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imabeautifulbutterfly · 2 years

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Lighter - Part 6

Summary: Bond x F!Reader (with code name and fake name); Bond learns what happened to you since he last saw you.

A/N: Hello Lovelies,

Would you have said anything?

Special thanks to @firstofficerwiggles and @ladykatakuri for beta reading for me

Love OO

Warnings: Flirting, angst, fluff, kissing, feelings of idiocy, mentions of Japanese culture (I am not Japanese, I googled this information), I think that’s it if I miss any please let me know.

AO3 Link | DC Characters Master List | Main Master List

James walked into the safe house, it had been eight months since he watched you get on that plane, eight months since every waking moment and every thought brought him back to the realization he should have said something.

He wasn’t an idiot, he noticed how your face was wishing, pleading, begging for him to say something, but how could he. You were still in love with Lavage, that was the only reason you fought so hard to bring the man down. He had betrayed you, and despite doing your best to bring the man down, he saw it in your eyes, when he came to rescue you. Your eyes lit up with relief. You were still in love with him, so how could he confess.

He kept telling himself he did the right thing. This was better.

“007”

“003” James took off his blazer, placing it gently on the couch, “Status?”

“Our asset arrived last night”

“What was the issue?”

“Someone from his past recognized him, we just have to wait for a new identity before we send him off to his new home. In the meantime, we’re just to babysit.”

“Joys”

“Agreed. I’m gonna head out for a cig, want me to pick you up anything?”

James stood looking out the window of the high-rise, Japan was beautiful, busy, extremely busy, but beautiful, “No. I’m good”

“All right, the asset also wants me to pick up some takoyaki, apparently there’s a really good vendor down the street. You sure, you don’t want any?”

James simply turned to look at the man who was his senior and yet the most irritating out of all the double O’s he had to work with, the man simply nodded and headed out. He turned to face the bustling city outside, when he heard steps coming up behind him.

“James?”

His heart stopped, he knew that voice as clear as day, he turned slowly to look at the man standing behind him, “Lavage?”

“Well, I’ll be” he closed the distance, grabbing James’ hand and pulling him into a hug, “it’s good to see you buddy.”

“Ugh, likewise” he pushed Lavage off of him. He quickly glanced around the room, if Lavage was here then you were here too. Right?

“It’s almost a year since that day, Spectre is falling apart, your team is doing everything to round up the last few stragglers and before you know it, I can get back to living, rather than hiding” he was happy. He was really happy. James hated him.

“Well, that’s great, is there anyone else here?”

“Oh yeah. My wife. Hold on. Sweetheart!”

James heart quickened, he was going to see you and what’s worse as someone’s wife. God, he hated Q right now. If it wasn’t for him asking for a favour on behalf of 008, he could’ve been in the Caribbean earning some much needed rest.

There were soft footfalls coming from the bedroom, James steadied himself, he could just imagine how beautiful you looked. Every night when he went to sleep, your face was the one that filled his dreams; so much so he felt it was wrong of him to still be carrying Vesper’s picture around. Except the woman who entered the living room, wasn’t you.

“Sweetheart, this is James Bond, James this is my wife Sakura”

“A pleasure to meet you, Sakura. I was expecting …”

“Oh, we parted ways when we landed”

“Who is he talking about Anata?”

“The one who helped me see the error of my ways” he chuckled, for some reason James just really wanted to punch in the face at that moment, “I actually have no idea how she’s doing, what I do know is she wasn’t quite the same after you two parted ways.”

Maybe it was a little too late, but Lavage was going to do his best to help you both out.

“What do you mean?” James narrowed his eyes.

“Excuse me” Sakura spoke up, “would you care for a drink Mr. Bond?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Anata?”

“I’m good sweetheart, thanks” Lavage placed a kiss on her forehead, as she headed over to the kitchen.

“Anata?”

“Yeah, in Japanese it literally means you, but married women use it with their husbands, similar to dear or sweetie. Anyway, you haven’t talked to her this whole time.”

“I thought she was with you”

“No. She made it pretty clear in the car and on the plane who she wanted and it wasn’t me.”

“She never …”

“She wouldn’t have. You didn’t speak or even look at her. She was practically begging you to look at her, and you never bothered.”

“But she didn’t reject you, I heard when you two were talking…”

“How could she? When the next minute we were heading to the car, and I was driving us to the airport. I don’t know where she is or how to get in touch with her, and I’m not planning on reaching out either” he turned to look at Sakura, “everything I need is right here.” He turned back to look at James, placing his hand on his shoulder, “Don’t let her get away again. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

James watched as Lavage moved towards his wife, they were both laughing and joking as he helped her prepare dinner. God he was such an idiot!

- - - - - - - - - - -

The warmth of the fireplace chased away the cold breeze that settled among the mountains of Switzerland. There wasn’t much to this place, but there was enough to make it mine; and it was secluded enough to keep prying eyes away. Every two weeks a chopper came out to make deliveries for basic grocery necessities.

Despite that a year had gone by since I last saw James, I had only been in this place for the past four months, in another two I may decide to switch up my residence. Yet, I thoroughly enjoyed the seclusion; maybe come spring time things would be different.

I tried to focus back on the novel in front of me, yet my mind kept drifting to James, as it often did. There were times when I was in a marketplace or driving back towards my residence at the moment, I could have sworn I thought I saw James. One time, I could’ve sworn I heard his voice calling to me, yet, when I looked and searched I realized it was simply my imagination. Every day, I prayed he would appear at my door, telling me it was a huge mistake, and yet every day that hope failed.

I tossed the book on the ottoman in front of me, I needed to move on to get him out of my head.

I stood from my seat heading towards the kitchen to make myself some tea, when I heard a loud noise coming from outside. There had been some wolves in the area, the locals told me to leave the wolves to fend for themselves. Not to go out.

Yet, what if it was Spectre’s people?

I placed the cup on the kitchen counter, moving to grab my rifle. One of the guys that lived near by was an ex-military commander, he gave me the assault rifle, taught me even how to use it; not that I needed to be taught. I grabbed the extra mags and put them in my coat pocket, I opened the door slowly, glancing around to see if anything was out there.

My heartbeat quickened, the snow storm was still in effect, I inched the door open wider, stepping out, as I glanced around, I didn’t see any wolves, nor anything else for that matter. I eased my way around the cabin, yet there was nothing. In fact, it was all quiet. I looked up to see if there was a helicopter in the area, or some sort of drone, anything that could cause the noise I heard.

I walked further around the cabin, when I heard it again a loud thunk, coming from behind the cabin, I moved closer, my rifle at the ready. The shed door behind the house was open and flapping, *thunk* I watched as the door banged against the door frame.

I moved closer, still watching my surroundings, the blowing snow was making it hard to see, and the wind was cutting through my clothes. I grabbed the flashlight out of my pocket, shining inside the shed, there was nothing. Except the cans of food and pickled jars of vegetables lining the walls. I strapped the rifle on my back, as I examined the door latch, but it seemed fine. I shook my head, pushing the paranoia out the window, clearly I simply hadn’t closed it tight enough. I grabbed a spare rope, pulling the door close until I heard the latch click.

However, as an added measure I wrapped the rope around the doorknob, tying it to the firewood shed. At least for now, I didn’t need any more wood, I had plenty by the side of the cabin, I looked around the area once more, but there was nothing out of place. I headed back inside, pushing aside my uneasiness.

As soon as I closed the door, I placed the rifle on it’s hook, taking off my coat and hat. Man, I really needed some whiskey, right now, get the blood flowing. I turned to see a man sitting in my chair. His cerulean eyes focused on the book he was reading, a warm cup of tea beside him.

I narrowed my eyes at him, “What the hell do you want?” My tone was clipped and full of anger, he was the last person I wanted to see. I moved away from James and headed towards the kitchen to make my own tea.

“What do you mean? By the way this tea is for you” he motioned to the mug beside him without lifting his head from the book he was reading. I ignored him, instead grabbing the whiskey and filling up a glass.

“I’m good” I didn’t understand why I was being like this with him. Just a moment ago, I was praying for him to show up, but maybe it’s because he hadn’t even apologized or maybe it had to do with how good he looked.

“You must be freezing” he stood from the chair, moving to the couch, “take your chair back” he still hadn’t put down the book or even looked at me.

“I asked you a question” I stood with my arms crossed, while one hand held the glass of whiskey.

James couldn’t help smirking at hearing your tone, he wanted to see how far he could push this before you lost it on him, “Why do you want to know?”

“Listen here, this is my house!”

“Actually,” he began as he turned the page, “you’re renting this place under the name of Alicia Moraga. So technically it’s not yours.”

“You want to talk about technicalities, alright let’s talk” I slammed the glass down on the table beside the couch, “Technically you’re trespassing, and since we’re out in the middle of nowhere, I could shoot you, call the cops and claim self defence and no one would think otherwise.”

“You could” he nodded, as his eyes flitted over to you, “you could do that” he placed the book down beside him, “or instead you could let me sit here for a minute, long enough for me to gather the strength I need to answer your question.”

My hands clenched by my side, yet I wanted to hear his answer, “Fine, you have thirty-seconds” I looked at my watch, “starting now” I looked at the second hand counting down the thirty-seconds, “all right, times up.”

James stood in front of you smirking again as he looked at you, you were just as beautiful as he remembered, as you appeared in his dreams, “Well where else am I going to find such a quiet place to read.”

The anger that filled me at that moment took over as I closed the distance between us, “After all,” he continued, I stopped in my tracks, I really wasn’t sure what I was going to do once I was in front of him, “I needed to go over the phrasing I wanted to say when I saw you again.”

“Oh yeah, what phrasing?”

He closed the distance between the two of you, his hand reaching up, cupping your cheek, it was still cold from the mountain air, yet beginning to warm up under his hand, “I needed to make sure I got the exact wording right, to tell you, how big of an idiot I was that day”

I couldn’t believe what he said, the tears were beginning to well up. I closed my eyes, this had to be a dream, there was no way he was here. It was a hallucination, like all those other times. I opened my eyes to check to see if he was gone but he was still there.

“I should have told you the moment I saw you, I shouldn’t have let Lavage be the one to look after you. It should have been me. Our time together in Monte Carlo, although it was an assignment. A mission. What I felt … I was scared. You scared me.”

Okay, this is not the way I was expecting this conversation to go, “I scared you?” I asked quirking my eyebrow.

“Yes. You represented something I didn’t think I deserved, I didn’t think I could have. I was scared to make the same mistake I made with Vesper, to trust so completely only to be burned for that trust later. However, the more I spent time with you, the more I realized you were so different from her. You would never have betrayed my trust, because you already knew what it felt like to be betrayed.” James inched closer, his other hand came up, caressing your face.

“You thought I was going to hurt you?” I just needed clarification.

“Not intentionally. However, no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t forget about you, I couldn’t move on. When I learned you weren’t with Lavage, I knew I had to come find you. I had to tell you” his face inched closer to yours.

“Had to tell me what?” My pulse was quickening, as my hands drew him closer from his waist, my eyes shifting from his eyes to his lips.

He felt your breath fan across his face, “I love you” he closed the distance, crashing his lips on yours, as passionate and intense as the elevator kiss was, it had nothing on this kiss right now. His hands shifted till they reached your thighs, forcing you to jump up, as your arms wrapped around his neck. You clung to him like a koala.

He took his time examining every inch of your lips, as he slowly lowered you down on to the couch as his arms propped him above you, “How …” both of you were gasping for air, “how did you find me?”

James pulled back to look at you, your hair was a mess, your eyes blown wide, your lips swollen from his kiss, “Sweetheart, do you honestly think there’s anywhere in the world you could go, I wouldn’t find you?” He placed the gentlest kiss on your forehead.

His scent filled my nose completely, my hand running up and down his back, as my other hand cupped the back of his head, “I guess not” I whispered out.

He pulled back to look at me, “Wherever you go, I’ll end up there too. I’ve lived like half a person since the day I let you walk away from me. I’m tired of being less than whole. Aren’t you?”

I nodded as I pulled him closer, my lips grazing against his, my legs caging him against me, “So, so tired” I mumbled against his lips before they crashed against mine, as his hand trailed down my side. For the first time, since my accident I finally felt whole, I felt lighter than I ever had. “I love you, James”

“I love you too” his lips inched closer to your ear as he whispered your real name.

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bakedbananners · 3 years

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Thinking about MCGA Crystal Gems AU so I’m just gonna ramble a bit under the cut about it or whatever LOL

Magnus- Citrine (duh) who emerged late on Earth and was abandoned by others. Spent hundreds of years alone before being found by Natalie (human) and later on Hearthstone and Blitzen after her death. Gets shattered by Surt (idk a high-ranking gem or maybe diamond) and Samirah/Lionskin Jasper basically picks up his pieces to put back together. After shattering he’s missing a piece which gets replaced with Sumarbrandr- hence why his weapon seems to have its own consciousness and telepathic link (its the only way Jack can manifest as a separate being). Gets poofed and reformed a few times and changes appearance over time (not by much though). Citrine’s weapon is a shield, Sumarbrandr is separate to that but he uses him more often.

Samirah- Lionskin Jasper, a high ranking guard to one of the Diamond courts. She takes a lot of pride in her job, but tends to question the reasons and methods of her Diamond. After taking in Citrine/Magnus and later Alex she abandons her role in the court. Still very loyal, but more so to her new family. Her shapeshifting abilities are incredible, but she doesn’t practice and rarely uses them, preferring to rely on her fighting prowess. Her weapon is her ax.

