#the absolute earnestness he was giving off when he said ‘it’s like eggs right’

[in-tua-deep]

Sometimes you are just trying to sleep and your brain conjures up an image of Jack Frost from rise of the guardians to earnestly explain to you that he’s “not human. Not really. Even though I started out human, I’m not now. It’s like eggs, right? You can start out with eggs, but then you start adding flour and heat and all sorts and suddenly you have cake. Once you have cake, you can’t ever go back to being eggs, even if you started as eggs. You see that right?”

“Anyway, when I bleed I don’t bleed blood, it’s all just river water, see?”

#my dreams #eggs into cake dream #hey brain what the fuck does this mean what are you trying to communicate here #Jack Frost #the absolute earnestness he was giving off when he said ‘it’s like eggs right’ #I guess this is applicable to my oc dusty who is fae but started out human?? the wrong changeling child? #also need people to know that the last line was said with just as much earnestness #maybe it was all a preamble for Jack Frost to show off the fact that he bleeds water idk #thought it would spook me if he didn’t convince me he straight up just wasn’t human first? so maybe I shouldn’t expect blood? #didn’t Jack Frost die in a pond anyway #shouldn’t he be bleeding pond water not river water #idk I’m going back to sleep I have work tomorrow

[jonesinghardy]

SLIP OF THE TONGUE

PAIRINGS: Mat Barzal x Reader CONTENT: offseason, established relationship, day out at the beach / boardwalk, fluff (?), mentions of marriage WARNINGS: light PDA, kissing RATING: G WORD COUNT: 1.3k AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi this is my first Hockey fic, I’m very new to to hockeyblr. I saw a tiktok that inspired this. All my love to @rosesvioletshardy​ for getting me into hockey, she did more in like a month than Canadian culture (andm y dad) has been able to do in 24 years. She got the first peek at this fic while we suffered through the last playoff game :’) hope you enjoy! It’s very sweet.

Mat holds your hand firmly as you walk among the light crowd out along the boardwalk. There are small rides, game booths, food stands, street performers, and vendors selling their wares. Which is why Mat hasn’t let go since you left the restaurant where you’d had a light early dinner. 

Someone had gotten a little too much sun and that someone is now wearing your peachy red bucket hat that you’d chosen to match your bike shorts for the outing, and coincidentally (or not) also matched his t-shirt. Mat’s cheeks and nose are red, and his shaggy offseason hair peeks out from the hat in beachy waves. 

At the car, before dinner, when you’d put your towels and bags away, you kissed his cheek after pressing your lips to an icy cold water bottle, and swiped some aloe onto his face while he held another water bottle to his neck after gulping down half of it.

“I think you were overly ambitious with boogie-boarding, baby,” you’d teased him lightly, watching him smile, eyes closed as you finished tending to his ails. He’d pouted, but he was laughing as he leaned in to kiss you, humming happily if not a little defeatedly.

Now that he’s eaten he’s regained a little energy, and the offensive sun is close to setting, lighting the sky in tones of purple and orange and growing the shadows on the boardwalk. You’re in search of desert, and a little more entertainment before heading back home for the night. 

Mat squeezes your hand as the crowd thins out and you look back at him with a reassuring smile, still tickled by how your outfits matched today. Your linen top is cream with a peachy yellow partial circle shape on the front that you think looks like the sun, but Mat said looks like a fried egg. Your sandals match the yellow, his white shorts complement your shirt and make his thighs look scrumptious. Your hat matched your leggings and his shirt, but you think it looks cuter on Mat.

“There’s a soft serve stand over there,” he says, raising a brow and pointing with his free hand. You look in the direction he’s pointed and find it, nod, and start heading over to it together. 

There’s a family ahead of you when you arrive, giving you both enough time to pick something off the menu. Mat wraps his arm around your waist while you wait your turn. You decide quickly, a cone with raspberry drizzle, but he takes longer to decide after he sees options for both chocolate drizzle and chocolate dipped. 

The mother ahead of you is talking very loudly to the clerk behind the counter, prattling more like, going on about… my husband this, my husband that, in such a snooty and somehow simultaneously resentful way that it makes you grimace. You can’t even tell what her problem is. 

“I never wanna sound like that,” you say under your breath, rolling your eyes when Mat looks at you and snorts trying to stifle his laughter. 

“God, me either,” he says, shaking his head and giving you a little squeeze. “I think I know what I want.” He looks around and nods at a bench. “I’ll order, you wait here?” 

“Okay,” you say, scrunching up your nose when he gives you a quick peck and heads over to the counter with a little bounce in his step. 

You laugh and take a seat, looking around at the nearby stands and booths. The family has moved on, their kids' faces covered in chocolate and ice cream, but looking as content as can be despite what a grouch their mother seems to be. They’re passing a booth full of charming stuffed animals.

There isn’t any fixed carnival game to try to win to get a toy, just a man selling toys. Mat is still waiting and paying for your ice cream, so you get up and take a few steps closer. 

“Babe!” you call, and watch him turn toward you, hands in his pockets, brows raised curiously. You point over at the booth and he nods, understanding where you’re going. 

The toys are even more charming up close, your gaze travelling over them thoughtfully. You squish one of the sample toys and discover them to be utterly pleasant to press your fingers into. 

Just when you think you’re ready to choose, the grouchy mother calls the vendor from the other side of the bench. He looks at you apologetically and goes to help her, and you hear her again; my husband likes… my husband wants, what do you think is best for my husband…

It only takes a moment, and you try to tune out her gratingly irritating voice, but finally you get your turn. You offer the vendor a smile, pointing to two bear toys that kind of look like loaves of bread, one beige and one brown. He turns to retrieve them.

“The beige one for me, and the brown one for my husband,” you say, the word slipping off your tongue accidentally. Your cheeks flush. The vendor doesn’t know that Mat isn’t your husband, but your face feels hot and you let out a heavy, embarrassed breath, almost dizzy with the thought of it.

The vendor turns around and pauses, a skeptical look on his face. Your eyes widen and you turn around, meeting Mat’s stunned, shit-eating grin, holding your ice cream in his hands. 

“Did you hear that, man!” Mat says, voice cracking excitedly. The vendor laughs. “She called me her husband!” 

Now your cheeks are burning worse than his. But if anything can be compared to the sun, it’s his beaming smile. 

“I heard it,” the vendor replies, shaking his head amusedly. 

“Oh my god, you’ve gotta come to our wedding, man,” Mat says, handing you your ice cream and reaching a hand out to shake his hand. 

You break into giggles. “Mat, please,” you plead, fishing out a few bills to pay the man for the toys. He shakes Mat’s hand laughing, and puts the bears into a paper bag for you.

He’s practically bouncing as you step away from the booth, another disbelieving laugh leaving your lips as he loops his free arm around your waist and starts guiding you to the railing to watch the sunset. 

“It was a slip of the tongue—“ you say, embarrassed, amused, but he silences you with a kiss that quickly turns into a grin between you both. 

“Say it again,” he says, pulling back a bit to look at you, still playful but utterly earnest. 

“My husband?” you reply, tummy full of butterflies. Somehow he grins even bigger and chuckles quietly to himself. 

“I like how that sounds,” he says, “A lot. About as much as I like the idea of you being my wife.” 

It’s your turn to grin, and you bite your lip, cheeks aching from trying not to smile too hard. 

“Just the idea?” You tease, and he laughs again. 

“You’re gonna be my wife.” He’s so happy and so sure you have absolutely no doubts about how serious he is. “And it’ll be an honour to be your husband.” 

“You’re gonna make me cry in my ice cream,” you complain, playfully, pouting, but can’t help but laugh again when he kisses you. 

“You’re okay with that right?” He asks, uncertain for a second. 

You nod. “Are you proposing?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I’m proposing that I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says, lifting his hand and stroking his thumb over your rosy cheek. “For now.” 

“For now,” you agree, leaning up to kiss him again. 

He holds your chin with his thumb and index. He tries to deepen it, and you indulge him for just a few seconds before you giggle. 

“Save that for later, our ice cream is gonna melt all over us!” 

He groans playfully. “Ice-cream? What ice-cream?” He kisses your cheek and steps back. 

Mat lifts his slightly melted, chocolate dipped and sprinkle-topped cone to his lips and winks. 

#mat barzal x reader #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mathew barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #my fic.

[thatfanficstuff]

Absent-Minded Kisses - Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Minors DNI. Smut, including but not limited to: unprotected sex, locker rooms, excessive usage of Fuck

A/N: Celebration Summer #17. Combined two requests for this one. One was Sleepy early morning kisses and the other is the two prompts in bold. I kind of love this one. Enjoy!

wc: 2037

***

It was so early. So, so early. You weren’t even certain why you were up other than you didn’t like your best friends heading out on mission without you there to say goodbye. That, and you knew neither of them would bother to eat if you didn’t feed them. Which is how you ended up at a table with Bucky and Steve watching them eat in silence while you sipped at your coffee.

You noticed that for once, they both seemed to be just as exhausted as you. Normally, they were bright-eyed and making fun of you for lagging behind. Not that they’d do that when you got up oh-god-it’s-early just to feed them.

Steve leaned back in his seat with a sigh. “Thanks for feeding us. Remember, we’re going dark as soon as we leave the tower. You won’t hear from us unless there’s a problem until we’re on our way back.”

You nodded in acknowledgement. You didn’t like it, but you understood.

Steve stood and finished off his coffee. He put the mug down and glanced at Bucky. “We’ve got to go, Buck.” He left without waiting for a response, patting your shoulder on the way by.

Bucky nodded as he finished shoveling his eggs into his mouth. He washed them down with his coffee then stood. He smiled down at you. “Thanks for taking care of us, doll.”

You returned the smile. “It’s not a problem, Bucky. Be careful.”

He braced one hand on the back of your chair and the other on the table as he leaned over you. “Always am, sweetheart.”

“Buck, come on!” Steve hollered from down the hall, making you laugh. It was like this every mission.

Bucky shook his head with a roll of his eyes. Leaning forward, he pressed a firm but swift kiss to your lips before hurrying after his best friend. “See you in a week,” he yelled over his shoulder as he went.

You hadn’t moved since Bucky’s lips had left yours. That wasn’t the kind of relationship you two had. You were friends. That’s it. Not that you hadn’t wished for more on occasion, but you’d never dare make a move. But he’d kissed you. Kissed you like it was nothing. You took a deep breath. It probably was nothing to him. Just a tired thank you. An absent-minded gesture.

You ran a hand down your tired face as you stood to clear away the plates. “Damnit, Barnes,” you muttered to yourself as you over thought every interaction the two of you had ever had.

***

“You okay?” Steve asked as he kicked the side of Bucky’s foot.

The brunet’s head jerked up, his brow furrowed. “I feel like I forgot something important, but I can’t think of what it might be.”

Steve shrugged. “It can’t be that important then. Quit stressing.”

Bucky nodded absently, his mind running over everything he’d done as he prepared to leave that morning. Suddenly, he froze and bolted upright. “Oh no. Shit.”

“What?” Steve asked, his friend’s tension affecting his own stance.

Bucky simply stared at him with wide eyes. “Oh God, Steve. What did I do?”

“I don’t know, Bucky, what did you do?” Cap asked, feeling slightly amused.

“I kissed Y/N.”

His brow lifted in surprise. When did this happen? And why did it take Buck so long to remember? What the hell happened after he left the table? “You did?”

Buck hopped to his feet and started pacing. “What if she didn’t like it? What if she did? What if she’s pissed? What if—”

“Bucky,” Steve said louder than necessary. “Calm down. There’s nothing you can do about it until we get home.”

***

The week passed slowly as you waited for Bucky to come home. That stupid, simple kiss was tearing you up inside. Obviously, it was just a friend thing, right? Like, he was just moving your friendship to the next level. He’d kissed the top of your head or your forehead before. This was no different, right? But what if it was?

And it was that what if that had you in the gym working on the punching bag. Because the truth was, you very much wanted it to mean more than friendship. That, even though he was tired, he’d done it because he thought about kissing you all the time. You were terrified that he wouldn’t bring it up. Even more terrified that he would, only to assure you that it meant nothing.

Ugh. Stupid, super soldier. You released a series of punches and kicks on the bag trying to work out your irritation. Finally, you stepped back, panting as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Who pissed you off, sweetheart?” that honey rich voice came from behind you and you spun to find Bucky watching you with his arms crossed over his chest.

You smiled seeing him safe and whole and some of the tension in your chest eased. Without thought, you moved to him and hugged him. “Glad you’re back,” you told him as you stepped away. “Steve okay?”

He nodded and rubbed and hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah, he’s good.” He looked at you then down at the floor. “Listen…”

He trailed off and his cheeks flushed. You tilted your head and waited for him to continue. He sighed and his shoulders slumped forward. “I’m sorry about the kiss. I was tired and wasn’t thinking.”

Your heart shriveled just a bit with his words, but you really hadn’t expected any different. You tried your best to keep the smile on your face. “Don’t worry about it, Buck. It’s fine.”

His eyes ran over your face, probably trying to see if you were telling the truth. You gestured over your shoulder toward the locker rooms. “I’m going to hit the shower. I’ll see you later.”

Just as you turned away from him, a hand fell on your arm, stopping you. You turned slightly to look at him again. Those deep blue eyes seemed to see right through you. “Did you…did you want me to kiss you?”

He was worried about hurting you. You gave him a soft smile as your heart twinged then you repeated your earlier words. “Don’t worry about it, Buck. It’s fine.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up and he pulled you toward him. “Would you just shut up and kiss me already?” A moment later his lips found yours. This time you took the opportunity to savor it. His lips were soft but earnest as they moved against yours. His metal arm slipped around your waist to hold you close to him. His other hand threaded into your hair to hold your head in place. His tongue slipped into your mouth pulling a moan from you.

Finally. You leaned back just far enough to breathe. “Damn, Bucky.”

He gave you that grin that never failed to make you smile. It was infectious. He leaned forward and kissed you again. A firm but swift kiss that mirrored the first one he’d given you. “Missed you.”

You hummed in agreement as you fisted your hands in his shirt and pulled him back to you for another kiss. This time it was hot. Needy. Wanting. Bucky’s lips moved from yours to run along the line of your jaw, talking as he went. “Thought about you every day. Worried I fucked up. Drove Steve fucking nuts talking about you.” His lips traced the column of your throat before he licked his way back up to your ear. He tugged the lobe into his mouth to scrape it with his teeth. “Pissed at myself for not giving you the kiss you deserved.”

You whimpered. There was absolutely no other word you could give the sound that came from your mouth. Bucky groaned in response and squeezed your thighs. “Jump, baby.” You obeyed and he lifted so you could wrap your legs around his waist. He moved you across the gym and into the women’s locker room. He sat you down only long enough to strip your leggings from you, your panties following immediately after. A second later your legs were wrapped back around him as he backed you into a wall.

The cold tile did little to soothe your heated skin. Bucky’s fingers slid through your folds as he pressed his forehead to yours. “Jesus, sweetheart. You’re killing me here.”

You tugged at his hair and he hissed. Those blue eyes narrowed in warning and you tugged again. His lips found yours again, feeding, begging. Two fingers slid into your core and he curled them. You rocked against him and let out a half scream as he found that perfect spot. His mouth moved to your throat where he bit and sucked, marking you as his as he fucked you with his fingers. “Fuck, Bucky. I have never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.”

He pulled his fingers from you and fumbled with his pants. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Finally, he freed his heavy cock from the confines of his uniform. Lowering the two of you onto the nearby bench, his hands wrapped around your waist to lift you up and positioned himself at your opening. “Tell me you want this, baby.”

You placed your hands on his shoulders to help balance yourself. You looked deep into his eyes and said, “Barnes, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will shoot you.”

He laughed and slammed himself into you with no further warning. You gripped his shoulders and arched your back. He was long and thick and it had been awhile for you. Your pussy ached where he stretched and filled you beyond anything you’d felt before. And god, did it feel good. You rocked against him to tell him you were ready and he immediately began to pump in and out of you.

Every movement sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core. That knot was already tightening, preparing to bring you a wave of ecstasy. Your hold on Bucky tightened as he hammered into you. This wasn’t love making, it was just a good old-fashioned fucking. This was the release of the tension that had been building between the two of you from the moment you met.

Bucky hissed. “Fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum. Cum for me, baby. Show me how much you need me. Soak my cock, baby.” His thumb found your clit and flicked over it as he spoke. The combination of the two was enough to push you over the edge. As your pussy clenched around his cock, he followed you over the peak.

You were both panting as you dropped your head onto his shoulder. He was still buried inside of you, but you weren’t inclined to move at the moment. Too happy. Too content. He pressed a kiss to your temple. “That was fucking amazing,” he said drawing a laugh from you. You leaned back to look at him and his hands settled on your hips to hold you steady. His thumbs rubbed on the bare skin he found beneath your top.

Looking down, you realized he was still fully clothed. “Well, this hardly seems fair.”

And there was that grin again before he kissed you slow and sweet. “What do you say, we move this to your bedroom and we’ll both get naked this time?”

***

The next morning you stirred, shifting on your sheets as you tried to figure out what had woken you. You smiled as you felt the soft kisses trailing up the length of your spine. Letting out a moan of contentment, you turned to see your soldier. He held himself over you and mirrored your smile. You laid a hand along the side of his face, feeling his early morning stubble. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey.” He leaned down to kiss you in a sweet good morning. Pulling away, he kissed the tip of your nose then pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you, sweetheart. Have for a while.”

“I love you, too, soldier.” You hooked a leg around him and shifted your position so you he was under you and you were straddling his hips. “Let me show you how much.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #celebration summer

[curlynerd]

You're Bacon Me Crazy Word Count: 2K Rating: T Summary: "I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!" Or, Dean comes out through complicated burger metaphors. Notes: humor, canon-adjacent, coming out, established Destiel, #pray4Sam

Also read on AO3!

"You're really having two burgers, Dean?" Sam asks in his most smug, most obnoxious "I’m eating kale for lunch" voice. Dean really hates that voice.

Dean straightens his back and spreads his hands out, like the two wrapped burgers, the extra large fries, and the soda with two straws are a majestic bounty. “I’m a growing boy, Sammy."

“Uh-huh,” Sam deadpans. He lifts the takeout lid of his salad and starts carefully drizzling the vinaigrette cup over his bed of leafy greens and grilled chicken. “And you’re definitely not going to bully Cas into splitting them with you? You know he doesn’t need to eat.”

Something tight and anxious curls in Dean’s chest. “No!” he blurts out, realizing a second too late that it’s normal for him to share his food with Cas. Just because he’s been doing it more now that he and Cas are finally together does not mean that it’s weird now.

In response to Dean’s defensiveness, Sam raises a self-righteous eyebrow in sync with his salad-laden fork. “Can he even really taste them? I thought he didn’t like food in angel mode.”

Dean swallows down a multitude of answers. He likes sharing the experience with Cas anyway. He thinks the way his face scrunches up at the molecules is cute. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside that an angel -- his angel -- is willing to put up with something so silly and mundane and human as taste-testing different burgers.

He really, really needs to tell Sam the truth about him and Cas. Hell, he’s been trying to for months! But every time the perfect opportunity presents itself, he turns into a fuckin’ coward.

And today definitely is another perfect moment. The conversation has naturally turned to Cas. They’re sitting at a picnic table at the park, with nobody around to overhear Dean spill his guts in the most agonizing and uncomfortable way possible. They’re working a case, so immediately after the conversation Dean can bury himself in research and hunting and not have to deal with Sam’s big, obnoxious “let’s make a huge deal out of this!” puppy dog eyes. And Cas isn’t even here right now to make things more awkward. He’s still checking out the victim at the coroner's office across the street.

Dean tries not to think about what a big baby he’s being by ignoring this golden opportunity. “He just tastes stuff different as an angel. He’s learning how to pick out the nuance.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Because there’s so much nuance to ‘extra cheese’ or ‘hold the tomato.’”

“Oh like you’d know, Mr. Tofu Burger.”

“You’d eat a burger off the floor. Are you really trying to convince me you care about what kind of burger it is?”

Dean huffs and levels an indignant glare at his brother. “I absolutely have a favorite burger.”

“Then why’d you get two different kinds?”

"I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!"

Sam snorts. "That's just an excuse to eat more burgers." He spears a forkful of tomato and spinach with a smug little twinkle in his eye.

"It's so not," Dean insists. He gestures at the two wrapped foil rounds in front of him. “These are two unique burgers that both have their own delicious qualities.”

“Really?” Sam’s expression is so pompous Dean kind of wants to throw a french fry at it. Except that would be a waste of a perfectly good fry.

“Yes ‘really.’ Look--” Dean carefully unwraps his first burger. “This is a pickle burger. And not just any ol’ pickle burger. The best, most amazing, and -- dare I say it? -- sexiest pickle burger in the entire continental US.” He smirks as Sam rolls his eyes. “Now I can tell by that condescending look in your eye, you’re wondering, ‘What the hell is so special about a pickle burger? It’s just pickles!’ But that’s where you’re wrong.” Dean lifts the top bun and points down to the burger, looking almost gleeful at all its toppings. “Fried pickles, pickled red onions, relish…Sour and sweet and crunchy, the perfect compliment to a juicy, meaty burger. And one this big? You’ve gotta have a little something special to handle all this meat.” Sam tilts his head, his mouth twitching like Dean said something embarrassing. Was it waxing poetic about vegetables? Probably. Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Ya know,” he continues, “for the longest time I didn’t think I’d like a pickle burger. For years I’d be at diners and think, ‘...maybe? I dunno. Probably not for me.’” Dean pulls his mouth down into a thoughtful frown and bobs his head to mimic his past thoughts. “And then...I’m not sure, I just figured, why not at least try it? All those burgers I’ve had all over the country; I could at least give it a whirl. And it. Was. Awesome!” Dean gently places the bun back on his burger and gives it a little affectionate pat. “Now I can’t get enough of ‘em.”

Sam's expression does a complicated dance that Dean can't even begin to follow. But it suddenly clears into a look of dawning realization, followed quickly by horrified guilt, before it clamps down entirely.

Weird.

"Well...I can't fault someone for enjoying a good pickle burger," Sam says slowly. He doesn't meet Dean's eye, keeping his gaze down as he delicately stabs at his salad with his fork. He frowns at the cucumber slice he spears and carefully dislodges it from the prongs. "Especially if they really like, uh, pickles?" Sam cringes a little down at his greens. Dean can't blame him. It's a sad looking salad.

"Exactly!" Dean gestures down at the burger. "I'm a meat man and a pickle guy." Sam looks up toward the sky and then down toward the ground below with a sort of pleading desperation. "This is a great burger for me. And don't even get me started on the sauce--"

"Okay!" Sam's voice pitches up several octaves. Dean frowns at him, but before he can ask, Sam takes a deep breath and plasters a warm, understanding smile across his face. "You know what? You're right, Dean. After all this time. All those, uh...burgers. I'm glad you've figured out which one you like best."

"Well, not quite. I mean, this one…" Dean carefully unwraps the second burger. "Is there anything sexier than a breakfast burger?" He practically beams down at the golden-brown bun, the fringes of fried egg drooping over the side, crisp bacon peeking out from under the patty.

"I...I don't know?" Sam has the same terrified expression as when Dean drags him onto ramshackle roller coasters at crappy county fairs. God, he's such a baby about cholesterol.

“Yeah. C’mon, you know they’re great!” Dean says cavalierly, because he’s not going to miss a chance to gloat about the awesome food Sam misses out on with all his salads. “Bacon is, you know, bacon! It’s the best tasting thing in the world! Salty, greasy, crunchy…”

Sam’s brow furrows so deeply it’s like it’s mining for coal, his unfocused eyes searching the empty space between them like he’s trying to figure out the deep, dark mystery of bacon.

Dean rolls his eyes. Of course he wouldn’t understand. The dude eats low sodium turkey bacon. "I know you haven't had good, real bacon in ages--" Sam looks offended. Then confused. Then offended again. "--but trust me, man. It's awesome. When ya got bacon in your burger, it automatically makes the burger a hundred times better. Can’t get enough of it!” Sam groans like he's in pain.

Dean grins and keeps going. “And you’ve gotta admit, a fried egg is a thing of beauty. Give me a good silky, drippy egg all over my burger and I’m a happy guy.” Sam’s nose scrunches up into abject horror. “You get that gorgeous, soft yolk oozing everywhere...It’s creamy and delicious and unctuous and--”

“Dean!” Sam shrieks. He lets his fork fall into his bowl and covers his face with both his hands. His voice is muffled, but it’s definitely a tormented whine. “I know this is a tough topic for you, but can you please just say you’re bi and never use words like ‘unctuous’ again? I’m begging you!”

Dean freezes. “Wh-What?” Did Sam really--? He--? How does he know?!

