#nandi answers

[bluejaysandblackbats]

thoughts on jaykyle and donnajaykyle?

This one's a fun question! I was super big into jaykyle a few years back, and I'm not as into it anymore. I'm not opposed to jaykyle. I think I'm just ambivalent.

As for donnajaykyle, I don't like the idea of Donna and Jason dating. I almost always see them in some sort of sibling dynamic or a sort of dynamic where it's like Jason's babysitter as a kid that he still sees every now and then to ask her for advice. Like I could see him having an unrequited boyhood crush, but I don't see anything beyond that. Also, I always think of how close Dick and Donna are, and I'm convinced she'd never go there.

DonnaKyle is fun and I like her for him a little more than I like JennieKyle. I think Donna is a little more levelheaded and a bit of a realist, so I like the idea of her being with someone like Kyle. She's a little more mature than him, and she's been a hero for a lot longer. I think because Kyle's age falls right between Jason and Donna's I could see him with either.

[metroidspeedrun]

🛒 👀 🤯 for those fic asks <3

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

I love writing an outsider. I think I like writing both bitter outsiders and outsiders who are kind despite their circumstances. I love writing angst so so much because of it.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

I've been on the fence about writing an AU where Roy is raised by his mom. I was thinking of calling it "my heart walks around". I planned on writing it from her POV, but I'm not sure how to go about it yet. Without a name or a backstory, I've got kind of a blank slate to work with for her, which seems kind of tough. Hopefully, I can work something out because I'd love to write this fic. I want it to be the next one I write, though.

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Any kind of sci-fi or fantasy for sure. It involves so much worldbuilding and visuals and imagery for things that don't exist. Also, I get sidetracked and wish I could draw things to give visuals for the things I know I didn't describe well enough. Nothing ever gets done when I'm writing fantasy.

[the-duke-of-nuts]

im a little late but happy birthday!!! 😊💚🎉🎉🎉

It's fine no worries but thank you 🖤💚🖤!!!

[rebecca-quin]

A big and wonderful happy birthday to your baby 🥳 a special kiss for her from aunt Nandy 🥹✨

she loves you, i already told you that 🥰 i will show your message to her, she will love it 🥹🤧🩷

can’t believe she’s 4 already… wish time didn’t fly like that lol

a kiss for you from her mom and her favorite auntie!! 🥰🥰🥰

[becky-llynch]

Heyyy! I don't know how you do it but your gifs and edits of Becky that you post are on point! I just wanted to ask when you will post gifs of Becky at NXT yesterday!. Also maybe ones of Becky and Lyra since they were both awesome in their match!❤️❤️❤️

Hello thank you so much!!! I'm in exam week at college, I hope I have time to make the Gifs this week 💜

[chimerabytes]

unfortunately as is the nature of characters with the syndrome of "being only relevant for a quest or two in a specific location and Never brought up again until the end of the game but still making an impact nonetheless based on your decisions to help or hurt them" sanjar has No Fucking content. what little i can find of him is like, sanjar x zora. or sanjar x graham. and like while im peacefully saluting to you people its not my thing.

please i Desire more sanjar content. carnally. i guess im gonna have to make it myself but thats the problem!!! making all of it on my own!!!!!

[metamatar]

This is maybe a stupid question but do you think there's any ties between like orientalist trends in western countries that glorify dharmic religions and Hindutva? Like I've heard 'Hinduism is the oldest religion on Earth' and 'Hinduism/Buddhism are just so much more enlightened than savage Abrahamic religions' and 'how could there be war and oppression in India? Hindus don't believe in violence' from white liberals and it certainly seems *convenient* for Hindutva propaganda, at least.

Not stupid at all! Historically, orientalism precedes modern Hindutva. The notion of a unified Hinduism is actually constructed in the echo of oriental constructions of India, with Savarkar clearly modelling One Nation, One Race, One Language on westphalian nationhood. He will often draw on Max Mueller type of indology orientalists in his writing in constructing the Hindu claim to a golden past and thus an ethnostate.

In terms of modern connections you can see the use and abuse of orientalism in South Asian postcolonial studies depts in the west that end up peddling Hindutva ideology –

The geographer Sanjoy Chakravorty recently promised that, in his new book, he would “show how the social categories of religion and caste as they are perceived in modern-day India were developed during the British colonial rule…” The air of originality amused me. This notion has been in vogue in South Asian postcolonial studies for at least two decades. The highest expression of the genre, Nicholas Dirks’s Castes of Mind, was published in 2001. I take no issue with claiming originality for warmed-over ideas: following the neoliberal mantra of “publish or perish,” we academics do it all the time. But reading Chakravorty’s essay, I was shocked at the longevity of this particular idea, that caste as we know it is an artefact of British colonialism. For any historian of pre-colonial India, the idea is absurd. Therefore, its persistence has less to do with empirical merit, than with the peculiar dynamics of the global South Asian academy.

[...] No wonder that Hindutvadis in both countries are now quoting their works to claim that caste was never a Hindu phenomenon. As Dalits are lynched across India and upper-caste South Asian-Americans lobby to erase the history of their lower-caste compatriots from US textbooks, to traffic in this self-serving theory is unconscionable.

You can see writer sociologists beloved of western academia like Ashish Nandy argue for the "inherent difference of indian civilization makes secularism impossible" and posit that the caste ridden gandhian hinduism is the answer as though the congress wasn't full of hindutva-lites and that the capture of dalit radicalism by electoralism and grift is actually a form of redistribution. Sorry if thats not necessarily relevant I like to hate on him.

Then most importantly is the deployment of "Islamic Colonization" that Hindu India must be rescued from, which is merely cover for the rebrahmanization of the country. This periodization and perspective of Indian history is obviously riven up in British colonial orientalism, see Romila Thapar's work on precolonial India. Good piece on what the former means if you've not engaged with it, fundamentally it posits an eternal Hindu innocence.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - He's Back - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

A confrontation long overdue.

(Happy Valentine's Day, folks :'D)

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: angst

"I trust," Silco says, breaking the quiet, "you didn't take that personally."

"What, you bailing midway?"

"Hm."

She doesn't frown. But her dipped eyelids shield a stormfront. "...Look. This arrangement? If it's not working out—"

"You know that's not the case."

"No?"

"I only needed..." To put my pieces in back together. "...Space."

"Yeah?" A flash a familiar vigilance.  "Sure it's not because of her?"

"Her?"

Does she mean Nandi?

Her sister's specter has ceased to interfere in the peripheries of their intimacy.

Or—gods, has she learnt about his dalliance with Medarda, the long-game laced together in exquisite deception?

Silco doubts it—he covers his tracks—but sometimes he underestimates the razor edge of Sevika's perceptiveness.

Too late to dissemble if that's the case. But before he braces for impact—before the blowback of her judgement leaves him a smoking crater—he prays for a chance to plead his case. To explain that Medarda balances on the precarious axis between personal proclivity and political leverage. To beg Sevika—

(Beg? That's unseemly for both.)

