Hi! what's up? you can call me AJ. I'm 20, female, bisexual, pretty damn crazy and this is my multi-fandom (though mostly Batman and Avatar right now!) blog. I reblog a lot of random shit here, so have fun scrolling through it!
tagged by @thorlokis to post my lockscreen, last played song, and last saved image
that taylor pic is so <333 | that's my editing playlist, basically songs that i'd want to edit stevetony to or just to get inspiration | ... yeah that nicki minaj gif was my last saved image bc i wanted to send to my friend to gloat abt stuff bc im clearly insane
tagging (no pressure ofc!): @alwaysash13 @spxrcle @thahiree @imperialstark
My lockscreen is Jason Todd, of course💕💕 I can't remember the artist's username but you can see their artist tag (Len-Yan) 💕
And the last song I listened to was Astronomical by SVRCINA, because I love dramatic ass songs that are easy to daydream to 🥰
I dont really save images to my phone that often, but the most recent was this panel of Shinki from a comic by @bakapandy that I thought was hilarious and meme-able 😂
For an extra treat here's my background: a fan drawing of my oc Eden Smith from Never-Ending Encore by @the-duke-of-kansas 🥰
I tag anybody who wants to do this, @bakapandy & @the-duke-of-kansas (which only seems fair since I mentioned their work 😅), @teeth-go-clink, @millenniumfalcn, @toki-macross , @undead-nettles, @lavengale, @superheroesaremyjam113263 , & @chat-noir-trash
Reblogging this because my entire life, all of my bows have looked like my shoelaces. Wrapping presents is going to be so much more aesthetically pleasing now
after learning Ursula’s character design was based on a (truly splendid) drag queen, I just sort of got lazy with assuming she would always be the most salacious disney villain.
but apparently Jafar is a dom with a thing for twinks & humiliation play so what do i know
I don’t think I’d call Ursula especially salacious–she makes jokes implying that men only want sex, and she moves like a theatre major at the grocery store with their friends, but I wouldn’t describe her as horny.
I guess Frollo has a whole song about how horny he is, and both Gaston and Jafar also have “marry the heroine but in an evil way” as motives.
Ursula is comfortable in her sexuality. Frollo is horny on main but trying to deny it. Gaston and, apparently, Jafar are horny period, with Gaston being mysoginistc and Jafar having a humiliation kink
I made an alignment chart because I needed something to occupy my time. no one but frollo is on the “conflicted” bar because no other disney villain is anything but 100% comfortable with their sexuality and that’s that about that. gaston is evilly sexy, not evilly horny, because the only person gaston is horny for is gaston.
also, did we NOT already know jafar was kinky? was the slave girl outfit and hypnokink not a huge giveaway?
I love tumblr coz where else would I read a serious analysis of Disney villains in terms of them being sexy/kinky/horny while listening to a very disturbing kinky Jafar song
Okay but what about Dr. Facilier? I’m just sayin if we talkin about tying people up we should consider him seeing as how he really went the extra mile in that aspect and did it with snakes- not tryna start nothin just sayin homeboy should be here somewhere 🤷♀️
I move to replace Maleficent with the shadow man immediately
Any analysis of Superman and Captain America should involve two main points.
1) They are every bit the caricature of honest goodness that they are said to be.
And
2) BEING a a caricature of honest goodness means not just fighting obvious villainy, but raging against institutional injustice, even when it comes from “Legitimate” sources.
There is a difference, however.
The Kent’s raised Clark with a strong moral compass, but also good sense. He’s very aware that, as Superman, anything he does comes with a tinge of Threat. He’s keenly aware that with the power he wields, the only way he can continue to operate is by appearing completely nonthreatening to the status quo. Unless he is preventing immediate, obvious harm, he has to be very careful with his intervention. He’ll see a city councilman skimming funds from schools, a factory illegally disposing of waste, or Cops inflating their quotas with bogus charges, and he’ll be outraged. But, Superman can’t do anything about those things. If he intervenes, people won’t see Superman protecting civilians from police abuse, they’ll see Superman Threatening A Cop. If Superman expresses any opinions besides the most milquetoast “Be Kind To One Another” stuff, it gets spun into “Scary Indestructible Alien Man Wants To Take Over The World”.
So, Superman takes all that rage, every injustice and abuse he sees, and those that he cannot solve as Superman, he gives to Clark Kent.
And behind the “Aw Shucks’ Kansas Farmboy affect, Clark Kent is RUTHLESS. He will pick apart your life and nail you sins the sky for all to see.