Alex- Commonly mistaken for Watermelon Tourmaline but is actually a mix of Peridot and Pink Spinel after shattering and reconstruction a long time ago by Mr. Fierro, a jewelry maker. Loves earth and human culture a lot. Due to gem make-up tends to alternate in personality between very serious and very silly. uhh still genderfluid like alternating between feeling masc or fem ig. Excellent at shapeshifting, but her abilities tend to alternate between not working very well (peridot) and being unstable (spinel). She is NOT a fusion, but is typically called that and it gets on her nerves because she’s just ONE person/ consciousness at all times, and has little to no memories of the two gems that existed before her. Has two weapons- a dagger and garrote. Has only gotten poofed once and it freaked him out because he wasn’t sure if his two halves would split apart. He finds Citrine to be a bit of a kindred spirit because of their similar histories. Goes by Speridot or Speri/Sperry or something or maybe just picks the human name Alex bc thats just so trans of him lol

Gunila- Malachite, in the same court as Lionskin, officer of her cadre of jaspers, gets shattered eventually

Mallory- Carnelian, the first to emerge in her kindergarten and very much the leader of that group, fought on the frontlines of a gem war and lost her comrades to shattering/corruption. Deserted her post afterwards to live alone, plant-hopping

Halfborn- Granite or Feldspar or something, basically just a rock lol. Emerged much bigger than expected, almost 7 ft tall. also fought on frontlines of a gem war and lost comrades, eventually left alone on his planet and meets Carnelian after planet-hopping

TJ- Magnetite (type of stone that is magnetic and sometimes put in steel, i thought it would be fitting lol). An excellent fighter during one of the gem wars, but better at long range fighting and tends to get poofed. Deserted after realizing the fighting was futile and bullshit. More of a loner, but very friendly and chill, meets Carnelian/Mallory and Halfborn on a random planet. His weapon is a rifle with bayonet attached.

Blitzen- Onyx, has a few powerful connections but indebted to a certain future-seeing gem and must work for him (meeting Citrine is part of this). Purpose was to be an architect but much rather prefers fashion and helping gems express their unique style. He accidentally gets looped into being a revolutionary by his boss oops lol. He doesnt have a weapon, but is a decent shapeshifter.

Hearthstone- Goshenite, part of an extensive lineage of the gem and had a place in his diamond’s court, but was cast out for being considered “defective”. also indebted like Onyx/Blitzen is. His powers are more mental and he doesnt have a weapon. His “father” gets corrupted and they have to shatter him like in book 3

#magnus chase #mcga #riordanverse #me talking #samirah al abbas #alex fierro #mallory keen #blitzen #hearthstone #thomas jefferson jr #halfborn gunderson

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titleknown · 2 years

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I will say, having come across this essay by a person being disturbed by the amount of stagnation in book Twitter’s reading takes, and while it makes some good points, there’s one thing I think it ignores...

MOST PEOPLE RESPONDING TO THE PERCEIVED STAGNATION OF READING TASTES ARE FUCKING ASSHOLES WHO ARE ACTIVELY MAKING SHIT WORSE!

Like, a lot of my defensiveness over my own tastes is traumagenic, I will freely admit to this! But the essay’s solution to this is as follows:

and maybe that harshness isn’t the right approach to persuade people who i’d hope would be persuaded, but i don’t know, honestly i think we’re long overdue to start being harsh about it and i’m going to give that a little nudge. at this point, my visceral reaction to seeing this is just thinking “grow up”, and that they’ve been indulged and welcomed and catered to enough already now.

Do you think it’s going to fucking help to encourage me to diversify my interests by replicating my trauma in a public space trying to make it unsafe for my interests via shame? NO, NO IT DOESN’T!

It activates that fucking trauma response and makes me double the fuck down! Especially as an autistic person for whom “grow up” was basically used as a phrase to shit on me for my disability and my tastes, a thing I don’t think I’m alone on, but I digress.

And the linked essay (which, don’t be a dick to them, if you are you’re missing the whole fucking point of this rant) is the nice version of that. I’ve seen stuff saying that shit on this site that’s a whole lot uglier and a whole lot more dogwhistle-y ableist.

But, like, I’m a person who likes finding new and different shit. I can recommend you a fair few obscure and weird works, feel free to send me some asks on that if you’ve got a subject of interest!

But, imagine how much that fucks up people who don’t have that sense of exploration?! Imagine how much it makes them want to do less exploration, because the second-worst way to get people interested in something is to treat it as a chore and force them to do at threat of public shame!

The first worst way is to shit on people’s current tastes and interests in the interests of getting them to look at something else, which is what they also fucking do. Constantly. Because the same people who say that shit are so often the people who say “bring back bullying”

And on that note, the people who say that are shit as educators! They spend more fucking time bitching about the lack of interest in the classics than; say; actually getting people interested in them! Which like, I get that not every gripe and vent has to have a purpose of direct action, but when I keep fucking seeing a hole like that in your discourse, I gotta question your goal.

And don’t fucking get me started on how these assholes also keep fucking bitching about the “fandomization” of the classics they keep begging people to read, because it’s not fucking enough they read the classics, they have to read them correctly.

Or, if I can be even meaner, the only endgame I see to this cultural push in terms of where current action on the part of the people saying it leads is basically the whole “bring back bullying” shit via making shared spaces unsafe for “wrong” interests, which is viewed as somehow going to magically diversify people’s interests.

Which like, buddy, making people shit on fanfic again like it’s 2005 isn’t going to make Ao3 any less of a shithole and it isn’t going to break up Disney/Warner/Viacom. It will lead to a bunch of autistic kids getting bullied

Like, I think there’s some points to be made about the need to expand one’s tastes, and in fairness, at least that essay I linked tries to address some of the points I made, which are broadly directed at posts in the same Genre I keep seeing.

But the point stands, STOP BEING FUCKING ASSHOLES, YOU’RE MAKING THE PROBLEMS YOU CLAIM TO CARE ABOUT WORSE!

YOU ARE NOT GOING TO SOLVE THE FAILURES OF THE US EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM BY BULLYING AUTISTIC KIDS ON TUMBLR AND/OR THE WRETCHED BIRD SITE! YOU’RE JUST GOING TO MAKE THEM MORE OBNOXIOUS AND DEFENSIVE!

#literature #writing #fiction #tastes #interests #rant #old man yells at cloud #shut up titleknown

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world-smitten · 2 years

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I’ve just started My Liberation Notes and I have A LOT of thoughts.

1) Park Hae Young writes embarassment as a constant. Not for comedy, not in grand dramatic gestures, but in just little incidents that chip away at her characters’ dignity. And it’s unending. The scene where Gi-jeong blabs about how much she hates dating single fathers in earshot of a single dad and his daughter, whose mother then stumbles in drunk. Mi-jeong’s work getting audibly passive-agressively criticised at work (and her and the other introverts getting lumped together on a table during lunch). Du-hwan’s rejection story. It was the same in Another Miss Oh and My Mister - constant humiliation was so embedded in the character writing that it made both shows extremely difficult to watch. I dropped Another Miss Oh (the show was loud and honest - too honest, I couldn’t stand it), and My Mister was an incredibly hard watch in places. It was as if simply being Dong-hoon (and being Oh Hae-young, for that matter) was a deeply embarassing experience, and I guess in that sense, his arc and the arcs of all the other characters is about regaining dignity, and the struggle that that journey takes. I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish MLN, because this kind of constant humiliation - a strange sense of awkwardness in one’s own skin, a sense of embarassment in your own state of being - strikes too close to home. But, if the show’s structure is anything like My Mister, then I’m guessing things will have to get much worse before they get any better.

2) I love the “after-work club” subplot - it’s an “after-school club”, but for adults, and you HAVE to join one, even though it makes no sense and the point of being an adult is supposedly more freedom. It’s so childish and insipid, but it keeps popping up because it’s been proven to “increase productivity” and heaven forbid you have other priorities besides work. The irony of an adult job handholding its employees through every social interaction.

3) Mi-jeong eating, getting a bit of food on the corner of her mouth, and her co-worker reaching over to wipe it off and call her cute loudly to the whole table while Mi-jeong smiles blandly - ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Maybe I’m projecting too strongly onto this, but it really hit home. The well-meaning condescension from more extroverted people, who see you more as a cute thing than a real person (or at least, feeling like you’re just a cute thing to well-meaning extroverts). One thing that I do appreciate about Mi-jeong’s introversion is that she isn’t anti-social or even necessarily shy (introversion =/= shyness, which so many online folk can’t get). She’s well-liked amongst her colleagues - she’s just more reserved, more private, with less patience for office culture. She’s not superior to them - the desires for dating/connection that they flaunt loudly are desires she expresses quietly to herself (daydreaming about a future lover/soulmate to keep herself going - haven’t we all done that at least once?). I like to contrast that interaction with her co-worker to that moment she shares in the restaurant with Hyeon-ah. Besides being beautifully shot, it’s so nice to see Hyeon-ah reflect on herself whilst also uplifting Mi-jeong’s qualities - (paraphrased) “your words are worthwhile, because you don’t waste them, and I hope that you never change that about yourself.” And then, “I was like you in another life, and decided to live recklessly now. You were like me in another life, and decided to quietly now”. This is a more honest exchange between the two - there is no inherently better way of living/being, Mi-jeong’s reserve is not something that needs to be trained out of her (it’s also decidedly not “cute”, in the condescending sense of the word) and Hyeon-ah’s extroversion is not something to resent her for. I really like Hyeon-ah’s character - like the others, her life is also full of its little degradations, but she takes it on the chin and is unashamedly herself.

4) This is linked to no.3, but PHY seems to like two character types - those who quietly suffer through their solitude (Mi-jeong, Mr Gu, Tae-hoon, Dong-hoon, Ji-an) and those who wear their hearts recklessly on their sleeves and whose open vulnerability somehow makes them more lovable (Dong-hoon’s brothers, Hyeon-ah, Oh Hae-young). Interestingly, Chang-hee and Gi-jeong don’t fit into this neatly - they wear their hearts on their sleeves, but I haven’t warmed up to them yet. I’m still trying to figure out why.

5) Was Kim Ji-won always this good??

#i haven't written meta in a while #i hope this made sense and read nicely #park hae young is a reluctant fave of mine #i don't like how her work makes me feel #but i'm also afraid to look away #in case i miss a kernel of emotional truth #my liberation notes #k-drama #kim ji-won

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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You have done an (excelent) post on how to reinvent Batman as a Pulp Hero. Do you think you could do one to Superman as well? Or do you think it is impossible to do this with the progenitor of the Super Hero genre without transforming him in a totaly diferent character?

Well, you saying it as impossible only makes it seem ever more tempting of a challenge, but yes, it is a bit harder. I'm gonna link my Batman post here as a reference point.

Partially because Batman's a franchise I've thought extensively about for a long time in regards to what I like about it or how I'd like to approach if given the opportunity, which is not something I can really say for Superman until more recently the Big Blue to start orbiting my brain. I don't have years worth of redesigns or fan concepts saved on my galleries and files to comb through to pick and choose here, and my experience with Superman as a character is considerably different, in some aspects more deeply personal, and not really something I'd like to go into in this blog, at least not now.

Part of the reason why it's harder is also because Batman and Superman have very different relationships with their pulp inspirations. Batman was, ostensibly, a pulp character adapted to comics, a dime-a-dozen Shadow knock-off who picked up and played up diverging traits from other characters and gradually ran with them to gradually forge a unique identity. Superman right from the start was rooted in a much stronger conceptual underpinning: the Sci-Fi Superman and Alien Menace who, instead of being a tragic monster or a tyrannical villain, becomes a costumed adventurer and social crusader. Even the name Super-Man was taken from an early story of Siegel and Shuster about a telepathic villain who ends the story lamenting that he should have used his powers for the good of mankind instead of selfishness. I hesitate to call what Siegel and Shuster were doing “subversive” because that term's picked up a real negative connotation, and it's not like Siegel and Shuster were out to upend their influences (they were pulp aficionados themselves), but rather putting a more positive, new spin on them.

Which is why it also becomes a bit harder to do what I did with Batman and align Superman with some of his pulp-esque inspirations, like John Carter, Flash Gordon or Hugo Danner, without just making it "Superman but he's John Carter", "Superman but it's Flash Gordon", and "Iron Munro / Superman but everything sucks" respectively. It's harder to create a character that wouldn't feel reduntant and derivative at best, and actively contradictory to Superman at worst.

I guess if I had to come up with a "Pulp Hero Superman" take I liked, well first of all I'd have to take steps to distance it from the likes of Tom Strong or Al Ewing's Doc Thunder, those two are as good as it gets in regards to Pulp Supermen. I stipulated for Batman a "No Guns, No Murder, No Service" policy partially to distance my takes on Batman from all the "Pulp Batmen" that just add guns and murder and take Batman back to the barest of basics. Likewise, I'm adding a "No Depowered Science Hero" rule here, which means it's a take that's likely going to veer off a lot more into fantasy and probably enough tampering with Clark's character that it does risk becoming a different character.

Frankly I don't think I'm gonna succeed at doing these without just making it a new character entirely, because with Batman you can get away with just upending the character's aesthetic and setting and even origin and still keep it recognizably Bruce Wayne (in fact Batman does that all the time), which isn't really the case with Superman, who needs those to remain recognizably Superman as he goes through internal changes and character shifts. I guess what I'm gonna do here is more taking the building blocks of Superman/Clark Kent and see a couple new ways I can rearrange them to create a Pulp Superman

Perhaps something we can do is to scale back or recontextualize the "superhero" parts without diminishing Superman's role as a superpowered fantasy character.

One way we can start is by picking on that connection between Superman and the sci-fi supermen/alien monsters of pulps I mentioned earlier and play it up further, to create a Superman who's deeply, deeply alien in a way that no mild-mannered disguise or colorful outfit can really disguise, something so dramatically powerful and alien, that instead you could get tales about the kinds of ensuing changes and ripple effects this has on the world upon the The Super-Man's arrival. And for that I'm gonna have to quote @davidmann95's concept for Joshua Viers' absolutely stunning Superman redesign on the left side of the image above

The red, the goldish-orange and white, the alienness, the angelic, sculpted feeling, the halo, that innocently curious expression: it’s genuinely beautiful. Superman as a redeeming science-angel from beyond our understanding, as much past the uncanny valley of limited human comprehension as a Lovecraftian monster but tuned to the opposite key - you could spend an endless procession of human lifetimes trying and failing to understand this being, but all you’ll ever know for sure is that it is beyond you, and it knows you, and it loves you.

Superdoomsday from Earth 45, healed and transformed into the savior it was originally envisioned as? Some descendant of his, or a future of the man himself? An alien who picked up on a broadcast of Superman from Earth, and so inspired reshaped itself in his image to spread his ‘gospel’ to the stars?

Alternatively, to come back to Earth a little, many, many pulp characters and series were built off the antics and personalities of real people, celebrities getting their own magazines or serials or fictionalized takes on them, so perhaps one way to make a "pulp" take on Superman would be to emphasize a bit more of Superman's real-world roots, trends that inspired his creation directly or indirectly at the time. The Jewish strongman Sigmund Breibart and Shuster's interest in fitness culture, Harold Lloyd's comic persona, the rising "strongman" film genre in the early 20th century, actors Clark Gable and Kent Taylor that supposedly named his secret identity, Clark Kent being a socially-awkward journalist based of Siegel's own school experiences.

