend the entirety of football season amazed that he can yell at the TV so avidly and ardently and still not Hulk out. If Clint tries to steal any of the game snacks though, it’s about a 50/50 chance that the Big Guy will make an appearance. Clint doesn’t steal Bruce’s snacks anymore. Ever.
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Bucky Barnes sings a little like an angel and a little like the devil. There’s something there in his voice that’s both captivating and haunting. He used to walk home singing jazz tunes he’d heard on the radio and heads would turn to follow him. After everything, when little slips of Bucky are finally starting to come back, “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?” pops into his head one morning. Without thinking, he opens his mouth and starts singing. The other Avengers don’t say anything, not because they’re afraid of startling him, but because there aren’t words to express how beautiful and broken he sounds.
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Bucky’s arm runs cold, leeches heat from his body and leaves him shivering. He’s used to it, never complains, just piles on the sweaters and hopes for the best. Tony notices, though, one day when Clint’s pressed Bucky’s palm to his cheekbone in lieu of an icepack. Three days later, he brings blueprints to Buck: a heating system powered by a tiny arc reactor that runs through the entire arm like real veins and arteries might. Bucky nods and says “sure, whatever,” but underneath he finally feels warm.
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Clint shows Bucky up to the roof of the Tower on his third day with the Avengers. They spend hours up there in silence and stillness, the city of ants below, the icy wind at 80+ stories whipping across raw skin. For snipers who know what it is to have the self-ripped away and replaced with something sinister and creeping, they don’t need words to understand each other.
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Bruce is always the quietest among them, but there are certain days when he’s truly distant, when he gazes out the window at something that isn’t there and barely notices if one of the others talks to him. Natasha’s the only one who knows why, and she’s the one who’ll fix him a cup of hot tea and pull up Betty Ross’ latest paper on permutations of mutation in radioactive DNA.
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Bucky Barnes sings a little like an angel and a little like the devil. There’s something there in his voice that’s both captivating and haunting. He used to walk home singing jazz tunes he’d heard on the radio and heads would turn to follow him. After everything, when little slips of Bucky are finally starting to come back, “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?” pops into his head one morning. Without thinking, he opens his mouth and starts singing. The other Avengers don’t say anything, not because they’re afraid of startling him, but because there aren’t words to express how beautiful and broken he sounds.
----
Bucky’s arm runs cold, leeches heat from his body and leaves him shivering. He’s used to it, never complains, just piles on the sweaters and hopes for the best. Tony notices, though, one day when Clint’s pressed Bucky’s palm to his cheekbone in lieu of an icepack. Three days later, he brings blueprints to Buck: a heating system powered by a tiny arc reactor that runs through the entire arm like real veins and arteries might. Bucky nods and says “sure, whatever,” but underneath he finally feels warm.
----
Clint shows Bucky up to the roof of the Tower on his third day with the Avengers. They spend hours up there in silence and stillness, the city of ants below, the icy wind at 80+ stories whipping across raw skin. For snipers who know what it is to have the self-ripped away and replaced with something sinister and creeping, they don’t need words to understand each other.
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Bruce is always the quietest among them, but there are certain days when he’s truly distant, when he gazes out the window at something that isn’t there and barely notices if one of the others talks to him. Natasha’s the only one who knows why, and she’s the one who’ll fix him a cup of hot tea and pull up Betty Ross’ latest paper on permutations of mutation in radioactive DNA.
Random Avengers Headcanon Vol. 1
Steve and Bucky make up slang words and then use them around the tower, trying to convince the others that they were real terms used in the 30s and 40s. On any given day, you can hear things like “Holy Popoky, Tony, this new interface is amazing.” or “Fox News really steams my cabbage.”
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Natasha doesn’t keep a lot for herself. Her apartment is spartan, done entirely in neutral colors, like it was plucked out a design catalog. But in her master bath, she keeps shelves upon shelves of bath salts and solutions acquired on missions all over the world, and once a week, she treats herself to a good long soak with a book. The boys know better than to disturb her.
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Thor is a neatfreak. Sure he breaks glasses and mugs on the floor, but he always meticulously picks up after himself. He says gleaming floors and clear glass remind him of home. His private quarters are spotless, shining, and always smell faintly of lemon and cloves. Tony finds pieces of wooden furniture that carry the same scent all over the tower and he can only assume that Thor has taken to late-night woodwork polishing.
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Clint always wrangles the kids when they’re evacuating civilians, and he always watches over any huddles of kids whose parents have yet to find them. Not just because he’s good with them, but also just because he loves kids. All of them. He loves to make them laugh, and he hates to see them cry. He keeps a set of juggling balls attached to the bottom of his quiver, and when all those kids are crying and terrified, he does juggling tricks for them to make them feel better.
----
Tony Stark never excelled at the humanities. Literature didn’t interest him (save for scifi and the potential to seed invention ideas), philosophy was a snooze, and while he soaked up languages like a sponge, he never particularly enjoyed them. But he loves, loves, loves music. And not just the classic rock he’s got blaring in his workshop. He loves classical. He loves jazz. He loves old-timey standards and electronica. He even loves that stupid bubble gum pop on the top forty charts (though he'd never admit it even under torture.)
He loves playing the piano because when he looks at the keys, he doesn’t just see Bach and Beethoven. He sees harmonic frequencies and clashing sound waves and mathematical possibilities. He sees the Golden Ratio and pi and the Pythagorus constant. (It doesn’t hurt that his mother taught him piano, either.) He’ll never tell the other Avengers, but sometimes when he’s the only one awake, and he can’t focus on code anymore, he’ll slip into the lounge, open up the piano, and play.
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Natasha doesn’t keep a lot for herself. Her apartment is spartan, done entirely in neutral colors, like it was plucked out a design catalog. But in her master bath, she keeps shelves upon shelves of bath salts and solutions acquired on missions all over the world, and once a week, she treats herself to a good long soak with a book. The boys know better than to disturb her.
----
Thor is a neatfreak. Sure he breaks glasses and mugs on the floor, but he always meticulously picks up after himself. He says gleaming floors and clear glass remind him of home. His private quarters are spotless, shining, and always smell faintly of lemon and cloves. Tony finds pieces of wooden furniture that carry the same scent all over the tower and he can only assume that Thor has taken to late-night woodwork polishing.
----
Clint always wrangles the kids when they’re evacuating civilians, and he always watches over any huddles of kids whose parents have yet to find them. Not just because he’s good with them, but also just because he loves kids. All of them. He loves to make them laugh, and he hates to see them cry. He keeps a set of juggling balls attached to the bottom of his quiver, and when all those kids are crying and terrified, he does juggling tricks for them to make them feel better.
----
Tony Stark never excelled at the humanities. Literature didn’t interest him (save for scifi and the potential to seed invention ideas), philosophy was a snooze, and while he soaked up languages like a sponge, he never particularly enjoyed them. But he loves, loves, loves music. And not just the classic rock he’s got blaring in his workshop. He loves classical. He loves jazz. He loves old-timey standards and electronica. He even loves that stupid bubble gum pop on the top forty charts (though he'd never admit it even under torture.)
He loves playing the piano because when he looks at the keys, he doesn’t just see Bach and Beethoven. He sees harmonic frequencies and clashing sound waves and mathematical possibilities. He sees the Golden Ratio and pi and the Pythagorus constant. (It doesn’t hurt that his mother taught him piano, either.) He’ll never tell the other Avengers, but sometimes when he’s the only one awake, and he can’t focus on code anymore, he’ll slip into the lounge, open up the piano, and play.