your first steps.

purple mug pressed to his mouth, he continues leaning against kitchen counter. nonchalantly swallowing down coffee. entirely unfazed by the black widow's unannounced entrance. admittedly, clint would appreciate a good old fashioned hello, but he's used to this. ❝ so you're entering by door this time, i see. ❞ hawk's eyes sweep natasha over from the rim of his mug, catching her slide a folder across island table. waits a minute or two longer, until the cup is completely emptied, before tossing it at the sink. doesn't need to check to tell it's right on target. satisfied, his gaze flicks back on her. a small smile spreading beneath it. ❝ since when was i pretending to enjoy it? this is genuine, ❞ he says cooly, folding his arms. one eyebrow lifted. ❝ you could use some time off too, 'tasha. haven't seen you at game night for weeks. ❞ back rising off the counter, he takes one step to the table. grabs the folder and pries it open. ❝ yeah, yeah. i definitely remember that incident. ❞ he won't forget it anytime soon, either. talk about humiliating. ❝ please don't tell me you're thinkin' of making me your test subject again. ❞ clint groans, right index finger rubbing his temple, a note of a plea settling in the last few words. ❝ katie still won't let me live it down. ❞

clint always looks most dangerous when he is pretending not to care. not with a bow in his hands. not balanced at the edge of a rooftop with half the city spread beneath him. this version — sleeves rolled to his elbows, bruising along one side of his jaw, acting as though the mission had been routine and the bullet hole through his jacket belongs to someone else. she leans against the doorway of the safehouse kitchen, arms folded, watching him dig through cabinets that have been empty since the cold war. ❝ you know, ❞ bobbi says, gaze drifting deliberately over him, ❝ most people say hello before bleeding on the furniture. ❞ clint glances toward her. ( that familiar look. annoyance first. amusement beneath it. something warmer buried where neither of them is supposed to touch it anymore. ) bobbi steps closer, heels quiet against the floor. the mission dress is still torn at her thigh, blond hair slipping loose from its pins, a thin line of blood drying along her shoulder. she should find the medical kit. she should call in. she should do several sensible things that do not involve standing this close to her ex-husband. [ in her mind she repeats : terrible idea. ] she reaches for the ruined edge of his jacket instead. ❝ hold still. ❞ her fingers brush his ribs, searching for the wound beneath the fabric. clint’s breath catches so slightly most people would miss it. bobbi is not most people. the corner of her mouth curves. ❝ relax, barton. ❞ she lifts her eyes to his. ❝ if i wanted to hurt you, you’d know. ❞ a pause. her hand remains against his side. ❝ probably. ❞ @saintslight

at the start of the week, he had pictured his friday night playing out very differently: holed up inside his apartment. watching some crappy movie on tv. eating takeout, maybe. drinking a cheap beer or two. all in all, nice. pleasant. relaxing. not... well, he thinks bitterly, sinking into the brown couch, marred deep red by his own blood, not whatever the hell this is! ❝ hey, i hate to break it to you, honey, but i ain't exactly an average joe, ❞ clint spits out, forcing a cocky smirk on his face. the throbbing pain burning his chest prevents it from reaching full width. aw, crap. he's staring. at her. again. and to make matters worse, bobbi has noticed. she's trying hard not to show it, but he recognizes the subtle slant in her lips. amusement in her blue eyes. shifting his weight, he determinately pries his gaze away. feigning interest in a fly hovering lazily below flickering ceiling lights. ❝ okay, okay, doc. i hear you, ❞ he obliges sardonically, wincing as his breath catches despite an effort not to. bites back a curse. of all times to be nervous... ❝ guessin' this must be fury's idea of a practical joke. ❞ comes a quip. in other words, a half-hearted attempt to distract himself from the pain. clint finally meets bobbi's eyes this time. no longer caring that he's watching her. ❝ sending the divorced couple on a mission together. i mean, really, what are we, mr and mrs smith? ❞ a thoughtful whistle. ❝ maybe the man is trying to salvage our marriage or something. a happy ending worked for them. ❞