Maybe one start to an authentic Pulp Superman, who would still be Superman, would be to just ask the question "What if Superman was a real person and/or a celebrity, and they started making pulp magazines and serials dedicated to him? What would those look like?". You wouldn't even have to restrict it to just a story set in the 1930s, in fact you could even play around with the rise of new mediums over the decades.

This third one is a little closer to some plans I have for my own take on a Superman character, not necessarily what I would do with Superman proper but one of my ideas for a Superman analogue. Superman's a character I'll always associate strongly with childhood and childhood fantasy, and to tap into that I would emphasize the other end of the fiction that influenced Siegel and Shuster: comic strips, in their case specifically Little Nemo and Popeye.

In my case I would bring additional influences from some of the comic strips I personally grew up reading like Monica's Gang and Calvin and Hobbes, and I already talked a bit about Captain Fray in terms of how he’s a Superman character despite being a villain. I guess you could call this one "What if Superman was a public domain comic strip character, stripped of the importance of being the founding figure of a super popular genre or extended universe, and also was kind of ugly?".

He's not "Sloth from the Goonies" ugly, I swear I didn't actually have Sloth in mind when typing out this idea, I've never watched that film nor did I know until now that he actually spends the film in a Superman shirt. That's not really what I'm going for. Visually I was thinking of modeling my take on Superman heavily after Hugo from Street Fighter and his inspiration Andre the Giant, to really emphasize the “circus strongman / freak wrestler” aspect of Superman’s inspiration, particularly in regards to how Hugo’s SFIII version strikes a really great balance in making Hugo ugly and both comedic and fearsome in battle, as well as lovable and even a little dopey (without being outright stupid, like his IV self) in his victory animations and endings.

He's still Superman, he still goes on fantastical adventures to help people, he's still a deeply loving and compassionate soul whose face beams with joy and affection and who's got wonderful eyes and a great smile. It's just that this smile has a couple of mismatched stick-out teeth or some missing ones, and he's got a crooked smile some people take as smug or malicious, he’s got a strongman’s gut instead of a bodybuilder’s abs, his nose is a little busted (maybe he’s had too many crash landings), and his hair is a little wild or greasy, and he doesn't exactly have very good people skills because of how others usually react to him and, y'know, he doesn't get the kind of publicity Superman would get despite doing ostensibly the same things. He’s not deformed, he’s incredibly intelligent and capable, but in comparison to how superheroes are usually allowed to look, he might as well be Bizarro in the public eye.

It becomes a running gag that people tend to assume some nearby fireman or cop was the one who rescued the hundred orphans out of a burning building single-handedly, meanwhile he's getting accosted off-panel by police officers who think he set the building on fire, or think they can bully this weird man dressed funny. He goes to rescue old people in peril and occasionally they yell at him that they don't have any money. He doesn't get asked to lead superhero meetings or teams even though many in the community advocate for just how much he does for the world, he gets censored out of tv broadcasts or group shots (even his face is sometimes pixelated when they do show him), people invite him on talk shows and don't really let him talk or assume they got the wrong guy. He goes to rescue a woman dangling off a building, and then he gets attacked by like three different superhero teams who assume he must have kidnapped the poor damsel. He was the first superhero, he is the strongest of them all still, but he never really gets credit for it, it nor does he even want to. None of this at all stops him or deters him, except for some occasionally funny reactions.

This never really changes for him, he doesn't really earn people's approval nor does he have to, instead the stories, outside of the gags and adventures you’d expect from a comic strip, veer more towards others learning to be less judgmental and him learning ways to better approach people. He isn't any lesser than Superman just because he doesn't look like most people would want him to look and he doesn't have to look like Superman. Really I think we could use more superheroes that don’t look all so uniformly pretty.

Again, probably not a take that would work for Clark proper, but it’s one way I would take a shot at doing Superman with my own

I have other stuff in the works for this character but I'd like to keep them to better work on them for now, but yeah, these are three of my shots at developing a Pulp Superman.

Alternatively here's a fourth idea that's more pulp than all of these: Join up Nicholas Cage with Panos Cosmatos again, or whatever weird indie director he decides to pair up with next, and let them do whatever the hell they want with Superman. Give us Mandy Superman. Superman vs The Color Out of Space. Superman vs Five Nights at Freddy's. Superman’s quest to find THE LAST PIG OF KRYPTON. Anything goes.

#replies tag #dc comics #superman #clark kent #superheroes #comic books #nicholas cage

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the-fallen-blue · 3 years

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Sooo... dare we ask about WW84?

WW84 was the single most frustrating cinematic experience of my life.

I mean okay, let's look at the plot of this film:

A normal man - greedy, petty, clever, loving, a bad father who wants to be a good one, overall kinda shitty but doing his best with a crap deal in life just like any other complex human person, a perfectly archetypally normal man - gets his hands on the power of a god. He uses it selfishly, gets in over his head, and creates a catastrophic magical disaster, but is too small and too weak and too ordinary and in way too deep to do anything but keep making it worse. Diana discovers that this ancient power has destroyed entire civilizations before, and now, through the confluence of that power and modern technology, it has become something that puts literally the entire planet, the whole of humanity, on the edge of annihilation; it is danger on a global scale, myth intertwined with modernity to create a Superman-class threat, and the only way that Diana can fix it, can save the world, is by talking him out of it. By reaching out to the entire planet through her true power, through Truth, and talking everyone out of it, convincing the whole of scared, small, selfish humanity to be their better selves, to give up their greed and their hatred and their terror and do right by each other... and by doing it herself, by giving up the one thing that she wanted, by caring enough about humanity to sacrifice her own paradise as well.

This is literally the most perfect fucking Wonder Woman story possible.

Except, the thing Diana doesn't want to give up... is a dude she knew for one ratshitting month seventy years ago whose continued presence in her life requires the ongoing abuse and rape of some poor random innocent man. I'm just going to assume that my position on things like heteronormative amatofixation, the Steve Trevor relationship, Wonder Woman in general, and the act of enthusiastic ongoing violation of the life and body of some random dude are understood at this point and I don't need to explain why this interferes with my approval.

I mean, there's other stuff. Like Max, who was really surprisingly good, because Max isn't even a Wonder Woman rogue, like he isn't even slightly a Wonder Woman character, even, the only reason he's associated with her is the neck snap, so the only reason you'd put him in a Wondy movie is if you were doing some kind of take on that storyline, surely? Which would be so tiring because Countdown!Max is just a sad out-of-character discount Luthor. But then he actually was a really good take on Max, he was actually himself, a sleazy ambitious con-man, someone I could see inventing a shitty Justice League for money and then eventually accidentally starting to believe in it. Like I said about Poison in the first film, this is amazingly good villain treatment, I'm super impressed? Except, what I said about Poison was "someone do Cheetah this much justice in the sequel and I can die a happy woman" and... lol.

(Honestly, she's not even "bad" Cheetah because nothing about her storyline is even particularly coherent enough to be good or bad in the first place. Diana comes out of the gate cold and dismissive of her, sees she might have a macguffin, and suddenly throws on a bullshit facade of kindness and empathy in order to use her for access to said macguffin, in a grotesquely out-of-character move that I assumed would set the stage for their enmity. But then suddenly they're on a date and Diana seems to genuinely like her and okay, are they going to give her an actual friendship that will make this plot meaningful and sad? No, they're never going to have a friendly conversation again; Diana's going to go right back to sort of disinterestedly using her to try to deal with the macguffin while acting like Steve is the only real person in the world, and Barbara is going to figure out that Diana is Wonder Woman but somehow this is totally unremarkable and nobody cares? Barbara is mildly confused but just rolls with it? And then Diana tries to plead with her to dial it back on the basis of the friendship they literally don't have, and then they punch each other, and nothing here makes sense and this take on the screaming chicken armor is terrible.)

But none of that even matters in the face of "this should have been so incredibly good but they made Diana an asshole boy-crazy rapist."

And it would have been so fucking easy to fix, too! We literally start the film with Diana missing her home. Her mother, her childhood, her aunt, her culture, her beautiful island paradise, her society that isn't a broken, miserable, lonely kyriarchy. We talk about this other amazon who came to Man's World, about how much an amazon gives up when they're alone. So, hey, instead of Steve, she wishes for fucking Asteria. (But like maybe let's make her Nubia or Euboea or Actually North African Artemis or something? Not that I don't love a good Lynda Carter cameo, but they already denied us Phillipus in the first one, they owe us some damn amazons of color.) Now Diana's not giving up a dude she knew for, again, a fucking month; she's giving up her entire culture, a sister who's her last link to home. Again. But this time, unlike the first time, she understands the cost. She knows just how lonely it is out here, just how *un-amazon* we are, and we can contrast this with the Cheetah subplot by making that an actual friendship that then falls apart, to emphasize just how much sisterhood means to a Themysciran and just how much Diana is missing by trying to build it here, with fallible selfish short-lived normal humans. And she doesn't have to violate some random dude to do it! (I mean you could also just leave that part out entirely and bring back Steve in his own damn body, but that still makes Diana of Goddamn Themyscira's primary motivation and continual obsession throughout the film a fucking dude, so, no.) Like this is not hard. I can't understand how they can get it so right and simultaneously fuck it up so badly.

#ask box #mirrorfalls #rabid wondy fan post

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worth-more-than-two-thousand · 3 years

Text

Returning from the Dead is Easier Said than Done...

Request: Welcome, Shiny! May I request an x Reader (can be fem or gender neutral) where Echo (post-citadel) comes up to their s/o's doorstep to give them flowers and ask them on a date? A plus if the Bad Batch teases him for dressing up nicely and buying flowers. Thank you! (@handmaidenthesimp)

Author’s Note: Enjoy! If anybody wants me to repost with a gender-neutral reader, just let me know.

Story Notes: Some swearing, not much else to warn you about. Take place in-between Season 7 of CW and The Bad Batch. No Omega this time, sorry!

🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑

Being declared dead was uncomplicated. Your Republic file was branded with a "KIA" stamp, everyone stoically mourned, and someone just a bit shinier would step in to fill your shoes.

Being declared undead, however, was decidedly more complicated. Oh, Echo was reassigned to Clone Force 99 easily enough. But it was the little things that seemed to get mired in red tape. Getting his few personal effects back. Re-opening his modest credit account.

Approving a rental application.

Admittedly, it wasn't that Echo really needed his own place; clones were conditioned to be accustomed to share minimalist, often-cramped quarters. And they were always on the move, so it hardly made any financial or practical sense, in the long run.

But right now, oh, did Echo dearly wish that he was dressing up in the privacy of his own space...and not the shared cabin area of the Havoc Marauder.

He kept his face stoic, as though readying for battle, refusing to acknowledge his teammates goggling in the background. They had returned early from their supply run. Echo had meant to be out of here an hour ago, but (somehow) hadn’t counted on just how difficult it would be to get dressed into multiple clothing pieces with a scomp link for a hand.

So that’s how his comrades found him: trying to wrangle a neck accessory into submission by sheer will.

Oh, if Fives could see him now.

“You look funny,” Wrecker had declared decisively after an unbearably long silence. “What’s that thing you’ve got on?”

“It’s a suit,” he grumbled, refusing to look any of them in the eye. “I’m going to see Y/N.”

Wrecker gasped like a fishwife. He leaned forward, and pitched his voice low. As though the others couldn’t still hear him in the tinny space. “Your girlfriend? You mean you’re going to see her for the first time....since…” Wrecker made a muted cartoonish sound with his mouth, clenching then expanding his fingers in a gesture for ‘explosion’.

Echo stared at him for a moment disbelievingly, before nodding slowly, forcing the sarcastic response he really wanted to say back down. He couldn’t fault Wrecker for being...well, Wrecker. He had all the tact of a rampaging bantha.

“An’ what’s that? Around your neck?”

Echo opened his mouth, but someone cut across his response. “A bowtie,” Crosshair drolled, though his eyes glittered with amusement. Echo tensed, knowing that he wasn’t going to like what was coming next.

“Fifty credits says he chokes, and he ends up strangling himself with it in shame."

“No way!” Wrecker exclaimed, always the optimist. He clapped Echo on the back, who was unprepared so his knees buckled. He felt his metal joints strain. “Don’t worry, Echo,” his brother rasped in the loudest whisper known to man. “I bet she’s gonna love it!”

“You know,” Tech piped up unhelpfully, “Your strategy may backfire. The current deviation from your usual appearance may be so jarring for your beloved that she refuses your offer out of simple self-preservation instincts.”

Echo gritted his teeth. “Right. You have stats to back that up, I suppose?”

Tech blinked at him owlishly. “Of course I don’t. This is an obvious possible outcome.”

“I’m trying to look nice,” he snapped, scowling.

There was a loaded pause. “...’trying’ being the objective word here,” Crosshair smirked.

Before Echo could wipe the look off his comrade’s face with a well-placed ARC trooper punch that would’ve made Hardcase proud, Hunter wedged his way in between them, hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

“All right, laugh it up, fellas. Personally, I think you’re all jealous because you don’t have a girl waiting for you like Echo does.” Hunter turned to face their newest member, took the bowtie that was clenched in Echo’s fist, and smoothed it out before proceeding to tie it around his neck with surprisingly deft hands.

Crosshair ‘hmphed’ while Wrecker verbally agreed, looking slightly put out by the undeniable truth. Tech simply nodded in neutral confirmation. The group lapsed into a somewhat awkward (but not unwelcome) silence as Hunter finished tugging at the folded ends of the bow, then double-checking to ensure it was straight. He stepped back to assess his work.

“You look good,” he said sincerely.

Echo thought he was in the clear.

Hunter frowned. “But...it looks like you’re missing something.”

Or not.

“Like dignity?” Crosshair drawled from a dark corner of the ship that Echo frustratingly couldn’t glare at.

“A sense of self-confidence,” Tech suggested. He wasn’t joking.

“FLOWERS!” Wrecker boomed confidently. “All girls like flowers. You gotta get her some before you see her!”

“I...fine.” Echo relented, anything to get his teammates to shut up. He shoved his way through them towards the bridge. “I’ll get her some flowers. You all stay here until I get back. I mean it, Fives!” he warned.

An uneasy silence followed him, which he didn’t register until he reached the landing ramp.