—convince her, that his attraction is a complicated calculus. His goals are on track, even if the rest's tangled in desire's gilded strings.  He'll not deny the thrall Medarda exerts; the fascination of her nimble wit; a rare gift in reading people, even the darkest facets of his own nature.

But it's survival—not need—that shares their bed. It's common ground—not devotion—that drives their bargain. It's the irrevocable necessity of circumstance—not goddamn choice—that turns him to the enemy as he once turned to drugs, drink, dissipation.

There is no tether there. Only game after bloody game, Sevika, and if you give the word, I'll burn the board to the ground—

"Sevika," he begins.  "I—"

As always, she preempts him.  "Jinx."

Silco struggles to conceal his surprise. "...Jinx.."

"You miss her. Miss her so much you'd rather be here, with me, than alone in your penthouse."

"That's not true." It is, and isn't. "I'm not here for—"

"Don't deny it. There's a piece missing with her gone.  And that piece won't be filled by any of us here."

"If by piece—," he dares a cautious sidestep "—you mean peace of mind—"

"You barely talk about her," Sevika cuts in. "Don't like to hear her mentioned. When I bring her up, you either ignore it, or change the subject. As if she's locked up somewhere too fucking precious to share with the rest of us. It'd be fine if you were at least drinking like a fish and smoking like a fiend and throwing yourself headfirst into anything involving disembowelment. Instead, you've been..." she gropes for a second. "Distant."

"Distant."

She gives him a meaningful look. "Like you're still in the Deadlands. Still… somewhere I can't follow."

Inwardly, Silco marvels. Outwardly, he says nothing.

It's true; he's kept himself to himself. Not because he's subsumed everything into his work—he has—but because he's lately sensed himself at a crossroads.

Not of Zaun but his own convictions.

Self-concept's not been in the cards for a while. It left when Jinx crashed into his life. Without her, he's not lost the measure of the game, but the measure of himself.

A father.

Except he's still Jinx's father. It defines him like a chalk outline around a corpse; a name carved on a gravestone. He'll always belong to her. No matter where their paths uncross into separate tangents, or where their roads lead together.

But Silco, himself? Beyond Zaun?

He's yet to find the answer, though tonight's left him on surer footing. 

From the streets, fireworks spiral, then fade. In the spreading silence, Sevika says, "You can be not-okay, you know. Nobody'd fault you."

Her gentleness unsettles. His deflection is reflexive. "No, they'd simply kill me."

"They'd have to go through me," she says matter-of-factly, "And nobody gets through me."

They trade a brief smile. Tight as tethers go.

Sevika says, "I figured… that was why you let them stay over."

"Who?"

"Pearl’s girls." She sips slowly. Her chest—still faintly sweat-sheened—rises and falls in measured exhalations. "The entire time they were over, you were so... unlike you. Or maybe you: times ten. Like you'd be with Jinx, only... safer." Her eyes meet his. "You must miss it. Taking care of a kid who looks up to you like you're Janna's godsdamn gift."

"Pearl's kin look to the future. Not to me."

"You care about them." A beat, "Same way you must've cared about Pearl."

Silco steels himself against his habitual response: Admit nothing, deny everything, destroy everyone.

Instead, he takes a long swig of tea, buying time before the final draft.

"Yes," he says.

"Yes, what? Which part?"

"All of it." A deeper swallow; tongue weighing each word. "I did care for Pearl. She was fine company. Generous with herself, and patient with my inadequacies."

Sevika scoffs. "Those being?"

"We both know better than to enumerate." A shadow of a smile slinks across his lips, then fades. "It was good, what we had in the Ditch. Not a matter of what my body needed. More... what my self required.  With Jinx gone, there was so little to steer me except survival. Except survival is a stalling tactic. It allows you to continue existing. But life, really living, requires meaning. And meaning demands engagement beyond oneself. Pearl gave me a second chance at that."

Silence from across the table. He waits her out: a stubborn force brooding in place. Finally Sevika shakes her head.

"I should've been there," she murmurs. "Should've gone with you."

"How could you have known I'd vanish?"

He thinks of all the things he could tell her of that time. His psyche-marred misery in wake of Jinx’s departure. His rage and emptiness. How he'd been left with the topsoil of his soul stripped bare. All that was left was a doppelgänger sustained on the fumes of memory.

A soulless medium compelled to descend to the darkest core to mine his purpose from stone.

Quietly, he says, "You pledged me your loyalty. Loyalty isn't grounds to follow a leader beyond death's door."

"Is that where you went? Six feet under?"

"A thousand fathoms deep."  Draining the mug, he sets it aside. "That's where Pearl found me. Her, and her girls. And from there... they guided me back. In their ordinariness, they were extraordinary. They had such little in the world. Yet they fought for everything in it. Tooth and nail;, blood and bone. Life took nothing from them without paying a price."

Sevika regards her own mug. "So they helped you figure out how to live again." 

A cogent summary. He nods.

"Were you and Pearl...?"

"In love? I'd not take it that far." Silco exhales. Pearl's presence is between his ribs—a vivid ache—but not a mortal blow. Her quintessence was pure steel; it'd steeled and purified him in turn.  Even in his blackest mourning, he'll carry that unyielding framework into the future. "We suited each other. A simpatico of spirit and flesh. In another life—perhaps that would've sufficed.  In this one..." He traces a fingertip down his left cheekbone: the rough corrugation of scar tissue like tear-tracks. "I'm grateful our paths crossed. But I'll always regret the way they did."

"Because she didn't make it."

"Because in seeking her out, I abandoned you."

Sevika doesn't flinch. But her expression, in tiny increments, softens. For the first time since his return, he sees forgiveness. Forgiveness, and a strange species of sorrow: as if she's bracing herself against worse to come.

She's already lost him in more ways than one; to war, to prison, to something else entirely.

To Zaun itself: the loss that keeps on giving.

"Do you ever wonder..." she falters, as if casual discourse might veer the night dangerously off-course. "...if it would've been better if we'd chosen a different path? Stayed apart, in Nandi's wake?"

"If our lives hadn't met at Zaun's center?"

"If the ...grief... hadn't changed us. If we never became this."

"This?"

"Us." She gestures: copper fingers singing on oiled servos. Their everlasting entanglement; their perpetual estrangement. "What if we'd kept it strictly business. No strings attached."

"Strings can be severance. Or safety ropes."

"What's the difference if both'll strangle you?"

"Have they?"

"Don't pretend." Sevika sets down her emptied mug. The knuckles of her good hand are pale on the handle. "If we'd kept it straight business, maybe we would've moved on. You with Pearl. Me with whoever this city threw my way. Instead it's always been this weird limbo. The life we're living, and life we could've been living. Except—it's not living at all. More like the coffin's nailed shut six ways from Sunday. But the grave's still yawning open. Open to chance. But ...never closure."

Hope's not a commodity Silco trades in. But right now it's rushing in like a high tide over sandbags.  

"Then—" he swallows, "—is it closure you're after? Or an escape clause?"