Sam pops up from his elbows, dragging both hands through his hair as he frees his face from hiding. “I get it, dude. Okay? I get it. I mean...I don’t get it.” He glances down at the two burgers with a perturbed look and holds up his hands in surrender. “But I get it.”

Dean stares at him. “Get what?” he demands. His heart is pounding fast. Bi. Sam knows he’s bi. When did he figure it out?! Why’s he bringing it up now?!

Sam fixes him with a flat look. “The burgers? The...God...bacon sex metaphor? The pickle guy thing? I get it. Please. Please stop talking about eggs like that. I’ll never eat an omelette again!”

Sex metaphors? Pickle guy?! Dean takes a moment to think and...yeah. Yup. He really did say “I’m a pickle guy,” out loud. Wow.

Maybe he should just...roll with it?

Because otherwise Sam is definitely going to mock him for that for the rest of his life, and honestly, coming out is the much better option.

“You got me,” Dean says with a small laugh. He spreads his arms out with a bit of a flourish, and it’s a relief to say it. It feels good. “What can I say? I like all kinds of burgers. And hotdogs. Tacos. Kielbasa...”

“Please stop,” Sam groans, rubbing at his eyes with his hand.

Oh yeah, this is definitely the better option. Dean fell ass-backwards into a conversation he’s been dreading for months, and the only person feeling awkward and miserable here is Sam!

Really it’s a win-win.

Dean grins from ear to ear as he relishes Sam’s mortification. “Hey now, I thought you were supportive! What happened to ‘I’m happy for you and your burgers?’”

“I am happy for you, I just wish this wasn’t happening over lunch…” Sam whines as he drops his hands on the table.

“What’s Sam happy about?” Cas asks, startling the both of them by approaching their picnic table. His eyes are earnest and sincerely curious, which only causes Sam to send a miserable, pleading look his way while shaking his head.

“Sam thinks pickles are gay,” Dean says to Cas with the same sort of smug glee of the teacher’s pet tattling about note passing in class.

Cas scrunches his face in confusion as he sits down beside Dean. “Sam, that’s...nonsensical.”

“That’s what I said!” Dean lies, because the way Sam’s eyebrow is twitching right now is too damn funny. “Wait til you hear what he thinks about bacon.”

Sam drops his face into his hands again. “This is the worst day of my life,” he groans as he massages his temples with his fingers.

Cas furrows his brow at him. “You’ve been to Hell.”

“And I’m still there, apparently!” Sam flings his hand up in exasperation. Cas quietly takes a sip of Dean’s drink, which for some reason just pisses Sam off more.

“You know, you could have just been normal about this. No weird, gross food metaphors. Just--” Sam drops his voice several octaves and bobs his head in a deliberately annoying parody of Dean. “--‘Hey Sam, by the way, I’m bi and totally in love with Cas, no big deal,’ or whatever.”

Dean goes still while Cas tilts his head at the two of them.. “Who says I’m in love with Cas?” Wait. Is that obvious too? Shit, well, looks like he gets to rip two bandaids off today. Thank God for the hilarious panic on Sam's face, because otherwise Dean would be the one freaking out here.

Sam’s eyes go huge, all color draining out of his face. “Oh shit. I didn’t-- I’m sorry, I--”

Dean can only manage to maintain the ruse for a few seconds before he bursts out laughing. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Where have you been, man? Cas and I have been together for ages. I thought you were the smart one!”

Sam looks like he wants to leap across the picnic table and strangle Dean.

With a glare so sour it could peel paint, Sam snatches Dean’s extra large order of french fries and storms off toward the car to sulk. About three paces away, he stops, turns around, and levels a stern finger at Dean alongside his scowl. “For the record. I’m proud of you. And I’m honored you chose to trust me with this information,” he hisses in a frustrated huff before he spins on his heel and marches away.

Dean wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling under his breath. Cas stares after Sam in concern.

“Why is he so mad?”

Dean shrugs off the question as he slides the pickle burger in front of Cas and nudges him with his elbow to try it. “Hell if I know. If you ask me, dude needs to have a burger every once in awhile.”

#destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #supernatural #spn #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #katie writes things #this is either the best thing I've written or the worst thing I've ever written. possibly both #I'm very sorry for making you read the bit about the fried egg

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Chapter 9

[Read on AO3]

Written for @ruleofexception‘s birthday! I had a choice between this and the Buzzfeed AU, and I jumped at the opportunity to close out this arc-- and also give at least one fic the chance to update three months in a row 🤣 I hope you enjoy your special day, Beth!

Shirayuki knows all too well what it’s like to have a defining feature.

In her earliest memories, she toddles around the swing set in the yard-- a Sesame Street one, faded from decades outdoors; she’d been shocked, years later, when she saw how bright Big Bird used to be in her dad’s pictures, canary yellow beneath his dungarees-- and in the background she can hear a boarder whisper to Busha, her hair’s so red! I’ve never seen anything like it.

It runs in the family, Busha says, her tone not yet tired. It must be one of the first times, when her apple red curls were still a source of pride instead of worry. Before anyone’s started yanking them at circle time, before full-grown adults sunk their hands into it and told her, if only my girlfriend had hair like this. Before people started calling her a firecracker, or feisty, or a fighter; before someone took a pair of shears and clipped a whole hank of it off to keep.

It’s changed her. Not how everyone expects; shame doesn’t cling to every strand of her hair, begging to be hidden. Nor does she brush it to shining every night with a hundred strokes, whispering a women’s hair is her glory. Half the time she just...forgets that there’s anything special at all, until someone stares at her over the avocados.

It’s strangers that need to make something of it, that need to say something, and well, she tries to take their compliments in the spirit they are given. Most people don’t know what it’s like-- will never know what it’s like-- to catch attention without trying. They can’t imagine being stopped on the way to school, at the gas station, at the grocery store, just to be told your hair is so red. They can’t fathom how each interaction has to be weighed and measured; to most people she’s a delightful oddity, but to a select few she’s a delicacy, something to be plucked and collected, and she never knows until it’s time to run.

(Most people also don’t know at the ripe age of thirteen that the best answer to does the carpet match the drapes? is a very assured, hair color is a different set of alleles than eyebrows and body hair. Confusion often makes the best getaway)

But that’s all typical; a natural response to a frequent stimulus. No, the thing that changes is what she notices in other people.

On some level she must see what everyone else sees first; it’s the only way she can disregard it with such unerring accuracy. When she first meets Zen, she doesn’t notice the princely bearing, the idol pretty looks-- instead it’s his hands and the firm way they clasp hers, the calluses where he holds her pen. The places where they are streaked with the barest hint of color instead of the uniform porcelain paleness-- eczema scars, he tells her, from when he used to get it every winter. With Kiki, it’s not her traffic-arresting beauty, but the way her shoulders fill out her button-up, how her skin is striped over her scapula with the tan lines of sports bras past, the casual flex of her muscles as she moves. But with Mitsuhide, well...

Much to her everlasting shame, all she sees is his height. Though in her defense, she was sitting when she met him, and he did blot out the sun. And she was very quick to notice the earnestness of his smile and the warmth in his eyes right after. But still, Mitsuhide is...large.

And yet, as big as he is, he has a gift for turning up unexpected.

“You better give those dice of yours a kiss tonight.” Kiki’s chair groans under her as she stretches up to standing, the edge of her flannel flirting with the band of her jeans. “They saved your ass tonight.”

“Excuse me, princess.” Obi’s already on his feet, grin just as ready. “Luck had nothing to do with it. That was all skill.”

Kiki’s eyes roll to where Izana sits, scribing his meticulous notes. There’s no need to say a word; she just waits, and without even a stilling of his pen, he replies, “Luck had everything to do with it. If I didn’t ask you to keep your dice here, I’d suspect you’d put that d20 in the microwave.”

“Hey, it wasn’t that--”

“You rolled three natural twenties in a row.” That ice cold gaze flicks up toward him, grim. “You can thank that rock you just threw for keeping that die from early retirement.”

“But Master.” Obi’s voice drops into his chest, a distant rumble that flutters his too-pretty eyelashes. “Could you really believe that I would do something so despicable as ch--”

“Yes,” he replies, nearly drowned out by Kiki’s, “Absolutely.”

“Hey!” The thin cotton of Obi’s button-down stretches taut over his back, his crossed arms folded tight across his chest. “I built this baby for speed and sweet-talking, and--”

“You should really consider putting more CON on Beaumains.”

Shirayuki nearly jumps out of her skin. The last she’d seen, Mitsuhide had been at the end of the table, putting away the reference books at an unhurried pace. But now the gentle gravel of his voice crinkles right behind her, and it’s impossible that he could move that fast, that she wouldn’t see someone his size slip around the table--

But she twists in her chair, her eyes confirming what her ears suggest. He’s right at Obi’s shoulder, all six-foot-four plus of him, easy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t want to tell you to put an ability point toward it, but there’s plenty of ways to scramble an egg.”

“Ah...” Obi shuffles back a step, hip bumping into the table. “Scramble an egg, big guy...?”

“Well, ten CON is going to put you a little behind the curve for a character at your level,” Mitsuhide tells him gently. “And we’re probably not near a market that would have appropriately leveled magic gear, but we could look into investing in a Belt of Might Constitution for you.”

Mitsuhide turns toward the stairs, invitation clear in the way his body angles. Obi stares for a moment, his jaw just the slightest bit slack.

“N...nah.” His shoulders twitch, a shrug that folds him in on himself. “Beaumains isn’t really an accessories type guy...”

The smile still lingers on Mitsuhide’s lips, but it’s fainter now, reserved. “Oh, okay then. Just wanted to let you know some options.”

He ducks his head beneath the looming bit of ceiling above the first step, shoulder hunched to make himself small enough to fit. There’s nothing about him that’s particularly sullen, but there’s something in the way he holds himself that reminds her of a child’s hand slapped away from the cookie tray.

Obi stares at the space between them, growing by the second. “H-hey, big guy.” In a flash, he’s behind him, one boot fixed on a stair tread. “Do you think the belt looks cool? Beaumains could be down as long as it had, you know, a bitchin buckle or something.”

Shirayuki can’t see Mitsuhide’s face from her seat, but she can hear the laughter bubbling in his chest when he says, “I think you might have to take that up with Izana.”

Izana smothers a smile before it can take its first breath. “We can talk aesthetics when you manage to find an atelier that carries such an item out in the Welsh hinterlands.”

Obi scoffs. “Details, details.”

Kiki stands, voice pitched just loud enough so that even the boys on the stairs can hear, “The last time I checked, that was where devils live.”

If Shirayuki were to try to guess at the target of Kiki’s verbal riposte, she would have thought it was Obi-- he’s the one who rushes in to parry her witty one-liners. But instead she leans in as she passes Izana’s chair, and with more boldness than the rest of them combined, she gives his ponytail a tight, quick tug.

Izana’s nose wrinkles, but she sashays out of range from his halfhearted swipe. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hey!” Obi’s head ducks down, peeking around the corner. “That’s racist. I’ll have you know Beaumains has never seen a detail in his whole life.”

Kiki snorts. “I can believe it.”

“Obi, have you ever heard of a feat called Toughness?” Mitsuhide asks, his voice faint with distance. “I think that might bridge the gap while...”

The rest of his comment fades into an indistinct murmur, muffled by the angles and floor between them. By the time Obi answers, he’s the same, only a dancing sing-song above her. Shirayuki smiles, satisfaction warming her just as thoroughly as the cardigan she wraps around her shoulders. Despite all the, ah, hullabaloo tonight, Obi is already well on his way to making friends.

She drops the last emerald gem of her dice into her bag, setting it on the tray on the table. All she needs is to collect her notes, and--

“Shirayuki,” Izana murmurs, too soft. “If you have a moment.”

Her head jerks up, and she’s suddenly aware: there are only two people left in this room. Izana’s watching her with that steady, inscrutable gaze of his, as if he’s about to ask her to make a roll she has no skill points in, and she-- she--

Breathes. It doesn’t help with the stomach-knotting fear in her gut, or displell the knee-trembling sensation of being asked to stay after class. Not just by a teacher, but her favorite teacher; the one she studies for on weekends just so that she’s that extra toe ahead. Just that smidge more special, so that she can earn her gold-star praise.

And yet here she is, held after class still. She slumps into her seat, hands knitted in front of her. Where did Zen go, anyway? She hadn’t seen him--?

“He went up first,” Izana replies, even though she’s sure she hadn’t said a thing out loud. “Excuse me, it was obvious you were trying to find my brother. But he slunk up while Obi and Mitsuhide were talking about magic items, and I figured that you, well, hadn’t been keeping your eye on him...”

He lifts a too-knowing brow, and she squirms. “Is there a, um, problem? Did I do anything that--?”

“Oh, no no. You haven’t done anything.” Izana waves a hand, dissipating all her worries clouding the air. His mouth twists, curling into a rueful smile. “I merely wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” She wouldn’t have thought he was acquainted with the concept. At least, outside of statements penned by no less than three HR managers.

“Yes.” He shifts, and it dawns on her-- he’s uncomfortable. Not due to a lumpy cushion or a tingling limb, but because he means what he says. He’s going to apologize. “I recognize that some actions on my part caused you to be put into an...uncomfortable position tonight.”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

His breath hisses through his teeth. “This is far from the first time I have run a session. I should have realized that introducing such a volatile plot element this early in your tenure might...put a strain on the group’s chemistry.” He hesitates, fingers stilling where he picks at the edge of his journal. “Even if it was an agreed upon element of your backstory, I put you in a position that I was not clear in communicating the breadth of for...personal reasons.”

As pretty as his words were, they cleared up precisely nothing. “I don’t think I understand...?”

“Ah, yes, of course not. How should I put this...?” He drums a swift, asynchronous beat on the table; not music, just nerves. “Whenever I work with someone to create their character, I make sure they hand me...leverage. Things I might use to spur them into motion, if need be, or draw them deeper into the story as it is woven.” His mouth quirks. “I’m sure you suspect just which elements those might be for Lynet.”

A red gauntlet flashes in her mind, spiked and grasping, and Shirayuki fails to bite back a grimace. She’s definitely given him more than enough rope to hang her, if it suited him.

“It’s my job to appropriately apply it. To wound you with exquisite precision, if you will.” His hands still, pressing flat against the glossy wood. “I was careless tonight. I should have anticipated that the reaction a former lover might garner would not be...mild.”

“Oh.” Her head tilts. “You mean Shuuka?”

Izana stares. “...Yes?”

Shirayuki twitches her shoulders, more of a shrug than she’s seen Obi give. “Lover is a bit strong, but I wasn’t...upset? It was fun to have Lynet’s story show up so early. I know they’re on her quest right now, but...now she feels less like an, um, escort mission, and more like a party member, if you know what I mean.”

“I...” His mouth works, and beneath his furrowed brow, she realizes she’s surprised him, somehow. “I do. But you enjoyed the session, even with my brother’s behavior?”

“Of course,” she assures him. “Everyone is invested in their characters, so it’s only natural that tensions would run high. Doesn’t this usually happen?”

Her first impression of Izana had been of his height, of the way he holds himself, like a whip coiled to strike-- or no, better yet, a sword angled to parry. But now it’s his eyes she notices, not the icy pale like she assumed, but the same rich indigo of his brother’s, so deep it reminds her of Antarctica, a blue so close to black it’s bottomless. But when he looks at her now, light scatters to make them warmer, a sea more pleasant than its usual frigid waters.

“Ah...” A hand delicately covers his face, long fingers splayed over the sharp rise of his cheekbones. His shoulders shake, and for a moment she’s concerned, but he-- he’s laughing. “My brother really wasn’t kidding about you, was he...?”

She doesn’t see what’s so funny. “Excuse me?”

He lifts his hand, dismissing his good humor with a wave. “Never mind, it’s nothing. I’m glad you were comfortable, but nonetheless, you have my gratitude. Plenty of other experienced players wouldn’t handle this with half as much aplomb as you, Shirayuki.”

“Well...” Her fingers knit in her lap, knotting together like her nerves. “If you feel like you need to apologize to someone, you should consider Obi.”

That draws him up short, his hooded eyes blinking wide. “I’m sorry?”

“I just...” She bites her lip, measuring out her words. The dose makes the poison, Busha says, and it works for words as well as wellness. “Maybe I’m more sensitive to this because I don’t have, um, siblings, but...it felt like Obi was always in the position to rile Zen up because you put him there. And that’s not really...nice. Especially since he’s a new player, just like me.”

Izana’s lips part, but he presses them tight again, curling into a too-knowing smirk. “I appreciate your concern for a fellow player,” he says mildly, even as his mouth stretches wider with every word. “But please believe me when I say, Obi knew full well what he was getting into when he took a seat at this table.”

What’s unfair is that Izana invited that guy for the specific purpose of scaring Shirayuki off, and no one seems to care. Zen doesn’t lose an ounce of his bitterness in memory, but it rings at a truer tone now, watching Izana lounge behind the table, confidence palpable.

“Still,” she insists, tearing her gaze away to trace wood grain instead. Something steadying, rather than the constant agitation she feels looking at him. “Even if he was prepared for it, it’s not like taking the brunt of Zen’s attitude was any more comfortable for him than you assumed it would be for me.”

It’s the weight of his attention that draws her back into it, the way his eyebrows sit so heavily over his gaze. “You have a point,” he admits slowly, finger picking up their asynchronous beat once again. “I’ll make sure to tender an appropriate apology to our resident demon for his service.”

“Devil,” she reminds him. “I was only in the splash zone their whole...conflict, and I can’t imagine it was fun on either side.”

“Oh, you were a little closer than that,” Izana hums, but before she can ask what he means, he rolls up to his feet, towering over her. “Come, I’ll walk you up.”

She frowns, scurrying out of her seat. “I can handle the stairs myself.”

“Of course you can,” he soothes, smile taking a more genuine tilt. “But it would be my pleasure.”

He holds out an arm, gesturing up the stairwell, standing there like some gentleman out of a period piece, and, well-- it’s hard to argue with that one. At least this is something she can tell Kihal later that she won’t turn into some Cute College Boy romance fodder.

(It’s doesn’t occur to her that it would, however, cause Hot For Teacher fodder; not until it is far too late)

Shirayuki crests the top of the stairs, Izana not far behind, and her first sight-- besides the immaculately maintained foyer and its ostentatious and assumed-real crystal chandelier-- is Obi looming over Zen, smirk firmly in place as they linger at the door. Blocking really, but since Mitsuhide and Kiki are nowhere to be seen, she assumes that they at least waited for them to leave before starting in on their next round of verbal fisticuffs.

It’s instinct to get between them; Shirayuki makes a habit of giving the benefit of the doubt, but the past four hours have only proven that these two get along like Mentos and seltzer. She takes one soft step, the soles of her ballet shoes slapping against the wood, before she realizes-- they’re talking. Nicely.

“--It’s worth asking,” Zen concludes, sweater shrugged casually around his shoulders. “Izana can be a hard ass, but I think you have plenty of ground to ask for a--”

Obi’s the first to look up; a slow lift of his eyes until they meet hers. Zen must catch the change, subtle as it is, since he whips around, eyes widening. “Shirayuki!”

He bounds over to her, hands coming to fit right around the caps of her shoulders. His eyes flick over her, searching, though she can’t imagine what for until he asks, “Are you all right?”

“Ah..?

He glances dubiously behind her, right to where Izana looms, smug satisfaction wafting off of him in waves. “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

That gets a huff. “I am right here,” Izana informs him, prim. “I can hear you.”

Casting aspersions, he doesn’t say, but he may as well have for how loud it’s not. Zen shrugs it off with all the ease of a sibling. “You know what you’re like.”

Izana’s laugh could make plants wither and die. “Do I...?”

“I’m fine!” Her hands wave, carving out space between them. “Izana just wanted to talk about, um--” your behavior was the exact way to make this worse, true as it is-- “Lynet’s backstory. Since I, ah, improvised some of it during the session tonight.”

She’s not sure what she did to deserve two Wisterias staring at her, but she’s starting to regret it.

“Really?” Zen doesn’t have to sound so incredulous when he says it. It’s not like she’s been in the habit of lying to him. “That’s all?”

“Yes,” Izana hums, too amused for comfort. “I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. After all, Lynet has provided me with so much...raw material.”

He smiles the way a poke feels, and every part of Zen bristles. “You better not be planning to--”

“It amuses me how you think you have any foot to stand on when it comes to--”

“Hey, milady.” Obi strolls up beside her, pitched just too loud to be natural. “You ready to bounce?”

She blinks, the interlocking hamster wheels that make up the innermost workings of her brain clunking together as she tries to parse what he’s saying. “Oh,” she murmurs, the stars aligning and gears meshing. “Yes, I’m ready to, um, leave.”

“Thank you.” Izana twists away from his brother’s glare, the very picture of a congenial host. “For coming. And your gift. I plan on enjoying them.” He cuts a superior glance over his shoulder. “Alone.”

“Ah...” She glances back at Zen, watching the way crimson creeps up his neck, curling over his ears. “You can share them, if you’d like.”

“Oh, I know,” he assures her, walking them to the door. “But I won’t. Have a nice evening.”

The door shuts, gently swooshing into place, and the moment the lock catches, Zen’s voice erupts wordlessly from behind it.

“Well.” Obi blinks at the frosted glass. “That makes me glad I’m an only child.”

She lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Me too.”

Shirayuki’s only known Obi a week, but already she knows one thing for sure: it’s easy to be quiet with him.

Not that she doesn’t want to talk-- she does, she’s dying to, but when the car’s already idling at the top of the portico, they slip in without much more than a here (for when he opens her door), a thank you (for when she take the invitation), and one sec (the last thing he murmurs before trotting over to the driver’s side). And now that they’re underway, rolling out between the loops of that wrought-iron W, she finds that she isn’t concerned about providing conversation.

She settles back into the seat, giggling when the plastic creaks beneath her. Plush leather interiors this isn’t, but the seat’s at just the right height to kick her heels up on the dash, toes tapping over the silvery ACCORD label in the corner.

“Hey,” he hums, nearly lost in the soft beat of his music, turned down so low all she can hear is the beat of drums and the faint warble of a singer. “Sorry if I interrupted anything. It just looked like you might need an assist.”

Shirayuki blinks. “You mean--? Just now?” She scoffs. “A rescue is more like it.”

“Nah.” He turns the wheel, shaking his head. “You have the both of them handled. I just thought you could use the break from the balancing act.” His teeth flash in the dim light of the dash. “And I’m a walking target to Wisterias.”

The correct thing to say would be, thank you. Simple, quick, to the point. If she really couldn’t leave well enough alone, there was always, good thing they were too busy with each other to bother with either of us.

But instead she chomps at the soft flesh of her cheek, desperate to keep her opinion locked behind her teeth. It’s no use; she manages a spiky, awkward silence before the lashings fly loose, and she says, “We all like you, you know.”

It’s a good thing they’re at a stop light, since Obi’s head whips toward her, eyes so wide she can see them shine gold. “Wha..?”

“I mean, you’re a great addition to the party,” she flounders, taking every ounce of self-control to keep her hands from snapping up to cover her face. “Beaumains’ skills are an asset.”

Obi’s mouth curls into a rueful grin. “Even if he’s lacking in the CON department.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she insists, too earnest as always. “The fact that he isn’t sworn to Arturius adds a lot of inter-party tension in a way that’s interesting. It forces our characters to examine their own motivations, and what the concept of the Round Table means, rather than just blindly following his lead.”

She should stop. That’s enough of a lecture, more than Obi probably wants to sit through from a girl who doesn’t even have her own license, but the words keep sloshing out of her, like a levee straining under a seven-years flood.

“If Zen made you feel like you’re not wanted, it’s not true.” Her hands rattle like leaves in her lap. “He doesn’t speak for all of us. I know I’d miss Beaumains if he stopped questing with us, so, um.” Her teeth pluck at her lip. “Don’t quit. If you were considering it. Being Lynet wouldn’t be as fun without you.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Long enough for her words to echo back in her ears, for her to realize that she practically begged him--

He laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry.” It’s a dark, rumbling sound that has her flushing from head to toe. “I wasn’t. It takes more than a little temper tantrum to drive me away when I’m having fun.”

“Oh,” she breathes, hands clapped to her cheeks. “Ah...”

“Besides,” he hums, softer. “Me and the Prince of the Britons and the Angles or whatever had a good chat before you and His Majesty arrived. We’re good now.”

“Good now?” She frowns darkly. “Zen better have apologized.”

“Well,” he wheedles, “as close as guys get to that sort of thing.”

“That would be an apology,” she informs him, “since ‘sorry’ isn’t gender specific.”

It’s hard to make out any details in the dark; even with the streetlights and the dash he’s more a shadow limned with light than human. But even still, she could swear she sees his shoulders tremble, hedging in his face.

“Is that so?” he hums, amused. “No worries, my lady, your devoted swain cannot be scared away, even by the whims of princes. Plus, I already agreed to let Big Guy help me out with my little CON problem. It’d be rude for me to bail now.”