He shot an exasperated look back at them. “What?’

“...Your former comrade is not here, Echo.” Tech finally spoke. His words were clinical, as always, but there was a touch of understanding underlying his tone.

Echo froze, just for a moment, then shook off the shock of his faux pas as best as he could.

It wasn’t the first time that had happened, after all.

Echo descended the landing ramp, squared his shoulders, and marched into town.

Y/N lived in a run-down but culturally distinct district of Coruscant, characterized by food stalls from species and ethnicities all over the galaxy. Children often ran through the streets, sellers in colorful robes and attire shouting their wares and art for all to peruse. It was one of the nicer markets, he thought, having come here once. He had been accompanying Y/N on her usual run for specialized ingredients that made the diner she worked at the talk of the galaxy.

Echo elbowed his way through the crowded street, content to simply blend in with the crowd, to forget about being a soldier for a moment.

He paused at a flower stand and was mindful not to draw too much attention to his scomp-link hand as he ordered a dozen sunflowers, which he remembered were Y/N’s favorite. When his credit chip was declined, however, he sighed and reached into his pocket to see what spare change he could muster up. Being that he was wearing a never-worn suit, however, meant that there was no change to be found, and the unimpressed florist snatched the bouquet away.

That’s okay, Echo. Y/N doesn't need flowers. She just wants to see you.

At least, he hoped that was the case. He hadn’t exactly written to her yet, unsure that he could sufficiently explain his sudden non-death in typed words...

Surprise! I’m not dead! Hey, you know that explosion on the citadel? Well, I survived! And out of it, I got an all-expenses paid trip to the Techno Union research facility! Why didn’t I write? Well, I was in stasis most of the time and that part’s a bit fuzzy. I also was responsible for killing my brothers by using their own battle plans against them. Oh, and you might notice that I’m missing most of my fleshy bits these days…

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, which were more rapid these days thanks to his enhancements. He was good at compartmentalizing, though. He had to be. He was still a soldier, through and through, and no one wanted a soldier who was about two seconds away from a mental breakdown.

Yeah, a letter to Y/N wouldn’t have cut it. But he still felt like maybe he could have sent ahead some sort of...heads up? A warning? A ‘Please don’t scream when you see me because I don’t think my heart could take it?’

His feet finally guided him to the front entrance of the building where he knew she lived on the 14th floor. Glancing around, he spotted some blue flowers sprouting in a planter near the entrance. He yanked a fairly healthy-looking handful from the soil, shaking the roots to get most of the dirt off. He tucked the strangled roots into his fist so that they would be less obvious.

It was time. He nodded to himself, squared his shoulders, and entered the building.

A short elevator ride later, Echo could feed the sweat beading at his forehead and neck. At least his fight or flight response seemed to be healthy and alive, and Echo tuned out everything but the door in front of him, adorned with a purple wreath of lavender flowers.

He stood in front of the door, and raised his hand to knock.

He stood…

In front of the door…

...and raised his hand…

...to knock, you coward. Just fucking knock.

His raised knuckles, however, refused to move. Echo caught a glimpse of himself in the curtained window panes on the sides of the door, and at the sight of his bloodless face, suddenly felt a whole lot less sure of himself.

He looked ridiculous.

He and Y/N had barely gotten to know each other before his untimely death.

What if she was with someone new?

This was a terrible idea. Echo should leave now, before he caused himself any more embarrassment. Crosshair might get his fifty credits, after all.

Echo had just convinced himself to turn around and admit defeat, when the door suddenly swung open.

Two Y/C/E eyes met his.

There were points during Echo’s battle career where time slowed to a crawl. When an explosive grenade was thrown just a bit too close, or the comrade you had just exchanged banter with received blaster fire to the face.

Echo was experiencing the same sensation now, but he would voluntarily stay in this moment forever, if he could. He fervently hoped his nightmares would be replaced with the sight that was etched before him.

She was wearing her yellow work uniform, white apron pressed crisply with starch...and was as beautiful as ever. Her hair was up in a messy ‘late-for-work’ up-do, a smudge of blushed color not quite within the lines of her lips smearing her cupids’ bow where she had applied it in a rush.

He couldn’t determine whether her reaction to his sudden appearance was positive or not, and so didn’t dare speak first, breathlessly afraid that if he did, the moment would shatter.

He saw her swallow hard, glancing at him from head to toe, gaze landing on his right hand.

He guarded his heart.

“Ech? Echo, is that you?” she whispered. Her eyes tore away from the scomp link hand, and began searching his face as though just as afraid he would disappear.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s me.”

The silence stretched out, and the fight or flight response was creeping back.

“I know I look a bit different.” He tried for a light-hearted joke, but couldn’t quite get his tone to match. “Had some work done. What do you think?” He winced slightly.

She stepped forward and he froze as Y/N lifted her fingers, hesitating briefly before gently touching one of the metal bolts by his left temple. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“...do they hurt?”

He gasped a little as he remembered to breathe again.

“No,” he reassured her, raising his undamaged hand to steady hers. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

“...good.”

The wind was knocked out of him as Y/N flung her arms around him, burying her face in his neck, tardiness to her job completely forgotten.

She began sobbing. It wasn’t neat little sobs, like in the scripted holovids, but heaving sobs that wracked her whole body, and he worried slightly that she was going to faint on him. He forgot about his scomp link for the first time as he rubbed it in circles against her back, murmuring nonsense words of comfort in her ear.

After several minutes, she sniffled, stepping back. She rubbed her nose ungracefully where snot was leaking out, but Echo could have cared less about any of that. He only kept his arms out to steady her, in case she needed support again.

Y/N glanced down suddenly, and flushed.

“Oh. I’ve crushed them.”

Echo followed her gaze and saw that he was still holding the blue flowers from the planter in his good hand, the bouquet having been caught in between their bodies when she had thrown herself at him. They did look a little worse for wear.

He shrugged unconcernedly. “They were free,” he said, not wanting her to feel guilty.

She stared at him for a moment before a bubble of laughter burst from her lips. She still looked like she was about to sob at any moment, but she smiled tremulously at him through shining eyes.

Desperate to make her feel better, he began rambling.

“I can get you better ones! N-not right now, though,” he stuttered. “Actually, it turns out that I don’t have any credits on me at the moment. Everything’s still kind of backed up at the bank regarding my accounts. Also, this suit is new. Well. Not new. It used to belong to this woman’s father who we rescued during a mission on Bith. Long story.” His brain, which worked faster than usual these days anyways, still couldn’t seem to catch up to his mouth.

He forced himself to get back to the task at hand. “I was actually here to ask you for a date. I mean, assuming there’s no one else at the moment…oh, but you have your job to go do…bantha spit, I forgot about that...” He would have to ask Tech if it was possible for his brain to actually short-circuit.

Echo finally trailed off. Now he was the one blushing.

The whole of Domino Squad was probably having a good laugh at his expense right about now, wherever they were.

But Y/N was still smiling at him. And her chin had stopped wobbling. She gently took the flowers from Echo’s hand and placed them on one of the side tables in the hallway before intertwining her fingers with his and grasping his right hand without hesitation.

“Forget about my job. Let’s go on that date. My treat. Though, if I know Dexter, he’ll give us a free meal, on the house. And the rest of the day off."

For the first time since he had joined Clone Force 99, since he had been rescued on Skako Minor, and even before the Citadel...Echo allowed a true grin of happiness to spread on his face.

“A free meal,” he echoed. “Sounds like a plan.”

#fic request #echo #arc trooper echo #tbb echo #the bad batch #star wars tbb #star wars the bad batch #tbb #echo x reader #echo x you #echo x fem reader #sw tbb #sw the bad batch

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snidgetwidgeon · 3 years

Text

Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I’m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”

#breath of the wild #zelink #fanfiction #roleswap au #prince link #champion zelda #urbosa #king rhoam #Son of Hylia Daughter of Farore #snidgetwidgeon scribbles

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organabanana · 3 years

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What spring does to cherry trees || Supercorp

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor

Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor

Additional Tags: mostly fluff, with some porn for flair, pre-canon, but also, post-canon, tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees. What does that even mean? It's taking a simple I love you and putting lead-lined glasses on it to keep its power contained. No offense, Mr. Neruda, but that's just weak. Kara doesn't like poetry. Until she does.

Notes: Written for a very patient anon who prompted me with “Seeing the cherry blossoms in Washington DC” but I got sidetracked by Neruda and my favorite of his poems and it turned into This. It's poem number fourteen, found in "Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada" (Twenty love poems and a song of despair) by Pablo Neruda, which you can read here (Spanish) or here (English). I mostly translated the lines I needed myself, so I can't guarantee they'll match the official translation (I'm also not sure there is such a thing as an official translation, so there's that). With special thanks to the most patient anon in history for the prompt, to @lavenderrry for praising my vibes, and to @emiltons for the gorgeous graphic.

[ao3 link]

The first time Kara encounters Neruda's poetry she's nineteen and bored. In her defense, she thought taking a poetry class would make her feel sophisticated and cultured, but all she feels is annoyed at the insistence of using language to obscure your message rather than share it.

And yes, yes, she gets it. It all sounds very pretty and evocative. It's just Kara has been hiding her true self in plain sight for the last six years, and she can't understand why anyone would willingly and needlessly do that to themselves. To their feelings. She may never have been in love, but Kara is pretty sure if she ever is -- if her heart ever feels full to the brim with the kind of big feelings her professor keeps making them read in metaphors and symbolism -- she'll want to make them clear as day.

I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees.

What does that even mean?

It's taking a simple I love you and putting lead-lined glasses on it to keep its power contained.

No offense, Mr. Neruda, but that's just weak.

***

Kara doesn't take any more poetry classes, and she doesn't think of Neruda (or any other poet, for that matter) for years. She has so many other things to think about. She moves to National City and starts working for Ms. Grant. She grows into herself, she thinks. She becomes Supergirl and feels more like herself than she has since her pod left Krypton. She dates, a little bit. Dips her toe in the dating pool, if you will. She meets Lena Luthor.

And that's the second time she runs into Neruda. Right there on a shelf in Lena's living room, on a book that looks well loved and well read, spine full of small cracks and lines from being opened over and over again. Kara has always thought you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their shelves.

"Pablo Neruda," Kara says, one finger tracing a line down the spine of the book like she's trying to read something in the pattern of the cracks, "I didn't know you liked poetry."

"I don't dislike it." Lena's heels click-clack on the hardwood floor before she sets the bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table and sits on the couch. "Have you made up your mind on what we're going to watch?"

Kara can hear the faint electrical hum of the TV being turned on, but she's a bit too distracted by the book to focus on deciding whether tonight is a night for a romantic comedy or an epic drama. She couldn't say exactly why this book feels important. It just does. Maybe it's because Lena keeps so much of herself hidden somewhere not even Kara's X-Ray vision can reach, and finding little clues about her thoughts and feelings feels a lot like she's struck gold.

Yeah. Maybe that's why.

Her fascination with the book only grows when she pulls it out of the shelf only to find the title written in Spanish. "Veinte poemas de amor--"

"And a song of despair," Lena finishes in English. "Atonement? I've heard good things about it."

"No way. I said I could be persuaded to watch a tear jerker, but I did not sign up for actual depression." Kara brings the book along when she walks over to sit down next to Lena. She's so focused on the book, still, that she miscalculates her landing just by an inch or so and her thigh bumps against Lena's as she settles on the couch. But Lena doesn't move away, and Kara figures there's no reason why she should. They're friends, after all. Close friends. Figuratively and now very, very literally close.

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish." Kara speaks again, breaking the silence before it solidifies into something potentially awkward.

"I don't. It's a bilingual edition. Can we please pick a movie?"

Kara would love to do exactly what Lena wants. In fact, giving Lena everything she wants has become sort of a constant in this fledgling friendship between them. It just feels nice, you know? Giving her what she wants and making her smile. But this book. It's all so very distracting.

"So. Do you prefer the twenty love poems, or the song of despair?"

Lena rolls her eyes, but she can't quite hide the amused smirk behind the glass when she sips her wine, so Kara knows she's not nearly as annoyed as she's trying to appear.

"What is it with you and Neruda? I didn't know you were a poetry fan."

Kara scoffs. "I'm not." She still remembers the feeling of relief washing over her when she saw her passing grade on that stupid course and realized she'd never have to read another line of poetry in her life. "I don't even like poetry. I'm just curious, that's all."

Lena cocks one eyebrow at her. Studies her, in a way that makes color rise to Kara's cheeks and has her wondering if Lena can see through people, too.

"Anyway!" Kara shakes her head like she's hoping that'll make the blush fade. "The love poems, or the song of despair?"

"The poems," Lena finally concedes, "and I'm very surprised you don't like poetry. You seem the type."

"What?" Kara is already thumbing through the edge of the book, trying to find the place where it'll open naturally and hopefully show her which of the twenty love poems Lena happens to like the most. "What does that even mean?"

"Well, you have a big heart. Big feelings." Lena looks into Kara's eyes like she's trying to read all those feelings right there in shades of blue, and Kara finds herself looking down at the book just in case. Just in case all those big feelings she can't even name herself are there for Lena to read. "Seems like a recipe for liking poetry."

Kara shakes her head and pushes her glasses up, just in case. Just in case the lead in them can shield more than just her powers. And just as she's about to argue -- just as she's about to tell Lena precisely why she doesn't like poetry -- she opens her book and her gaze lands on a familiar phrase.

"Quiero hacer contigo," she reads out loud from the page on the left, and her fingertip is already finding the next verse on the right when Lena finishes for her.

"What spring does to cherry trees."

If Kara was just Kara Danvers, she'd have missed it all. She'd have just heard her best friend speak a line from a poem that -- much like most poems -- means very little to her. But she's not just Kara Danvers. So Kara hears the way Lena's heart beats just a little bit faster. The way her breath catches just so. The exact fraction of a tone her voice drops when she speaks. The faintest hint of a sigh.

"See? This is why I don't like poetry." Kara chances a look into green eyes, and she's so very grateful Lena has no superhearing to tip her off to the way Kara's heart seems to trip all over itself. "'I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees'. What does that mean?"

Kara swears -- she swears -- she catches Lena's pupils dilating just enough to make her think she knows exactly what the poem means.

"It's not about what it means, Kara. It's about what it makes you feel." Lena lets out a soft chuckle, something light and airy like this is just a silly little conversation with no weight to it at all. Like she can't feel the way the air itself seems to have changed into something new.