Sevika shakes her head. Her sigh is edgy.

"Escape," she says, "isn't freedom. Freedom's a choice."

Silco nods, but says nothing. The silence, seconds ticking by, is an unspoken invitation:

Step through, and show me what you'd choose.

"It's why we work," Sevika goes on. "We didn't choose each other. We chose Zaun. That was the big picture, and we were both in it, and the rest didn't matter. For the longest time, that was all I needed. It was enough. But then... then you were gone. Zaun fell apart, and everything else fell to me, and fell fast. And as it fell, I started thinking: what if things had been different? What if we hadn't been so afraid? Of failure; of fallout? Of... each other? What if I'd stopped staring at the big picture, and taken the risk on getting caught in close-up?"

She meets his stare dead-on. Silco forces himself to weather the spotlight of her scrutiny.  He feels, inordinately, like he's facing a firing squad, and his shirt's half-buttoned.

"The days dragged on, and there was no news of you. But even so—even though we'd been finished longtime—I kept wondering. Kept wishing. Just like the night we'd lost on the Bridge. Me, searching and not finding. Me, left waiting and not knowing where to stand."  The deep-seated hurt in her eyes—a flicker, then a flame—makes Silco want to gut himself.  "There were other offers. Same as last time. Other options. I could've taken 'em and escaped that fucking loop. But instead—fuck. I kept on waiting. I waited, and I waited, and I got sick of the waiting. And it hit me:  I wasn't waiting at all. I was stuck. Because I couldn't bear to start again, after losing so damn much. Because moving on meant stepping into the dark, and having nothing underfoot if I fell."

Silco starts to say something. He doesn't.

This is about honesty—not eloquence.

"You know what makes Zaun stand apart?" Sevika says. "We're all about change. About action, not inertia. Me? I wasn't acting. I was going through the motions. Surviving. And in my survival, staying in stasis. Meanwhile the gangs kept warring. The chem-barons kept demanding. The politics kept getting bloodier. My world was coming apart at the seams, and there I was, clinging to scraps like my sanity was worth less than a potshot to the skull." A hard smile surfaces: tough as nails, and molten bright. "It'd be easy to blame you. Say it all led back to you abandoning us. Except we both know the score. You taught it to me, over and over. Cost and reward. Win or lose.  Surrender—or fight like hell to keep going."

"You did," Silco says. "This city owes itself to your fortitude. Not mine."

"I tried," Sevika counters, blunt. "I held the center, until I couldn't. But that's the point. Holding the center isn't going anywhere. It's stalling in place." The smile fades, but the fire lingers. "I don't know what threw us together. Chemistry, or karma, or fate playing games. But I do know this. I'm done holding the center. I'm ready to move on. But I can't—won't—unless I know you're moving too. Unless I know you coming back is a choice. Not a dead man marking time."

The ultimatum is brutal. But he reads between the lines. She'd kept it together, and kept herself intact. Survived, not as his second-in-command or factional proxy but as a person.

Just Sevika, fighting for life in a universe of atoms.  Just as he had done in the Deadlands.

Tonight, closure's not un the cards. But choice is.

And upon that choice, the groundwork for the next stage of revolution.

"Sevika," Silco begins. "I never considered—"

"I'll bet."

"I meant—I never understood, either. That holding the center meant staying in place."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Because you're always ten steps ahead of everybody."  Her eyes flash a semaphore of secret admiration. "Every option weighed; every factor calculated.  No errors. No exceptions."

Her faith nearly fells him. He's never been more unworthy of it. Never more terrified of knowing he's unworthy.

"I'm not," he says, "as clever as you think I am."

Her snort snags between his third and fourth rib. "Bullshit."

"It's true. I'm—"

Gods, what does he tell her?

That for all his sturm and drang—laying waste to a city and resurrecting it into splendor—he's a fucking coward at heart? Too gutless to let himself bleed; too feckless to let himself hurt. That for ten years, he's held onto himself by the skin of his teeth, and kept a city in his crosshairs—only to be undone by a little girl's tears? Unmade by fatherhood and the promise a legacy more lasting than the wreckage in his wake?

That he's still unmaking himself, putting the pieces in patterns yet unseen?

And still, there's no promise the pattern will cohere into a whole. Into a man who is halfway worthy of a woman willing to be his spine, his shield, his tether. A woman who has been through her own hell, and yet embodies every quality forged from that hellfire: tenacity, toughness, truth. A woman who manages ninety percent of her life effortlessly and the other ten percent ruthlessly; who fights harder for Zaun than anyone but him; who demands respect without begging for approval; whose tolerance for bullshit ends at the doorstep.

Who grants him access to her body, but whose boundaries are uncompromising. Who compromises daily, for his city's sake, and his own, and still sticks around when she has no cause to care.

Silco starts to speak. Stops. His throat's seized up. Ten fingerprints; Vander's phantom chokehold.

And beyond that chokehold: choice.

Silence crawls between them: tense, terrible, tetherless.

At last, Sevika gusts a sigh.

"Forget it." Her chair scrapes across the tiles. "I shouldn't have brought it up." She rises with military precision: all the momentum, with none of the grace. "Let's call it a night. I need some shut-eye, and you need to be at HQ. I'll radio the crew—"

The mind-body connection reinstates with a wallop.

Before she can withdraw, he's cut off her egress. For some reason he cannot fathom, he finds himself kneeling, though what he has a right to profess at her feet is beyond him. 

Daddy, he thinks, proposed to Mother like this.

The recollection's absurdly random, and strangely relevant.

Stunned, Sevika backs into the chair, her elbow banging off the wood. "...What're you—?"

"I choose."

The dark lashes flutter. The tough exterior conceals a flashpoint of panic:

He's lost it.

He's gone mad.

Gone for good, oh gods—

"I choose," he repeats, compelling her stare with his. "I'd choose all the choices that brought us here. Because that's what it was: choice. Not karma, or fate, or sheer dumb luck. I'd still choose to crawl out of that river, and stick a knife in Vander's back. I'd still choose to ally with you, because there was nobody else worth allying with. I'd still choose Jinx, and all the wins and losses that followed. I'd choose freedom; I'd choose Zaun. I'd choose to march the streets with my army—every misfit soldier, every broken soul. And you by my side, leading the charge. As you've led everytime I couldn't.  As you've led me through the hardest parts of our journey—whenever I failed to light my own way."

The fear shifts to something else: half-formed, fiercer in its vulnerability.

"You—you don't mean that," she stammers. "You never would have chosen this. Not me, not us—"

Silco takes her good hand in both of his.

Sevika tenses, but doesn't tug away. Plainly her first impulse; to save them both from something irreversible. He recognizes that fear; it's his own. 

In another life, he'd never give credence to its silhouette. He'd take her hand, twine her fingers through his, hold on tight—all without a single red lie. He'd have cupped her head, smoothed her hair, then dragging her close, so their foreheads met in a familiar circle of warmth.

That'd been the go-to, once. When touch was easy, and trust a matter of course.

Replicating the gesture now seems a forgery. Worse, a travesty of what once was.