“Oh.” She might burn alive from how hot her cheeks are. “So you were already...and I just...said all that for...?” She coughs. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“While you were saying such nice things about me? Milady.” He presses a hand to his chest. “I’d never. Besides, you get real cute when you’re fired up.”

His eyes slant toward her, mouth to match, and something in the vicinity of her stomach quivers. “O-oh.”

“Ah...” Obi coughs, gaze sliding back toward the road. “Anyway, it’s not like His Highness didn’t have a point.”

Shirayuki frowns. “Of course he didn’t,” she huffs. “You weren’t trying to ruin the game on purpose.”

His grin stretches into a grimace. “Ah, well, that’s what I mean, Red. That first session...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “Well, let’s just say, there’s a reason why Beaumains’ CON is so low.”

Every line of his silhouette tense as she asks, “What do you mean?”

One hand raises off the wheel, thumb digging into the meat of his shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d be playing him more than once.”

“But Izana said...”

“I owed Izana a favor,” he admits, every word a pulled tooth. “He asked me to help him scare away some gold digger that was sniffing around his precious little bro.”

Gold digger. Shirayuki blinks. She’d been under the impression that people like that provided activities a little more alluring than playing an off-brand wizard once a week. “And so you...?”

“Agreed, yeah.” His shoulders twitch up into a shrug. “I thought I’d be providing a public service. But it turned out that the only thing this girl was trying to dig up was fantasy plants. And by the end of it I was, uh, having fun, so...”

“You came back,” she murmurs, stunned. “Because you liked playing with--” me-- “us.”

“Yeah.” He lets out a weak laugh. “Turns out Beaumains’ type is girls who don’t scare easy.”

He turns down her street, car slowing to a crawl, only the soft hum of the radio between them, and she wonders why she’s so tempted to ask, but what about you?

“Hey, so,” he coughs, clearing both the air and his throat. “If you don’t want me to come back, it’s fine. I can tell Izana that it’s not--”

“What?” She twists in her seat, meeting his wide eyes. “When did I say that?”

“You...” He licks his lips, then turns back to the wheel, hands clenched at ten and two. “You didn’t. But considering how you know I was trying to ruin this for you, I thought it followed that you might be sick of my face.”

She blinks. “But you did a bad job of it.”

A laugh bursts out of him, a surprise to them both. “Wow, uh, thanks, kid.”

“No, I mean...” She shakes her head, trying to clear the slate of her thoughts. There’s too much on there for her to be able to put anything coherent in the air between them. “You weren’t trying very hard. And when you could have just ducked out entirely, you came back. Besides,” she offers him a shy smile, “you aren’t trying to get rid of me now, are you?”

“...No,” he breathes, the gold of his eyes intense where they meet hers. “I’m definitely not.”

His hand twists, killing the engine. In any other car, the music would keep playing, but Obi’s is from when grown adults wore sparkly butterfly clips in their hair and dressed in space-age metallic pleather, so it cuts out, sharp and obvious, leaving them in silence.

She glances at him from the corner of her eyes, tracing the hunched curl of his body over the steering wheel.

“So what was your plan, anyway?” she asks, conversational, planting her elbow on the center console and tucking a hand beneath her chin. “You were trying to make me uncomfortable, right? That’s why there was all that cloak and dagger.”

“Izana thought you might get the hint if someone made you feel seen,” he admits, settling back into the seat. His eyes narrow, gold tracing down to their corners. “So I just went with that.”

Her mouth twitches into a grin. “And you thought flirting might make me uncomfortable enough to go?”

“Ah...no.” He scratches the back of his head. “That was natural.”

Shirayuki’s read about spontaneous combustion before, and in this moment, she finally understands how it might happen. “Oh.”

He grunts, shifting in his seat. “I didn’t expect our characters to have so much, er...”

“Synergy?” she offers.

“No,” he breathes, peering down at her with molten eyes. “Chemistry.”

Her hands clench hard in her lap, unsure of what to do with themselves. Or rather, they’re certain, but whatever plans they have, they haven’t seen fit to tell the rest of her. Well, beyond suggesting that Obi’s thermal looks very soft beneath his button-down.

“Anyway.” It’s less a word and more an inhale, Obi vaulting himself upright to clutch the wheel. “You better get inside before your grandparents think we’re up to something.”

They’d probably love it if they were. Shirayuki bites her lips to keep from saying so.

His hands fly up between them, eyes wide. “Not that I would! That’d be, um...”

“Ah.” It’s silly to feel disappointed, not when she doesn’t even want to, um, hm--

“Not that there’s anything wrong with you,” he’s quick to add, mouth clenched to a grimace. “I just mean, you’re, ah--” his gaze swings toward her, and when it does--

It’s...a lot.

“Ah,” he hums, faint. “Never mind.”

“I should...” She licks her lips, suddenly aware of every nerve ending that terminates in her epidermis. “Go?”

“Yes, good.” He doesn’t sound relieved in the slightest as she slides out, just winded. “Great plan.”

Jaja and Busha are waiting when she steps inside.

“Did you have a good time?” Jaja asks archly, newspaper casually laid open on his lap. “You were out there a while.”

She sighs, eyes rolling. “Jaja...”

Busha bustles over to the window, peeking through the blinds. She can’t possibly see him-- she’d be hard pressed to find anyone more than a few feet in front of her in broad daylight, let alone across the courtyard in the middle of the night, but that won’t stop her from trying.

“More importantly,” she intones, dire. “Did you ask him to dinner?”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #dungeons and dragons au #my fic #ans #this is 2 out of 3 of the updates I have planned for this fic! #ch 10 should be coming late October #though that's....subject to change depending on how rough obiyukiweek prep gets #but expect a change of POV #>:3c

[heauxplesslydevoted]

And They Were Roommates (Bryce Lahela x MC)

Summary: A surprise leads to a major shift in Bryce and Casey’s relationship

A/N: Eeeek, this is my first time ever writing a Bryce x MC fic! The day you guys see me writing something not Ethan centric is the day you should play the lotto because it’s more rare than a unicorn sighting.

Anywho....please enjoy!

Tags: @drakewalker04 @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @maurine07 @badchoicesposts @ermidc @sundaescreamcheese @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @gogotomago95 @have-aheart @aworldoffandoms @zaffrenotes @anotherbeingsworld @to-fangirl-or-not-to-fangirl @nazariolahela @the-unconquered-queen @writinghereandthere @omgjasminesimone @parkerattano @silent-storms-posts

~v~

“Okay, are we going out to lunch?” Casey asks, twisting her fingers into her skirt. From the passenger seat of Bryce’s car, the bustling streets of Boston fly past her. A tendril of her curly hair whips around in the wind, settling on her lip as it sticks to her tacky lip gloss. Bryce is a freaking speed demon and drives too fast for her liking.

But she does like looking at him when he’s behind the wheel. His grip on the wheel is relaxed, much like his posture, slouched low in the seat, right hand drumming against the gear shift. While it’s still winter, the sun is shining brightly, making the highlights in his hair and the light dusting of freckles adorning his nose stand out. Her boyfriend—even thinking that word makes her giddy—makes a pretty sight to behold.

“No, that’s not the plan. But we can go get food once we’re done,” Bryce answers..

“Ice skating?” Casey guesses. She watches as he shakes his head. “But ice skating sounds so fun.”

“We can go ice skating some other time, Case.”

“We’re going to the movies?”

Bryce chuckles. She’s been trying to guess all morning what he has planned for the day, and despite getting every single guess wrong, Casey comes up with another one at the drop of a hat. The persistence is admirable. “You’ll find out soon enough. Stop being so nosy.”

Casey pouts, feigning hurt. “I resent that! I prefer to be called naturally inquisitive. It makes me sound smart.”

“You’re nosy,” Bryce deadpans. “But don’t fret, we’ll be there in like, 5 minutes tops.”

He’s been excited from the moment he told her to get dressed, and Casey can see that his leg is bouncing up and down underneath the steering wheel. Whatever he has planned, he’s really excited about it, so Casey decided to keep quiet and enjoy the rest of the ride.

They enjoy the rest of the short ride, Casey scrolling through Bryce’s different Spotify playlists until she settles on the perfect song, but he’s pulling in and parking his car before she can even hit play.

An apartment complex was not what she was expecting to see. It’s a very nice apartment complex, located a few blocks away from Boston University. Casey can see the college students milling around, some adults walking their dogs, a few older more established couples, some with kids, some without going in and out of the building.

Now her curiosity is piqued. Is Bryce dragging her along to some surgeon friend’s apartment? Is this his idea of a Saturday adventure? Granted, he never promised her an adventure, just a surprise, and while she likes most of his surgical cohort, she’d rather be doing something else. Nonetheless, Casey doesn’t say anything, letting Bryce intertwine their fingers and lead her through the building.

They ride up the elevator in silence until they reach the 4th floor. It isn’t until Bryce reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key do the alarms go off on her brain. “Bryce? Did you–”

“I got a new apartment!” Bryce exclaims, cutting her off. “Surprise!”

Once the door is open, he’s pulling her in, his excitement palpable. Casey looks around the place. It’s unfurnished, the hardwood floors beneath them bright and freshly waxed. And even though she hasn’t looked around, she can already tell it’s much larger than his current 1 bedroom.

“Oh...wow,” is all that manages to come out of her mouth.

“I know! It’s in Keiki’s school district, thank god. And it’s a brand new unit, all stainless steel appliances, marble and quartz countertops, which are apparently huge deals when you’re apartment hunting. In-unit washer and dryer, walk-in closets, there’s a gym and a pool downstairs, a game room–”

Casey watches him as his animatedly rattles off all of the features in the apartment. His face is flush, pink with excitement, his words are breathless and tumbling out of his mouth all at once. She takes a step forward, cupping his face between both hands. “Bryce, I think you should stop and breathe.”

The command makes him flush hard, now from embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You can continue now.”

“That was pretty much it. The main draw is that it’s a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment, so I don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore. Now Keiki and I will each have our own space. Do you think she’ll like it?”

“Will the 15 year old girl like having her own room, and not having to share a bathroom with her older brother?” Casey nods. “Absolutely. Keiki is a lucky duck.” She takes a few steps further into the apartment, silently appraising it. It’s beautiful from what she can see, and she hasn’t even seen the bedrooms. “Question: how are you affording this place? You’re a surgical resident, living in Boston is expensive, and I’m pretty sure Sallie Mae is eating most of your paychecks.”

Bryce looks down at his feet, shuffling them back and forth much to Casey’s dismay. He’s going to scuff the floors doing that. “I uh...I talked to my parents.”

“When?”

“A little over a month ago, before I enrolled Keiki in school. I called my parents and gave them quite the earful about not contacting Keiki once since she’s been in Boston, and I kinda let them have it. Turns out I’ve been holding in a lot of pent up...stuff regarding my parents.”

Casey’s eyes soften at his confession. They hardly ever have conversations about his parents, and when they do, it’s never good. “You want to talk about it?”

Bryce shakes his head, memories of that conversation trying to bubble to the surface. His mother tried her hand at making awkward small talk as if they hadn’t gone years without talking, while his father said nothing at all. He bites the inside of his cheek, willing the bad memory to go away. Negative thoughts of his parents don’t need to invade this space.  “Nah, it’s not important.”

Resisting the urge to call bullshit, Casey simply nods. “Agree to disagree, Bry. But we’ll table it for now and just continue your story.”

He’s grateful that she’s willing to listen, but not pushy enough to force him to talk, leaving the ball in his court. “Long story short, I told them that Keiki is welcome to stay with me in Boston and I wouldn’t make it public news that they all but abandoned their daughter and drag social services into things, if they allowed me to be her legal caregiver.”

“Really?”

“Yup. So I can be in charge of her education and medical decisions while she’s out here. It’s less permanent than me filing her guardianship, and my parents still legally have rights, but it makes things easier. And because of that, my parents are giving me a pretty generous monthly allowance for all of her expenses. Housing, food, school supplies, the works.”

“So child support?”

“Pretty much, yes. I didn’t ask for it, but the Lahelas like to throw money at their problems. Some of that money goes towards the rent here, the rest I put in a savings account for Keiki. I’ll gift her the money when she starts college, so she’ll have a bit of a nest egg, and won’t be dependent on ramen noodles and the McDermot’s dollar menu like I was.”

Bryce shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at Casey, trying to gauge her reaction. “I know I dumped a lot on you, and you probably think I’m insane for taking all of this on but–”

Casey wraps her arms around his waist and cuts him off with a quick kiss. “If I could look at you with literal heart eyes right now, I would.”

“Really?” 

“Really.” She leans forward, resting her head against the solid expanse of his chest. The faint scent of his laundry detergent and his cologne invade her senses, and she relishes in it. He smells like comfort, if there was ever such a thing. “I can’t believe you accomplished all of this in such a short period of time.”

“Well my lease was up, and I was trying to get Keiki situated in school, and it all sort of fell into place at the right time.”

“Stop trying to downplay it,” Casey orders. “You are strong, and brave, and you take initiative in any situation. I don’t know too many 27 year olds that would spring into action and volunteer to raise their teenage sisters, all while being a resident and trying to juggle their own personal life.”

The way she says it, the awe and idolatry in her voice makes his stomach flip. Bryce considers himself to be a pretty self-assured guy. He has a healthy level of self esteem, but something about Casey praising him always causes him to short circuit, without fail. “You make it sound so much cooler than it really is.”

“It is cool,” Carey argues. “You’re doing a noble thing, so let me give you compliments you deserve.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes immediately, the bashfulness still holding him tight. Eventually, Bryce looks up at her, her expression open and earnest. “You make me sound so much better than I really am.”

Casey grabs hold of his sweater and tugs him closer, forcing him to crane forward and be at her eye level. “Mhmm, it’s a hidden talent of mine. I happen to be an excellent salesperson.”

Bryce smirks, their lips barely brushing against each other, and mumbles “You’re such a dork,” before capturing her in a kiss. Casey responds instantly, matching his eagerness and fervor. It doesn’t take long for things to get more heated, his tongue slipping into her mouth, hands going to grip her waist.

She breaks to kiss to inhale sharply. “You’ve lived here for 5 minutes and you’re already trying to defile the place.”

“Can’t help it. You make me feel like a horny teenager again, baby.”

“Well stop it.”

Bryce rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“Come on loverboy, show me around. Give me the grand tour.”

They wander around the apartment at a leisurely pace, Casey pointing out all of the different things Bryce could buy to furnish the place—“What do you mean you’ve never gone to Home Goods?”—and admonishing his idea to shop on Craigslist. He’s an adult, not a college freshman, and his home should reflect that.

“You want to know what the best part is?” Bryce asks, leading Casey back to their starting point, the living room.

“What?”

“Keiki’s bedroom is on the other side of the apartment, separated by a pretty sizable living room.”

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and she shoves at his chest, laughing. “And? Are you trying to say something?”

“Yeah, that one of us—you—can be pretty loud at times.”

Her cheeks heat up and she blushes furiously. “Well I’ll make sure to keep it quiet on the nights that I sleep over.”

“What if you didn’t just spend the night over here?”

He instantly regrets the way he phrased that sentence because it sounds like he just told her he doesn’t want her in his apartment. Casey frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Sorry! That sounded weird.” He flushes, stumbling over his words. Something about Casey Valentine makes him very nervous. “That’s not what I meant, I promise.”

Bryce grabs both of Casey’s hands, holding them close to his chest. “Move in with me.”

Her eyes widen at the suggestion. He wants to do what? “What?”

“I spent all of last year tiptoeing around our relationship, trying to keep things light and breezy when I really didn’t want that. And it took you being in that...horrible accent for me to finally reveal the full extent of my feelings for you. Now that we’re together and official, I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“I would like to go to sleep with you every night, your ice cold feet pressed against my legs, and your curly hair tickling my nose because you’ve invaded my side of the bed. And I want to wake up to you every morning, because even though you think you look crazy in the morning, I think you’re absolutely beautiful. I want us to cook together every day, or just you because you’re a much better cook than I am.” Casey giggles at his jokes, which only spur him on further. “Besides Keiki, you’re the most important person I have, and I want you here with me, permanently.”

When Casey doesn’t say anything immediately, Bryce understands. He just dropped a bomb—a few bombs actually—right at her feet, she needs time to process. But the silence stretches until it grows into something long and uncomfortable, and a thin sheen of sweat forms at Bryce’s hairline. Did he just shoot himself in the foot? Did he seriously overestimate her feelings for him, and the nature of their relationship?

Before he can open his mouth to renege on the invitation, Casey speaks. “We’re going to have to talk to your landlord, or the property manager, because a new lease needs to be drawn up.”

“W-what?”

“I mean, I assume it’s just you and Keiki listed on the lease, and I don’t want to just be a permanent guest staying in your apartment. I want it to be our apartment, so I need to be on the lease agreement,” Casey explains. “And I know you said your parents cover most of the rent on this place, but I want to contribute, so I guess I’ll be in charge of the–”

She doesn’t get to finish talking because Bryce is on her in an instant, his mouth crashing into hers in a fiery kiss. His fingers dig into her hips, walking her backwards until her back bumps into the kitchen island. In a quick show of strength, Bryce lifts her onto the island, and Casey has to break the kiss to hiss. 

“Shit, that’s cold!”

“Sorry baby.” He’s not the least bit sorry, flashing her his signature smirk. “I’ll warm you up.”

“And you say I’m the dorky one,” Casey teases, laughing as Bryce kisses her between each word.

“You are,” he insists, kissing down her neck. She squirms away from him as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot, but he holds her in place. “We bring that out in each other.”

He kisses her a few more times, some softer than others, some so deep, she feels dizzy when he pulls away.

“We’re really going to do this?” Casey asks rhetorically. “This whole living together thing?”

“We are. I asked, and you said yes, so you’re stuck with me, little lady.” 

There’s a smile on his face, so huge, Casey really thinks he might blind her with his pearly white teeth. She hasn’t seen him this relaxed, this unabashedly happy in a while. She can’t help but to smile back.

“You have to let me have creative control on furniture and decorations though.”

“This apartment is going to look like a furniture store magazine spread.”

Casey nods. “It’ll smell like the inside of a Bath & Body Works store in here, too.”

“You’re going to go crazy on the candles, aren’t you?”

“Oh absolutely. They also have cute wall plug-ins.”

Bryce laughs. “I don’t care. You and Keiki can do whatever you want to the place.”

“Mhmm, now you’re talking my language, Lahela.”

They talk excitedly, basking in the fun that this new journey is going to bring their relationship. They don’t know how much time has passed when the conversation finally dwindles down.

“Hey, Bryce?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you let me down from here?” Casey asks, gesturing to the countertop. Bryce has her caged in, arms on either side of her. “Despite your best efforts to warm me up with a make-out session, this thing is freezing cold.”

“No one told you to wear a mini skirt like this in winter, you naughty school girl.”

“I resent that! This skirt is very cute, and it would’ve looked even cuter had you taken me ice skating.”

Bryce rolls his eyes. He’s gonna have to take this girl to the ice skating rink, and soon. He trails his hands up and down her legs, taking in all the goosebumps that have popped up on her smooth skin.

“You want to know where this skirt would look even better?”

“Where?”

Gripping the backs of her thighs, Bryce lifts Casey off of the countertop and into his arms. “The floor of our new bedroom.” 

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #bryce lahela #dr. bryce lahela #bryce x mc

[fanfoolishness]

All right! Off to liveblog Chapter 9, The Marshal!

Ah yes, recap. “Traveling for me, that’s no life for a kid.”

Except searching and searching for a Jedi takes time. Except Din and the kid fall into routines and habits and sweet little moments throughout the day. Except Din dreams sometimes, in the dark of deep space, that there are no Jedi... that the kid will always need him, and he wakes from these dreams feeling both grateful and guilty

Moff Gideon totally killed those poor Jawas, didn’t he.

What would it be like to be a Jawa, to find joys in scrap and metal, to dream of Egg???

To scavenge, perchance to dream....

I LOVE LOVE LOVE all the graffiti art for this scene

Also, Grogu’s pram absolutely got scorched in the flame trooper’s assault and Din didn’t go back for it or anything. Yet they’re using the one Kuiil made? This bothers me and it’s so petty.

3PO made it into the graffiti <3

Grogu is a budding art critic, change my mind

Gor Koresh, such a dick. But I love the music being so reminiscent of Jabba’s palace! Ludwig Goransson, you’ve done it again

I wonder if Grogu gets overwhelmed picking up Force vibrations in crowds? Is that a thing? Or does he mostly just get senses from other Force-sensitives?

Wherever I go, he goes. BECAUSE HE’S YOUR SON DINGUS

I can’t believe how adorable Din is, going on to total creepos about the fact that he has Been Quested

It just speaks to a very sweet earnestness on his part

“Put up your armor for the info” and Din: swivels his head like woah

What is Gor Koresh going to DO with the beskar anyway? He’s not even wearing any???? What a prick

He absolutely deserves everything coming to him

But Din even gives him a chance! What an idiot

Kick... BABY! (Anyone else ever play Peasant’s Quest on Homestar Runner???)

I always forget about the whipcord. How do I always forget about the whipcord?

Ooh Mando has a very homey cape this scene, I like

I’m glad he’s leaving this guy to be devoured by monster dogs, he’s gotta protect any other Mandalorians that may run across him

Does Razor Crest strike anyone else as a rather feminine ship? It reminds me of a sea cow. She’s got a belly on her.

PELI MOTTO MY QUEEN

She’s sooooo happy to see Grogu and he’s delighted to see her too and they’re all just so happy together

“I’m here on business.” Does that mean that they sometimes hang out not on business? Oh, what the hell, I’ve already written the fic.

Peli doesn’t dare leave the city walls. But maybe she will again someday? Sit a little in the desert, feel the suns on her face, the wind in her hair?

Is this R2-D5? Like, THAT R2-D5 that the Jawas nearly sold Luke?

The speeder bike has rusted. This lends more credence to my theory that Din and Grogu got to have a good amount of time together!

Grogu LOOOOOVES SPEED

Boy’s gonna be a pilot some day

I just... love... all of Din’s visits with the Sand People so much

Siiiiigh I love all speeder music in this series so much. Again, Ludwig Goransson, YOUR BRAIN

Just imagine being a little kid riding in the speeder with your dad, knowing he’s gonna take care of anything scary, and you get to go fast and see everything and feel the wind and it’s so delightful and you feel so safe even though you’re going 200km an hour <3

Hmm so a whole night fell on the way to Mos Pelgo. I just love watching episodes and looking for pockets of time that I can exploit with fic :)

Just imagine a Tusken calling him out and signing the word for “your son” and Din just having to go with it.

I always forget there is a little notch under the ear piece thing of his helmet. I’ve been drawing the damn thing for 2 months and still don’t have it down.

Short!cape version, activate!

Fake Boba Fett: *arrives*

Did he seriously have spurs back in the day? God I need to rewatch the original trilogy, don’t I?

Din watching Vanth order spotchka and being confused as hell, like “you know we’re not going to drink that in front of anyone, right???”

The body language in this scene is so good. The way Din stops, mid-step, and freezes. Then breathes, heavily, frozen in place. Ready to fight. Pissed as HELL. Take. It. Off.

Oh Din. “He’s seen worse” is not exactly a ringing endorsement for your ability to keep him out of trouble, lol.

Just imagine Grogu curiously feeling the vibrations of the krayt dragon and thinking he’s never felt anything so BIG in the Force before

I always forget what the name is the for the liquefaction of soil during a severe earthquake.... *doublechecks* goddamn it it’s just “soil liquefaction”

Doodle idea: Din having to clean tobacco spit off Grogu’s clothes from the spittoon

Awww Din’s speeder is so tiny next to Cobb’s pod racer engine speeder

Cobb Vanth: *runs away, steals ice cream, I MEAN A CAMTONO*

Yeeeeah running into the desert was maybe not the best way to survive in most cases

Luckily Jawas on Tatooine are honest and want to trade instead of steal his shit

I’m excited to see how shit goes down in the Book of Boba Fett! Do we get to see the Sarlacc escape on screen, FINALLY?

Weequay bartender: “But who WAS that masked man??”

Pew

God I miss the amban rifle so much!

It’s such a weird and sexy weapon

Do the dog things have a name? Tusken snarlies?

Every time Din speaks Tusken I die a little bit because I love it so

Awwwww he’s brushing the bantha’s teeth!!! It’s just very sweet to see

Grogu: ‘plz to not be eating me”

Din: *so fucking impatient about this guy not drinking a fucking gourd*

Grogu: *yay I love it when dad shoots fire!*

I love the sign for “kill it”

I also love how done Din is with petty squabbles, like, at all times

He just has no chill. Just “stop your whining, dammit.”