"Is it your favorite line?" Kara pretends she can't hear the way her own voice has changed, too.

Lena shakes her head. "No. My favorite is actually--"

Kara hears the DEO alarm before Lena's fingertip can make contact with the paper, and she almost considers ignoring it. She almost considers letting whatever danger is looming over this whole city have at it because finding out what's Lena's favorite line in her favorite poem seems far more important right now.

But of course, that would be crazy. Crazy! Kara would never.

"I'm so sorry, Lena, I--" Kara stands up, already hearing Alex's voice telling her where she's needed as she pulls her phone out of her pocket and pretends to read a text, "I have to go. I forgot I had this thing with--"

"Go." Lena's smile is just small enough to make Kara's heart twist in an uncomfortable way that's become familiar since she started lying to her friend. "Sounds important. I understand."

Kara nods, just once. "Tomorrow?"

Lena's smile doesn't grow, but it suddenly reaches her eyes, and something settles in Kara's chest. "Of course. Tomorrow."

Five hours later, foe defeated and safely locked away at the DEO, Supergirl touches down on Lena's balcony. There isn't a single light on inside the apartment, and Kara hesitates for a second by the sliding glass door. She shouldn't sneak into Lena's apartment in the middle of the night. That's a little creepy, right? Even if she knows Lena's said over and over again Kara's welcome any time.

It's just.

That book.

Lena's favorite line.

Kara may never be able to sleep again if she doesn't find out what it is.

So with a non-zero amount of shame at her own choice, Kara ends up sliding the door open and slipping into Lena's living space. She listens for Lena's breathing to make sure she's asleep, and once she's satisfied that's the case she makes a beeline for the shelf and the now-familiar book. It doesn't take her long to find the page she'd been reading before, and soon enough she's reading the lines Lena had been pointing to.

How you must have hurt getting used to me, to my savage, solitary soul, to my name that sends everyone running.

The words wrap around Kara's heart like a vice. If she could do it without blowing her cover and putting Lena in danger, she'd go in her room right now just to wake her up and tell her what Kara thinks about her soul. About her name, too, while she's at it. She'd tell her everyone else is free to run if they want, but Kara isn't going anywhere.

But she can't do any of those things.

***

The two lines stay with Kara, sort of swirling under the surface of her thoughts. She never actively thinks about them -- about poetry in general, for that matter -- but they're there.

She remembers them sometimes. When their friendship grows and strengthens and one day Kara realizes Lena may be the person she loves the most in the world (tied with Alex). When the secrets and lies catch up with her and she thinks she may have lost Lena for good. When she finally gets Lena back.

It's been five years since she snuck into Lena's apartment that one night to find out about her favorite line in her favorite poem. Five years since she's actively thought about Neruda and the book and the words inside it. But for some reason, when Kara wakes up a couple hours earlier than she needs to and finds herself unable to sleep, she feels like that's precisely what she needs to read to soothe her brain. Maybe poetry will have the same sedative effect it used to have in college.

Wearing only an old t-shirt, Kara walks out of the bedroom and into the living area, scanning the shelves where she thinks she last saw that book. It's hard to keep track when your book collection has multiplied and turned into more of a home library situation than anything else, but she eventually finds it -- spine still cracked and pages still well-loved and well-read -- and settles down on the couch.

Kara flips from poem to poem, not really paying attention to any of them. A line from the third and then two from the eighteenth and a word or two from the seventh, eyes flicking between the Spanish lines and their English counterparts on the other side of the page. It's soothing, in a strange way. Like white noise, she figures. Nonsensical but calming. Until she lands on the fourteenth.

"Oh, those cherry trees," Kara half-groans in a whisper. The cherry trees and the spring and the convoluted way to say I love you. And Lena's favorite lines.

Kara feels it all over again. The pang of pain at the sight of that line.

My name that sends everyone running.

It lands different this time, five years into a friendship that turned out to be so much more and nearly went up in flames at one point. Because of names and lies and... well. Everything else. Lena was right after all, wasn't she? It's not about what the poem means. It's about what it makes you feel. And right now Kara feels a lot more than she'd be able to put in words if she had to.

Maybe Mr. Neruda was on to something after all.

"Hey," Lena's voice is laced with sleep, and Kara smiles as she listens to her footsteps bringing her closer, "what are you doing? It's the middle of the night."

Kara wouldn't call it the middle of the night -- more like a very early morning, really -- but she's not about to argue. "Reading. I couldn't sleep."

"Everything all right?" Lena reaches the back of the couch and makes the most of the rare height advantage over her girlfriend to press a kiss to the top of blond hair. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

Kara opens her arms before Lena can even think about sitting next to her instead, and smiles at the familiar weight of Lena sliding onto her lap. Even as she shrugs off Lena's question, Kara is already burying her face against the soft skin of her girlfriend's neck, breathing her in and letting the familiar scent filling her lungs soothe her like no amount of poetry ever could.

"Kara," Lena's fingers slide into blond hair, blunt fingernails scratching at Kara's scalp and making her hum in delight, "that's not an answer."

"No reason. I'm just not tired anymore I guess." A deep, content sigh. "Baby, you're so good at that."

There's still a slight crease between Lena's eyebrows, but that doesn't stop the smile Kara's praise brings to her face. "You'd tell me if I had to worry?"

Reluctantly, Kara pulls away from the warmth of Lena's neck. Her arms wrap around Lena's waist as she looks into green eyes. "You know I would."

And Kara watches Lena let the words sink in. They've had this conversation before, and Kara knows they'll have it again. They both have sore spots that need special care from time to time. And just to keep Lena's mind from going down any sort of rabbit hole, Kara decides it's time to continue a conversation they left unfinished five years ago.

"It didn't hurt at all, you know. Getting used to you." Kara shows Lena the book she's been holding, and grins when Lena smirks as the reference clicks.

"I thought you didn't like poetry," Lena chides, taking the book and flipping through the pages until she lands -- unsurprisingly, if you ask Kara -- back on poem fourteen.

"I don't. It's like... giving feelings a secret identity."

Lena arches one eyebrow, looking somewhere between amused and curious. "Care to explain?"

"Well, you know," Kara leans in to steal a quick, soft kiss, "say I want to kiss you. I can just say it. That's better than hiding it behind some kind of... flowery metaphor that'll make you wonder if I'm even saying that in the first place. Right?"

There's this look on Lena's face. Kara knows it well. It's like a challenge. Like she's playing chess and she's already thinking six moves ahead and knows you're toast whatever you do from that point on. Kara finds it nothing short of delicious.

"So you're saying," Lena says, and there's victory right there simmering under the surface of her words because she knows -- she knows -- she's won, "you'd rather I say 'this is a lovely sunrise we get to see together'," Lena's gaze drops to the open book in her hand to refresh her memory on the line she's about to quote, but she makes sure she's looking into blue eyes once again when she speaks, "than 'so many times we've watched the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwind in turning fans', right?"

Kara swallows, hard. Her cheeks burn with a blush that will simply not be contained, no matter how hard she tries to keep some semblance of dignity. Her mouth feels dry all of a sudden, heart beating just fast enough -- hard enough -- that she's sure even Lena's plain human hearing can pick it up. And the look on her girlfriend's face lets Kara know she knows exactly what's currently happening to her.

"W-- well." Kara blinks, shaking her head like she's trying to physically clear the fog inside. To her credit, she thinks she manages to sound more indignant than turned on. "I mean that's unfair. You made it hot."

Lena lets out a delighted chuckle that hits Kara right in her heart, like a little pinball ball making it ding with the knowledge that Lena Luthor is happy enough to laugh. Really, truly laugh.

"What?" Lena asks, still grinning, fingertips teasing the soft hairs at the back of Kara's neck like it's nothing -- like she doesn't know what she's doing to her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ohh no, ma'am," Kara grins, cheeks still burning with the feeling simmering down low in her belly but too charmed by her girlfriend's teasing smile to stop, "you don't get to pretend you didn't do that on purpose."

"Kara," Lena says, in that way, because she knows, she knows, she knows Kara's weaknesses so perfectly well, and Kara wouldn't have it any other way, "I was just quoting Neruda, I didn't do anything."

"You did the voice thing!"

"What voice th-- Kara, if you can't just admit plain language and poetic language are simply not on the same level I--"

"You purred the words! How is that fair!?"

Kara presses her lips together like she can retroactively keep the words from exiting her mouth. Too late, though. Lena looks positively delighted.

"I purred the words?" Lena echoes, barely able to keep a straight face. Actually, you know what? Scratch that. She's openly pleased with herself. Smug, even.

"I mean. I mean," Kara says, and she touches the bridge of her nose with one fingertip because for a moment she's forgotten there are no glasses to push up at all, "obviously it's not the same. Poetry and prose, they're inherently--"

"Different, right," Lena finishes Kara's thought, "so you see how you'd use one or the other depending on how emotionally charged--"

Kara shakes her head. "But you don't need flowery metaphors to convey emotion! You can just say what you mean and mean what you say."

"But you just said it yourself. It felt different when I just said it's a sunset, and when I quoted--"

"You purred poetry at me, Lena, of course I'm going to feel a certain kind of way!"

And there it is. Kara feels it in her bones. The checkmate Lena had seen coming a mile away. She sees it right there in the smirk on her girlfriend's face. In the way Lena's pupils dilate just so. The way her tongue peeks out to lick her lips as she looks at Kara like she's lunch.

Or, you know. Breakfast, as the case may be.

"You feel a certain kind of way?" Lena shifts on Kara's lap and they've been together for long enough that Kara absolutely knows there's nothing innocent or coincidental in the way Lena's night shirt (Kara's high school gym t-shirt, mind you) rides up to expose Lena's lace-covered ass. "What kind of way is that, Supergirl?"

Kara perks up at the sound of her name. Her other name. Because maybe it wasn't checkmate after all. Maybe it was just check. Because the thing is, it's not just Lena knowing all of Kara's weaknesses. That knowledge very much goes both ways. And Lena calling her Supergirl?

Oh, Kara is absolutely not the only one who's feeling a certain way.

"You know." Kara shrugs slightly, pretending to still be the mouse in this little game. She rests one hand on Lena's knee and lets her palm slide up her thigh, slowly, listening to Lena's heartbeat speeding up with each inch of skin Kara explores. "You know the way I mean."

Lena's breath hitches just so when Kara's hand slides further up, and Kara savors the sound of Lena's heart tripping over itself when her fingertips drag along damp lace.

"You're listening, aren't you?" Lena cocks her eyebrow, but her lips stay parted and her breathing comes in short, warm puffs so the whole thing really doesn't come off as stern as Kara is sure Lena would like.

"Hmm?" Kara knows she's probably pushing her luck, but she bats her eyelashes anyway, her face the very picture of innocence as if her fingertips weren't tracing the very edge of Lena's panties, hinting at what they could (will) do if she just happened to push that fabric aside. "Listening to what, baby?"

Lena tries not to -- Kara can see the struggle right there in her eyes -- but she whimpers anyway, quiet and just barely audible to the human ear.

"Kara." It tries to sound like a warning, but it falls just this side of pleading instead. Lena blushes so very pretty when she's feeling a certain kind of way.

"Yes, Lena?"

"You're listening," a breath, slow and measured like she wishes she could take in a deep one but her lungs can't quite cope with that right now, "to me."

"Well, I mean," Kara shrugs slightly, like she can't feel the warmth of Lena's pussy against her fingertips, "I try to. I feel like it's good girlfriend etiquette."

Lena is trying so hard to look at least moderately annoyed. It's not working at all, but Kara can see that's her intent. She also knows exactly what Lena means, too. She means Kara is listening to her. To the beat of her heart and the air in her lungs and all the tiny, inaudible (for everyone else) sounds that tell her exactly how much Lena wants her.

"You're listening to what you're doing to me." Lena drops the book on the floor to wrap both hands around Kara's neck, hips shifting forward just enough to get more contact with Kara's hand between her legs. Kara knows Lena doesn't need superhearing to notice the way Kara's breath catches in her throat.

"And what am I doing to you, baby?" Kara won't cross the barrier of Lena's panties just yet, but her fingers becomes more purposeful, less teasing as two fingertips press against Lena's clit through damp lace. Lena's eyes flutter closed and she takes in a sharp breath that sounds almost like a gasp, and Kara rewards such a gorgeous sound with a kiss to Lena's jaw. "What Spring does to cherry trees?"

Lena must feel Kara's teasing grin even if she can't see it, because she lets out a breathless chuckle even as her hips start rocking to meet the movements of Kara's fingers. "Just admit poetry can express richer emotions than prose ever cou--"

Kara's mouth is on Lena's before she can finish her thought, and Kara would maybe feel a bit guilty for interrupting, but Lena's fingers fist in blond hair and pull her close and there's no way someone who's offended would kiss her like that. And Kara isn't even listening anymore, because Lena's tongue is in her mouth and all she can hear is her own heart thumping along anyway.

When she breaks the kiss, Lena keeps Kara close. She's panting slightly, breath hot and wet against Kara's lips and pupils so dilated Kara wonders if she can see her at all. A quiet, hitched moan escapes parted lips, and Kara swears there's nothing in the world -- in the universe, really -- more beautiful than Lena when she's like this. Like putty in her hands. And Kara just can't resist.

"Admit you purred," she whispers against kiss-swollen lips, knowing if there's one chance for her to win an argument with her girlfriend this must be it. When she has Lena rocking against her fingers, wet and wanting and just the right amount of needy to get her to give in, for once.

"Kara." It's practically a whine, and Kara swears it sounds like victory. Until she sees the glint in her girlfriend's eyes, and Lena gets her checkmate move after all. "Shut up and fuck me."

Kara feels the words rather than hears them. They hit right between her legs and spread all over her body, and you know what? Kara really is okay with losing under these particular circumstances.

Two fingers hook under the crotch of Lena's panties and Kara tugs lightly, almost like she's testing the strength of the lacy fabric. "Do you really like the..." Kara's voice trails off as Lena pulls the t-shirt up and over her head, blue eyes staring unabashedly at her girlfriends breasts as she struggles to finish her thought, "...these?"

It's just polite to ask before tearing someone's panties to shreds, if you ask her, even if you're currently transfixed at the sight of her breasts.

