#i stand by these and i will be proving my point

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 700

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. this is just a short prologue to show how things end (yay happy endings!), but the two have a lot of trauma to go through before they reach endgame. i love kinich's character and design so i'm excited for this! interaction is highly appreciated :)

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

Kinich thinks he’s loved you since forever.

He has no way of proving that, of course; those years are long gone, and even if he had the opportunity to ask, he’s not sure his younger self would have a comprehensible answer. He can only see now that he’s come so far, when the memories are too murky to make sense of but the warmth remains—when he thinks of your smile and feels something akin to the weightlessness of grappling and flying through the trees.

He says “forever” because he really has no idea when it started—the realization came far after the feeling. He’d been before school age when he met you for the first time, and it’s been over a decade since then.

“Kinich!”

Your call interrupts his thoughts, and his gaze is drawn skyward—you’re standing somewhere far above him, on one of the walkways lining the cliffs of the Scions of the Canopy. You’re waving so wildly and ridiculously that it almost makes him smile.

“Are you coming down?” he calls through cupped hands, well-acquainted with this kind of long-distance communication. Sound tends to echo well between the cliffs here, and he’s sure you heard him when you offer an enthusiastic thumbs-up in return. 

“Yup! I bought a few things, so I was hoping you could help me carry them home!”

Kinich rolls his eyes teasingly. “Somehow I doubt that you have enough Mora left to afford my services.”

You pout in reply. Ajaw decides to appear then, a malicious puff of smoke over Kinich’s shoulder. “Of course not! You better not be making fun of me, letting some mortal treat you like a servant! The Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw, won’t take this kind of disrespect—”

Ignoring his wordy introduction, you call down to Kinich again. “I’m coming down! Think fast!”

“—Don’t make me lau—wait, what?!”

Even Ajaw yelps in surprise as you take a running leap off the walkway, freefalling fast down the plane of the cliff. If he were any younger, Kinich might’ve had a heart attack. But you’ve been pushing your luck with him for years, and it comes as instinct when Kinich grapples up, deftly catching you in his arms with a light ‘oof’.

You’re holding a few boxes in your arms, he notices, and you smile. 

“I bought some Puff Pops for us to share later. I was thinking we can do some climbing, or there’s this cave I’ve been meaning to explore.”

His heart does a sort of flip that cannot be attributed to the way you fly through the sky. It’s all so much: the sensation of your warmth pressed against him, the scent of the wind rushing past, and the laughter of his tribe members below. Their eyes shine as they watch the two of you pass above them, chuckling at the familiar sight. 

And really, he can’t remember ever being this happy. When he thinks of how much it took to reach this point, the heartbreak and trauma aren’t the first things to come to mind. Instead, it’s you. The way you held him, the way you cried for him, the way you chased him. Always laughing, always in love.

Too lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice your curious stare for a moment. You poke at his cheek, and he startles, nearly dropping you both.

“Is something wrong?” you ask shyly, suddenly self-conscious of the box in your hands. “We don’t have to do any of that. Really, if you have a high-value job or something, I understand.”

Ajaw decides to butt-in again, reddened with rage. “Yes, all of that sucks! I mean, seriously, don’t you have anything better to do—”

“No, it’s great,” Kinich murmurs in reply, flicking Ajaw away with a strong hand—the Saurian’s roar dissipates with the wind. He holds you tighter against his chest. There’s nothing worth more to him than you. “That all sounds really, really amazing.”

As the two of you burst through the trees, laughing the whole way, he thinks that it doesn’t really matter when he started to love you. All that matters is that he doesn’t stop.

Kinich thinks he’ll love you forever.

[lestappenforever]

charles who also starts swearing on the radio🤣Charles said fuck the FIA ​​and their stupid no swearing rules .he will say fuck and he will day it often just to prove a point🤣🤣

Charles really is saying "I stand with my sentenced-to-FIA-community-service husband and no one can stop me".

[pickingupmymercedes]

A smile like that - Lewis Hamilton

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: playful, silly and sassy

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Lewis was smiling and so were we❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

I should’ve known what would happen the moment I sent that text.

So, the secret ingredient to you is a shitty Friday and some drama, then?

When Lewis has something to prove, he really proves it. Not just to himself, to the entire world.

And in typical Lewis’s fashion, he doesn’t miss an opportunity to boost about it, even when I’m literally working.

I’m properly miffed as I storm into his driver’s room—no knock, no warning. Just righteous annoyance, fully loaded and ready to fire.

I can’t let him get away with this one, I tell myself. Not today.

Not after that ridiculous Instagram post. I was working, for God’s sake. Interviewing drivers, doing my actual job. And he’s out there, posting photos like it’s some romantic movie.

I should stay mad at him for at least a good ten minutes, minimum. Really drive the point home this time.

But as I catch sight of him, slouched on the couch with that ridiculous grin, my resolve wavers.

Damn it. It’s like trying to stay mad at Roscoe.

He’s still in his Mercedes shir, looking far too pleased with himself, his braids peeking out from under his cap, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Honestly, it should be illegal for someone to look that good after sweating like they do on those cars.

“Oh, hey, love,” he says casually, not even bothering to look up.

Oh, we’re going with casual now.

I close the door with a deliberate click and lean against it, crossing my arms. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

He finally looks up, eyes twinkling with mischief. “What?”

I scoff, unfolding my arms as I march toward him, pulling out my phone with the offending evidence.

“This” I practically shove the screen in his face. It’s his Instagram post, the one where he posted a photo of himself gazing down at me in the media pen with: Had to make sure her smile was also because of me.

It takes all my restraint not to groan aloud. Because honestly, the audacity.

Lewis leans back, completely unfazed, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You were smiling though?”

“That’s not the point, Lewis,” I deadpanned, even though, yes, I was smiling.

But of course I was. It’s impossible not to when he’s around, and that’s exactly the problem?

I hate how he does this to me. One minute, I’m determined to stay mad, the next, I’m grinning like an idiot just because he threw me a smile. It’s infuriating, and yet…

Yet here I am, standing in front of him, and no matter how much he drives me up the wall my traitorous heart does a little somersault because he’s sitting there, giving me that crooked smile like he’s some damn rom-com lead who just said the most heart-melting thing in the world.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s gearing up for a negotiation. “It’s totally the point.”

I blink at him. “You seriously posted this just to see if I’d show up here?”

“Well…” He pauses, his eyes flickering over my face as if he’s gauging just how annoyed I really am. “That, and because of your text earlier. You know, the one about my shitty Fridays ?”

I raise a brow. “That was sarcasm.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, not buying it for a second. “I was just making sure you had a smile like that for me, too.”

God, he’s infuriating.

I huff, but it’s weak. “You know, I was working. Like, interviewing drivers. Doing my job.”

Lewis stands up, taking slow, deliberate steps until he’s standing right in front of me, way too close for comfort—except it’s always comfortable with him. “And one of us was making sure the most important person in the room was smiling.”

Oh. Great. He’s bringing out the charm now.

“You’re unbelievable” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it anymore.

“And yet, you’re here” he says, stepping even closer, his hand brushing against mine.

I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch, betraying me. “Don’t get used to it.”

He smirks. “Too late”

I let out a long-suffering sigh, even as my heart betrays me, pounding a little faster.

His hands find my waist, warm and steady, and with one gentle tug, I’m pulled into him.

I tell myself I’m still annoyed, but the way his fingers trace small circles against my back makes it impossible to hold on to that thought for long.

The scent of sweat and his signature cologne fills the small space between us, and I hate how comforting it feels.

I should be making a point here.

Instead, I find myself leaning into him, my cheek pressing against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding my own.

Because it’s Lewis, and no matter how annoying or cocky or insufferable he is in these moments, I’m always going to melt when he holds me like this.

And should I say it? The words are there, right on the tip of my tongue.

Once I say them, there’s no going back to the easy banter, no covering it up with another snarky remark.

But he deserves to hear it. Especially today.

I lift my head slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. His teasing grin has softened, replaced by something quieter, something that makes my chest tighten.

“You know,” I murmur, my voice a little more vulnerable than I intended, “I’m really proud of you.”

He freezes for just a second, his eyes searching mine. And then his grip tightens, just slightly, like he’s anchoring himself. “Yeah?” His voice is soft, cautious, like he doesn’t quite believe it yet.

“Yeah.” I nod, the corners of my lips tugging upward despite myself. “Never doubted you, not for a second.”

For a moment, something flickers across his eyes, and I know this means more to him than he’s letting on.

Lewis can put on a front, make jokes, tease all he wants, but deep down, this sport is his entire world, and today had been a good day.

After a Friday where nothing went right, after a car that was fighting him every step of the way, he still pulled through. And I’m proud. Proud because I know how much it takes, how much he gives.

He lets out a breath, resting his forehead against mine. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

I grin. “Part of the job, remember?”

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against my skin. “I’m still gonna hold you to that smile thing, though.”

I snort. “You’re so needy.”

It’s ridiculous how comfortable being in his arms is—how easy it feels, even if it shouldn’t.

I tilt my head back slightly to meet his gaze again, my hand sliding up his chest to rest just above his heart.

“So,” I say, my tone casual but laced with a hint of something more, “tomorrow…”

His eyes darken with interest. “Yeah?”

I give him a coy smile. “I could make it worth your while if you get a win.”

He raises a brow, his grip on my waist tightening. “Oh? And what exactly does ‘worth my while’ entail?”

I shrug, playing it cool. “Guess you’ll have to win to find out.”

He groans dramatically, leaning his forehead against mine again. “Now I’ve got pressure.”

“You love it though” I tease, throwing his words back at him.

He pulls back slightly, eyes narrowing playfully. “I’m holding you to this.”

“Good. But this is if you win.”

He pouts, an exaggerated look of defeat crossing his features. “Podiums are awesome too! Come on, at least give me top three.

I tilt my head, pretending to think about it. “Hmm, tempting… but no.”

He shakes his head, but he’s grinning now, his dimple making an appearance. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you love it” I say again, and this time, I mean it in more ways than one.

“Okay,” he says, his tone amused “but when I win, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re that confident?”

He smirks, leaning in just close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. “You just gave me one more reason to be.”

There it was again, that damn confidence. How was I ever supposed to resist that?

The heat of his body seeps into mine, making my pulse quicken, and for a second, I realize he’s the one with all the control here.

“Good,” I murmur, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. “Now go do whatever it is you do here.”

He watches me with amusement as I head toward the door. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah. Some of us have work”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable”

“Stole my line Hamilton” I glance over my shoulder, giving him a wink “But now you’re the one smiling.”

______________________________________________________________

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[redbird-tf]

Chamomile tea 

Dean winchester x (hunter ) sister reader

Summary: being alone for so long you’ve gotten used to only relying on yourself, a mindset that Dean starts to chip away at. 

Word count: 740

Notes: being creative is hard

Warnings: none

You sniffled, reaching across the table for a new tissue. You blew hard before discarding it in the bin with the dozen others.“Fever not letting up?” You jumped at Dean's voice, You weren't quite accustomed to having company around yet. The three of you were still navigating this new dynamic, which was proving easier for some than others. Just a few months ago Sam and Dean were the dynamic hunter duo, while you still navigated the world solo. You could still vividly recall the moment when John had announced the secret he had buried for years, the secret forced out because of a hunt.

——————

You remembered the look of shock that overtook everyone’s face and the screaming match that ensued between Sam and John. You could recall standing silently in the corner, feeling Dean gaze upon you from ten feet away. Once the job was done and John disappeared again you expected life to go back to normal, you couldn’t have anticipated the brothers to take you under their wing. “Family looks out for each other” Sam had stated to you, a mentality that you would come to learn.

What you hadn’t seen that night was the quiet devastation Dean had unleashed. He couldn’t pick a fight with John like Sam could, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as angry. His entire life he’d been forced into the role of a guardian for his little brother, and now to find out he had a sister—who had been alone in this life—turned that protective instinct into a fierce storm of emotions. The guilt of failing as brother was sallowing him whole and the rage towards John for keeping the truth from him boiled over. Least to say When they checked out, the motel room bore the scars of his turmoil.

——————-

“I'm fine” you stated blankly in response, your attention turning back to the lore book in your lap. You weren’t purposely being stubborn, to you it was true. You had gotten sick before and you'd get over it, no big deal. Dean didn't respond and carried on with his business in the kitchen. The sound of pouring liquid reached your ears, but it didn’t smell like his usual coffee so you assumed he was having a drink. Hearing what sounded like a spoon hitting the side of a ceramic mug you raised your head in confusion. Unfortunately, his back was turned to you, blocking your view of what he was conjuring up.

When he started to turn around, your eyes darted back to your book only looking up when hearing the soft clink of a mug being placed in front of you. You watched the steam rise, a sweet and sour aroma filling the air. “Is that chamomile tea?” A softer voice chimed in as Sam entered the room. “Not for you,” Dean stated firmly, taking a seat across from you. You stared at the drink “What is it?” You asked raising an eyebrow. “Tea, honey for a sore throat, and some lemon for the headaches” Dean explained leaning back in his chair. “Thats pure witchcraft right there, can fix anything!” Sam exclaimed pointing at the mug. “Drink up sis” sam encouraged, brushing his hand over your shoulder on his way to the door.

“You didn't have to do that,” you said softly to Dean. “I used to make them all the time for Sam, it's no big deal,” Dean reassured you. You fidgetedwith the edge of a page. “I'm not dying Dean.” Your tone came off defensive causing Dean to sit up straight. “You don't have to be dying, for someone to make you a cup of tea kiddo” his words prompted you to lift your head to meet his gaze. “I didn't mean…” your words trailed off, unable to defend your previous statement. “I'm your big brother, it's my job to look out for you.” He said with a stern tone. You could only stare at him in silence trying to comprehend his words. “I know it hasn't always been like that, but it is now. I've been a big brother for a long time and Sam’s still learning. i know you are too—just…” he took a deep breath “Let me do this for you, ok?” You nodded silently, noticing how his softened eyes contrasted with the weight of his words.

Without knowing what to say, you lifted the mug to your lips. The warmth of the citrus tea seeped into your chest, and you felt your tense muscles start to relax much like the protective wall you’ve built beginning to chip away. You gently placed the mug down, catching a glimpse of the small smile on Dean's face. “Thank you, Dean” you responded with a smile of your own. He didn’t respond with words instead, he stood up from the table, patting you on the shoulder as he passed by. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself when looking down at the mug in front of you.

———————-

[pitviperofdoom]

High School Time Travelers, Part 2

It's finally here! Follow up to this story.

***

“So. Spill. What the fuck is going on with you and Angelique?”

Raph fidgeted uncomfortably, and something within Erin roared out in protest at that. They were in her room, surrounded by her clutter and band posters and the stuff he kept at her house to keep his mom from throwing it away. He wasn’t supposed to be uncomfortable here.

Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I time-traveled last night.”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I,” he said wearily. “I woke up in a house I haven’t set foot in for years, across the hall from someone I promised myself I’d never talk to again. It happened, and if you’re stuck on that part then this conversation can’t continue.”

Erin got up and paced her room, kicking aside her backpack, nearly knocking over the guitar stand in the corner. “What the fuck.”

“That’s what I said.”

“What the fuck, Raph.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

The absurdity hit her instantly—he didn’t mean to time travel, as if they were talking about him forgetting his homework or getting in Monica Dillon’s way during passing period. She wanted to laugh.

But then she remembered some of the weird things Angelique had said—about friendships imploding, about college, about shit not mattering in high school, all with the easy certainty of experience.

“Prove it,” she said. “Can you do that thing where you predict what I’m about to say?”

“I’m not stuck in a time loop, dumbass, yesterday I was thirty-three!” Raph snapped. “I had to go through math class trying to pretend I still remembered my teacher’s name!”

“Okay, okay, Jesus.” Erin held up her hands placatingly. “There’s gotta be something.”

Raph sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I dunno. Anything meaningful and unchangeable I can remember won’t happen for a while, so if you’re willing to wait for the Trump presidency or the global pandemic, there’s that.”

“The what.”

“Wait, who’s president right now? It’s still Bush, right?”

Erin pulled a face.

“Next one’s Barack Obama, he’s gonna do two terms,” Raph informed her. “First black president.”

“Oh, huh. Cool,” Erin said faintly.

“Let’s see, what else, um… Balloon Boy? Has Balloon Boy happened yet?”

“No, what the fuck is Balloon Boy?”

Raph brightened. “Yeah, so at some point this family is gonna release like, a homemade weather balloon? Or something? And there’s gonna be this huge panic because they think their son is stuck inside it, but then it turns out he was fine and hiding in the basement the whole time and it was a hoax.”

“Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for that I guess?” Erin sat down again. “You’re seriously not fucking with me right now?”

“I mean, if you want, we could forget this conversation ever happened,” Raph offered. “Continue with our normal lives, while I keep under-reacting to devastating world events.”

“Christ, I don’t know.” Erin pressed her palms into her eyes. After a moment, she lifted her head again. “Wait a minute, we’re getting off track. What does this have to do with Angelique?”

Raph’s silence could not have been louder.

“Raph,” Erin said, a little desperately.

“First you have to promise you won’t be mad,” said Raph.

“Did you sleep with her in the—” Erin paused to do some arithmetic in her head. “—eighteen years between then and now?!”

“She’s my wife,” Raph blurted out.

Moments later, Erin’s mother knocked politely on the bedroom door. “Everything okay in there?” she asked. “That’s an awful lot of screaming for a Tuesday night.”

Erin continued howling into her pillow. “She’s fine, Mrs. Yokota!” Raph called. “We’re looking at—uh—creepypastas!”

“Creepy what?”

“Uh—crap, are they still called that?—like, ghost stories and stuff!”

Placated, she left them to it. Eventually Erin recovered enough to lie back and stare listlessly at the ceiling.

“Dude.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What the fuck is your life?” Erin demanded. “How did that even happen?”

“We ran into each other at—so my friend Hazel got roped into being in their college roommate’s bridal party and dragged me along for moral support, and Angelique was in the same friend group but with like six degrees of separation from us,” Raph explained. “It took half the reception for her to recognize me because at that point I’d been on T for a few years, but the second she realized we went to the same high school she turned fishbelly-white, pulled me aside, and apologized for how much of a bitch she was back then. It was really awkward.”

Back then, he called it, even though for Erin it was still right now. “And you married her?”

“Like eight years later, yeah.” Raph ran his hand through his hair, not quite hiding the small smile that stole over his face. “She really turned over a new leaf.”

Erin was silent for a while, mulling over this new information, combining it with what she already had from that afternoon.

“Is your name still Raphael?” she asked. “She sounded really surprised about it. And I know you said you were just taking the name on a trial run, but you really seemed to like it. Not that there’s—you know,” she added. “I know that—just because I picked it, I knew you might not… you know. It’s fine, I was just wondering. If I should call you something else.”

“I did—I do like it,” Raph assured her. “But, uh, some stuff happened. My dad found me.”

Erin’s eyebrows shot upward. “Wait, really? What’d he have to say for himself?”

“That Mom ghosted him when she got pregnant because her side guy had more money.”

“Dude, fuck your mom.”

“Don’t fuck my mom, she’ll ghost you for money, weren’t you listening?”

Erin burst out snickering. “Fuck, sorry, this isn’t funny.”

“It will be in eighteen years,” Raph said with a wry smile. “Hindsight. Anyway, he found me in—he’s gonna find me in two years unless I reach out first. He’s a good guy. My stepmom’s pretty cool, too. And I have sisters? So that’s awesome. And yeah, he had this friend who passed away when he was younger, and he always wanted to name his son after him, but then Mom disappeared and he only ended up having daughters, so when he found me, it kind of worked out.” He hesitated. “I’m Damian. Damian Raphael Harker.”

“That’s such a cool name,” Erin sighed.

Raph—Damian—tilted his head back to grin at her. “Yours is cool, too.”

“Shut up,” she said fondly.

“No, seriously,” he said emphatically. “Your name is unspeakably cool.”

There was something odd in his tone, sticking up and catching like a loose nail. It bothered her, the same way something Angelique said earlier had bothered her.

“Hey, Ra—Damian?” Erin said cautiously. “Earlier, when Angelique sat down with us, she didn’t recognize me.”

“She does, don’t worry.”

“No, she didn’t,” Erin pressed. “It took her a second to realize who I was, and she stopped herself from saying why.”

Suddenly Damian looked deeply uncomfortable. “I, uh.”

She took a deep breath. “Was I dead in your time?”

“Wh-no! No no no no, of course not!” Damian looked horrified. “We played Pathfinder like last week, you’re not dead.”

“What’s Path—no, never mind. Something’s clearly up. If we just played whatever-that-is last week, and Angelique is your wife, then why didn’t she know who I was?”

“Uh…” Damian’s hands had worked their way deep into his sleeves. “You look different, that’s all. You kind of reinvented yourself in college.”

“Oh,” Erin said, momentarily relieved. Then— “Wait.”

“What?’

“Damian. You’d—” She hesitated. “If I was a guy, you’d tell me, right?’

“Oh my God,” Damian mumbled into his be-sweatered hands.

“Damian.”

“You’re... not...”

“You’d tell me, right?”

“See, I don’t know if I would!” Damian answered, in a strained high-pitched tone. “That’s—look. If you were a guy, that’s something you’d have to work out for yourself!”

“Damian, I swear to God.”

“I can’t crack your egg for you, that’s like violating the Prime Directive!”

Erin seized a pillow and started to buffet him with it. “You are such a nerd!”

“It’s your personal journey, you can’t use me to cheat!” Damian cackled, fending her off with a plush horse.

***

“Yeah I’ll get the banana split.” Angie bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes raking over the array of toppings. “Can you put caramel and chocolate sauce on it? And Heath bar pieces, chopped strawberries, and M&Ms.”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

It took all of her self-control not to press her nose against the glass as she watched them make it. Some small part of her balked at the sight of three huge scoops of ice cream and all the toppings, but she quieted it. She had a second shot at being a teenager, and that meant never taking her garbage disposal stomach and body made of rubber bands for granted ever again.

She hummed absently to herself, only to pause halfway through the tune. How did it go again? She tried repeating the first half, only to get stuck at the same spot. Oh, this was going to bug the crap out of her. It wasn’t like she could look it up, not when the song wouldn’t come out for almost ten years—

Her phone vibrated in her purse, and she checked it absentmindedly, zeroing in for a moment on the DAD displayed on the screen. After a moment, she put it back without answering. If it was that important, he could text.

Sure enough, her phone gave a short buzz. New text message—he hadn’t even bothered to leave a voicemail.

DADI need you to talk to your brother.

Angie checked her banana split’s progress with a glance, and replied.

lol why

DADHe’s not listening to me. We both know the courts favor the mother so if we’re going to beat her I need both of you on your A game.

Angie ground her teeth until her jaw creaked.

what do you need me to do

DADJust coach him on how to talk about her. You’re a smart lady, I know you can do it. He’s always getting scuffed up at practice, just have him say the bruises came from her. Throw in a drinking problem if you have to, just keep your stories straight.

why father dearest i’m surprised at youyou want me to lie under oath?

