#because hes young enough he can still pick up the language semi-easily and have an easier time integrating into society

[faerun]

scenario me and josh are discussing as we wait for his car to be towed: if you were to drop a caveman into modern New York City and a modern man into cavemen-era New York City, and checked up on them a year later, who would be surviving and thriving best in their environment? Alternatively, change it to caveman child and modern child, would the scenario change?

[to-yngewai]

Japanese 1

Since I also speak/read Japanese semi-fluently (it’s been a while...) I thought I’d also write some posts teaching what I know to new learners. Hopefully I’m not just repeating things people have already heard a million times.

So, you’ve decided to learn Japanese. First question is, why? No, really. If it’s for anime and video games, hell, go for it. There’s a lot of subtleties you’ll catch once you have a working knowledge of Japanese. It’s just going to take a long time to get there. Don’t try to short-cut it. But once you know it, you can instantly recognize “Oh, this character is supposed to be a serious character.” “This one’s supposed to be a know it all.” “This one is so lax at everything he’s never serious.” “This one sure is mixing in a lot of kansai-ben to the point real people don’t talk like that.” Etc. If knowing those things interests you, go for it. If translating every little thing in an anime as you hear it without subtitles is your goal... that’s gonna be really really hard. Aim for realistic.

If your goal is to add a lucrative skill for a job, I applaud your dedication and wonder if you really exist because I’ve never met a person who honestly only studied Japanese for job benefits.

Here’s the best way to learn Japanese:

1. Study it in a university setting for a few years. Get a grasp of the hiragana, katakana, basic kanji, and the simple textbooks. If you can read and translate a shojo manga (easily the easiest to read) then you’ve reached this mark.

2. Go to Japan somehow. If you are young enough to be an exchange student, great. If you are older, maybe consider JET program which only needs a bachelor’s degree or something else. At any rate, don’t worry about getting into a very “prestigious” school. In fact, it’s better that you don’t. The really prestigious schools are going to have lots of exchange students, and it’s going to hamper your ability to learn if you interact with them and not the Japanese students and teachers. I was lucky enough I was in a program that was very comparatively “cheap”. (I had to pay my normal tuition, and my host family, that was it.)

3. Stay there for at least six months, avoiding all things related to English that makes life “easier” in Japan as an English speaking person. (Internet and other hobbies to keep yourself from going insane is fine.) Living there a year is best.

The first month in Japan is going to be traumatizing. You are going to have culture shock and it’s not going to go away for that entire month. Try to survive.

After that month, you’re going to find things are getting easier. You can even pick up the normal kanji really easily because you’re going to see them absolutely everywhere.

Six months in, this is where things start becoming fluent. You’ll catch on to the understood sentence structures. You’ll probably have at least one or two Japanese friends who are no longer stuck in the “wow, a foreigner, what a novelty” experience, and if you’re still being a good boy/girl/etc. and studying kanji and the more esoteric grammar forms, you are getting pretty good. Not enough you’ll pass the JLPT 1 without trying, but at least level 5.

Note that none of this applies if your ethnicity is Japanese or you were raised with Japanese or otherwise have experience. That’s an entirely different situation. For example, if your ethnicity is Japanese (or even half), but you don’t speak Japanese at all because your immediate family is all American, you are going to have a completely different situation. Japan is a nearly entirely ethnically homogeneous society and they’re going to be shocked when you try to explain you don’t speak the language for whatever reason. ...Anyway, I don’t want to go too much into that part of culture. Just be aware racism exists and that is going to affect your learning experience if/when you travel to Japan, if that’s what you want to do.

But, let’s say that seems like a distant goal and might not even be possible. What part of learning Japanese should you start learning to begin your journey?

...Well, you know what I’m going to say.

The writing system.

Any Japanese class that doesn’t focus immediately on the writing system of hiragana is not good. There’s no getting around it.

Of course, learn some simple phrases at the same time, and try writing them, but never write japanese phrases in English and think that’s “good enough.” It isn’t.

Easier said than done.

It’s going to be hard.

It’s going to suck to try to train your brain to make sense of what sounds they make, what order they come in, and especially how you are supposed to write them yourself, and in what stroke order.

(Believe me, you need to know that.)

And more-so, duolingo doesn’t really help on the “writing” part. You have to do that on your own. This is where university classes come in handy. They force you to with quizzes and tests and formal textbooks.

But not just the hiragana, also memorize the order of the sounds. “a” then “ka” then “sa,” etc. These will also teach you what sounds you can make with Japanese.

This is the *easy* part of learning Japanese! The sound of how the writing is written is *always* the same. (Okay, yes, there’s tone inflections of course, but it’s not like in English where ‘e’ can be “envelope” or “extra” or “eerie” or “eager” or “every”, etc.)

KA is always KA. KU is always KU.

HIRAGANA is always HIRAGANA.

And... you have to learn it.

Oh, here’s another tip:

Learn “hajimemashite” as “How do you do?” and learn “Douzo yoroshiku” as “Nice to meet you.” Some courses count them both as “nice to meet you” and that gets confusing because you might think it’s appropriate to only say one.

Okay. So tip one of learning Japanese in the immediate sense:

1. Learn hiragana. Leave katakana and kanji for later. Know they exist, and are waiting to swallow you like a whale, but focus on hiragana.

2. Learn some simple phrases (introductions, etc.) and write them with that hiragana. Don’t worry about what exact vocab or grammar, we’ll get to that.

3. You now have a working knowledge of how to understand and write hiragana!

And the tips of the final end goal of learning Japanese fluently:

1. Study for years.

2. Go to Japan.

3. Suffer until the exposure and culture shock forces you to put what you studied together in your head.

You can also add “killing your accent” to the part of learning Japanese fluently, because it will really help you ‘sound’ fluent even if you stumble over vocab or grammar occasionally.

Another tip:

Don’t be afraid to stop. From my experience, the vast majority of Japanese students who weren’t already working from a partial understanding of Japanese from their parents and childhoods stop by Japanese 102. It’s okay. It’s hard for a reason.

Oh, and one final note: I’ve been writing as an American with only English as a first language. If you are German or French, or any other nationality and English is your second language, learning Japanese might even be harder for you. The textbooks I’ve seen for foreigners seem to be designed for English speakers, so you might have to go through two layers to get there.

Again, none of this is written to be discouraging. It’s written to try to be a little more ‘honest’ because no textbook is going to tell you this, but it’s been my experience and maybe I’m wrong.

But the best and maybe only method is going to be total immersion. And you have to get to a point that’s not going to make you insane.

[acciofanfics]

Tormented (Sirius Black x Reader) Part 3

Summary: (Y/N) leaves home right out of Hogwarts due to circumstances Sirius could definitely relate to. When he opens his home to her, things don’t go exactly as planned.

Pairing: Post Azkaban Sirius Black x FemReader, mentions of Tonks x Lupin

Warnings: Sexual themes? And maybe some language? Possiblity of OOCness for the sake of story telling

Word Count: 974

A/N: So I had no intention of really dragging this out like I have been, but it’s just been happening 😂 Next part will be smut I swear it! It’s a little short and a little OOC so I do apologetics for that -S

———————————————————————-

It was slightly embarrassing how long it took (Y/N) to think of something that she could get Sirius with. Subtly would probably be key... and that was the tricky part. Though there really wasn’t a need to be subtle about her intentions, just the delivery. A metaphorical light bulb finally popped up above her head. The idea: pretty brazen, but that’s what she hoped would make it brilliant.

Sirius had grown suspicious when the built up tension in the air seemed to dissipate into nothing. It wasn’t really a bad thing though, he didn’t really want to have to watch what he did or said around the girl. It would’ve been hard to only have issues conducting himself around (Y/N) and people not connect the dots. So his suspicion turned into relief as the other members of the Order flooded into headquarters and gathered around the large kitchen table. Sirius didn’t even think twice when (Y/N) took the seat beside him. He should’ve.

(Y/N) waited. Quite patiently, if she were to say so herself. She listened and participated in the conversation, not that there was much more news to report. It really was mostly the same, and it wouldn’t be until later in the summer that Dumbledore would bring Harry, so it was more of a formality. Once the topics dipped to more casual affairs, she decided she’d make her move. She fished what she was looking for out of her pocket and carefully placed it in Sirius’ hand under the table before excusing herself momentarily.

Sirius wasn’t sure why he didn’t expect as much from the young woman. He really should’ve. He immediately knew something was up when she passed him something secretively and when he looked down and saw that it was a pair of red lacey knickers he immediately turned his head to watch (Y/N) leave the table.

Sirius’ gaze must’ve lasted longer than he intended, because when he turned back he caught the glare of Remus. Luckily it looked as if no one else caught on. He shot his childhood friend a sheepish grin and carried on as if nothing happened. It did get a little tricky when (Y/N) returned to the table and gave a performance that could’ve easily landed her an acting career in the muggle world. In fact, it was slightly annoying how she acted like she didn’t know Sirius existed.

While he normally enjoyed seeing everyone (well everyone that believed he wasn’t a murderer), tonight he wished the stragglers would just go ahead and head out. If he hadn’t been under strict orders from Dumbledore not to leave 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius would’ve dragged (Y/N) to the first quiet spot he could find. While the thought was a nice one it didn’t last long.

Remus sat on a semi-comfortable couch talking with his old friend. Talking? No, now that Nymphadora and (Y/N) had gone upstairs momentarily, Remus took this opportunity to somewhat scold Sirius. “I see you’re still being ‘tormented’. You know with her simply walking away I’m not sure how you can stand it.”

Maybe it was just payback for all the teasing Sirius did as a younger man. It had all been in good fun though, and Remus held his own. Sirius supposed he could pull the skimpy article of clothing out of his pocket and ask Remus what he thought it meant when a woman handed you their underwear. No, Sirius would play it cool. “Honestly things have gotten a lot better. Perhaps you were right.”