Except what once was is no more. Neither are they. Whoever he is—he must learn it all from scratch.

Starting now.

He stays his knees; he keeps her hand in his.

"I don't care," he says. "I don't care if the odds don't stack up. Or what probability matrix I'm fucking over. All I know is: I choose. Us—whatever us means. Whatever it doesn't. Whether it's you jettisoning everything we've built, or me burning it to ground zero—I'd still choose where it's led us. I'd choose whatever path lies ahead.  Even if it takes us out of Zaun's orbit altogether—or down to the last circle of hell. No matter where we fall on that spectrum: I choose, Sevika." He breathes, steadies. "I choose whatever's left."

The silence spins like a roulette wheel: a freefall between extremes.

Her hand's a tether. He holds it tight between his fists, until the subdermal tremor stills.

"Silco..."

"Yes?"

Her eyes are burningly dark. "I'm what's left."

"You are." He skims a thumb over her lifeline, where blue veins branch across her wrist. Life coursing beneath: vital, raw, real.  "And you're what I choose. Fuck the rest."

Her breath jitters on a rare laugh.  "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Funny."

"How so?"

"'Cause that's exactly how I feel."

He lifts her palm to his lips. Feels the pulse quickening at the base, overflowing with all he's lacked; with all he needs.

Warmth, want, wholeness.

Unexpectedly, her fingers flex; she twines them through his. The cybernetic hand reaches out to seize his jaw. Gently, then not. She drags him in even as he flows into her embrace. The kiss is like whiskey left mellowing over the hearth-flames: fiery, smooth, familiar. Cardamom lingers in the gaps; the rest's doused in the residue of adrenaline.

Then desire simmers back into the brew: a low smolder, but with the capacity to roar should they pour a stiff shot into the equation. Her arms span his shoulders; his teeth catch her lower-lip. The kiss drags them down deep.

 Love's like revolution. An entire paradigm rewritten from the ground up.

In the aftermath, there's always blood.

When they break apart, it's only to breathe. Their skins are pinked with inner-heat; pupils dilated. Sevika's grip is unyielding; her thighs have gone from a rigid V to a needy cinch. His body, fitted between, has traded languor for livewire greed. Memories of earlier burn viscerally bright. Himself inside her, a cock thrust deep; a body on fire against another starved of heat.

He lays a kiss, openmouthed, at her breastbone. Her throat vibrates against his ear: purr, chuckle, moan.

"You should get going," she breathes, "before this gets ugly."

He laps the words from her throat. "That's the idea."

"Tomorrow's schedule... is a shitshow."

"All the better to end on a high note."

"Silco..."

It's a quaver of syllables. Halfway to futility—all the way to surrender.

By nature, Silco presses his advantage: cool palms coasting beneath the hem of her nightshirt, blunt fingernails ghosting goosefleshed flanks. Her breasts fill his palms like decadent teardrops: nipples pebbling into silky little hellos as he rolls each with delicate intent, then roughly pinches. Her startled groan fills his mouth.

Gods above and below—the way she arches; the way she rocks. Her own kisses have gone from scalding to incandescent. He knows they're no longer going to make it to her bed—at least, not immediately. He'll have her here, first: in the kitchen, on his knees. With his tongue, then his fingers, then his cock in her cunt.

Nothing romantic to it, but what he wants is far more real.

"Sweet Janna," Sevika gasps, as he rucks up her nightshirt and fastens on her bare tit like candy, "do you ever ease up?"

Silco hums the negation between her breasts. "...You?"

"Gods, no—" She cups his skull, drags him closer, "but tomorrow—"

"Fuck tomorrow."  The crudeness earns him a grin. Her fingers tighten on his crown; her knee hikes higher around his torso. "Tonight's Jubilee. Not your father's bloody funeral. Save the damp squib for when it counts."

 Her spiky smirk was spreading. But somewhere, he's hit the wrong note. The spark douses into stillness. Her arms loosen; the Valkyrie wilts.

In her absence, there's only the shape of a wary woman: heavy-boned and hard-lined; scars all across the skin.

Breaking their embrace, she tugs her top down. Self-conscious; unlike herself.

"C'mon," she mutters. "Don't play roulette with the cards you're dealt."

"I thought that was our calling." Bemused, he searches her face. "Unless there someone else you're hedging your bets on?"

"No." An old exhaustion creeps into her eyes. One that prefigures Zaun in its entirety. "Just... no."

"No?"

"I need to be counting sheep tonight. Not stars."

 Rising, she gathers the empty mugs, ferrying them to the sink.  The shift is sudden and inexplicable. His XO is carved from bedrock, with all its obdurate depths.  Moodiness is a character flaw she rarely indulges. 

A premonition prickles along Silco's nape. The monster stirring awake. He's never handled disappointment well. Rejection, worse. It makes his knucklebones lock around a blade's hidden heft; ready to dish out whatever collateral damage is necessary until his goal is within reach.

Mine, the monster hisses. Mine.

Ours, he counters, and wills himself to stillness.

"What's wrong?" he says, as mildly as possible. "A minute ago, you were ready."

"I was." She rinses the mugs. Her movements aren't tense, only sharply efficient. "But... tonight's not ideal."

"Bad head?"

Her sidelong smile is wan, but warms her eyes.  "Nobody'd level that critique against you, sweetheart."

The Sweetheart is a token; Silco pockets it as compensation. They don't do endearments; haven't in years. Perhaps, tonight, it's one of many rules they're unwriting.

Or perhaps Sevika's setting new parameters for intimacy altogether.

Not his strong suit: abiding by limits. But, then, neither is sharing.

Yet here he stands. Near enough for her heat to soak into him; not so close as to invade her space.  He's in no position to inveigle, especially after laying his cards at her feet.

The dice is hers to throw.

"If we're going too fast," he says, "say so. I'll match whatever pace you set."

Her head pivots. She looks—truly looks—as if he's an anomaly she's never encountered.  Something enthrallingly new, and far too dangerous.

"You're not angry," she murmurs.

"No."

"Why not?"

His shrug isn't effortless, but it's honest. "We've had a string of long days. We deserve to take the edge off, however we like. If that means shut-eye instead of screwing, so be it. But," and here the devil seeps to the surface, "I'd be lying if I said a quickie wouldn't put a spring in my step tomorrow."

She doesn't laugh, but it's a close call. "I think I'll manage without the extra bounce."

"Are you sure?"

"You know me. Always on the ball."

"You're not. Though you do a damn good job hiding it." He reaches out, thumbing a tangle behind her ear. "You're wired. You're always wired. But this is the first time it shows."

She tenses. But the touch, lingering, softens something within. Her eyes drift half-shut. "...It's nothing."

"No?"

"Just... there's too much riding on the line."

"We're the line, remember?" The caress drifts lower, cupping her nape. She arches into his palm: a dragon seeking shelter.  Yet within their closeness is  sense of something sinister. A splinter of truth, caught in between. "Unless, in honor of Jubilee, you've chosen abstinence for the month."