"I don't care." Lena's voice is doing that thing again, except this time Kara is pretty sure she's not doing it on purpose at all, it's just that's what Lena sounds like when she needs Kara now and isn't that just the best thing ever? "Baby, please, I don't care."

Kara doesn't know if she rips the panties off first and then leans in to catch Lena's left nipple with her mouth or if it happens the other way around, but she honestly doesn't care either, as it turns out. All she knows is two fingers slip inside Lena in one smooth, firm thrust, and her free hand grabs Lena's right breast, and then--

"More," Lena moans, breathy and greedy, but when Kara starts thrusting harder into her Lena shakes her head, "no, no-- more fingers," and Kara lets out a quiet whimper around the stiff nipple between her teeth.

Kara pulls her fingers out of Lena and stretches her ring finger to join the first two before sliding them back inside. Her movements are slow and careful, all of her senses focused on detecting even the slightest hint of discomfort in her girlfriend until her three fingers are fully inside Lena.

"Go on, Supergirl."

Lena's tone is just the right amount of teasing to make Kara chuckle lightly, mouth leaving Lena's breast to trail kisses up her sternum and to the freckles on her neck as her arm starts pumping once again. She's so very close, Kara can tell, and even more so when she turns her wrist just so to press the pad of her thumb against Lena's clit.

Lena's fingers dig into Kara's scalp, into the strong muscle at her shoulder as Lena holds on and rides Kara's hand, hips rocking hard and fast in time with Kara's thrusts. Kara couldn't listen to any one thing if she tried. It's a symphony of sighs and moans, whimpers and ragged breaths and stuttering heartbeats that nearly overwhelms her senses until she feels Lena clench around her fingers, hips losing their rhythm as Lena comes with Kara's name on her lips.

Kara pulls her face away from Lena's neck just so she can look at her. Watch her come around her fingers and then relax, chest heaving with the effort of trying to catch her breath. Kara swears there can't be a more beautiful sight in the universe, especially not now, with the sun rising and bathing Lena's damp skin in early morning light. And as much as Kara tries to suppress it, there's a thought running through her head. A line from that stupid poem with its stupid cherry trees.

A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body...

"You're thinking very loudly," Lena whispers, already resting her head on Kara's shoulder as her fingertips play with the hem of Kara's shirt, "what are you thinking?"

For a second, Kara considers telling her, but Neruda's words aren't what comes out when she opens her mouth. "Just how beautiful you look," she says, which is in fact the truth. Kind of. She can't let Lena win every single time, right?

***

"Apparently the first cherry trees got here in 1910, but they had to burn them all because of a bunch of insects." Kara holds the little guide book in her hand as she reads, her other hand safely in Lena's as they walk along the Tidal Basin. "These ones are newer, from 1912."

"Oh, like the Titanic!" Lena looks delighted with the coincidence, and the bright smile on her face makes Kara lean in to steal a kiss from her lips. Her fiancée is super cute when she lets her inner dork show, if you ask Kara.

"See? I told you buying an actual guide book would be worth it!" Kara holds the small book in her hand with the pride of someone who's just won an argument (for once). "Where else are you going to get that kind of high quality trivia?"

"You do know the prototype L-Corp keychain I gave you last week can access Google, yes?"

"Not the same."

"Not to mention the actual supercomputers we all carry around in our pockets. Or the high-tech communicator in your wat--"

"Lena!" Kara groans. "Look around! The cherry blossoms! The quaintness of springtime! A romantic stroll along the river! Where's your sense of romance?"

Lena chuckles lightly, her free hand sliding up Kara's arm to wrap around her bicep. And Kara would complain about the obvious use of one of her many Lena-related weaknesses, but you know what? It works.

"Kara Danvers," Lena says, voice low and teasing, "that's all very poetic."

Kara rolls her eyes, but she can't quite stop the bright smile that's already appearing on her face. "Don't you start with me," she warns, not very convincingly.

Lena presses a kiss to Kara's shoulder, and it makes color rise to Kara's cheeks even through the soft fabric of her cardigan. Even after all these years. But she figures if there's one day to be particularly enamored with one's fiancée, that's the day she's scheduled to receive a Presidential Award for her contributions to science and the betterment of humanity.

Not to brag. But Kara is proud.

"I love you," Kara says, because she can't not, "and I'm just so proud, I--"

Lena presses a finger to Kara's lips, stopping what was potentially about to turn into a whole speech about the many ways in which Lena Luthor could not possibly be any more perfect if she tried.

"Kara," Lena warns, all cocked eyebrow and slightly pursed lips, "you promised. You promised you wouldn't cry before the actual ceremony."

And Kara would argue. She'd argue that she's perfectly capable of going on about Lena's many virtues without actually crying, but you know what? Her eyes are feeling just a tiny bit misty already so she's just gonna go ahead and trust Lena on this one.

"You know what I also love?" Kara presses a kiss to the pad of Lena's finger and obediently changes subjects. "Sushi. Let's go get some." Kara starts walking away from the beautiful soft pink trees and in the general direction of the street festival, tugging Lena along. She's all for the romance of blossom-watching, but she'd be lying if she said hearing about the culinary side of this whole festival hadn't excited her a bit more than that.

It's only when she hears a sigh coming from Lena that Kara's focus shifts from food to the woman next to her. That wasn't a happy sigh.

"Are you okay, baby?"

Lena smiles. It's not a fake smile, but there's a hint of something in it that isn't fully happy, either. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. It's just... between the cherry blossoms and all this talk of sushi, I guess it made me a bit nostalgic for Sendai."

"Sendai?" Kara looks at Lena with curiosity written all over her face. "What's Sendai?"

"Oh, it's a city in Japan. I lived there for a few months for an exchange when I was in college. Did I never tell you?" Kara shakes her head, her face the picture of delight at getting to learn something new about Lena. "There was this little restaurant near Tohokudai, I swear they had the best sushi in the world." Lena hums, letting her eyes flutter closed for a second like she's trying to imagine the taste. "I'd do anything for some negitoro maki from that place right about now."

Kara listens intently to her fiancée's words. She knows it's just a silly little comment. She knows Lena will be perfectly happy eating the undoubtedly delicious sushi currently being sold at the street festival. And yet.

She can't resist a chance to make Lena just that little bit happier, can she?

So Kara looks around to make sure they're not being watched, and lets go of Lena's hand. "Be right back."

"Where are you--?"

But all Lena gets is a quick kiss and a gust of wind on her face before Kara disappears.

She's only gone for a couple of minutes -- just enough for Lena to wander back towards the cherry trees -- and when she comes back she's holding a small box which she immediately presents to Lena.

"Sushi for my... sushi," Kara lets out a chuckle, her now-free hand coming up to scratch at the back of her head like she's aware she may have gone just a little bit overboard but she's hoping it won't be too much, "Sendai's beautiful, by the way."

Lena's smile is soft, and Kara has a feeling -- not to toot her own horn -- if she'd been listening she would've heard Lena's heart skip a beat.

"Kara Danvers," Lena sighs, shaking her head like that'll do anything to hide just how charmed she is right now, "you're something el-- what's that?"

"Nothing," Kara shifts slightly and puts her hand -- and the little carton box it's holding -- behind her back, fully intending on letting the focus of this moment be on her romantic gesture, but Lena raises one eyebrow and Kara loses her resolve. "Potstickers." Kara's voice is quiet as she shows Lena the box. "What? I was in the neighborhood!"

"In the neighborhood of," Lena squints slightly as she reads the words on the box, "Shanghai?"

"Well, China is next door to Japan, if you think about it."

Lena chuckles, clearly too charmed by this whole thing to even continue teasing Kara about it. "Thank you. For this. You didn't actually have to fly all the way to Japan to get my favorite sushi, but I appreciate it."

Kara shrugs, chopsticks already grabbing the first potsticker in the box. "I'd go way farther than Japan to make you happy. You know that."

"I do know," Lena nods, looking just a little thoughtful, like she's just now realizing she fully believes Kara would stop at nothing to make her happy, "you even promised when you proposed."

Lena wiggles her finger, flashing the kryptium ring that's been there for a few weeks now along with a teasing smile, and Kara can only shrug. "Well, I meant it," she says, popping the potsticker in her mouth and leaning against the trunk of a nearby cherry tree.

"I know," Lena says again, but this time she's smiling, amusement shining in her eyes, "if only Lex had figured out the one true way to have the world in the palm of your hand is to make a Kryptonian fall in love with you."

"To be fair, I really don't think your brother is Kal's type."

***

Eight hours later, they're seeing the Tidal Basin from above, the cherry blossoms looking nearly white in the moonlight. They could be in National City already, but Kara figures there's no reason why she can't take the scenic route with Lena in her arms and enjoy the view without the crowds and the bustle they experienced earlier today. Perks of being your own private jet.

"Go a bit lower, baby," Lena's voice is soft against Kara's ear, like she's afraid if she speaks too loud she'll break the spell and they won't feel like the only two people in the world anymore, "I want to see the flowers."

Kara doesn't make her wait. Lena's just been awarded an actual medal by the President, and spoiling her a little is the least Kara can do. So she dips until they're hovering just above the soft pink blossoms and then a little lower still, close enough that Lena can smell the sweet, fresh scent of Spring.

The night is clear and quiet, just cool enough for Lena to reach for Kara's cape and pull it forward to wrap it around herself. Kara holds her a little closer, just enough to hopefully provide a bit of extra warmth, and she figures it was the right move when Lena slips one arm from under Kara's cape to reach for the tree and pick a particularly pretty blossom from one of the branches that's closer to them.

Lena looks at it for a moment, twirling the little stem between her fingers like she's pondering what to do with it. And then she turns and tucks Kara's hair behind her ear, sliding the small flower between soft blond strands and smiling when she's satisfied it'll stay exactly where she wants it.

"Happy?" Kara chuckles, something soft and quiet and a little teasing because there's something equal parts amusing and endearing about Lena's perfectionism when it comes to silly little things like putting a flower in Kara's hair.

"Very."

And there's something about the way Lena smiles, more with her eyes than with her mouth, that makes Kara see, clear as day, just how serious Lena is. How sincere, when she says she's very happy.

Maybe that's why Kara gets a little transfixed just looking at her, suddenly aware of just how different this Lena -- the Lena wrapped in her arms and her cape, wearing her ring and smiling with a smile that's just Kara's -- is from the Lena she first met all those years ago.

"Kara Zor-El," Lena's voice is soft just like the sound of Kara's true name on her lips, "what are you thinking about?"

And Kara wishes she had the words to tell her. But how does she even begin to explain what she's feeling right now? How she's still the same Lena that made Kara's heart trip all over itself the first time she saw her, but she's so very different all the same time. Brighter. Lighter. Loved. God, she's so loved, and Lena knows it, finally, and that's what's different, maybe. Not just Kara's love, because Lena's had that from the very first day, probably, but the fact that Lena can feel it now.

How do you put that in words? I love you just doesn't feel like enough.

And then it hits her.

"I'm thinking," Kara smiles, cheeks pink with the knowledge that she's just been proven wrong, "about what Spring does to cherry trees."

#fic #fanfiction #supercorp fanfic #supercorp fanfiction #supercorp

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gra-sonas · 3 years

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ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: Was the year time jump because of the pandemic? To sidestep making that too central to the plot, or was that always the plan?

JEANINE MASON: That was always our intention and it was just sort of a saving grace in that way. We also don't acknowledge the pandemic in real-time on our show. There are no masks and that was just so wonderful just to get work in that way and have that time where it was a little more normal. Also, that's just our show — we want you to come to us the way you always do, which is for nineties nostalgia, sexy Cowboys, brilliant scientists, you know? CHRIS HOLLIER: So we wanted to drop our characters in a year later, let them stew in their individual decisions that were made last season. We want everyone to root for our poster couple but we want to honor what happens in real life, which is sometimes you step away from that person, even if you are entwined with them in a very particular way. So we wanted it to be a real enough time and distance so that they could live a little life on their own.

With showrunner Carina Adly MacKenzie departing at the end of season 2, has much changed? Or are you still working with ideas she had in place?'

HOLLIER: It's a little bit of both. There are things that Carina and I built that live all the way through and then once the story got up on its feet, discoveries were made with our new crop of people that we were like, "Oh, we're going to bend it this other way."

Jeanine, how is Liz doing in her new life in L.A. when we pick up this season?

MASON: Well, it's been a year and at this point, her life is actually pretty great. She just hasn't taken a second to acknowledge that. She's doing what she does best, which is just full head in her work and trying to figure out what she could use of her discoveries and her brilliance to save Maria. She has a great job, a really nice place, and an awesome partner at work who is a good time and a real match for her in terms of intellect and ambition. He begins to ask her to recognize that and to maybe give something a chance that she's been reluctant to because of how drawn she is to Roswell and to Max. It's a fun first episode. It's sexy. It's fun to find opportunities for her. She's our hero so she's got a lot on her shoulders and anytime where we can find levity for her is always a real treat for the writers and for me.

And no Crashdown waitress uniform must be nice?

MASON: Honestly, I miss it quite a lot right now. I have a note in my notes with Chris, I'm like, "I gotta tell him we gotta find him more opportunities for it."

Should Liz and Max shippers be worried about them finding their way back to one another after he destroyed her work and didn't follow her to L.A.? Should we resign ourselves to a season apart?

MASON: This season really is about these characters having themselves mirrored to each other. Max and Liz need some growing and ultimately they can't do anything but be orbiting each other. We found so many opportunities to have such a beautiful language around the cosmic element of their connection. They're asking, "Is this our decision, or are we just acting off of a decision that the cosmos made for us?" It was so fun to navigate that. I always have such a good time with Chris Hollier and with Nathan Dean, just finding the little tiny notches, a tiny bit of movement towards where they're going next. I really loved following them. It's my favorite Max and Liz season to date.

HOLLIER: It's not a season apart. I'll tease that they, in an unexpected way, end up in front of each other relatively soon. But it's really about when am I ready? And what does it mean to talk to my ex? When someone makes such a big influence in your life, when do you know it's over and when do you know you should fight again? We tried to give them real grown-up lives.

Steven Krueger (The Originals) also joined the cast as Heath this season. What can you tease about his character?