Like, everybody knows about Lois Lane, and she’s objectively the better journalist, but people always underestimate Clark. Those that remember anything about him usually think of him as harmless, the guy who comes to collect the statements your media people prepared, so you’re caught off-guard when the fangs come out. A Clark Kent interview goes like this:
First Question: Hello Police Chief Smith. So, how did you get involved in law enforcement?
Second Question: What are the key values that drive your police department?
Third Question: On September 14th, you called your officers together and told them to, and I quote “ Pull over every [racial slur] you can find out there. If they let you search, say you smell weed and bring them in. If they don’t, bring ‘em in for refusing to cooperate. Just get those [expletive deleted] in cuffs and paying fines, or else start looking for a new job”. Would you say this policy of deliberately targeting racial minorities is in line with the values you described earlier?”
And Clark Kent doesn’t stop after he gets his headline. It might end up on Page 3, but he’ll keep the story going until your career is torn to shreds and staked outside as a warning to others.
And then it’s back to human-interest stories and the feel-good beat until he selects his next target.
Superman is forced to overlook things, but he IS looking, and he won’t forget, and just because he’s not throwing you into the sun, doesn’t mean he intends to spare you.
Steve Rogers on the other hand will interrupt an interview to kick the shit out of a crooked real estate developer for driving people out of their homes. When arrested he’ll say “I’m sorry, how about we just chalk up the next time I save the world as community service”.
Steve Rogers grew up a scrawny queer kid with more sass than sense, and he is now more than willing to throw his weight around (especially now that he has weight). But at the same time, he would be in awe of the work Clark does. Because whoever can eviscerate a homophobic politician in less than three sentences is the real hero here.
Oh my god.
LET STEVE DRAW POLITICAL CARTOONS TO CLARK’S ARTICLES
A Clark Kent who grew up reading Captain America comics getting idolized by his own childhood hero for the civilian side of his job is both amazing and objectively HILARIOUS.
Like, Steve isnt super sure about that Superman fella, but he seems to be fighting the good fight, even if hes a bit too passive for Steve’s tastes, but Clark Kent? Oh Steve will go off about how incredible Mr. Kent is as a journalist, how firmly he stands for justice and fighting for the little guy, Steve loves Clark Kent.
Can you imagine if Cap told Superman that he aught to take a firmer stance against the injustice in the world the way that fine Mr. Kent over at the Daily Planet does? Clark would be exercising every scrap of muscle control not to lose it. Bruce somehow hears about it and proceeds to loudly declare his agreement at the next Wayne gala, because hes an asshole.
Reverse Robin au with Tim first and he goes by Batboy instead of Robin. I’m gonna change all of their ages and order and they are all closer in age.
Tim-16
Jason-12
Dick-8
Damian-8
Summary: Tim goes to the circus with his parents.
Warning: death, prejudice against dick, and possible hint of sexual harassment of Tim but nothing obvious.
It was supposed to be a nice family trip to the circus. 16 year old Tim Drake went with his parents Jack and Janet. He noted Bruce Wayne was across the tent on a date. Tim pretended to not notice him. Batman and Batboy were secret number one; even when they were arguing something terrible and Tim spent more time at Mount Justice than the Batcave.
Jack had bought Tim a cotton candy and soda and ruffled his hair like he was 5 but Tim honestly could care less because it was the first time in 3 years he was around both his mom and dad. So Tim put on a happy smile and even allowed his parents to meet the performers. 10-12 years ago this activity would have had him almost in tears in joy.
Tim instead politely shook the hand of the young boy with a European accent he couldn’t quite place. His black wavy thick hair and blue eyes with freckles tan skin made tiny little Dick Grayson the star of the show before the circus even started and the way he grinned and bowed for the audience, he certainly knew it.
“I’ll do a flip just for you,” he said pointing at Tim who sputtered a thanks and turned red while the crowd laughed. This family trip was starting to turn mortifying for the teen. If his friends ever found out about this… he shuddered at the thought.
Tim sat on the mid riser seats in the huge circular tent. 3 rings were on the floor and all kind of manner of ropes and wires hung from above. He couldn’t imagine the work and precision needed to set it up. He recognized some of the rope types and knots used. These people knew their stuff.
“Looking up to the sky? The show is down here,” Jack said with a sarcastic smile “waiting on that kid to flip for you?”
“No, shut up,” Tim said without thinking. Jack clapped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him straight in the seat.