"Hardly." There's a trace of a smile; a shadow of bitterness. "That was Nandi's cup of hemlock."

"Hyssop."

"Huh?"

"Hemlock's the killer. Hyssop's the healer." Off her stare, he tips a shoulder. "Your sister taught me the finer points of herblore. During our courtship, I was always bruised, bloody, and bone-deep in doom. She couldn't steer me tidy, so she choose to teach me how to triage a broken arm."

Sevika's scrubbing slows. "That sounds like Nandi."

"A born dogooder."

She laughs—a frayed but genuine sound—just as he suspects her mouth may be running short on indulgence.

"Nah. She had a wicked streak. Only difference is that hers came with a heart of gold. Whereas mine..."   She performs a neat sidestep to hang the mugs off their hooks. "Got mine from my old man. Not a lick of shine in sight."

"I disagree."

"Your eyesight's one flaw worth enumerating."

"If I had to list yours, self-deprecation wouldn't feature among them." He catches her wrist, but lightly. "What's wrong? Because something is."

"Something." Her shrug's an imitation of his, but a poor one. "I guess... I'm just being superstitious. Thinking: if I let myself go now, I'll slip up at the next critical juncture. Or get so fucking pissed when you're back to being Zaun's reigning bastard, I won't be able to keep a lid on it? Because—" She swallows. "That's the deal between us. There's always a catch. Cost; reward."

He lets her wrist go. "You think I'm playing games."

"Everything's a goddamn game with you. Same way everything's a game with Janna her-own-damnself.  And those games always end up at cross-purposes—and into clusterfucks."

Her silence doesn't quite sit right; Silco feels its surface ripple like a sine wave. There's something vulnerable inside. Something, conversely, walled-off.  It recalls the gloss in her eyes when they'd been going at it before. A stormfront brewing north.

Now it occurs to Silco the storm may not entirely be his doing.

"What is this?" He's prowling a circle around her now. "And if you say 'nothing'—"

She nixes the warning with a sharp headshake. "It's not."

"What, then?"

Outside the flat, fireworks: scalding showers of garnet red and verdant green. The eerie fractals dance through the blinds.

On the last ebb of colors, Sevika swallows.

"I can't—" Her voice snags; her lips pull taut. "—trust a single thing about tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because you're you, and I'm me. Between us, there's always a flipside. Some wrench in the spokes. Some debt overdue. That's how this game works. That's how it's always worked." Her chin lifts, defiant, but the eyes hold a haunted sheen. "You drive a hard bargain, Silco. But tonight? This deal feels too good to be true. And whatever I have left... I'm not ready to lose. Not if—if you mean what you say. And not if this is the only shot I get at—at—fuck."

Abruptly, she punches the wall. The lapis tile cracks like ice beneath her cybernetic fist.

Dazed, Sevika stares at the damage, the copper knuckles flexing.

A heartbeat later, she's in tears.

Silco's at her side before he registers it. The monster—always slithering, always shapeshifting—is lured to the stress chemicals wafting in the air. The rest of him—the vestigial organ pumping the barest heat to every extremity—pulls rank over roiling appetite.

This isn't a foe to fight. Nor prey to penetrate.

This is Sevika baring a bellyful of hurt.

"Sevika." He catches her shoulders. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing." Furiously, she backhands the tears. "Look, forget it. Just—forget it. It's been a long fucking day. I'm tired. Tomorrow, everything will be fine. You'll be the terror of the deep, and I'll be the stone-cold bitch. Same old, same old. We'll move on; move forward. Like we always do."

"We will." His grip tightens, anchoring her in place. "But not tonight. Tonight, I want the truth."

"Nothing worth sharing." 

"Let me be the judge of that."

Abruptly, she wrenches loose.

"Since when do we swap sob stories?" she erupts. "Since when does the Eye of Zaun care what's going on between my ears, and not what deal's brewing in the the backrooms? Since when do you care about anything beyond the big picture, and not what's right in front of you? And why now, Silco? Why tonight, of all nights? When I'm at the end of my fucking rope, and it's just a matter of time before I slip up and strangle myself?"

"Because," Silco snaps, "I do care."

"You don't." She's breathing hard, as if she's sprinted miles to get here. "You're not Sil. You haven't been Sil in over ten fucking years. I was fine with that. Fuck, I was better than fine. I was grateful. 'Cause Sil was mine, and he'd stay mine, even if the rest fell, and our bones rotted. None of this—the dirty deals, the politics, the backstabbing—would touch him. He'd always be that dreamer with a big speech, and the best intentions, even if the worst came knocking.  But you—" Her mouth twists. "—you're the fucking monster, remember?  The goddamn anti-Sil. You're not supposed to care. You're not supposed to feel a thing. Except lately... you look at me like Sil used to. Like he's still in there, under fifty feet of icewater, and I can't take it. I can't stand you pretending to be him. You can't be. Because him, I knew. Him, I've I believed in. Him, I fought for, and for him, I'd gladly die. You—you're a changeling who stole his skin, and I hate you for it. I hate myself more for wanting you. Because it's too risky to want you. Not if it's all or nothing, and nothing's my most likely bet."

She's barely breathing by the end. The fury's spent itself. Her body's deadweight.

Silco's the one lost at sea.

"Is that what you think?" he says, low. "I'm a pretender in my own skin?"

"I think the last ten years have been a fucking nightmare. I think, whatever you are—whatever you've turned into—that you've still got a long way to go before you're a man I can trust."

"But you want to trust me." He's inching closer. "Trust us."

"I can't!" She jerks back. "I can't go back there. I can't let myself hope."

"Why not?"

"Because—" The bravado cracks. "Because what's left isn't worth losing. You're never gonna change, and neither will the game, and we're both too fucked up to make this work."

"You're wrong."

Inexorably, he advances; she retreats, until he's caged her against the counter. The monster's wide awake, instincts primed to strike. It's Silco's way; coercion as conversational art; proximity as pressure valve.

But here's neither advantage to be extracted, nor damage to impart.

Only his refusal to let her suffer alone.

"I won't," he repeats, softer, "And I'm going to prove it."

"How? By threatening your way into my pants?"

"By owning the truth. Whatever that truth is." He doesn't touch her. Only breathes the salt-scented air between them: stress, sex, tears. The sensory olio solidifies the stakes. "I'm not Sil, and I'll never be again. But he's what I became, Sevika, and he's in me. All the pieces, and none of the pretty. But whatever's left, you can have it all.  So long as you'll give me the same."

She shivers. Doesn't move a muscle. Doesn't lash out.

But nor does she run.

"You're asking a lot," she says, raggedly. "What if it's not worth it?"

"Let me be the judge." He holds her eyes. "Tell me what's eating you alive. Because whatever it is—whatever's got you so scared—it won't be the end of us, Sevika. I swear."

Sevika resists; a muscle quivers in her jaw. But the tears are relentless.  Each drop's a surrender, unmaking hard-won stoicism by stages.

Finally, she sags. Her voice is uncharacteristically small.