Remus knew Sirius well enough to know his tone almost sounded arrogant... like he knew something Remus didn’t, but he decided to look over it. It wasn’t that Remus didn’t feel sorry for Sirius, he really did, but he just doubted (Y/N) would be a good fit to get him back in the game. Firstly, the infatuation seemed one sided. Secondly, she was staying with the man at headquarters out of necessity and adding a romantic relationship to that didn’t seem like it would be the best mix. Remus didn’t really have a leg to stand on when it came to an age difference he supposed. “I do worry about you sometimes... that was just too easy.”

Sirius laughed along with Remus. That was fair enough, he did and probably was if he was still being honest quite stubborn. He was happy that their conversation drifted away from (Y/N) and it was nice to talk to Remus again. God, he’d missed it, and truthfully he couldn’t tell you how long they’d been talking when Tonks came bouncing down the stairs. She seemed ready to leave, but polite.

After a few more brief conversations and their goodbyes Tonks stood outside the door with Remus. She seemed to be in a bright mood, “Well, it’s about time we got out of there. I don’t think it was us they wanted to spend time with.”

Remus concluded that she must’ve picked up on Sirius’ staring too, “He was quite popular in school I’m sure you’re aware. He probably hasn’t gotten used to women not being into him.”

Tonks raised an eyebrow at his chuckle, “Wow... you’re clueless.” She laughed at Remus, who was wearing the same expression she had earlier. Tonks just wasn’t sure how he could claim to be such good friends with the man and not know that not only was the attraction definitely not one sided, but something had definitely already happened, and whether he would believe it or not. (Y/N) hadn’t even talked about Sirius the whole time they weren’t in the room. It was just blatantly obvious. Two people didn’t sit that close and act that oblivious to each other when something wasn’t up. After a few minutes and Remus’ questioning Tonks just sighed and let out another chuckle, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Tag List: @holysantana @rexorangecouny @acciovisio

To be added or removed just let me know.

[alpineglowx]

I'll Do The Same {Din Djarin x OC} Chapter Six: Nevarro

pairing: din djarin x female oc

warnings: none

* * * *

“W... What?”

“Your necklace... This symbol, it’s Mandalorian.”

Thell’s brows creased, and her mouth suddenly felt dry.

“My father... was he a Mandalorian?”

“I’m not sure... This looks like Clan Eldar, but they haven’t existed for at least two decades. I don’t know why your father would have this.”

He let the necklace drop back against her tunic, but Thell could only pick it back up and stare at the gleaming metal. Her mind was ringing, her confusion suddenly turning to wonder, to curiosity. Who had her father been, truly? Was this some reason as to why her mother had never spoken about him?

But she couldn’t think about it for too long, because suddenly the ship rocked under her feet and she was thrown to the ground. Knees collided with the steel flooring, bruising her skin, but she felt strong hands pulling her up by her arms, back up to her feet. Over the haze of the vision and the loud beeping ringing inside the Razor Crest, she could just make out Mando’s mask in front of her. He was holding her shoulders, shaking her.

“Did you hear me?” He was practically yelling. “Get the kid, and get back up here!”

Thell sprang up from her seat, careening towards the staircase and throwing herself down into the cargo hold.

“Grogu!” She called, feeling the ship rock underneath her feet as she spotted the small green baby several feet from her. Once the kid was in her arms, she raced back to the cockpit, strapping him securely in the adjacent seat and fixing her belt next. The Mandalorian was strapped in as well, his gloved hands flickering over the control panel. Lights flashed above her head, and that incessant beeping continued until there was a constant buzz in Thell’s ears.

“Hey!” Thell called over the noise. “What’s going on?”

“A lone TIE fighter,” Mando explained. “He must know about the kid... hold on.”

With a jerk of his wrist, the Razor Crest plowed forward, diving in an arc that caused Thell to become pressed up against the seat. The next moment, it lurched backwards, and nausea rose in her throat. The beeping had stopped, but Thell could hear the excited squeals of the child beside her. At the moment that the Razor Crest flew stable again, she cast a glance to her side: the kid had his tiny hands raised, his large eyes scrunched in pure joy. She would have laughed, would have nearly smiled had a loud explosion above her head caused the ship to lurch forward again. Mando cursed, something in a language that Thell didn’t recognize, before slamming a handle up and sending them flying into hyperspace.

Thell was jerked forward again only to be slammed back against the seat, until finally, the ship lulled. The ground still vibrated beneath her feet, but they seemed safe for the moment. The beeping had stopped, but with his tense shoulders, Thell could tell that the Mandalorian was stressed. Her eyes flickered back to Grogu, who was playing happily with that same metal orb from earlier in the week.

“Mando?” Thell said softly, as not to stress him out more, and leaned forward when he didn’t reply.

“Mando, what happened?”

“He hit one of the thrusters,” he replied, but his voice was gruff as always. “We’re going to have to land before that thing blows.”

“Are we gonna be okay?” Thell asked, casting a quick glance at Grogu.

Suddenly Mando turned halfway in his seat, clasping her shoulder firmly. Something in his touch surprised Thell.

“We’ll be fine. We’re going to see some friends.”

They landed on the volcanic planet Nevarro, just outside a small village. Mando was in the cargo hold while Thell had one arm wrapped around Grogu. The Mandalorian turned back towards her, pushing a blaster in her direction.

“You won’t need it, but just in case.”

Thell eyed the weapon carefully before nodding and sticking it in a loose space in her trousers, a spot she could grab from easily.

“Mando.”

He turned slightly. “What is it?”

Her fingers found the necklace again. “Are we... Will I figure out what this is?”

“We will. Let’s just get this finished first.”

With Grogu in her arms, she followed the Mandalorian down the side ramp into the still air of Nevarro. It was surprisingly quiet for a village this size, so Thell stayed close to the Mandalorian’s side. They hadn’t ventured into many villages together, if any, and she felt surprisingly safe with him so close. She knew she could shoot if she needed to, but it was nice knowing Mando would respond first.

Waiting for them at the entrance to the village were two other humans: an older, gruff looking black man and a middle aged woman with black hair that was braided along one side. Both looked like seasoned warriors in Thell’s eyes, so she found herself slinking closer to the Mandalorian’s side. But he was calm, walking with a confidence that Thell only wished she had.

But any fear she had diminished as the man stepped closer, opening his arms in greeting.

“Mando!” He said, stepping closer to the Mandalorian. “Good to see you, old friend.”

They shook hands, all the while the man’s eyes were directed on Grogu.

“I see the baby is well taken care of,” the man said, with a mischievous look in Mando’s direction. Something passed between them, some deep, unspoken thing. With one hand on his hip, Mando motioned to Thell.

“This is Thell Sai’Lya, she’s traveling with the kid and me.” When he introduced her, pride swelled in her chest.

“Thell, this is Greef Karga.” Thell leaned forward to shake his hand, until he motioned the baby to himself.

“Ah, my little green friend!” When Thell cast an anxious look in Mando’s direction, he only dipped his head. She hesitantly passed Grogu to Karga, who gently held the kid and cooed playfully at him. The kid looked happy enough, so Thell could feel her soul become more at ease.

Mando had stepped aside, now talking to the other woman who had accompanied Karga. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but they could only talk so quietly in the soft atmosphere of the volcanic planet. Karga seemed busy as it was entertaining Grogu, who was babbling happily in his arms.

“Who’s the girl?” The woman’s voice was hard, but something about the way she dressed and held herself told Thell it was just how she normally was.

“Thell Sai’Lya. I took her on about a month ago.”

“A month?” The woman said, almost in disbelief. “Hell, Mando, I thought you didn’t like anyone but the kid.”

Thell couldn’t help but almost laugh when she saw the Mandalorian go stiff under her assuming response.

“It, it’s not like that. She’s helping with the kid.”

The woman smirked, a knowing smirk that made Thell almost feel embarrassed for the Mandalorian.

“Right, Mando, and I’m the one that’s wearing a mask,” she sneered before walking over to where they stood, looking Thell up and down. The Mandalorian slowly followed after her, keeping one hand placed on his hip. Thell watched his attention flicker back and forth between her and the kid in Karga’s arms.

“Cara Dune,” she said, extending her own hand.

The smile she gave Thell was comforting, so she stuck out her own hand.

“Thell Sai’Lya, it’s nice to meet you two.”

“We can’t stay long, but I had a run in with a TIE,” the Mandalorian explained. “Seemed to blow the right thruster all the way through. I just need repairs done.”

“I can get some men on it right away,” Karga said, with the baby still in his arms. “For now, let’s go have a drink.”

. . . .

“So, where are from, young Sai’Lya?”

Looking up from her drink, Thell made eye contact with Greef Karga, who was already looking at her expectantly.

The bar was quiet, a semi warm breeze drawn in from the open arched doorway ruffling the collar of Thell’s cloak. Cara Dune was on her other side, slouched with one arm draped over the edge of the booth, a dark colored drink in her other hand. The Mandalorian, her unusual confidante in all of this, was next to Karga, holding the child as Grogu sipped on broth.

“I’m from Bespin,” Thell answered, scrunching her fingers into her pantleg.

“Bespin, huh?” Karga added. “What were you doing all the way out there?”

“I was born there... I worked there until I met Mando.”

“And how, exactly, did you two cross paths?” Cara asked suddenly.

Thell swallowed heavily, and cast an anxious glance at the Mandalorian. Surely they knew his reputation as a bounty hunter.

“He assassinated my master and I basically begged him to take me off the planet,” Thell said, as casually as she could, before taking a large sip of her drink. To her surprise, the table had gone quiet, and she raised her head to see Cara and Karga both staring at her with their lips parted. The Mandalorian was quiet, but something about the way he rubbed his hand on the back of his neck caused Thell to wonder if he was trying to hold in a laugh.

