#this was written in 30 minutes

[trivialcrow]

Here is Gone - JayKyle

Jason paused on the threshold for the barest second as he spotted the person sleeping on his couch. A flash of spoiled tenderness cracked across his heart, before he shut it down and shrugged off his jacket. He tossed the reinforced leather at the napping man while continuing through his apartment, heading for the kitchen .

The curse and splutter behind him was enough to drag an exhausted smirk to his lips. “What the fuck are you doing here, Rayner?”

“Hi, Jason. How are you? I’m great, thanks for asking,” Kyle said, sitting up enough to glare at Jason over the back of the couch as he wrestled the jacket off his head.

“Glad to hear it,” Jason said without inflection. He reached up and grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. “I’m tired, pissed off, and not interested. So, hello and goodbye.”

Kyle’s annoyance shifted to wariness that was softened around the edges by worry. “Okay… you are legit pissed at me.”

Jason downed the water and stared out the kitchen window, able to see the reflection of Kyle in the glare of glass. “Nah,” he said. “I’d have to give a shit about you first to bother being angry. You can show yourself out. I’m going to bed.”

Jason managed two steps towards the hallway before a flash of green lit up his living room and there was a green lantern floating in front of him. He scowled and tilted his head up, meeting steely blue eyes. “Move.”

“No.” Kyle lowered his feet to the ground and crossed his arms, but didn’t dismiss the lantern uniform. “Not until you tell me what’s going on. Why I’m back to getting your fucking attitude problem again.”

“Jesus Christ, nothing is wrong,” Jason said. “We - this -“ Jason motioned between them. “Is not a thing. It was never a thing.”

Kyle nodded once. Slowly. “Right,” he said. “So, I just imagined those months in New York? Don’t get me wrong, I’m a creative guy, but I don’t think even I could make up you not being an asshole.”

“Fuck New York,” Jason said. “I wasn’t the one who left.” His jaw snapped closed so fast his teeth clicked, but the worst was already out, and by the dawning realization on Kyle’s face, Jason knew he couldn’t take it back.

“You’re mad I left?” he asked, voice equal parts confused and incredulous. “You. Of all people? Seriously?”

Jason shook his head and tried to side step Kyle, but the lantern lifted his arm, ring glowing with a tell-tale warning. “No,” Kyle said again. “We’re going to talk about this.”

“There is nothing to talk about,” Jason replied, contemplating the advantages versus the consequences of shooting Rayner. “It’s done. Whatever It was, is done.”

“You left all the time! I left more than once,” Kyle finally snapped. “What made that time any different?”

Jason jaw flexed. Fuck. He didn’t want to say it. Saying it was admitting… something. But he knew Kyle, and Kyle wouldn’t leave it alone until he got an answer. “Because that time you knew you probably weren’t coming back,” he said. “You told me the Guardians were quarantining Earth, which meant you either gave up the ring or you gave up Earth. You made your choice.”

Kyle stared at him. For a long, long moment, that was all he did, and then his head dipped forward and he huffed out a laugh that was more sadness than anything. “I told you, and you didn’t say anything,” he said. “You never - goddammit Jason.”

“Would it have mattered?” Jason shot back. “Would you have stayed if I’d asked?”

Kyle dragged his fingers through his hair and lifted his head to meet Jason’s stare. “You didn’t ask,” he said. “So, I guess we’ll never know.”

[moyazaika]

tbh jaded lawyer darling trying to save yan crime kingpin from getting his ass thrown into prison for life — yet again.

he’s lingering at the court’s steps, entertaining the news reporters with a dazzling smile, the entire world waiting with bated breath to see whether this is the day his billion dollar criminal empire comes crumbling down—

“the whole world knows you did it!”

“are you ashamed of yourself?”

“do you really think you’ll walk away a free man after today?”

that gets his attention.