HOLLIER: He's just an awesome human being. I know him from The Originals and we were like, "If we're going to have to be stuck with people in the desert, who do we want?" You want to be stuck with a handsome and lovely and charming Steven Krueger. So really this was looking at, "Well, what did Liz want and what does it look like when you start to give Liz versions of what she wants?" Heath is somebody that is beyond being just a lovely person, he is smart and wants to advance science and that's appealing to Liz. It becomes, "What does it look like when the man that I hang around with all day is also into the same things that I am?" MASON: I love him. Heath is just such a fun, whip-smart, fantastic character. His humor was so fun. We've been having a good time with kicking the humor up really through season two and in season three, we just took it up another notch. There are some moments that are like, "Is this a drama or is it a sitcom?" Looking back on it, he was such a fun partner to spar with. They're both such intellectual characters and I love that there's a real meeting of the minds. It makes it competitive and sexy. I know a lot of fans are so excited because they know him from The Originals and he's going to be a great addition.

Technically, Mr. Jones is a new character too. Can you tell us anything at all about him?

HOLLIER: I'd say he's a new character — and a fully-fleshed interesting new character. Mr. Jones has an awesome beard. At some point, he might lose that beard. A lot of people are asking me, "Is Jones good or bad?" And what I would argue is that's a perspective based upon who you are in the conversation that you're having with him. He knows a lot about our heroes' story and he knows a lot about home. He'll be able to answer questions for them. This season our heroes will get to learn why they ended up here on earth. One of the things I think that people will love is that they're going to get to see that home planet this year. We asked ourselves a lot about this whole season, "What have we set up for the past two?" We look at these first three seasons almost like a trilogy so a lot of things are going to be paid off.

Has Nathan enjoyed pulling double duty this season? Or is he just exhausted?

MASON: He's exhausted, but he's such a champ. That really is the beginning of this mirroring thing that starts with Max and Jones with him actually getting to look at himself to a degree and those questions that come up. The self-analysis that it provokes in him is really the beginning of what is happening to all of our characters this year; everybody's being confronted with themselves. I loved that the Max/Jones of it was also a real sci-fi element.

Did he really grow that beard or was that not possible if he had to go between the two characters?

MASON: That was a prosthetic beard and our makeup team killed it. He was not accustomed to early mornings, which, of course, all of us babes are. It was a lot of extra time in the chair for him.

Can Jones dupe Liz into thinking he's actually Max since she doesn't know he exists?

MASON: You're totally on to something. It's a real and pressing threat. I mean, she's totally in the dark and he looks like her cosmic lover!

HOLLIER: What I will say is that, Liz — beyond her being number one on the call sheet — is integral to this story in a way that she and none of our characters are going to perceive when they start episode one. We're bringing [the characters] to a new crossroads moment in their lives and they're getting, through Jones, a mirror into their own lives to decide what they're going to become next.

How's Rosa (Amber Midthunder) doing this season?

MASON: By the end of season two, Rosa really makes the decision to start taking care of herself. She really becomes an incredible asset to the Scooby-Doo gang. It's something that Liz is in constant adjustment to. As much as she's the younger sister, she feels very protective of her sister and Liz has had to make adjustments in her trust and faith in Rosa. I loved it because it just felt like a real personal, authentic thing that sisters would go through, but also that Hispanic sisters would go through. I think we sometimes, culturally, have a tendency to baby our women — maybe that's the wrong word — but just to underestimate their physical ability and what they might take on, and sort of 'queen' our women in a way where we treat them tenderly. I hate that. I'm a tough bitch and so is Rosa. So Liz has to confront that and go, "I'm an idiot to underestimate you. You've done nothing but prove me wrong."

What about Maria and her visions?

HOLLIER: This year I think Maria has the most complete arc of any season, as she recognizes things about herself that cause more questions about who she is, who her family is, how she's linked to this story. We dive into it in the present-day and we dive deliciously back in time too.

In the exclusive clip above we see her have a vision of a funeral, can you tease anything about who potentially might be about to die?

HOLLIER: Maria is front and center in driving the first half of the mystery for us. She's burdened with trying to figure out whose death she is seeing. It takes a few episodes to unravel and we use it to ask, is this linked to our supernatural stories or real-world stories that are going on politically? Is it bad luck? Is it herself? There's a whole gambit at play. We joke that we solved a past murder, now we're going to try to stop one.

Can Malex (Michael and Alex) shippers have hope that this might finally be their time?

HOLLIER: What I would say is that I think that Malex fans are really going to dig this journey. We, as writers, put them at the same level of importance as Max and Liz. So we wanted to really honor the next step in what they may or may not be. How did they grow up and how did they have those hard conversations just like Liz and Max are going to have?

Is Isobel going to continue to date women this season?

HOLLIER: Isobel is going to go on a more personal journey. You got to love yourself before you can love someone else. We lean into those possibilities by the end of who she might love. It's not something that is dropped all season — it is something that you'll see. We play some romantic comedy stuff with her character this year and with Maria that I think fans are gonna dig. There's a lot going on in the world and wanted to pump some humor and hope into it.

Will see more of Liz fighting to challenge the perception of the Latinx community?

MASON: I think that just by nature of it being one of such few shows that are led by a Latin woman, it's always going to be, to an extent, a protest or an assertion of the space that I get to fill and that Liz Ortecho gets to fill on network TV. I was really excited to just have Chris as a collaborator. Over our hiatus, before the season started, I was doing a lot of reading. I chronicled the books that play into Liz every season on my Instagram. I was reading some Sonia Sotomayor. Her book is just incredible. I was texting him screenshots of pages of the book with things underlined. Ten episodes deep into season 3, he's like, "Remember that page you sent me?" He's a real dream collaborator. I loved him for that. A pressing struggle for people of color is going through the ranks in these big corporations and then sometimes coming to find out that those corporations are purporting to support marginalized groups but actually aren't following through. So how do you, as someone who's having your success, your dreams become reality, navigate supporting the company and giving so much of your intelligence and your work — that they often legally own, especially with science — to a company that isn't going to be for your people?

Roswell, New Mexico returns Monday at 8 p.m. on The CW.

#long post is long #jeanine mason #chris hollier #liz ortecho #max evans #echo #isobel evans #rosa ortecho #malex #alex manes #michael guerin #rnm spoilers #maria deluca #rnm cast interviews #roswell new mexico s3 #roswell new mexico

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bokunosimpfiction · 3 years

Text

Kidnapped Yandere!Heisenberg x Reader Pt.5

Summary: You feel emotions other than rage and sarcasm oh my god

A/N: The reason I took a break from this series was because I had no idea where to take it from that cliff hanger, and I felt that character development needed to be done before we dive head first into the plot. This is part of that, but keep in mind it’s not filler like Chapter 2 became. I think it’s funny that this was SUPPOSED TO BE A FUCKING ONE SHOT BUT APPARENTLY FUCKING NOT. I’ll be posting another chapter for this series soon. Also feel free to send me asks about this series. I’ve been getting comments on my ao3 that are a) genius b)hilarious and c)heartwarming. Talk to me. Please! Ask and anon should be open right now let me know if they aren’t!

Masterlist link for previous parts:

Link to this chapter on AO3:

Taglist: @localdepressedvampire and one person recieving updates via email

The fresh cold late-autumn air made your lungs sting. And the layers of clothes didn’t help fight the chill you didn’t know you were facing. Has it been that long since you’ve been outside, to see the sun? You stick your arms in your armpits under your outercoat. Well, Heisenberg’s spare trench coat. It was much too big, the cuffs of the sleeves going well past your fingertips and the bottom half an inch from the ground.

You were so used to the fluorescent lighting and the warm dry air of the factory, that your body went into some type of culture shock. It felt like an allergic reaction to the outside world itself. Adjusting to it once you escaped would be hard.

“You’ve clearly become less fit since you started living with me,” Karl says in a matter-of-fact tone. You’d be insulted if you didn’t hear him say weird stuff about the other lords or the occasional brain-washed villager who brought up offerings. One had sewed you a wool and fox-fur dress and brought it up in September, in preparation for the winter. He’d thought it dumb at the time, but it protected you from the November chill better than anything you’ve ever worn.

Did they think you were a woman? Whether they were right or wrong, it didn’t change the fact that it was comfortable, warm, and made you feel better than the clothes you’d been wearing before in the factory or even before. You felt safe.

“Of course, I have, I’ve been sitting on my ass,” you retort.

“Still see that sass is intact.”

“It’s something that’ll never leave me.”

“You’d make a terrible house-spouse.”

“That’s the point,” you sigh hard, and you can see the cold air in front of your face, “I had a whole ass college degree before I came here and got my ass kidnapped.”

Karl whips around and looks at you, tilting his head down to peer at you from above his glasses. “You have a college degree?”

“Why are you surprised? Did you think I was that stupid?” Even if the question is sarcastic and witty, you felt a pang of hurt reverberate in your heart. Did he really think you were that stupid? Apparently so.

“I have two masters. One in aerospace engineering and one in mechanical engineering. Double majored in those fields for my bachelors at Oxford on a full-ride scholarship of robotic engineering.”

His mouth drops open. “And I didn’t know about this because?”

“It never came up.”

He pinches his nose, “you could have been helping me this whole time in the shop, and I let you sit on your ass and play care-taker.”

“More like forced me.” At this point, you’ve stopped walking, and you’d be able to see the manor of Benviento if it weren’t for the fog.

“Besides the point.” He looks stressed. His eyebrows are furrowed, a deep frown is on his face and his whole disposition makes him look genuinely conflicted and upset. “Let’s just go.” He gestures for you to follow him and stomps up the path.

You follow him, trying not to slip in the mud. Converse doesn’t have great traction, you realized. Maybe you should have worn hiking boots. “Listen, dirty Dr. Doofenschmirtz-“

“I don’t want to listen to your dumb nick-names right now.”

You stop again, and your fists ball up at your side around the fabric of the sleeves of his coat. Your coat. The coat you’re wearing.

“Why the hell are you so mad at me!” It’s not a question. It’s an exclamation of emotion. For some reason, it hurts. Even if you despised him, hated him with all your being, having someone love you unconditionally felt nice. He was toxic at best, sociopathic at worst, and yet he loved you so strongly it tore the both of you so part. To feel that admiration has gone missing, even if for a second, sent you reeling. You can’t explain why you softened towards him.

“I’m not.” He keeps walking before he realized you stopped. He turned around to look at you. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…” He looks for the words. He’d never been good at expressing himself, you realized. Better through actions than words. But you didn’t want him to act on whatever he was feeling.

You wait in silence, eye-watering, trying not to cry.

He sees and rushes over to you. His left arm wraps around you and his right hand gently grabs your chin, his index finger underneath to lift your chin up to look at him. “Don’t cry, you know I hate it when you cry.”

You struggle to take a deep breath, choke on it, and the world feels so much more dangerous. A million malicious eyes gazing into your soul, whispers of panic fill your brain, and flashing thoughts of running right now, of hurting him or you flash through like lightning in a foggy storm. Every damn thing feels hazy and thick and you’re choking on the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to. I don’t want you to be mad at me, I don’t want-“

“Take a deep goddamn breath.” You feel his tobacco-scented breath on your face. You can see panic flash through his eyes for a moment. You hate the smell, and it suffocates you even more. “You need to breath.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, and your breath shakes like a wasp nest about to fall from the highest branch. “Why are you mad at me?” This time you genuinely ask. You don’t want a reason, but rather a reassurance that he isn’t at all.

His lips form into a snarl that doesn’t come out before he presses them in a tight line. As he thinks. It makes you even more nervous. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the fact that I had an opportunity that went to waste.”

You look up at him. “Okay.”

He wraps his other arm around you and places his chin on your forehead. “Let me know when you’ve calmed down.”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder and breathe.

In. Out.

In. OUT.

In… out

In.

Out.

In.

… out.

“Do you feel any better?”

You wait a moment. “Yeah, I think so.” You ponder for a moment. “I think I had a lot of pent-up anxiety from everything.”

He stays quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He places a kiss on the crown of your head, his beard ruffling your hair. “Are you not going to forgive me?”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know yet. It’s…” How do I phrase this? “I worked hard for this anger. This anger to love me, to know I didn’t deserve this, to be kidnapped, to have my head ready to be mounted on a stick.” You continue, “if I stop feeling angry, if I forgive you, I’m afraid I’m losing that. That’s why I tried to escape because I loved myself, I wanted better for myself.”

“Was I… Was I not providing enough for you?” His question strikes you like an arrow.

“I-“ You stumble on you’re thoughts for a moment. “It’s less of you not doing enough, but more of the rough foot we started on.” You sniffle. “When I gave up, I felt like I lost a part of myself, all that I worked for. That degree included. I felt all my efforts, all my struggles that I faced outside this goddamn village had gone to waste. That it wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth it.”

You had promised yourself to keep him at arm’s length, to not give him clues to manipulate you. But you poured your heart out into his. You felt him shake and squeeze you tighter.

“Never. Ever. Feel like you aren’t worth it.” You feel something wet on your scalp. “You deserved better than each challenge that you faced, and each bit of hurt you felt along the way.” It’s his turn to choke on his words. He takes a shaky breath above you, and you can feel his heart pound faster. “You, darling, are worth everything.”

Something small inside you breaks. He’s just as human as you are, you realize. In this desperate attempt to escape, to fuel this hatred that’s worn you down, you’ve villainized a man that’s felt even more pain than you. A broken man, who thinks you’re the glue to put him back together. You shouldn’t feel any obligation to, but you do, because you’ve felt a fraction of the pain he’s felt, that he’s currently feeling, and it’s made your mind and bones ache far after the situation ended.

“And so are you, Karl.”

He unwraps his arms from around you. “Come one butter-cup, let’s go. Ugly-ass-psycho-doll is waiting for you. Says she wants you for a fitting and some tea party with her demented child, Angie.”

“Angie? Who’s she.”

“Well, you’re about to find out.”

#Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg #Yandere Heisenberg #Yandere #Yandere x Reader #Heisenberg x Reader #Yandere Heisenberg x Reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil 8 x reader #resident evil village x reader #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #re8

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vibesandwonders · 3 years

Text

a tie that binds

Rhodey looks between the two of them; both grinning with unsettling glee. They barely waited for him to retract his helmet before making their request.

“How did you even know I can legally—”

“We’re past that.” Sam interrupts, he’s bleeding from a cut above his eye. Bucky notices it with an eye roll, and, —quite literally— slaps a bandage on it. “We just wanna know if you’ll do it.”

“And if you say no we’ll post about it.” Bucky adds. The buildings behind them smoke. Local authorities had been given the all-clear and are already raiding and arresting. “Instagram and Twitter will come for your ass.” He says with scary confidence.