She could feel a smile rising on her own lips, so she quickly added, “I found Grogu first. He’s the only reason why I wanted to come in the first place.”

She meant it as a joke, and she hoped Mando would catch on. Cara and Karga had definitely caught on, as they both snickered behind their drinks. To her relief, the Mandalorian seemed to relax against the booth, shrugging lightly when Thell looked his way. She wished she could see him under the helmet, whether or not he was grinning from her comment.

They stayed until the sun was setting, and the soft yellow glow of the lamps in the bar were the only thing that illuminated their faces.

“You know, he wouldn’t normally keep people on.”

Thell blinked, halfway through sipping her drink, to look up at Cara. “What do you mean?”

“Mando has always been an outsider. He prefers to do things by himself, keep to himself. It’s the life of a bounty hunter, I suppose. But as long as I’ve known Mando, he also just likes being by himself. So it surprised me after he decided to keep the kid. Risking everything for that little guy. Ever since he took him on, he’s been... warmer.”

Cara Dune shifted in her seat, resting one arm on the table so she could look at Thell clearly.

“And here he is, surprising me again, keeping yet another person with him. I’ve worked with Mando before. He doesn’t like staying in one place too long. There’s always something he has to get done. I think that goes the same for the people he’s around... He doesn’t want to become attached, so he just leaves.”

Suddenly embarrassed, Thell sipped her drink and diverted her eyes away from Cara.

“But... he has the kid. He’s had him for a while. Wouldn’t you say he’s changed, then?”

She shrugged. “The kid’s different, Thell. He... does things that none of us have ever seen before. I’m sure you’ve noticed it by now. I’ve seen that Mandalorian risk more for him than most people would for their own friends. If he’s changed, I’m surprised it's because of the kid.”

“But I wouldn’t doubt it,” Thell whispered under her breath, her gaze flickering to the Mandalorian. He sat on the other end of the table, the kid wrapped securely in his arm, the child’s whole hand grasping his gloved thumb tightly. Thell felt her heart warm just looking at them, at her strange new crew that was slowly becoming her family. She just didn’t want to think about what would happen after they finished their mission with Grogu, what that separation would mean.

“Then... why does he keep me on?” Thell asked

“Beats me. Maybe somewhere deep in that steel heart of his he’s finally wanting some company.”

“Well... he’s not too bad.”

“Hm,” she could hear Cara nearly laugh at her comment, and Thell felt blood rush to her cheeks.

“What?” She said, fixing her hair and turning back towards the warrior.

Cara was smirking, that same knowing smirk she had given Mando earlier.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Thell asked.

“Because you like him.”

If Thell could vanish, she would have, right then and there. She cast a quick side glance to see if Mando had heard, but he seemed heavily engaged in a low conversation with Karga. She scooted closer to Cara, shielding her face from Mando’s view.

“I... I don’t.”

“I see the way you look at him, and trust me, I know it’s not just because of the kid,” Cara said quietly. “You’d have to be blind not to notice.”

“I barely know the guy,” Thell pressed.

Cara’s brows raised, but the smirk remained. “C’mon, you guys have been together a month. That’s more than enough time to see how he is. He’s not too bad once you really get to know him. He has a pretty dry sense of humor if you haven’t noticed already. And he can be soft when he wants to. He just doesn’t like admitting it. I’m sure you’d like to get to know him better... wouldn’t you?”

Thell shrugged, swirling her glass. “I don’t know... I’m not sure if this is a long term thing.” When Cara’s eyes studied her thoughtfully, Thell added, “I told him I would leave once we figure out this thing with the kid.”

“Leave?” Cara asked. “I thought you said you didn’t have anywhere to go.”

Thell shrugged, slouching back against her seat. “I don’t... But I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

“Well, if it means anything, you’re welcome to come back here.”

Thell beamed. “Thank you... that means a lot.”

Cara’s eyes drifted from Thell back over to the Mandalorian, and after a moment of deep thought, she spoke.

“From what I’ve seen, he seems to care about you too. So I wouldn’t expect to just be dropped off in the middle of nowhere once your deal is up. He wouldn’t have let you stay as long as you have if he didn’t want you around.”

Thell bit the inside of her lip, letting her mind wander. If she did like him, truly, was it worth it letting those feelings rise?

“I don’t know if there's really a point in pursuing this if we’re just going to get split up at the end of the day.”

“I wouldn’t let that-"

Cara was interrupted by the sound of two blaster shots, ones that rang in Thell’s ears. As fast as she could, she retrieved the blaster from its spot around her waist, raising it above the table. Her hands were shaking, but she had stood up, and was pointing in the direction of where the sounds had come from.

But the Mandalorian had been ahead of her, standing with his shoulders taut and his arm straight out, holding a single blaster.

A lone body lay on the floor, steam rising from the hole in his abdomen. Thell couldn’t see his face, but she knew who he was, where he came from, from the signet on his left shoulder. The symbol of an Empire supporter.

. . . .

“Must have been this.”

Cara walked back over to where Mando and Thell stood, waiting with Grogu in her arms. She passed Mando a flat circular disk, one that he turned over in his hand.

“A tracking chip.”

The Mandalorian inspected it closely. “Must have been why the TIE was after us.”

“If it's the Empire, or anyone affiliated with them, I would suggest getting out of here before more of them show up.”

“Is the ship ready?” Mando asked, nearly unfazed by Cara’s comment.

Karga wiped sweat from his brow. “Ready as she’ll ever be.”

“Good.” Then he turned back to Thell and Grogu, and she could tell he was scanning her through the helmet.

“What do you say? You still on for this?”

Thell dipped her head, not hiding her small smile. “I go where you go. Where we go.”

Her eyes fell upon Grogu, whom she snuggled closer to her and ran a hand across his large, floppy ears.

Mando said his goodbyes to Karga and Cara, but Thell lingered outside, letting her gaze rest on the falling sun. Golden rays were cast against the small metal village, illuminating the plates in an array of colors.

“Hey, kid.”

Thell turned, spotting Cara walking towards her. As soon as she was close enough, she stuck her arm out.

“Take it easy out there. I think the kid likes you,” Cara said before shaking hands with Thell again, while Grogu murmured softly against her cloak.

“And I don’t think Mr. Grumpy over there minds you too much, either.”

Thell could feel the heat in her cheeks as Cara nodded her head in the direction of the Mandalorian, who stood on the Razor Crest checking controls.

“You guys are good for each other. You balance each other out,” Cara added.

Thell huffed. “I try. Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a statue.”

“Give it time,” Cara said with a well meaning smile. “He’ll get there.”

After saying her farewells to Cara and Karga, Thell returned back to the ship, coming to stand closely to the Mandalorian. Grogu was still in her arms, holding onto her thumbs.

“We would have been killed if you hadn’t shot that guy. You were right about this not being easy.”

“Are you backing out?” Mando asked, turning in her direction, and Thell wondered if he would miss her. “If so, Nevarro isn’t a bad place to start. Karga and Cara would help you out.”

But Thell elbowed him playfully, lightly, crossing her arms and letting her gaze linger back to the setting sun. He seemed to enjoy her boyishness, resting with one hand on his hip as his eyeline followed her’s.

“Backing out? Me?” Thell snickered, sweeping a hand through her hair. “Not yet... Besides, we made a deal. And I don’t break promises.”

[lollercakesff]

And They Were Strangers

Jyn Erso has been prepping for this for months. Years even, if you count the endless hours she'd spent running pools and hosting watch nights with her college roommates. She'd choreographed hundreds of dollars in auctions for remaining teams and had led multiple nights where her and her friends cooked their way around the world with the country of the week. The memories were great, sure, but to say she didn't feel a connection with this path in her life would be a lie. Something drew her in, tied her up, and convinced her that this - this - was the thing she needed to do before she died.

And now it was time. She was ready. Mentally… Physically… Hopefully.

AN: Will I finish writing this? I have a plan... But is it worth my time?

But the path to her next adventure was currently being blocked by some too-tall goon with haphazard hair and piercing dark eyes who kept getting in her way. First at check in, then in line for security, and now at the boarding gate. They’d practically been together, crossing paths and crashing each other, since she entered this damn airport and it was starting to really get to her. 

"Are you planning on getting on this plane or just standing in the way?" Jyn growls under her breath when the man doesn't move forward with the gate agent's call.

"What - Oh," he leaps forward a step and hustles towards the woman, pulling his passport from his pocket as Jyn sighs and checks her papers again. 

Her new American passport feels heavy in her hand, its empty pages a sign of things to come. She was on her way to Los Angeles where she was scheduled to show up at her first and only briefing for the next season of the Amazing Race. The producers had promised a full day of orientation covering the rules of the race and how the team match up would work before the "trip of a lifetime" began the next day. She was trying not to stress about it but she didn't quite know what she was getting into. 

This was the first season where every team in the race would be a set of strangers. They'd all meet at the briefing but it wouldn't be until the start of the race when they'd learn who their partner was. The producers had billed it as the season of 'fate' where they tried to pick a winning team by pure dumb luck with names drawn from a hat. Or so she'd been told. Who knew how it would really work.

"Next!" The agent calls and Jyn scurries forward, passing her documents over and brushing her bangs from her face. In another second she's motioned through and she's heading down the gangway and onto the plane. 

When she gets to her seat her frustration returns tenfold as the man from before has settled himself in her seat by the window, his seatbelt already clipped and his attention turned towards the action on the tarmac. 

"Hey, you're in my seat," she greets, stuffing her duffle in the overhead bin.

"F? Window?" He answers with an almost-accent and a quirk to his lips. Jyn frowns and steps into the row to let the people behind her pass.

"Yes. That's my seat, can you move please?" 

"I was sure I had the window, I feel claustrophobic if I can't see out - "

"Yeah, I'm sure. Can you check your boarding pass?" She asks, cutting his sob story off before it can even get started. 