"It's my old man. He's back."

[waltzingwithyourenemyattheball]

PICK A CARD: MYSTERY READING

Left: Pile 1; Right: Pile 2

Disclaimer:

🪈 Take what resonates and leave the rest

🪈 Disclaimer in highlight applies here

🪈 Thank you for letting me read for you, it has been a pleasure

🪈Personal readings are paid only.

🪈No one is allowed to copy my work under any circumstances.

Pile 1: Some of you could be Shiv bhakts, you need to see that worshipping and paying respects to shiv family is equally important, in your case Nandi Ji, learning the value of patience especially in October, not backing down from opposition, showing strength and fortitude ahead all while being patient and calm. You are not rushing the process, you are going along with it how ever long it might be because you have single-minded focus. That’s the attitude you need to adopt. That is the attitude you already have but cannot see. Someone new is entering your life, possibly a man it could be an exciting event for you, you may have been waiting for this for a long time, for some this is a mentor and a critic who will help you get better in your craft. A sincere wish is being granted. Often the mistake we make is being too rigid with our manifestations, if you look closely your wish is being fulfilled maybe in a different way, but you get what you wished for. You could meet the new person at a party or during tea time in someone else’s house, for some of you it is marriage. You might get married to your perfect partner who could be different from the one you are fixated on right now, it’s a general reading so take what resonates. You could be sensitive to criticism, and it is saying you should learn to accept valid criticism. You are being told to beware of greed, it could also lead to parting ways either in business or relationships.If someone tries to make you do anything against your wish, speak up, you are being reassured that you will be taken care of during difficult times. A meeting with a stranger could be important, it could be related to money or property. USE YOUR INTUITION TO MAKE BENEFICIAL CHANGES. Comment ‘111’ to claim this.  🌙DM for personalised tarot readings🌙

Pile 2: You are the ones who check things multiple times, you do not believe anything till you are 110% sure. If you are planning  something or making a decision that involves APRIl of 2023 or 2024, use your intuition and psychic abilities, make a decision based on that. Let yourself relax completely and let the answer come to you. YOU CANNOT SEE THIS RIGHT NOW BUT THERE IS Increase IN MATERIAL WEALTH AND SPIRITUAL GROWTH for you. It is making way, working in the background, you’ll see results soon, again April is significant. You will be shown the way in matters related to decisions, if it’s someone else trying to make you do something that is against your will, you will be shown the way too. This message was in pile 1 as well. Way to go, pile 2! You have an abundance of good news and spiritual love coming in. Some of you could be Krishna Bhakts or have a craving to live in Vrindavan near to Radhe Krishna, wish will be fulfilled, you will be called to take a trip at least. There might be sorrow and discomfort with a relative especially a younger man in your family. There is shown victory in some endeavor you are planning to undertake especially if it is something you have worked hard on so it can take off. In business do not be emotional, be resourceful and shrewd , you might experience some sadness and nostalgia  over letting something go. For business and career or personal growth I am seeing progress. If you are ever in trouble or someone is accusing you of something, do not speak in anger, control it or you will be sorry. It is time to act like a lion. Some of you could have placements in Leo or it could be your rising. HAPPINESS AND WELL-BEING IS COMING EVEN THOUGH IT DOES NOT SEEM LIKE IT, even if there is dullness right now, joy and happiness are making their way to you.  Comment ‘222’ to claim this.  🌙DM for personalised tarot readings🌙

-

EL TAROT

[beansprean]

Some of my fav enablers @vampireshmampire and @phasmama and pejnt and Lu been talking about a Hercules au...

(ID in alt and under cut)

1. Full body of Jan as Hades in a long black dress with puffed sleeves and a long slit up the side over a darker black bodysuit with cutouts up the legs. She is wearing high top high heel sneakers and her hair is a blaze of blue fire. She sits on a throne made of bones, all the skulls of which are missing their incisors, and grins at the viewer with rows of sharp teeth. Behind her, the souls of the damned are wailing. She says, "Nandy, Nandy, Nandy... What do we do here in the Underworld?"

2. Reverse shot of Nandor as Meg, hair half up in a looping bun and wearing a short purple peplos clasped over both shoulders with brass brooches. He twiddles his fingers together and looks up at her nervously, responding, "We sweat?" Offscreen, Jan answers, "That's right!"

3. Wide profile shot as Jan gets up from her throne to stand in front of Nandor. One hand on her hip and the other pointing vaguely left, she says, "So go out there and work up a sweat to get that sweet little Van Helsing over here! And who knows - you may just earn back your humanity." Her grin is wide and confident, but her eyes are hard. Nandor perks up with a small smile at the mention of a reward.

4a. Knees up of Guillermo as Hercules, dressed in a short leather chiton and blue cape, hair styled in a little side swoop. He is grinning excitedly, holding up both fists as he says, awed, “I’m gonna be a vampire…” Nadja and Laszlo, dressed in pale red and pale green respectively, lean out from behind him. Nadja folds her hands on top of her husband’s head and rests her chin there with a sly grin, replying, “Yess, absolutely.” Laszlo wears a matching expression, posing his hands innocently under his chin. He adds, “You just have to do a few…” Nadja pipes up, “Quests!” Laszlo continues, “Yes, a few heroic quests for us, first!” 4b. In the background, Guillermo has his back to the viewer and is chopping madly at a vaguely yonic hedge with his xiphos sword, letting out a “ha!” of effort with each swing. In the foreground, Nadja and Laszlo are lounging and sipping from cups of blood. Laszlo calls over sternly, “No cutting corners, boy! I want a perfect likeness!” Nadja sits back lazily with her knees up and spread to provide a reference. /end ID

[bluejaysandblackbats]

have you ever considered jayrose or cassrose?

I'm not super big on jayrose, but I'd be open to writing cassrose at some point. I was supposed to write it in my Cass cowboy fic, but I got stuck and never touched on it again. Hopefully I'll get back to it soon.

[metroidspeedrun]

favorite fic you’ve written and a WIP you can’t wait to publish: go!

If There's Nothing Missing In My Life... is probably my personal favorite because it was inspired by a post that I desperately hope to see again someday about Conner being an exploited teen. Also I can't wait to finish it because I feel like my ending (I wrote the ending before the first chapter) is great and closes things off in a good place.

Blue Velvet is something that I've had a pinterest board for since like last January. It's a oneshot where Jay Garrick sets Max Crandall (Max Mercury) and Alan Scott up on a blind date. I'm so excited for that one actually.

Thanks so much for asking bestie!!!!