“darling, don’t ‘ya worry about me,” he turns to the journalist, and tilts his head to the side, pulling out his lollipop from between those lips, curled in a sly grin. “i ain’t gotta worry ‘bout no fuckin’ laws when i got the world’s best damn lawyer on my side.”

a young man, then. thick glasses and braces on his teeth. far too thin and lanky, for all his balls of steel as he speaks up. “are you implying that your lawyer is an accessory to your crimes? a corrupt lawyer for a guilty man on his way to the gallows?”

he hears you approach before he can think to respond. the familiar, expensive echo of the dress shoes he’d bought you the first time you’d won a case, before you’re there where he thinks you belong; right by his side.

“alleged crimes,” you correct, and your kingpin turns to greet you with a million dollar smile. “now, my client will not be taking any more questions. kindly, fuck off.”

cameras flash instantly and countless more mics are shoved into his pretty face, still mesmerised by you, even when you grab him by the back of his collar (unironed, you notice with absolute dismay) and pull him inside, away from prying eyes.

“you’re being tried for sixteen drug and weapons counts,” you hiss, digging your newly manicured nails into his skin, as you pull the lollipop he’s sucking on right out of his mouth with a wet ‘pop’ and toss it to the side, seething. “when will you fucking get serious!”

he only dumbly stares back at you with a slack jaw, and stars in his eyes. his voice dips an octave lower, deep in his throat when he speaks. “oh, i could get very serious if you wanted to give me a kiss. or, y’know, maybe you could act as a replacement to that sweet lollipop of mine ‘ya just—oh, fuck!”

when you stride into the courtroom later, in your neat, pressed suit and slicked back hair, nobody dares ask why the infamous ‘alleged’ crime lord is following after you with a bruise blossoming on cheeks that flush a deep, deep scarlet.

-

the judge announces the jury's verdict, and you don’t even look up from the documents you’re perusing when he’s found ‘not guilty’ in a court of law, yet again—

“jesus fuckin’ christ, i knew you were gonna save me!” your kingpin jumps up from where he’s sitting besides you, pressing his face into your shoulder as he breathes you in with an elated, shuddering breath. “can’t even imagine which ditch i’d be rottin’ in without ‘ya, sweet pea.”

“excuse me, sir.” you pry his hands off you with a detached air of reservation you reserve for when the two of you are in public, but the way your knuckles are white when you gather the countless files and papers of yours scattered on your desk tell him everything he needs to know about how pissed you are. “hands off.”

he knows he’s in for it when the two of you get home, and yet, he looks forward to the sight.

it’s always more… exciting than it should be; when you’ve got him shoved right up against a well, going off about how ‘irresponsible’ and ‘immature�� he is, nails leaving his skin bleeding from how deep you sink them into his body, too caught up in your own irritation to notice or, honestly, care.

and maybe, he thinks, as he follows you out, tonight he’ll go pay a visit to someone after you’re done with him.

a man’s got needs, y’know?

he’s high off the rush of his latest win when he walks up the porch steps hours later. it's really only the latest achievement in a long line he attributes solely to you and your efforts.

he’ll make sure to repay you one day, with all you’ve done for him. he’ll take such good care of you; let you do whatever you wanted to him, as a token of his appreciation for ho hard you've worked to keep him on the streets he rules and out of the prisons he knows he belongs in.

in fact, his efforts start right here and right now; on the steps of a nice, suburban house, that belongs to the journalist with thick glasses and braces and a wiry frame. the white picket fence and 'keep off the grass' sign do little to deter the man outside. then again, the poor bastard could have had gates of iron, and he still would have found a way to creep inside.

he never knew being a journalist paid so well. shit, maybe he should’ve gone down this path instead of, y’know, running a criminal empire. this bastard's got balls of steel, for what he had the nerve to say about you. but it’s okay! hey! he’s here to take care of it for you!

you don’t ever need to find out what he’s done in your name. ♡

he’s very adamant about this, choosing to see the job to completion all alone, slinking away from your critical, watchful gaze—only once he’s made sure you’re knocked out by watching you sleep, crouched by your bedside, for a few hours—to make sure the problem’s all taken care of.