"Can't I just have it this one time? It's a short flight," he answers, making no move to relent. Jyn sighs and drops into the seat next to him, her eyes closing tight as she urges the irritation to ease. 

"Fine. But this is bad karma and I hope it comes back to bite you in the ass, asshole," she grumbles the last part, determined to insult him but not loud enough to cause a scene. The man coughs as if to hide a laugh and Jyn hates him even more, pulling up her hood and taking out her headphones.

She was going to spend the next two hours in a music haven, mentally far from this man and the constant bumping of her elbow that came from sitting in the aisle row. Soon she'd be in LA at her hotel and then she'd be on to a new country, with a new language and culture that she'd have to work with to get her team to the finish line. Then she’d do it again and again until they won. Or they lost. She didn't like to think about that last possibility so instead she closes her eyes and hits play.

---

The hotel bed is more luxurious than anything she's ever slept in in her life and when she wakes it's with a curse as she realizes she's almost late to the briefing. Hustling around the room, she nearly crashes onto the floor when her pants get tangled and she loses her balance. Cursing out her alarm, her beautiful sleep, and the time difference, Jyn pulls on her t-shirt just as she pulls open her door and slams into someone walking past her room.

"Shit, sorry!” She gasps as she rights herself and pulls back. When she looks up it’s to find the man from the plane. The one who wouldn’t give her back her seat. The one who’d been a pain in the ass all day. “You!” The man’s eyes widen and he looks around him like he’s being Punk’d, surprise in his brow. 

“From the plane?” He counters, as if he was still struggling to place her. 

“Yeah. What, are you following me? How did you know to find me here?” Jyn growls, crossing her arms. The man cocks his head and furrows his brow, looking at her as though she was crazy. 

“Follow you? I’m here for… A thing that has nothing to do with you. If anything, I’d think you’re stalking me,” he adds sharply. Jyn scowls and shakes her head, her watch beeping with her five minute alarm. 

“Sure. Fine, whatever. I won’t be here long enough to have this happen again. Have a good life!” She shouts as she hurries off down the hall, her hand flung up into the air and her middle finger pointed towards him. 

She takes the stairs down to the conference room because getting stuck in the elevator with that jerk would put her nerves over the edge, their already frayed status from the late wakeup making her more punchy than usual. By the time she barrels into the room and grabs a plate of the breakfast, the producer is calling everyone to a seat. 

Jyn moves towards an empty chair and begins measuring up her fellow racers, her eyes drifting over one person and then the next as they settle in a semi-circle around the speaker. Some of them were incredibly fit, others a bit paunchy but she figured they could probably take her in a memory challenge or two if it came down to it. Most of them were on the younger side, maybe in their twenties or thirties, though there were a few who easily slotted into their fifties at the very least. She didn’t want to be ageist but she secretly hoped she’d get paired with someone who could keep up with her at the very least and she didn’t really peg any of these older folks as marathoners. 

“Welcome, good morning everyone!” A young woman calls out, drawing their attention to the front of the room. Jyn sits up and nimbles on a muffin, trying to look intimidating to the others around her who she assumed were doing the measuring up as she had just been. 

“You’re in my seat,” a voice says over her shoulder. Jyn’s stomach drops and she frowns, looking back to find the man from the airplane and the hallway standing behind her. “Don’t worry though, I’m not going to make you move, I’ll just take this empty one here.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jyn hisses, clenching her hands and nearly crushing her muffin to pieces. 

“Nope,” he responds as he sits in the chair next to her. An insult is on the tip of her tongue when the woman calls out again and really takes control of the room, beginning with a welcome spiel before moving right into the security briefing. After the team has explained every terrifying aspect about the world in explicit detail, Jyn looks around the room and finds half of the contestants with a concerned look on their faces, the other half grinning wickedly at the challenge. Beside her the man keeps his expression reserved though his eyes are calculating, the look making her guess whether he was regretting his choice or simply bored. 

After the welcome session, they’re broken up into groups of four and are led to a table in the corner of the room. Jyn sighs a breath of relief as the man is placed in another group, his presence finally dissipating and allowing her to focus on the tasks at hand instead of the prickling skin she felt whenever he was close. 

Hours pass and the contestants are moved around the room to different stations where they focus on different aspects of the game. There’s logic tests and geography quizzes which she passes with flying colours but when it comes to the language skills and memory games she flounders, her attention twisting towards her fellow contestants. She spends half the time trying to measure up where they stand on these activities, who would be best suited to the way she wanted to run this race. 

Her strategy - based on years of watching the show - was to run with brute force. She would power through on the physical challenges and when it came to figuring out a puzzle she was set. She just needed a partner who would be able to keep up and rush into everything just as hard. Smarts weren’t what won you the race, it was being able to push your way through anything and she had trained to do just that. 

“Everyone now has an hour for lunch. Feel free to get to know each other and remember, these folks might be your competition or they might just be the person you cross that finish line with!” The producer from earlier calls as the stations are closed and the participants are left to loiter in the room. 

Jyn feels like she’s in a social experiment as she beelines towards the food table to take a plate. She loads it up with everything she’s going to miss for the next few weeks - caesar salad and french fries and pasta salad that looked too delicious to miss. When she settles at a table she’s quickly joined by a handful of others, the conversation easily picking up from the morning activities.

“I’m Bodhi Rook, you?” The man sitting next to her says around a forkful of salad. Jyn looks him over quickly and notes his tall frame and long hair, his thin frame and open expression. He could be a good partner - she’d seen him race through some of the challenges with an efficiency she admired. 

“Jyn Erso,” she answers, lifting her hand to offer a shake. Bodhi takes it and squeezes it before turning back to his food, diving in as she looks around the table at the others. “You heard anything about how we’re going to be assigned teams?” She asks after a few minutes, her water lifting to her lips. 

“Not really. My group thought maybe the stations were to see where our strengths were so they could match us up better. But I was also told it would be a name in a hat, so who knows what they’re planning.” 

“Yeah, I heard the hat thing too. I hope there’s a little more thought put into it,” she responds with a shrug. Bodhi nods and lets a laugh escape. 

“Either way, I think I’ll be okay. I just like the adventure of it, you know? Don’t really need to win the whole thing,” he says around another bite. 

Jyn frowns and looks at her food, debating internally whether she could be paired with someone who didn’t want to win the whole race. If she had to admit it - though she’d never say it on camera - she wasn’t here just because she liked the show and wanted to see the world. 

She was here because she needed the prize money. 

The thought creeps up on her and she pushes it back down, stuffing it into her chest like too many clothes in a carry on bag. She didn’t have time to think about it now, not when she should be sizing up her competition and thinking about U-Turn and Yield strategy. No. She needed to focus. 

“What about everyone else?” Bodhi asks the table when Jyn still doesn’t respond. She turns her attention to the people around them, listening as first a bright eyed Luke Skywalker and a gruff Baze Malbus explain their motivations before moving on to Leia Organa, a beautiful but strategic thinker, and her cocky puppy-dog-tail for-the-day Han Solo easily admits he’s only here for the money. Jyn can’t help but think he might be her real competition if they don’t get paired together, the gleam of a quick buck in his eyes adding to his boisterous energy. 

Taking another glance around the room, Jyn weighs the rest of her competition as they sit at two other tables. Sixteen racers in total, all with different motivations and experiences that they bring to the table. They’d be eight teams and the producers had all but guaranteed it would be a tough race with all of them having secret strengths that were admitted in their bio videos. Jyn can’t remember what hers ss but by the time she turns back to the conversation at hand, she already knows one thing is for sure - she’s going to win, even if it kills her. 

After lunch they’re broken off into individual briefing rooms where they’re given their racing issued equipment and a final check in with the producers before they’re sent off to their rooms to pack. In the morning they’ll all be meeting in the lobby to hand over their backpacks before heading to the starting line. 

When the race starts their first activity will be finding their matched backpack with a coloured bandana tied to it. The racer with the matching bandana will be their partner for the duration and it will either be a successful match or a story of just how quickly Jyn can crash and burn their team. 

Throughout the evening she tries not to think about it - pushing away thoughts of how hectic tomorrow would be, how much adrenaline is already rolling in her veins and just how is she supposed to sleep tonight? To distract herself she focuses on potential strategies depending on who she paired with in the morning. Baze could work, or she’d even probably be successful with Han if they didn’t rip each other's heads off. Bodhi would be a great candidate - he seemed relaxed and competent, but Jyn didn’t like that he wasn’t driven by the final prize so much as he just wanted to have an adventure. 

No, she could pair with most of the people she’d met that morning. With the very real exception of the man from the plane who she’d learned was named Cassian Andor. There was no way they would be able to work together to even get out of the States, their partnership tanking before they even took their first flight. She was sure of it. And so when she falls asleep that night it’s to the thought that she had a one in fifteen chance of failing and those were pretty good odds. 

---

Morning comes in a rush of excitement and insanity and a paranoia that she’s forgotten something even though she’s checked her bags at least a dozen times. When she gets to the lobby, the assistants take her old bags and mark them with her tags before collecting her race bag and shoving it onto a luggage cart with the other packs. She’s directed to a holding queue where the racers mill about, snacking on the continental breakfast and filling their water bottles. 

Twenty minutes later and they’re piled onto a bus. Thirty minutes later and they’re being placed around an empty field with only the production crew circling them and a pile of luggage in the center of the field. Jyn thinks she spots her bag with a blue tag and she grins, looking around at the nervous faces she was up against. 

“You’ve got this,” she whispers to herself as Phil Keoghan begins his speech from near the luggage pile. Adrenaline spikes in her blood and then there’s a horn and she’s racing forward, scrambling for the luggage pile and her bag with its bandana looped through the arm. She pulls it free and stumbles back, looking around at the other racers as they take in their own colours, desperately looking for their partner. 