DADJust talk to him, will you? Keep your stories straight, don’t get too outlandish, and we’ll get out of this with everything we want. You’ll never have to hear the word no again, I promise.

ok daddy ill do my best!

DADGood girl. You’re the smartest girl I know. Smarter than your mom, smarter than her bitch lawyer. Love you!

“Order up!”

Angie brought her banana split to the table with the clearest view of the door. It took her a moment to decide how to begin, then nearly a full minute balancing equal parts ice cream, banana, and toppings in a single spoonful. She managed it in the end.

Mood lifted, she unlocked her phone again and made a call. “Heeeey, Anika.”

“Need I remind you that phone calls are billable,” her mother’s lawyer said dryly.

“Yeah, I’ll be quick, I have some incriminating text messages I think you’ll be interested in?”

The sound of rustling papers paused. “Go on…?”

“Dad just told me to lie to the judge,” Angie explained, twirling a thin ribbon of caramel around her spoon. “And to coach Eric to lie to the judge. I took screenshots.”

Anika cursed softly under her breath. “Thank you for telling me. Send them to your mom, okay? Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

The bell above the ice cream parlor door jingled, and Angie perked up as both Damian (Raph?) and Erin walked in. She waved them over, grinning when both pairs of eyes widened at her treat.

“That thing’s half the size of your head,” Erin pointed out.

“Sure is, you guys came just in time.” Angie nudged it across the table, along with the two extra spoons. “If we split it, I’ll have enough room for a milkshake chaser.”

“You’re a monster,” Damian said delightedly. “Oh shit, are those Heath bars?” He dug in without waiting for an answer.

“They’re peanut butter cups,” she said solemnly, once he’d taken a bite and could probably tell they weren’t. “I added them just to hurt you.” Damian rolled his eyes and dug his spoon back in.

Erin stared at her, probably still baffled by the gentle banter, but at least she looked more curious than infuriated, like instead of being suspicious she simply didn’t know what to make of Angie.

“So, you guys talked?” Angie asked carefully. “Are we… all good?”

“I think so,” Damian replied, shooting a cautious glance at Erin.

“You’re on thin ice,” Erin informed her as she helped herself to the chocolate scoop.

“Fair.” Angie didn’t remember Erin putting up quite as much of a fight, but then, it had been years when they’d reconnected before. This time around, it was still fresh.

“The ice cream helps,” Erin added, slightly muffled by the spoon in her mouth.

“Noted.” Angie paused, weighed her options, and shrugged. No harm no foul, probably. “Hey, you’re a musician, right?”

Erin swallowed. “Yeah, why?”

“And not just a performer, but you write music too, right?”

“Yeeaaah?” Erin squinted suspiciously. Beside her, Damian shot Angie a warning glare.

“If I give you half a tune, could you resolve it?”

Erin was staring at her like she’d grown a second head. “Probably.”

“Great!” Angie hummed the earworm from earlier. “How would the next part go?”

Erin repeated it to herself, nodding along. After a moment, she said, “Probably like—”

And sure enough, there it was. The rest of the chorus’s tune came rushing back to Angie’s memory, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thanks! That was driving me nuts.” Angie returned to her banana split, ignoring Damian’s growing scowl.

Later, when Erin was in the bathroom and  Angelique was standing in line to order her promised milkshake, Damian dug his elbow into her side. “You’re not as slick as you think you are,” he muttered.

“What?” Angie said innocently. “I didn’t give anything away.”

“You just taught her half the chorus of a song she’s eight years away from writing!”

“I’ve planted a seed,” Angie insisted. “I’ve created a stable time loop.”

“That is not what you did and you know it.” Damian pursed his lips, clearly trying to stay annoyed with her. “I barely avoided spoiling her transition, and that’s after she asked me to my face.”

Angie grinned. “So you haven’t told her she’s a genderfluid punk rocker yet?”

“No. Because she’s not a genderfluid punk rocker yet.”

“And now, when she becomes one,” Angie said with a smile, “she’s going to look back on this day and laugh.”

[edenesth]

ATEEZ as Disney Princes

Pairing(s): disney prince!ateez x disney princess!reader

Word Count: 14.4k

A/N: The title says it all. I thought it'd be fun to do something like this for the first time, deviating from my usual one member per story format teehee. Special thanks to my one and only, my pookie, @itstheghostofmypast, for helping me decide which Disney princes San, Mingi, and Wooyoung should be💘

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Li Shang (Mulan)

• Leadership • Discipline • Protector •

"The Huns have struck here, here, and here," the senior General Kim pointed to the map, his voice steady and commanding. "I will lead the main troops to the Tung Shao Pass and stop Shan-Yu before he destroys this village. You will stay behind and train the new recruits. When Chi Fu believes you're ready, you will join us, Captain."

"Captain?" Hongjoong repeated, his voice filled with disbelief. This was the moment he had been dreaming of for as long as he could remember. He had trained the hardest and longest among his batch, fighting tirelessly to prove his worth to his commanding officer. It was finally his time to shine and demonstrate his capabilities.

"I believe you will do an excellent job," General Kim affirmed.

"Oh, I will. I won't let you down, sir," the younger man replied with determination.

It was during the Imperial dynasty in China that, as the Huns attempted to invade, the nation plunged into war. Yet, not all hope was lost. The young and fiery Captain Hongjoong was assigned to take charge of the new recruits. He would motivate them and push them to reach their full potential. His ability to inspire and lead by example would soon become evident as he transformed a group of untrained soldiers into a disciplined unit.

⁞

Throughout the training, Hongjoong enforces strict discipline among his soldiers. He sets high standards and expectations, ensuring that the recruits develop the necessary skills and physical conditioning through rigorous exercises. His disciplined approach is crucial in preparing them for the challenges ahead.

You would know this firsthand. Despite your best efforts, you had lost hope, feeling out of place because, at the end of the day, you were not a man. But Hongjoong didn't know that. No one in the camp knew.

"You're unsuited for the rage of war. So pack up and go home," he had said, shaking his head in disappointment as he stalked off.

There was something about him that made you want to fight harder, to prove that you could do what the other soldiers could. To his pleasant surprise, he emerged from his tent the following morning to see your fellow soldiers applauding you for successfully completing the toughest task in the camp.

This was exactly what he wanted to see.

You used to fear him for his harsh and uncompromising behaviour, but now you understand. In the face of war, no one would show you kindness or consideration. Captain Hongjoong was doing exactly what he needed to prepare everyone for that reality.

⁞

"You think your troops are ready to fight?" Chi Fu scoffed. "They wouldn't last a minute against the Huns!"

Hongjoong scowled, clenching his fists. "They completed their training."

"Those boys are no more fit to be soldiers than you are to be a captain. Once the general reads my report, your troops will never see battle," Chi Fu sneered, gesturing for the younger man to leave.

"We're not finished!" Hongjoong called out, grabbing the man's arm.

"Be careful, Captain. The general may be your father, but I am the Emperor's counsel. And I got that job on my own. You're dismissed," Chi Fu said snarkily, pulling open the flap of his tent.

There it was—the comment Hongjoong hated most. Being called the son of General Kim. He had heard enough whispers of nepotism, undermining his hard-earned success. He didn't want to be seen as just the general's son; he had worked tirelessly to earn his position.

He stormed out of the tent, surprised to see you standing there. "Hey, I'll hold him, and you punch," you joked nervously, but he frowned and continued walking. "Or not." You bit your lip as he walked away. "For what it's worth, I think you're a great captain."

His steps faltered for a moment, and he turned to meet your eyes briefly. In that fleeting glance, his eyes seemed to show what looked like a hint of appreciation before he continued on his way.

At least someone still believed in him.

⁞

And that someone was… a girl.

Hongjoong discovered this during the mountain battle when the Huns ambushed and you saved him. You had lied, fooling everyone, even him. How dare you? How dare you… try to save your father's life by volunteering to fight in the war? After the initial feelings of disappointment and betrayal, he realised just how brave you were—a quality that put cowardly men to shame.

Not only that, your perseverance had ended up saving China, something he couldn't have done without you.

Guilt overwhelmed him after leaving you behind, injured and alone on the snowy mountain, after you had risked your life to save his. The image of you lying vulnerable and exposed in the small tent haunted him—your hair finally let down, revealing your true identity; your petite frame contrasting with the fabric tightly wrapped around your chest to hide your gender. In his emotional turmoil at the time, he had abandoned you. But if he could do it over, he knew he would have done everything differently to protect you.

That's why he was determined to make up for his mistake by protecting you now, even though he knew deep down that he would have protected you regardless.

"Where is she?! Now she's done it! What a mess! Stand aside! That creature's not worth protecting," the Emperor's counsel screeched, trying to push past Hongjoong, who was shielding you. He gestured toward the destroyed portion of the palace from your earlier battle with Shan-Yu and his men.

The captain stood his ground. "She's a hero."

"She's a woman. She'll never be worth anything."

"Listen, you pompous..." Hongjoong growled, grabbing Chi Fu by the collar.

"That's enough!" the Emperor roared, breaking the two apart. The focus shifted to what was truly important: the fact that the war was finally over, thanks to a certain female warrior.

⁞

While Hongjoong possessed exceptional leadership skills, discipline, and a protective nature, he still had moments of foolishness.

"You, uhh... you fight good."

Was that all he could muster? After everything you had been through together, perhaps you were overthinking it. Maybe he didn't see you in that way at all. Maybe you were just another good soldier to him.

"Oh. Thank you."

Like an idiot, he watched you depart, a sense of longing tugging at his heart. Unbeknownst to him, the Emperor appeared beside him, clearing his throat before speaking, "The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all."

"Sir?" Hongjoong blinked in confusion.

"You don't meet a girl like that in every dynasty," the Emperor remarked, indirectly calling the captain a fool, shaking his head in disbelief before returning to the palace.

Finally grasping the meaning behind His Excellency's words, Captain Hongjoong hastily mounted the nearest horse and rode swiftly to your family estate. He should have recognised the affection he felt for you sooner. Gosh, he truly had been clueless.

He arrived just in time to interrupt your tearful reunion with your father. "Uhh… you forgot your helmet!" he stuttered, turning awkwardly to the elderly man beside you, the one you had gone to war for. "W-well, actually, it's your helmet, isn't it? I mean…"

You suppressed a smile, feeling your heart flutter as you understood his obvious reason for visiting. Stepping closer to him, you reached out to accept the helmet. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

He blushed. "Dinner would be great."

Seonghwa ↠ Prince Charming (Cinderella)

• Gentlemanly • Graceful • Loyal •

"Miss! Are you alright?" the prince called out after helping you rein in your horse, which had been racing out of control. You huffed in frustration. "I'm fine, but you nearly scared the life out of him."

He frowned, confused. "Who?"

"The stag," you replied incredulously. How could he act so innocent when he and his group had been hunting down a poor creature? "What did he ever do to you to deserve being chased like that?"

His Highness struggled to suppress the smile tugging at his lips. The way you spoke of the animal as if it were a dear friend was endearing, and he could see that you genuinely cared for the animal. Not many girls your age, at least those he had met, would show such compassion. "Miss, what do they call you?"

Your smile faltered, memories of the cruel names your stepmother and stepsisters used flashing in your mind. "It doesn't matter what they call me."

"You shouldn't be this deep in the forest alone," he pointed out.

"I'm not alone. I'm with you, Mister...?" you said lightly, before pausing and glancing at him curiously. "What do they call you?"

Realising you had no clue who he was, he chuckled. "You don't know who I am?" His expression softened when he saw that you truly didn't recognise him. "Well... they call me Seonghwa. At least, my father does when he's in a good mood."

There was something refreshing about meeting someone who didn't know his royal identity, and he felt strangely free at this moment. Determined to keep it that way, he quickly came up with white lies to conceal the truth. Just then, you noticed the group of men who had been hunting with him gallop by, and you swallowed nervously. "You'll leave the stag alone, won't you?"

He paused, captivated by your sincerity and beauty—both inside and out—before nodding slowly. "I will."

⁞

"If I must marry, why not a good, honest country girl?" Seonghwa slyly suggested, posing for his portrait as part of the preparations for the royal ball, where he was expected to find a bride. Ever since meeting you that day in the woods, you hadn't left his thoughts.

The Grand Duke barely held back a chuckle. "And how many strong alliances will this 'good, honest country girl' provide us? How will she strengthen the kingdom? We are a small nation surrounded by powerful states, Your Royal Highness, and it's a dangerous world."

His Majesty sighed at the man's sarcastic tone and approached his son. "Listen, boy. I want to see you safe—and the kingdom secure."

Seonghwa's expression darkened at the gentle rejection. "Alright, Father, but on one condition. Let the invitations go to everyone, not just the nobility. The wars have brought grief to all of us."

That was all it took to set things in motion. "A ball for the people, a princess for the prince," the advisor muttered, unaware of how determined His Highness truly was. His plan to see you again was falling into place.

Days later, as you wandered through the town market, you heard the town crier make the announcement. "Know that in two weeks, a Royal Ball will be held at the palace. At said ball, in accordance with ancient custom, the prince shall choose a bride. Furthermore, by the prince's request, it is hereby declared that every maiden in the kingdom, be she noble or commoner, is invited to attend. Such is the command of our most noble king."

Eager to see the apprentice—at least, that's what he claimed to be—whom you'd met in the forest just the other day, you rushed home to share the news with your stepmother and stepsisters, brimming with excitement. But, of course, things were not going to unfold the way you had hoped.

⁞

"You shall not go to the ball!" were your stepmother's cruel words after she ripped apart your mother's old gown.

Yet here you stood, in front of everyone in the grand hall, now adorned in a magical gown and sparkling glass slippers, thanks to your fairy godmother. The prince's face lit up the moment he saw you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful girl in the world—and to him, you were. No one could ever compare.

"Mr. Seonghwa," you called softly as the crowd parted, allowing you to approach him. His heart melted at the sound of his name on your lips. "It's you, isn't it?" he asked, smiling. "It is," you replied with a smile of your own.

Gathering his courage, he swallowed nervously. "If I may—it would be the greatest honour if you'd allow me to lead you in this first dance."

Your heart fluttered, and you nodded. With your permission, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. The proximity made your breath hitch as your hand rested on his shoulder. He spun you around, and for a moment, you caught the eyes of the crowd. "They're all looking at you," you whispered, turning to face him again.

He smiled softly, shaking his head. "Trust me, they're all looking at you." In that moment, nothing else mattered to him but you. Holding you close, he couldn't tear his eyes away, not even for a second. He could stay like this forever.

⁞

"So, you're the prince!" you exclaimed as he led you away from the crowd into a secluded room, offering you both a moment of peace and quiet.

"Not the prince, exactly," he replied with a playful grin. "There are plenty of princes in the world. I'm just a prince."

You chuckled softly. "But your name's not really Seonghwa, is it?"

He laughed. "Oh, it is. My father still calls me that—especially when he's not too irritated with me."

As you both shared a laugh, your eyes landed on a portrait hanging on the wall. "Is that you?" you asked curiously, moving toward it.

He sighed. "Ugh, I hate how I look in paintings. Don't you?"

You shrugged. "No one's ever painted my portrait."

He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "No? Well, they should."

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still as you stared at one another, neither wanting the moment to end. Reluctant to part from you, Seonghwa led you out into the palace garden.

"What's bothering you?" you asked, noticing the flicker of concern in his eyes as you strolled down the grassy paths.

He forced a smile. "When I go back, they'll try to marry me off to a lady of their choosing. I'm expected to marry for political advantage."

You gave him a gentle smile. "But surely you have a right to follow your own heart."

He sighed, wishing that were true. Not wanting the evening to end just yet, he guided you to a hidden spot. "A secret garden," you murmured in awe, stepping into the beautiful, secluded space. In the centre stood a swing, and at his insistence, he pushed you gently, laughing together until one of your glass slippers slipped off.

Like the gentleman he was, Seonghwa immediately knelt down to help you put it back on. Once it was secure, you found yourself sitting close to him, your breaths catching as he remained on his knees, gazing up at you.

"Won't you tell me who you really are?" he asked softly, a hint of desperation in his voice.

You swallowed nervously. "If I do, everything might change."

His expression tugged at your heart. "I don't understand... Can you at least tell me your name?"

You hesitated, then whispered, "My name is—"

The loud chime of the clock rang out, striking midnight. Panic surged through you. "I have to go! It's... hard to explain. Thank you for a wonderful evening. I've loved every moment!" were your final words as you hurried away.

⁞

"Miss, you are requested and required to present yourself before your king," said the captain of the royal guard, as your cruel stepmother finally unlocked the door to your attic room.

The king...?

That could only mean Seonghwa, with his father having recently passed. Despite your stepmother's desperate attempts to stop you, she could no longer keep you from meeting him. With nervous breaths, you made your way down to the living hall where he waited. Would you be enough? There was no magic to help you now.

"Who are you?" he asked, holding the single glass slipper in his hand.

With a deep breath, you finally spoke your truth. "Your Majesty, I'm no princess. I have no carriage, no parents, and no dowry. I don't even know if that beautiful slipper will fit. But if it does, will you take me as I am? An honest country girl who loves you."

A soft smile spread across his face. His loyalty has only ever been to you and only you from the very beginning. "Of course I will. But only if you will take me as I am."

In that final moment of truth, you sat before him just like that night, and without hesitation, Seonghwa gently slipped the shoe onto your foot. It fit perfectly. After searching the entire kingdom to find you, you were finally here, his at last.

A few days later, you stood beside him in a wedding gown, facing the people as their queen. "My Queen," he whispered, cupping your face amidst the cheers of the crowd.

"My Hwa," you murmured, just before he pressed his lips firmly against yours.

Yunho ↠ Prince Phillip (Sleeping Beauty)

• Brave • Romantic • Strong-willed •

"We want you to go pick some berries! Lots of berries! But take your time, dear. Don't wander too far, and remember—no talking to strangers! Goodbye, dear," your three godmothers chimed in unison as you waved them off. They were so charmingly silly, and though you knew they were up to something for your 16th birthday, you played along and agreed to leave the cosy little cottage you'd grown up in.

What you didn't know was that your godmothers were feeling bittersweet. After the celebration, they would be returning you to your true parents—the king and queen. They had kept you hidden all these years from Maleficent's curse, and now, believing it was finally safe, they prepared to send you home. Or so they thought.

Completely unaware of this, you happily made your way to the forest where you often spent your days, swinging the empty basket in your hand and singing a familiar tune.

Not far off, Yunho caught the sound of your voice—the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He pulled his horse to a stop, biting his lip in wonder. "What is that? It's... beautiful." Turning toward the source of the melody, he couldn't resist. "Come on, let's go find out."

In his haste to reach you, his horse galloped ahead, easily leaping over a low log—unfortunately, not quite low enough for the prince. Yunho yelped as he was thrown into a shallow pond, landing with a splash. He groaned, unamused, as his horse sheepishly returned, having noticed his rider was no longer on board.

So much for chasing the magical voice. Now he was stuck with wet clothes, needing to dry off before he could continue his search.

⁞

"Why do they still treat me like a child? They never let me meet anyone..." you sighed, speaking to the animals gathered around you. "But guess what? I tricked them. I have met someone—a prince. He's tall, handsome, and... so romantic. We walk together, talk together, and just before we say goodbye, he takes me in his arms, and then..." you teased with a playful smile. "I wake up."

"Yes, it's only in my dreams."

Pushing aside your wistful thoughts, you continued to sing softly while gathering berries. But to your surprise, another voice joined in—a deep, masculine voice. Before you knew it, a pair of arms gently mirrored the way yours had been swaying in your daydream.

"Oh. Oh!" you gasped, pulling away as you realised this wasn't a dream. A man was standing before you, real and not imagined. Not wanting to frighten you, he kept his distance and bowed politely. "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

You blinked, trying to calm your racing heart as you took in his features—he looked exactly like the man you had seen in your dreams. "Oh, it's not that... it's just that you're a..."

As you instinctively stepped back, he gently reached for your hand. "A stranger?" he finished for you, and you nodded. Before you could pull away, he smiled and held on softly. "But don't you remember? We've met before."

"We... have?" you whispered, your voice faltering.

He nodded, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "Of course. You said so yourself. Once upon a dream."

You couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips as you turned away, amused by how he cleverly quoted your song. At first, you resisted, but soon you found yourself in his arms, dancing to the tune you had been singing. Except this time, you were no longer alone—you were dancing with him.

As if caught in a dream, you eventually leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as the two of you stood beneath a tree, gazing out at the beautiful view. His voice was soft when he asked, "Who are you? What's your name?"

"My name..." you started, staring up into his eyes, momentarily mesmerised by them. You almost gave him your name, but then reality hit you—you didn't even know him. With a gasp, you pulled away from his hold. "No, no, I can't. I—I have to go! Goodbye!"

Yunho panicked, not ready to let you slip away. Call it love at first sight, but he knew, deep down, you were the one. "But when will I see you again?" he called out, his eyes filled with longing as he watched you retreat into the forest.

"Tonight! At the cottage in the glen!" you blurted out, against your better judgement. Deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of leaving and never seeing him again either.

⁞

"This is the happiest day of my life!" you exclaimed, admiring the beautiful dress and the delicious cake your godmothers had made for you. "Everything is so perfect. Just wait until you meet him!"

"Him? Y-you've met a stranger?" one of the fairies asked, concerned.

You smiled dreamily. "Oh, he's not a stranger. We've met before—once upon a dream."

The fairies exchanged worried glances, their hearts breaking as they realised... you were in love. "Oh no, this is terrible. You're already betrothed."

"Betrothed?" Your heart sank.

"Since the day you were born, dear. To Prince Yunho."

You frowned in disbelief. "But that's impossible! How could I marry a prince? I'd have to be..."

"A princess," they finished for you. "And you are, dear. Tonight, we're taking you back to your father, King Stefan."

Shaking your head, you struggled to process the sudden revelation. "But... I can't! He's coming here tonight. I promised to meet him."

"We're sorry, child, but you must never see that young man again," one of them said softly.

It felt like a cruel joke. Just when you had finally met the man of your dreams, it all crumbled. That night, you cried yourself to sleep, your 16th birthday turning into something far from the magical day you had hoped for. And it was only going to get worse.

With a curse of eternal sleep.

⁞

"Oh, come now, Prince Yunho. Why so melancholy?" Maleficent's sinister voice echoed through the dungeon as he lifted his head, his hands shackled in heavy chains. She had trapped him during his visit to your vacant cottage and now kept him imprisoned on her Forbidden Mountain. "A wondrous future lies before you," she mocked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You, the destined hero of a charming fairy tale come true."

With a wave of her hand over the glowing crystal ball atop her staff, she smirked. "Behold, King Stefan's castle." A vision slowly materialised in the crystal, and his heart sank.

"In the highest tower, dreaming of her true love, lies the princess," Maleficent sneered. "But in a cruel twist of fate, this sleeping beauty is none other than the peasant girl who won your heart just yesterday." Her grin widened as the image shifted. "In an ageless sleep, she rests, untouched by time. A hundred years will pass in the blink of an eye for a steadfast heart."

The crystal revealed an older, wearier version of His Highness. "And now, the gates of the dungeon open, and our valiant prince rides forth, tall and noble, to wake his love with a kiss—proving that true love conquers all!"