[judeswhore]

Imagining innocent bsf and u having strict parents so you and jude always have to sneak around nandi you typically only do stuff when ur home alone. But one day when ur meant to be studying u text him cuz ur feeling really needy and so he sneaks in ur window and obviously attends to ur needs while ur trying to stay silent. And at one point u accidentally make a noise or the headboard gets too loud or something and so ur parents come to ur door (which is locked thankfully) and are asking what’s going on and u expect jude to slow down or stop completely but he just keeps going even harder 😵‍💫😵‍💫 and so u have to do ur best to stay quiet while u answer ur parents

him sneaking into ur room bc he misses u and ur supposed to be studying but he’s such a distraction like he’s not even doing anything just him sitting in ur room is making it hard for u to concentrate. he’s telling u that you’ll find it easier to study if u let him fuck u first bc u need a little break and ofc u can never say no to him so before u know it he’s got u on ur back and he’s fucking u so good. his hand over ur mouth to keep u quiet and he’s in ur ear all “need to be a good girl and stay quiet, can’t have anyone knowing what i’m doing to u” but also “wish i could here ur pretty moans, baby, always makes me cum so hard when u start crying f’me” and it’s making u feral. but he’s being kinda soft and slow bc he’s trying not to make much noise but it’s driving u crazy so ur tugging his hand away just to whisper that “want it harder, jude. please, need u to fuck me properly” and it sounds so dirty coming from u and he can’t deny u so he’s doing what u ask but that makes the bed creek a little and has the headboard banging against the wall. and ur mam is home and she hears so she’s knocking on ur door and asking if ur okay but how r u supposed to answer when jude’s cock is so deep u can feel it in ur tummy?? thinking he’s gna stop but he just slows down until he’s just barely fucking u but he’s gripping ur chin to make sure u keep ur eyes on him and whispers “tell her ur fine, sweetheart” and ur stuttering out that everything’s okay and jude’s grinning all “that’s a good girl” and it’s so dirty and risky but so hot

[zeherili-ankhein]

Bro bro

Headcanons of Shivani and Parvati parenting Vinayaki :3

Sksjsjddj haven't given this much thought so might be few but

— ✨ DANCE BATTLES ✨ Ok not like battles but they do dance together as a family, with music and flowers and all. It's really cute. Though most of the time Vinayaki get's sidelined because Shivani and Parvati just can stop starring at eachother T_T

— something Kailash equivalent of movie nights. Yeah that's definitely on their list.

— Vinayaki loves food ofcourse so she and Parvati obviously have baking time together. Shivani sometimes joins in sometimes she just watches them from afar :3

— Vinayaki makes all of them cute cute making charms bracelets, with stones shells and idk flowers but charms? Yeah also she makes them of her other siblings too.

(also im adding a bit of the others too)

— Ashokasundari and Vinayaki are those besties sisters who share EVERYTHING with eachother, and Parvati loves to braid both of their hairs :3 while the three of them gossips. (don't ask me how Vinayaki have hair just imagine she has for the plot purpose ok!!) AND SOMETIMES LAKSHMI JOINS THEM YEAH

— Shivani and Vinayaki have something like a musical concert kind off, where they just play all types of instruments from Veena of Khartal and all. Initially the idea was Saraswati's and she sometimes joins them too, but other than that it's just the two of them.

— Well ofc Vinayaki loves to play pranks on them. Somedays they will wake up with Parvati's hair turned pink or Shivani's jata having glitters in them. She also loves to play those pranks on Kartik... the only one she never pranks is Ashok, bcz that's his sister uwu.

— both Parvati and Vinayaki loves to question Shivani about anything and everything, and Shivani loves to answer them. It's kinda like a game, they would give her some puzzles or riddles and she'd answer them correctly each and every time.

— Nandi is the official babysitter ofc, not really but Ashok and Vinayaki both loves to play with him. They do his makeup change my mind 🗿

— They tried that on Vasuki too, bit he got scared aftwr the first two or three times, because Vinayaki kept on pranking him, so now he just watches from the side.

— Ganga is that disco aunty, and Vinayaki looooves her :3 like they'd be singing the weirdest songs in the highest voices to annoy everyone. This especially annoys Shivani and Chandra idk why.

Couldn't think of anything else 😭 so take this much for now

[mariacallous]

Oasis, the band everyone likes to sing after too many pints at karaoke, is going on tour. Well, not exactly on tour—it’s more like 17 dates in the UK and Ireland in summer 2025. Still, considering the band broke up in 2009 and has just reunited, this is what most people are calling a big deal. If nothing else, the band’s leaders, the notoriously ever-feuding brothers Noel and Liam Gallagher, might throttle each other on stage at any given moment, and hardcore fans (aka the “madferits”) would really hate to miss that, even if it costs them north of $1,000.

As soon as the presale for the band’s upcoming gigs went online on Friday, tickets—which started at around $100 apiece—popped up on resale sites, with fans on X reporting that they were seeing prices in the $800 to $1,200 range, despite the fact that the band said it had put guardrails in place to prevent the cost of the tickets from getting out of hand. The BBC reported that some tickets were going for as much as $7,800.

To be a part of the presale, fans had to submit a ballot correctly answering questions about the band. Some who did so received a link to presale tickets; others didn’t and were “devastated,” anticipating a “Ticketmaster bloodbath” during the general on-sale, despite the fact that Oasis themselves had warned that tickets sold for more than face value would be “canceled by the promoters.”

On Saturday, things didn’t get much better. Fans trying to buy tickets through online ticketing sites found long waits, seemingly hard-to-swallow fees, error messages, bots and, reportedly, error messages claiming that fans themselves were the bots.

“Efforts like presale ballots can be helpful in curbing the immediate rush and chaos typically associated with ticket sales,” says Benjamin Fabre, cofounder of cyberfraud firm DataDome, “but they are not foolproof solutions against sophisticated bot attacks.”

Not all of the inflated ticket prices were the result of bots, however. After waiting hours in the queue, some fans reached the front only to find the price of tickets had more than doubled. This was due to dynamic pricing, a model that means the prices of tickets can change if there’s high demand. As tickets started to sell out on Saturday, fans urged bands and artists to push back against the use of dynamic pricing. (Ticketmaster did not respond to an email over the weekend seeking comment for this story.)

The UK culture secretary Lisa Nandy on Monday confirmed that the British government will look into dynamic pricing as part of a planned review of how event tickets are sold, which is scheduled for the autumn. The review will investigate “issues around the transparency and use of dynamic pricing, including the technology around queuing systems which incentivise it,” Nandy told the BBC. MP Jamie Stone, the culture spokesperson for UK’s Liberal Democrats, said in a statement to The Guardian over the weekend that it was “scandalous to see our country’s biggest cultural moments turned into obscene cash cows by greedy promoters and ticketing websites.”

It seems all but inevitable this would happen. Whether it’s savvy scalpers trying to make a buck or bots—or, more likely, scalpers making bots—everything from Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour to the US Open seems to be getting hit with inflated resale prices almost instantly after tickets go on sale.

Bots, Fabre adds, can circumvent many guardrails, and ���fraudsters can create thousands of fake accounts in advance of sales to become ‘Verified’ fans.” Bots impersonating common browsers like Chrome can slip past security checks and foil tools like CAPTCHAs, he says.

Regardless of what happens next, the Oasis debacle could shed another light on what fans go through to get concert tickets. Despite the fact that the US Congress passed the Better Online Ticket Sales (BOTS) Act in 2016 and the European Union voted to ban bots in 2019, they’ve been far from eradicated.