“Don’t miss the show I paid for you,” he said through gritted teeth. Tim clenched his fist so tight he almost broke skin while reminding himself he can’t knock the block off his father. Tim Drake has no reason to know how to land a punch. They weren’t exactly getting along either.
Instead Tim watched as a beautiful woman performed acrobatics on the back of a horse, a sad clown juggled bowling pins, and a strong man picked up both the acrobat and clown as well as a member of the audience to raucous cheering. It was fascinating, he was willing to admit.
Finally the stars of the show. The lights dimmed and the music from the small band in the corner turned tense. A spotlight shone on a single man. He was a sinewy well built handsome man in a baby blue suit that stood on top of trapeze stand. He had one arm gently outreached and skyward. His smile was like lightning.
The announcer called out “The Flying Graysons!”
The man bowed. Another spotlight showed a woman in a matching blue suit with a skirt attached. She also had a million watt smile and bowed for the crowd. A third spotlight landed on the final member of the trio. Dick Grayson stood proud and bowed and the crowd Ooh and aww at him. He was absolutely a doll in his matching blue outfit. He grinned brightly and Tim would swear he saw a missing tooth that just added to the cuteness.
John Grayson grabbed a trapeze swing that was hung near to his post and swung out with the bar gripped inside his strong hands. He swung a few times before flipping his feet over the bar ending with his head facing the ground and knees locked around the bar. The crowd gasped as he swung with just his upper body. You could see his amazing flexibility and athleticism.
Mary sat on her swing and swung a few times before standing up on the bar. John swung himself to sit on his bar. Dick was bobbing his head and obviously keeping count of some sort of timing, Tim assumed. John and Mary both flipped to hold on to the bar with the back of their knees at the same time and the crowd gasped once again. Dick unhooked his bar.
A few swings and John and Mary stretched their backs toward each other and he grasped her firmly around the wrist. Just as her legs released her bar and her weight was now being held by John, a horrifying snap could be heard.
Dick’s blood curdled and he stared in horror as one side of his father’s rope splintered and broke and both of his parents fell towards the ground. He didn’t notice the screams as they landed bodily on the ground. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t hardly breath. His world was gone.
Tim was also froze. He didn’t know what to do. People had started crying out and the security quickly came between the Grayson’s and the crowd. Tim was too busy staring at the broken body of the pair to notice that Bruce had excused himself. The Grayson’s hands still touched and they seemed to gaze at each other even in death.
Another performer climbed up and helped Dick down. He was in a daze. The blood pounded in Dick’s ears and he couldn’t tell you what a single person said that day. He just remembers standing over their dead body with tears falling involuntarily. A hand on his shoulder had him turning and behind him was Batman. The man wrapped a blanket around his shoulder and guided him to the open arms of another performer. She pressed the boy close to her chest and he sobbed.
“Move,” Jack Drake had told Tim. “Get up,” he said, shaking the teen’s shoulder. Tim stood and numbly followed the crowd. He had certainly seen a lot as Batboy but it was one thing to see horrible things while being a vigilante and another to see a tragedy at the circus.
3 weeks later
Bruce Wayne fosters tragic Circus Orphan
The headline in every major paper in the eastern seaboard read. It was talked about in tv and online. And Tim wasn’t jealous. It would be ridiculous. He had both of his parents. He didn’t need to be fostered. He had parents.
It didn’t stop him from avoiding the manor for a few weeks, only showing his face in the Batcave before patrol. Bruce noticed the change but didn’t comment. Tim would soon learn that batman work and Bruce’s home life were completely separate. The 8 year old never needed to know that about Batman.
A few weeks later and Tim was working as Batboy when he almost got hurt. The riddler had set a trap that Bruce almost didn’t solve. Tim was tied to a chair as water slowly rose. Above his head was a metal stake attached to electricity that would electrocute Tim if he didn’t drown first. Bruce’s hands almost trembled as he untied Batboy. The water made it to his chin before Bruce solved the puzzle. Tim was sputtering water near the end.
Back at the Batcave, Bruce had Alfred fuss over the teen far more than usual.
“Alf, I don’t have a fever,” Tim said pulling away from the butler.
“Tim, I need to speak to you,” Bruce said sitting down and it reminded Tim of the way his parents told him his dog died when he was a kid.
“What’s up?”
Bruce sighed. “Alright, chum. I don’t think you should be going out anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Tim asked. “Nothing happened to me.”
“It’s not safe. You could have died today. Go to college, get a girlfriend, go be a kid,” Bruce said and he stood up to leave.