Rhodey’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click. “You serious?” He asks.

“As a heart attack.”

“As the fuckin’ grave.” They answer in a horrifying tandem.

“Right here?” He watches Bucky move a knife from the inside of his wrist to his ankle for no visible reason. Sam’s only half-listening as Torres and Doppler give up-to-the-minute updates on the situation post-raid.

“Why not?” Buck asks.

Rhodey gives a half hearted gesture at their surroundings.

“We were gonna do a big thing.” Sam says, by way of explanation, “You know, invite all of our closest friends.”

“Enemies too.” Bucky adds, “Give ‘em a solid chance to take a potshot. Maybe take a couple of them down, kind of a two-for-one deal.”

“Wedding present to each other. Good shit like that.” Sam finishes. “But then Barnes here took an armor piercing round to the shoulder.” Bucky turns and shows the massive tear in his jacket on the vibranium arm side.

“And we figured. Life is short,” Sam says.

“—And you are hot.” Bucky quotes with a cheeky tilt to his mouth.

“We’ve been watching Doctor Who ,” Sam explains quickly to Rhodey.

“It’s been around almost as long as me.” Bucky says proudly. “I get to explain pop-culture references to Sam.”

“Research for the time/universe bullshit.”

“Timey-wimey—”

“ Please stop ,” Rhodey begs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And frankly, I don’t want you to explain.” He adds quickly. “I like not being a nerd-ass virgin.” Cuts himself off when he suddenly remembers that he’s somehow officiating their wedding; and has very-recently been witness to their oblivious R-rated behavior. A muscle in his eye twitches.

Sam blinks, then plows ahead unbothered. “Might as well make it official while we’re both young and have all our pieces.”

“Mostly,” Bucky reminds him, waves casually with his prosthetic, waggling his fingers dramatically.

“Fuck you, jackass.” Sam mouths happily. Bucky flips him off.

“Ya’ll got a real messed up thing going.” Rhodey says, reminding them that he’s definitely still in the middle of all this.. “But uh congratulations, I think, Future Wilsons? Barneses?”

There’s the pop of gunfire in the distance. All three heads snap that way, three sets of hands going for various weapons.

“So you’ll do it?” Sam asks, when a quick radio signal indicates that the situation was safe again. They can see the glow of some sort of magic still inside the building.

Fucking multiverse.

“I mean…” Rhodes sighs. “Yeah.”

Sam nods. “You mind if I facetime Sarah and the kids?”

“You’re kidding right?” Rhodey knows the answer. “She can’t be a witness if she’s not physically present—”

“Yeah.” Bucky acknowledges, “We know. I googled it.”

Sam looks pleased and surprised. “When?”

“After we finished clearing out the cult members inside the entry-way.” He shrugs, “There was a lull.”

“I knew getting you that phone was a good idea.”

Rhodey clears his throat. Bucky throws up his hand, “Yeah yeah, I remember, witnesses. Uh…” He looks around, makes eye-contact with a helmeted figure; rattles off something in quick, confident hungarian. Sam fights the urge to find it distractingly hot and fails. The man in SWAT gear stops, halting the prisoner in front of him. Rhodey and Sam wait for the conversation to end. Bucky’s speaking fast and grinning sort of sheepishly. There’s a quick bark of laughter from beneath the helmet.

“He says he’ll witness.” Bucky says.

“I now pronounce you husband and hus—” There’s a breathtaking flash of color that they’ve all begun to recognize as magic and/or multiverse fuckery, of course, it comes from over where the Multiverse cult had been performing their ritual, cutting off Sunny’s quick, joyful cheer. She’s holding Alpine and waving her little paws in her little videochat square. Zahra adds something over comms in persian and it makes Bucky blush.

“Ah fuck.” Sam murmurs, “Can’t give us five goddamn minutes to get hitched?”

Bucky squeezes his hand. “Could just let Strange and his people handle it?”

“Look at you acting like you wanna miss out on all the fun.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Sarah?” He says to the screen that the hungarian SWAT officer is holding. “We gotta go."

“Be safe you two,” she says all pixelated. “Or I'll kick your asses.”

Bucky waves and thanks the soldier who hands him his phone and kisses them both unexpectedly on the cheek.

Rhodey watches the whole thing in barely suppressed horror and fascination.

“You ready Cap?” He asks. Sam’s wings unfurl next to him. Torres is saying something about a big-ass, post-wedding party when they get home.

“You two have rings? Or is this uh, a purely gentleman’s handshake kinda deal?”

Sam scratches his head. “Well, uh—”

Bucky shyly pulls a small box from somewhere and tosses it to Sam. “I mighta called in a favor with Shuri—”

Sam opens it, finds a slim band made of a familiar gold metal. Bucky pulls his glove off and wiggles his fingers.

“Figured this’d be easier,” he says. Pointing smugly at the link of metal that had been swapped for gold on his left ring finger. “She took one outta my hand and made yours.” He adds. “I’ve just been uh, waiting for the right moment.”

“Ya’ll done?” Rhoday says tiredly.

Sam winks, pulls Bucky in for a kiss that makes Rhodey groan with annoyance and avert his eyes; slips him a little tongue just to be annoying. Torres (and the rest of the Little Howlers) whoop over the comms. He pulls back. Both now a little breathless, can’t resist, goes in for another. Shorter. Sweeter. The edge of Bucky’s mouth quirks up.

He tilts, looks a little past Sam’s face, pulls a pistol and fires a shot off behind them. Rhodey watches a figure fall from a hidden vantage point too-far for any normal human to hit. The barrel smokes softly.

Sam’s eyes darken, mouth dry. He swallows.

Honestly. Murder Husband hot.

Husband.

And there are no other thoughts for a solid 5 seconds.

“We are in active combat.” Rhodey reminds them, mostly for his sake. They separate hesitantly.

“Don’t do any dumb shit and make me a young widow, okay Barnes?” Sam calls over his shoulder, and then he’s blazing toward a wide wall of shimmering power starting to erode and expand out of the building. Bucky rolls his eyes at Rhodey and takes off running, calling after the winged silhouette.

“It’s young widower asshole.”

I'm on ao3 too :)

the series here

#bucky x sam #sambucky #winterfalcon #sam/bucky #bucky/sam #sam x bucky #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain America and the winter soldier #tfatws fic #caatws fic #enemies to friends to lovers to husbands #just kiss #marvel fic #its all au now #one shot #Rhodey is so tired of them

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absolutebl · 3 years

Text

This Week in BL

April 2021 Part 1

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Second Chance Ep 1 - living up to its name since it looks to be a series of redemption arcs. Launched with a college confession and a broken friendship, then a flash back to them as seniors in high school. Pairings include friends to lovers, nerd/jock, and maybe cafe boss/employee. There’s a lot going on, but it’s still... quiet and sweet. The script is pretty pat but it’s still WAY more watchable than Cupid Coach or Brothers and most of the acting is solid. Ep 1 tropes included: he’s in engineering, wound tending, fast & bicurious. This could turn into what I wanted My Gear & Your Gown to be. Fingers crossed.

Love Poison 2 Ep 1 & 2 turns out I did watch and report on season 1 (8 eps), season 2 seems equally unmemorable. Thai countryside setting, strong dialect, incomprehensible plot, camp side characters, and ghastly singing.

Y-Destiny Ep 1 (eng subs?) - opened with the sports romance enemies to lovers (they aren’t going in the teaser order). When the couple got over fighting, the flirting was v cute, but the flipping SPONGE BATH trope had to rear its ugly head. Still, this series is shaping up to be less coy and more frank than most BL, better than expected. It feels, I don’t know, gay-er or something? *** Sources were correct that each couple is getting (at least) 2 eps, and MDL has been updated to say this is a 15 episode series (not 7).

Cupid Coach 12 fin - The new Nite was great and should have been a main all along. It felt like we got a tiny nugget of what could have been in about 10 minutes worth of this last ep. It was way too slow with terrible editing and a criminally bad script, but at least it ended happy. Mostly, like Friend Forever, I’m just disappointed that these two actors were done dirty by the series. Bad Cupid Coach, no screen caps for you.

Lovely Writer Ep 6 - breaking news, there’s a het couple I like: toppy bi femme + soft boi = such a good pairing! I know, but this NEVER happens. Meanwhile, Sib’s secret is out, Gene is a bit of a drama queen, and the plot thickens. We half way through.

Brothers Ep 9 - Kaow had a serious moment of advice giving that was truly lovely. Lots of family dama made this a superior episode to... well... any of the others in this series. Which isn’t saying much.

1000 Stars Ep 10 fin - at the start this series didn’t grab me the way GMMTV’s last BL, Tonhon Chonlatee, did. But boy did it end 1000x better. Might have given us 2021′s best forehead kiss. I enjoyed the ultra romantic cliff-top reunion kiss, and I LOVED the stinger flirting scene. That was an absolute gift we had no right to expect. This drama is a poster child for finishing on a high note (always focus on that dessert course). Final thoughts? This was FAR more a classic romance than it was BL. There were some BL tropes used but not many and most of them originated in the romance genre not yaoi. A picture perfect ending bumped 1000 Stars much higher up my best-of list than expected. Not sure how often I’ll rewatch it as a whole, but this last episode? I’m probably rewatching it right now.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Dear Uranus (Taiwan GL) Ep 3 fin - I guess that’s it? Okaaaaay

HIStory 4: Close To You (Taiwan) Ep 3 (AKA Ep 5-6) - we got actual legit gay culture not just BL (always appreciated) from XingSi. I’m starting to find LiCheng’s “show them we fucking” hijinks hilarious rather than annoying (not sure why, maybe I just love a rubber chicken, or maybe it was the STUFFED CORN WITH THE TASSEL that did it).

-- H4 Moment of RANT --

Tropes included beach trip, there’s only one bed, cook for him, baby is a floppy drunk, carry baby to bed, and.... drunk non-con. Whoopdedoo. Here we go again. Did TharnType teach us NOTHING? (Apparently it taught us if the chemistry is good enough, I have no morals at all.) At least H4 seems to be taking us out of cheese into serious when it comes to assault. Or is it?

I take back what I said last week about XingSi & YongJie being codependency + salvation trope, that only works if YongJie is the uke. He’s NOT. So we got us an obsessive predatory villain with a possible redemption arc. That’s more common in crime dramas, mafia romance, and epic fantasy than BL. It’s real hard to redeem a sexual predator in a reality-grounded universe like contemporary romance (See Kla in LBC1&2).

Next week is gonna be a test of the whole damn franchise. Imma remind both me a you that this was ep 3 of 10 so we got a ways to go yet... but ooof, what have we wrought, BL? (I ended up doing a whole post about the stepbrother trope because of this sub plot.) Taiwan is killing me.

-- RANT ended --

Word of Honor (China) Ep 19-21 - over half way point so we got ALL the back story (in a classic 4 act story structure midway reveal). Now we know who WKX really is and his lineage. We also got some cute hugs and hand holds. Moving along at a nice clip despite being 36 eps total. Still gayest thing to come out of we-not-gay China since Advance Bravely.

Most Peaceful Place (Vietnam) Ep 2 - takes them a while to get eng subs together and ep 2 didn’t drop until late. So I’m putting this in a Thurs time slot going forward. Miscommunication already cleared up and a 2nd couple has been introduced. The pacing on these Vietnamese BLs is always a bit... off. But it’s still better than most of its ilk, enjoyable. I’m thinking it’s a 6 ep arc.

We Best Love 2 (Taiwan) Ep 5 - after the initial drama DRAMA of ep 2, the current external crisis at work is much quieter, giving this whole season a top heavy feel. Taken along side the first season, I think it’s fitting nicely into a 4 act structure, but that might be my bias. I hope I’m not wrong, we’ll find out next week. Shi De puttering about being domestic with Shu Yi on his back was the best execution of the piggyback trope EVER. Meanwhile, our little D/s side couple of codependency, salvation trope + mental illness is becoming weirdly appealing. I don’t know. H4 done mess with my head.

Stand Alones

Absolute BL AKA Zettai BL ni Naru Sekai vs Zettai BL ni Naritakunai Otoko (Japan) Ep 1-4 mini series. Found subs under A Man Who Defies The World of BL. IT’S HILARIOUS. It’s Japan making fun of us, but also itself for having started this whole BL nonsense - from yaoi roots to present day. It’s parody goddamn gold. Utterly cheeky unto the very last line. We are not worthy.

Apparently the most powerful tropes of all time are: baby is a floppy drunk and the piggyback fo nobility. Oh and chocolate. {Full review here.}

Honestly, this show may have been made with only @heretherebedork and I in mind. I don’t know if you’d even understand half of it if you don’t have a history with the manga source genre and an obsessive interest in underlying narrative devices. I haven’t seen much chatter in the blog’o’sphere on this one because, in the end, it’s not a romance at all, it’s social commentary.

The ending line was a masterclass in lampooning a genre. I’m going to rewatch the whole thing just to catch all the digs I missed first time around. It is a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

Thank you Japan. I forgive you all your hair-styling sins of the last decade.

Breaking News

Spring Line Up:

Scholar Ryu’s Wedding Ceremony AKA Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding (Korean historical BL) April 15th

Close Friend the series (Thai trailer) April 22.

2gether the movie (Thai trailer) April 22 to Thai theaters.

Nitiman (Thai) May 7 on One31.

I Told Sunset About You 2 (Thai) May 27 on LineTV

Ossan’s Love (Hong Kong) June to Viu

Gossip

Bad Buddies released its first promo op via Arm Share, which means GMMTV is at least *thinking* about filming it.

Fun behind the scenes gossip sesh with eng subs for Tell the World I Love You (that Perth Bas movie we are maybe getting someday but will likely be sad).

New Thai BL Bite Me (adapted from novel Grab a Bite) dropped a teaser. It stars Mark Siwat (Kla in LBC) as uke character Ake, a delivery boy with special foodie powers, and chef Eua (seme played by Zung Kidakorn) who discovers him. It’s from the same author as Manner of Death so we might even get some actual plot. Since it’s an established BL actor who I happen LOVE, a known author, and a plot about FOOD, I could not me more excited for this one.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Some shows may be listed a day later than actual air date for accessibility reasons. Some are dropping multiples at a time but just started so I’m not sure on numbering.

Upcoming 2021 BL master post here.

Links to watch are provided when possible, ask in a comment if I missed something.

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