If they’re not, people may start taking matters into their own hands.

“If I don’t get Oasis tickets, I’m going to spend the next 12 months tweeting both brothers a list of every bad thing they’ve said about each other to encourage another fall-out,” one posted on X late last week. “If I don’t get to see it, no one else gets to see it either.”

[tllgrrl]

Sweet Potato Pie by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

SarahBucky Fleur De Louve Month 2023 - Week 1, Day 2 Prompt: “Sweet Potato Pie” | SFW

Sarah Wilson/Bucky Barnes, and Special Guest Cameo: Sam Wilson

* * * * * * * * * *

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Sarah’s boys were already at the grandparents in Atlanta, and the original plan was that Sam would be in NYC with Misty, the restaurant would be closed until Friday, and Bucky would be home with her for a nice, quiet (maybe not so quiet) Wednesday, then the two of them would make a Thanksgiving Day drive to Atlanta to stay until Sunday, when the boys would come back with them to Delacroix.

That was the plan.

Then came the phone call, and there she was hearing about how some shit had popped off on the other side of the world in a place that she wasn’t privy to know for her own safety, and in the blink of an eye she was on the front porch, kissing Bucky goodbye before dawn…again.

“I’m sorry, nandi,” he said softly, his forehead touching hers.

“I know, baby. It is what it is,” she answered, pulling his dog tags over her head and onto his neck. “Just come back to me in one piece.”

“I will.”

“You better.”

“Save me some Sweet Potato Pie,” he says over his shoulder, walking toward the van.

“Me too!” someone yelled from the passenger seat.

“Ha! I’ll think about it, Cap.”

“You’re the meanest sister ever!”

“No she isn’t.”

“Yes, she is.”

“It’s called Tough Love, Samuel.”

“Just get in the car. You and that Tough Love bullsh—“

“Language!”

“What?!?”

She’s used to it by now. It’s sort of The Other Family Business: Superheroes.

This time, however, when the SUV drove off with her brother and her lover, the second the vehicle made that turn out of the driveway, she sat on the front step, and had a good, angry cry.

After a few minutes, she dried her eyes on her (on Bucky’s) t-shirt, and took a deep breath. “Okay. Enough of that…”

She got up, went into the house, picked up her cellphone, a notepad and pencil, pressed a speed dial number, and started making plans.

Evening, on the Other Side of the World…

Bucky dragged himself into the tiny old hotel room, dropped his backpack on the dresser, closed the curtains, checked the room for bugs...and bugs, then he turned on the old school TV set (complete with rabbit ears) and clicked the old remote until he found a futbol match.

He could still smell the light fragrance of Sarah’s hair conditioner, and feel her body against his when he kissed her goodbye.

“Damn…” he mumbled, reaching deep into his backpack and pulling out a small brown bag of plums.

“Happy Thanksg—“

Someone knocked on the door.

He retrieved one of his fixed blade knives from a compartment in the backpack, and waited.

Another knock, this time in a familiar pattern.

“Yo, Buck?”

Bucky opened the door to find Sam standing there with what looked like a box wrapped in a thermal blanket. There was also a smaller flat box sitting on top of it.

“Hey, come in. What’s all that?”

“It’s a special delivery. This goes with it.”

Sam handed him a six pack of a local beer, and pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket.

“I got one too. Seems like we weren’t going to be spending the holiday away from…well, go’on open your envelope. I’m heading back to my room for mine.”

“What—?”

“Don’t ask me. Just open this envelope. Have a good evening, Buck.”

“Um…Thanks?”

“You’re welcome, Cyborg Man.”

Bucky heard Sam chuckle as he closed the door.

He moved his laptop to the bed and placed the boxes on the small table in the corner, opened the envelope, and picked up his cellphone, smiling as he dialed the encrypted number on the StarkTech phone.

“Hey, nandi.”

“Hey yourself, mthandi.”

“Can I see you?”

“Of course. Hold on…”

Their screens both go black, then they see each other.

He gently touches her cheek on his screen, and she touches his cheek on hers.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Wait. Have you…? James. Open the boxes.”

“Boxes? Oh!!”

Bucky unwrapped the large box first and when he opened the seal, steam wafted out, and delicious aromas filled the room.

He couldn’t believe his eyes, or his nose.

It was a whole meal of turkey, dressing, greens, cornbread and slices of his favorite: Sarah’s meatloaf. There was even a separate container of a serving of gumbo.

“Baby…” he chuckled, eyes beginning to brim, “what…what did you—?”

“I figured, since we couldn’t be together like we planned, we could at least…well… shoot, I wasn’t gonna cry…”

Bucky was wiping his eyes as well.

“Sarah…this is just…did Sam get—should I go get—?“

“No. He’s good. Probably on the phone with Misty right about now. The two of us got together. She arranged to have a QuinnJet bring me to New York not long after you left. She knew the team’s prep schedule, so we did our shopping, spent a day cooking, and had the boxes loaded onto the transport before departure.

I asked Torres to make sure neither of you knew about the boxes until you were at your destination. Misty and I made him a combo plate from both of us.”

“I don’t know what to…Thank you, intanda. This is…”

“Close the box, put the heat blanket back on it, get cleaned up and comfy. I’ll wait, so we can have dinner together. Okay?”

Bucky wiped his eyes and picked up the small brown bag, showing her what was inside, “I was gonna have these plums.”

“Have them for breakfast. Your dessert is in the pie box.”

“My dessert is in Delacroix, where I should be right now,” he says in that tone that makes her toes curl in that good way.

“Boy, stop!” she giggles.

He hears Sarah giggle and it makes him want to run all the way back to Louisiana, Secret Empire wannabees and the Atlantic Ocean be damned.

He opened the box and she watched him bite his lip in anticipation. Bites his lip in that way.

She sees him bite his lip and she wants to run to him, Louisiana swamps and the Atlantic Ocean be damned.

“You’re still saving me a slice for when I get home, right?”

“Of course! I brought you over to Team Sweet Potato Pie. No way I’m letting you backslide back to pumpkin! Not as long as we’re—“

“Come’ere, you,” he laughs, walking the phone into the bathroom.

“Where are we going?”

“Getting ready for a quick shower.”

She can see his metal hand and the bathroom ceiling, then the phone tips forward and now she can see him. Most of him. He repositions the phone again and now she can see a goodly amount of him.

He reached into the shower, turned on the tap, then faced the camera, took off his shirt, and started unbuttoning his jeans.

“Want to tell me what you’re doing, mthandi?” Sarah said, before draining her entire glass of sweet tea because The Thirst was real.

“Taking a shower so I can get ready for dinner with my intanda,” he smiled. “Care to join me?”

“Are you taking your phone into the—“

“Sure am. What! It’s waterproof.”

* * * * * * * * * *

@fleurdelouvemonth 2023 - Week 1: “Food” - Day 2: “Sweet Potato Pie”

Also posted on The AO3.

Thanks for reading!