Grogu: “my dad is so smart”. He’s hanging on to every word Din says

Grogu: *watches dragon* DO NOT WANT

I love it when Din gets sassy. “They might be open to some fresh ideas.”

“It’s to scale.” *cackling*

Din volunteering the village is very yes. I also love when he is just absurdly old-fashioned. “Dragon will kill you if it takes its fancy, yadda yadda”

More energy thoughts from Grogu — everyone focused, tense, worried but Grogu isn’t sure why

A bantha is essentially a ground Appa and my husband votes to rename them a Grappa

Sand People always ride single file, to hide their numbers

Ooooh is this the same “the village rises up to defend itself” motif as when the Sorganites were training with Din and Cara?

It sounds very similar, but I could be making this up entirely

This episode was so fun on first watch but it doesn’t have a ton of emotional heft. I still like it, because I love all of them, but it’s definitely not as ripe for expansion of content as some of the others. Except, of course, to the Din/Cobb shippers, who said “hold my beer” and went off. Have fun, you crazy kids.

Run Sand People run!!!!

Seriously though Star Wars suffers from a serious case of the ecology never making any sense. What do banthas eat???? There’s gotta be SOMETHING for them to eat!

Krayt dragon: LOLOLOLOLOLOL

Mando tiiiiime but imagine Din glancing over to Cobb and for a second forgetting and being glad to fight alongside another Mandalorian but then he isn’t

Also there’s definitely room in this episode to write some cute little camp out scenes with Din and Grogu, awwww

Farewell to Mos Pelgo!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian chapter 9 #the marshal #din djarin #grogu #mando live-blogging

[soldez]

Being near Sanemi made Giyuu want to ruin him, to take some of that goodness for himself, so that Sanemi could be selfish, and Giyuu could be brave. 

Brave enough to say something dangerous, like I love you.

don't look at me

Surface Tension

Giyuu had spent so much of his life indulging in mourning. 

He used to think that to mourn was to punish himself for his selfishness. He’d blamed himself for the deaths of his sister and the boy who had called him a brother, so he’d carried the two of them on his back along with the sword at his hip. He’d occupied his meaningless time on this earth with repentance. He’d hoped the weight of his guilt would bury him in the earth. 

He’d lived here with Sanemi for months, and not much changed throughout that time. Funny how the most suicidal of them all had become the only two to survive. They’d bonded over this, fallen into a fast, unspoken rhythm, and when the time came to leave the Flower Estate, they’d built their own cabin, feeling like strangers in their own separate homes. They moved in together. Took care of each other, when necessary. And they stayed in the same routine. 

More loss made Giyuu realize that his loved ones couldn’t live with him forever and that mourning only distracted him from what he still had. After Muzan’s fall, he came to terms with this. What he couldn’t come to terms with, with the weight off his back, was the absurd lack of guilt--and the foreign feelings that had come to replace it.

It was a rare day that Giyuu woke up earlier than Sanemi, but once he got up these days, he stayed up, not liking to wallow in depression as much as he used to. Sanemi looked exhausted, so Giyuu tiptoed outside, resolving to stay there until he woke up. The sun just barely kissed their greying garden. With all the birds gone south and the frogs in hiding, silence hung thick. Giyuu sat by the pond for nearly an hour, fall chill biting his face. 

The sound of Sanemi’s footsteps, then, and the brushing of his clothes as he sat down sounded deafening in the dead silence, the same way a dim torch looked bright in the pitch black: like a lighthouse. Then, quiet overtook the pond again. Sanemi studied him. He must have noticed his pensiveness, because he tread carefully. Giyuu stared ahead.

"How are you?" Sanemi tried. 

There's something wrong with me, Giyuu thought. I'm feeling things that I shouldn't. I'm not feeling the things I should.

"Fine," he answered.

"What are you doing?"

Mourning something that hasn't died yet. Maybe that hasn’t been born.

"Enjoying the quiet."

Sanemi was more perceptive than him--maybe if Giyuu thought loud enough, Sanemi would hear. Then, they'd never have to say it out loud. They could go on like this forever, just the two of them, and Giyuu found he wouldn't mind being alone so much if it was with Sanemi. As long as they could stay like this. Usually, Giyuu spoke his mind and took what he wanted, but he knew there were invisible lines somewhere dangerously close that if he crossed, would make Sanemi leave forever. He just had to keep absolutely still.

"I'll enjoy it with you."

Giyuu felt like the two of them were sailing, swaddled in a shriveled leaf barely light enough to stay afloat on the pond. The water cradled them, but if it rained, they would grow too heavy and drown. The wind rocked them, but if it grew too strong, it would blow them away and they'd lose their ship forever. Neither moved a muscle, on opposite sides of their fragile vessel, for fear that the weight of them both might break the surface. The surface tension of silence was the only thing keeping Giyuu and Sanemi from unknown depths.

Still, he reached for his hand.

The two of them said nothing for what felt both like seconds and hours. Sanemi said nothing of Giyuu's hand finding his own, sending ripples in the water, absently rubbing the stumps where his index and middle fingers used to live. Giyuu said nothing of the naturalness of that gap: the fingers must have hurt to lose, but the space they left was the perfect size for Giyuu's thumb. It felt like home. So did Sanemi’s hand when he slotted it under Giyuu’s right stump to prop him upright sometimes, though Giyuu would never say so out loud. 

They'd both lost so much. Saying it out loud would only give them something more to lose.

Giyuu was selfish at heart.

“It’s so still, huh?” Sanemi mused. “You’d think it was frozen over.”

Giyuu hummed in reply. 

“You cold?” Sanemi asked.

“Not really,” Giyuu answered, but found his shoulders tucked under Sanemi’s haori anyway. More ripples. He froze.

It had occurred to Giyuu from the very start that Sanemi embodied everything Giyuu wished he was. A true pillar. Someone able, even eager, to protect others, even at the cost of his own life. He didn’t even have to think about it. Maybe that was why Giyuu had resented him at first: he was just like Sabito. But in the end, despite his bravery, confidence, and ineffable strength in the face of loss, Sanemi was every bit as dumb as him, and on some level, maybe that had spurred Giyuu to let a little bit of that strength possess him toward the end. He only wished it had come sooner.

“I’m gonna start on breakfast.” Sanemi ruffled his hair. He leaned towards him standing up so that his nose--and lips--brushed the top of Giyuu’s head before he tipped back to his center. “Don’t stay out too long.” 

He walked away.

Before Muzan's defeat, Giyuu had thought of Sanemi as stupid. He still thought as much. But Sanemi was brave, and selfless in a way that Giyuu never was. Giyuu had never so desperately wanted to make another person happy. Being near Sanemi made Giyuu want to ruin him, to take some of that goodness for himself, so that Sanemi could be selfish, and Giyuu could be brave. 

Brave enough to say something dangerous, like I love you.

When Giyuu slid back inside, the smell of eggs and rice welcomed him. Sanemi’s back faced the entrance, clad in that faded purple yukata, and not for the first time Giyuu wondered how he managed to spend so much of his life killing and still look so at home in a kitchen. He must have been born to provide.

Giyuu could stare at that back from the door all day, but he was tired of being selfish, so instead, he squeezed in beside him at the counter and picked up a knife. The tension between them wavered again, but he ignored it. Saying nothing, Sanemi held a bundle of chives still with one hand so that Giyuu could chop it, his attention still on the eggs he was whisking, trusting Giyuu completely not to chop his fingers off. Giyuu worked slowly in comparison to Sanemi’s confident dashing, sprinkling, and whisking; he aligned each chop with care. 

Even without the pond in front of them, Giyuu still felt that he could slip at any moment and drown. He considered going back to bed until he felt more stable. He didn't.

There wasn't much else Giyuu knew how to do in the kitchen department, but Sanemi never asked him to leave, only gently elbowing him aside when he stood in the way. Giyuu watched Sanemi season the egg and roll it, with unreal gentleness, into a lovely cylinder. 

"You wanna eat in bed?" Sanemi offered. It was a habit Giyuu had picked up over years of living alone, and Sanemi never teased him for it. In fact, it felt a little less pathetic when someone joined him.

"Sure," he said despite himself.

They only ever ate on Giyuu's futon, because Sanemi liked to keep clean and Giyuu didn't give a shit. Dim light seeped in through the walls. Plates sat in their laps. He was glad Sanemi sensed his need for quiet, because he thought that if he spoke now, something he'd regret would slip out, and there would be no going back. At the same time, Sanemi's presence at his side, and the fact that he knew Giyuu well enough to stay quiet, drove him crazy, and he might just say it anyway. Giyuu stuffed his face to keep from talking. 

Sanemi picked at his food. Giyuu forced himself to speak.

Don't be selfish, don't be selfish, don't be selfish. 

"Is…" Giyuu swallowed, restraining his thoughts. "Is something wrong?"

Sanemi blinked as if he'd forgotten Giyuu was there. "Huh? No, I…" He met his eyes, making Giyuu's breath hitch. "Actually, I should be asking you that."

"Nothing's wrong," Giyuu whispered. 

After a long moment, Sanemi averted his eyes again. Then, just as fragile as Giyuu:

"Okay."

The two were sinking. He could feel it. He tried to stuff his face some more, but he'd already cleaned his plate. He pointed to Sanemi's.

"Aren't you hungry?" 

Sanemi misread his concern, pushing the plate toward Giyuu. "Knock yourself out."

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

"No, I…"

Sanemi looked so earnest, and Giyuu realized that every time he tried to show concern like Sanemi showed for him, it turned out like this. He always twisted it around so that he was accommodating for Giyuu, like he couldn’t imagine Giyuu wanting to be around him for any reason other than to take and take and take. Infuriating; endearing. 

He thought about little Genya, and the happiness he'd wanted for his brother. Giyuu was the only one left to make that wish come true, if Sanemi would only let him. Their ship wavered dangerously. He wanted to scream. Finally, he couldn't stop himself:

"You're an idiot," Giyuu breathed.

Sanemi frowned. That hadn't come out right.

"Excuse me?"

Giyuu couldn't stop. "You're an idiot. Oh my god. You're so fucking stupid." The unmistakable urge to laugh bubbled up in Giyuu's chest, something he'd only learned to recognize over the past few months. "I can't believe this."

Giyuu laughed, clear as a bell, cutting through the tense quiet. Ripples exploded throughout the water, but the more he tried to stop them, the more the boat rocked. Sanemi had an unreadable expression, but he didn't look amused. He didn't even look angry. The closest thing Giyuu could compare it to…

Concern. Giyuu laughed harder.

"Moron," Giyuu wheezed, knocking the empty plate off his lap. "You absolute moron."

"Giyuu--"

"Sanemi." None of it mattered anymore. Giyuu was selfish, but that was okay; Sanemi was selfless to the point of stupidity, and if Giyuu didn't take what he wanted, no one would. "I want to take care of you. I care about you."

Sanemi stared dumbly. To get it through his thick skull, Giyuu moved closer, cupped his hand on Sanemi’s cheek like he always did for him, and spoke with absolute clarity:

“I love you.”

Any lingering doubt in Giyuu’s mind dispersed. Sanemi’s eyes went huge, reverent, and he stilled like if he breathed, Giyuu would turn to dust and disappear. Brave Sanemi--usually so brash, so confident. Giyuu felt a surge of pride that he could reduce him to this. He wanted to do it again. And again. And again.

"... Oh."

There was one more thing left to break.

"Sanemi," Giyuu breathed, breaking the last wall of silence, "can I kiss you?"

Sanemi didn't look away this time. He didn't even answer. He leaned in, so no barriers stood between them...

And he kissed him. And there was nothing left to mourn. And Giyuu kissed him back. And over the pounding in his ears, Giyuu couldn’t imagine ever sailing in silence again. And they kissed. And they kissed. And they kissed.

Giyuu drowned.

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

thank you so so much again louie and aya for beta reading this!!!❤❤❤

#kny #writing tag #sanegiyuu #i was going to post this in the middle of the night to avoid everyone's dashes but now i realize that's when everyone's online #so middle of the day let's go #EDIT i am so stupid. just added the title<3

[thankskenpenders]

So, about the movie...

At long last, a week after it came out, I was finally able to see the Sonic movie. The Daytona 500 being held across the street from my favorite theater and conflicting work schedules had been keeping me away, but now I’ve finally seen it. And it was...

Decent!

Which is way, way, way, way, way better than a movie with this awful premise has any right being. That’s for damn sure. I enjoyed my time at the theater. I don’t know how they did it, but they did it. If you like Sonic and haven’t already seen it, you will probably get a kick out of this film. If you don’t like Sonic (or Jim Carrey), there is very little in this movie for you

Okay, now that that’s out of the way, it’s time to break that whole movie down. This will contain full spoilers for the Sonic movie

This movie kinda gave me deja vu because it’s set up so similarly to the Bumblebee movie. Both open with a slavishly faithful CGI sequence on another planet to ensure long time fans that the creative team gives a shit, but a conflict sends the title character to Earth. There, they form an emotional bond with the human lead as they’re pursued by the bad guys, who are working with the US government and tracking the energy signature of the title character. This setup worked extremely well for Bumblebee, because it’s so similar to the usual plot of Transformers. For Sonic, it was... a mixed bag. But it worked better than I expected

(This shot does not happen in the movie.)

That opening though, huh? Green Hill Zone looked great, and I was pleasantly surprised to see they did, in fact, use the Hyper Potions track from Sonic Mania in the actual film. (The piano rendition of the Green Hill theme used later was also lovely.) Longclaw was also interesting. I’ve seen one person bring up all the bird-themed ruins in Sonic 1 and 2 as a possible source of inspiration for the character, and I think that’s a valid take. And man, the echidnas! I wasn’t expecting that AT ALL. I guess that was probably the Knuckles Clan or something? I would never, ever picture them being alive during Sonic’s lifetime, but like... I guess Knuckles had to come from somewhere, right? If they do another movie with Knuckles, will the rest of his kind have died out?

Sadly, though, this sequence felt like it was over in a heartbeat. We barely see Sonic’s life on his home planet, and we’re expected to feel emotional over Longclaw’s sacrifice when she only gets like three lines before Sonic is sent to Earth. This is a common theme with the film--it goes for these big emotional beats that it just does not earn with its rapid fire pacing

Anyway, then we fast forward and Sonic’s a teen. This is actually kind of an interesting one if you’re constantly neck deep in Sonic Character Analysis like me, because it’s a pretty different take on the character. It’s hard to give them credit for doing something somewhat fresh with the character, though, because like... how much of that was intentional, and how much was just Hollywood writers trying to squeeze a generic action-adventure movie out of Sonic? (Honestly, it’s probably mostly the latter.)

The closest other piece of Sonic media to the movie would probably be Sonic X, a story in which Sonic isn’t really the protagonist. The Sonic of the anime is fairly emotionally distant. He cares deeply about his friends, and does nice things for them, but he’s totally fine with running off on his own for extended lengths of time, and he doesn’t really talk about his feelings. He’s not the character the audience is meant to sympathize with, but is instead this cool older kid who Chris wants to impress. This is pretty much in line with how Sega likes to depict the character. He cares about his friends, but he’s also cool with being a loner. It feels like he only runs into them incidentally, usually when Eggman is causing trouble, and then when the crisis of the week is taken care of he’s back to going on his own adventures. There’s a reason why one of his catchphrases is “long time no see”

The Sonic of the movie is the polar opposite. His main conflict is that he’s lonely and desperately seeks friendship. He’s also an overly-eager, extremely earnest goober. He literally flosses twice. (Which I loved.) I’ve seen him compared to Silver, and honestly, that’s not a bad comparison. I did like it, though! I don’t mind Sonic being a more emotionally open character, like he was in a lot of older Western media. I mean, he cried in like the second or third episode of SatAM

It’s just that, like many things in the movie, it feels less like a deliberate creative choice and more like a logical string of decisions to make when writing a generic action-adventure film for general audiences. Sonic’s the only one of his kind on Earth, so of course he’d be lonely. He has to have some sort of arc for audiences to connect with him, and if he’s gotta be accompanied by James Marsden for the whole movie, well, his arc’s gotta be about them becoming friends

I’ve gotta say, though: Ben Schwartz is great as Sonic. As much as I like Roger Craig Smith, I wouldn’t complain if he became the new main voice of the character. And thanks to the redesign, he looked great. I can’t imagine how nightmarish this movie would’ve been if Sonic wasn’t cute

My main fear with this movie, though, was that Sonic wouldn’t really be the protagonist. As a fan of Transformers, I know all too well that the cost of doing a full CGI character usually means that said character can’t really be the star of the film. Optimus and Bumblebee aren’t the stars of the Transformers movies--they’re supporting characters who are primarily present for the sake of the action scenes. The humans are the real stars in those movies, and the robots are barely even characters. I was terrified that Sonic would be the same, with the actual character I paid to see taking a backseat to James Marsden The Cop

I’m not quite sure if they struck the right balance there, but they did better than I worried they would. Sonic is central enough to the film and gets enough screentime that you can easily say he’s the protagonist. BUT there is absolutely too much of Tom and his family. The human cast is fine, the performances are fine, and there were a few good jokes, but every time the movie tried to get me to care about Tom’s life I was bored out of my mind. It’s just so trite and passionless. The other characters barely felt fleshed out at all, including Tom’s girlfriend (wife?) and Agent Stone. The little girl who gives Sonic the shoes had some cute moments, though

I do, however, love the part in which James Marsden is walking around in a San Francisco t-shirt, to remind us that he’s planning on moving to San Francisco... which then becomes the excuse for Sonic to think about San Francisco and accidentally send his warp rings there, which becomes the excuse for the buddy road trip aspect of the film. And as much as that was a focus of the marketing, the actual road trip part is like... maybe 20 minutes of the movie? There’s like three scenes with Sonic and Tom on the road and then they’re in San Francisco for act 3. The movie tries to act like they’ve formed this deep bond and I just did not give a shit. I don’t care about the cop. All Cops Are Bastards, and that absolutely includes Tom, whose dream in life is to join the extremely corrupt San Francisco PD

The whole excuse for Sonic having to sit in the passenger seat of a car going the speed limit for a good chunk of the movie is also, just. Stupid. If he doesn’t know where San Francisco is and time is of the essence, just... give him a map?

And then there’s Jim Carrey. I was worried about this one. The previews tended to highlight his most Jim Carrey Being Wacky moments, and as fond as I am of movies like The Truman Show and Bruce Almighty, that’s just. That’s not Robotnik. I was pleasantly surprised by the actual movie, though! I thought he was pretty good. I’m not sure what incarnation of Eggman I’d most compare him to, but like... it was close enough, and he was entertaining enough. I’d pay to go see another movie with him as Robotnik. Sure. (Especially with how he was looking at the end of the film.)

There were some other little interesting tidbits here with Eggman, although again, a lot of that is less “let’s do a new take on Eggman” and more “let’s do a marketable movie with Eggman in it, which requires us to explain some stuff.” Like him straight up just being a normal human from Earth, with none of the confusion present in the current “two worlds” canon of the games. Or him apparently being an orphan who was bullied in school, and who trusts machines more than other humans. It’s a safe way to depict the character in a Hollywood movie, but I thought it worked

The way they got to his nickname was kind of funny, though. Like, obviously they didn’t put Jim Carrey in a fat suit, and thank god for that. So instead of mocking his weight, the nickname is derived from the egg-shaped robots he uses. Which made sense, I guess. It at least felt logical for this incarnation of Sonic, who had annoyingly been calling Tom “Donut Lord” the whole movie, to make up the nickname “Eggman.” (Said robots, by the way, were a weak point of the movie to me. They just didn’t have that Eggman whimsy and felt very safe and very Hollywood. Honestly, though, if they had just made Robotnik’s ship grey and slapped some hazard stripes on it, it’d probably be fine.)

As a whole, I thought the humor of the movie was... okay. Sonic had a lot of good moments thanks to Schwartz’s great performance, as did Robotnik. There were just so many weird lines, like James Marsden telling Robotnik that he was breast fed, or the agonizingly long child trafficking joke with Sonic in the duffel bag. Stuff like that

The action was great, though. They definitely owe a lot to the Quicksilver scene in that one X-men movie (I forget the one), but they had a lot of fun with Sonic’s powers and it felt extremely true to the character. Seeing him do one of his Smash poses during the San Francisco fight was great. The action scenes were an absolute delight

And then the ending. Oh, that ending

So, I had already heard that Tails shows up in the stinger before I saw the film. And when I heard that, I expected it to be like, the classic Tails origin story. Maybe Sonic would return to his planet, and run into this precocious kid who decides to follow him around... but no! Not at all! Tails is already the Tails we know and love. He’s already an inventor, he’s already tracking down Sonic. I’m shocked that Sonic actually stayed with Tom instead of running off to have new adventures, but hopefully this is a sign that more characters will be brought into the fray if they make a sequel

And boy, they better make that damn sequel. This movie had a great opening weekend and a positive reception. They have no excuse not to. GIVE US SONIC AND TAILS GOING ON AN ADVENTURE

Other stray thoughts

Holy shit they put Sanic in the movie

The Sega logo animation meant that Kiryu from Yakuza was in this movie for a few seconds

The pixel art credits sequence, which featured both the Sonic 2 special stage and Get Blue Spheres as well as the Eggman logo screens from the Studiopolis Zone boss, was cute

The Saturn logo could be seen on the diagram of the other habitable planets

Robotnik had a label for “Badniks” on his circuit breaker. I wonder if the drones in the movie are intended to be Badniks, or if we’ll see actual ones if a sequel gets made

Also, was it implied that Robotnik committed war crimes for the US government

One of the government guys who I think only got one line was played by Garry Chalk and as such sounded exactly like Optimus Primal

I can’t tell if Sonic getting a red race car bed was an intentional shout out to the Archie comics or if it’s just a coincidence, but I loved it

A dude about my age wearing a Sonic Mania t-shirt literally stood up and clutched his head in shock when Tails showed up

After the movie a very excited kid got his mom to take his photo with the Sonic display in the lobby. Afterwards he was so excited that he flossed

I can’t believe they talked about Olive Garden so much

#tkp post #other media #sonic movie spoilers

[aion-rsa]

Superman & Lois Episode 5 Review: The Best of Smallville

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This Superman & Lois review contains spoilers.

Superman and Lois Episode 5

This is the first episode of Superman & Lois that maybe felt like it was spinning its wheels a little. To be fair, this entire season has been unfolding at what can best be described as a deliberate pace. It’s an understandable decision since the entire concept of this show is meant to take fans of the Superman mythos pretty far out of their comfort zones, so there’s still a lot of heavy lifting that has to get done each week, especially as we get used to the Kent family, the Cushings, the history of Smallville, and more.

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That isn’t to say that “The Best of Smallville” is a bad episode, or a boring one, or even a rote one (it’s way too early for this show to have any kind of real episodic “formula,” other than those big reveals that it saves for the final moments each week). If anything, this shakes things up a little by adding flashbacks to Clark’s teenage years at key moments in the episode. And those, just like everything else relating to Clark’s history on this show, are handled with real care and reverence for everything that has come before. But I can’t help but feel that several of the beats we get in this episode, from Jonathan continuing to lose to the troubled home life of the Cushings, is stuff we’ve already been getting in previous episodes, all while the Morgan Edge story continues to just kind of lurk around the outskirts, just like the character himself.

Fortunately, this is Superman & Lois we’re talking about, and this show’s core four (not to mention its terrific supporting characters) make every moment worth watching. I have already written endlessly about how truly endearing Tyler Hoechlin’s Clark Kent is, and I’ll continue to do so. But there’s one thing Hoechlin does with Clark that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen another Superman actor do quite as effectively, and that’s how he makes Clark’s uncoolness not a put-on or an affectation, but as a genuine component of the “real” Clark Kent.

It’s hard to explain, but hang with me for a minute. It’s generally assumed that any time Clark is being “uncool” or overly earnest about something, it’s part of his “disguise.” And with many actors, especially the legendarily perfect Christopher Reeve, that was absolutely the case. The key to a truly great Clark performance always seems to come in the moments when he lets his guard down, and you realize that this is the “real” person, not the “Clark who has to pretend he isn’t Superman” shine through. Hoechlin does this effortlessly, and as dad-cringe as his entire opening enthusiasm about the Smallville Harvest Festival is, it’s real. He doesn’t have to fake this for his family, it’s really who he is. It’s great and I don’t know how many other leading man types who have played this role over the last 20 years or so who could actually pull this off so easily.

Anyway, that was quite a digression. Sorry about that.

I singled out Jonathan’s struggles this episode for some mild criticism above, if only because we’ve been watching this kid’s life unravel pretty much since the first episode. It is, perhaps, a little TOO convenient that he gets dumped by phone the same moment his brother is setting up his first ever date. And maybe this is the kind of thing they could have saved another episode or so instead of letting it come so soon on the heels of his football struggles.