the kingpin rings the doorbell, and patiently waits for the door to open with his scarred hands held behind his back. there’s a glock in his left back pocket, and a silencer in the right. a swiss army knife curled in his fingers, because he’s always been creative.

yeah, can you believe that? his teachers used to tell him he would make a great artist one day. and he is, he likes to think. only that his canvases are a little less traditional, and not in the banksy way. you know how it is! life imitates art... or some hippie shit like that.

there's no rules in art for what you can paint with, right? or what surfaces you can carve up into pretty shapes...

and so, when the lock clicks open, and the handle turns, it’s exactly like he said; a man’s got needs!

so sue him! really, so what if his needs mean his heavy hands are clamping over the journalist’s mouth, twisted into a silent scream—

so what if he knocks the smaller man back, a fist flying to his face, those wide eyes and all, slack jaw stupidly hanging open in disbelief—

so what if he shoves him inside and kicks the door behind them shut?

your kingpin knows what comes with the life he chose, and sullying his name is one thing—but nobody gets to drag your name through the dirt and live.

he makes sure of that, personally.

-

“where did you go last night?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the weekly newspaper in your hands. there, on the front page, a greyscale photo of you and your headache of a client, descending the court’s steps after the verdict. “and why didn’t you ask for my permission before you left?”

the headline, in big, bold letters, splashed above the picture; INTERNATIONAL OUTRAGE AS INFAMOUS DRUG LORD EVADES LAW YET AGAIN. SHADY LAWYER TO BLAME?

“just takin’ out the trash, lovely. don’t you worry ‘yer pretty little mind about it.” as he says that, he abandons his own breakfast, suddenly snatching the paper out of your hands and ripping it up, but not before noting the name of the article’s author, tucking it away for later.

shreds of the weekly paper you hadn't even gotten to read yet fall to the floor, fluttering this way and that. you close your eyes and smile. “haha. funny. well, my ‘pretty little mind’ is telling me to throw the coffee in my hands all over you.”

“tryna mark me up?” he purrs, “if you really wanna wake me up, can i suggest somethin’ else ‘ya could throw at me? or on me, really. but—”

“i’m going to kill you in your sleep, one of these days.” you deadpan, turning back to your food. he’s like a little kid, and you’re not about to indulge him by giving him the attention he so desperately wants from you.

“'yer serious??" he grins, hands flying to his face in elation, a curious blush colouring his skin a deep pink. “you mean you actually wanna step into my bedroom— at night— of 'yer own damn will?“

you take another sip of your coffee, fingers trembling around the cup. don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what—

“damn... guess i should start sleeping naked, then.”

[sophfandoms53]

Everything about these moments makes me sob.

For this little kid, who’s not only non-verbal but also has broken horns, to come up to Fizz and communicate how much they love and look up to him and how much Fizz inspires them, it’s a reminder of why Fizz loves performing. It’s about the audience. All of the different types of people in the audience. Impacting them and giving them an experience they’ll never forget.

Fizz used to be that audience. He was that little kid who was inspired to pursue performing and now he gets to inspire kids too. And he especially gets to inspire those kids who are just like him.

He might’ve been a teenager when he was injured, but that doesn’t change the impact Fizz has on people as a disabled person who is still able to live his life how he wants it.

Like he said last episode, he’s not broken. He has his prosthetic limbs, he has Ozzie, someone who loves him, and a thriving career.

So having this little kid with a disability and the same broken horns as Fizz, it truly shows how impactful Fizz as a disabled performer is.

This kid is inspired that someone who has a disability like them is able to live out their dream. Fizz is a reminder that they too can achieve their dream of performing no matter what.

And the fact Fizz was able to communicate with this little kid, you can see that meant everything. The way their eyes light up each time Fizz responds is truly incredible.

Fizz is able to be the role model for this kid that Mammon should’ve been for him.