Her wicked laughter filled the air as the prince surged to his feet, straining against the chains. The revelation hit him hard—you were his betrothed all along. His heart shattered at the sight of you, cursed to an endless sleep. But he refused to wait idly for a century. No matter the cost, even if it took his life, nothing would stop him from reaching you and breaking the spell.

⁞

Through trials that nearly cost him his life more than once, Yunho pressed on, driven by a love that burned stronger than fear. Every step, every swing of his sword, had been for you. Now, as he climbed the winding staircase of the tower where you lay, his heart pounded louder than it ever had. Strangely, facing you was far more terrifying than battling a dragon or plummeting from a cliff.

What if his kiss didn't wake you? What if he wasn't the one you dreamed of all this time? His mind raced with doubts, but all of them vanished the moment he laid eyes on you.

There you were, peacefully resting, untouched by the passage of time. His breath caught in his throat as he knelt beside you, his hands trembling slightly, almost afraid that if he reached out, you might disappear like a fading dream. Gently, he lifted a hand to brush your hair away from your face, his fingers lingering as they drifted down to caress your cheek. The softness of your skin beneath his touch made his heart clench. God, you were beautiful. Even in this endless sleep, you were breathtaking, and the thought that you were his—the one his heart had longed for—was almost too much to believe.

Ignoring the wild rhythm of his heartbeat, he leaned in closer. He hesitated, his lips hovering above yours, terrified and hopeful. Slowly, he closed the distance, pressing his lips tenderly against yours, his touch as gentle as a whisper. Time seemed to stand still. His entire world narrowed down to that single, precious moment.

Then, something incredible happened. He felt you stir, your lips moving ever so softly in response to his. Tears welled up in his eyes as he pulled back slightly, his gaze searching your face, desperate to see the miracle of your awakening. "Please," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "come back to me."

A soft smile played on your lips as your eyes fluttered open. "I'm here, stranger," you murmured. Yunho let out a tearful laugh, pure joy flooding his heart as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss. Nothing had ever felt so perfect.

Yeosang ↠ Hercules (Hercules)

• Strength • Determination • Humility •

A scream pierced the air, and without a second thought, Yeosang urged Pegasus to dive down past the clouds toward the waterfall, where a damsel was clearly in distress. This was it—his first real chance to prove himself as a true hero. Soon enough, he'd restore his godhood and join his parents back in Olympus.

"I swear, Nessus, put me down or I'll—" you growled, struggling in the grasp of the River Guardian, a centaur who was supposed to be an ally on your mission for Hades, but he was proving to be more trouble than he was worth.

"Ooh, I like 'em fiery," the creature sneered, pulling you closer as you tried in vain to wriggle free.

The hero-in-training gasped, his blood boiling at the sight of you being manhandled. Not on his watch. Ignoring his trainer's advice to assess the situation, he charged forward recklessly. Phil groaned. "This kid is losing hero points fast!"

"Halt!" Yeosang called out, though his voice wavered when Nessus towered over him. "Excuse me, sir," he continued, much to the centaur's surprise. Who was this polite little pest? "I'll have to ask you to release that young la—"

You shot him a frustrated look. "Keep walking, junior."

He blinked, confused. "But... aren't you a damsel in distress?"

"I'm a damsel, I'm in distress," you snapped. "I can handle it. Have a nice day." Despite your sarcastic smile, you were still stuck in the centaur's grip, struggling to break free.

Yeosang, however, wasn't one to give up so easily. A bit flustered by your brush-off, he unsheathed his sword. "Ma'am, I think you might be too close to the situation to—" Before he could finish, Nessus sent him flying across the field.

After several clumsy attempts and a lot of trial and error, he finally managed to free you from the River Guardian's hold, though you both ended up soaked in the river. Quickly, he lifted you out of the water as if you weighed nothing and set you gently on a nearby log. "Oh, gosh, miss, I'm really sorry. That was... kind of dumb."

"Yeah," you replied with a crooked smile, wringing out your hair. Before you could say anything more, he dashed back into the fray. You smirked, amused by his naive determination and innocent sense of righteousness. It had been a while since you'd seen such a genuine do-gooder. "Is Wonderboy here for real?"

⁞

"So, did they give you a name to go with all those rippling pectorals?" you teased, bending over to adjust the skirt of your dress.

The hero's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he stared at you, now bathed in the golden light of the sunset. You were a sight for sore eyes—more beautiful than Aphrodite herself, he dared to think.

He chuckled nervously, stammering like a shy schoolboy. "Uh, I'm—I… uh…"

You smirked, standing back up and retrieving the shoes he had been awkwardly holding for you. "Are you always this articulate?"

"Yeosang!" he blurted out, watching you walk away. "My... my name's Yeosang!"

Making your way to a nearby log to sit down, you glanced up at him with a playful grin. "Yeosang, huh? I think I prefer Wonderboy."

He bit his lip, completely unaware of how poorly he was hiding his emotions. It was obvious to anyone that he was completely mesmerised by you. "So, how'd you get tangled up with that..."

"Pinhead with hooves? Oh, you know how men are. They think 'no' means 'yes' and 'get lost' means 'take me, I'm yours,'" you quipped, your voice dripping with sarcasm. He blinked, clearly confused by your response. You rolled your eyes and gestured toward his trainer. "Don't worry, shorty here will explain it to you later."

Phil shot you an irritated glare, but you just waved him off. "Well, thanks for everything, Yeo. It's been a real slice."

You had barely taken a few steps when the hero called after you again, his voice full of determination. "Wait! Can we give you a ride?"

You glanced at Pegasus and Phil, both clearly unimpressed with you, and smirked. "Nah, I'll be fine. I'm a big, tough girl. I tie my own sandals and everything."

Leaning in, you gave him a quick boop on the nose, chuckling as he stood there with that dreamy smile still plastered on his face. "Bye-bye, Wonderboy."

⁞

You hadn't expected to see him again so soon, but there he was, and you had to act fast. Running up to him, you let out a false cry. "Please! Help! There's been a terrible accident!" You hated dragging him into this, but with Hades holding your freedom hostage, you had no choice. You had to lure him into the trap.

The hero's face brightened the moment he saw you, your name escaping his lips with excitement. After his earlier failure in Thebes, seeing you lifted his spirits. He needed this—he needed you.

"Wonderboy! Yeosang! Thank goodness!" you exclaimed, stumbling into his arms with an air of desperation. His grip on you tightened protectively, his eyes wide with concern. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice full of worry.

Sniffling, you wiped your fake tears away. "Outside of town... two little boys. They were playing in the gorge. There was a terrible rockslide. They're trapped!"

"Kids? Trapped? This is my chance! Come on!" Before you could object, he had already hoisted you onto Pegasus despite your protests. "No, wait! I... I have a terrible fear of heights!" But it was too late—you were already in the sky, holding on tightly as the wind whipped past.

When you finally arrived, he noticed how shaken you seemed. His brow furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?"

You nodded weakly. "I'll be fine." But even then, he gently pulled you close, helping you down. The flutter in your chest was unwelcome—you shouldn't feel this way. You stayed back, watching as he rushed forward, unaware of the Hydra waiting to destroy him. Hades had set it up perfectly, and this was Yeosang's end. You should have focused on your own survival, but you couldn't help whispering under your breath, "Get out of here while you still can..."

Despite everything, he wasn't deterred. Time and again, he fought against what seemed like a certain defeat, his determination unshakable. Even after facing near death, he refused to give up, ultimately defeating the monster.

As much as you hated to admit it, seeing him fight with such bravery and resolve stirred something inside you. His courage, his power—it only deepened your admiration for him.

⁞

"Wow, what a day," Yeosang said with a wide grin, descending the stairs into the picturesque garden. "First, that restaurant by the bay, and then the play!" His voice was animated, clearly still buzzing from the events of your date. Meanwhile, you struggled to maintain your smile, Hades' voice echoing in your mind with his latest demand. His patience was thinning after so many failed attempts. Now, he wanted you to find the hero's weakness.

When he turned to you, thanking you for such a wonderful time, you winced inwardly. "Don't thank me just yet," you muttered, setting your plan into motion. You deliberately tripped on the stairs, conveniently falling into his strong arms.

"Oops! Weak ankles," you murmured, biting your lip as you savoured the feeling of being so close to him. His grip was firm yet gentle.

"Yeah? Maybe you should sit down for a bit," he suggested like the gentleman he always was, carrying you over to a bench and setting you down with care. But how long would he stay a gentleman?

You shrugged, letting one of your dress straps slide down your shoulder, flashing him a seductive smile. "So, do you have any problems like this?" you asked, testing the waters as you slowly lifted one leg onto his lap. "Weak ankles, I mean."

His eyes widened, and he cleared his throat, gently but firmly pushing your leg back down. "Oh, no. Not really..." he stammered, inching away while you leaned in closer.

"No weaknesses at all?" you teased, pressing against his chest. "No trick knee? Ruptured discs?"

Yeosang just chuckled nervously, his face reddening. Instead of falling for your flirtation, he reached over and pulled your strap back over your shoulder. "Nope. I'm... fit as a fiddle," he said, quickly moving away toward the fountain, where he clumsily tossed a coin and knocked over a statue.

You sighed, walking over to him. "Wonderboy, you're perfect," you muttered with a teasing laugh. Time seemed to freeze as your eyes met his, a flicker of something different passing between you. Biting your lip, you quickly looked away. Maybe, just maybe, he really was different from the men who had hurt you before.

⁞

"You know, when I was a kid, I would've given anything to be just like everyone else," Yeosang said softly, his eyes tracing the path of a shooting star across the night sky.

You scoffed, crossing your arms as you moved away to sit by the water, staring at your reflection with a bitter frown. "You wanted to be petty and dishonest?" You knew what people were like—you were one of them.

His smile faltered. "Not everyone's like that."

"Yes, they are," you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

"You're not like that," he said gently, appearing behind you. You smirked, feeling a tightness in your throat as you tried to keep your emotions in check. "How do you know what I'm like?" you croaked, wishing he'd stop making it so hard for you.

"All I know is you're the most amazing person with weak ankles I've ever met," he teased, his voice full of warmth. You chuckled until he continued, "When I'm with you, I don't feel so alone."

You avoided his gaze, your heart aching. "Sometimes it's better to be alone."

His smile faltered again. "What do you mean?"

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. "Nobody can hurt you."

He sat down beside you, reaching out to take your hands in his. "I would never, ever hurt you."

If only he knew...

Before you could say anything, he was already leaning in. Against your better judgement, your eyes fluttered closed, anticipation hanging between you. But just as your lips were about to meet, Pegasus and Phil appeared, breaking the moment and pulling Yeosang back to his training.

"I'm sorry for getting you in trouble," you murmured, feeling conflicted.

He just smiled, shaking his head, and handed you a small flower, gently pressing a kiss to your cheek. As he walked away, you were left behind—completely a mess.

⁞

"Wonderboy, why did you…?" you croaked, your voice weak after returning from death—literally. Yeosang had been crushed when he learned of your betrayal, discovering you had been working for Hades all along. But as you sacrificed yourself to save him, he realised none of that mattered anymore. Why hadn't he thought deeper about your reasons? If only he had understood that maybe you didn't have a choice.

In his selfless determination to exchange his life for yours, he had finally become a true hero. Tears welled up in his eyes as he helped you to your feet, pulling you gently back into his loving arms. "People always do crazy things when they're in love," he whispered—the same words you had said to him before your death.

So, he had felt the same all along.

"Now, at last, my son, you can come home," Zeus said, resting a proud hand on Yeosang's shoulder as he gestured to the now-open gates of Mount Olympus. The hero, now a god, beamed as the other gods swarmed him, celebrating his return.

From afar, you watched with a fading smile. Of course, he belonged to a different world. You were foolish to think you could ever truly be with him. "Congratulations, Wonderboy. You'll make one heck of a god," you whispered to yourself, turning to walk away.

But while the heavens rejoiced, Yeosang only had eyes for one person. His heart sank when he saw you leaving. "Father, this is the moment I've dreamed of my whole life, but…" He trailed off, racing after you and catching your hand. "A life without her, even an immortal life, would be empty. I… I wish to stay on Earth with her. I finally know where I belong."

And with that, he pulled you into his arms, the divine glow fading as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours at last.

San ↠ Kristoff (Frozen)

• Down-to-earth • Hardworking • Quirky •

"I was just wondering... has another young woman, maybe the queen, passed through here?" you asked, trying to sound casual, even though the bitter cold from Elsa's winter had you shivering uncontrollably. You were gathering what supplies you could from Wandering Oaken's Trading Post on your journey to find your sister. You needed to fix this, and to do that, she had to return to Arendelle.

"The only one crazy enough to be out in this storm is you, dear," the store owner chuckled, and you offered him an awkward smile. Before you could respond, the door suddenly swung open and slammed shut just as quickly. A man, completely covered in snow—literally—stepped in with a weary sigh, shaking off the frost by the entrance.

"You and this fellow," Oaken added, gesturing to the newcomer.

Without a word, the man walked straight to the counter, forcing you to step aside awkwardly. "Carrots," he muttered, stepping closer.

"Huh?" you blinked, confused by how close he was.

"Behind you," he clarified, and you realised you were blocking the carrots he was reaching for. Feeling a bit foolish, you quickly moved aside. "Oh! Right, sorry."

Through his conversation with the store owner, you caught a crucial piece of information. "The North Mountain..." you murmured to yourself, eyes narrowing in thought. That must be where Elsa had gone. At least now you had a lead—north it was.

"That'll be forty," Oaken said, ringing up the man's items.

"Forty? No, ten," the man countered, clearly unimpressed.

Deep in thought, you barely registered the tense negotiation between the two, both stubborn and unwilling to compromise. You only snapped back when you heard the man explain his dilemma—he sold ice for a living, and in this weather, he wasn't making any money. "Look, ten is all I've got. Help me out."

Before Oaken could respond, you jumped in. "Wait, just tell me one thing. What's happening on the North Mountain? Did it seem… magical?" There was desperation in your voice.

With an exasperated sigh, the man pulled down his scarf, revealing, to your surprise, a strikingly handsome face. For a second, you had thought him a brute. "Yes! Now back off while I deal with this crook."

Big mistake. The store owner stood up from his seat, towering over the both of you like a giant. "What did you call me?" And before the man knew it, he was tossed out of the shop—minus his carrots.

⁞

"Nice duet," you quipped, pushing open the door to the shack where you heard the man from earlier, now singing and impersonating his reindeer, Sven.

Startled, San jumped up defensively, only to relax with a sigh when he saw it was just you. "It's you again. What do you want?"

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward with determination. "I want you to take me up the North Mountain."

He remained unimpressed, sinking back down to resume his sleep. "I don't take people places."

You should've known it wouldn't be that easy. "Let me rephrase," you said, tossing a bag at him. He jolted up, wheezing from the impact. "Take me up the North Mountain," you repeated more firmly, though you softened a little as he raised a brow. "Please?"

Sven started sniffing the bag, drawing his attention. San opened it to find the tools he'd been after. You bit your lip. "Look, I know how to stop this winter."

With a sigh, he pulled his beanie over his face. "Ugh, we leave at dawn." Just as you were about to celebrate, he added, "And you forgot the carrots for Sven."

Frustrated but undeterred, you hurled another bag at him, this time hitting him square in the face. He grunted in pain, sitting up again. Your eyes widened in panic. "Oops! Sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean—" you stammered before regaining your composure. Clearing your throat, you declared firmly, "We leave now. Right now." You turned and marched out, letting out a breath of relief the moment you were out of sight. He really was intimidating.

Unbeknownst to you, he watched you leave, eyebrows narrowed. Not out of anger, but something else—a mix of mild annoyance and, oddly enough, admiration. You were quite the character.

⁞

"So, uhh, tell me—what made the queen go all ice-crazy?" San asked, trying to pry some information as the two of you sat on his sled, the cold winter night biting at your skin.

You gulped, unsure where to begin. "Well... it was kinda my fault. I got engaged, and she freaked out because I'd just met him that day, you know? She refused to bless the marriage and..." You trailed off, noticing the way he was staring at you.

"Wait, hold on—you got engaged to someone you just met that day?" he asked, his face a mix of disbelief and judgement.

You nodded, waving it off like it was no big deal. "Yeah, anyway, I got mad, she got mad, she tried to leave, and I grabbed her glove..."

He blinked and turned fully towards you. "Hang on! You're telling me you got engaged to a guy you just met that day?"

"Yes," you sighed in frustration. "Pay attention. The point is, she always wore gloves, so I figured maybe she has a thing about dirt or something."

San couldn't believe what he was hearing. You'd agreed to marry someone you'd only met that very day? Even if that someone was a prince, at the end of the day, he was just another man. The idea of it baffled him to no end. He couldn't help the surge of protectiveness that welled up in him. Sure, you seemed a little silly and unhinged compared to the girls he'd met, but you were still an innocent young woman—too trusting for your own good. And that could get you in serious trouble.

If judgemental had a face, it was sitting right next to you. "Didn't your parents ever warn you about strangers?"

You paused, the comment sinking in, and shifted uncomfortably, inching away from him. "Yes, they did. But Hans isn't a stranger."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That led to a back-and-forth about how much you really knew the Prince of the Southern Isles. The more you talked, the more San found himself silently shaking his head at your naivety, though he couldn't help but feel a small, growing fondness for you, as crazy as your story was.

Suddenly, he stiffened. "Stop talking."

You scoffed, still mid-argument. "No, no—"

Before you could finish, he slapped a hand over your mouth. "No, I mean it," his voice tense, eyes scanning the dark forest ahead.

⁞

"Wolves?" you asked anxiously, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of your chest. "What do we do?"

"I got this," he said, busy moving around like he knew exactly what he was doing. But your nerves wouldn’t let you sit still. "Just… don't fall off and don't get eaten."

You frowned, stepping up beside him. "But I want to help!"

"No!" he barked, pulling you back.

"Why not?!"

"Because I don't trust your judgement!"

Your jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"Who marries a guy she just met?!" he shouted as he pushed you behind him and kicked away a wolf that had nearly pounced on you.

"It's true love!" you yelled back, swinging his guitar wildly. Startling him, but you managed to knock another wolf away. "Woah!"

Slightly impressed, he froze for a second, but in that moment of distraction, a wolf sank its teeth into his jacket, pulling him off the sled. You gasped, screaming, "Santiago!"

He grunted, grabbing onto the sled's rope, and glaring up at you. "It's San!"

"Ow!" he yelped as the wolves bit into his back. Despite barely knowing him, your heart dropped, hoping he wasn't seriously hurt. In a burst of quick thinking, you grabbed a bundle of cloth, lit it on fire, and threw it at the wolves, scaring them off.

As you regained control, you realised the sled was speeding toward the edge of a mountain. Your breath caught in your throat—the only way to make it across was if the reindeer jumped. "Get ready to jump, Sven!"

San shot you a look. "You don't tell him what to do. I do!" He shoved a bag into your arms before tossing you onto Sven's back. As you neared the cliff's edge, he shouted and cut the rope tying the reindeer to the sled. "Jump, Sven!"

After landing dangerously close to the mountain's edge, San's sled lay in ruins below, and he muttered something about just having paid it off. The narrow escape from death weighed heavily on you, especially when you saw him lying on the ground, an arm thrown over his eyes in sheer exhaustion. He was so done.

"I-I'll replace your sled and everything in it," you mumbled, guilt creeping into your voice. "And... I get it if you don't want to help me anymore." With a heavy sigh, you turned and started walking away, your heart sinking. Of course, he wouldn't want to stick around now. You'd caused him nothing but trouble, and he hadn't even volunteered to come with you—it was all your fault.

San groaned in frustration, his reindeer nudging him persistently, nodding toward your retreating, disheartened figure. "Of course, I don't want to help her anymore," he grumbled, sitting up. "This whole mess has cured me of ever helping anyone again."

"She'll die out there on her own," Sven's eyes seemed to say.

"I can live with that," San muttered, though his voice lacked confidence.

"But no new sled if she's dead!" The silent reasoning gnawed at him.

He slumped, casting an irritated glare at Sven. "Sometimes, I really don't like you." But as he heard you stumbling and fumbling your way through the snow, likely still trying to reach your sister, he rolled his eyes in dramatic defeat before shouting, "Hold up! We're coming!"

You turned around, your face lighting up before playing it off coolly. "You are? I mean... sure, you can tag along."

He chuckled, shaking his head, though he couldn't quite hide the smile tugging at his lips. Maybe, just maybe, he found you... kind of adorable. In fact, you were probably the most adorable person he'd ever met, if he were being honest. Not that you needed to know that. Hans was a lucky guy... maybe.

⁞

As the journey dragged on, San found himself increasingly drawn to you in ways he hadn't anticipated. He had written you off as reckless, even naïve. But the more time he spent by your side, the more he found himself softening.

It began with the small things—your silly jokes, the way you smiled at him even in the direst of situations, and the surprising concern you showed for his struggling ice business, despite the weight of your own problems. A part of him tried to deny it, chalking up his protectiveness to simply being a decent person. Yet, as the days went on, the truth became harder to ignore, especially as you started to weaken.

The first time he truly noticed was when you faltered, clutching your chest as the icy curse gripped you. His heart clenched painfully at the sight of you, pale and fragile in a way that scared him. At first, he didn't understand what was happening—until he saw the streaks of white creeping into your hair. His stomach twisted in fear as he watched you shiver uncontrollably.

San tried to fight it at first, keeping his feelings hidden behind casual smiles and forced reassurances. He'd wrap you in his cloak, telling himself that he was just looking out for you like anyone else would. But inside, he was terrified. Each time you winced or stumbled, the protective instinct inside him flared, and it became harder to ignore. He wanted to hold you, to keep you safe, but he told himself that keeping his distance was for the best.

Until it wasn't.

After watching you grow weaker, he couldn't stand it any longer. You were so cold, so frail, barely able to keep yourself upright. Your hair had turned almost entirely white, and the violent shivering never stopped. When you could no longer walk on your own, San didn't care anymore. He scooped you into his arms without hesitation, cradling your fragile body against his chest. Your icy fingers clung weakly to his sleeve, barely able to hold on.

Perhaps the trolls had been right. Maybe what you needed was true love's kiss. The thought sent a wave of fear through him, not because he doubted it, but because he wanted it to be him. Holding you close, trembling as he tried to keep you warm, he swallowed hard, fighting back the lump in his throat.

"We've got to get you back to Hans," he whispered, though the name felt like a sharp blade twisting in his chest.

"A-are you g-gonna be okay?" you asked, voice weak and trembling as you struggled to stay conscious. Your eyes fluttered open, full of worry, and San's heart ached even more.

He forced a smile, though the pain in his chest was undeniable. "Don't worry about me," he said, though the crack in his voice betrayed him. He couldn't tell you the truth—that the very thought of giving you to Hans was tearing him apart.

⁞

As he left the castle gates, his arms now empty without your fragile form, the weight of his feelings bore down on him, suffocating. Even Sven could sense it. His reindeer nudged him softly, as if to say, you can't let her go.

San clenched his jaw, shaking his head at the reindeer's knowing gaze. "No, Sven! We're not going back! She's with her true love."