But both of these kids are just so damn good that it’s tough to fault it. Jordan Elsass makes Jonathan perhaps the most likeable character on this show, even when he should be (as Sarah points out) a completely insufferable jerk. I know there’s speculation out there that Jonathan will be driven to villainy by his pretty ordinary teenage struggles, and I just don’t see it happening. These are both good kids, and even when they screw up, it’s pretty clear that their heads are screwed on straight. I’d just like to see Jonathan catch a break soon, though.

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They’re definitely playing the long game with Jordan, too, and Alex Garfin manages to imbue him with the almost wild-eyed wonder of someone who really just can’t believe his good luck…all without either lording it over or condescending to his suddenly unlucky brother. I’ve always felt that empathy is a secret Kent superpower, and Jordan’s got that by the boatload.

Lois and Chrissy are a surprisingly delightful pairing, and so far this show has managed to resist the rest of the Arrowverse’s tendency to “do a journalism” here, even as we see these two starting to dig a little deeper into whatever Morgan Edge is up to. Still, the fact that Lois literally can’t even write for the Smallville Gazette at the moment isn’t doing my or anyone else’s misgivings that they’re sidelining her any favors. It’s great to see Lois in these other contexts, and Elizabeth Tulloch is nothing short of the best screen Lois this century, but I can’t help but think that there’s something being missed with her story so far. (That being said, her thoroughly annoyed “go faster” to the boys at the Harvest Festival was a terrific, and intimidating fun moment.)

Those flashback sequences, though! Just as I love it that Jon, Jordan, and Sarah are all actually believable as teenagers (coughSmallvillecough), I like that they fully leaned into awkward 15-16 year old beanpole Clark and not some already filled out heartthrob type. Clark leaving home THIS early feels like a slightly new wrinkle for the Superman mythos overall, and I’m especially interested in seeing if we’ll see how some of this developed down the road.

I look forward to seeing Wolé Parks’ Captain Luthor continue to develop, but it would be nice to see if they give him enough screen time soon to give us anything beyond “seething, barely contained rage.” I’m also very curious to see if there’s any nuance they can build into his Lois twist, so that she doesn’t just become another object of fixation for the character. Similarly, it’s time for this story to show us a little more of its hand with the Morgan Edge/X-Kryptonite stuff, because sometimes a slow burn is just a fizzle, y’know?

I appreciate this show’s commitment to its family drama first storytelling, and I get that if we show Superman in action too much it will a) not be as special and b) eat up the FX budget so the moments we DO get won’t look quite as good. But I’d like to see a little more, and I certainly hope that more of Superman’s rogues’ gallery becomes open for business at some point. Yes, I get it, so many of those were utilized on Supergirl already, and I don’t want this show to fall prey to the “villain of the week” tedium that The Flash occasionally slips in to. I’m sure there’s some middle ground that won’t lose what makes this show stand out from its peers.

Metropolis Mailbag

Right out of the gate in this episode we learn that Smallville was established in 1949. It certainly was! While it was clear early in the Superman mythos that he wasn’t from Metropolis, and had grown up on a farm, and Superboy was established as a character in 1945, it wasn’t until 1949 that Clark’s hometown actually got it’s name, in the pages of Superboy #2.

Martha Kent giving Clark the sunstone crystal is a new one. Usually, so much of Clark learning about his heritage is tied exclusively to his father(s). Either the crystal itself calls to him (in which case, it’s Jor-El) or it’s Jonathan telling him the story of how he was found. This is the first time I can think of where it’s Martha really speeding Clark along on his journey to becoming Superman, and it’s about damn time.

On that note, their conversation about Clark being “sent here for a reason” is very much a nod to Glenn Ford’s Pa Kent talking to Jeff East’s young Clark in Superman: The Movie.

I assume he’s leaving here because the sunstone crystal told him to head north so it can build the Fortress of Solitude, but let’s ALSO not forget that Supergirl established early on that Clark was a member of the Legion of Super-Heroes in the future, so…this might be the time!

Spot anything I missed with these Superman Easter eggs? Let me know in the comments!

The post Superman & Lois Episode 5 Review: The Best of Smallville appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/31b6lyu

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[javisjeanjacket]

✍ Thank u very much!!

Vencuyanir

Prologue

“Well, it definitely was not well-paying.” mmm relatable ✋🏻😌

“There was a bond of sorts between them. Elena could feel, even pinpoint sometimes what the little bean was sensing, and knew that we was the same with her.” FORCE SENSITIVE READER???!!!

“The bond between Bean and her suddenly swelled, as if something clicked into place.” love how you still allowed Grogu and Din to have their moment!!

Such a great start to the series and the ending really compelled me to want more!

Ch.1

“The only thing she currently knew about their captor was that he did not talk much, and he had not displayed tendencies in being violent at random. He did not snap at her or at the baby to keep up. Yet.” I love being able to see Din from a captor’s perspective!

“He stared down at her, before sighing deeply. ‘...Thank you.’ Elena faked surprise. ‘Oh, you do have manners.’“ Precious boy Din!!!

Ch.2

“’Don’t touch me,’ he threatened quietly, and Elena instantly shrank back, heart pounding. Feeling a flush rise up in her face bacsue of how foolish she felt, she just held up her palms a little awkwardsly bevause of the cuffs, trying to placate him. He simply turned around, and ignored her timid, ‘I’m sorry.’“ !!! My heart panged ugh!

“The world suddenly went flying and she found herself pinned under the Mandalorian, his hand curling around her throat, the other pressing her into the ground. She gasped, both in shock and at the force with which he had slammed her into the ground, and clawed at his hand, scabbling underneath him.” NOT ME HAVING SOME THOTS DONT MIND MEEE

Ch.3

“Bean did not listen to him though, and just swallowed the mudjumper in one piece. He then burped loudly, beaming up at them and giggling. The Mandalorian sighed.” PRECIOUS

“Not daring to look up, she stood with her arms full of things, waiting for the Mandalorian to make space so she could pass through. Her heart was beating fast, limbs almost seizing up in fear the longer she and Bean were under his scrutiny. He did, after another moment where his visor was trained on them, and let them through. Almost fleeing from him, she did not know if she imagined the sigh he gave as the door to the bathroom shut with a click.“ OOPE MY HEART IS THUMPING

Ch.4

“You’re a cruel man,” she whispered, blinking furiously, feeling hot tears threatening to spill over.

The Mandalorian scoffed, half turning his head back to her. “Does that bother you?” It was the only thing he said before the ramp lowered, the sunlight from Arvala-7 streaming in. The Mandalorian left as soon as the ramp touched the ground, stalking across the rocky terrain of the desert, cutting an impressive figure with his rifle slung across the back and the glinting beskar helmet, the pram floating next to him.”

My heart!!! 😭😭

“She gave a start, and her head whipped around to where she suddenly knew Bean was. Some deep part in her reached across the bond, and felt him, sitting in his pram, whimpering to himself.

There was an impression of the Mandalorian being hurt. Badly. Heart pounding, she debated over what to do, panic swelling up in her. She was too far away to help, and if it was the Mudhorn, something that could hurt a Mandalorian, she had no chance against it anyways.“ !!!!! Ooh I love this connection

“It felt as if every fibre inside her had started to swell with some power, blood rushing in her veins, an instant connection to, well, everything. It surrounded everything around her, everything that was was inside her, an energy field, and it came directly from Bean.“ I KNEW IT

Ch.5

“I don’t believe you,” she spat, “I told you that he should have stayed! What were you thinking, taking him to get a Mudhorn egg? He could have died!” GET HIS ASS ELANA

“You know, running on stims is not–”“Are you the baby’s caretaker or mine?” The Mandalorian asked dryly.Elana glared at him. “Seems like I have to, if you’re stupid enough to fight a Mudhorn on stims.”“Cut the sass,” The Mandalorian growled, stepping closer, towering above her.“Make me,” she snarled without thinking, scooting back until her back hit the spare parts on the sledge, curling a protective arm around the sleeping Bean. FUCK FUCK FUCK THE TENSION

Ch.6

“She felt like a complete fraud, everything she did before to protect Bean? It was worth nothing, because he would give them up anyway. She could have tried to kill him before they left Arvala-7, but she did not. Never mind what would have happened, she could have killed him, stabbed him in his sleep while they were repairing the Razor Crest. She and Bean could have stayed at Kuiil’s place until they would have to leave again, seeking shelter somewhere else. If she had done that, Bean would not face capture tomorrow. If.” 🥺🥺💓💓

Ch.7

“Looking up into the small mirror cabinet, she winced at the puffiness of her eyes, how prominent the bruises under them were.“ mmm SAME

“Careful, please,” Elana pleaded, already taking a step towards them, but the doctor moved towards a device with a huge droid floating above, laying Bean down on the slab beneath it. The small one wriggled and tried to turn on his belly, but with one well placed palm on his body, Dr. Pershing stopped his efforts. He turned his head to Elana, struggling to move towards Bean despite the grip of the stormtrooper on her, desperation on her face” 🥺😭 no precious baby!!!!

Ch.8

“Dizzy,” she choked out as black spots danced in front of her eyes, and whispered “Really dizzy” as her knees buckled again, limbs seeming so heavy. He cursed low under his breath before snaking an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him and tugging her along.“Can you hold him or should I?” He asked, gesturing to the unconscious Bean. Her grip around her child tightened without her noticing.“I can hold him,” Elana managed, and with a nod, he pulled her further along, helping her stay upright.” din ugh!!!! Goddamn i love him

"He moved his body over hers, shielding her and Bean with his armour, a few shots glancing off the beskar as he held himself up on his elbows. “I’m sorry,” he grunted, his voice crackling through his modulator, sounding genuine, “I’m sorry for this.”Elana stared up at his helmet, at the T-visor, inches away from her face, and felt strangely empty.It should not matter that he is sorry. But it does.“ ahhh I love this part!

Ch.9

“Elana glanced down, and was surprised to see that most of the redness had receded, the wound still steadily closing. “Looks nice,” she said, her lips curving up once again, “Thank you for taking us to the medcenter.”“It was nothing,” the Mandalorian said quietly, helmet downturned, and he took a step back, giving her space.It wasn’t, though.And both of them knew that.“ oh my goodness so precious!!!!! Din baby! 😭

Ch.10

“It did make finding Bean a lot easier, Elana had to admit. She could always count on him clinging to the bounty hunter’s boots, or hiding under the pilot’s seat, a corner of the cape in his mouth, trying to scramble up onto the Mandalorian’s lap or just staying somewhere near him. The man had let him stay on the controls several times now, Bean being content in watching either the blue swirls of hyperspace for hours or the twinkling void of real space. He was especially fascinated with all the glowing buttons and switches in the cockpit, and Elana did not know if they would wake up some day and have the baby gleefully smashing at the control board.“

“Being on the Razor Crest with him was almost pleasant.”

!!!!! We love to see it! Daddy din 🥺

Ch.11

“He seemed to sense her internal turmoil, and worked against her unspoken fear by willingly watching Bean for a few hours without prompting. He would sit in the cockpit with the little one, explaining star charts and buttons to him with the patience of a saint, giving her moments in which she could be alone for a bit.”

“He turned around and looked at her, incredulously. “Why does he do that?” He asked, shoulders raised high in defense.“He likes you,” was her simple response, “get used to it.”

It's okay Grogu I would cling to din's boots too 😌

Ch.12

““Womp rat,” the Mandalorian said, and it almost sounded fond.“

THERE IT IS!!!

Ch.13

“Omera waved slightly. “Nonsense, you have a little one! I remember when my Winta was that small,” she sighed with a wistful note, “I would not want those sleepless nights back but…” Omera smiled down on Bean, “sometimes you just miss them being tiny and cute.”

Classic mom to mom convo absolutely adorable

“The girl nodded, big eyes earnest. “But the Mandalorian, he saved Bean and you, right?” Winta asked.

Elana gave a half shrug, eyes still fixed on the little child in front of her. “I suppose you could say that,” she heard herself saying absentmindedly as she straightened the collar of Bean’s robe.

“He seems very nice,” Winta said, “Mama said that he is.”

“Yeah, he is,” Elana said, and realised that it was both a reassurance for the little girl and for herself. If she disregarded what he had done prior to Nevarro, he would probably have been the kindest person she had met in years, helping with Bean and helping her to find somewhere they would be safe. But she would always keep Arvala-7 in mind”

!!!!!!! SCREAMING

All in all, a super cute series!!!

It was really easy to read and felt natural to the flow of canon! An adorable read, Rea!

#rea tag #half a grand celebration

[need-a-fugue]

And Barista Makes Three

Summary: It was suppose to be fun… something new and exciting that you and Bucky could do together. But there is such a thing as too many cooks in one kitchen…

Author’s Note: Written for Ayesha’s 1K Writing Challenge with the dialogue prompt, Screw you. Thanks @browngirlmagic​ for letting me play with this prompt!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: References to sexy times, no actual smut, though (sorry).

Word Count: 2,500ish

The bickering has officially gotten out of control, snotty remarks and vicious glares now giving way to an out-and-out shouting match in the common room.

Not cool. Off-days at the compound are typically pretty chill… death-defying missions, intensive training sessions, and hours-long debriefs being enough to suck the life out of all of you until your only remaining desire is for peace and quiet. Especially at breakfast time… especially pre-coffee.

But calm is simply not on the menu today. Not when Bucky waltzes in – still gross and sweaty from his morning run – and declares – with the petulant air of a spoiled-rotten child – that he doesn’t want any of the eggs you’ve so kindly prepared for him.

Your face twists, lips pinch. That smoldering fire in your gut blazing back to life yet again as you shriek, “Why the hell did I bother making them, then?!” before tossing the half-full pan into the sink.

Sam bristles at the sheer decibel of your voice, his own a mere whisper in comparison when he sets down his coffee and announces, “I would’ve eaten them.”

Gradually, other teammates filter into the common room – as Bucky growls out a bitter retort and you angrily grab the pan and repeatedly slam it into the sink – just to see what all the fuss is about.

Steve lingers in the doorway and lets out giant huff, fisted hands falling to his hips as he shakes his head in disappointment. “What the hell has gotten into you two?” he asks, a hint of concern bleeding through the frustration. “One minute you’re all…” He makes an awkward, waving motion with his hands, almost wincing when he says, “can’t keep your hands off each other…”

“It’s really pretty gross,” Natasha interjects as she rounds the counter in search of coffee.

Steve’s brows shoot high as if to say, uh, yeah, before he finishes with, “Now it’s like you’re leading separate forces into World War III.”

You roll your eyes dramatically. Leave it to the Captain to turn your little lovers’ quarrel into a battle metaphor. “He’s being a dick,” you announce with a sharp lilt, dropping the pan for a final time and spinning to stare Bucky down. You fold your arms tightly across your chest, lean your hip into the side of the sink, and glower at the man. “That’s what’s gotten into us.”

Bucky’s face cracks into a smug sneer. And he laughs – a short, sardonic chuckle that makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise. “That is not what got into us, sweetheart.”

You shoot him an icy glare, voice low and dangerous as you emit through tightly gritted teeth, “You can’t keep making out like this is all my fault. You agreed to it.”

His steely countenance shifts, eyes widening and jaw falling slack, expression cloaked in utter disbelief. “Because you said you wanted to. You fucking told me it would count as your birthday present.”

Steve takes two large strides into the room, impatience sloughing off of him in waves. “What is going on?” he laments thickly. “Seriously!”

You turn to him, tense hands falling to your hips in an agitated posture that mirrors his own. And you spill. “We had a three-way with the girl from the coffee shop and now he’s all…” You wave a dismissive hand in Bucky’s general direction, “pissed about it.”

Silence. Pure, deep, penetrating silence rings throughout the room.

Steve blinks – once, twice – as he tries to process your words. “I’m sorry,” he stutters out finally. “What?”

Bucky sighs, long and languid, before twisting towards you, his face an odd mix of solemn reproach and barely contained amusement. “Who’s the one person I said could never know about this?”

You snort out a laugh – a quick, inadvertent sputter of absolute delight – and keep Steve’s gaping expression in your line of sight as you lean into Bucky and ask, “Is he having a stroke?”

Sam jumps up then, shoving his stool away from the breakfast bar with a piercing scrape along the hardwood floor. He waves a hand distractedly through the air, waits for you to turn, and then – brow deeply furrowed – he mutters simply, “Wait. You had a threesome?”

In tandem, you and Bucky both offer matching slow nods.

Natasha slinks forward, sly smile on her face barely hidden by the mug of hot coffee that she delicately brings to her lips. A slow sip as she stands by your side, staring you down assessingly. “The blonde?” she inquires with a lilt.

You turn to face her, give another nod. “Yeah… the blonde. Sarah… something.”

One corner of her lips quirk higher, pure amusement lighting her eyes. “The one who’s always coming on to you,” she mutters, raising a single brow high. There’s no question in her voice. Doesn’t need to be.

Before you can say a word, Bucky barks from behind, “Exactly,” and lets out an irritated huff. “I don’t even know why I was there.”

You spin round on a heel, your face mere inches from his as you hiss out, “Oh, screw you.”

“That’s all I was hoping for, sweetheart,” he says with a too calm affectation. He reaches around you to grab a mug of coffee for himself, his piercing blue eyes never leaving yours. “But you went and made it weird.”

“Weird?” Sam scoffs, brow still furrowed, eyes now narrowed. “Man, I’ve see that chick. She is hot. You were in bed – naked – with two damn hot women. And it was weird?”

He shakes his head, nose crinkled in something akin to disgust. His gaze veers pensively away as he takes a sip of coffee, words flowing languidly out of him as though prudently narrating the memory playing in his mind’s eye. “It was a just a bunch of… arms and legs…”

Natasha gnaws at the corner of her lip, voice barely above a whisper when she bites out from over your shoulder, “Don’t think you were doing it right.”

His gaze ices over as he turns on her, glaring daggers. But she simply wiggles her eyebrows in response, her attention only returning to the rest of the group when Sam lets out a low whistle and a rather wistful, “Hot arms and legs.”

“You don’t get it,” Bucky snarls, jaw ticking as he drops his mug to the counter with a thunk and leans forward heatedly. “It’s not hot to watch your girlfriend get… get… plowed by someone else.”

An annoyed groan bubbles out of you. “You’re being dramatic,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. “She was totally into you.”

“She didn’t even know I was there,” he responds, tone low and subdued as he turns back to face you, the heat from his still-sweating body pooling in the small space between the two of you.

“How could she not know you were there?” you ask, raising a teasing brow, hoping to crack his sour expression. “Your penis was inside of her.”

Steve lets out an audible gasp, air pulling in between his tightly gritted teeth with a horrified whistle.

“I was never inside of her,” Bucky announces, ignoring his friend’s reaction and keeping his stare trained on you.

“Well, why the hell not?!” you ask, voice rising in both volume and pitch. You give him a little shove back, a mostly playful pop to his chest with the heel of your hand. “I picked her because you obviously have a thing for her.”

His brows twist in absolute confoundment as he stares unblinkingly at you. “What?”

“You’re always staring at her when we go get coffee… watching her,” you try, shoulders rising in a short, baffled shrug.

“I’m always keeping one eye on her because it’s obvious she’s after my girl.”

The fire in your core flares, burning up your neck and heating your cheeks in an angry flush. “If you really think that, then… then… why did you agree to do it?!”

He pulls away, taking a single large step back to widen the distance between you. “Because you wanted to,” he spits out, face twisting into an incredulous snarl. “You said it’d be fun. You… you…”

You stare at him, both brows raised, waiting for him to stop sputtering and finish his thought.

But all you get is, “You know what? Screw you.”

“Very mature,” you snipe, rolling your eyes yet again.

“Mature?!” His hands fly up into the air, exasperation peppering the wild movement. “You just… cheated on me. In my own bed. With me in it!”

“Wait a minute,” Sam says suddenly, tone painfully serious. “This happened here? In this compound? With hot coffee blonde? When? Where was I?”

You ignore his vapid inquiries, the heat between you and Bucky too consuming to allow your attention to be pulled away from the argument at hand. “That’s not what happened, and you know it.” You watch as his angry expression cracks, just a bit. “I did this for you,” you say, tone almost pleading. “Because I thought you’d like it. Because you were so… bored.”

He pulls back, face pinching tightly. “Bored? What the hell are you talking about?”

A short breath catches in your chest, candid – aching – words spilling out like stinging bile the moment you release it. “You used to be all over me… every minute of the day.” You pause just long enough to choke back a thick swell of emotion, the earnest depths of his gentle, too-blue eyes drowning you in all the care and concern swimming within them. “When… when was the last time we fucked in a supply closet?” you ask, tone tender and imploring. “Or on the elevator?”

“Whoa,” Steve blurts out. “What?!”

Natasha merely shakes her head dolefully as she continues to loom over your shoulder, idly sipping her coffee. “I really need to get into the security footage around here.”

But you couldn’t care less about the others in the room, nor their reactions. Not when Bucky steps close and pulls your hands into his grip. His head gives a small, hesitant shake and he locks onto your eyes. “Baby, I’m not bored. I just… we don’t need to do that shit anymore. We’re not still sneaking around.”

You drop your gaze, glance down at the large hands – one warm flesh, one cool metal – tenderly encasing yours. “I just… I don’t want you to get tired of me.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up into a cocky, crooked grin. “And you thought that you could prevent that by bringing in someone else for me to fuck?”

You shrug, still not looking up. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Man,” Sam breathes out from behind. “Where are you two getting your tips on how to spice up a relationship? Penthouse?”

You roll your eyes, tossing the Falcon a quick glare before – finally – looking back up at Bucky. “Fine. It was a bad idea. And an… awkward night.” You let out a sigh and slip from his grip, leaning heavily back into the counter before grumbling, “And, yes, there were too many… limbs and… appendages in the bed. And… and…” You shake your head absently, throwing your hands flippantly into the air. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t really know what I was grabbing… or who. I’m pretty sure I spent five minutes cupping my own boob.”

“No, that was me,” Bucky corrects quickly, just before a look of confusion washes over his face. “Unless that wasn’t your boob…”

You pull in a deep, settling breath, release it as an almost nervous chuckle. “Yeah, okay. Bad idea.”

“We only have a queen-sized bed,” he mutters, brows pitching high as his gaze trails off into space. “I don’t know what made you think there’d even be enough room for the three of us. I spent half the night with one foot on the floor.”

“She kept pulling my hair,” you lament lamely as you reach up to idly rub your still-sore scalp.

“No, that was me too,” he says with a shake of his head. “Didn’t mean to, but I was falling off the damn bed and you were the closest thing to grab hold of.”

“And there was so much… sweat,” you mutter with a disgusted lilt, looking up and connecting with Bucky’s far-off gaze, the two of you sharing a wholly commiserate slow nod. “Like a whole ‘nother body’s worth of sweat.”

“Yeah, why do you think I kept slipping.” He shrugs. “That, and I kept catching elbows from the barista any time I got too close.”

You snort out a laugh and curl into yourself – into him – an errant apology brewing in your chest, choking out of you in a pitiful grunt that only Bucky could possibly comprehend. “She said she was into it… into you.”

He lays his metal hand atop yours as it sits on the counter, twines your fingers together and gives a subtle squeeze. “Baby, that girl only had eyes for you.” Another shrug. “Not that I can blame her.”

“Okay, enough,” Steve says finally, his rather appalled demeanor giving way to an irritated expression and an utterly exasperated tone. “I’m sorry I ever asked. I didn’t want to know about… any of this. So why don’t you two just… go away, finish… making up… and let the rest of us figure out a way to scrub our brains clean?”

Just then Tony glides into the common room, “Scrub our brains clean of what?” falling casually from his lips as he heads for the kitchenette. He sidesteps Steve and reaches out to grab an apple from the counter, taking a giant bite before asking, mouth full and juicy, “What are we all talking about?”

Natasha sighs lightly, taking a final drink of coffee before setting her mug into the sink without so much as a clink. “The two love birds here had a three-way with the cute blonde from the coffee shop around the corner,” she recounts. “Only it turned out to be more of a… two-way with Barnes left on the outside looking in.”

Tony spins around towards Bucky, face an oddly expressionless mask. “Still worth the view, though?”

He shakes his head. “Not really, no.”

“Hm.” He takes another bite of apple before glancing over at Steve, swallows thickly and inquires, with a single brow raised high, “Take it the old man is none too pleased about your sexual escapades?”

Bucky shrugs and distractedly gives your hand another small squeeze. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“So I shouldn’t pull the footage from the south elevator to show at this year’s Christmas party?”

“Not if you want to make it to New Year’s.”

“Cute. Threats. Real nice.” Tony snickers under his breath, grabs another apple for the road, and turns to leave. “Don’t worry, Cap,” he says, stopping to pat Steve on the shoulder on his way out. “I’ve had all the communal spaces they’ve communed on thoroughly sanitized.” He tosses a quick glance back at you and Bucky, mutters, “Repeatedly,” with a raised brow, and sashays away.