Not to mention that Fizz’s own broken horns aren’t known to the public, this little kid doesn’t know Fizz also looks like them in this regard, Fizz hides his horns under his jester hat so he looks “perfect”, but this kid’s broken horns are out and proud. This kid is not ashamed, and Fizz shouldn’t be either.

This is part of who they are and we see Fizz embrace every part of himself during his final performance when he rips apart his clothes to show off his prosthetic arms and scarred body.

And that thank you to this kid that Fizz gives them, it’s not only a thank you for being part of the audience, it’s a thank you for reminding him why he loves performing and that they inspired him too.

Fizz sees himself in this little kid just as this little kid sees themself in Fizz and I think that’s beautiful.

[chirpsythismorning]

We never really left

[vickyvicarious]

I have written this in the train.

Can you imagine being a fellow passenger on that train, watching Jonathan scribble away? Let me remind you, this is the entry which contains the famous "if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone" passage. He is sitting in the train actively writing away how he plans to become a vampire as well if necessary, all while vibrating with the desire to get there already so he can murder Dracula with his big knife.

Just imagine the energy radiating off of this man. I would perhaps hesitate to sit near him.

[mychlapci]

requests? I've had vampire Springer x First Aid on the brain all day... (but only if you're up to it!)

for some ungodly reason i decided to put a bunch of dialogue into this one. and dialogue is the bane of my existence.

Springer’s frame was odd, to say the least. First Aid was utterly fascinated by what little specs he possessed of Springer’s internal systems. Apparently, he was very adamant about never taking his check-ups, which the wreckers tolerated if not outwardly ignored completely, but First Aid was not having that. He wanted to see more. Something could be seriously wrong!

Getting Springer into the med-bay was the hard part. Scanning him was just as hard, if not harder.

„You could’ve gotten seriously damaged out there, if I could just check you over”–

„It’s fine,” Springer mumbled. He looked fine, but he shouldn’t, not with how hard he’s gotten banged up on the battlefield just mere cycles ago „I’ve had worse,”

„You don’t know if you have internal damage,”

„I don't,” Springer was clearly getting irritated, when his facial plate suddenly softened and he shrugged „Take your readings, or something, you’ll see I’m not bleeding,”

First Aid huffed. Wreckers and their pride. Fine. He plugged a quick medical interface cable into Springer’s arm and checked over his energon readings. How odd. He wasn’t losing energon, but it burned at an odd rate, and was currently pretty low „No bleeding,” First Aid begrudgingly admitted „Fine, but you should drink some energon. You’re low,”

That made Springer’s EM field ripple, but he quickly hid it underneath another aloof shrug, pedes twisting as he gets ready to leave „Sure, I got some in my room,”

Oh, First Aid was onto something „No, you’re going to drink energon here, so I’m sure you’re actually fueling,”

He throws a look into the corner, where some stray cubes of med-grade and standard energon were waiting for consumption.

Springer snorte „You're gonna make me drink in front of you, like a sparkling?”

„Yeah,”

„That’s stupid, I’m leaving,”

First Aid blinks „What? Hey! Your systems are, as per medical terms, all out of whack, you need energon,”

„Not your kind of energon,” Springer said as he exited the room, briefly looking back with an expression of regret on his face, as if he didn’t mean to say that.

First Aid spends the rest of the day and also maybe the rest of the week thinking about it. Something is up with Springer, and he’s not telling him what. That’s okay. First Aid can’t let that get to him, they’re not all that close, Springer doesn’t have to tell him anything. A dietary restriction, though, that's something you let your doctor know about.

So, fed up with Springer’s lack of professionalism, First Aid raids his room one day. While Springer is in it, of course. He’s not a creep or anything like that. Just a bit pushy.

„Hey, I have energon,”

Springer sighs where he was caught idly standing by a closet „Again with that? I said I’m not bleeding,”

„Yes, but you’re not fueling,” First Aid raises his voice „I saw it, you never go out for morning energon, I don’t know what’s going on, but”–

He could say he cares about Springer, but he fears that might lay it on too thick. Besides, curiosity is First Aid’s drive right now.