But none of that mattered the moment he noticed the fierce snowstorm suddenly engulfing Arendelle. His eyes widened with panic as he realised something was terribly wrong. Without a second thought, he sprinted back toward the castle, his heart racing, your name ripping from his throat as he shouted through the howling winds.

Snow and ice whipped through the air, blinding San as he fought against the wind, desperately searching for you. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the roar of the storm. Then, through the blizzard, he saw you—a frail figure swaying weakly amidst the violent storm.

His breath hitched, a strangled cry escaping him as he realised how dire your condition was. Your hair was completely white, and your skin had started to turn into a translucent blue, as if turning to ice. Panic surged through him, and without hesitation, he dashed toward you, every muscle in his body straining against the storm.

You took tiny, shaky steps towards him, your voice barely audible above the howling wind. "San..." The way you uttered his name sent a jolt through him, a painful reminder of just how close he was to losing you. He pushed himself harder, the distance between you seeming to stretch endlessly.

"Hold on!" he shouted, though he wasn't sure if you could hear him over the storm. He could see the effort it took for you to move, each step a struggle against the encroaching ice.

Just when he thought he might finally reach you, you changed direction abruptly. His heart stopped as he watched you rush towards your sister, trying to protect her from Hans. The realisation hit him like a thunderclap: in your attempt to shield your sister, you were sacrificing yourself.

He watched in horror as you turned completely into ice, your form crystallising before his eyes. The storm seemed to quiet for a moment, a heavy silence descending as you stood there, frozen.

Desperation clawed at him, and he fought through the storm to reach you. When you returned to your normal state, he was already there, cradling you in his arms. He refused to be a coward again, not after everything you had been through. The fear of losing you was unbearable, and he was determined not to let go.

Holding you close, he buried his face in your hair, breathing in your warmth, feeling your heartbeat against his chest. "I'm not letting you go," he whispered fiercely, his voice breaking with emotion. "Not now, not ever. If you'll let me, I'll hold you close forever."

His heart ached as he clung to you, the world around him fading into insignificance. The storm may have raged on, but in that moment, all that mattered was you.

Mingi ↠ Flynn Rider (Tangled)

• Charm • Wit • Adventurous •

"Is this… hair?" Mingi croaked in confusion as his eyes fluttered open to the unexpected realisation that he was tied up. The last thing he remembered was climbing up a tower hidden in the forest to escape from the royal guards and the Stabbington brothers.

"Struggling…" came a feminine voice from somewhere in the shadows. "Struggling is pointless."

He furrowed his brows. "Huh?"

"I know why you're here, and I'm not afraid of you," you said, gripping your frying pan tightly as you slowly emerged from your corner and finally stepped into the light.

Oh me, oh my. What do we have here?

The intruder looked genuinely confused as he took a moment to register your appearance. You were a sight to behold, that much was undeniable, but you were also threatening him with a kitchen tool, and truthfully, he wasn't very into that.

"Who are you and how did you find me?" you asked, glaring at him.

But man, were you beautiful.

"Uh huh…" was all he could muster.

Frustrated, you repeated yourself, raising your weapon higher. "Who are you and how did you find me?"

Clearing his throat, he began his rehearsed speech for situations like this. He had yet to meet any lady who wouldn't fall for his charms. As much as he would love to hang around, he had more important things to do. "I know not who you are nor how I came to find you, but may I just say…" He looked down momentarily, then met your gaze again with a rather... questionable expression. "Hi. How you doin'? The name's Flynn Rider. How's your day goin', huh?"

To his surprise, your hostility persisted. "Who else knows my location?" you demanded, aiming the pan at him.

Man, how did the smoulder not work?

⁞

Mingi let out a long sigh, staring ahead in exasperation as you ran circles around him with boundless enthusiasm. Lord, how did he get himself into this? He was stuck in this ridiculous situation because he needed the crown he had just stolen from the palace. The deal was simple: he would take you to see the lanterns and bring you back.

But he had no time for that.

Determined to avoid the whole ordeal, he hatched a foolproof plan. He would take you to the Snuggly Duckling, a tavern with a motley crew of thugs and ruffians. Surely that would scare you off.

As you twirled around, he muttered under his breath, "This is going to work. It has to work."

You paused mid-spin. "Did you say something?"

"Nothing!" he replied, forcing a smile. "Just… thinking about how much fun we're going to have."

He let out a sigh of relief as the Snuggly Duckling came into view. He couldn't help but grin at the look of horror that flashed across your face when you saw the rowdy tavern. This was going perfectly.

"You don't look so good, blondie. Maybe we should get you home, call it a day. This is a five-star joint, after all. If you can't handle this place, maybe you should be back in your tower," he said, trying to sound sympathetic while suppressing a smirk.

Just as he thought his plan was working, Mingi cursed under his breath as the main door slammed shut, and a burly man pressed a "Wanted" poster of him against it.

"Is this you?" the man growled, squinting at the poster.

Crap, crap, crap. This is not good.

The thief's eyes widened in dread as he moved the man's finger off the painting of his nose. His heart sank even further. They had gotten his nose wrong... again.

"Now they're just being mean," he muttered to himself, more upset about the artistic injustice than the actual danger he was in.

⁞

The last thing Mingi expected happened. As the thugs closed in, you suddenly began to sing a silly little song about having a dream. At first, he stared at you in disbelief, but then something miraculous happened. The roughest and toughest of the bunch started to join in, swayed by your infectious innocence and charm.

A reluctant smile soon spread across his face. As impractical as it seemed, your innocence had saved you both. "I can't believe that worked," he muttered, watching the formerly hostile crowd now swaying together harmoniously.

But the relief was short-lived.

The doors burst open, and royal guards flooded the tavern. "There he is!" one of the guards shouted.

"Time to go!" He grabbed your hand, pulling you towards a hidden exit. The chase led you to a dangerous cave, the sound of the guards echoing behind you.

The thief's adventurous spirit shone brightly as he led you through perilous situations, always thinking on his feet and embracing the thrill. He expertly navigated the cave, his confidence never wavering even as the path grew treacherous.

But things took a dire turn when the cave began to collapse. Rocks tumbled down, trapping you both under the debris. Water started to fill the cave, and panic set in. Despite his fear, he remained focused. He pulled you out of the water when you dipped back under, refusing to let you drown.

"Hey, there's no point. It's pitch-black down there," he said, gently moving some hair out of your face, his eyes filled with a rare vulnerability.

You felt a pang of guilt as you saw the hopelessness in his expression. "This is all my fault," you whimpered. "Mother was right. I never should have done this. I'm so sorry, Flynn," you cried.

He sighed, gazing at you sobbing pitifully before whispering, "Mingi."

"What?" you turned to look at him, confused.

"My real name is Song Mingi. Someone might as well know."

You smiled softly through your tears. "I have magical hair that glows when I sing."

His eyes widened in exasperation. "What?"

⁞

Just as he thought he couldn't possibly be more amazed, his admiration and affection for you only grew. He watched in awe as you healed his injury with your glowing hair, the pain ebbing away under your touch. Listening to your story, he saw the depth of your courage and determination, traits he deeply admired.

For the first time in his life, Mingi felt comfortable enough to open up about himself. He let down all the walls he had built over the years, sharing his dreams, fears, and the loneliness that had always shadowed him. Something had changed since then, and neither of you had been more certain about your feelings for each other than on the night of your birthday.

He had kept his promise and taken you to see the lanterns. As you both floated on the water, surrounded by the magical glow of thousands of lanterns, he realised that seeing you happy meant more to him than the riches he had dreamed about for so long. This moment, this connection, you—mattered more than anything.

The thief realised that none of the money or recognition would ever mean anything if it meant being without you. Perhaps Flynn Rider was so much more than just a witty and adventurous prince; he was also a romantic at heart. This truth became painfully clear as he prepared to sacrifice his own life to free you, the love of his life, from the clutches of your kidnapper.

On the verge of his own death, he made a heartbreaking decision. He would rather cut your hair, stripping it of its magical properties before you could save him, than allow Mother Gothel to use you any further. With a swift motion, he severed your once-blonde hair, watching as it returned to its original colour.

"Mingi!" you cried, watching in despair as the magic faded. You pulled him into your arms, cradling his face. "No, no, no. Mingi," you pleaded desperately. "Look at me. I'm right here. Don't go. Stay with me."

He smiled weakly, his strength fading. He cupped your face with a trembling hand. "You were my new dream."

Your heart shattered as tears streamed down your cheeks. His hand fell limp beside him, his eyes closing as his life slipped away.

"And you were mine," you whispered, your voice breaking as you held him close, the pain of losing him overwhelming.

⁞

But things took a miraculous turn. Your magic, which had always been tied to your hair, still remained in the essence of your tears. As you cried over him, a single tear fell onto his face, glowing brightly before seeping into his skin.

Suddenly, his breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered open. Life returned to him as the magic worked its way through his body. You gasped, pulling him closer, barely able to believe what was happening.

"Mingi!" you exclaimed, joy and relief flooding your heart.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with wonder and gratitude. "You're magic," he whispered, holding you tightly. Without another word, he pressed his lips firmly against yours, pouring all his love and thankfulness into the kiss.

As he held you close, he silently thanked the heavens for granting him a second chance at life. He vowed to start over and be a better person for his princess. At that moment, everything felt right, and he knew that his new life with you would be the greatest adventure of all.

Wooyoung ↠ Aladdin (Aladdin)

• Energetic • Street-smart • Charismatic •

"Hey! You there, stealing from my brother!" the merchant barked through the bustling market as you handed two starving children the bread you had taken.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Stealing? No, I—"

"You either pay, or I take the bracelet," he sneered, his hand reaching for your mother's bracelet clasped around your wrist. "Let go of me!" you cried, struggling in his grip.

Before the situation could escalate, someone swooped in and pulled you free, placing you protectively behind him. "Easy, Jamal," the young man said calmly, trying to diffuse the situation. But the merchant only glared at you. "Kalil turns his back for a moment, and this one," he jabbed a finger toward you, "steals the bread!"

You huffed in frustration. "Those children were starving!"

The young man sighed, turning to you and lowering his voice. "Do you have any money?" You shook your head. He smiled softly, then gripped your bracelet. "Okay, trust me." Something in his gaze made you feel secure, so you did—against all odds, you trusted him.

You watched in disbelief as he removed your bracelet and handed it over to the merchant. "Here, this is what you wanted, right?"

The merchant grinned, satisfied. "Yeah, thank you!"

"And here's an apple, for your troubles," the young man added with a grin, tossing the merchant a fruit before quickly pulling you away, ignoring your protests. "Hey! I'm not leaving without my bracelet!"

He pulled you closer as you hurried through the market. "You mean this bracelet?" he murmured, revealing the very same bracelet in his hand. Instantly, your worry melted. "Come on."

As you both moved, you suddenly heard the merchant shout behind you, "Wooyoung! Jung Wooyoung! Thief!"

You turned, your breath catching. "Are we in trouble?" you asked. He smirked, his confidence unwavering.

"Only if we get caught."

⁞

"I can't believe..." you trailed off, staring at the breathtaking view from his balcony. "I can't believe we actually did that. That I did that. That we made it out alive!" you exclaimed, still reeling from the intense chase that had led you here. You couldn't shake the memory of him holding your hands, guiding you to safety.

"Thank you... for getting me out of there. Wooyoung, right?" you smiled bashfully, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a little shy. "You're welcome..." he gestured toward you, waiting for your name.

You froze for a split second. "I... I'm Dalia," you blurted out, using your handmaid's name as a cover. No one could know your true identity—not even him.

"Dalia... from the palace," he said, his tone more knowing than surprised. You stayed silent, your back to him. How did he— "Only someone from the palace could afford a bracelet like that," he continued. "And that silk? It's imported, comes straight to the palace from the merchant ships. But not for most servants, which means... you're the handmaid to the princess."

You sighed, finally turning to meet his eyes, a small smile on your lips. "Impressive."

"If you think that's impressive, you should see the city from up there," he said, pointing to the second floor of his humble home. You didn't need to be told twice and eagerly headed up. "Agrabah... it's beautiful. I really should get out more."

He chuckled. "You should tell the princess that." Your smile faded slowly. "The people haven't seen her in years."

Your fists clenched slightly. "They won't let her. Ever since... the queen was killed, the sultan's been terrified. She's kept locked away."

He looked down, a touch of sadness in his voice. "Seems like everyone's been living in fear since then. But the people of Agrabah loved her. The queen."

Your heart warmed at his words. "They did, didn't they?"

As the conversation shifted to his past, you were saddened to learn of the hardships he had endured. He sighed deeply. "Every day I hope things will change, but it never seems to. Sometimes, I feel like I'm just..."

"Trapped," you finished for him, your voice soft. "Like you can't escape what you were born into?" He nodded, meeting your gaze. For a moment, you thought you could trust him. But that hope wavered when he struggled to return your bracelet at your departure.

"So you are a thief," you said, your voice tinged with disappointment. "I'm so naive."

⁞

"But Dalia, I was born for more than just marrying some useless prince!" you argued after meeting yet another potential suitor from Skanland that afternoon.

Your handmaid sighed. "If you had to marry a useless prince, you could certainly do worse than this one. He's tall, handsome, and yes, a bit dim, but it's just a marriage. Although, I suspect you'd rather marry that boy from the market," she finished, and you scoffed.

As she went off to prepare your bath, there was a knock at your door. With a frown, you opened it. "Can I help you?" you asked, and the person turned around. Your eyes widened in shock. "You? You! What are you doing here? Get in here!"

Wooyoung smirked. "I came to return your bracelet."

"My bracelet? Where is it?"

"On your wrist," he replied, and you gasped, glancing down to see it securely in place. "Wait, how did you get past the guards?" you asked in disbelief.

He grinned mischievously. "That was tricky, but I have my ways. While the princess is out, how about a stroll? We can chat."

You crossed your arms, half-irritated, half-amused. "You are unbelievable," you muttered, annoyed at his audacity but even more so at how attractive he was. "You can't just break into the palace and act like you own the place!"

"If you don't have anything, you've got to act like you own everything," he shrugged, flashing a grin. You stared at him, realising you'd never met anyone like him—because no one was like him. "So, what do you say?"

"No! You need to leave, now!" you insisted, pushing him toward the door.

"Fine, but I'm coming back tomorrow," he said confidently. "Meet me in the courtyard by the fountain when the moon is above the minaret." He gestured behind him, and before you could react, he removed your hair clip, waving it teasingly. "To return this."

Your breath caught when he leaned closer, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His voice was a whisper. "I promise." Perhaps you were a fool; you should have known better than to believe him.

⁞

The next time you saw him, you barely recognised him, thanks to the Genie's magic. He was now Prince Young of Wonderland—a clumsy prince who seemed to be trying to "buy" you with his riches, or at least that was what he said, as he awkwardly stumbled over his words. His first impression was far from impressive, and despite his best efforts, nothing he did seemed to win you over.

After countless failed attempts, he finally realised what he needed to do: just be himself. "There's a whole world beyond these books and maps. You should see it."

"How? Every door is guarded," you replied, a bit wistful.

"Who said anything about a door? Sometimes, princess, you just have to take a risk," he said with a grin before climbing over your balcony and leaping off. You gasped, your hands flying to your mouth, heart in your throat. "What just happened?"

Moments later, he reappeared on a floating carpet. You sighed in relief. "Is this…?"

"A magic carpet? Yes," he smirked, offering his hand. "Do you trust me?" Your heart skipped a beat as those words echoed something familiar. "What did you say?" you croaked. He repeated, his eyes steady on yours. "Do you trust me?"

You hesitated before nodding and placing your hand in his. "Yes."

As the carpet soared over a village, you watched the people below celebrating around a fire. You smiled as the prince draped his coat around your shoulders. "Of all the places you've shown me, this is the most beautiful."

"Sometimes, you just have to see it from a different perspective," he replied. You shook your head gently. "No, it's them—the people. They make it beautiful. And they deserve a leader who understands that. I don't know why I think it could be me."

He turned to you, his expression sincere. "Because it should be you."

"Do you really think so?" you asked softly. He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and for a moment, you froze. Only one other person had done that before—

"Does it matter what I think?" he asked, breaking the spell.

By the end of the night, you learned he was who you had suspected all along, though you were now convinced he had been a prince from the start. Wooyoung, caught up in the joy of the moment, kissed you goodnight, only to later drown in constant guilt and worry that the lie he was still hiding could ruin everything.

⁞

But none of that mattered when you discovered it had all been a lie. Even caught up in the battle against Jafar, Wooyoung was still the one you trusted most. And you knew you were right to trust him because, despite the difficult situation, he chose to return to your side and protect you. His actions proved his genuine care for you.

Your feelings for him deepened when he made his third and final wish. Instead of using it to abolish the law that required the princess to marry royalty, he selflessly used it to free the Genie.

"You shall be the next sultan," your father said. "As sultan, you can change the law." He gestured to where Wooyoung had stood moments earlier, but now he was gone. Your heart sank, and your father gently nudged you. "Go after him before it's too late."

And you did just that.

Breathless, you found him only a few steps outside the palace, your hair clip still in his hands. "Stop, thief! Your sultan commands it!" you called after him, your tone teasing.

He turned, biting his lip and holding up the clip. "Sultan? Does that mean I'm in trouble?"

Your heart fluttered at those familiar words. With a smile, you approached him. "Only because you got caught," you whispered before kissing him. The crowd around you erupted in cheers as he pulled you close, returning your kiss with equal passion. At that moment, he realised his wish had come true after all.

Jongho ↠ Prince Eric (Little Mermaid)

• Kind-hearted • Brave • Dependable •

"Max! Come here, boy," the man on board called out to his dog, who had momentarily been distracted by your presence near the side of the ship. Your eyes widened as you took in his striking features—he was human. You'd never seen one this closely before.

Carefully staying hidden, you continued to watch as an elderly man stepped forward to quiet the crew. "Silence, silence. It is now my honour and privilege to present our esteemed Prince Jongho with a very special, very expensive, and very large birthday present," he announced, gesturing toward a massive object draped in cloth at the center of the ship.

"Ah, Grimsby, you old beanpole, you shouldn't have," said the handsome man, whose name you now know to be Jongho and that he was... a prince.

The old man smiled bashfully. "I know. Happy birthday, Jongho." With that, the cloth was pulled away to reveal a heroic statue of the prince. Instead of reacting as Grimsby had likely hoped, the prince grimaced slightly. "Uh, gee, Grim..." he cleared his throat awkwardly. "It's, uh... really something..."

"Yes, I commissioned it myself. I had hoped it would be a wedding gift." Grimsby's tone was hopeful, but Jongho just chuckled. "Come on, Grim. Don't start. You're not still upset that I didn't fall for the Princess of Glowerhaven, are you?"

"Oh my, it's not just me. The entire kingdom wants to see you happily settled down with the right girl."

Jongho smiled, leaning against the railing. "Well, she's out there somewhere. I just... haven't found her yet. But trust me, Grim, when I do, I'll know. It'll hit me, like lightning—no question about it."

Your heart fluttered as you listened from just below. You'd never felt this way about any merman, but you wanted to be that girl for him. He seemed so near, yet impossibly far at the same time.

⁞

Perhaps he shouldn't have said those words—maybe he jinxed it. What started as a cheerful celebration turned into chaos within seconds, as lightning struck and set the ship ablaze.

You watched anxiously from the sidelines, praying he'd be alright. But your heart sank when you saw him dive back into the ocean from a lifeboat, only to return to the ship to save his dog. Though he managed to rescue the pet, he put himself in grave danger, trapped as the ship exploded. Gasping, you swam toward him, just in time to see him weakly cling to a plank before slipping into the water.

Without hesitation, you dove in, gripping his larger frame and fighting through the waves to bring him to the surface. With sheer determination, you swam to shore, finally laying him on the sand as the sun began to rise.

"Thank goodness, he's still breathing. He's... beautiful," you whispered, gently brushing his wet hair and caressing his cheek. As you sang softly, a familiar tune you'd often hum when dreaming of life on land and now... of him, you saw his eyes flutter open. He smiled at you, placing his hand over yours.

Before you could say a word, you heard Grimsby's voice echo along the beach. In a flash, you were gone before Jongho could fully grasp what had happened.

"Jongho! Oh, Jongho! You really enjoy testing my poor heart, don't you?" the old man grumbled, helping him up.

"A girl... she saved me. She was singing... with the most beautiful voice," the prince murmured dreamily, his eyes still scanning the horizon. Grimsby chuckled. "Ah, Jongho, I believe you've swallowed a bit too much seawater."

You watched from afar, your heart aching as they walked away. Did he feel the same way you did? Was this... love? Because you missed him already.

⁞

Humming the melody that had lingered in his mind ever since you rescued him, Jongho was interrupted by the sudden arrival of his dog. Max sprinted across the sandy beach, barking and leaping excitedly at his owner. "What's up, boy?"

The dog darted forward, and without hesitation, he chased after him. You gasped when Max ran up to you, quickly scooting back onto a rock to keep your distance from the unfamiliar animal.

"Max? What's gotten into you?" the prince's voice called out as he appeared, just in time to see his dog circling you. His breath caught when his eyes landed on you. "Oh... I see."

"Are you alright, miss?" he asked softly, stepping closer. "I'm sorry if this troublemaker scared you. He's harmless, I swear..." His voice trailed off as he looked from his dog to meet your eyes. "You look... familiar. Have we met before?"

You nodded immediately, a beaming smile lighting up your face.

"It's you, isn't it? The one I've been searching for," he murmured, gently taking your hands in his. "What's your name?"

But when you opened your mouth to speak, no sound came out. That's when it hit you—you had given your voice to Ursula in exchange for legs, and now had only three days for Jongho to kiss you with true love's kiss, or else you'd belong to the sea witch for an eternity.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. You pointed to your throat, shaking your head. "You can't speak? Oh..." His expression fell. "Then you can't be the girl I thought..."

Frustrated, you frantically waved your hands, trying to show him that you were the one. In your desperate movements, you lost your balance and stumbled forward—right into his strong arms.

"Woah, careful!" he said, holding you close to steady you.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze as the two of you stood still, his arms wrapped securely around your waist while your hands clung to his shoulders. He gazed into your eyes, his expression softening. "You've been through something, haven't you? Don't worry—I'll help you."

⁞

Despite finding your quirks a bit odd, Jongho couldn't help but be charmed by your playful nature. On top of that, you were easily one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He had noticed it when he first met you, but after the maids had cleaned you up and dressed you like a princess, he could barely tear his eyes away. For a moment, he even forgot about the girl he had been searching for, now looking forward to spending the next day showing you around town.

Time flew by, and your second day on land seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. You wandered through the streets together, hands intertwined, sharing meals, dancing, and laughing. Each moment felt magical, filled with heart-fluttering closeness that made it feel like the two of you were already a couple. It was the best day of your life, a world apart from anything you’d ever known. It would've been perfect—if only he would just kiss you.

But there was still time, and you held on to hope. That evening, he took you on a romantic boat ride, and it felt like the moment was finally about to happen. He leaned in a few times, but each time, he hesitated, as if reminding himself you weren’t the one he thought he was looking for. Your heart sank with every pause. Still, after learning your name and feeling a deeper connection, he came so close...