Sam shakes his head impassively, beguiling twinkle bursting in his eye as he watches Steve recoil with a thick, disturbed sigh before he too turns and flees the room. “We’re living in a den of depravity,” the delighted Falcon breathes out, looking to you and offering a sly wink. “And, damn it… I like it.”

#ayesha1kwritingchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #avengers fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader

[sithsecrets]

Empress ⁂ Part 2

Engaged by her father to Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, a princess navigates the dynamics of her new marriage while discovering her own power as a member of the Order.

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5.4k words

Mentions: sex, swearing

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2.

You wake up early the next morning, alone in a cold bed. Sitting up almost in a stupor, you hold your head in your hands, still floored by the fact that this is your life now. You’re married to the Supreme Leader of the First Order, and you sleep in his bed now. You’re an empress now apparently, for fuck’s sake. How did all of this happen?

Even though you’re still overwhelmed and a little shaken from the day before, you force yourself to get out of bed, force yourself to get dressed. Your life may be out of control, but you still have to push on.

Once again, you don one of the dresses that the Order made for you, happy to see that it, too, is made of warm, thick fabrics. Two nights on the ship has made you realize that its halls and rooms are absolutely frigid, and that layering and dressing appropriately is a must. Satisfied with your appearance, you stand in your room and peer around, wondering what to do next. No one’s told you what you can and can’t do in general, let alone specifics like where to take your meals and who to ask for things.

Walking into the living area, you consider stepping out into the hall to find another droid like the one that helped you last night. He had been helpful enough showing you to your room, and you were sure that that wasn’t the only function of machines of their kind. But then you spot a datapad stashed on a side table, and you go to it, thinking that it might be helpful in some way.

Mercifully, it is. The thing is simple enough to use, and in no time, you’ve ordered breakfast for yourself. No options were given to you, but at this point, you’re just relieved that you aren’t doomed to wander the ship until someone finds you dying of starvation off in a corner somewhere. You hadn’t eaten much the day before because of your nerves, but you’re ravenously hungry now.

Within ten minutes, a droid much like the one that showed you to your quarters comes rolling into the room, a tray of hot food in hand. You thank the machine immediately, relieved to see your meal. There’s a small table and chairs off to one side in the living room, and you drop down there, already cutting into your eggs.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Empress?” the droid asks you expectantly, peering at you with its light-up eyes.

Out of habit, you almost dismiss the machine, but then think better of it.

“Yes,” you say slowly, trying to approach the subject carefully and with tact. “Do you… what do you know about what I’m allowed to do on the ship?”

“You can do anything,” the droid replies simply, almost as if this should have been obvious. You turn to look at him, very sure that the machine doesn’t mean what he’s said. Not even on your home planet did you have absolute power and freedom— there had always been rules and conditions.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, still eating steadily despite your shock.

“Well,” the droid begins, contemplative, “you are the Empress of the First Order now. You outrank everyone except the Supreme Leader himself, and he hasn’t given any orders regarding how you should behave or where you can go on the ship, at least not to anyone or any droid that I know.” The droid pauses for a moment, seemingly still processing. “As of now, it would seem that you can do whatever you want, so long as the Supreme Leader doesn’t stop you or say that you can’t perform a particular action or task.”

Mostly finished eating now, you can’t help but feel a little stupid. Of course you have freedom on this ship. You do outrank all of these people, save for Kylo Ren, and you should have recognized that. It’s not like you plan to galivant around doing absolutely anything that you want, but you’re certainly allowed to go out and entertain yourself for the day.

Or maybe you did know all of that. Maybe it was just nice to hear someone else say it.

“Are there any other questions I can answer for you, Empress? I am quite knowledgeable about the ship.” The droid is still positioned near the table, still waiting to help you, so you ask all of the things that you can think to ask.

Where else can you eat? If you want or need new clothes, where do you get them from? How do you order things that you need? You ask the droid those questions along with many more, and he answers all of them dutifully. When the conversation’s finished, you feel like a weight’s been lifted off of you. Knowing a little more about how to do things in your new home is comforting, and it feels good to be able to rely on the droids for information.

“Thank you so much,” you tell the droid, completely earnest, and he simply moves to roll out of the room.

“You’re very welcome, Empress,” is all that the machine says before he leaves, the blast door sliding shut gently behind him.

You find yourself alone again, but you’re not so anxious and upset this time. Taking a deep breath, you slide on a pair of shoes (also new, and strangely well fitted) and step out into the hall, looking left and right for a marker of any kind. That’s the last thing you need to do: forget where your own quarters are. But there are none. All the doors look the same, and the hallway has no signage or adornments. Anxious once again, you almost duck back into your room and swear off going out altogether, but you force yourself to start walking somewhere, anywhere. It’s going to be a long day if you spend it cooped up in your room with nothing to do and no one to talk to.

----

By midday, you’ve managed to wander into more common areas of the ship. You find the bridge at one point, and there, you meet a redheaded general by the name of Hux. His face is twisted in a mild sneer as he addresses you, but he gets down on one knee to show deference to you anyway. That was common wherever you went on the ship, the kneeling, and it discomforted you immensely. You of course were a princess on your planet, and you were accustomed to being regarded with respect, but not so formally as this. At home, bowing and kneeling were reserved for ceremony and special appearances; on the day-day-day, you were used to servants and nobles alike addressing you with casual familiarity and kindness. You felt disruptive and embarrassed, but you didn’t have the heart to tell such large groups of people to stop regarding you this way.

You skipped out on a midday meal even though you were hungry, not feeling comfortable enough with everyone yet to grab some food from the simple canteen you stumbled upon during your solo exploration of the ship. Besides, you were kind of having fun poking around everywhere.

By evening, though, the luster of spelunking through the ship has worn off. You’re tired, and very hungry, and you can tell that the ship is shifting into what must be a sort of evening mode. Everywhere you go, there are less people milling about, and you catch snatches of conversation regarding dinner plans here and there as you walk.

But it seems that you’ve made a mistake somewhere along the way, because you find yourself hopelessly lost about five minutes after you decide to come back the way you came. You suddenly feel eons away from any familiar path or major common area, and as your anxiety spikes, all of the hallways begin to look the same. You pad aimlessly down corridor after corridor, looking this way and that way at every intersection to see if you can find a familiar marking, a droid, a person— anything or anyone to help you— but to no avail. The only helpful thing you can see is a red border that’s painted along the walls of the hallways you’ve just turned down; but not even it is all that comforting, seeing that you don’t know what it indicates.

Mercifully, not long after you start following the path of this one and only lifeline, a woman walks your way. She has on a plain red uniform that matches the color of the stripe on the wall, and she’s busy looking over something on the datapad in her hands. Utterly relieved, you take longer, quicker strides, trying to meet her halfway so you can finally get some directions back to a place that you recognize.

“Excuse me,” you say kindly, and the woman about drops the datapad in fright, starting violently at the sight of you. You’re nearly in front of her now, close enough to catch the sleeve of her shirt when she goes to drop to her knees in front of you. And maybe it’s because there’s no witnesses to hear you or see you do it, but you huff tiredly and say, “Please don’t do that, it’s so strange.”

Obviously worried she’s offended you, the skittish little thing nods vigorously and stands up straight again. “I apologize, Empress,” she blurts, clutching her datapad to her chest. You sigh heavily, miffed that your very presence is enough to make people nervous just because of who your husband is. That’s something you’d ascertained throughout your travels today as well: everyone is fucking terrified of Kylo Ren.

The woman tells you that you’re near the medbay (that’s what all of the red was about), and then she gives you directions back to the bridge. Exhausted, you start hiking back, hoping against hope that you won’t get lost again. And thankfully you don’t, because you’re back in the common areas of the ship within no time, though everyone still drops to their knees in your wake as if you’ll kill them where they stand if they don’t.

You begin to celebrate in your mind, proud of yourself for making your way back without a hitch. But then you realize that you don’t know how to get back to your own quarters from here, and your good mood deflates almost instantly. It’s so depressing, you think, to live somewhere and not even know how to find your own fucking bedroom.

Contemplating good places to cry alone, you begin to walk off into a random corridor, thinking with a morbid sort of humor that it might be best if you just got lost and died on the ship somewhere.

“Empress,” chorus two electronically filtered voices behind you, and you turn, eyes landing on a pair of stormtroopers. Their blasters are holstered and of course, they’re both on one knee before you, heads bowed in reverence.

“What is it?” you ask, not in the mood for more ass-kissing at this point. You had your fill when you met a group of high-ranking officers earlier in the day, and you don’t have time for these two if they’re trying to climb the ladder as well.

“The Supreme Leader requests your presence in your shared quarters, Empress,” offers one of the troopers, and a feeling of mild surprise hits you. But hey, they said your quarters, so you’re satisfied.

“Take me there,” you command, and they do.

(You force yourself to mindful of the path they lead you down the whole way to your rooms.)

The Supreme Leader is waiting for you when you arrive, just as you suspected he would be.

Kylo’s seated the little dining table in the living room, and he jumps up almost immediately after you come through the blast door. You breeze in, trying to be pleasant, trying to not let your hunger and exhaustion get the best of your attitude. In truth, you’re still a little unsure of yourself after the events of last night, and a more childish part of you is slightly angry that Kylo never so much as offered to show you around the ship. Sure, he didn’t tell you to go wandering off like you did, but he didn’t exactly help you out, either.

Still, though, you need to try with him. Making him dislike you would be a fatal mistake.

“Hello,” your husband says, seemingly still subdued and mildly unnerved like he was last night.

“Hello,” you reply, making sure to smile at him. “You called for me?”

Kylo seems to remember himself in that moment. “Oh, yes, I did,” he begins, glancing behind him at the dinner table. “I… I thought we could take our evening meal together.”

You hadn’t been expecting that.

“What?” And you hate yourself for blurting that out, but your hunger is clouding your brain.

“If you don’t want to eat together, I understand. I can eat on the bridge instead.” Kylo moves to walk past you as he talks, and you catch his arm gently.

“No, no,” you say quickly, horrified with yourself at this point. And to think you had thought yourself a decent diplomat on your home planet… “I’m just hungry, I’m sorry. I wandered around the ship all day, and I got lost, and…” You trail off, shy under the intensity of Kylo’s gaze— even if he is still acting like you could detonate any second.

You still have your hand on his arm, something you realize just a second later than you probably should have. Withdrawing it, you break your husband’s stare and sit down.

----

The food is delicious, and you eat with vigor. Yourself and Kylo spend most of the meal making short, uncomfortable eyes contact, offering a comment here and there. You compliment the meal, Kylo says that he’s glad you like it. Past that though, almost nothing of substance is said, and again, you find yourself wondering if the great Supreme Leader of the First Order has ever been alone with a woman. Or anyone he wasn’t bossing around, for that matter.

“I walked around the ship today,” you say, even though you already mentioned it earlier. The awkward tension in the air is too much, and you figure innocuous conversation is the best way to go about breaking it.

“Where did you go?” Kylo asks, looking at you like he’s yearning to connect just as much as you are, or at the very least, be cordial.

That makes you feel slightly relieved about the state of things.

“Everywhere, really.” You toy with a pile of some sort of vegetable on your plate, the one thing you really didn’t care for. “I got lost, though. This ship is massive, almost too big.”

“You could have had someone escort you,” Kylo says simply. Flushing with embarrassment, you curse yourself for not thinking of that. Why hadn’t you thought of that?

“I don’t know why I didn’t,” is all you offer in reply, still toying with the last little bit of your food. Without thinking, you say something quietly under your breath, almost to yourself. “I don’t know anything about what I can do here, really.”

Catching yourself, you look up at Kylo for a reaction. He looks apologetic, eyes fixed on his plate before they come up to meet yours. “I probably should have told you.”

You want to tell him that he’s absolutely right, because he is. He should have told you so much, should have explained more about your place here, but he didn’t.

Mind reader, mind reader you remember, forcing yourself to focus, to play the game. Be sweet, be appealing, be pleasant.

“Someone told me I can do anything I want, but I don’t know if that’s true. I think some of the officers may not like the idea of having to listen to me.” You laugh lightly, trying to play the whole thing off as a joke. But Kylo isn’t laughing, isn’t even smiling—two things you haven’t seen him do in the few days you’ve known him, if you think about it. His demeanor has shifted completely, and the look on his face is suddenly hard and convicted.

“You’re my wife,” he states, and for the first time, you see something akin to the version of the Supreme Leader that everyone says so much about. “You can do whatever you want, whenever you want because your title as Empress is an extension of my power as the Supreme Leader. If someone tries to stop you from doing something you want to do, no matter how highly they rank, I will take care of them swiftly.”

Watching a man who was acting like he was mildly afraid of you five seconds ago speak this way is startling to say the least, but you can’t help but feel a little giddy at the thought of being uninhibited on this ship. While you had power on your home planet, so much of your life was controlled. You had to talk to the right people, dress a certain way, do things to please your parents— here, apparently all you have to do is keep your husband on your side. The notion of that is refreshing.

Having dealt with serious, no-nonsense types before during your diplomatic relations, you feel infinitely more comfortable with this version of Kylo Ren. And besides that, you’re still desperate for information about your place here. If he has to be righteous and vaguely angry to talk to you about that, so be it.

“Okay,” you say, moving subjects quickly, “but what can I… what can I ask for? What can I have?”

Kylo answers you immediately, completely serious, regarding you with a look in his eyes at you can’t place. “Anything you want. The First Order controls nearly the entire galaxy. If you want anything from anywhere, all you have to do is ask.”

Gone now is your drive to have this man view you as a sweet little woman. This is a cutthroat drawing out of terms, plain and simple— except this time, you’re dealing with a man who possesses actual power, not some small-time nobleman who thinks that he does. That almost makes it more exciting, if you’re being honest.

“And what if I wanted something from a place that was not yet under the control of the Order yet, hm? What would happen then?”

You’re pushing, and Kylo knows what you’re doing, you can see it in his eyes. For a hot minute, you think that maybe you’ve gone too far, overstepped yourself. But then something in his face shifts, and you know then that the two of you are truly operating on the same level now.

“Then I would conquer that place and have whatever you wanted brought to you with haste.”

A thrill shoots through you at the sound of that, but you know better than to be satisfied. As exciting as all of this newfound power is, as much as it turns you on to hear a man speak about you this way, you know good and well that relationships are a two-way street. Four days ago, Kylo Ren chose you to be his wife, and not because he was lusting over you like an idiot— last night made that much clear. You have a purpose on this ship, and you need to know what that purpose is.

“Why? We’ve been married for less than a day. What do I have to offer you that would make you want to treat me so well?”

Your question hangs heavy in the air for a moment, and you watch as Kylo bites the inside of his cheek, pauses, thinks about his answer.

“You’re a gifted diplomat, and I am not,” he states, almost like it took a lot for him to admit that. “People either fear me too much to take the risks that I need them to take, or they think I’m a child and refuse to respect me altogether. I need someone like you to help me keep things in check as the Order expands.”

“I’m from a planet the size of a speck of dust,” you retort, narrowing your eyes a little. Yes, you had been complimented on your negotiation skills over the years, but Kylo Ren is a fool if he thinks that you’ve ever done business with anyone of real substance.

When Kylo locks eyes with you again, “You’re the right fit, I’m sure of it.” He pauses, cuts his eyes to the side. “The Force told me so.”

That answer intrigues you, makes you sit back in your chair and give Kylo a once-over. You know, of course, that your husband has been trained by both Jedi and Sith masters. You know that he can invade the minds of others, that he can throw people around like ragdolls without touching them. You see the lightsaber at his side, you understand the significance of him even having one in his possession. If anyone else had told you some mumbo jumbo about just knowing it, you would laugh in their face. Gut instinct in an emergency situation is one thing, but you appreciate the art of thinking things through when you have the time. And while you know that Kylo Ren has some impulse control issues of his own, you also know that he hasn’t gotten this far by being a moron. So fine, the Force chose you— you can live with that.

“You want me to help make nice with people. Shaking hands, kissing babies, and all of that?” You can tell by the way Kylo’s eyes narrow in mild confusion that what you’ve just said must be common phrasing on your home planet alone. “Never mind. So that’s all you need from me— my diplomatic prowess?”

“And your loyalty.”

You can tell Kylo’s serious about that one, it’s something in his tone. And you can do that, you think, you can do loyalty. All Kylo’s really done is take you away from your home, and while you were upset about that in the beginning, you can see now that maybe that was for the best. It seems that you have potential in the Order, potential as the Supreme Leader’s wife. Potential as the empress.

You have one question left, but you bite your tongue. It’s not worth ruining the mood for, and you think you already know the answer anyway. So, you save it away in your mind and allow yourself to relax, looking over this new husband of yours. He becomes shy again under your gaze, looking at his hands and glancing up at you nervously, but you don’t mind it. That line about being able to do whatever you want still rings in your head, and you begin to think that this marriage may have been a good match after all.

----

Kylo leaves a little while after the two of you finish eating, says that he has to brief the Knights of Ren about an upcoming mission before the morning comes. You let him go easily, happy to have some time to yourself, some time to think about everything that your husband said.

Pacing, you consider your new role as chief diplomat for Kylo Ren. He must want you to be a kind of barrier, you think, someone to shield people from his more abrasive nature. You’ve seen how he can be here and there, heard snatches of him barking orders at the people who work under him. During your travels around the ship today, you overheard more than one person speaking about how Kylo was wound tight, prone to flying into a rage at the simplest inconveniences. Keeping your husband calm and level-headed during any sort of negotiations will be your main objective, that much is clear to you now.

Still, even though you’re happy to know why you’re here, you can’t help but wonder about the timing off all of this. It was your understanding that the Supreme Leader requested that the two of you be married with haste, and you can’t help but feel there’s a reason for that. In hindsight, it may have been a good question to ask Kylo while you had him fired up and open to you, but no matter. You’ve always had a knack for coaxing men into making themselves vulnerable with you, and it’s a skill that’s served you well. Kylo Ren may be the Supreme Leader of the First Order, but he’s also just a man— you’ll draw him to you eventually, you’re sure of it.

Overall, you’re just relieved that you managed to have a breakthrough with your husband. Sure, his moment of openness was short-lived, but you got him to speak to you, to really speak to you, not just sit there and say something polite. This bodes well for things moving forward, for you and Kylo’s relationship as a whole. And as much as you hate to admit it, it was a turn-on to hear Kylo speak about you the way that he did. The power, the willingness to serve you— you feel intoxicated by all of it, drunk off the idea of actually being able to live the way you want to live without anyone telling you no. Your parents can’t control you anymore, the nobleman you used to deal with aren’t here to scrutinize your every move, and you already feel freer because of that.

It’s strange, but in just a couple of short days, you’re beginning to see how unfulfilling your life at home had been. When you first boarded this ship, you thought you were being transported away from any chance at a happy life, but that’s just not the case. You thought getting married would weigh you down, but in reality, it’s set you free.

Of course, though, there’s only been words spoken so far. Kylo hasn’t actually done anything to support the idea that you’re free to do what you like here, and you haven’t exactly pushed any boundaries yet. But still, it’s a nice sentiment to hear. Still, you can’t help but feel Kylo that meant it, really meant it. It was something about the look in eyes, the set of his jaw— he’s put you in power, and he’s fine with you acting like it.

Eventually, you decide that it’s time to mentally table all of this thinking until tomorrow. You try to unwind, lazing about in the bathtub for a while as you wait for your husband to return. The warmth of the water relaxes you, and you let your eyes flutter shut, tired from everything that’s happened today. It’s mental exhaustion more than anything, but the way the heat soothes your muscles is still nice.

You dress for bed in another one of your new nightgowns, deciding that you might like some more clothes as you put it on. The ones the Order made for you before your arrival are lovely, but you think that you might like some prettier things to sleep in now that you’re married. Kylo isn’t exactly jumping all over you, and you certainly don’t intend to throw yourself at him, but you know good and well that this marriage must be consummated eventually.

(And besides all of that, who doesn’t like to feel pretty in their night things?)

Kylo comes back to your quarters not long after you get out of the bath, and when he sees you, it’s almost as if he’s surprised you look the way you do. You’re dressed of course, wet hair plaited down your back to keep it neat.

You don’t see anything special about your appearance, but your husband must, because he’s quite flushed as he announces that he’s going to shower before he comes to bed. You watch him walk into the ‘fresher, almost laughing to yourself a little. Gone are your worries of upsetting him; now all you can do is marvel at how one man can be so confident (and in Kylo’s case, frightening) in one aspect of his life, and yet so awkward in another.

It’s strange how comfortable you feel with Kylo now that you know your place in the Order, in his life. Of course, you don’t want to offend your husband or make him think that you’re an impulsive child, but you no longer feel like you have to walk on eggshells around him. He respects you, that much he said himself, and you have a suspicion that he may admire you for other reasons as well. Still, though, you’re going to play it safe, for your sake and for his.

Kylo emerges from the ‘fresher dressed in a plain shirt and pants, clothes that look far more comfortable than what you normally see him in. You’re sure he went to bed in something like this last night, it was just too dark for you to see. He looks good—clean, soft in the way that everyone is when they’ve just bathed.

You’re already in bed when your husband comes out, and you watch him idly as he moves about the room, straightening some things up and dimming the lights without turning them off completely. He’s a neat person, you observe, and you decide that you like that about him.

When he gets under the covers, Kylo faces you, quiet as the two of you look at each other in the dim light. All of this feels so different from the awkward tension of last night. The two of you aren’t exactly comfortable now, Kylo especially, but you can’t help but feel that you’re making progress.

“What do you do during the day?” you ask softly. It’s not that late, and you genuinely want to know. Not once did you see your husband on the ship today, and you think you covered pretty good ground.

“It depends,” Kylo answers with a shrug, and he acts as if it’s strange to talk about himself. “Some days I go out on excursions to planets that need to be searched, others I stay here and handle the day-to-day operations. I usually meet with the generals and commanders a few times a week to receive updates about the Order’s progress in various parts of the galaxy.”

You nod, thinking that talking would feel more natural if the two of you were closer. Still, you stay on your side of the too-big bed. “What did you do today?”

Kylo proceeds to tell you about how he visited a smaller planet that’s in the Order’s possession. When he got back, he met with his commanders and generals, and then he spent some time training. And then, of course, he briefed the Knights after the two of you ate.

“We’re getting ready to receive some liaisons from Valdera next week,” Kylo explains, and you nod to show that you’re listening. “I’m… I’m going to need your help with that.”

And that’s it— that’s why Kylo insisted that the two of you be wed so quickly.

Valdera is a decently sized, mineral rich planet not far from your old home. Its parliament members are notoriously arrogant, and you had the “pleasure” of meeting some of their diplomats last year. You held your own and got the job done, but you wanted to tear your hair out in the process. The notion of tangling with them again makes you want to huff in annoyance, but at the same time, you know full well that you can take whatever those assholes want to give you and the Order.

“I’ll need to review their customs and the organizational structure of their leadership. I’ll also need a comprehensive report on who’s coming, what they do, and any other pertinent information about them that could help me get them to cooperate.” You tell Kylo all of this with a slight commanding edge to your voice, and he simply nods, saying that you’ll have what you requested by the next afternoon.

“I’ve dealt with Valderan imbeciles before,” you say, rolling your eyes as you settle yourself more comfortably in bed. “They all think they’re tough until you dare them to rise to the occasion. I’ll work something out and then let you know what I think is best.”

“All right,” is all that Kylo says, and you can’t tell if he’s impressed or a little affronted by you taking charge easily. But after he says thank you, you settle on impressed over offended.

“You’re welcome,” you tell your husband. “Goodnight.”

And with that, you roll over and fall asleep.

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #star wars #star wars imagine #my writing

[bollywood-and-phoenix-feather]

manic hours opened yesterday and @just-another-trans-twink and I went on a 24-hour zukka lockdown. this was the result!

essentially: more sokka and azula content is absolutely necessary in this fandom, so here are five times sokka and azula collaborated for the better, and one time it was definitely for the worse

Read on AO3 above!

1. the gaang threatens murder

Sokka hadn’t felt this anxious in nearly six years – since the end of the war. Well, not counting the numerous attempts on his boyfriend’s life; those set him on edge for weeks afterwards. Today was different, though. It wasn’t just he and Zuko and the guards who were unusually tense and hyper-alert. The whole palace felt like it was holding its breath, terse silence stifling in the late summer air.

Sokka checked his timepiece. Thirty minutes until Azula arrived to move into the palace, hopefully (or unfortunately?) for good.

Zuko had been back in contact with his sister for years now. He’d been to visit her in the hospital many times, and she’d even visited the palace occasionally. The fact that she and Zuko could now hold a conversation without setting each other on fire was testament to how she’d changed. Even the doctors said she was better, more stable.