„It’s weird. And I want to know what it is,”

Springer scoffed.

„Close the door,”

First Aid’s spark almost jumped out of his chassis. He’ll be in a closed room with Springer! In his bedroom! Now, only if he knew why the bot’s gaze made him feel oddly uneasy. But it’s too late to back out, the doors already slid closed with a pressurized hiss, and Springer was on top of him in an instant. The cube of fresh energon shattered on the floor.

„Woah woah woah, I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything, I'm not telling anyone”–

„I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to show you,” Springer said when First Aid wouldn’t stop squirming.

„What?” First Aid’s visor blinks, and he stills under Springer as the bot slowly leans forwards and… presses his lips against his neck tubing. Now, First Aid could be a romantic and just assume Springer was so in love he couldn’t fuel, but that was wishful thinking that has no place in this war, and easily discarded when Springer’s dentae suddenly perforated a non-major line in his energon cabling.

First Aid shuddered at the sound of Springer’s wet lips sliding over the dribbling indent.

„I’ve been like this since my creation,”

„Like what?” First Aid cringed at how quiet he sounded.

„Hungry,” Springer answers, and then wraps his mouth around First Aid’s neck again, sucking on his warm energon with audible gulps. First Aid doesn’t think to move, doesn’t think to squirm, he just lies there and stares over Springer’s shoulder with awe in his optics, vents growing more and more laboured as Springer’s heavier, bulkier body presses down on him.

Woah! First Aid wakes up in his bed, panels painfully hot. Primus, that was a weird dream, he thinks as he brushes a hand over his neck. It felt so real, he can still feel that ache in his tubing. Odd.

[ender1821]

Wrote a little thing following Pearl’s episode 2 of Secret Life :)

— — —

Being a morning person isn’t all sunshine and rainbows every day. Nope, it’s not great when you’re in a sleepover and are now awake while sandwiched between your friends.

That’s where Gem finds herself after a night at Pearl’s…mound…hut…thing? She woke up at her usual time, only to be trapped under someone’s arm. She shifts carefully to wriggle out without waking up anyone else, but during the endeavour, she catches a glimpse of another figure sat upright.

“Having some trouble, Gem?” She hears Pearl ask teasingly, a smirk undoubtedly on her face.

Gem is finally freed of Cleo’s arm on top of her, and she pouts. “Go back to sleep.”

“Bold of you to assume I was asleep to begin with.”

“Pearlescentmoon.”

“I’m kidding! I did sleep, I’ll have you know. I did sleep.” Pearl sniffles.

Gem’s gaze turns fully towards Pearl, her vision adjusting to the dim room. As it clears, she sees Pearl’s eyes glimmer in the dark. Her face is slightly damp, Gem notices.

“Pearl?” Gem sits up and scoots closer. “Are you okay?”

“Never been better.” Pearl wipes away the tears formed. “I just— Um, I dunno…”

Pearl swallows what’s been building up in her throat, running her hand through the fur of Mailbox. “I didn’t think this would happen— It’s different.”

Gem glances at Pearl’s fidgeting with the yellow dog collar. It stops, leading Gem to observe Pearl’s distant stare at the pile of resting players in her home.

There’s only been a few times where Pearl’s eyes were that unfocused, swallowed up in a whirlwind of thoughts. One of those instances, there was a similar yellow collar in her frostbitten hand.

Something in Gem pushes her to reach for her friend. She won’t notice it at the moment, but the same reassurance she murmured that night leaves her mouth now,

“You’re not there anymore.”

Pearl looks up, then blinks. “Y’know, I might actually start believing that now.”

The corners of Pearl’s lips twitch upwards, the infectious smile finding its way to Gem as well.

“Fancy a walk outside?” Pearl eventually suggests. “Wouldn’t want to wake the others up.”

The fresh air on the other side of the walls do sound appealing, especially after a night inside a pretty cramped and stuffy room.

“Yeah.” Gem stretches her arms. “Yeah, that’s for the best.”