Close enough for Ursula to interfere.

That night, he stood outside, looking melancholy as he hummed the same song that had haunted him since he was rescued. "Jongho, if I may," Grimsby said gently, approaching him. "Sometimes, the best match isn't a dream girl, but someone of flesh and blood—someone warm, caring, and right before your eyes," he suggested, gesturing toward your room, where you were absentmindedly brushing your hair with a fork once again.

Jongho chuckled softly, shaking his head at your antics. Perhaps Grimsby was right. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you weren't the girl he had been searching for... after all, you made him happy. But before he could think further, a woman named Vanessa appeared, casting him under a spell that blinded him to everything—especially you.

⁞

Wiping away your tears, you knew you had to find a way to get to him. Your heart was shattered when you heard he was marrying another woman, but deep down, you should have known something was off. Of course, it was the sea witch and her wicked schemes.

Thankfully, Max, the loyal dog, seemed just as frustrated with Vanessa as you were. He aggressively tugged at her dress, refusing to leave her alone. In the chaos, her seashell necklace—the one that held your voice—fell to the ground and shattered. At last, the spell was broken, and you could speak again. The moment Jongho heard your voice, recognition filled his eyes. "You're the one. It was you... all along."

You nodded, your voice trembling with emotion. "Yes, Jongho. I've been trying to tell you."

"No! Stay away from her!" Vanessa screamed, but the prince ignored her, pulling you close and leaning in to kiss you. Before he could, you gasped, falling to the ground as your legs transformed back into a tail. Ursula's wicked laughter echoed as she returned to her true form, slithering towards you and grabbing hold. "So long, lover boy," she hissed.

His heart nearly stopped as he watched the witch drag you into the depths of the sea. But he wasn't about to lose you again. This time, he would fight with everything he had to save you.

And he did. The battle was fierce and exhausting, but he remained determined. Jongho cleverly commandeered a ship and steered it straight into Ursula, risking everything to put an end to her reign of terror.

Even in his exhaustion, he didn't rest until he found you. This time, you had legs—real, permanent ones—granted by your father after seeing the love you shared. And when he finally reached you, he pulled you close, refusing to let go. "I'm sorry I made you wait so long, but I'm yours now if you'll have me."

I'm aware the format for each story is kinda inconsistent HAHA but that's because this has been in the works for a while now, and the time taken to finish these one by one was long enough for me to develop a new style for nearly every story when I get to them.

Not sure if this was any good. While proofreading, I realised there's a chance this might not make much sense for readers who have not watched these movies. But y'all, let me know your thoughts! <3

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[bluecollarmcandtf]

M O O N L I G H T ™

Chapter III

It's late, and the last thing I expect to find at my nightly workout is my little bro, dressed up like a personal trainer. He looks ridiculous in that cheesy uniform, not to mention the light pouring out of his skull and the smile stamped into his face! I guess the little idiot signed up for Moonlight™: that was one helluva mistake!

"Good evening, sir," my brother speaks as if we hadn't grown up together, "Is there any way I can aid your fitness journey tonight?"

Hearing Ryan call me 'sir' brings a devious grin to my own face. I've bullied this kid for years, and now he's kissing my ass like well-trained puppy. Thanks to Moonlight™, my annoying little bro is just a mind controlled employee who doesn't realize his brother's here, let alone embarrassing him! I wish I could get my entire family implanted with these little Moonlight™ things. Messing with them would be hilarious!

"Oh yeah," I sneer, "And what's string bean gonna do for a guy like me?"

"Well, sir, as a personal trainer here at Planet Fitness, I'll gladly demonstrate how to use the machines, spot patrons with heavy-lifting, and return equipment when finished."

God, he sounds even more annoying than usual! "You really think a someone like you could spot me?" I scoff and bring my bicep to his face, flexing it inches away from his perpetually open eyes.

"Actually, sir, this body can lift 260 lbs on the bench press without injury. The load you have is well-enough below to ensure that I may be of service. Still sir, the weight you're lifting is a very respectable amount," Ryan's smile beamed at me, but mine fell.

"Whatever, I'll be fine," I retort, "Just stand over there and mop up my sweat when I'm done."

"Yes, sir."

My little brother takes a step back as I get ready to lift. As stupid as he looks, standing there waiting on me to finish, he also looks pretty fit. His company polo might be sweaty and gross, but it's tight against his improving physique. He's clearly been lifting a lot while he's been working here, but his gains should not count if Moonlight™ is the one actually working out that pathetic little body! The only way he could bulk up was by becoming a fucking puppet! Talk about sad!

"Fuck!" I grunt, tossing the barbell back as I finish. I did a few extra sets to prove a point and now my arms are on fire. "Towel!" I snap.

"Yes, sir," Ryan rushes over and wipes the sweat off my brow. I just laugh in his face.

"I think I got some sweat on my sneakers too," I jab, "You can wipe them off and then put twenty more pounds on the bar."

"Of course, sir."

My brother gets on his knees with the towel, giving my sneakers a cursory buff. I don't know what personal trainer has shoe-shining in his job description, but I've heard these Moonlight™ employees can be pretty pliant. Apparently, you can make them do quite a bit with the loopholes in their programming. Maybe I can get Ryan here to do something even more embarrassing than polishing his big bro's shoes!

The next week, I worked out every night.

Turns out, bullying my little bro was great motivation to go to the gym! When I saw him during the day, I never mentioned the fact that I knew; didn't want to scare him off. At night, I had every opportunity to take out my frustrations on him. If he pissed me off during the day, I could boss him around at the gym, ordering him to follow me around and wipe down every piece of equipment. I could call him whatever names I wanted and yell at him as loudly as I pleased; he had to just stand there with the best customer service smile and say "yes, sir."

Playing around with Ryan was fun, but it wasn't until I went out for a drink that I ran into my second brother. I guess he had the same idea to get hired with Moonlight™...

"Can I fix you a drink, sir?" my brother, the middle child, yells over the club's EDM.

"What the hell?" I shout, "Ryan's dumb enough to Moonlight™, but I didn't think you were!"

Sam just stares back with the same flashlight eyes and widely stretched lips. Of course his programming won't let him do anything outside of bartending! He's probably not even conscious in there! Ryan was always a bit of an impulsive twerp, so I wasn't surprised to see him Moonlighting™, but Sam is different. He'd said he'd never put his body to work at night. Something about the behavior of Moonlighters™ always rubbed him the wrong way...I guess he changed his mind.

"A round of beers," I tell him, warily gesturing to the back corner, "For me and our crew."

Sam's glowing stare looks over my shoulder and sees our friends, the guys we both hang out with, "Yes, sir. I'll have it right out for you."

I return to our pals, anxious for my brother to follow. Sam is only a year younger than myself, so we run around with the same crowd, yet he didn't recognize any of our buds. Now he's about to serve them like a fucking waiter. My catatonic brother is about to walk into the most humiliating situation of his life. I just get to sit back and watch!

"Sam?" one of them asks a moment later.

"Here are your beers, sir," my brother plucks the bottles off his tray and sets them out for each of his friends, completely oblivious to their stunned reactions, "Is there anything else I can get any of you?"

"Holy crap, dude!" another pal turns to me, "Since when did your brother start Moonlight? He looks like a total idiot!"

Sam doesn't seem to register the insult.

"I don't know man," I laugh, "Tonight, I guess."

"Fetch us some napkins," one guy quips with an amused flick of his hand.

"Right away, sir." Sam answers a little too promptly, and whisks away.

"Right away, sir, Ha!" the guy repeats with a mock salute, "We've gotta mess with him!"

Sam returns, obediently passing out napkins, but I'm finding it harder to meet his gaze while he's grinning so manically. This situation is starting to feel more awkward than hilarious. These guys will never let him live this down!

"Sam, get over here and give this paying customer a sloppy BJ!"

My brother stiffens, and for a second a jolt of fear runs down my spine, terrified that Moonlight™ will actually make him comply. Pranks are all good and fun, but I do not want to see my brother about to blow another dude!

"I apologize, sir," he finally resumes, "That is not part of my responsibilities as bartender."

Thank God.

"Then get something to clean this up," he laughs wildly, "You spilled my beer!" Our friend then pours half his drink on the crotch of his jeans, staring at Sam with the amused eyes of a drunk fool. This guy always gets weird after a few drinks. I don't know why we still bring him along. Normally, we just ignore him.

"Of course, sir," Sam answers attentively.

For the next ten minutes, I sit in silent horror as my brother returns with a rag, proceeding to get on his knees and wipe down another man's crotch with painful dedication. Of course, our friends are all howling with laughter at this point, taking video evidence that they can embarrass Sam with later.

It feels like a lifetime, but Sam finally stands up, "I hope I cleaned that up well enough for you, sir."

The guy feels at his wet jeans, saying, "I don't know if that's good enough, bitch."

"I'm sorry, sir, let me try ag-"

"No! It's my turn," someone else cuts in, pushing his way to the front, "You spilled some on my ass that needs cleaned up!"

The gang loses it, doubling over with laughter as Sam prepares to spend the next ten minutes wiping down another guy's ass, but I've had enough, "No! We're done here, thank you. Go close our tab," I bark.

"Yes, sir," Sam turns on his heel. His dumb obedience is more disturbing than entertaining at this point.

Our friends all give me a hard time for sending him away, but I'm not having it. Maybe I'm not drunk enough, but they're enjoying this a lot more than I am. At this point, I'm ready to call it a night and go home, so I say my goodbyes and head for the exit.

The walk home isn't a far one, but I pass a few notable places on the way: one being my dad's dark office building. Our old man has been working late nights there lately. In the dimly lit lobby, I recognize someone...

"Dad?" I gasp.

"Good evening, sir," my father says to me without any note of familiarity in his voice.

"Wait, you're moonlighting too?" it comes out as more of an accusation, but at this point I'm fed up with finding family members secretly working random mind-controlled night jobs.

"I am a security guard employed through the Moonlight™ corporation," his gravelly voice sounds foreign, delivering these programmed prompts, "If you'd like, sir, I can help you apply for a Moonlight™ position, and you can start making the most of your sleeping hours too!"

"Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea, dad?" I ask, knowing this stupid security guard persona isn't capable of answering.

"He didn't."

The voice of someone else in the room sends shivers down my spine. I whip around, and see a gangly, middle-aged man stepping forward.

"Jeff?"

"Hi, Jamie," my uncle says, sauntering up to his far taller brother and resting an arm on his shoulder. My dad's attentive posture doesn't waver. He just keeps on acting like the perfect sentry for the building and the perfect armrest for his brother.

"Do you mind telling me what's going on!?"

He sniffles and sighs like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "Yes, I suppose this charade of mine was doomed to be found out sooner or later. I put your father in the Moonlight™ database. He was just wasting his sleeping hours at home in his bed, and he'd always refuse to let me sign him up, so I did it in secret. He makes a great guard. Right Tom?"

Uncle Jeff claps my dad on the back, prompting him to announce a proud, "Yes, sir!"

"See," my uncle turns back to me, "No harm done. Your old man gets paid to stand around in his sleep. Its harmless!"

"But he doesn't know!" I yell, seething at my uncle's sheer abuse of his place in the company, "This has to be illegal, and are you just pocketing Dad, Ryan, and Sam's salaries?"

He rolls his eyes, "I am right now, but the four of you don't even make that much."

"Did you just say the four of us?" I grunt.

"Oops," he holds a hand to his forehead and curses under his breath.

"AM I FUCKING MOONLIGHTING WHILE I SLEEP TOO?" I am screaming at this point, "You're fucked up!" I bark. Angrily, I stomp towards my uncle, but my father takes a firm step planting himself between me and the man. His steady palm is holding the baton at his belt, making me nervous. Is my dad about to beat me up for this creep?

"Excuse me, sir," my dad smiles at my uncle, "Would you like me to escort this man out of the building?"

"That won't be necessary," my uncle says, "I'll just trigger his Moonlight™ shift to start now. You can go back to standing in the corner"

"Yes, sir," my security guard father answers placidly, returning to his attentive stance.

"You wouldn't," I snarl.

"Oh, trust me, I will. As I understand it, overriding a subject's body while awake means you'll be fully conscious. I'll work on something to make you forget this whole incident later."

He presses a few buttons on an ipad, and suddenly my vision is engulfed in a purple haze. My back straightens, my muscles relax, and I feel my face contorts into a giant smile. Suddenly, my entire body seems to be gone from my grasp, and I'm constrained to a tiny space in my head while something else takes over.

"Enjoy your shift," my uncle snickers with a glare.

"Thank you, sir. I will," I feel my voice pushed out of my throat with an excited tone that isn't mine. Before I know it, my legs are carrying me away from my uncle, leaving him with my father, to march down the dark street...

"Here's your order, sir," my voice has the trademarked Moonlight™ eagerness in it as I reach out the window and hand over the meal.

"Fuck off, sleep-freak!" the teen in the driver's seat flips me off, making his immature friends cackle as they speed off. I can't do anything but smile and watch as they weave away. They have no idea I'm actually conscious in here.

After being forced to leave my uncle, I found myself striding into a fast food restaurant through its backdoor. I could instantly tell the place wasnt anywhere I'd eat at because the dumpster smelled like soggy fries and old meat. The kitchen was a fluorescent-lit pit, with a thick feeling of oil hanging in the air. I could barely take in the surroundings before I was changing out of my clothes by some lockers. I was horrified that Moonlight™ was making me fucking strip, but before long my hands were pulling on new clothes: a uniform. The polo felt like it'd been sitting at the bottom of the locker since the last shift, drying in sweat, and the pants were sticky with something unidentifiable. I was mortified to be pulling on a fucking hairnet and apron, but I had no choice.

"Blondie's here early," a smoker's voice purred from behind me. I had a bad feeling he'd been standing there for a while, watching.

"Hello boss," my voice answers, apparently recognizing the overweight, unshaved creep, "I'm ready to start my shift, sir! Where am I needed today?"

I watched as the man licked his stubbly lips, his beady eyes crawling all over me. Without any shame, his sweaty palm groped the growing bulge in his khakis. He was obviously happy to see me, and he probably thought I couldn't actually see him! I guess, every fucking night that my uncle's made me work in my sleep, I've been under the supervision of THIS pervert!?

"Get to the fryer," his scratchy throat moaned, "You know I want you to get nice and sweaty for later."

"Yes, sir. I'll be sure to work up a sweat for you," I answer, confused and disturbed by my response. The cheer in my voice did not match the overwhelming gloom I felt when the man slapped my ass. His hand lingered on my rear for too long, but I couldn't even frown.

Since then, I've been boiling fries and flipping burgers. Every so often I have to hand an order out the window, but my heart races every time I do. Three orders ago, the customer threw their soda back at my coworker, he's a fairly average guy in his thirties, and he was dowsed in Coca-Cola. It didn't keep Moonlight™'s programming from working: he just kept manning the grill, smiling, eyes glowing, and hair dripping with cherry flavored juice.

"Ouch!" at least, that's what I want to say. The oil sizzles and pops, and a few drops of hot grease splatter onto my arm, but I don’t flinch. The control won’t let me.

Suddenly I feel someone leaning in behind me. My spine shivers as my manager says, "It's closing time, Blondie. I'll send everyone home so you and I can clean up like usual." He whispers it in my ear, with his flabby arms wrapped around me like we're fucking lovers! I wish I could vomit!

"Sounds good, boss," I find myself saying.

One by one, the manager dismisses each of my moonlighting coworkers. I can't help but feel jealous as they strip out of their uniforms by the door. It isn't just that they get to leave; they also have the luxury of not knowing what's going on. They're all asleep. I'd give anything to at least be unaware of whatever this fucking pervert is about to do!

My body is preoccupied with whatever shit needs to be done for closing, wiping down the tables, taking out the trash, and more.

"Mop time," the manager suddenly announces, holding the raggedy thing out expectantly.

"Yes, sir," my voice answers, and I drop what I'm doing to accept the mop. The crotch of his pants is unzipped, but my bodies already turned away from him, turning all my attention to swab the tiles floor.

"You're doing it wrong again, Blondie," he purrs slowly, "I'm gonna have to help you like usual."

"Thank you, sir," my voice sounds grateful, but I am anything but. The pervert presses his rotund body against my back and holds my muscular arms with his own chubby ones. I can feel his penis poking into me below his gut, but my body accepts his touch like he's just a boss helping out an employee.

I guess this asshole found a loophole in Moonlight™'s fucking programming. He's going to touch me all he wants under the guise of demonstrating the right way to mop.

The creep spends the next ten minutes guiding my arms back and forth. "Fuck, you're bubble butt feels even better than usual, Blondie," he breathes in my ear. If I had control of my muscles, he wouldn't stand a chance, but right now, they're putty in my boss's arms. Meanwhile, his waist gets busy dry humping his chode into my rear end. "I'm so glad a jock like you was dumb enough to try Moonlight!" he grunts, his tongue dangerously close to my ear. I can only thank God that he can't take my pants off! After several painful minutes of him spitting more disgusting comments onto my cheek, his arms drop mine and plant themselves on my chest. His hands sloppily grope my pecs and pinch my nipples. I've never felt more pathetic. The man makes one final exclamation, "FUUUCK!" and I can tell he has finally gotten off.

"Thanks for the help, boss," I find myself saying.

With heavy breaths, he staggers back. The sudden open air on my back makes me realize just how hot and sweaty that slob was, and I can feel the slimy remnants of his balls slipping down my back and legs.

"Good job as always, Blondie," he breathes heavily with satisfaction.

"Thank you, sir," I answer. My voice hasn't lost its awful chipper quality, and my face is still stuck in a smile like I hadn't just been taken advantage of.

"Finish mopping up, and then you can lock up and clock out," he winks as if we shared some inside joke. I hate that all he sees is my smile.

"Yes, sir," I answer, but the creep has already waddled out of the building and slammed the door shut.

The sudden silence is unbearable. It makes the monotonous task of mopping the sticky floors all the more unpleasant. What's worse is that I can't pause to wash the manager's cum off my back. It soaks into my pants as I work, trapped in my own body. At least I know why these pants are so sticky. Honestly, I hope Uncle Jeff will wipe my memory...

[thempregsimmer]

When Alex first found out he was pregnant, it was a surprise, to say the least. He never imagined that he'd be carrying his husband’s child, but the modern world had its share of twists, and he was ready to embrace the journey. One thing he hadn’t considered, though, was how much his lifestyle would need to change to accommodate the growing life inside him. His old car just wasn’t cutting it anymore. The cramped seats, the bumpy rides, the lack of storage for all the things he needed as a soon-to-be father—none of it felt right.

“I wasn’t just buying a car,” Alex explained, “I was buying peace of mind.” The spacious, supportive seats offered him comfort during his increasingly frequent trips to the doctor, and the adjustable ride height made it easier for him to get in and out as his belly grew larger.

“But it’s the smooth ride that really sold me,” he said, rubbing his stomach with a smile. “The new car handles the road like a dream. Every bump, every uneven surface—it smooths them all out. It’s exactly what I needed, especially during the last trimester when comfort is everything.”

And as Alex prepared for fatherhood, the vehicle proved to be more than just a mode of transportation. Its spacious back made carrying supplies—everything from strollers to baby bags—effortless. “This car is really for families,” he added. “I guess, in a way, I’m starting my family a little earlier than expected.”

He chuckled, standing tall next to his car on the beach. It had become more than just a car to him; it was a partner in his journey. “I wouldn’t want to be driving anything else right now,” Alex said. “It’s kept me calm, comfortable, and ready for whatever comes next.”

---

Jordan had always been an adventurer. He loved long drives along rugged coastlines, hiking trips, and spontaneous road trips with friends. But when he found out he was pregnant, he knew his trusty old car wasn’t going to cut it anymore. The baby growing inside him meant his priorities were changing, and he needed a car that could handle both the road and the responsibilities that came with this new chapter in his life.

“I never thought I’d be saying this, but being pregnant has totally shifted how I look at cars,” Jordan said, resting a hand on his growing belly. “I needed something that wasn’t just tough but comfortable too. A new car was the answer.”

Jordan appreciated the space it offered. As his body changed, he found himself needing more room—both for comfort and for all the stuff he was now carrying around. “It’s surprising how much space a guy with a baby bump needs,” he laughed. “But with this car, it’s like I have my own little cocoon. The seats are adjustable, and the back has more than enough room for all the gear I need.”

He pointed to the SUV's off-road tires, grinning. “And don’t get me started on the off-roading capabilities. I might be pregnant, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped exploring. This thing has taken me to some of the most beautiful, remote places where I can relax and connect with nature. It’s like I haven’t missed a beat.”

But the biggest surprise for Jordan was how much the car helped with the emotional side of his pregnancy. “Honestly, it’s been a crazy ride—pun intended,” he admitted. “But being in this car makes me feel strong and in control, even when my body is doing its own thing. This pregnancy wasn’t at all planned, it’s a result of one of those passionate dinners that come with breakfast in bed afterwards. However, I’m glad it happened, and that I’m carrying my son inside me now. He’s taking up a lot of space, both in my belly, and in my head. Sometimes I feel like I’m loosing control over my life and body, and I know it’s worth it, but it’s a feeling I have never had before.”

As Jordan leaned against his SUV, he looked out at the horizon. “I know it might sound strange, but this car has given me a sense of freedom. Even with the changes happening in my life, I can still be me. And when my baby comes, I know this car will help us have so many adventures together.”

For Jordan, the car was more than just a vehicle. It was a lifeline to his independence, helping him navigate both the literal and metaphorical roads of pregnancy and beyond.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Ten: Truth

Chapter WC: 8,808

Chapter Tags/Warnings: none

A/N: Checked the wordcount on the completed chapters doc today and it's over 100k already?? anyway the next few chapters are for real my fav. i live for the drama

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

"I can't believe they gave me Archive duty," Ahsoka groans, rolling her eyes. 

You smirk, turning the page of the dusty tomb lying in front of you. You had managed to escape the ire of the Council thanks to Obi-Wan, but Ahsoka was not so lucky. She was sentenced to "volunteer work" at the Temple Archives indefinitely, a punishment that she seemed to take very personally. 

You had offered to keep her company while you were still recovering, and you had to admit, when you weren’t forced to be here, it was kind of fun. There was something calming about the Archives, the smell of old paper and leather, the dim light, the quiet.

You'd spent more time here than most other Jedi, and even though the work was often tedious, it was something you found peace in. Ahsoka didn't seem to feel the same.

"It's not that bad," you say, your eyes scanning the page. "Besides, if you hadn't disobeyed Anakin, this wouldn't have happened."

"Well, maybe, if he hadn't given the order in the first place—"

"Ahsoka."

"I know, I know," she sighs, her shoulders slumping. She pushes the crate she was organizing to the side and collapses on a nearby bench, her arms crossed. "He's just...so frustrating sometimes."

"Yeah," you chuckle. “He is.”

“Did you ever feel that way about Master Yaddle?"

"Sometimes," you reply. You glance up from your reading and smile at her. "But I’m sure I frustrated her much more. I’m still not sure why she took me as her Padawan, honestly."