Not Bodhi. Not Baze. Fuck, not even Han. She scours the faces and colours until she sees it - blue, like hers! She steps forward, her smile widening having finally found her partner. 

But then she looks up. And her eyes meet her partner’s. 

Dark brown meeting green.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Guess you’re stuck with someone with bad karma,” he says evenly, the nerve of it making her want to pull her hair out. She curses again and grabs for his arm, dragging him towards the clue box for their next instructions. They didn’t have time to waste on pleasantries and witty comebacks, not if they wanted to win. 

She could do this. Brute force was all it would take, right? 

[larrydrosalez]

I like relaxed language and I like blackness. This anthology is a celebration of both.

tawk  

Sometimes we’re afraid to talk. Yes, WE. This might be about black talkin, but this here is for you too Sandy-Sue and Jin-Woo.  I know you’ve had those days when somethin forces you to speak or preach or teach something you’d be much better off talkin about. You scour your brain in search of synonyms you learned in an English class (some time ago) or for some phrase you picked up from your favorite politically active musician – all for nada – because, in your scavenger-hunt for eloquence, you end up with 1000 syllables that don’t say anything. ��Trust me, I know the feeling. (Deleting those Gs and forgoing those apostrophes a few lines up still has me wary of some impending doom.  O_o)  [imagine the courage it took to include an emoticon.]

    It is this fear of writing the way I feel most comfortable expressing myself that convinced me that this anthology needed to be compiled. It needed to be compiled and needs to be delivered to every writer that thinks their words aren’t good enough and to every reader that thinks some writer’s metaphors are too big and meaning too small. I want this anthology to combat any notion that in poetry white high-language is right language and that slang is to be reserved for Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou. This anthology, black-tawk, is intended to act as an examination of Black-American identity in contemporary poets through their specific use of colloquial vernacular, to be referred to as black-talk. These poems are compiled in order to reject “high language” (white-talk) as the only suitable means of intelligent and normative expression and that slave-talk is the only example of recognizable black expression. I seek to find a contemporary river of black voices that flow somewhere between a Mattie and a Michael Eric Dyson (and certainly above a Tyler Perry.)

     So what does black-talk between a Mattie and a Dyson sound like? It sounds like black people you hear talking every day. There are no meanings lost in abstract metaphor, no need to keep a library assistant on call and there’s the occasional glimpse of slang. Nah, I ain’t only talkin ‘bout that talk you hurd on the corner’a 3rd and Main, because while that’s beautiful, this anthology hopes to reveal subtle currents of vernacular that black poets use to express blackness. Of course there’s more than a heap of uses of slang’s shining star - “ain’t,” but he’s joined by “nuff” and “betcha” and even “cd” (could.) And these are sometimes decorated by the absence of punctuation that lends itself to an exploration of space and caesura to create natural and lulling speech patterns that mimic the way black people talk. You won’t find Queen’s English here. Nothing like what Jamil (Robert Sims) in his poem “pre-sentence Report” (page____) refers to as “…nouns that // old Sigmund couldn’t EVEN spell.” Though in his poem Sims speaks of medical jargon, there are certainly poets that employ a sort of poetic jargon requires too much energy to decipher.

    Not that deciphering is all bad, we wouldn’t want lazy readers, but when simplicity is forgone merely to sound poetic, the authenticity that makes poetry beautiful is lost. Stephanie Pruitt, a young poet from Nashville, could write novels about the process and love involved in getting her hair hot combed in the kitchen – but she doesn’t need to. Her haiku “Hair raising” (page _____) is beautiful in its ability to, concisely, resonate with black girls everywhere. “Hair burning in the kitchen” could easily become “kinky fibers laid straight by heated comb permeates the air in the place meals are made,” but it doesn’t need to. Now the form of haiku is innately simple but this same current of simplicity can be found throughout the anthology in various forms.

 black

Sometimes we’re afraid to be black. Yes WE. This might be about black talkin but if you change black to “chino” or “country” this here is for you too Jose and Billy-Rae. It’s about black talkin because black talkin is what I know best. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been made to feel afraid to express my blackness (or asian-ness or mexican-ness.) If a university environment is any representation of the real world, and I fear it may be more forgiving of race, people don’t want black people to be black. Every scorned sagging pant, every kinky twist pressed to oblivion, every set of braids chopped off for a job where suits and ties are need can serve as a testament that black people aren’t allowed to be black.

Oh, but that’s not true, we have a black president! – right, having one black president negates the pressure every white professor ceo quarterback vice-president student government official city official member of congress  employed contributing member of society member of congress places on black people to act white right.

…

…

I needed space to let that sit. The minority will always be made inferior when evaluated against the majority. Being black isn’t wrong, it’s just not being white. There are thousands of conversations to be had about blackness and black identity and defining what “black” is, but this is not a research paper and I am not an anthropological expert on the matter. So you ask, what does blackness have to do with this poetry anthology, and what does that contribute to life? Well, blackness is in the everyday things that black people do. There is no singular blackness. If you’re a black girl that gets a perm and a silky-smooth 32” Remy, you’re exuding blackness just as much as the sister pickin her afro every morning. If you’re a black boy with clean locks sitting proudly on the shoulder pads of your new Armani suit, you’re exuding blackness just as much as the scruffy brother in the newest Js and a tall-tee (although I personally detest tall-tees, that doesn’t negate the blackness found wearing it.)

Since poetry is a manifestation of expression based on personal experiences, black poets should be allowed to be black poets, right? No. An Essay by Evie Shockley entitled “All of the above: Multiple choice and African American Poetry” included in the introduction to the anthology “Rainbow Darkness,” edited by Keith Tuma, examines the reasons black authors are not allowed to be black authors. In short, he states (and I agree) that black authors (I would say all black artists) are subjected to “the poetics litmus test.” They must be judged based on political allegiances and racial “authenticity” rather than ability or talent. If a poet talks like Langston Hughes, they are authentically black, which is good, but they are a “black” poet not an “American” poet. According to Shockley, in order to receive the privileges “American” poets are afforded:

“An African American poet has had to avoid writing in styles or about subjects that are recognizably “black” in favor of “universal themes” and conventional aesthetics. Or  she could slip in the back door by appearing willing to narrate ‘the black experience’ for white consumption in ways that do not fundamentally deconstruct white (liberal) understandings of race or directly advocate revolutionary social change.”

This provides a perfect explanation concerning why black poets are pressured away from talking black. Even I question whether or not I want to be “that black poet” every time my mind wants to pen a thought about kinky hair, “unique” names, or encounters with racism. Just as the fear of talking convinced me of the necessity of this anthology, the fear of being black doubly convinces me that there are people that need this.

 black-tawk

I like relaxed language and I like blackness and this anthology is a celebration of both. These poets aren’t afraid to be black even when they’re not talking about black things. This collection includes poets just talkin and poets just being black and poets talkin about being black – none afraid to share their identity and the language they speak. Ntozake Shange isn’t afraid to write poems in a manner that is supposed to be talked. Sapphire sees the significance of what Claireece P. Jones has to say, and how she says it. Celes Tisdale saw the need for people to hear what inmates from Attica think. All of these voices have been gathered to fight the fear of being Black regular Mexican Asian poor Jamaican poorly-educated well-educated strange normal smart dumb black-tawking.

black-tawk is right. Don’t be shamed of it. These are your peers.

  my tawk

    And now that I’ve splattered you with my thoughts/rants about blackness and language and wooed you with my semi-intellectual prowess, I’d like to free myself of the black burden – a burden that has weighed heavy on my mind since I started compiling these poems. What is the black burden you ask? For me, it is the false interpretation that any black voice is THE black voice. To those reading in hopes of better understanding the black race based solely on the compilation of a 22-year-old-half-black-half-mexican-and-japanese-middle-class-college-guy I say:  I am not THE black voice. I am not THE black voice. I am not THE black voice.  I, like the poems selected for this anthology, do not represent the entire black race or encompass all Black-American identity. There is no anthology or single person that does. I, and these poems, do however represent a current of thought, a movement, towards talking. Towards tawking. Towards tawking black. black-tawk. Enjoy.

[anotherdayinchuckletown]

I'm so fucking mad, y'all.

Ever since I rewatched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory the other day, I keep thinking up little bits and pieces of a plot. I'm probably never going to write this, but I just had to get these ideas out of my system before I exploded (I would add a "read more" if I wasn't on mobile, lmao).

Charlie wonders how lonely his mentor Mr. Wonka must be alone in his enormous factory. Sure, he has the Oompa Loompas, but he doesn't seem to talk to them outside of business matters.

Mr. Wonka offhandedly complains about how boring balancing the books is one day, and that's when Charlie enlists Ms. Eliza Weber.

Ms. Weber is his math teacher, a kindhearted, albeit rigid, young woman with an unmatched passion for numbers, who happened to mention one day that she doesn't really do much outside of the classroom. When Charlie first comes to her privately and invites her to work at the factory in her spare time, she merely raises an eyebrow, thinking it a joke. With enough convincing, she eventually agrees to give it a try, mostly out of curiosity.

Mr. Wonka is initially quite miffed to learn his apprentice has hired someone behind his back. He's expected to let another person into the factory, into his own office, to do a job he's perfectly capable of doing himself? Someone he's never met, someone he has no idea whether he can trust? It takes some finessing, even more than with Ms. Weber, but he finally caves.

To Charlie's immense relief, it turns out to be a great fit.

"I'm surrounded by adolescents all day. It takes a little more than this to faze me, Mr. Wonka," she explains one day in her usual monotone, gesturing vaguely around the factory.

As for Mr. Wonka, he finds himself with a grudging respect for his new helper. She gets along with the Oompa Loompas, going so far as to begin studying their language without prompting. And he really did hate having to do all that humdrum accounting and paperwork himself. Besides, the woman is so quiet and unassuming that it's easy to forget she's even there. Once he ascertains that she has no insidious motives, he mostly leaves her to her own devices.