Sneaking past the others, the two step outside to be greeted by a warm sunrise.

(Pearl’s fingers brushes past Gem’s palm. The heat lingers.)

[im-sorry-what-ii]

Ice was an 100% an Elvis fan. I will not back down from this, Val told me himself

Do i have any proof for this?

No. Anyways

This is Val Kilmer in his 1984 movie 'top secret'

I have not seen the movie I'm just bullshitting my way through this

And this is a young(ish) Elvis Presley

Tell me I'm not the only one who sees the similarities plz (yes I know val Kilmer plays an American rock n roll singer which is essentially what Elvis is just go with it)

I hc Ice wore his hair like in the 70s/early 80s, bc he had the biggest crush on Elvis Presley this is completely self indulgent thank you goodbye

[littleplantfreak]

hmmm going to the beach soon but do i have time to write that small ume thing? perhaps 🏃‍♀️💨

[meet-me-in-the-pouringrain]

everyone in the bau is just like me

they all wanna fuck emily prentiss

[eyeofnewtblog]

Things that happen at work:

So, we have quite a few CDLA drivers at my company that are legal immigrants from various parts of Africa and the Middle East, as well as a significant number of legal immigrants from South America and the Caribbean.

I honestly think it’s just…so freaking impressive that someone who speaks two or more languages looked at their career options and decided “least amount of effort for relatively good pay” and chose driving.

Because honestly, if you can exist in a state where you just react in the safest way possible to other drivers being absolutely moronic, instead of being emotionally invested in the road (ie road rage) that is LEGIT impressive.

Also? Driving professionally is actually hard because of all the regulations that need to be followed? You need to literally be a bunny ears lawyer about regulations, on top of dealing with faulty ELD systems and equipment (gps tracking systems that record drive time so that drivers cannot fake paper logs) PLUS being able to pass a DOT inspection on the fly? You basically have to be able to give your self a State Trooper inspection every time you get in any vehicle that can haul more than a mattress strapped to the roof.

I really, genuinely like the people I work with, but I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate the industry.

[graniteknight]

When it comes to Clay as a character, I feel like his character wasn’t completely finished.

Crazy I know, but this is mainly the giant fucking chunk of family detail that makes his family extremely complex and just overall makes everything not fit into places properly. (such as a lack of canon age making it very hard to put into perspective how old Clay and Fletcher were when wanda fully cursed.)

Overall, Clay’s character probably sticks out the most (and that’s saying something) .

One thing I think is really interesting which I wish was involved more within the series was Clay’s horrible lingering fear of failure which never really gets any more attention outside of ep5 which sucks because it seems relatively important to his character.

How as soon as something goes wrong (loosing merlok while being a newly graduated knight who didn’t really have a chance) or up against whiperella? (I probably spelt that wrong).

His very first response to these things happening is “I don’t deserve to be a knight” which.. ow okay..

He seems very.. I don’t know how to word it.. I’ll figure it out lmao.

I think the one of the reasons he takes up the role of the leader, yes he’s the most bold teammate, but the possibility of that fear of losing his temmates is something he just can’t handle. Losing his own uncle was probably enough as it is.

Then the whole s4 thing . When he started feeling as if he was endangering his teammates safety, the first thing he did was walk off on them, and the second time he forced Macy to turn him back into stone.

I guess because he appears so “bold and tough” that’s what his character is.. completely. but I guess the interesting thing is that he doesn’t ALWAYS act like that. His very bold character personality isn’t always something you can see and that’s what makes him so.. interesting.

A lot of things still weren’t properly answered when the show ended, which sucks because it could’ve given us more perspective into what his family was like, seeing we got not actual answers in the beginning.

Clay definitely has some .. interesting, character flaws (uh.. yeah.) but moving aside from that I know there’s something else that should be relevant to what I’m saying and I know it makes 0 sense.

The interesting connection Clay has with the knights code (as we see clearly in ep4 when the whole fucking episode revolves around it.) is something that’s so.. interesting, because he’s the only knight to actually take it COMPLETELY seriously.