"Because you're a great Jedi," Ahsoka points out. She grins and leans forward, her chin resting on her hands. "And, because, despite what you say, you're actually pretty nice."

"Nice?"

"Yeah," she laughs. "You're one of the few Jedi I can talk to about things. You listen. Not everyone does."

"You could talk to Master Plo, or Anakin, or even Obi-Wan," you say, closing the book. You look at her, a frown on your face. "There's a lot more Jedi in the Temple."

"I know, but..." Her voice trails off, and her expression grows sad, the humor fading. “You’re the only one who’s not trying to teach me some kind of lesson. Who isn’t expecting something from me. You don't care that I'm young, or that I'm not a real Jedi yet, or—"

"You are a real Jedi," you interrupt. You stand and walk over to her, taking a seat beside her, your hands resting on your knees. "Don't ever doubt that. I don't. I know how strong you are, and I know what you're capable of. And, so does Anakin. Don't let this one mistake define you."

She sighs and rests her elbows on her thighs, her chin cupped in her palms. "I know, but it's hard," she says quietly. "Everyone has an opinion, and they're all just waiting for me to mess up again. To prove that I'm not fit to be a Jedi."

"That's not true," you tell her. "The Council might be a little disappointed with your actions, but no one doubts that you belong here, Ahsoka. No one."

She doesn't respond.

You watch her carefully, your brow furrowed. It isn’t lost on you how similar her words are to your own internal monologue, and how often she mirrors your own thoughts and fears. She’s just a kid, and you remember being her age, the pressure, the weight of expectation, and the struggle to be enough.

While you doubt you’ll ever feel like you measure up, or will ever stop feeling like an outsider, you know, deep down, that no matter what happens, the Order is where you belong. You belong with the Jedi. There is no other place for you than here.

"If it makes you feel any better," you say, trying to lighten the mood. You nudge her shoulder. “You’re only continuing the tradition of disobedience set by your Masters before you. Anakin, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon—“ you pause and let out a sharp breath before continuing “—and his master have all done their time here. Practically a rite of passage, I’d say.”

She rolls her eyes and nudges you back. "You're not funny."

"Sure I am."

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe Master Kenobi ever had to do this," she scoffs. "I mean, he's like, the perfect Jedi."

"Ha! Well, I guess you'd be surprised." 

You smirk, remembering the many times Obi-Wan had come to your aid during your years as younglings, covering for you and, often, getting himself into just as much trouble as you.

It was always Obi-Wan, with his clever words and quick wit, who got the two of you out of hot water, and you always found it amusing how no one seemed to realize it was him who had started the whole thing. It was like people couldn’t see past the image they had of him, or their assumptions, and it made him the perfect accomplice. 

"We caused plenty of chaos back in the day,” you add with a fond smile. "I can't even begin to tell you all the stories I could share. I have years worth of them."

"Oh really?"

"Yep," you confirm. "Obi-Wan was a terror."

Ahsoka snorts and raises an eyebrow. "Now I know you're lying."

"It's true. He was a troublemaker. Still is, if I'm being honest,” you laugh. "We were the worst influences on each other. That's probably why we became such good friends."

"I can't imagine Master Obi-Wan doing anything even close to disobeying the rules," Ahsoka says. She leans forward, her chin in her palms, a mischievous grin on her face. You smile back and cross your legs, settling into the bench. "I'm going to need proof, or a story. Either will do."

"What do you want to hear?"

"Something crazy," she prompts. "Something he would never tell me. Something wild. And then I'll believe it."

You chuckle and lean back against the wall, your eyes drifting, the memories filling your mind. You could think of a hundred different tales, many of them far too embarrassing to repeat, and most of them you doubted would be appropriate to tell an impressionable teenager. You were not the best storyteller, but if Ahsoka wanted entertainment, you could oblige. If only a little.

"Okay, okay, let's see..." you muse, thinking. "Okay, here's one. When I was thirteen years old, Obi-Wan was a newly made Padawan, and I was still a youngling. One day, we had a day off from training, and, well, let's just say, we weren't exactly sticking around the Temple."

"Where did you go?"

"Well, Obi-Wan had heard about this place," you continue, smiling. "Apparently, there was this abandoned warehouse deep in the lower levels, converted it into a kind of club. It was the coolest thing we had ever seen, and we were determined to get in. Only problem was, we were a bit too young. Not that that stopped us. We had been going to this club, sneaking out, for about a week, before a member of the Jedi Council caught us."

"Which one?"

"Master Plo, actually,” you say, a smirk tugging at your lips. "We got lucky. I think he was more impressed than upset."

Ahsoka lets out a snort and covers her mouth. "No."

"Yes," you insist. "He caught us sneaking out of the Temple and followed us. We made it all the way to the warehouse before we realized he was right behind us."

"How did you get away with it?"

"We didn't," you chuckle. "I think we had a few choice words with the Council that night. But we got to go back to the club a few more times before we were caught again. Obi-Wan managed to get himself banned a few months later, though. Something about trying to fight a guy over a girl."

You look away, biting your cheek. Ahsoka didn't need to know that you were the girl. That it was the first, and the only time that the two of you had kissed. You were both so young, and it was nothing more than a childish attempt at romance. It was a bittersweet memory, tinged with a touch of guilt, and you had long ago buried it.

"I'll have to ask him about that," she teases. "I bet there's a lot more stories he'd never tell me."

"You can try," you challenge. "Good luck."

"What was he like?" Ahsoka asks. She shifts on the bench, turning her body toward you, her eyes sparkling. "Before he was a Knight, or a Master, or...all that. What was he like back then?"

"He was different," you tell her. You hesitate, your brow furrowing, and you shrug. "He was...happier. More carefree. He didn't take things as seriously as he does now."

"He's still pretty carefree," Ahsoka points out. She tilts her head, her gaze growing thoughtful, and a small frown tugs at her lips. "I've never really seen him angry, or upset. Except for when you were in the bacta tank."

You pause. You hadn't thought much about Obi-Wan while you were recovering. Your mind had been a bit preoccupied with other matters, but now, looking back, you had noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and the tension in his shoulders, and the way his jaw clenched every time someone brought up the battle. It had only been a week since your return, and yet, he seemed to have aged ten years, and the worry was still plain on his face. 

Even now, there was still a distance, a coldness, between the two of you. He hadn't been by the Healers Ward again, and he'd avoided you at the debriefing with the Council even though he'd spoken in your favor.

"He was worried," you say simply. You glance down at your hands and twist your fingers, swallowing the sudden tightness in your throat.

"I’m sure you’ve noticed that we share a bond. Something like a Master and Padawan bond. It's stronger, because we were raised together, and because our abilities complement each other, and, well, because we've spent our whole lives together."

"What is it like?" she asks. Her eyes are wide, and she's listening intently, her attention focused on you. "Having a bond with someone? Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes," you confess. You let out a heavy sigh, and you look down, your expression troubled. "When the other person is in danger, or suffering, it can be difficult to deal with. And, sometimes, it can be overwhelming. Obi-Wan is quite skilled at shielding, but...I’m not so fortunate. I’m sure feeling my pain was not easy for him."

It’s an excuse, and you know it. But the truth was much harder to admit. Obi-Wan being upset enough at your injuries that Ahsoka had picked up on it was an uncomfortable thought. The reality of how deeply you had hurt him, and the fact that you hadn’t even considered how he would feel, was not something you were prepared to deal with. Not right now. Perhaps not ever.

"You're close," she comments, her voice soft. She hesitates, and she gives you a sad smile, her eyes searching yours. "I...I don't have a bond with Anakin. Not like you and Master Kenobi. I've always wondered what it would be like."

"It's strange," you reply slowly. You shrug and give her a rueful smile. "It’s been this way for so long, and I just...I don't know. I don't know what it's like not to have it. The closest we ever came to losing it completely was after..."

You trail off, your smile fading, and you turn away, unable to meet her eyes. "After the Naboo incident. Things were never the same, after that."

Ahsoka doesn't say anything.

You can't blame her. You don't have the words. There's so much left unsaid, so much you could tell her, but you know you won't. It's not the right time. Perhaps it will never be the right time. And so, instead, you change the subject, pushing the pain and the regret away, burying it under the weight of a smile. 

"What else do you want to know?"

Ahsoka's gaze grows thoughtful, and she leans back, resting her head against the wall, her brow furrowed. She looks up, and her lips purse, her fingers tapping against her thighs. 

Finally, she smiles, a wicked glint in her eyes. "What about Rex?"

Your eyes widen, and you can feel the color draining from your face, the shock making you speechless. You hadn't expected that question, and it takes a moment for you to regain your composure, your mind scrambling to think of a response. But Ahsoka doesn't wait. 

Instead, she keeps talking, the grin growing. "Rex told Anakin that you had saved his life."

"Yes," you say cautiously. You frown, and you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. "And?"

"Well," she draws the word out, and she sits up, her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped. "Anakin said he'd never seen you act like that before."

You open your mouth to respond, and then close it, unsure of what to say.

"So," she presses. "Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Friends."

"Yes," you snap. "Of course we're friends. He's a friend. We're friends. Is that a problem?"

"No, no," she replies quickly. "Of course not."

"Good."

"But—"

"Ahsoka," you interrupt, and you let out a sharp breath, your fingers rubbing your temples. "There is no but. Rex is a friend. I saved his life. End of story."

"Sure," she agrees. Her expression is far too innocent, and you're not going to play into whatever she's thinking. You stand and return to the table, picking up the book, and Ahsoka follows, sitting down next to you. "I just thought, maybe, there was something else."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know," she says, feigning nonchalance. She pulls another book off the pile and begins leafing through the pages, a casual, carefree tone to her voice. "He's been asking about you."

Your head snaps up, and you stare at her, the shock giving way to surprise, and then hope, the flutter in your chest returning. "He has?"

Realizing your mistake, you bite your cheek and look back down at the book, your heart pounding, and your throat suddenly dry. You swallow, and you try to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks,and the feeling in your chest. 

Rex had been asking about you. He had talked to Anakin about you. Those were perfectly normal, innocent, things for him to do. Nothing strange. Nothing to indicate anything more.

"Mmhmm," Ahsoka hums, her eyes flicking up, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. She looks back down, the grin growing, and she nudges your shoulder. "He was worried the Council was going to punish you for saving him."

"That's it?"

"I'm not sure," she muses. She tilts her head, her fingers drumming against the book, her expression thoughtful. "He seemed pretty concerned. More than he normally is."

You shake your head and lean forward, pretending to be engrossed in the text.

"I'm sure he was just being polite," you mumble. You keep your eyes on the page, but your mind is elsewhere, and the words blur before your eyes. You force yourself to keep reading, not daring to look up. "I doubt he was all that worried."

"Hm," Ahsoka says.

You wait a few more moments, and then, when Ahsoka doesn't speak, you glance over at her. She's looking at you, her lips pursed, a knowing smile on her face. You stare at her, and she stares back, and finally, you roll your eyes, letting out a sigh.

"Fine," you grumble. You shut the book and shove it away, leaning back in the chair, your arms crossed. "We are friends, and I enjoy his company. Is that what you want to hear?"

Ahsoka shrugs and grins, and you can't help the smile tugging at your lips.

"He's a good person," she says. She's not looking at you anymore, but she's smiling, and you can tell she's holding back a laugh. "Very loyal."

"Yes, he is," you agree. You look away, a frown forming, and your voice drops. "And a good soldier."

There's a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, a heaviness, a sudden sadness that you hadn't expected. You're not sure what brought it on, but it's there, a reminder of the truth, of the reality. You swallow the lump in your throat, and you glance down, your fingers tracing the cover of the book, a strange numbness settling in.

"Yeah." Ahsoka looks at you, and her brow furrows, the teasing tone gone. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," you lie. You force a smile and shrug. "Everything's fine."

"You're sure?" she asks. She looks skeptical, her head tilted, and she frowns. "You look...upset."

"I'm not."

"You don't have to lie," she says. She shifts in her chair, and she turns to face you, her hand resting on your arm, her expression earnest. "If there's something wrong, you can tell me. I won't judge."

"I know," you reply softly. "But there's nothing to tell. I'm fine."

She doesn't believe you. You can tell by the way she's looking at you, her eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. Ahsoka doesn't press the issue, though, and you're grateful for that. You don't want to talk about it, and, honestly, you're not sure if you can. Or, if, when the words come out, they'll sound as stupid as they do in your head.

"Now," you say, and you push yourself up, grabbing a crate. You walk over to the other side of the room and begin sorting through the books, setting them on the shelves. "Let's get back to work."

"Ugh, not more sorting."

"It's your punishment," you point out. "Besides, I've had enough excitement for one day. I could use some boring, manual labor."

"I guess," Ahsoka mutters.

You laugh, and you return to your task, the quiet settling over the room. Ahsoka sighs and does the same, and the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in silence, only occasionally exchanging a few words. 

The sun begins to set, and the shadows grow, and soon, the entire room is bathed in the orange glow of the sunset, the warmth filling the air. It's peaceful, and comfortable, and it's exactly what you need. No drama. No complications. No one trying to get into your head, or telling you how to live your life. It's the kind of solitude you haven't had in a long time, and, even if you can't enjoy it for long, it's a nice respite from the chaos.

You're not sure how much time has passed, or how long the two of you have been working, but the silence is broken when the door slides open. You turn and watch as Obi-Wan enters the room, a smile on his face, his hands tucked in his sleeves. He greets the both of you and comes to stand beside the table, his attention focused on you. His expression is serious, his eyes searching, and you avoid his gaze.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he says, his voice polite, and his words carefully chosen. You can tell he's uncomfortable, and it makes you uneasy. "I was hoping I might have a word with you, if you're not too busy."

"Of course," you reply.

You look over at Ahsoka, who’s staring at the two of you, her gaze flicking between you, and she smirks, standing and grabbing the crate she had been organizing. "I'll give you some privacy."

"Thank you."

She leaves the room, leaving you and Obi-Wan alone, the quiet a heavy, uncomfortable, thing. You don't know what to say, or what to do, and it's an awkward few moments before he breaks the silence, clearing his throat, his hands moving to clasp behind his back.

"I was wondering how you were," he says. He takes a step toward you, and he hesitates, his eyes dropping. "I haven't seen much of you these past few days."

"Yes," you mumble. You cross your arms and shrug, avoiding his gaze. "I've been, um, busy. You know. Helping with the Archives. And healing."

"I see."

There's another pause.

"So," he says. "Are you feeling better? Has the Healers Ward released you yet?"

"They released me a few days ago," you tell him as you turn, walking over to the window, your fingers brushing along the ledge. "They were quite happy with my recovery. It didn't take long for me to heal."

"That's good."

"And, I feel fine," you add, turning to look at him. "I've been back in training for a few days now."

"Good."

"Good."

"Well," he says. He steps forward and stops, his hand on the back of a chair, his expression guarded. "I'm glad you're back on your feet."

"Yes," you murmur. "It's, uh, it's good to be back."

He gives you a curt nod, and you nod back, and then there's another long, agonizing, silence. You look at him, and he looks at you, and when it becomes too much, you turn away, your fingers tracing the window frame, the metal cool beneath your fingertips.

"You said you wanted to speak with me?" you ask the window.

"Yes."

You hear him take a deep breath, and when you look over your shoulder, he's staring at the floor, his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. It's strange to see him so...distraught. So unsure of himself.

"I came to apologize," he says quietly. He crosses his arms, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "For my actions the other day. I was not myself, and I should not have acted as I did."

"Oh," you murmur.

"I was...wrong to have treated you as I did. You didn't deserve it. And I was out of line."

You let out a sigh and close your eyes. "Obi-Wan..."

"Please," he interrupts, and his tone is pleading, and it stops you. "I need to say this."

"Alright," you say. You move away from the window, and you lean against the table, your arms crossed and your brow furrowed. "Say what you need to."

"I was angry," he admits, and the words hang in the air, heavy and sharp. He pauses and takes a breath, and you can tell he's choosing his words carefully. "I was upset. You have no idea how much it hurt, seeing you like that. Lying there, unconscious. Not knowing if you would make it. I..."

He trails off, and he looks away, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"And I know," he continues. He looks back up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can't help but see the pain, the hurt, the desperation. "I know that you would do it again, if given the choice. And I can't blame you for it. But it doesn't make it any easier."

"Obi-Wan," you murmur. You can feel your eyes burning, and you swallow the sudden lump in your throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"I know," he says. "I know."

"I wasn't thinking. I was acting on instinct, and—"

"I know," he repeats, his voice gentle. "It was not your fault. You did what was right, and, had it been anyone else, I would have been proud. You saved a life. That is something to be celebrated. But...you're not just anyone."

"I can't promise that I won't do it again," you tell him. "If the situation arises, I won't hesitate to save another soldier. Even if they're not a Jedi. Or a friend."

He smiles, a small, sad thing, and he nods. 

"I wouldn't expect any less," he says. He steps toward you, and he takes your hand, squeezing gently. "It is, after all, one of the many reasons I admire you."

You can't help the smirk tugging at your lips. "Well, that, and dazzling personality and my good looks, right?"

"Among others," he teases. His expression grows solemn, and he glances down, his thumb running over your knuckles. "I'm sorry. For everything. I'm sure the last thing you need is for me to be acting as I was."

"Well, with the amount of tantrums Anakin and I have thrown over the years, it's only fair that you get to have one every once in a while."

Obi-Wan grimaces and shakes his head "Please, don't remind me."

"You're not still mad, are you?" you ask. He tilts his head, a faint frown pulling at his lips. "I mean, you're not going to lecture me again, are you?"

"No," he replies, his tone wry. "Not today."

"Good."

"You're not completely forgiven, though."

"What?"

"I'm afraid that, if we're ever in a similar situation," he continues, his voice casual, his eyes narrowing, "and if you ever make me think you're dying again, I will be forced to have a very stern conversation with you."

You roll your eyes. "Obi-Wan..."

"I mean it," he insists. "I'll have no choice."

"Well," you drawl. You pull your hand free and push yourself away from the table, crossing your arms. "If I die, and you feel the need to lecture my corpse, by all means, go right ahead. I won't stop you."

He gives you a flat look, and you hold back a smile, raising an eyebrow.

"We'll see," he says finally. His lips twitch, and he sighs, rubbing his forehead. "In all seriousness, though, I am sorry. For everything. I was unfair, and I shouldn't have blamed you. I shouldn't have taken out my anger on you."

"No," you agree softly. "You shouldn't have."

"I know," he sighs. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching out to grasp your elbow, his touch gentle. "I don't want us to be like this. We've fought enough over the years. I want you to know that I trust you, and despite my fears, and the concerns I have, I will always support you. Whatever decisions you make."

You let out a breath, and his hand moves, sliding up your arm, coming to rest on the back of your neck. He gives you a smile, and there's a flicker of regret and sorrow before he pulls you forward, his forehead resting against yours. His grip tightens, and you put your hands on his waist, holding onto him.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"I'll always be here for you," he says softly. "Whenever you need me."

You smile and lift your chin, brushing your lips across his cheek, a fleeting, brief, touch. "And I'll always be here for you. Whatever you need."

He chuckles and squeezes your neck, his breath warm on your skin. "I appreciate the sentiment."

"Now," you murmur, and you pull away, your hands moving to rest on his chest. "What I really need right now is a stiff drink."

He raises an eyebrow. "That is not what you need right now."

"But it would help," you insist. "A lot."

"No."

"C'mon," you beg, your hands curling in the fabric of his tunic. You give him a pout, and he groans, his eyes closing. "It'll be fun. Just like old times."

"You are not getting me into any more trouble than I'm already in," he says. He pulls your hands off of him, and he holds them in his, a stern look on his face. "The Council has already spoken to me about your reckless behavior. I'd prefer not to give them more reason to doubt me."

"They won't know," you promise. You squeeze his hands, your eyes bright. "We'll be careful."

"You don't know how to be careful."

"Then teach me," you counter, a smirk playing on your lips.

He lets out a sigh, and his brow furrows, his mouth twisting. You can see the temptation in his eyes, the desire to give in, and it's only a matter of time before you convince him. He hesitates, glancing over at the door. "It is late. Most people should be gone by now."

"See?" you say. "Easy. Quick drink. No one will see."

"Fine," he concedes. "But we will not be staying long."

"Thank you."

You release his hands and step back, your fingers lacing together, your grin widening. Obi-Wan gives you an exasperated look and gestures for you to go, and you laugh and start to back away.

"I'll meet you at the usual place," you tell him. You turn and head for the door, calling over your shoulder. "Don't keep me waiting."

"Wouldn't dream of it!" he calls out, his tone amused. "Just...don't get us caught."

"Never," you promise.

You're through the door and gone before he can say anything else, and the moment you're alone, you take a deep breath and run a hand through your hair. It's not until you're nearly to your quarters that the nerves begin to settle in, and the excitement gives way to apprehension, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You're still a bit wary of Obi-Wan's sudden change in mood. It's unlike him to act like he did, and to be so openly hostile. And, as much as you'd like to believe that everything is alright, that things were fine, there was still something gnawing at the back of your mind. 

The look on his face when you told him how you saved Rex's life was burned into your memory. You couldn't help but be reminded of how he looked at you the day after your knighting, when you'd told him your plan to find Yaddle's killer, and he'd treated you like a child.

It was the same, the same disdain and anger, the same look of disappointment, and the same, cold, distance. The only difference was, this time, you hadn't done anything wrong. You had saved a life. There was nothing for him to be disappointed about.

But the look was there, the same unspoken accusation. And it stung.

It’s only then that you realize he’d neglected to let his walls down during the conversation. There had been no opening, no chance to see into his mind. No moment of vulnerability. You hadn’t noticed, and now, you couldn’t understand why. It didn't make sense.

Obi-Wan had never kept his thoughts and feelings hidden from you before. He had never been afraid to show his emotions, or his pain. It was always you who'd had trouble with it, who'd struggled with letting him see the truth. He was the one who always opened up.

And now, he wasn't. 

You shake the thought from your mind and continue on, ignoring the unease growing in your chest. He'd apologized then, and he apologized now, and he meant it. You didn't need the Force to know that. And he'd agreed to sneak out with you, which was more than he would have done if he was truly upset with you.

You would have a nice evening, and nothing else would happen. And tomorrow, the two of you would move on. Everything would go back to normal.

You reach your quarters, and you let yourself in, making a beeline for the fresher. You don't waste any time and strip out of your robes, stepping under the hot spray, and you wash quickly, rinsing the day's grime and sweat off. The water cascades down your body, washing the tension away, the warmth enveloping you, and for the first time in days, you can breathe, the knot in your chest loosening.

Once you're finished, you dry yourself and step back into the room, rummaging through the pile of clothes haphazardly thrown in your dresser. You pull out a simple shirt and a pair of pants, and you dress, slipping on a pair of boots and a cropped leather jacket. It's been too long since you've dressed so casually, and it feels odd, like you're not yourself. But, it's also a refreshing change from stifling robes.

You comb your hair, pulling the wet strands back into a loose braid, and you're ready. You check the time and grab a few credits from the dresser, shoving them into your pocket, and you're out the door.