“Are you kidding me? You’re firing me? From Batboy? I made this name,” Tim protested. He started to stand up.
“It’s not up for argument. Turn in your suit,” Bruce said before leaving the cave. Tim stared at him. The black and grey suit was something Tim designed. It was nothing without him. What was Bruce even thinking?
“Is he serious? I didn’t even get hurt,” Tim said to Alfred.
“I’m not sure, sir. Bruce is as always, a very private person,” Alfred said. He sat the tray he was holding down and walked out of the cave leaving Tim alone. Tim felt hollow. He had spent years as Batboy. What would he do now? He went to Mount justice hoping to hang out with his YJ buddies.
——————————
Dick was nervous. His first gala as Bruce Wayne’s ward. What would he do? Charming people from the big top with a flip was different than speaking to people in English, his 3rd language. Dick wanted to kill his accent some times and other keep it forever as a way to honor his parents. That’s how John and Mary Grayson sounded. He still cried at night alone in his bed. Sometimes Bruce would catch him and hug him as he cried.
Dick adjusted his tie. He wore suits all the time but they were beautifully colored and didn’t restrict his movements. No ties and certainly no shoulder pads that would prevent full extension. He sat on the island in the kitchen and munched on an apple as Alfred worked. Alfred handed him a potato.
“Sir, if you would be so kind to peel this,” he said and carefully showed Dick how to peel a potato for the light meal the Wayne’s usually ate before galas. Dick liked Alfred. The man carefully enunciated his words so Dick could comprehend him. He tried to avoid slang or confusing language. And he even tried to make some of Dick’s favorite food.
Dick quickly peeled a dozen potatoes as Alfred busied himself around the kitchen.
“Oh dear, that is quite a few potatoes. We can always have extra,” Alfred said with a little laugh. Dick smiled sheepishly. “Well Master Wayne does like French fries. I suppose I can keep these on ice water and make them tonight..”
“We always had big meals for a bunch of people. I forget it’s just us,” Dick said and Alfred nodded. He never interrupted Dick when he talked about the circus but kept a careful memory of what the boy said. Alfred was just glad he was doing better than Bruce was at that age.
“How come Tim doesn’t come around to work with Bruce at night anymore?” Dick asked and Alfred almost dropped an antique bone China cream saucer on the floor. Alfred turned with a pleasant mask in his face.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You know, when Bruce dresses up like a bat and beats up punks,” Dick answered like it was obvious. “The news calls him… man bat?” Dick struggled with the words.
“Batman. How long have you known?” Alfred asked, sitting the dish down just in case he wasn’t ready for the answer.
“For a moon,” Dick answered. He wasn’t bothered and Alfred supposed it wasn’t a surprise to the boy. His parents were world renowned acrobats so being Batman’s ward wasn’t a big deal.
“A month?”
“… yes,” Dick said after a moments hesitation. English wasn’t perfect for him. Alfred was helping him but there was stuff he didn’t know yet.
“Well then you know that it’s very important we keep it a secret or else Master Bruce could be in danger,” Alfred said.
“From punks,” Dick said in an adorable serious voice.
“Precisely. Now run upstairs and put on your shoes. I’ll pack you a snack before you leave,” Alfred shooed the boy out of the kitchen. Dick scrambled up the stairs 2 at a time and Alfred watched serenely until Dick left the area. Then Alfred furiously called Bruce and told him of the situation. They both went back and forth on whether to allow Dick to go to the gala at all but they had already informed the media and Dick was so looking forward to it. Not to mention, Dick had kept it all to himself for a whole month.
Bruce watched his young ward precariously carry a very full glass of pink punch from across the room as he spoke to some bore about investment banking. Couldn’t Lucius deal with this? Bruce had learned so much about patience but when they talk about percentage of pennies, his eyes glaze over.
“Aren’t you a doll,” one women cooed. She was tall and very thin and Dick kept staring at the way her eyelashes clung together with black makeup that resembled spiders.
“Hello,” he said in his best intimidation of Tim’s accent. Tim spoke proper English, like Bruce.
“Are you in school, young man,” she asked.
“I will in the fall,” he said softly but the w got him and it sounded softer, almost like a v. Most people wouldn’t even notice, much less care. You had to be a real jerk to make a fuss over a single letter.
“Oh,” her tone changed and she had been crouching near him but pulled back. “You really are from the circus. You need to speak English here,” she said sternly. Dick almost clenched the cup in two. He had seen people talk to his father like that before.
“But I am,” he said weakly, the accent bleeding into his voice. She laughed.