in her attempt to not smile, katara fails almost immediately. aang has always carried laughter like another element. lighter than air, quicker than flame , something he can summon even when the world has given him every reason not to. there were years when she mistook that ease for innocence. now, she knows better. she knows the weight beneath it. the grief folded carefully into every joke, the thousand lives whispering behind grey eyes, the boy who became a symbol before he was old enough to understand what symbols cost. and still, somehow, he laughs. the sound settles warmly between them. ❝ an elephant mandrill? ❞ katara repeats, brows lifting. ❝ that’s what we’re calling it? ❞ she folds her arms, attempting severity, though the curve at the corner of her mouth ruins the effect. the wind moves through her hair, carrying salt from the shore below. waves reach forward and retreat again, steady as breath. some part of her has always trusted water more than words. water never pretends not to be pulled. ❝ well, if two previous avatars agree, i suppose it must be official. ❞ her voice drops to match his dramatic whisper. ❝ the greatest threat to balance is apparently overcooked vegetables and ministers who enjoy hearing themselves talk. ❞ she glances around when he does, playing along despite the fact that there is nobody near enough to overhear them. no guards, no diplomats, no reporters waiting to turn one tired expression into a headline about the stability of peace. ❝ your secret is safe with me, ❞ she says. then, after a thoughtful pause, ❝ unless you steal the last moon peach at breakfast again — then i may be forced to tell the press everything. ❞ the teasing softens, as her gaze drifts toward him, taking in the familiar curve of his smile, the airbender robes shifting lightly in the breeze, the faint traces of the boy he was still visible beneath the man everyone else insists upon seeing. ❝ i’m glad you came after me. i know we fought for this. the meetings, the treaties, all of it. i know peace has to be built by someone. ❞ her fingers curl loosely around her sleeve. ❝ i just didn’t realize how often building it would feel like sitting in rooms full of people who have forgotten why it matters. ❞

a gasp. breathless, disbelieving. eyes wide in startled horror. tattooed hands clasp his mouth. ❝ you wouldn't, ❞ he whispers, faux scandalized. his theatrics don't linger long. the look instantly dissipates, settling a lopsided grin. an altogether new fit of laughter threatening the night's cool air. this time, aang keeps it contained within his chest. burning away like fire. ❝ who says i'm stealing moon peaches? for all we know, momo is the real culprit. or sokka! ❞ blaming katara's elder brother won't work. the water tribe's bravest warrior is visiting kanna — no, gran gran, aang sternly reminds himself, remembering the kind old lady's firm insistence — and master paku. but even if sokka was in republic city, they both know he prefers good old meat any day. ❝ me too, ❞ he agrees, letting his little scheme drift away with the currents, taking katara's hand. fingers locking together instinctively. perfectly content as a soft, whistling breeze brushes his skin. it makes an airbender feel right at home. ❝ i was always gonna leave eventually. dinner stopped being interesting once you left. ❞ low bar. between earth kingdom businessmen and fire nation nobles, there wasn't much competition. his grin widens, doubling in size. almost cheshire-like. ❝ still, everybody's trying their best, i think, ❞ he offers, sincerely diplomatic, always seeking a positive angle like light in unbearable darkness. ❝ boring and egotistical as some ministers may be. ❞ aang adds for good measure, spotting a light crease pulling at katara's brow. knowing her well enough to anticipate an incoming rebuttal. ❝ wanna call it a night? ❞ his gaze leaves her face, wandering over green hills, where a white fluffy sky bison surely resides. ❝ c'mon, appa's probably getting lonely without us. i'm sure the council will understand if we leave a little early. ❞

“ Your — Lightsaber, is it? ” The princess finds herself gazing at the weapon hooked at his belt, its silvery handle glinting in the warm afternoon sun. It is a beautiful craft, and one he seems to admire greatly. “ What powers it, if I may ask? ━━━ When you used it earlier, the glowing light, it reminded me of my home planet’s Zonaite ore. The energy refined from it is utilized in our own artillery.” The mention of home spikes an ache in her stomach; one that rings with both guilt and longing. Her beloved people, stuck waiting for her return. She feels the failure speak in the recesses of her brain, taunting her, reminding her of her uselessness. If only she could understand this power within her — if only she could access it. What good is a princess who cannot protect her people? @dualsuns

the princess' intimate knowledge takes him by surprise. brows furrowed, breath catches. giving way to sharp inhale. completed by exhale. ❝ you're familiar with it? ❞ luke asks, tone blending curiosity and something akin to relief. in his galaxy wide travels, from shining core worlds to the darkest edges of wild space, knowledge of the jedi has been scarce. frustratingly so. this chance encounter is already proving itself to be nice change of pace. ❝ allow me. ❞ unfastening the weapon from his belt, a flash of green again ignites in snap-hiss. ❝ a kyber crystal, according to the records i've gathered, ❞ he explains, slowly, carefully waving the blade before her. casting back twilight's shadow. ❝ i don't know much about it, to be honest, but i used one to power the saber. ❞ the creases lining his forehead deepen even further. ❝ this zionite you speak of... do you believe it's connected somehow? ❞