You arrive at the bar a short while later, and you spot Obi-Wan sitting in the corner, a glass in his hand and his attention on the crowd. He sees you and smiles, and you make your way through the room, the noise and the heat hitting you. He's wearing civilian clothes, his hair loose around his face, his beard trimmed, and he looks almost relaxed. Almost.

You reach the table and slide into the seat across from him, his gaze appraising. You can't help but blush, and you cross your arms, giving him a look.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," he replies. His eyes linger on yours for a moment longer, and then they trail over the rest of your body, his lips quirking. "It's just been a while since I've seen you like this. It's...refreshing."

"Well," you say, leaning forward. You lower your voice, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "I wouldn't want to draw any attention to myself."

He chuckles, and his eyes sparkle with amusement, a glint of something else in their depths. "I appreciate the effort."

You smile and reach over, plucking his glass from his hand. He doesn't protest, and you take a sip, the liquor burning as it goes down. You set the glass back on the table, and his gaze lingers, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. You raise an eyebrow and stare at him, and he shakes his head, pushing himself up.

"I'm going to get another drink," he says. He nods his head towards the bar. "Would you like one?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll be right back."

He leaves, and you watch him walk away, and the moment he's out of earshot, you groan, the realization of what you'd done, and where you were, setting in. It was bad enough that the two of you had snuck off to a cantina together, and were dressed like this, but it was even worse that it felt...odd. Strange. And you weren't sure why. It was the same as every other time you'd met him for drinks, and yet, it wasn't.

There was something different. Something...off. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it was there, and it made you uneasy. Like the calm before a storm.

"Hey," someone says.

You turn and see a man standing next to the table, a bottle of something in his hand, his smile friendly. You can't help the sigh that escapes you. It was going to be one of those nights.

"Hey," you reply. Your eyes drop, and you frown, the words on the bottle blurring. It's some sort of liquor, and a cheap one at that. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm hoping I could buy a beautiful woman a drink," he says. He sets the bottle down and pulls out the chair, sitting. You glance around the room, looking for Obi-Wan. There's no sign of him. "And, maybe, have a chat. Get to know each other."

"Look," you begin, and your voice is strained, the exhaustion starting to creep in. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not—"

"C'mon," he insists. He grabs the bottle and opens it, pouring a shot. He pushes it towards you, a grin on his face. "Just one drink."

"No, thank you."

“You won’t regret it.”

“No.”

"One drink," he repeats. He lifts the glass and nods, and when you don't move, his smile fades. "Don't be rude."

"Oh, I'm being rude?" you snap. You stand, and you tower over him, your hand on the table. He stares up at you, his mouth hanging open. "I've had a long week, and I'm not in the mood. Now, leave me alone."

"Alright, alright," he mutters. He stands and picks up the bottle, backing away. "You don't have to get so upset."

You don't reply, and he turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd. You let out a breath and slump back into the chair, rubbing your forehead. It's not long before you're joined again, but this time, it's Obi-Wan who slides into the seat, a bottle and two glasses in his hand. He notices the look on your face, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Another admirer?"

"Yes," you mutter. You take the glass he offers and down it, and he stares at you, concern flickering across his features. "I guess I'm not used to the attention anymore."

"Hm," he hums. He takes the glass from you and refills it, his brow furrowing. "You shouldn't be out here like this. You're too..."

"What?"

"I just..." he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He looks down and frowns. "I worry."

"Obi-Wan, I'm not made of glass," you snap. "And I'm not some defenseless child. I'm not going to shatter because some idiot tries to hit on me."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

He looks at you, and he sighs, his eyes searching yours. He opens his mouth to speak, and you brace yourself for whatever he's going to say, knowing that it's going to be a lecture, or a reminder of why you shouldn't be out here. Of why you shouldn't be with him. That it's not safe. That it's a risk. 

But, he doesn't say any of those things. Instead, his eyes drop, and his jaw clenches, and when he finally speaks, it's a whisper, the words soft and gentle. 

"You're a beautiful woman. A powerful, intelligent, wonderful, woman," he says. He looks at you, his expression open, and you can't help the way your heart leaps into your throat. "You have an air of confidence and determination, and...you're breathtaking. It's impossible not to notice you. Especially here."

You gape at him, and his lips twitch, his eyes darkening, a hint of mischief in his gaze. "I can't blame him for trying. I would, too, if I were him."

You can feel the heat spreading across your cheeks, the flush creeping up your neck. He's always been honest with you, and open, but this is different. He's never said anything like this before. You feel yourself scrambling, trying to regain your composure, and when you do, you let out a shaky laugh.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," you say. You lean forward, your arms resting on the table, a smirk playing on your lips. "Is that jealousy I hear?"

"Not at all," he assures you, and the sincerity is almost believable. He leans closer, and his gaze drops, his voice low. "If anyone is jealous, it's him. He'll never have you. Not the way I do."

Your smirk widens, and you laugh, taking the bottle from his hand and pouring another shot. "Well, you have nothing to worry about. I'm here with you, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are."

You hold his gaze, and you down the shot, the alcohol burning. It's a dangerous game, and the both of you know it, and, as much as you want to keep pushing, and prodding, and testing his limits, you know better. It's best to let it go. It's best to move on. Besides, this was supposed to be fun.

"So," you say, pushing the bottle away, a small smile on your face. "Now that you're done worrying about me, can we finally have some fun? I didn't come here to sit and mope."

"Of course." He raises his glass and tilts his head. "To us."

"To us."

The rest of the evening is a blur. It passes in a haze of alcohol and laughter, the conversation turning to trivial things. There's no mention of the war, or Felucia, or the Council, and you're glad. You need a night off, and a break from everything, and you know Obi-Wan does too. The two of you have had so few chances to relax, and even fewer to spend time together. 

You find yourselves falling back into the routine of years past, and, as the evening wears on, the two of you become more and more carefree. You're laughing and teasing, and Obi-Wan's telling stories about his adventures as a young padawan, and your memories of the past come flooding back. The times the two of you have snuck off, and the things you've done, and the trouble you've gotten into. And it's nice. Comforting. To be with him, and to enjoy his company. Even if you know it can't last.

You've managed to drag Obi-Wan out onto the balcony, and the two of you are leaning against the railing, watching the people below, the wind ruffling your hair. You can feel his warmth, and his arm is pressing into yours, and the alcohol has left a pleasant buzz in your head. You're not quite drunk, but, judging by the flush in Obi-Wan's cheeks, he's further along than you are.

"I have a confession," he mutters. You raise an eyebrow, and he gives you a crooked smile. "I've missed this. Missed...us. Doing this. Being here."

"Yeah," you murmur. You glance at him, and he meets your gaze, his eyes bright. "I've missed this too."

"We should do it more often," he says. He reaches over and brushes a strand of hair from your cheek, his touch lingering, his thumb stroking your skin. "Spend time together. Outside the Temple."

"Obi-Wan."

"What?"

"Don't do this."

"I'm not doing anything," he counters. He turns to face you, his expression earnest, his voice soft. "I'm not saying that we should be together. Or that we should..." He trails off, and his eyes flick down, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. "But, I've missed this. And, I think you have too."

"Obi-Wan..." You let out a breath and run a hand through your hair, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "What's wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're...different," you explain. You shrug and turn away, looking out over the city. "It's not just tonight. You've been acting strange for weeks. Ever since Felucia. I just..." You shake your head sigh, glancing over at him. "Are you sure you're alright? That everything is okay?"

"Yes," he replies, and the reply is quick, and curt, and too easy. You stare at him, and he shrugs, a frown tugging at his lips. "I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You tell me," you snap. You turn and lean against the railing, crossing your arms, your glare hard. "Because, one minute, you're angry with me, and the next, you're...this. Tell me what's going on."

He holds your gaze for a moment, and then his eyes drop, his hand coming up to cover his face as a low groan escapes him.

"I don't know," he mutters. He takes a step closer and leans against the railing, his arm brushing against yours. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Obi-Wan..."

"I'm tired," he whispers. He looks over at you, his eyes sad, his voice hollow. "I'm tired of the war. I'm tired of the fighting. I'm tired of losing people. And...I'm tired of having to pretend."

"Pretend what?"

"Everything," he answers. His hand drops to the railing, his fingers curling around the metal, his grip tight. "Who I am. How I feel. What I'm thinking. What I want." He turns and looks at you, his eyes meeting yours, a flicker of emotion crossing his features. "What I want with you."

"And, how do you feel?" you ask softly. "What do you want with me?"

He swallows and turns away, his eyes focused on the skyline, and you can see the struggle in his face. He doesn't speak, and the silence grows heavy, and uncomfortable, and you let out a frustrated sigh.

"Obi-Wan—"

"I care for you. I have always cared for you. More than I should. More than is right."

He turns to face you, and there's a desperation in his eyes, and a longing, and you know where this is going. You know what he wants to say.

But, he doesn't. Instead, he sighs, his shoulders slumping, and he shakes his head.

"You mean the world to me, and I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me."

"You don't know that," he insists. He takes a step closer, and his hands are on your waist, his touch light, his gaze searching yours. "I'm not the only one who has changed."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're different, too," he says. His hands move, and they slide up your back, his thumbs brushing along your cheek. "The last few months have changed you. And I'm afraid of what will happen. What will change."

"Nothing's going to change," you promise, and your voice is low, and soft. "We're the same. We're just older. And wiser. And maybe a little more jaded. But, we're still the same. You're still the same man who was my first love, and I'm still the same girl who fell for him."

He smiles, a small, sad, thing, and he lets out a breath, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes close, and your hands move to his chest, the fabric warm and soft beneath your fingers, his heart beating steadily beneath your palm.

The tension in his body melts away, and his touch is gentle, his thumb stroking your cheek. You can't help but press closer, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight.

"I don't know what I would do without you," he murmurs. He lets out a shaky breath, and you can feel him trembling, the weight of the world, the pain and the fear, bearing down on him. "If anything happened to you, if I lost you..."

"You're not going to lose me," you repeat. You reach up and cup his cheek, your thumb running over his stubble, his beard rough against your skin. "I promise."

Obi-Wan doesn't say anything. Instead, he lets out a quiet, strangled, noise, and his lips are on yours, soft and warm and familiar. 

It's a desperate, needy, kiss, and it's all too easy to give in, to let yourself melt into him, his hands on your face and his mouth moving against yours. You haven't been kissed in years, and you haven't kissed him in even longer, and, despite your best efforts, you can't help but respond, your fingers sliding through his hair, a low moan escaping you.

His grip tightens, and his tongue is in your mouth, his body pressing against yours. You can't think, and you can't breathe, and you can feel his need, his desire, the emotions, raw and unguarded, spilling over. He's shaking, and his lips are insistent, and when he pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark.

The two of you stare at each other, the silence stretching between you, and the gravity of the situation hits you. You've been friends for years, and you've been lovers, and now, here you are, on the precipice, and you're teetering on the edge. One more step, and there's no going back. One more step, and everything will change.

A sinking stone settles in the pit of your stomach, the fog of alcohol fleeing, and a wave of regret and shame crashing down. You can't believe what you've done. How far you've fallen. And how easily. After all the years you've spent avoiding each other, and trying to be friends, and now, here you are.

"We shouldn't have done that," you whisper. You push him away and take a step back, and he reaches out, his hand on your elbow. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"You're right," he says. His hand falls, and he looks away, a frown tugging at his lips. "We shouldn't have."

Obi-Wan runs a hand through his hair, his eyes closing, and he lets out a long breath. When he looks at you again, the guilt and the sadness in his eyes is gone, replaced by resignation. He reaches over and gives your shoulder a squeeze, his tone gentle. "Come on, let's go home."

You nod, and he releases you, stepping back. You can't meet his gaze, and you turn, your eyes fixed on the ground, the two of you making your way across the balcony. He keeps his distance, and you keep yours, the silence between you tense and heavy.

You're both back in the Temple a short while later, and Obi-Wan leads you back to your room, his pace quick. He stops outside the door, and his eyes meet yours.

“Will you be alright?” he asks, his brows furrowed.

“Yes,” you mutter. You can't meet his gaze, and you fidget, your eyes on the floor.

He sighs and lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"Look," he says softly. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," you say. "I...shouldn't have let that happen."

"It's not your fault," he assures you. His thumb brushes across your cheek, and he gives you a smile. "We both let it get out of hand."

"Still, we shouldn't have..."

"No," he agrees. His hand falls, and he steps back, his smile turning wry. "We definitely shouldn't have."

You manage a weak smile, and his eyes soften.

"I meant to say this before," he starts. "I didn't want to interrupt the moment. But, I meant it."

"Meant what?"

"What I said earlier," he clarifies. He clears his throat and looks down, his gaze fixed on his shoes, his words hesitant. "I...don't want to lose you. I don't think I could bear it. And...I'll do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen."

"You're not going to lose me," you promise. You smile and grab his hand, squeezing his fingers, your voice soft. "I'll always be here."

He squeezes back, his eyes soft. "I know you're still struggling with Master Yaddle's death, and everything that's happened, and, well, I'm here. It's not much, but my clearance can help. If there's something you need, if there's something that would aid you in your search, let me know. I'm not going to ask questions. Just...if there's anything that can give you closure, I'll get it for you."

"I appreciate the offer," you reply. "But, I don't think the Council would take too kindly to you helping me. Especially after what happened. They're probably going to be watching us both like hawks for a while."

"Right." He sighs.

"However," you continue. "I'd appreciate it if you could pull any records regarding the last few months she was alive. Missions. Debriefings. Anything."

"Consider it done," he promises.

"Thank you."

"Of course," he says. "Anything else?"

"Actually, yes," you say. "There is something else."

"Yes?"

You step forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging him, and he hugs you back, his cheek resting against your head. You hold him close, breathing in his scent, his warmth surrounding you, his arms tight around your waist. There's so much you want to say, and so many things you want to tell him, but none of it feels right. Not after what's happened, and the choices the two of you have made. And, for a moment, you just let yourself be, his heartbeat steady against your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest calming.

"I love you, you know that, right?" you say quietly as you pull away.

He chuckles and brushes a stray hair from your forehead. "Yes, I do."

"Good." You step back and turn toward your door, looking over your shoulder at him. "Now, go. Get some sleep."

"You too," he says, his lips quirking. You can't help but return his smile, and he turns, heading for his room. He glances over his shoulder, and he winks. "Good night, darling."

"Good night," you call out.

He vanishes around the corner, and you turn and open the door, stepping into your room. The door slides shut, and you're greeted by the empty, familiar, sight of your quarters. The walls are bare, the windows are uncovered, and the floors are cold. It's not a welcoming space, and it never has been, but tonight, the silence feels particularly loud. You're used to being alone, but, right now, the loneliness is almost overwhelming.

You're not sure why.

Or, perhaps, you don't want to admit why.

Either way, the ache in your chest is still there, the emptiness still lingers, and you know it's not just from the alcohol. You try to ignore the feeling, and instead you settle on the floor to meditate, focusing on the Force and letting the energy flow through you. 

It doesn't work, and you know it won't. But, you have to try. The alternative is too much to bear. You sit for a few hours, your eyes closed, and your hands resting on your knees, until, eventually, sleep pulls you under.

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@silly-starfish

[jesncin]

Are you at all excited for the upcoming Absolute Martian Manhunter book later this year? It'll be the most high-profile launch J'onn has been a part of for a long while, being DC's attempt at an "Ultimate Marvel" line. Given how the approach seems to be defined by removing elements of the characters' status quo - Superman has no Krypton tech, Batman is not a billionaire, Wonder Woman is the last of the Amazons etc. - I think there's a very real possibility that for J'onn they'd pivot in the opposite direction and give us a living Martian society. If only because J'onn has so little anyway, there's not as much to remove as with other members of the League, so the logical thing would be adding something back in to shake things up. I'm personally hoping for some combination of Weird and Noir.

I'm absolutely (heh) excited for it (because a new refreshing change even in an elseworld story is exactly what J'onn needs right now!) but also cautious and,,, concerned. DC's revealed the Absolute gimmicks for just about all the other solo supers but J'onn is essentially still a rumor? What's going on there? I was also concerned when Superman's Absolute gimmick was supposedly "he'll be more alien than human" "he doesn't have a fortress of solitude, no Kents, etc" which,,, sounds a lot like J'onn tbh but we'll have to wait and see. Sometimes writers do this thing where they try to do something new with Superman and it's just re-worked J'onn lore. And J'onn lore is fundamentally flawed so in turn that take on Superman doesn't work, but that's just me with early concerns.

Ooh! That's a good point actually! That feels like the most logical shakeup they could do, and YJa helped warm people up to the idea of a living Mars (which I also agree would spice things up and differentiate J'onn from Clark more). And I'd absolutely (heh) love more supernatural-weird-noir for J'onn! We finally had J'onn play into being a martian detective in the 2019 Identity run, but it was more cop drama than detective noir which I would love to see. My only addendum to the idea of a living Mars as an Absolute gimmick is, since YJa popularized this already, what else will this take do to innovate on that idea? My personal wish list is:

Revitalize J'onn's cast system (a mix of old and brand new characters. Don't just make him watch tv to care about humans. Give this martian relationships!!)

Figure out his themes outside of grief!! (I love sad Martian man but he needs to do more than that! It's been stagnating his character)

No Justice League stuff or other superhero cameos/team ups. (J'onn NEEDS to prove he can stand on his own as a solo character so he can stop being pigeonholed as the League's heart or therapist.)

Fresh new take on Martian world building (please get rid of Martian racism, it's dumb and never made sense. It's a shapeshifting society and the idea of characters like M'gann essentially "greenfacing" to "pass" is so weird)

Critical reimagining of J'onn's relationship to justice (we need to get rid of or critically examine his relationship to copaganda.)

Integrate Blackness more thoroughly into his character (CW Supergirl and that one Nubia Coronation special comic are still the only takes that have done this. Come on guys!!)

More thorough reflection of J'onn's multiple identities (undoubtedly what makes J'onn special. But the comics rarely dig into what it means for J'onn to be multiple people. I would love it if his identities [especially the racialized ones] weren't treated as so,,,disposable.)

Ma'alefa'ak please (I just want to see him again I don't even care if they do a bad job. However all I ask is he be a green martian and J'onn's twin again. And a slutty design.)

The last time we saw a big overhaul to J'onn's character was the New 52, and the major flaw of that run was that it had no clear thematic intention to how it interpreted his character. So we ended up with just a bunch of references and a convoluted edgy story that doesn't help J'onn become a self sustaining solo character. The Absolute line is the perfect platform to revitalize him as a character, but I hope the writers can think in the long term to combat his foundational issues.

[pretzel-box]

Chapter 2: The W in WcWonalds stands for Winning

Tags: Pure comedy

Words: 2,9k

“Allo, Allo. Allo! Pspspsps, Allo!” Casimir beamed brightly at the other man, holding up a small box labeled Paper Cups as if he’d just discovered the secret to life.

Allo, without lifting his head entirely from the ridiculously long newspaper that stretched halfway down the table, side-eyed Casimir and then glanced at the box. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow and sighed. “If you’re trying to sell me paper cups again, please know that I will dispose of them just like the last 23 you’ve tried to push on me.”

Casimir’s grin didn’t falter for even a second. In fact, it widened. He shook the box a little for emphasis. “Ah, but no, no, my friend. This is no ordinary box of paper cups. This is a box full of—”

“COKE!” Nick's voice suddenly boomed through the air, cutting Casimir off entirely. Nick barreled through a nearby patch of open water, waving frantically. “I WANT TO ORDER A COKE!”

In front of him, Cheshire was swimming as fast as possible, trying to escape whatever chaos Nick was trying to rope them into this time.

Casimir, still holding up the box, blinked and watched the scene unfold. He glanced at Allo, who hadn’t even bothered to look up from his paper.

“...Coke?” Casimir finally muttered, confused, before shaking it off and continuing his pitch. “Anyway, as I was saying, this box is full of—”

“I SAID, COKE!” Nick shouted again, now completely ignoring everyone else as he chased Cheshire around the water, determined to complete his non-existent order.

Casimir sighed dramatically, muttering under his breath. “Forget the paper cups. I should’ve invested in better staff members.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Allo raised an eyebrow, still clutching the ridiculously long newspaper but not actually reading it anymore. His tone was more of a dare than a question.

The inquiry alone set off a mischievous glint in Casimir’s eyes. Without hesitation, he shoved Allo off his seat and plopped down himself, ready to deliver a grand tale. “Ah, my friend, let me take you on a journey.”

And with that, a flashback started—whether anyone wanted it or not, everyone around them was suddenly pulled into it.

It was probably a Tuesday afternoon. Inside the community room, Sasha stood in the middle, notebook in hand, while Painter sat idly on top of a catering cart. Painter’s mobile body wasn’t quite ready yet, so Sasha, ever the problem-solver, had resorted to using the catering cart as his temporary mode of transportation.

“So, we should improve our quality of life by adding more human-like stuff,” Sasha declared, placing her notebook down on Painter, who quietly blinked.

Painter, who was basically a high-tech computer with personality, hummed thoughtfully. “The system suggests that a quality improvement for life would involve... good food. Good food is essential for a good atmosphere.”

Casimir’s voice echoed through the flashback, narrating as if this were an epic saga. “Ah, but of course, this suggestion was the catalyst for everything. The search for 'good food' began, and soon, chaos would follow.”

Back in the present, Allo had stopped pretending to care about the newspaper. He stared blankly at Casimir. "This is all about food?"

Casimir nodded solemnly, but before he could continue the saga, another loud “COKE!” came from Nick, still sprinting through the water, causing Cheshire to swim faster to escape.

"Of course, it always starts with food," Casimir said dramatically, pointing at Nick as if this proved his point entirely. "And ends with—"

Before Casimir could finish, Angela stormed into the scene, hands on her hips, glaring at everyone. "WHAT is going on here?! Do you think this is a playground?! Nick! Stop shouting about Coke! Cheshire, stop encouraging him! And you—" She pointed at Casimir, who tried his best to look innocent. "Stop throwing people off chairs and starting flashbacks without warning!"

Casimir blinked, then grinned sheepishly. "Oh... mother mode, activated."

“Ah, Allo, I’m sorry for startling you,” Angela’s tone switched in an instant, going from stern to soft and motherly. Amilia paddled up behind her, making her way onto land before plopping down next to Casimir.

Casimir pouted dramatically, folding his arms. “I wasn’t done—”

But Angela, ever so gently, took over, and like some sort of magical spell, we were all once again pulled into another flashback.

“I know the perfect source for good food,” Cordelia’s voice rang out confidently as she entered, a spotlight somehow illuminating her entrance. She strutted down a random set of stairs, stepping into the room with the energy of a magical girl lead. Without hesitation, she squished herself between Sasha and Painter, striking a pose. “McDonald's!”

“McDonald’s? We can’t do that. It has a copyright,” Painter deadpanned, his digital voice full of skepticism.

“WcWonalds...?” Sasha offered, her voice uncertain but filled with hope. The suggestion hit Cordelia like a revelation, her eyes lighting up in awe.

“WcWonalds!” Cordelia repeated, as if it were the most groundbreaking idea in existence.

Angela of the past, shook her head at the absurdity, watching the scene play out with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "You all really are impossible." She sighed, but it was the kind of sigh a mother gives after realizing her kids are too far gone in their antics.