^ I’ll eventually add to this, but something else is why he has an absolutely god awful sleeping pattern, because there’s no way sleeping for that short amount of time is ever EVER okay for you. Yet we know he’s very,.. schedule reliant, and it probably doesn’t fit into this.

👏 Okay okay, I don’t want to say downright “Oh I think Clay is neurodivergent” but that’s clearly the fucking path I’m taking ain’t it.?

RIGHT. Clay’s character can just be.. analysed, because of my top statement but this fucking analysis is probably taking a lot more time up. (I’m so sorry.)

Clay can so interestingly have his character traits linked to him being neurodivergent, and I wish I could find the best way to word it. Especially when it comes to his very obscure schedule, and how he makes plans BEFORE heading into battle.

Ep4 is probably very interesting, or maybe I’m overthinking a lego brick. .. who knows. (it’s the second option)

Yeah I can keep going, but for the sake of nk fans and their sanity against me and a lego brick, I think this is enough for now.

Clay and having an unfinished character arc also something I’ll talk about in another analysis post.

[ifmywishescametrue]

sometimes i try to strongarm my adhd but i fear it's much too even of a match up

[salemoleander]

Whatcha up to there, Ren?

(Probably just recording a flashback, or needed his kingly head for something. Probably.)

[coquelicoq]

Natori Shuuichi had had many opportunities to come up with a plan, and he hadn't taken any of them. He was beginning to regret that now.

As the nurse looked him over skeptically, he considered the pros and cons of turning on the sparkles. He did tend to get what he wanted when he did that, but it would come at the cost of his anonymity. His manager would kill him if this showed up in tomorrow's headlines.

On the other hand, he'd come this far, and the frantic fear that had pushed him to drop everything and hurry here without taking the time to consider what he'd do upon arrival was still thrumming unhappily under his skin.

Plus, damage control was a thing. Publicists existed, and probably they would all go hungry if he didn't give them something to do. Really he would be doing everyone a favor.

"It's after hours, sir. Family only," the nurse was saying.

Well, he might not be family, but he was an actor. Professionally. He could pretend.

"This is strictly confidential," he told the nurse, leaning forward and lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Can I trust you to keep this between us?" Taking off his glasses, he gazed right into her eyes for the first time. Experience had taught him that was a surefire way to throw people off.

It seemed to be working. She was quickly turning an alarming shade of red and seemed, for a few seconds, to have lost the faculty of speech. "Of- of course, sir. Confidentiality is…very important. I wouldn't - I won't tell anyone."

"Thank you, I appreciate it," he told her as seriously as he could manage. "The truth is, I'm…"

He paused, not just for effect. It was kind of hard to say. This was going to have…consequences.

Breath in. Release.

"I'm his husband."

In for a penny, in for a pound.

[kkrazy256]

peace!!!

hiii cj!!! this is from my sentient coruscant fic which is over 10K but still nowhere near done b/c I have fixated on other things. We just sit here staring at each other like 🧍🧍 sorry its so long, I got excited to give context 💀

“Uh,” He starts, clearing his throat when Fox turns to stare at him, “that uh, that actually…wasn’t me.” 

Fox raises an eyebrow, and at this point, it does dawn on Quinlan how utterly nonchalant the Commander is acting over what should’ve been a death fall. The only reason Fox isn’t a mush pancake on the ground is due to sheer luck. And Quinlan had literally just told him so. 

Yet, there is nothing but calm on his exposed face and peace in his mental field. Is he in shock?

“You,” Quinlan lifts his hands and immediately forgets what he wants to do with them. They drop back to his sides lamely, “you don’t have to thank me, Commander.” 

Fox turns away and keeps walking, “well, then I guess that wasn’t for you.” 

…Is that…teasing in his voice?

The Force rumbles, flicking his ear. Yes. 

Quinlan’s jaw drops. 

[send me a word and i'll give you the sentence/paragraph it's from in my wips]