“Bruce really dug in the peanut barrel for this one,” she said with a mean laugh and Dick blinked before taking a step back.
“Hello,” Tim said beside her. He didn’t speak to Bruce much in the last few months after being fired but he wasn’t going to let the kid be insulted.
“Mr Drake,” she said brushing her skirt off as if Dick had somehow dirtied it. “How are you? You look good this evening,” she asked while batting her eyes. Tim looked at her and tried to hold back his disgust. He was sixteen for goodness sake.
“I’m fine. Mr Wayne was looking for you, kid,” Tim said and Dick ran off in the crowd.
“Can you believe that Wayne fostered that poor creature. Wonder if he had ever even slept in a real bed before he was taken in. Can’t even speak English,” she whispered to Tim. She also pushed her breasts up towards Tim who purposefully avoided looking at them.
“I have to go,” he said backing away. She grasped his wrist and Tim pulled away roughly. She dug her nails into his wrist and made an insulted noise and Tim knew that if he truly pulled away, she would make a terrible scene.
“Need any help over here,” said the distinguished voice of Bruce Wayne. Dick stood behind him with wide eyes and the woman dropped Tim’s wrist like it was fire.
“Mr Wayne,” she purred and stalked over to him. “We’re having a good evening, aren’t we Mr Drake?”
“It’s fine,” Tim said roughly.
“Why don’t I show you a painting I bought this evening while Timothy shows Richard the buffet table? You know how young boys are and both of them must be starving,” Bruce said smoothly pulling her away from them both. She forgot about her quest with Tim and followed Bruce.
“Thanks,” Tim said to Dick. How did the kid know Bruce would save the day?
“No problem,” Dick said with a smile. “I am hungry but I don’t know what anything is.”
“I can show you,” Tim said guiding him to the buffet table covered in fancy expensive food. Dick marveled at everything before carefully filling his plate only with things Tim suggested. Tim helped him carry his stuff to a nearby table.
“Thank you,” Dick said shyly. “I always knew,” he started before looking around, “Batboy would save the day.” Tim froze.
“Wha…” he started and Dick winked.
“I’m learning but I am also very clever,” Dick told the older boy.
“Indeed,” was all Tim could sputter. He would have to talk to Bruce about that one.
Let me know what you think. Yell at me. Tell me ideas or theories!
For Sokka/Zuko prompts: falling in love + fighting non-bender style
hey, anon, i love you and i hope you like this <3
*
“Come spar with me,” Sokka says, just like that. The sun is setting in the sky and Katara’s food is beginning to stir Momo from his nap, and a few feet away Zuko can see Suki attempting to teach Aang a very basic fighting stance while Toph laughs.
It still doesn’t explain why Sokka is still there, looking at Zuko like Zuko is the insane one for being doubtful. “Why?”
Sokka flails. “Why– because! Because I’m bored! Because I want to! Because– I don’t know, Zuko, why does anyone do anything?”
“You do realize you would lose, right?” He says instead of trying to parse through his reasons. Only Sokka knows how his mind works and after the awful days spent in the prison, Zuko’s learned it’s no use trying to follow his logic.
“Excuse me!” Sokka gasps, offended in a way that shows on his whole face, “I’ll have you know, I’ve been trained by a master in the arts! I’ve got a space sword!”
He wonders how liberally the word trained is being used. “Still.”
“Oh, I see how it is,” Sokka sharpens in a smirk, arms crossing over his chest, and Zuko watches amused, a little disconcerted at the whiplash between expressions. “You’re scared you’re gonna lose. That’s okay, I get it, I’d be too if I were you.”
It’s not that Zuko doesn’t know he’s being played, he knows, but the challenge is still out there, in the air, and he has never been good at standing down. Sokka’s got him there and he knows it and Zuko knows it and probably even Katara, wherever she is, knows it too. “Fine,” he snaps, scowling because otherwise he’d be smiling and Zuko’s never been very good at that either. At least he thinks so, it’s been a long time, he can’t remember, anyway. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Sokka laughs. “Famous last words.”
*
A friendly spar is not something Zuko remembers doing. Training, yes, or showing off when he thought his father might be looking, or the thing Azula did where sometimes she would tackle him and they would wrestle and pretend it’s not meant to hurt, but not this, not until now.
But it’s nice, too, and it burns off the restlessness that’s settled ever since they left the Boiling Rock, and Zuko aches to think he’d been trying to destroy this sort of thing only weeks ago. His sword clashes with Sokka’s and they glint silver in the rising moon.