The flashback ended, and the moment Angela wanted to continue, another person came crashing into the room.

“Lord Commander, oh mighty WcWonalds leader, Casimir. René started a fire in the kitchen, innocent fries are burning.” Cyrus called out, his neat little WcWonalds uniform was now covered in soot.

Casimir blinked, before sighing. “What about the Walkie Talkie I gave you?”

“It fell victim to the fryer, it is now among the burning pommes.”

Casimir took the paper cup box, opened it and revealed a set of Walkie Talkies, sponsored by Sebastian. He threw a new one to Cyrus, not noticing that Angela snatched one for herself too out of the box.

Amelia wanted to grab one too, trying to fish one out with her mouth but Angela kept her in place, shaking silently her head.

The WcWonalds—formerly an abandoned cafeteria near the community room—had become a gathering spot for anyone seeking mischief or simply trying to avoid responsibilities. Dusty tables were half-cleaned, the counters lined with mismatched kitchen gadgets that looked like they'd been scavenged from a dump. The old sign out front, haphazardly covered with duct tape, now proudly read “WcWonalds,” a creation of Cordelia’s, still beaming over her brilliant copyright dodge.

Inside, chaos reigned as usual. Painter rolled around on his squeaky, upgraded cart, stationed behind the cash register, which refused to stay closed no matter how hard he tried. Cordelia, wearing a lampshade turned into a hat, was overseeing the operation with the air of someone who believed they were running a legitimate establishment. Meanwhile, Cheshire, who escaped Nick, sat at the counter, arms crossed and half-amused as he watched the antics unfold.

The whole group could stay at the restaurant without drying out thanks to the fact that most of the area is damaged, flooded or just naturally having water leaks.

"So, today’s special is...” Painter’s robotic voice paused dramatically as he calculated, “...whatever isn’t expired in the back fridge."

Cheshire leaned back, smirking. “Ah, the usual, then. Can’t wait to see what’s alive back there.”

René, wearing a firefighter’s helmet after their most recent mishap in the kitchen, walked in with a slightly dazed look on their face. They wails, afraid of setting anything else on fire.

Meanwhile Cordelia shouted: “Has anyone seen the toaster oven? I’m pretty sure it disappeared after I used it to heat up some fries.”

Security, leaning against the counter with her tail in a small bucket of water, waved her off. “It’s probably with the deep fryer. I saw it lurking under the sink last time I checked.”

“Right, the deep fryer incident,” Painter muttered, his mechanical voice tinged with guilt. “It... uh... exploded during ‘Experiment 12.’”

Sasha, sitting at a booth with her notebook, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what was ‘Experiment 12’ again? I don’t have that one listed.”

“Oh, you missed that,” Cheshire replied dryly. “They wanted to see if you could fry fries twice and make them better. Spoiler alert: no.”

As the conversation carried on, René started rummaging through the kitchen, pulling out random items and tossing them aside in search of the toaster. A large jar of pickles rolled across the floor, narrowly missing Security's bucket.

Cordelia, taking her managerial role way too seriously, slapped her hands together. “Alright, people! Time to focus. What’s the WcWonalds slogan again?”

Painter beeped softly before saying, “We can’t get sued if we don’t sell anything.”

Cheshire chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”

A group of new "customers" wandered into WcWonalds, looking both curious and mildly confused. Asterion, with his usual stoic expression, led the way, followed by Tapu, who was already trying to hold back laughter at the sight of the makeshift restaurant. Hanako peered in shyly from the doorway with Yuri, still unsure about the whole situation, and Osiris trailed behind, looking far too regal for the mess she was about to step into.

Cordelia, now fully embracing her self-proclaimed manager status, puffed out her chest and called for order. She turned dramatically toward Security, who was leaning against the wall, half-asleep, with her arms crossed still in the same bucket.

“You! Nr. 7! Bring the customers to a table!” Cordelia ordered, finger pointing like an overly enthusiastic drill sergeant.

Security, who hadn’t moved a muscle in response, slowly raised an eyebrow and shifted her gaze to Cordelia. “Nr. 7? Did you just call me by a number?”

Without missing a beat, Cordelia nodded, clearly proud of herself. “Of course. It’s the official WcWonalds ranking system. You’re number seven.”

Security blinked, her expression unchanging. “And who decided I’m number seven?”

“I did. Obviously,” Cordelia said matter-of-factly. “Now, do your job, or you’ll be demoted to number... uh... 13. Which is bad.”

Security exhaled slowly, clearly unimpressed but too tired to argue. “And why, exactly, is being number 13 bad?”

Cordelia hesitated for a second. “Because... because... that’s the person who has to clean the fridge. And trust me, no one wants that job.”

Painter, from behind the register, beeped in agreement. “The probability of someone finding a sentient yogurt in there is approximately 73%. Proceed with caution.”

Tapu burst out laughing, slapping Asterion on the back. “Did you hear that? Sentient yogurt! I knew this place was special!”

Asterion, as stoic as ever, just grunted and found a seat, looking like a king who had been forced to dine in a peasant’s tavern. Osiris, meanwhile, eyed the tables with disdain before gingerly sitting down, making sure to inspect the chair first as if it might crumble beneath her.

Hanako, still lingering by the door, quietly murmured, “Is it safe in here?” While Yuri tried to spot an open seat that didn't scream danger.

Cheshire, who had been watching the whole interaction from the counter, leaned over and grinned. “Safe? Sure. But I wouldn’t drink anything from the soda machine. Last time we used it, it started spewing foam... and that was three weeks ago.”

Hanako blinked, now even more hesitant to step inside. “I... I’ll just sit by the window,” she mumbled, sliding into a booth far away from the chaos. Yuri followed her with a nod, feeling rather comfortable in the flooded part of the facility.

Cordelia, completely oblivious to the growing unease of her guests, clapped her hands. “Alright, everyone! We’re a well-oiled machine here! Number 7—uh, Security—get them some menus!”

Security just sighed and grabbed a pile of random, crumpled papers from behind the counter, tossing them on the nearest table. “Here. The ‘menu.’ Good luck.”

Tapu unfolded one of the papers and raised an eyebrow. “This is... a takeout flyer from a Chinese place. And it’s from last year.”

Cordelia beamed. “Exactly! Our food transcends time and space. We don't need real menus! Just... feel the vibe of what you want to eat like royalty. Customer is King.”

Painter whirred. “Vibes detected: 99% likelihood of disappointment.”

Osiris, completely unamused, stared down at the so-called "menu" before deadpanning, “I’m royalty. I do not 'feel the vibe' of my food. I expect a menu, and I expect service.”

Cordelia shot her with finger guns. “And that’s exactly what you’re gonna get! Just... not today.”

At that, Tapu couldn’t hold it in anymore. She slapped her hand on the table, cackling. “This is the worst place I’ve ever been, and I love it.”

Asterion leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, his usual grim demeanor cracking slightly. “This is what passes for ‘good food’ around here? No wonder half of them look malnourished.”

Cordelia, not one to be defeated, marched up to Painter. “Alright, get the food ready! What’s the special of the day?”

Painter beeped a few times before announcing, “Special of the day: leftover fries and... one singular chicken nugget.”

Tapu snorted. “One nugget? How generous.”

Cordelia, determined not to lose her managerial swagger, nodded confidently. “It’s a gourmet experience. We serve... minimalist portions.”

Osiris groaned, rubbing her temples. “I demand real food.”

From somewhere in the back, René’s voice wailed which kinda meant, “I FOUND THE TOASTER!”

A loud crash followed, and smoke started wafting out from the kitchen, followed by René stumbling out, their firefighter’s helmet askew. Sasha called out after seeing the smoke. “Uh, minor issue. The toaster may have... uh... caught fire. Again.”

Tapu slapped the table again, this time harder. “Best. Restaurant. Ever.”

Asterion simply sighed as Hanako slid further down into her booth, now reconsidering every decision that had led her to this point.

The whole room felt like it was about to collapse in chaos until, suddenly, Allo ascended from a random hole in the kitchen floor like some culinary deity. He stood there, glowing (probably from the fryer grease) and with an aura of absurd authority.

"Did someone say my name?"

Everyone shook their heads so fast, you’d think they were auditioning for a shampoo commercial. The denials came quickly from all corners.

"Nope."

"Definitely not."

"Not even a whisper."

Allo, completely unbothered, smirked. “Too bad, because now I am here!” His arms shot up dramatically, as if commanding the forces of fast food. “Tag Team, assembly!”

From behind some very suspiciously placed lockers came a loud bang, as they burst open to reveal his “elite squad”:

First up was Nautilea. She marched out, looking sharp in her pressed WcWonalds uniform and glasses. "Looks smart, is smart. Can handle the cash register with her eyes closed and your order with care. But only if you have insurance!"

Yuri raised an eyebrow. "Insurance? For what exactly?"

"Existential dread," Painter beeped quietly from the register.

Next was Roxy, who strutted out balancing six plates in one hand, all perfectly stacked. "Our talented waitress! Can carry your entire order on one arm and balance a stack of pancakes on her head! But," Cordelia added dramatically, "if you complain... she’ll give you extra service by spitting on the food you didn’t order."

Roxy cracked her knuckles, eyeing Osiris. “Try me.”

She immediately looked away.

Finally, Violet stumbled out, looking more confused than anyone else. “Violet, our in-house therapist,” Cordelia introduced, clapping her hands. “She didn’t apply for the job—she got kidnapped! But now, she leads the therapy sessions required after your visit to WcWonalds. Free and anonymous... except for the fact that they’re televised. So, not anonymous anymore!”

Violet waved weakly. “I’m still not sure how I got here... but I’m rolling with it.”

Suddenly, a blaring red light filled the room, accompanied by the wail of a siren. Everyone jumped to attention.

“The WcWonalds emergency alarm!” Allo shouted over the noise. “A starving customer in need!” His voice was dripping with the intensity of a chef who had just been challenged to a cooking duel.

Without missing a beat, Allo swooped over to the one remaining chicken nugget, lying lonely and pathetic on the counter. With the precision of a master, he sliced it into thin strips. Then, with a sprinkle of some mysterious dust (was it seasoning? Magic? No one knew), he popped the strips into the microwave for precisely 10 seconds.

When the microwave dinged, he pulled out the tray, revealing what could only be described as the world’s finest chicken chili wraps. The wrap glistened, like it had been blessed by the gods of fast food themselves.

The crowd erupted into applause. Asterion even managed to clap once, though begrudgingly.

Allo handed the plate to Roxy, who balanced it with ease. “Delivery time!” she called out before kicking it toward Violet.

Violet, with surprising grace, caught the plate mid-air, throwing it again to Nautilea who catched it. “Wrap, incoming!” she yelled, throwing it toward the door just as Sebastian stepped inside.

SMACK.

The wrap hit him square in the face, various ingredients slopping down his clothes in slow motion. He stood frozen in the doorway, staring in bewilderment as shredded lettuce and chili sauce dripped off his nose and splattered on the floor.

The room went silent for a beat.

Sebastian blinked. "What... in the name of Urbanshade...?"

Tapu, unable to hold it in any longer, burst into laughter, slapping the table. "Best... restaurant... EVER!"

Painter's voice chimed in softly from the register, “Current vibe level: chaotic excellence.”

Then Angela came in, carrying Amilia on her arms and giving Sebastian a glance. Amilia sniffed on Sebastian before giving him a soft kick.

“YOU ALL ARE SO GROUNDED.”

WcWonalds got force closed after this day. And this was the end of Allos wonderful job as a chef. Now he was just Allo, the man that never got to fulfill his dreams.

[colduncrustable]

the martin antis working so hard to make waves is so funny. like, you are very much allowed to like/dislike any character you please! but making it your whole personality or acting like you’re cooler for it is a little bit silly. you are not morally or intellectually superior for hating on a fiction character.

not to mention all of the characters in tma are very nuanced and complicated, just like real people (!), and erasing all of that to serve a certain narrative is a complete disservice to the entire body of work. jon and martin’s relationship was never meant to be easy, they first and foremost worked closely together as boss/employee, and in a workplace that was actively putting them in dangerous and horrible situations. the whole point is that they’re both super fucked up but they have each other anyway. they both have flaws, they both have gone through a great deal both with and without each other, but they found love anyway. the idea that the dynamic change in s5 is due to martin just being this villain is so wild? like he’s not a doormat anymore but he also loves jon so fiercely and stands by him over and over again?

jon hated him, jon ignored him, was verbally horrible to him again and again, literally sent him on a dangerous investigation and said if anyone had to die might as well be him, jon accused him of murder, screamed at him, jon was on the run, jon died. martin was his number one defender through everything, even when honestly? he didn’t do a lot to prove he deserved it. but martin was strong in his loyalty and did his best to be a supporter anyway. he picked up extra work, he thought of him kindly when no one else did, he mourned him, and he put himself directly in the line of fire for jon. for everyone, yes, but especially for jon, he says that. because after everything, protecting jon is still his number one priority.

it’s so important to his character that he isn’t s1 martin anymore—that he learns to be a real person who has thoughts and feelings and a backbone. jon wanted that, and does it not say something that they don’t work out until martin learns to have a little bite? there’s a difference between being a real complicated traumatized human person, and just straight up being evil, or an asshole. jon had to learn how to be a lot of softer things but martin had to learn how to square his shoulders and stick out his chin. they had different arcs, and that doesn’t make either of them inherently evil or bad. it makes them real and not perfect and very multilayered, yeah.

martin didn’t handle every choice or action perfectly, he made a lot of mistakes, and he never claims to be the best person ever. but jon also fucked up, a lot. it isn’t a competition or a comparison, that’s really not how that works. but they work because of their flaws. that’s a big part of them fitting together. martin represented the humanity they were saving, with all his good and bad. jon was well beyond that, and while that doesn’t inherently compromise his character, it does mean he’s viewed in a much different light.

(meaning i think jon’s sins are seen very very different to martin’s.) (to be clear i think both deserve to be looked at critically, but hating either of them devoutly seems sort of silly.)

i’m not sure how you can listen to tma and all the ways it dissects and reflects on humanity and turn around and run blogs or make posts in the fandom about how you hate one of the main characters for being all of that.

jon never would’ve made it through without martin, even if martin wasn’t the key to everything, he was the reason to push through and not give up. martin is why jon didn’t go full monster mode, why he held onto who he was and his humanity, even with the whole ‘kill bill’ thing. martin gave him a reason to keep going, to try, to care so deeply. obviously there were other factors but jon says it himself, martin you are my reason.

if you can’t handle the fact that martin isn’t a grade a soft boy by the end of the show that’s a lot more about you than it is about him. he grew and maybe not always for the better but he could be a real person for jon instead of some kind of mirror or blank slate to be reflected on. i genuinely don’t understand how he can be misunderstood so deeply.

they’re both fucked up ! and if they are alive Somewhere Else you bet your ass they’re having long talks and going to therapy and fighting and making up and pacing the floors and figuring it all out together. it isn’t clean or easy or necessarily enjoyable all the time, but humanity isn’t either, love isn’t either. they went through unimaginable trauma, and expecting either of them to be holding it together any better than they already are is wild. context, it’s important. but let’s not turn multi-dimensional characters into flat one word answers.

it’s very human to like and dislike, love and hate based off of bias and experiences and perspective. but also opinion does not make fact. everything is relative, everything is subjective, everything everything everything. it’s an open discussion yada yada idk i’m just screaming into the wall about all the nonsense.

and beyond all of that, discourse is so useless. criticism and constructive conversations are really really important but discourse is pointless! oh you ship these people? well that inherently threatens my ship! oh you like this character that i hate? well that makes me feel invalid for hating them. like what you like, hate what you hate, have your feelings. but if you post shit on the internet you will get people who disagree, sorry, that’s how it is. partaking in little arguments over who is right or wrong when it doesn’t actually have to do with anything harmful or unhealthy makes no sense though. posting on the internet about all the hate you have in your heart when the world is already so full of it doesn’t actually do anything but add more bad to an already very large pile of bad.

things can be discussions not arguments sometimes, i promise. it’s not always tooth and nail, and let’s not forget, most of it is over things that never need to be fought over.

[brooklynn3253]

Fractured Moments

Bucky Barnes paced the dimly lit streets of Brooklyn, the cool autumn air brushing against his skin like a soothing balm. He could still feel the sting of the argument that had pierced the heart of his relationship. His fists were clenched, not out of anger but rather an insistent need to keep his emotions in check. His girlfriend, Sadie, had always been his anchor, and now – now he had somehow let them drift apart with reckless words.

Earlier that evening, they had been sitting in their cozy apartment, the aroma of tonight’s dinner lingering. What was meant to be a quiet night had spiraled into chaos. A seemingly harmless discussion about their future had turned sour as old wounds reopened. Bucky, still grappling with the shadows of his past, had reacted to her concerns with pointed remarks, hurting Sadie deeply.

“Do you ever listen to yourself?” she had shouted, tears glistening in her eyes. The pain in her voice had pierced through him like a bullet to the chest.

“I just want to keep you safe,” he had replied, his voice low but filled with an intensity that might have intimidate others. “I don’t want this life for you. Not with me.”

“It’s my choice, Bucky!” she had screamed, her voice echoing against the bare walls, the words sharp enough to cut through the air.

And in a moment of pure frustration, Bucky had stormed out, needing space to breathe, not realizing the impact of his departure.

As he roamed the streets, the city lights twinkled like distant stars against the backdrop of his guilt. With every step away from their home, the weight of regret pressed heavier upon his shoulders. How had he allowed the past to overshadow the possibility of a future with Sadie? Memories from his wartime experience crept into his mind, shadows of battles fought and people lost. He could still feel the cold grip of remorse.

After what felt like hours of aimless wandering, Bucky found himself standing on the waterfront, overlooking the glistening waves of the river. The rhythmic sound of water crashing against the shore brought a sense of calm, but deep down, a longing tugged at him. Sadie was everything he had ever wanted; she was the light in his dark world. He closed his eyes, replaying their argument, questioning why he had let his demons dictate his choices.

With the weight of indecision still heavy in his mind, he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned back toward their apartment. Each step felt longer than the last. The return journey, while necessary, was also laced with the fear of what awaited him. Would Sadie still be there? Would he be able to comfort her? Or had he created a rift that would prove insurmountable?

As he reached their building and ascended the stairs, the sounds of the city faded away, replaced by the rapid beating of his heart. He fished out his key, hesitating for just a moment before pushing the door open. The sight that met him was one he had dreaded. Sadie sat curled up on the sofa, her red rimmed eyes flooded with tears. The warmth that once enveloped their home felt cold and desolate.

“Sadie…” he began, his voice cautious, but the plea hung heavy in the air.

She turned her gaze to him, the hurt written all over her face. “You came back,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Bucky stepped closer, his heart aching at the sight of her emotional turmoil. He knelt down in front of her, searching for the right words to heal the still fresh wound he had inflicted. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, honesty pouring out. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. You have every right to be scared or concerned. You’re not choosing a life of danger—I am.”

She sniffled, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, and he saw the turmoil reflected in her eyes. He reached forward, his hand gently touching her knee, offering connection that he desperately wanted her to accept.

“I don’t want you to feel alone in this,” he continued gently. “I don’t want to push you away. Let me be a part of your life, Sadie. Please. We can face whatever comes together.”

“But you never let me in, Bucky,” she choked out, the pain of the truth resonating between them. “You act like I can’t handle your past, like it’ll ruin me. I’m here, I want to help you, but you keep pushing me away.”

He exhaled shakily, memories of dark times creeping into his mind. He fought against the urge to close off, to resign everything to solitude. “I’ve lost so many people I care about,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you too. It’s not that I think you can’t handle it. I just... I don’t know how to navigate it.”

A moment of silence passed between them, an unspoken understanding. Bucky could see the hurt in her eyes, but in that moment, he also saw her strength.

“Bucky,” she said softly, reaching for his hand. “I love you, but you have to let me in. Let me be your partner, not just a spectator.”

His heart swelled. Tentatively, he intertwined their fingers, feeling warmth spread through him. “I love you too,” he whispered, the words laden with both sorrow and hope.

With a deep breath, she smiled through her tears. “I want to fight the demons together, Bucky. You don’t have to face this alone.”

And in that moment, as they sat together on the worn-out couch, hands clasped tightly, Bucky knew they could begin to mend the fractures in their hearts. Together.

[braedenhales]

MY KASTLE PLAYLIST [ALL I ASK]

[arahusk]

Honestly, I keep thinking back to the finale song when Alastor shows up and just immediately looks at Husk. First person he locks eyes with before turning away. He's being a little bastard about it but the fact that he looks at Husk first thing is noteworthy I think.

And then, even after everything, Husk still half-leans into the group hug with Alastor. Is it respect? Some hidden affection/friendship? Who knows really but he still welcomes back his boss after vanishing.

Also, being treated to this shot of them together singing. In close distance of each other. I think it means something. Everyone else has closing singing shots with people that are important to them, (Angel and Cherri, Charlie with both Vaggie and Lucifer, and even the Vees are shown together at the end) and I think this is the same. If it's not foreshadowing their relationship growth in Season 2, I am eating my own hat.

Also!! Can't forget Niffty is with them too! She's just a shortie, but she's with her boys! Beloved radio trio are together singing a hopeful song about the future.

I really, truly, sincerely hope we'll get some focus on these three together in the next season in some way, even if just for one episode. Even at the very end, they find their way to each other and I think that's beautiful.

[xentari94]

I don’t usually read much from Screen Rant but- that whole article on how Tech could very well be 100% alive as cx2 just boosted my fucking morale so much. Like- I know it’s stuff that’s already been gone over but still… no matter how many times I’ve heard it, hearing it again is what keeps me hopeful.

Tech, sweetheart, come back beautiful we need you 😭🧡🙏🏻

I know it’s gonna hurt like hell to see him so lost, and I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to get back to where he was pre fall, but I have faith he’ll be okay.

I honestly think now that this is what they meant when there had to be a consequence from going against Tarkin. It had nothing to do with Tarkin, and sacrifice doesn’t always have to signify death. Tech’s alive, but the possibility is high that he’s lost a part of himself. Along with this marking the end of his days as a soldier, the only thing he’s ever really known.

This isn’t a happily ever after. Happily ever after would be Tech recovers fully and as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t see that happening. I want it to happen, but realistically… I mean the show could take it either way. But this could be what is supposed to be the bitter-sweet ending. Everyone lives, but each has been individually changed, and not all positively as such in Tech’s case.

And that is why I too feel like it will be partly Omega who finds a way to help him because of what Tech once told her. It will be far from easy, and he’ll need all his family, but as a whole they find a way to adapt like they always have.

I don’t think they will return to Pabu, not because they wouldn’t be welcomed back, I believe even Tech would be even after what’s happened if Shep were ever to find out it was him as cx2. I don’t think Shep would blame him for something that Tech did not want.

They wouldn’t want to put Pabu on the radar again. So that steady life Hunter wants for Omega might not be reachable with who they are, always having to remain on the run, but that’s okay. As long as they have each other, Phee as well because I see them all grouping after this, then the future isn’t bleak. There’s promise. Hope.