She does a stellar job - so stellar, in fact, that she gradually gains more and more responsibility, until her job description matches that of a full-blown personal assistant. She organizes his calendar, schedules his semi-annual haircuts, picks up meals for him, etc. But accounting remains by far her favorite thing to do.

"Of all things, why on earth is it boring old numbers?" Mr. Wonka asks one evening as she's packing up to leave. He's seated in the half-chair behind his half-desk, arms resting atop his cane, looking up at her inquisitively, seeming genuinely interested.

"Boring?" Ms. Weber repeats the word in utter disbelief, staring at him as though he's sprouted a second head. He knows he hasn't because that's definitely not a possible side effect of any of his creations currently in its testing stages. "How can an innovator like yourself call them boring?"

"Quite easily," he replies with an amused grin and a short nod. This is the most emotional reaction he's ever seen from her. So this is really where she draws the line? "And you answered my question with a question, so you haven't really changed my mind yet."

With a sigh, she adjusts her glasses. "I happen to find them beautiful," she sniffs.

Beautiful? Why, this ought to be good.

"As you know, Mr. Wonka, numbers are everywhere," she begins thoughtfully. "They're in everything that we do and everything that we are. We devise formulas to understand how our universe works, and it's only because the numbers line up so precisely that we can exist at all!"

He opens his mouth to reply, but she continues. "And the same goes for you and me! We are a latticework of intricate formulas, just the same as the world around us. Those boring numbers connect me to you, and connect you to the sun and stars and planets. And it's all because we have this...this perfect equilibrium that we're still constantly learning new things about!"

This is easily the most he's ever heard her speak at once.

"And that concept," she muses with the faintest trace of a smile gracing her features, "...is as beautiful to me as any Beethoven symphony."

A pregnant silence fills the room. Mr. Wonka simply regards her for a moment as her words echo in his mind - Eliza Weber, with her sensible shoes and her sweater buttoned up under her chin and her dark brown hair immaculately tied back from her usually deadpan face.

Except right now, there's a fire in her green doe eyes that's never been there before, that overtakes her entire being. Mr. Wonka can't help but think it's as if he's seeing her for the first time.

Under his scrutiny, she falters. "I just...don't see why things that are...austere, orderly, and logical can't be beautiful at the same time," she mumbles, meeting his unwavering gaze uncertainly.

"...It would appear that they certainly can be, my dear lady." He sits up a little straighter and flashes her a smile, never breaking eye contact.

Ms. Weber looks shocked for a split second, but firmly nods once, content that she's converted him - or, at least, she's made her case. "I'll be taking my leave now," she announces, picking up her purse and heading for the door. "Good night."

Just before the door shuts behind her, she hears him reply, "Good night, Eliza."

...That's strange, she thinks as she's returning home. He's never called me Eliza before. Perhaps he's getting sick.

Meanwhile, as Mr. Wonka retires to his quarters for the night, he contends with an odd fluttering deep in the pit of his stomach. He simply shrugs it off. Perhaps he's getting sick.

[ohdearden]

IC PORTION; BASICS —

CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS: Mia Dearden / Speedy (the second)

FACECLAIM: Ester Exposito

AFFILIATIONS: Team Arrow, Teen Titans, the Nomads

AGE (physical age as well, if different): 23

SPECIES (human, metahuman, alien, etc): Human

IS YOUR CHARACTER’S IDENTITY SECRET OR PUBLIC? Secret

IF SECRET, OR YOUR CHARACTER IS A CIVILIAN, DO THEY HAVE A CIVILIAN OCCUPATION? Mia is new in town, and is currently focusing her efforts on aid work. She’s working hard at learning the language so that she can be of more assistance, and potentially work in town in the future.

IF YOUR CHARACTER LIVES IN THE FORTRESS, WHAT ARE THEIR DUTIES? Refugee outreach, and whatever else she might be decent at. She’s happy to help out, but can’t cook for shit.

DESCRIBE SIX TRAITS (3 positive, 3 negative) YOUR CHARACTER HAS AND HOW THESE AFFECT THEM: + Empathetic and caring: Mia, having been through as much as she has, has a strong push to help others. She has trouble turning people who need help away, and will often find herself reaching for a way to help them. She worked at the community center back home to help youth at a disadvantage (much as she had been herself), and found time to spare to volunteer time at the domestic violence shelter as well. + Bold: Mia is unafraid and outgoing, making her personality very loud and bold. She’s unafraid to speak her mind, and is often quite blunt and straight to the point. She speaks to people easily (though making friends is another matter) and is always one to make her presence known. Mia has never been one to slip through the cracks unless it was by personal choice. Mia is best described as an extrovert, and has trouble containing her feelings whether they’re positive or negative. + Determined: Mia more or less forced her way into being Speedy, which is a surefire show of her determination. Once she sets her mind on something, she will achieve it. Mia has no problems setting goals for herself and setting up steps to get to these goals (yet she struggled with school, ironic). It is hard to sway her away from an idea once she gets her mind set to it. - Stubborn: Hand in hand with determined goes stubborn. Once Mia has her opinion set on something, it’s hard to sway her opinion otherwise. She’s unfortunately very hard to persuade out of her opinions, and once she’s got her mind set on something it’s often set in stone. Even when she can feel herself losing, Mia struggles with letting things go. Hard-headed was the term her mother always used, along with the phrase stubborn as a donkey. - Angry and Confrontational: Considering everything Mia has gone through in her life, having a solid angry streak is something that had been more or less unavoidable. She has a temper that’s quick to ignite, and she often has trouble bringing herself down once it’s sparked. Mia has the type that can go from 0-100 very quickly, though not at all the other way around. Mia is the type that enjoys confrontation, and it’s something she thrives in. Arguments are her specialty, and not something she will back down from. She is certainly not the type to let things go, and would rather argue until she was blue in the face. She would much rather deal with things now rather than later (and cannot understand why people would rather just let things fester). - Defiant & Rebellious:The word ‘no’ is a trigger word for Mia. Being told she cannot do something makes Mia want to do it all the more, and she is even more likely to try once she’s been told she shouldn’t. Rebellion is something that runs deep, even if she (sometimes) tries to fight it. Sometimes with reasoning she’s able to understand the no, but it’s hard to swallow down the urge to do it anyway.

POWERS AND/OR ABILITIES: Mia excels in archery and acrobatics. The latter came in handy in her time on the streets, and the former is a well-honed and learned skill. Mia is quick and discreet, and able to slip through crowds with ease. Mia has become proficient in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat as well. While she is capable of close-range fighting with mixed-martial-arts abilities, she prefers to keep her fighting from a distance when given the option. She’s also a damned good pick-pocket, but well, that’s neither here nor there.

WEAKNESSES: Her immune system is absolutely garbage, and she tends to take a bit longer to heal than she’d like. She tries to be careful to keep herself in proper health, and does her best to avoid injury. As best as a crime-fighting vigilante can, anyway.  Her inability to keep her damn mouth shut can definitely be considered a weakness as well.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? Mia is a goddamn *rockstar.* She was absolutely groundbreaking for the comic book industry considering her positive status, and her persistence is something I admire. Mia has a fighting spirit and doesn’t really take no for an answer, which is something I absolutely love about her. She’s also not exactly popular in the rpc, and I adore her.

IC PORTION; DETAILS —

WHAT BROUGHT YOUR CHARACTER TO SOKOVIA? Honestly? A bleeding heart. Mia always felt too damn much, especially when it came to people in need. The events that transpired in Sokovia had made her nauseous. It didn’t take long for her to get wind of the Nomads, and Mia thought maybe she could be of use, someway or another. 

DID THEY SIGN THE ACCORDS? WHY OR WHY NOT? Absofreakinglutely not. The Green Arrow didn’t sign either, and that would be enough reason for Mia to be deterred in the first place. All in all, Mia did not agree with the Accords whatsoever. Vigilantes existed because the law was imperfect, because sometimes there needed to be a little extra oomph applied when things just couldn’t get done legally speaking. 

PROVIDE 3-5 HEADCANONS RELATED TO YOUR CHARACTER: Despite her hatred of traditional schooling, Mia is an avid reader and educated in her own way. She hated the structure of school, hated having to interact with others her own age, hated having to get up before noon (and well, she’s always had an authority problem)...but she actually likes learning. She spends a lot of her downtime reading whatever she can get her hands on. Mia also enjoys video games, and may or may not stream herself playing at times via twitch or youtube. It’s an easy way to veg out and socialize without really socializing. Mia loves boxing, and does it often. She’s found it’s a good channel for frustration as well as a good way to train. In her apartment back in Star City, she has a punching bag set up in her living room and found herself at the community center often. Mia has an adrenaline rush addiction that she struggles with daily. She left her motorcycle back home in Star City, and finds she misses the rush of riding (way too fast) more than she thought she would. She’s looking into having it shipped, or finding a local one to fix up. Semi-related, she does all the maintenance on her motorcycle herself, having taught herself with repair manuals and youtube tutorials. MIa smokes like a chimney, though is trying very hard to quit. She knows it’s not the best idea, considering her health, but she just can’t help herself. She’s tried everything - the gum, the patches, replacing the habit with something else. She’s quit several times, but has always picked it back up again. 

WANTED CHARACTER CONNECTIONS: TEAM ARROW! Roy Harper, Oliver Queen, Dinah Lance: These are Mia’s people. She might not necessarily always agree or get along with her adopted family, but Mia’s loyal to them to her very bones. She respects the Green Arrow and still affiliates herself with him, so I’m eager for interactions with a potential Oliver in the future. I’m also very eager for Arrow-lady interactions with Dinah! TEEN TITANS! Mia didn’t really have too-too much interaction with the Titans, but I’m excited for potential in Sokovia!