Sokka grins.
In the moonlight, he glows, and Zuko thinks of the boy with war paint on his face standing as tall as he could in the way of a warship, and something in his chest twists and aches again– it’s been a long road to here, but he sees the ocean on Sokka’s eyes just as clear as they had reflected the waves that day. “Tired yet?”
Yes, Zuko wants to say, frighteningly so. “Not a chance,” he replies instead because that’s not what’s been asked, and presses harder, hits him in the ribs hilt-first, smirks like he’s learned.
And so it goes, steady like clockwork.
*
“You know,” Sokka says the next night, “this place is pretty neat, huh?”
Zuko, who knows this temple by heart already from patrolling every night before sleep in the first week, figures neat is probably the understatement of the century. “You could say that.”
“It’s at least on the top three places we camped,” he continues, pushing further on his attacks and forcing Zuko to pull back in defense. Then, his face softens a little, eyes darting fleetingly up at the moon and around the clearing, and this sort of vulnerability, of distraction, is the perfect moment to make his move, but for some reason, Zuko can’t bring himself to do it. Sokka grins ruefully and the whole world goes a little dizzy, “it kind of makes you wish we could stay here forever, doesn’t it?”
Feeling oddly off-tilt, he shrugs, distracted. “I guess,” he shakes his head, hopes to clear it with the whiplash.
Sokka rolls his eyes, lowering his sword. “Well, no need to sound so excited, jeez, I was just saying.”
“Sorry,” Zuko blinks, watches the muscles on his arms work as he reaches for his canteen, watches water spill down his chin, the curve of his neck, and disappear under his shirt. Right. It’s definitely time for a break.
His own water does little to his dry mouth and it’s only when he tries to nudge their lanterns just a bit brighter but finds the flames flaring up higher, that he notices the racing of his heart hasn’t faded yet. Sokka smiles, and says something about their itinerary, and Zuko listens, and listens, and listens.
*
The Western Air Temple is left behind and it feels awfully final, Sozin’s Comet a hanging threat on the horizon. It won’t be long now.
Zuko sits on Appa’s back and watches Sokka, head bent over a map with his sister, the rising sun painting his skin. At his side, Toph makes a startled noise. “Really, Sparky?”
“What?” He frowns, dragging his eyes away to find her looking at him strangely. His face warms and his hands close into fists, even if he’s not sure why. Half of him kind of hopes Toph tells him, but the other half is terrified of the answer.
She shakes her head, makes a face up at him. “Nothing, just thought you should know– you’re so not subtle.”
It’s not like she’s wrong, but Zuko would still rather know what he’s letting show on his face now. Fear? Sorrow? Anger?
It doesn’t matter, in the end.
It won’t be long now.
*
After his coronation, it takes Sokka three days to find him in his study, table littered with reports and law texts, an insurmountable mountain of things he must fix, must change, to even begin thinking of reparations.
“How did you get past my guards?” He asks without looking up from the scroll in his hands. The candle by his elbow flickers, throwing golden shadows across the paper.
Sokka is smiling, Zuko can tell even while turned away, and there’s the rustle of his brushes being shuffled away from the edge as he leans against the table. “I’m like, a war hero now. It gets me places.”
“Suki let you in, then,” Zuko finally allows himself to roll up the scroll, tilt his head up for once to talk with him, and grins. He was right, Sokka is smiling, easy and malleable.
“Like I said, it gets me places,” he shrugs, kicks the leg of his chair, falling serious, “hey, she also said you’ve been here a while.”
Zuko sighs, feeling the exhaustion snaking around his bones, the tight aching on his chest from the branching scar Azula’s lightning left, the unsigned paperwork he left in his quarters this morning. “There’s a lot to do,” he says truthfully.
“Yeah, no shit, but it doesn’t have to be done in a day,” Sokka rolls his eyes, kicks his chair a little harder. There’s a crinkle between his brows and it’s very distracting, it makes Zuko want to reach out and smooth it away, trace the lines until they faded back to someplace peaceful. “And you don’t have to do it all alone either, dumbass. Come on, you need to relax before you combust in one big fireball of stress.”