But Sokka still didn’t trust her - couldn’t trust her, after everything she’d done to Katara, Suki, his dad, Zuko… they were his family, and he had to be ready to protect them. Sokka wasn’t the only one that felt that way. Zuko might have started to trust her again, but everyone else was skeptical.

Katara was pissed; Sokka didn’t need Toph’s seismic sense to know that. She, Aang, Toph, Suki, and a few other Kyoshi warriors had arrived a few days ago for extra security. Zuko had stubbornly maintained that it was unnecessary, but he’d finally conceded it was probably a good idea after Sokka had asked them to come anyway.

Zuko, in his earnest quest to be a good brother, wanted to give Azula a proper welcome to the palace, with a small celebratory dinner with their closest friends - which were Zuko’s closest friends, since Azula didn’t really have those anymore. Ty Lee and Mai declined to come, and he was pretty sure everyone else had only agreed to come to provide moral support and physical protection for Zuko. Sokka was just hoping a fight wouldn’t break out.

-

Dinner was, well. Tense.

Katara did little but pick at her food and glare icy daggers at Azula, who pretended not to notice, acting coolly unperturbed by the tension around her. Suki looked relaxed, but Sokka knew better. Her fans sat on either side of her plate, ready for a fight, and she never quite shifted her weight to the back of her seat. Toph might have been the only one actually having a good time, irreverently picking her nails and drinking more sake than a person her size should have been able to.

Aang was desperately trying to ease the mood, chattering on far too cheerfully about new trade routes between the Earth Kingdom and Southern Water Tribe, while Zuko passively nodded along, glancing over at his sister occasionally like he wanted to talk to her.

“... so then, shipments will move primarily between Akahime, Kyoshi Island, and the Southern Water Tribe, like they did when I was a kid! Or was a kid for the first time, I guess! Huh. Anyway! This is gonna be great because it’s a relatively short and easy trade route but the quality of goods -”

“Aang,” Sokka snapped, physically unable to listen any longer. “I love you like a brother, but that does mean that if I have to listen to you recite the trade proposal that I helped write for any longer, I will shave your eyebrows off while you sleep. And Katara -” Sokka whirled on her - “I know you’re upset, but can you please return my water to a liquid state? And everyone else’s, for that matter? Otherwise someone’s gonna have to deal with a hungover Toph tomorrow, and it sure as hell isn’t gonna be me!”

Sokka glared at his sister across the table. Her face was stony, her eyes slightly narrowed. Was this going to end well for Sokka? No. Did that mean he was going to back down? Absolutely not.

“Fine,” Katara muttered through gritted teeth. With a twitch of her fingers, the ice filling everyone’s cups of water melted back to liquid - all except Sokka’s.

“Real fucking mature, Katara - ” he began, and then she flicked her fingers out towards him, melting the water in his cup and sending it right at his face.

“You little shit!” Sokka shrieked in what he was sure was a very, very manly tone. As he rose to confront his sister, Zuko and Suki turned to exchange a fond look, both of them struggling to hide their laughter. Sokka took a breath, feigning sincerity. “You know what? I take it back. You’re ALL a bunch of assholes.” He yanked the tablecloth towards him, sending food and drink flying, before attempting to make a hasty escape.

Chaos erupted. Katara bent the water off herself and onto Zuko, apparently declaring him guilty by association. Toph began shooting grape-oranges at people with alarming precision, while Suki deflected them just as easily. Sokka didn’t get more than a few steps away from the table before his feet were earthbent into the floor.

“You’re not going anywhere, Snoozles!” Toph bellowed, now pelting him with various fruits. He tried to dodge without falling on his face, and was only saved by Zuko grabbing both his arms to keep him balanced. Sokka looked up to see Zuko with a wide grin on his face, and Sokka, hopelessly-in-love bisexual that he was, had barely started his usual inner monologue about how beautiful Zuko’s smile was when Zuko leaned in to smear egg custard on his face.

Just as Sokka opened his mouth to voice his betrayal, another shrill scream split the room: “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Everyone turned to see Azula standing in the corner of the room, irate, steaming the water off her shirt and picking a few stray noodles out of her hair. “I lost to you?! You?”

Tense silence returned, dragging on as everyone tried to anticipate Azula’s next move.

Toph, who had remained unscathed by using the metal plates as shields, and who was somehow still sipping from a full, intact glass of sake, broke the silence. “Yep,” she said, popping the “p”.

Azula stared at Toph for a few moments before sitting down, a look of resignation on her face. Hm. That was new. So was the “Whatever,” Sokka thought he heard her mutter under her breath.

Slowly, everyone returned to the table to pick at what was left of their food and exchange uneasy glances with one another.

Aang cleared his throat. “Did anyone try the chicken? I thought the chicken was lovely.”

-

“I’m going to bed. Are you coming?” Zuko’s hands rested lightly on Sokka’s shoulders, and Sokka sleepily tipped his head back, away from the scroll he was reading, for a kiss. Zuko smirked, a few strands of hair that had escaped his topknot softly framing his face, and obliged.

“I’ll be there soon, okay? I just have a couple more things to take care of,” Sokka murmured in response. As usual, they were up late working in their study. (Technically, it was Zuko’s study, but Sokka almost always worked in here and was steadily covering any available flat surface with his scrolls, reference books, and blueprints. Not that Zuko was complaining.)

Zuko hummed, “Okay, love you,” against Sokka’s lips, before striding out of the room. Sokka waited until his footsteps had faded down the hall before rising, hoping he remembered the way to Azula’s room. He really didn’t want to ask for directions.

A few minutes and wrong turns later, he found Azula. She yanked open her door before he had really finished knocking, snapping an acidic “What?” in his face.

Sokka shouldered his way inside, closing the door behind him and choosing to ignore the fact that she could fry him like a pig-chicken in an instant if she decided it was worth it. He couldn’t think about that right now; he had to do this.

“Listen,” he growled, not bothering to hide the years of hurt and anger behind his voice. “I don’t know if you’re actually better or if this is part of some elaborate scheme of yours, and you know what? Right now, I don’t really care. You’ve hurt too many of the people I love. But you have Zuko convinced, and I guess -” His voice cracked, and he took a breath, trying not to wince visibly. “I guess that’s all that matters right now. He cares about you. A lot. So if you hurt him again, know this: consequences be damned, ending you will be my sole mission. Understand?”

Azula, level and unflinching, arms crossed over her chest, held his gaze for a long moment before huffing and breaking eye contact to inspect her nails. “Bold of you to assume I can be killed, Water Tribe.”

Sokka could only continue to stare, gritting his teeth to prevent his mouth from drifting open in astonishment. The fuck kind of response was that? What did that even mean?

Apparently satisfied with her nails, she turned her face back up to look at Sokka, a new, hard glint in her eyes. “Don’t worry about me. The threat is mutual. Guards!” A royal guard stepped through the door, standing at attention. “Please escort Ambassador Sokka out. I need my beauty sleep.”

And before Sokka could even begin to form a response, the door was closing behind him, and his feet were guiding him to Zuko’s chambers.

2. the gaang goes crafting

Sokka placed two thumbs on his temples, rubbing vigorously before giving up his headache for a lost cause with a sigh. This was the second Four-Nation (well, three-nation plus Aang) diplomatic council meeting he had attended, and as both the Southern Water Tribe representative and a young man who had seen far too much over the past few years, he was deeply frustrated.

When he'd been younger, he'd sat through enough war meetings to know how they usually went: chaos and argument, with Hakoda listening carefully before picking out the bits and pieces that mattered. It was a lot like hunting: waiting and watching for the correct moment to strike. Sokka had learned long ago how to listen, and listen well.

Unfortunately, it seemed like he might be the only one. The Earth Kingdom generals had not taken kindly to being placed in a small room with their Fire Nation counterparts, and every word out of their mouths demonstrated all too clearly that the war, for them, was not yet over. Zuko's position was still precarious - twice-banished and once-crowned - and so he could only do so much. The Earth King's travels had clearly done him some good, but the bar for improvement was unbelievably low. And Sokka did not yet have his dad's ability to command the room.

So this wasn't, at all, like hunting. It might actually be more like the moment after the hunting was over, when the offal was thrown to the polar bear dogs and they went wild, howling and yelling and stomping down the snow.

"I know that face," came a snide voice to his left.

Sokka jumped and drew his sword, mostly on instinct. Azula met his eyes over its point, and then pushed it away, lazily. Sokka let her.

"You're thinking," she said. "If you were my brother, I would say it was a rare feat. But you're not him, are you?"

Like everything Azula said, this question was a test, or a game, or both. Sokka rolled his eyes and chose not to play. "What do you want?"

"I want what you want," said Azula. "And I can help you get it."

Spirits. Even when she was trying to help you, she sounded like she was planning world domination. "Tell me how to get General Wu to shut up for more than five minutes, and then we can talk."

Azula examined her nails. They were much shorter, now, than they had been at the start of the war, so the effect was less like a predator picking its claws, and more girlish; it made her look her age, for once. Sokka wasn't sure if Azula knew, and if not, he certainly wasn't going to tell her.

"General Wu's daughter is studying at the Royal Fire Nation Academy, in her third summer. That means she's currently memorizing the fifty-eight rhetorical principles, and she's probably been practicing them so much that he can recite them by rote. If you bring up the one about the value of being concise - "

"He will finish it, embarrass himself, and then keep quiet for at least the next five minutes so that I can shut down his stupid air-balloon outreach plan." Sokka blinked, surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. "Did I just agree with you?"

"Of course you did," said Azula, smiling. Her palm was sparking a little, in the way it did before she said something about collective power for utter domination, etc., so Sokka took the opportunity to head her off early.

"Come back to the library with me," he said. "We still have nine generals to go."

Azula looked at him. Sokka looked right back. He had the upper hand here, and he knew it - Azula must have been bored out of her mind after months nothing interesting to do but watch the path of the odd frog-fly. As far as Sokka knew, she wasn't even allowed out of this wing of the palace unattended, let alone permitted to read anything more recent than her great-grandfather’s time.

"Fine," said Azula, finally, feigning boredom. Sokka smiled.

-

Zuko stared. "What is this?"

"What does it look like?" said two voices at once. Sokka and Azula looked at each other in brief, honest shock, before turning back to him as one. Zuko swallowed nervously and resisted the urge to draw his swords.

"Um. It looks like the librarian is gonna be mad at you for defacing the general's royal portraits," said Zuko.

"What did I tell you?" said Azula, scornful. "I knew he wouldn't understand."

"We just have to give him a minute," said Sokka, patiently. Zuko stared. We? he mouthed.

"Oh, well, let him be," said Azula. "Zuzu - " she began, sweetly, and Zuko didn't even flinch this time - "you take all the time you need. If you have questions, we will be in my chambers."

"In your chambers," agreed Zuko, haplessly. "Why?"

"We're finishing the border agreement," Sokka threw over his shoulder. Azula was already halfway down the hall.

"The border agreement. The one that - they've been working on that for months! What do you mean you're finishing it?"

"Oh, you know, teamwork and whatever. It wasn't that hard." Sokka grinned brightly at Zuko, giving him a large thumbs up, and then skipped after Azula.

3. the gaang does science

As much as Zuko was unnerved by the...alliance? working relationship? collaboration? between Sokka and Azula, he had to admit that they were making great progress. They had resolved the border agreement, a messy affair Zuko was sure would take the rest of the year and possibly also Aang’s moderation to conclude, in less than a week.

That had been months ago, and since, they had gotten everything from education reform bills to reparations proposals approved by the council and various world leaders. Sometimes Zuko wondered who was really running the country right now. He didn’t mind, though. It was fun to watch the dusty old men on his advisory council squirm in meetings when Azula sat in the corner, staring them down and taking meticulous notes.

Plus, he got more sleep this way.

Zuko rose and stretched after signing off the Power Duo’s latest proposal for terracing the mountainside of a nearby village to grow rice. Dismissing his constant internal struggle over whether their partnership should make him thankful or fearful for his safety, he went to find Sokka. He got more time to eat in places that weren’t his study now, too. He’d thought a surprise picnic by the turtleduck pond might be nice; it’d been so long since he and Sokka had been able to go on an actual date.

He’d already asked for a blanket and a basket of food to be sent over to the pond, so all he had to do was find Sokka, who…wasn’t in his office. Zuko frowned; he must be outside.

Zuko headed towards the courtyard behind the building instead, lost in thought about their last date - Sokka had talked him into seeing The Ember Island Players’ most recent atrocity, which had lived up to Zuko’s rock-bottom expectations, but they’d gone swimming afterwards, and then -

Zuko’s train of thought (and the accompanying flush in his cheeks) was cut off abruptly by the truly alarming sight greeting him in the courtyard.

Azula was elaborately strapped and tied to Sokka’s back like a baby hog monkey, her arms falling in front of his shoulders to tighten a couple last straps. Both were wearing large, ridiculous, leather-framed goggles that fit snugly around their eyes. As Azula worked with the straps, Sokka unfurled two triangular pieces of cloth that bore suspicious similarity to the wings of Aang’s glider. The bottom part of the cloth appeared to be attached to his boots, the top edge to his arms.

Before Zuko could even say, What the fuck, Sokka? , Sokka grinned over his shoulder at Azula and said with far too much vigor, “Ready?”

Azula, clearly still focused on the straps, snapped, “I’m always ready. Are you sure this will work?”

“No, but there’s only one way to find out! That’s science! Sokka-POW!” And with that, Azula lit a massive flame under her feet, sending them both flying above the roof of the palace. Immediately, despite Sokka’s best efforts with the cloth flaps, they careened wildly out of control before plummeting directly into the roof of the residential hall on the opposite side of the courtyard.

As he sprinted towards them, calling for his guards to send a healer, he could think only two thoughts: (1) spirits, please let them be okay, and (2) if they’re not dead, I’m going to kill them.

Crashing through the door of the building, he found Sokka and Azula on the (very charred) floor, a few small fires surrounding them, which he snuffed out with a wave of his hand. The two were still mostly strapped together, Sokka rolling around on the floor in an attempt to dislodge Azula, while she tried to undo the straps at Sokka’s front with mixed success.

Zuko unsheathed one of the daggers at his waist and willed himself not to breathe fire as he launched into a tirade that bald-ponytail, sixteen-year-old Zuko would have been proud of. “What the fuck were you two thinking! Are you stupid? Don’t answer that, smartass,” He glared pointedly at Sokka while he sliced his way through their bindings. “What would I have done if something happened to either of you? There’d be a fucking diplomatic crisis, I’d have a dead ambassador and a dead sister and a very, very angry Southern Water Tribe -”

“In my defense,” Sokka muttered hoarsely, head lolling back onto the floor, “my dad would definitely believe you if you told him that I did something like this.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” He sheathed his dagger and whirled on his sister. “Azula,” he pleaded, “why?”

She shrugged, and offered only, “Science.” A smirk spread over her face, splitting streaks of soot. “Maybe if you’d let me read a book published in the last two hundred years, then I’d know it was a bad idea.”

Zuko’s imminent death threat was cut off by Sokka’s chuckling from the floor. “Nice one, ‘Zula. Up top.” He raised his hand weakly for Azula to give him a high five.

I can’t believe I’m in love with this concussed idiot, Zuko thought (not for the first time). Healers rushed in to save the two from Zuko’s remaining wrath. “I’m telling Katara,” Zuko muttered.

“Nooooo, babyyy, please don’t tell Katara, she’ll -”

“I’m telling Katara, mostly because you deserve to be yelled at by someone else, but also because she and Aang get here in a week, and I don’t know how else I’m going to explain why it looks like a comet crashed into the palace. And, you know what? Royal decree - you two are not allowed to hang out unsupervised any more.”

Azula glared at him - less her old I’m-going-to-mount-your-head-on-the-palace-gates glare and more the usual your-existence-tires-me glare that he saw pass between Sokka and Katara so often. That was better, though, and Zuko decided that he would take it. Sokka just pouted, jutting out his bottom lip and batting his eyelashes. Zuko found this look cuter than he should, and Sokka knew it.

Zuko steeled his resolve. “I’m telling Katara, and I’m not going to stop giving you shit about this until we’re approximately eighty, okay? But you can read whatever you want in the library. Happy?”

The Power Duo cheered, and Zuko couldn’t hold back a soft smile.

4. the gaang hoards the brain cells

Maybe it was a lifetime of being the oldest sibling and also the responsible sibling, or maybe it was just because he had grown up around Katara, but despite all appearances to the contrary (see: the as-yet unrepaired roof of the residential hall) Sokka was actually a great influence on Azula.

Part of this was definitely due to the fact that Azula, like, listened to him. Sokka wasn't sure that he'd ever been around someone who did what he said without question. Zuko supported him, but in a boyfriend kind of way; sometimes Sokka would jump in with a plan fully formed, and then Zuko would make him explain it back and work out the kinks; other times - and especially in fights - by the time Sokka had come up with a workable plan, Zuko was already in the middle of it, flaming-feet first, and Sokka had to improvise (brilliantly, but desperately) to keep up.

Katara, conversely, never actually listened to him. She just did what she wanted. If what she wanted happened to line up with Sokka's exact plan, she would never admit it. It was her right, really, as a younger sibling; Sokka knew this, and he loved her.

But Azula understood his plans almost before he said them out loud -  most of the time because she was thinking the same thing. And somehow, out of everyone - she respected him the most; sometimes Sokka felt like she was trying to earn his approval, like she knew that if Sokka trusted her, so would Katara, and even Zuko. If she was a sail, Sokka was just a rudder, steering her: they didn't have to be pointing the same direction, but their boat would never crash.

Sokka frowned, trying to imagine himself as a boat. Would his wolf-tail be the rudder? Or would his whole body just be triangle-shaped?

It didn't matter. (It did. He would figure it out later.) Right now, he needed to talk to her about some of the villages at the southern border; heavy rains had induced mudslides, wiping out shrines and causing the spirits to run amok. Sokka thought that maybe, this village might be a kind of Heroism Starter Pack for Azula, that they could - what was that noise?

Sokka looked down. The castle floor should not be splashing his feet, and yet it was; he was standing in a giant puddle. He looked up, suddenly focused; there was a trail of muddy water making its way down the hall.

Sokka followed it. The water grew muddier and deeper as he went, and Sokka despaired for whoever would have to clean it up. Finally, he caught up to the source: his very bedraggled sister, and his equally soaked boyfriend, trudging toward the baths.

"Um," said Sokka. "What's happening, here?"

Katara turned around. "Well, someone had to do it." Her hands were on her hips, her nose upturned.

"Yeah," agreed Zuko, smiling. "We took care of it. It was fun."

Don't get him wrong - Sokka was all for Zuko's little smiles, and Zuko having fun, but - "Take care of what? What did you do?"

Zuko and Katara scowled, eerily identical. "What we did," Katara said, edging from 'self-satisfied' to 'fiercely righteous', "was settle the spirits and save the villagers, since obviously the Earth kingdom civil forces don't have the bending knowledge to do it yet!"

"Yeah, like I said," said Zuko. He was frowning like a kicked puppy, which was unfair to Sokka specifically. "We took care of it."

"Oh," said Sokka, relaxing. "That's great! So you guys talked to the villagers?"

"Um," said Zuko. "About what?"

"...the mudslides. And, like, preventing them? The tiered rock formations?"

Zuko stared at him, a little furrow forming between his eyebrows which meant he was totally lost. Katara avoided his gaze, shifting from foot to foot.

"Katara," said Sokka, using his absolute best big brother voice, "remember my designs? Which I told you about last week?"

"Look, Sokka," said Katara, gently. Sokka frowned and crossed his arms; Katara had not been able to fool him with that voice since she was about ten years old, and she knew it. "We solved the problem. The spirits are settled and everything is okay now! Your designs were great, but we just...didn't need them?"

Sokka stared her down; Katara stared back.

"If you're going to -" "Well, what exactly was your - " they began, at the same time, and Zuko sighed; before they could really get into it, a rush of heat interrupted them, shrinking the puddles on the floor to sad little piles of dirt, and blowing Katara's hair dramatically into her face. Sokka stifled a laugh.

"I think the real question is, what did you actually do?" Azula asked, appearing from the shadows. She was holding Zuko's Blue Spirit mask, which was dripping with mud.

"Dramatic entrance high-five," said Sokka, because she deserved it, and because she was going to be on his side. Azula obliged, and then raised an eyebrow to Katara and Zuko, who reminded Sokka a bit of blow-dried cat-herons.

"We're not dumb," said Katara, smoothing down her robes. "We entered the village in disguise, and then cleared the mud and repaired the shrines. The spirits calmed down pretty quickly after everything was fixed."

"Right," said Azula. "Until the next time it rains. You know, what might have worked better would be to educate the villagers about flood barriers, or perhaps even offer them assistance in moving their shrines."

She sounded about as scornful and sarcastic as usual, but Sokka knew better; her ideas were legitimate and compassionate. He was so proud. Their murder baby was all grown up and trying to save people.

Katara did not pick up on the fact that Sokka was swelling like a pig-chicken about to crow. "You don't know that - "

"What we do know," interrupted Sokka bossily, "is that at some point it's going to rain again, and then the villagers are going to sit and pray to the Blue Spirit and the Painted Lady instead of building these custom-designed flood barriers on the mountain."

Zuko shuffled his feet. "I didn't really think about that."

"Zuko, I love you," said Sokka. "but in my humble opinion? No, you did not."

"I don't agree," began Katara, but Azula cut her off. "I do. I feel the same way Sokka does."

Zuko stared at her, like he was desperately trying not to ask: about what? But Azula was biting her lip and kind of looked like she was about to break into hives, so Sokka let her have this one.

"Here," he said, thrusting his plans into Katara's arms. "I support the fact that you guys got to do your dramatic spirit thing, but now please go back and give them my plans."

Azula brought two fingers up to her nose, showily. "And do take a bath, please. I doubt the villagers will appreciate your particular stench.”

5. the gaang plans a proposal

“...and that’s why you can’t trust General Yin, but you can use him to gain influence with Ambassador Xi and her supporters,” Azula finished, emphatically pointing at a few points on the elaborate web of papers tacked up on the wall of Sokka’s quarters. It’s not like he’s slept in there in years, anyway.

Zuko’s bed is much nicer. Because it has Zuko in it.

Sokka jotted down a few notes from Azula’s monologue, absentmindedly passing her their (stolen) bowl of noodles. He dropped his pen and rubbed his eyes. On to more important work. “So,” he said. “I’m proposing to Zuko. Wanna help?”

Azula met his eyes and stared him down. Sokka waggled his eyebrows, smile as big as his face.

“You’re serious,” she realized.

“Of course I am! It’s the biggest tactical challenge of the century, because Zuko is the most suspicious guy we know and he absolutely cannot suspect.” Sokka tossed her a scroll. It was long - and detailed. “What do you say?”

“With my help, this will be the best proposal ever made. Together, you and I are unbeatable!”

“Cool beans,” said Sokka. “Plan over breakfast tomorrow?”

-

Zuko stared at Katara. Katara stared at Zuko.

“Okay, so. I love your brother.”

“Obviously.”

Zuko shifted in his seat; his tea was untouched. “No, I mean. I really love your brother. He’s - the love of my life.”

Katara narrowly resisted the urge to say: if you love him so much, why don’t you marry him? Then, abruptly, she got the point.

“Are you asking for my blessing?”

“No,” said Zuko, and in response to Katara’s murderous glare, backtracked immediately. “Yes? I mean. I already asked Chief Hakoda.”

“Oh,” said Katara. Then, more gently, and possibly because she was worried Zuko might pass out, she asked, “What do you need my help with?”

“Planning,” he said, letting out a breath. “I want to propose and do it right, but Sokka’s the plan guy. Everyone knows that. And I thought, that since you know him, you could - “ He cuts himself off. “Forget it. It was a dumb idea anyway.”

Katara wills him to meet her eyes, because she is completely certain that they are actually sparkling. “Zuko,” she says, hand to her heart. “I would be honored.”

-

“Hello, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. Your boyfriend, Zuko, here. Well, you probably know me because of...all the time we spend together. You know, dates and other things. Like meetings - “

Sokka’s hand was suddenly on his forehead. “Zuko, babe, are you feeling all right?”

In short succession, Sokka examined his eyes, ears, and tongue, and took his pulse (ripping his robes open to do so). Zuko flushed, which just seemed to make Sokka more concerned.

“Sokka!” he growled. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. And also normal. Fine and normal.”

“Of course!” said Sokka, laughing a little maniacally. Maybe he was spending too much time with Azula. “Fine and normal. Why wouldn’t it be?” He laughed again.

“Uh, guys,” said Toph. “Are you two okay?”

Zuko blinked, and came back to himself. In front of him were ten to fifteen very important diplomats, and all of his best friends. He was in public, at dinner. And his robes were ripped wide open.

Sokka was suddenly jerked back in his chair, presumably by Azula. His eye twitched. “Nothing to see here, Toph! Look! I’ve finished my dinner!”