POTENTIAL CHARACTER ARCS: Give me Nomad things! Mia made the jump to help out in Sokovia more on a whim than anything. She’s very much a sidekick out of her element, but she wants to help. That being said, I could really see herself throwing herself into the local life? She would want to help on a smaller, more personal level. Help the kids with school, help rebuild someone’s house. She’s going to do her best to try to learn the language so she can potentially work in-town with the locals as well, maybe bartending. Maybe she can serve as kind of a liaison down the road?

CHARACTER BIO — (tw include: mentions of abuse, parental death, drug use/abuse, brief touchings on child exploitation/teen dating an older man/pedophilia, HIV)

Mia does not like to talk about her childhood. A quick overview would detail her father’s abuse of her mother, and her mother’s drug use. Her father used too, but drinking was more his style. Next would be her mother’s death when she was young. Her father’s abuse then turned to her instead, which she was forced to tolerate for several years. She was eleven when she ran away from home. Mia decided that she would sooner take her chances on the street than stay in that house any longer, and unfortunately, that was the fate she found. Living on the streets was still favorable to living at home, but it wasn’t without struggles. Mia was hungry more often than not, and often couldn’t sleep in the same place for more than a few nights in a row. A smaller-than-average homeless eleven-year-old certainly did bring in some sympathy donations, but it was never enough. The shelters in Star City were often full, and eleven was much too young to even consider a hotel or an apartment. She was twelve when she met Richard, who was over twice her age, and that was when things took a spin for the worse. She thought he loved her, he promised to take care of her, and she was too young and desperate (with very skewed feelings of what love was after all she’d lived through)  to realize this was just abuse of a different kind.She was with him for over a year - sometimes out on the streets again, sometimes holed up in a seedy motel and for a few months, a scuzzy apartment. Richard gave her a taste of the drugs that had taken her mother, and Mia suddenly understood why her mother had been so willing to do whatever it took just to get high. But before long Mia was wondering when she would escape this, when things would get better, and thought maybe it would be better to be on her own again. He wouldn’t let her, the abusive pattern she’d survived as a child returning. Dependent on him for shelter, food and drugs, Mia felt more trapped than she ever had. Until she was saved by the Green Arrow. Mia immediately had adoration for the man that saved her life, and she felt ever-indebted to him for helping to get her off the streets, clean herself up and piece together her life. While he was reluctant at first, Mia began to train with him. This gave her life a purpose that she’d never had before, and Mia found herself feeling better than she ever had. She learned she excelled at archery with a little bit of training, and the scrappy fighting skills she’d adopted on the streets became more defined as she learned hand-to-hand combat skills. When not training or in school (something she fought tooth and nail), Mia spent the majority of her free time volunteering and later working at the Star City Recreational Center, and later the domestic violence shelter in town. Mia fantasized of eventually becoming a sidekick to the Green Arrow, even though he squashed that idea from the start. She would persuade him some way, somehow. Mia had just started to feel stable for the first time in her life when things took a downward spiral. It had started with a fever and just general feelings of illness, though things progressively got worse. She finally dragged herself into the clinic in Star City, and would find that things were much worse than she ever could have thought. What she thought was the flu turned out to be HIV, a permanent reminder of the mistakes she’d made and her time on the streets. The doctor assured her that while serious, the diagnosis was not the death sentence it had once been. If Mia was responsible and took the prescribed medications and took precautions, then her prognosis was very promising. HIV wasn’t curable, but controllable. And well, Mia had already been pretty successful at taking control of her life. If anything, her diagnosis was even more of a push for her to become the sidekick she dreamed of being. It took persuasion, but Mia finally donned the title of Speedy (the second), the sidekick to the Green Arrow. She took care to extra-hone in on her long distance fighting skills in hopes to avoid close-contact fighting and end up in a potentially extra-hairy situation. With Oliver’s insistence, Mia joined up with the Teen Titans.T his was done reluctantly, and Mia did not stay with the Titans long. She did, however, feel comfortable enough with them to disclose her status, and occasionally returned to help them on missions. Her passion was with Team Arrow, and that was made even more clear when working with others. The events at Sokovia were devastating, and MIa struggled with her decision making process for quite some time. She’d always been interested in refugee work - as she’d gotten older she volunteered with the Red Cross as well as with various agencies around Star City. The innate instinct to help those in need was strong, and it was pulling her towards Sokovia. Speedy was helpful, sure, but Mia was fairly certain that her experiences as Mia Dearden might be more helpful when it came to the situation at hand. She knew what it felt like to have your world falling apart, and she was more than happy to help others put their pieces back together.

EXTRAS —

Myers-Briggs: ESTP Hogwarts House: Gryffindor Zodiac: Aries Sin: A tie between Wrath and Pride

[starsgivemehp]

Okay! In that case, I think I’m gonna go with Guts for this story. What are some of the things he likes the most? (Food, activities, etc.). Also, do you have any particular picture of where he usually lives? Also, how does he get along with his brother? (Sorry for the spam, I just want to make this good)

rssgiyfgeiuf you’re really gonna write me something? Q,Q bless u fam

Another cut because my god, I don’t shut up lmao

So Guts is, canonically, the horror end of my classic boy Vega! That means that everything that applies to Vega also applies to him. For example:

Vega (and therefore Guts) has voice to color synaesthesia! Different tones of voice that convey certain emotions have different colors. This makes it difficult (but not impossible) to lie to him. For example, joy is often a clear blue, tranquility is cyan, confidence is orange, tiredness is purple, triumph is yellow (and if you see a pattern, you’re right, soul trait colors match up with emotions). Positive emotions tend to be clear and nice, overly-exaggerated emotions (like when a Papyrus is pretending to be confident even though he’s not) are too saturated and bright, and negative emotions are muddy and diluted. This applies to his own voice and anybody else’s voice. He likes blues the best, and he tends to use this ability to comfort people he can tell are faking it or are trying to hide upset. Do note that this overlaps the more voices there are, so while he can handle a little while of being around lots of people, it will overstimulate him soon enough and he’ll really want to cover his non-ears and take a nap to stop the colors everywhere drowning everything else out. Thus, he’s not keen on stuff like amusement parks or big parties or sports fields.

(note that this is a little old and not all-encompassing, so just kinda use what feels right, I think)

Also important to note that Solstice, or Eclipse as he renames himself in Horrortale, is the Papyrus, but he is not Vega/Guts’ brother. He is, in fact, their son. Sol is completely unaware of this fact and thinks they are brothers. See, Vega’s mom is the river person, and her name is Carme (a sans serif font). His father was Roman (or Times New Roman) and he died while Vega was still pretty young, he doesn’t remember the guy at all. Carme has some form of dementia (I’ll be honest, I haven’t done enough research yet to pick) and, while always cheerful and doing her boating duty well, doesn’t often recognize Vega. However, he doesn’t mind much, and he’ll usually sing when he takes the boat, and she’ll sing along. When she does remember, she’ll coddle him gently.

Vega was in love with Gaster, who was a completely unrelated skeleton and the royal scientist. I dunno if they were officially married, but they were living together and had a son, Solstice (Gaster carried). Sol was still a baby when Gaster fell into the core, and everyone but Vega forgot about him. Vega found it difficult to raise a child on his own, and his mother wasn’t that bad mentally yet, so he decided to pretend it was his baby brother and have his mom help him raise the kid. By this point, now that Sol is a functioning adult, Vega could tell him, but he has no idea how to bring it up and explain, so he just keeps the lie since it’s easier. It doesn’t trouble him much. He is, however, worried that he may develop whatever Carme has and his own memory will start to go, and he’ll slip up and call Sol his son.

(shitty sketch is shitty)

In terms of how they get along, before the verse was horror-fied, Vega was endlessly patient with Sol, who has anxiety issues. But Vega also kinda has depression, so they’re a little co-dependent. He eases Sol’s anxiety a lot and Sol picks up the slack and gently bullies him to take care of himself. Sol is not a great cook, but Vega will honestly eat anything, so if Sol asks how it is, he can truthfully say he likes it (even if nobody else would) and everyone is happy. Vega works all the usual Sans jobs underground, and he’s just an all around dad guy. Super soft, super patient (it’s his soul trait), gentle and always smiling even when a little sad. His philosophy about life is basically to savor the little things, because you never know what you have until it’s gone, and the big things aren’t so overwhelming if there are lots of little things.

He’s a big fan of mac n’ cheese, and he likes little cut up hot dog (cat) pieces in it, with little octopus legs. Mac n’ seas. Also he’ll throw in broccoli sometimes to be healthy. He’s also really big on pretty much any other kid-friendly, easy to make food, like peanut butter and jelly, chicken nuggets, stuff like that. He does, ofc, drink ketchup and put it on all his food.

Vega is pretty old, about 500, I’d say, and Sol is almost 400 himself, so they’re among my older muses, but there are ones waaay older. He’s also a shortie, he’s only 4′6″. He tastes like vanilla. He also has a daddy kink (soft, very paternal in bed), and he’s into pillow humping, tentacles, sensory deprivation, and massages, but he’s asexual and his sex drive is relatively low. He rarely wants anything more than once or twice a month, and he hardly has two heats a year.

SO THAT’S ALL VEGA, and when his verse horror-fies and he becomes Guts, a lot of that stays intact, but there are some changes. If you follow canon horrortale, it’s fairly similar in terms of what happened to him, but reactions are a little different because he’s so soff. He did basically get backstabbed by Alphys and Undyne, who thought his magic was special enough to revive the core, and thus Undyne broke his head open. The difference is, none of it worked in the first place, and he didn’t get revenge on anyone, he just quietly went back home and stewed and tried his best to help his neighbors by hunting humans. He refused to eat human, though, so he was starving for years on end, to the point where he started to drool tar. He did 100% feed it to Sol without Sol being aware of it, to keep him alive and semi-healthy. When he hunts humans, he’s extremely regretful about it. He tricks them with creepy grins and quick movements, and he doesn’t hesitate when he brings the axe down, but usually, as he’s bringing it down, his smile will fade and he’ll give his best ‘I’m sorry’ look to them, because he really does feel fucking awful about it.