“I can’t,” he rubs at his eyes, willing the weariness to settle back, and closes them for a second– inhale, exhale. “There’s too much– negotiations will begin soon, they’re sending ambassadors– and the school curriculum, it needs to be revised– and, and–”
“Zuko,” Sokka says, and his voice arrests Zuko’s focus impossibly. Zuko really wishes it didn’t because now he has to look at Sokka, give him his full attention, and it’s overwhelming. The moon is backlighting his figure and Zuko never noticed how much the blue of his clothes, his eyes, stand out in the red and gold of the palace. It makes Zuko’s lungs hiccup and his heart constrict painfully, a warm ache blooming just behind his sternum– a summer tide, heating up his skin against the night chill, and even before he asks, Zuko knows he would give him anything, there’s no choice for him. “Come spar with me?”
Zuko puts out his candle. “Yeah, okay.”
*
“I gotta say,” Sokka says, sword steady on his hands, “this place is a hell of a lot better than that clearing at the temple.”
The practice room has a mat to break their falls without leaving scraped skin behind, at least, and practice swords blunt enough they don’t have to worry about accidentally losing a limb. “The view isn’t all that great, though.”
Something shifts in Sokka’s eyes, softer and warmer. “I don’t know,” he shrugs with painfully fake nonchalance, “it looks pretty great to me.”
There’s a flush rising to his cheeks and Zuko doesn’t understand why for a second, but looks behind his shoulder at the closed doors, frowning, because this sounds like Sokka’s strangely smooth awkward flirting he’s witnessed. “I don’t think Suki can hear you from here,” he feels the need to point out, speaking around the sudden catch on his throat, “and the door’s closed anyway.”
Sokka chokes. “That’s not– I didn’t– what–” a pause as he seems to gather himself, “I didn’t mean Suki. Why would I mean Suki? She’d probably kick my ass for a comment like that, anyway.”
Zuko frowns. “Because she’s your girlfriend?”
Another round of startled coughing. It’s a really good thing those swords are blunt, after all. “We broke up, like, ages ago? After, you know, the comet and everything. It put things into perspective or something, I dunno. It was different, with no war or anything, when it was just us hanging out.”
“Oh,” Zuko clears his throat, something odd fluttering around his chest, and tries to think if there was something different about Suki in the past few days. He doesn’t think so? It’s hard to tell, he’s been busy and she always smiled when she saw him– it did feel like her eyes had grown a little more knowing lately, though, like she knew something he didn’t, but that could probably be his lack of sleep talking. “I’m sorry?”
Sokka snorts. “No that’s rough, buddy, this time?” but before Zuko could apologize for that too, he waves him off, “it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I think we just realized we loved each other better as friends. Maybe the fact that both of us are fine is a sign breaking up really was the right thing.”
“Like Mai and I,” he nods, understanding. Being with Mai had been nice, safe and comforting, but when she had taken his hand and told him she would be leaving with Ty Lee, Zuko hadn’t been heartbroken. Mai had smiled, a small pretty thing, and hugged him, face buried on the curve of his neck, and he misses her dearly, but loving someone doesn’t necessarily mean being in love with someone.
“Yeah,” Sokka twists his sword on his hand, eyes following the arc it makes in the air, and his smile comes in gentle waves, washing over Zuko with its cheeriness. “Now come on, quit stalling– I’m so kicking your ass this time.”
With a sinking dread, Zuko refuses to acknowledge the realization just beyond his fingertips, curling his hands around the hilt of his dao blades fiercely, and ignores the gentle smoke wafting from his palms.
*
Denial doesn’t take him too far, unsurprisingly. His feelings for Sokka have been building without his knowing, a spring that’s grown into a river spilling into the ocean, stretching in all directions, far beyond the horizon line.
It’s far too late to try and contain now.
Instead, Zuko will just have to learn to carry that around too, board it up away from the light, careful not to let any of it tumble out in the open. In the past, he’s never been very good at keeping his emotions in check, but since the Sun Warriors, he thinks he might be improving a little.
Not that Sokka makes it anywhere easy for him. So far, none of them have left, on the contrary– Katara has taken upon herself to boss the healers around while the injured are slowly trickling in from all over the countries, Aang and Toph have ingrained themselves in every one of his meetings since no one has dared to question their presence yet, and Sokka– well. Sokka seems to be everywhere these days.
Sure, Zuko knows they won’t stay forever, they all have a home to go back to, families to return to, but for now, well.
“Dude, wanna see how many fire flakes I can fit in my mouth?”
For now, there’s Zuko watching Sokka sit by his window, basking in Agni’s light and smiling at him while digging into the flake bowl even though he knows the spice will burn his tongue. “I’m guessing around two before you start crying?”
“It’s not that bad,” Sokka glares, but it’s mellow and gentle, late-afternoon lazy, and Zuko has to forcefully remind himself not to stare. “Yeah, no, okay, it’s bad, it’s bad!”