Toph frowned. “You haven’t, and I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Fine, I’m not hungry!” Sokka declared. “What are you, a cop?” His eye twitched again. “I have to go now, for unrelated reasons. To, uh, review some paperwork. Bye!”

He was gone so fast Zuko was pretty sure he left a little dust cloud behind. Toph looked nonplussed. “But,” she said, “I am a cop.”

Katara reached over to help Zuko straighten his robes, giving him a sympathetic look. He felt Suki’s glare from across the room. When he and Sokka had started dating she’d threatened to - quote - remove his entire spine from his body by way of his mouth if Zuko broke Sokka’s heart, and with the way Zuko was acting right now…he couldn’t blame her for being suspicious.

Katara followed his gaze. “Hey, Zuko,” she said, brightly. “Didn’t you have that - thing?”

“What thing?” said Zuko. Oh, god. He had forgotten something, hadn’t he? He -

Katara pinched his arm, hard. “You know. That thing. That you had to do in your chambers?”

He couldn’t lose face any more than he already had. “Of course, Katara,” he said. “I will go now to do that thing.” Zuko stood up and retreated with dignity, praying that whatever it was, he would remember when he got there.

The table was quiet in their absence. The diplomats - who seemed to be inured to this sort of thing - soon began chatting peacefully, or placating Aang, who had helpfully pulled out his usual marble trick.

Azula watched Katara steadily over the table; Katara refused to meet her eye. “What,” Katara said, finally. “Is there something on my face?”

Azula leaned forward, bangs shadowing her face. “Tell me everything you know.”

“About what?”

“You know what!” Azula snapped. “Is my brother planning to propose?”

Katara shifted in her seat. “Unlike you,” she began, haughtily, “I know when to retreat. So, fine. I will tell you some of the things I know.”

“Where,” Azula demanded, “and when?”

“Princess, Sparky,” Toph said, irritated. “Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter whether you know, because those two dumbasses haven’t figured it out!”

This brought the table to a halt. Even Aang stopped his marble, because it was true: Sokka and Zuko might together be the force that had liberated Boiling Rock, but when it came to each other? That famed intellect went sailing out the window.

Katara deflated, laying her head on the table. “We’ve got our work cut out for us, don’t we?”

Azula reached out and, wonder of wonders, patted her arm with something close to sympathy. “Might as well get started.”

-

Zuko paced his chambers restlessly. What had he forgotten? Oh god, was it something related to the proposal? His hands flew to a fold in his robes, finding the necklace he’d engraved for Sokka - a smooth, deep blue leather band with a perfect moonstone pendant, which Zuko had engraved with a dragon and a wolf, nested together in a loving embrace. He sighed in relief.

Spirits, Zuko was so in love with him. He was desperately trying not to fuck up this proposal, but it seemed he was fucking up the not fucking up and -

He needed to take a walk and clear his head. He could almost hear his uncle sagely murmuring, “You rarely find answers in a crowded mind, Nephew.” Or something like that. Zuko made his way from his and Sokka’s room to the turtleduck pond. It seemed he was usually able to find answers there; it reminded him of his mom.

Approaching the pond, he saw a familiar figure sitting at the base of the cherry tree, already starting to bloom. Sokka seemed lost in thought, staring down at something in his lap, but jerked to attention once he heard the rustle of Zuko’s boots against the grass.

Zuko sat down next to his partner, nerves momentarily overshadowed by the sweet, peaceful movement of wind through the branches of the cherry tree and his abundant love for the man sitting next to him. Zuko reached up to brush a stray blossom from Sokka’s wolf tail, cradled his face to run a thumb over his cheekbone. “Hi,” Zuko murmured, gently pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

Sokka pulled back slightly, face contorted in confusion. “For what? I’m the one that should be apologizing. Zuko, I -”

“Apologize? For what? I’m the one who acted like an absolute ass. Ugh, spirits, ‘Zuko here,’ what was I thinking,” He dropped Sokka’s gaze, his hands drifting towards his lap, getting painfully frustrated once again. “And then I just - I couldn’t - fuck!” Zuko was interrupted by Sokka’s hands grabbing his hips and pulling him onto Sokka’s lap, and by Sokka’s lips meeting his.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sokka murmured in between tender kisses, and his lips were soft and warm and everything Zuko wanted right now and for the rest of his life, and if he had to keep this a secret anymore, Zuko thought he might literally die.

Zuko pulled away, just enough to look Sokka in the eyes. “Marry me,” Zuko breathed. “Please, Sokka. I love you so much, and I don’t know where I’d be without you, and I - I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Zuko only realized he was crying when Sokka ran his thumb under Zuko’s good eye, brushing away tears while Zuko fumbled in his robe for the necklace.

At the sight of the necklace, tears began to spill from Sokka’s eyes, too. “Zuko… it’s beautiful, I - yes. Zuko, yes.” Zuko released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and they were kissing again, and then all of a sudden, they weren’t, because Sokka, the absolute fucker, was laughing uncontrollably.

Zuko immediately began imagining worst-case scenarios. What if he didn’t mean it? What if the past five years with him have been some extremely elaborate prank, and -

Sokka, noticing his now-fiance’s abrupt silence, attempted to quash his laughter and held Zuko’s hands - still clutching the engagement necklace - in his own. “Zuko, love, hey, look at me. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because, well…” He pulled a small pouch from one of his pockets and opened it to reveal two delicately engraved golden bracelets, traditional Fire Nation engagement gifts. One held the image of a dragon; the other, a beautiful motif of waves crashing against a shore. They glinted warmly in the moonlight alongside the pendant of the engagement necklace. “I’m laughing because I had the same idea, I guess. I love you so much, and I want a life with you. Will you help me put this on?”

Zuko first let Sokka slide the bracelets over each of his wrists, then lifted his hands, shaking slightly, but steadied by Sokka’s warm touch, to clasp the necklace behind his neck. The tension bled out of Zuko, and he melted into Sokka, pushing him to the ground and kissing him senseless, from his mouth to the stone now resting at the base of his throat.

Sokka started laughing again, and Zuko joined in, overjoyed at the beauty and the absurdity of it all, at how lucky and in love he was.

6. the gaang commits arson

Librarian Hirai had been working at the royal palace since before Firelord Zuko had been crowned, going on forty years, now. His vast experience hadn’t prepared him for everything, certainly; the time with five Kyoshi warriors and a badgermole had been unprecedented, and he wasn’t sure he was going to lift the ban on platypus-bears in the palace anytime soon.

Hirai’s experience, however, had prepared him for this: the Fire Nation’s most formidable duo, Ambassador Sokka and Her Highness Azula, together, with access to children.

Hirai did not know the children’s names. He classified them solely on their capacity to irritate him; the only name he knew was that of the youngest, Tenzin, because the sweet child had never caused him any trouble. Naturally, Tenzin was to be found nowhere near this unholy gathering: instead, Hirai saw the bouncy one (liable to cause things to fall over), the Princess (insolent, with her fathers shamelessly wrapped around her finger), and the Teenager (arms always crossed, eyes forever rolling).

Her Highness Azula’s hand was alight with blue fire. To the courtyard and everyone within earshot, she was saying: “If you want to burn it, just go ahead. Everything important, your uncle or I have memorized.”

Hirai stopped listening, in an effort to avoid a coronary and possibly death. There was a protocol. Everything would be fine.

He moved methodically, double checking fire suppressant stations and tightening the seal on the vacuum chambers holding the oldest scrolls. He closed every entrance except the main one, and he stood guard outside of it.

This was not a long process; their royal Highnesses were still gathered like a storm cloud in the courtyard. A particularly loud storm cloud. Hirai had weathered storms before.

The ground rumbled, slightly. Republic City Chief of Police, Toph Beifong, emerged from it, and dusted herself off.

“You know,” she said conversationally, “arson is illegal. I can have you arrested for that.”

Hirai relaxed, infinitesimally. Beifong was known to be tough and fair; perhaps, after so many years, the spirits had thought to grant him an ally.

“So,” said Toph, rubbing her palms together. “Today, I’m going to teach you how not to get caught.”

It was interesting: Hirai had never before actually lent weight to the expression that one’s life could flash before their eyes. In that moment, swaying slightly where he stood, he was forced to concede that there might have been some truth to it after all.

He turned around, very calmly, and made his way to his desk. He groped vaguely for some parchment and ink, and in precise lettering dictated his resignation from the palace staff, effective immediately.

Somewhere out in the courtyard, their Highnesses’ Uncle Sokka and Aunt Azula high-fived.

#fic #my fic #zukka #atla

[lnc2]

The Second Shift

Summary: Adrien Agreste is a d-egg-beat dad and Marinette is having none of it.

A ko-fi commission for @jarl-deathwolf who requested adrinette co-parenting for a class assignment.

AO3

In all her dizziest daydreams, wildest whimsies, and fantastic fantasies, Marinette never pictured it going like this.

The this and it and going being a single working mother to a baby girl with an absentee, philandering flake of a father.

Father being a generous term for what her so-called partner was doing.

Marinette scowled, (gently) tossing her backpack onto the lunchroom table.

“I’m gonna have to rethink Emma, Louis, and Hugo.”

Alya grimaced. “Agreste bail on you again?”

“I get it.  Really, I do,” She said, not getting it at all.  “But if it’s not photoshoots or fencing practice or movie rehearsals –”

Here, she rolled her eyes.

“– Then it’s meeting with the Tsurugis or disappearing to take a shower whatever that means.”

“I’m sorry, girl.“

Marinette sighed. “We were supposed to be partners on this Al and I’m doing all the work.”

She opened her bag and pulled out a makeshift basket with a single egg cushioned inside.  Adrien, the absolute dork, had drawn a little sleeping face on the damned thing, complete with a tiny green bow drawn on the top of its head.

“Only the best for baby Eggma,” He’d said, grinning in a way that made her heart flip.  In a way that did not indicate a future of egregious absence from their child’s care.

“Maybe you should talk to Ms. Bustier,” Alya said, pulling out her own egg.  An egg Rose dyed pink for the endeavor. An egg Rose stuck around for. “It’s not fair he keeps bailing on you at the last minute.”

At the worst minute, more like.

Because, as disappointing as it would have been, Marinette could forgive Adrien a lot of things. Doing the heavy lifting on a group project was just a drop in the bucket.

But he kept foisting Eggma on her during akuma attacks.

And secret identities be damned, she could not keep stashing Eggma around the city.  Air conditioning units, secluded chimneys, and even the damn beehives on the top of Notre Dame – Ladybug was running out of hiding places.

Or rather, she was running out of safe hiding places.

Memories of the latest attack where Chat cataclysmed the goddamn building she’d stashed her make-shift daughter haunted her every waking moment.  Sentimentality aside, Marinette could not afford to fail this project.

Thank kwami for Tikki and Miraculous Ladybug.

She’d nearly scalped Chat for that mistake, not that she could really explain her fury to her partner.  Ridiculous school projects aside the last thing she needed was that cat offering to fill Adrien’s shoes.  Not when she knew how deep that feeling truly ran.

Ugh.

“Do you think it’s, like, a family thing?” Alya asked, ripping into her sandwich. “Agreste Sr. isn’t the best role model if you know what I mean.”

“No. I think it’s an Adrien thing.”

Marinette was grateful when her friend nodded, no explanation needed.  For all of his great qualities, Adrien was almost painfully oblivious to the undercurrents around him.

And, to his credit, he started off great.  Damn near giddy at the prospect of a family, any family, even the fake kind. He’d taken to the project with an earnestness that was almost painful. 

“This is Eggma Eggreste,” He’d said, proudly, looping his arm around her waist and presenting their egg to the rest of the class.  They were so young then, naive in their optimism.

Marinette knew better now.

The Eggreste family portrait used to make her giggle every time she saw it. Now she wasn’t sure she wanted to give him the silly drawing at all.

“You should probably talk to him,” Alya said, unreasonably. Like Marinette wasn’t a walking keyboard smash every time the boy so much as looked in her direction.

Still, she owed him an explanation if she was planning on breaking Eggma over his head after this whole project was through.

Their timing, as always, was horrible.

She met him on the school’s front steps, Eggma in hand and we need to talk on her lips, when the akuma attacked.

It was almost comical, really, how she knew exactly what Adrien was going to say.

“Ah,” He said, wincing as another explosion went off in the distance.  His hand, which had been reaching to take the carton, retracted.  “I’m so sorry Marinette.  But there’s something I have to–”

“No.”

He blinked, confused.  “I’m sorry?”

Marinette shoved Eggma into his chest, scowling.  “I said no.  You’re not the only one with responsibilities, Agreste.  It’s time you start taking care of this one.”

She stomped away, searching for a place to transform.  Adrien scrambled after her.

“Marinette, wait!”  He said, keeping stride.  “I know I’ve been the worst partner lately, but I really need to go and I can’t bring Eggma with–”

“Pull your damn weight,” She snapped, whirling around to poke his chest.  His eyes were wide, panicked, and a little exasperated.

Well.

“I’m sick of the disappearing act, Adrien.” She said.  “It’s your turn.  And so help me if the next words out of your mouth are I have something to do I will scream.  Because believe it or not I have something I need to do.  So take your daughter and figure it out.”

Marinette didn’t give him a chance to argue any further and took off running.

Today, at least, she was getting her break. 

Sure, It was to fight a super villain, but who said parenting was easy?

Ladybug took to the rooftops, following the wreckage left in the akuma’s wake.  She tried not to look too carefully at the crumbled buildings or what might lay inside.  The best thing she could do for Paris was to catch Hawkmoth’s latest victim and purify them as quickly as possible.

Miraculous Ladybug would take care of the rest.

Still, she winced as another explosion sounded off, closer this time.  She hated the destructive ones.

It was a good thing she managed to pass off Eggma to Adrien.  He would be sensible and stay out of harm’s way. Two less people to worry about.

“Sorry I’m late my lady!”

Her partner landed beside her, annoyed and without his usual theatrics.  “I couldn’t get away.”

“No worries, minou.” She said, scanning the horizon for their target.  “I only just got here.”

“Let’s hope this one goes down easy,” Chat said, grimacing.  “I’ve got a lot riding on not becoming fire fodder today.”

Ladybug smirked, just today? on the tip of her tongue when her eyes caught on Chat’s newest costume addition.

“What is that?”

Chat patted at the small, white, shape peeking out of his new, leather satchel.  She felt the ridiculous urge to slap his claws away from the delicate shell.

“School project.” He said, irritated, irritating her.  “My partner wouldn’t take her this time.”

“Her?” Ladybug said, voice sounding distant to her own ears.

She could see two little green arrows pointing towards each other on the crest of the shape, a clumsy, familiar approximation of a bow. 

No.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

Ladybug felt like she was floating.  A sense of dread and anticipation and knowing hovering just beyond her body. A place where 2 + 2 = 5 and the next words out of her partner’s mouth were –

“Eggma,” He said, sounding almost too pleased with himself.  “Her name is Eggma.”

Of course it was.

She could have screamed. 

Really, she should have. 

But all Ladybug felt was relief.  Relief and irritation and the sensation of the universe tumbling itself upside down until it was right side up again.

The sky was blue.  Her suit was red.

And Adrien Agreste wasn’t a terrible father.

“This… this explains a lot.” She said, reaching forward to take the satchel from his side.

Chat blinked at her, confused and only a little hesitant.

“My lady?”

“Eggma Eggreste,” She laughed, slightly hysterical.  “What a problem child you’ve been.”

“How did you…” He stopped, eyes narrowing.  She waited for it to click.

It didn’t take long.

“… Marinette?” Chat said, voice cracking.

“I guess that’s why you’ve been so flaky.”

“Oh my god.”

“We’ll need to work on that for the future,” She said, absently, searching the roof for a place to hide Eggma.

“Oh my god. ”

She found a small opening near an air vent, a place as good as any at this point, and tucked her in.  A temporary solution at best.

“Oh my god! ”

“Adrien,” Ladybug snapped, nerves frayed.  Chat squeaked, shutting up. “Can you pull it together for the next hour?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good.” She said, running a shaky hand through her hair.  Now was not the time for freaking out. Now was the time for superheroing, rescuing, and parenting. Partnering.

Was there even a difference at this point?

“I’m done carrying double duty.  We can scream about this when we’ve purified the akuma.”

“Mhmm.”

Chat’s eyes were wide and a little glassy. 

Ladybug bit her lip… and broke. “Please, please say anything else.”

I can’t do this without you.

He heard her.

Clenching and unclenching his hands like he was working off an electric shock, Chat took a shuddering breath and reached out his fist.

“Okay, LB?”

She laughed, teary, and bumped it with her own. “Okay. But Chat?”

His smile was shaky at best.  “Yeah?”

“We’re gonna need a hell of a babysitter.”

#miraculous ladybug #lnc2 writes #commission #jarl-deathwolf #adrinette #adrienette #coparenting egg assignment

[prodigalsonheadcanons]

You could tell its age by the low resolution. You could tell the inexperience by the shakiness of the frame. Every so often a burst of static would smatter across the screen and make the images shiver and tremble. Along its edges, especially, the colors seemed to blur out and smear away. The video was old. All of the videos were old. 

Outdated.

In more ways than one.

Right now, the video was of a little boy. Small...so small, for his age, he had always been so small. The moment it began, it was catching him mid-run. His hair -- smoothed back so carefully, at one point that day -- was now a bit blown out by the wind. His eyes were bright, and the smile on his face was so big it hardly fit as he raced across the grass. He was a little far away, but you could still hear his laughter. Tiny, and joyful, sounding like bells.

He raced as fast as his legs would carry him, dragging along with him a basket that was almost his size. He ran a couple more yards before he suddenly stumbled, and dropped to his knees. She stuttered for a moment, like she was wondering if she should drop the camera and rush for him, just in case he was hurt. But instead of crying, he just shoved his arm under the bush directly in front of him. And withdrew to quickly twist back around and show off a bright blue egg.

“Oh, wow!” He absolutely beamed with pride at the astonishment she put in her voice. “That was a hard one, Malcolm! Good job!” He warmed even more as he carefully set it down with all the others in his basket. The camera zoomed in unsteadily on the hoard. “You’ve found so many! Do you think you’ve found them all?”

He still smiled as he shook his head. He started to stand up again. “I got three more,” he chirped, aiming his grin up at the camera now. “Just three.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find them in no time,” she gushed, her voice soft as down. It made him smile even more, and duck away as though he was embarrassed. Again, she heard his happy giggle, before he took off, without any warning, rushing to try and find the last of the Easter eggs. She laughed fondly, tracking him for just a moment more before the screen turned black.

The next video and Malcolm was just a little older. He was sitting on the couch, looking on-edge as he swang his legs and fidgeted. He was practically bouncing on the cushion. “Remember...” She had already begun to warn, her voice stern but gentle at the same time.

He didn’t feel like listening to the lecture again, though. “I’ll be careful, I’ll be really careful!” His voice was layered with all the impatience in the world. The two adults behind the camera both laughed. He didn’t seem to find any humor in the situation, though, when he just reached out urgently, grabbing at the air with his fingers as if it would do anything to speed the process. 

She stepped forward and bent down slowly, to deposit the tiny bundle in his arms. The second he was handed her, he was lighting up. She stepped back, and then it was just the two children in view-- Malcolm holding his new baby sister. She was only a few days old; she was fast asleep and didn’t rouse at all when her mother handed her off, but Malcolm didn’t seem to mind. He looked absolutely stunned. He was staring down at her like he’d never seen anything like her before. Yet his awe was very quickly melting into affection. 

Her voice was just as adoring when she asked from out of the shot: “What do you think?” 

“I think she’s perfect,” he replied immediately. Earnest and sweet. Like always.

Then...came his voice. His father sounded just like she did. Just as loving, just as thankful. There was the tiniest hint of a tease to his words when he said: “You’re the big brother now, Malcolm! You’re gonna be the one she looks up to!” Malcolm tore his gaze away from Ainsley, looking instead towards his dad-- towards the camera. He looked nothing but eager. His smile just got wider...his eyes just got brighter. Again, she heard him giggle.

That video ended. This time the blackness seemed to linger for just a little longer. Before she selected another one.

Malcolm was sitting on the floor, across from Ainsley. He’d spread a blanket out on the ground and scattered her toys so they were all within reach. Ainsley was watching him very intently as he reached out and picked up a tiny stuffed dog. She beamed and clapped when he held it out to her. His voice was overly-high and soft when he prompted: “Ains, what’s this one say?”

She kept clapping, bouncing up and down and kicking out her little legs. Malcolm smiled when she chirped out: “Woof!”

“Good job!” he praised, setting it down. Ainsley giggled, as he looked around at the rest of the toys before picking up another and holding it out the same way. This time it was a cow. “What about this one?” he pressed. “What’s this one say?”

Ainsley was much too happy to have the attention of her big brother to stop and think. She bounced even harder and rushed to repeat: “Woof!”

He made a face. “It’s a cow, Ains! What’s it say?”

“Woof! Woof!” she insisted, reaching out and yanking it away from him so she could stuff it in her mouth.

He tilted his head to the side like he was studying her. She just stared at him innocently, chomping on her toy. After a second, he shrugged. “Well. One out of two isn’t bad.” Ainsley took the cow out of her mouth and held it back out to him with another happy chirp. His eyes flickered between it and her, before he carefully reached out to grab a part that wasn’t soaked in slobber. “Um...than--” 

His ‘thank-you’ was cut short when all of a sudden someone was grabbing him from behind. At first, Malcolm looked startled. But the second he heard the voice of his captor, he was bubbling with laughter. “There’s my dear boy!” The camera had to pan out a little, to see Martin holding Malcolm around the stomach and twirling him around in a tight spin. Ainsley started to shriek with laughter too, when she saw her father, and how big her brother was smiling. By the time Martin was letting Malcolm go, and Malcolm was stumbling to get his balance, they’d gone around four times and the young boy was pink in the face. 

Martin’s expression was soft as he grabbed his shoulders, helping to steady him. Making sure he wouldn’t fall. “I missed you so much,” he declared, the way he did every time he came home from work. Malcolm was still gasping a little from all the spinning, but he rushed to give his father a hug, putting all his effort into the squeeze. Martin put just as much effort back. He let go and went to crouch down in front of Ainsely to kiss the top of her head, exclaiming as he did: “This can’t be my daughter! You’re so much bigger than you were when I’d left this morning!”

Once he’d kissed her, his eyes caught on the camera. He smiled again and stood, crossing the room towards her. “Put that down,” he demanded in a laugh. “I haven’t seen you all day, either!” She was just about to comply. The camera started to lower. When you could hear Malcolm start yelling off-camera. 

“No! Don’t kiss, it’s gross, stop!” he wailed before they could even try.

Martin turned, his smile suddenly turning into a mischievous smirk. “You don’t want me to kiss your mother? Do you want me...to kiss you, instead?” Malcolm was already beginning to laugh again, already starting to yelp his objections as his father doubled back. She righted the camera in just enough time to catch him gather him up in his arms, kissing all over his cheeks and tickling his sides at the same time, and trapping him in place. 

Malcolm started screeching with laughter, twisting and wriggling only in a way that would ensure he wouldn’t break out of his father’s grip. Martin kept tickling him, and Malcolm kept laughing. Rather than listen to it, that’s where she paused the tape. Freezing it on the image of her husband and her son from all those years ago. 

Jessica stared at the screen, pain growing in her chest. She couldn’t breathe around the sorrow that was clutching her throat. The sorrow wasn’t at the sight of her husband. She wasn’t even looking at him. She was only staring at her son. At Malcolm. Caught in a moment of absolute happiness, with a smile that stretched from one ear to the other. 

His laugh had always used to be so loud...when was the last time she had heard him laugh like that?

When was the last time she had seen him like this at all? Healthy...no bags under his eyes, no sense of ever-lasting fatigue. His eyes bright, not dull and despondent. His voice something more than just a mumble. She didn’t know. All she knew was that it was here. Her son was here, trapped in this tape, which had been filmed a lifetime ago.

She stared at the image for what felt like ages. The hole in her chest just yawned wider and wider. Before she turned and reached out to pick up her phone. It was without conscious thought that she tried to call him. She selected his name and brought the device up to her ear, waiting with desperate, awful hope as it began to ring. He would be awake now, she knew. Just like her, he would be up at this ungodly time of night. She just didn’t know what he was doing.

She stayed there frozen in the dark room, lit only by the glow of the television, feeling her heart plummet down to her feet. Staring at that image of him frozen, mid-laugh. Mid-smile. Mid-happiness. 

As she listened to her son’s voicemail, which she had memorized word for word by now.

#Prodigal Son #Malcolm Bright #Jessica Whitly #Martin Whitly #Ainsley Whitly #Headcanon #Tiny Fic #Made before S1E03 #I'm trying to put together an actual fic so hopefully that will come soon! If you all would be interested c':