He pushes the milk he had nicked from the kitchens earlier just in case something like this happened towards him, snickering like he’s not hopelessly endeared. “I did warn you.”
Sokka glowers. “Shut up, I’m building up a resistance.”
“If you say so,” Zuko allows, knowing it will rile him up and make him flush, probably go into a rant, and hides his own smile. Affection bubbles on his chest, I know you, he thinks, I know you by heart.
Predictably, Sokka pushes off his seat, crowding on Zuko to tell him exactly where he could shove his condescension, and Zuko twists on his own chair to face him, an eyebrow raised. It doesn’t slow Sokka down, though, if anything, it inflames him further, makes him take another step forward, slip between his legs to poke at his chest.
“ – and, and,” Sokka trails off, looking down at where his legs have bumped on the chair, and seeming to finally notice how very close they had gravitated. Zuko shifts and his knees graze Sokka’s pants, and his skin seems to burn even through the cloth. Swallowing thickly, he risks looking up, shakily trying to keep a blank expression and feeling the ocean raging around his ribs. Sokka’s eyes are wide and blue, a gentle wave crashing on the sand, and any words die on his tongue. “So, uh.”
He hums questioningly, one hand clinging to the table edge, undoubtedly leaving soot burned handprints behind.
“I, erm, forgot what I was going to say,” Sokka admits quietly, and Zuko wants to think his gaze has slipped down to his mouth for half a second there, but it’s very hard to think when they’re close like this and if neither of them moves soon, he fears his chest might crack open like ice, spilling his love all over the floor, heart falling at their feet, bruised and stitched up as it is. “Hey,” he nudges his knee.
Zuko burns. “Hi?”
“I think– I think I’m gonna do something real stupid right now,” he says, “and I’m really hoping you won’t hate me for this later.”
There’s no hating you, Zuko wants to say, because he’s been falling since, perhaps, the South Pole, and by now, there’s no stopping. His feelings are an ocean and Zuko’ll drown in them.
Sokka doesn’t want a reply, though. He exhales shakily and suddenly, his hands are on Zuko’s cheeks and Sokka is leaning down, kissing Zuko. Lightning sizzles inside him and you don’t stare at the sun, so Zuko closes his eyes, hands closing on Sokka’s waist to draw him closer, feeling like he might die from this, would gladly die for this.
“Hey,” Sokka says again, pulling away, and Zuko chases him that inch, a pull and push of tides, and there’s breathlessness in the air they share, “so, no hating, uh.”
Zuko touches skin under his shirt and feels Sokka shiver under his hands. “What do you think,” he murmurs, so painfully fond that his whole self aches with it, “I love you, dumbass.”
Sokka laughs, light and bright, like sea foam, and kisses him again, and again, and again, like he knows Zuko has been walking around with all these impossible wantings inside him and now there’s a hollowness that leaves him afraid he might float up if untethered. Like he knows Zuko’s never thought he’d get to have this, to be this happy. “You’re such a jerk,” he says, “I love you too,” a kiss, a hand tangling on his hair, his heart, bursting, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
my list, in no particular order, of when a soundtrack has absolutely went off it’s tits to give some of the best moments in any media.
infamous quicksilver scene from x-men apocalypse (”sweet dreams are made of this” playing as he saves everyone from the manor)
the inexplicable use of supermassive black hole by muse in twilight during the baseball scene
the scene in umbrella academy where five fucks up all those agents in the diner while “istanbul (not constantinople)” plays in the background
what’s up danger playing from into the spiderverse when miles takes the leap of faith
the start of spiderman homecoming when they played the orchestral version of the spiderman theme for the first time
sweet victory
“sitting there useless as two shits hey, turn around bend over i’ll show you where my shoe fits”
the part in rwby where they slingshot ruby at the nevermore while the final part of red like roses pt.2 plays, the guitars blaring as she goes up the cliff and ending with the beheading
“I AM MOANA”
busted from phineas and ferb
the end of guardians of the galaxy volume 2 where they start playing father and son
the part in thor ragnarok when hela asks thor “what were you the god of again?” before thor attacks her and starts going batshit crazy on the undead army while led zeppelin’s immigrant song plays
as this is by no means a comprehensive list, please add any soundtrack moments that were so Fucking Good they made you have a physical reaction.
i’m from new england so the idea of a state that big just confuses and upsets me so sign my whitehouse.gov petition to have texas separated into four smaller texi
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