Eclipse is a pretty typical horror Pap, cheerful and cool with eating humans but still trying to be a good person. I don’t do the whole “Pap can’t hear shit and mistakes words” song and dance because it kinda irritates me, personally, and besides, as I mentioned in the last post, Guts barely talks anyway. He has gotten a little better at cooking, and while he’s frustrated with Guts refusing to eat human, he will obey Guts’ wishes and not feed him any.

Guts is EXTREMELY frustrated about his communication issues often, because he stalls out on signing, and when he tries to write, he has trouble scratching out the full shapes of letters and his handwriting is atrocious and he’s completely disgusted with it. While he can use words at times, he’s unhappy with his coloring (because it’s usually muddy purplish/tired or red/irritable these days). The best workaround he discovers, with help, is to communicate solely in emoji and punctuation. He’ll use emojis like the :pray: emoji for please, the :slight smile: for thank you, and the :face with bandage: to refer to himself in third person. The emojis work for his brain because he doesn’t process them as “language” with a grammatical structure, but merely pictures that can help him express his emotions.

Guts is far more tired than Vega, and while he does still somewhat have an urge to dad people, he’s been through so much trauma and difficulty that he’s a lot more needy and crumbles easily when someone else parents him instead of the other way around. He loves being picked up and snuggled and pet and loved on, and he naps when he’s safe and purrs when he’s doted on. He knows he’s cute and he owns it, tbh.

He struggles with eating, sometimes. I mentioned that whatever he’s eating has to include meat, but sometimes, he’ll get all up in his head about it if it’s human, and he’ll leak the tar more trying to hold himself back. Times like that, he needs reassurance of what the food is and that it’s okay to eat, pretty much constantly, while he stuffs his face before he can think about it too hard.

He is homeless when they reach the surface, because he finds it extremely difficult to find a job without talking. He usually begs on street corners with a sign or stays at a homeless shelter, not keeping much stuff. A few books, a picture of his bro, some clothes, that’s about it. He hides his situation from Eclipse a lot, because Eclipse went right off to culinary school and fuck if Guts will make him come back and sacrifice his dreams to take care of his invalid brother/father (and honestly part of that is just me not liking playing classic Papyrus much lmao).

In terms of activities/hobbies, he does kinda still like cooking simple foods, but he doesn’t often get the chance. He’s always fond of napping, and he likes listening to calmer kinds of music. Some alt rock, some instrumental, some ballads. He likes to feed birds at the park sometimes, because he hangs out there. He doesn’t really do much else.

Sexually, despite still being asexual, he’s more open to having sex more often, probably in part because he went a very, very long time without any and he kinda missed it. He’s still lazy in bed, having mostly the same kinks but subbing more. Also, he doesn’t automatically get turned on by eating (like Arum), but if his partner rubs him off while feeding him by hand, he’s pretty into it. Overall he is an overtired dad who is really, really thankful when someone finally says “hey, you’ve been the dad enough, let me baby you.”

This got way longer than expected, but I’m always happy to ramble, and if you need more info, just lemme know!

I leave you with this meme:

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found (chapter 13)

Oooo...lucky number 13 ;)

I was going to post this tomorrow but I have three online zumba classes to teach and I’m tired from just thinking about it

WARNINGS: language mostly

Tagging: @alievans007 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @hemmyworthy

It's six thirty in the morning when they make the short walk to Nik's hotel. Three hours remain before the catch their flight to Dhaka yet Tyler is already in 'go mode'. His senses are keen and work on overdrive; brain always operating two steps ahead. Long ago mastering the ability to carry on  conversations or what would be deemed normal business and behaviour, yet still being able to spot a potential threat. Eyes always scanning the street, looking for even the smallest thing that seemed suspicious. A vehicle  that slowly circled the streets or parked the wrong way  with an idling engine, carrying only a driver and no passengers.  Someone acting shady as they lingered on a front stoop or at a corner.  Their eyes shifting nervously, hands shoved in their pockets as they rocked back and forth on their heels.  Those that would walk slowly past you with a hoodie pulled over their heads and sunglasses on their eyes, not realizing that you'd already made them and their sideways glances had hadn't been as conspicuous as they thought.

  His hearing became more acute as well. If out in a public place he was able to pick up on conversations from several tables away. Pretending to be immersed in a coffee and something on his phone while mentally storing everything he was hearing into memory.  His reflexes were the most impressive. Able to react to a threat at the drop of a dime. If not armed, able to rely on his instincts and previous experiences when searching for -and using- the objects available to him.

Injure. Maim. Kill.

Those were the only three options.

And usually only the last one mattered.

For the first time in the year he's carrying. A semi automatic pistol on his right hip, concealed by both the t-shirt and the Emery zip up hoodie he sports.  He wears a ball cap; pulled low over his eyes. Not enough to look suspicious, but just enough so others can't see the way he surveys everyone and everything around him.  People out walking their dogs others climbing into their cars to head to work, some sitting on their stoops with mugs of coffee, younger fellas delivering the morning paper. Traffic is light; nothing more than the usual morning commute and delivery trucks making sure their goods arrive at stores before the doors open.

Esme is less than half a step in front of him, pushing the baby in the stroller. She's kept her head down the whole way. Her instincts haven't remained as sharp. She'd become a mother after all, and that was an instinct that was far more powerful than any other in the world. The ability to sense...before even a peep was made...what her child needed or wanted.  The overwhelming desire and need to protect all costs. She's on edge; every so often her head snapping towards a sudden noise or movement, almost jumping clear out of her skin when a car door is slammed a little too hard. In one block he's had to stop three times to calm her down. Stepping alongside of the stroller and grabbing a hold of the handle to make her stop. Leaning down as if he was checking on the baby inside but telling his wife to calm down. That everything was okay. That he was right there and nothing was going to happen to them.

And those reassurances would work. Until they didn't.

They're a block away, waiting at a crosswalk when he crosses the small gap between them and lays a hand on the small of her back and tells her to stop.

“Hold up...” he says, and bends down as if to as to tie one of his boots. “Your twelve. Coming across the street. Young guy in the red hoodie. With the back pack. This is the second time he's passed us. He's looked at us both times. Last time he crossed to the other side and stopped in one of the store fronts. Don't make eye contact with him.”

She hooks an arm around the handle of the stroller and removes her cell phone from her shorts pocket, as if she's just casually checking the time or a text message that may have come through.

The light changes and the walk signal begins to flash, and as the young man in question because his way towards them, Tyler casually reaches under his hoodie and t-shirt, fingers brushing against the handle of the pistol.  

He's ready. Waiting.

Esme glances up from her phone. The suspicious stranger in question making eye contact with her. And when he gives a warm smile in greeting and a “good morning. Beauty day, ain't it?” and she responds in the like, offering up brief commentary on the sun yet how there's a chill in the air.

Tyler stands.  The young man's shoulder coming in contact with his. Nothing threatening, Something that could be see as an errant bump on the street.

“Sorry, mate,” the kid says. “Nice time for a walk with the family, yeah?”

His hand slides out from under his clothes. He shoves both into the pockets of his hoodie and offers a pleasant smile. “Baby wouldn't fall back asleep. We thought we'd try some fresh air.”

“I hear ya, mate. These baby years are tricky. I have four at home myself.”

It's a lie. Tyler knows it is. This kid looks barely old enough to have graduated out of high school. So unless his girlfriend has had quadruplets or he started when he was twelve, there's no way he has that many rugrats at home.  

He plays along. “We just have the one. It's harder than it looks. She likes to keep us on our toes.”

“You think this is a struggle, wait until the terrible twos. They're a right trip.”

“We should go,” Esme speaks up. She's right at his side now; not even an inch between them. She's nervous; he can hear it in her voice, see it written all over her face. A year ago she wouldn't have batted an eyelash at a threat like this. But a lot has changed in those eleven and a half months. “Grandma and grandpa are early risers,” the lie rolls easily off her tongue. “They're waiting for us.”

“Well you both take care now,” the stranger says. “Enjoy the little one. These days are gone before you know it.  Stay safe.”

Tyler smiles, gives a nod in farewell and watches as the younger man heads off down the street. Hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. Head moving left to right as if scanning the street. Yet never looking back at them.

“That was fucked,” Esme whispers.  “There's no way he was telling the truth. That is not someone old enough to have four kids.”

“Just keep going,” he says, and drapes an arm across her shoulders, pulling her tight to his side.  “Don't cross the street. We're going to turn here, go down to the next block and then cross back over and head to the hotel that way.”

She nods. Then shivers against him.  A mixture of the cool morning air and her shoddy nerves.

Tyler unzips his hoodie and slips out of it, making sure the t-shirt still covers the weapon on his hip as he helps his wife slip into his sweater. It's huge on her. The hem falling below her knees.

“It's okay,” he assures her, as he tends to the zipper, sliding it up to the top. Laying his hand on the side of her face, he drops a kiss on the top of her head and bends down, his hand on the back of her neck and his lips to her ear.  “Everything's fine. Just calm down. Nothing's going to happen. You're fine.”

She nods, and turns her face into his, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before he pulls away.

“It's okay,” he promises, and then lays his hand on the small of her back once more.  This time completely closing the gap between them  as they continue on their way.

***

Nik has somehow convinced hotel management to open the restaurant an hour early, and have staff clock in  to provide breakfast for the small group. There isn't a problem that woman can't talk herself out of. No situation she can't fix. A skeptical person she can't convince with a shy smile and a bat of those eyelashes.  She has many faces to put on. All successful at getting exactly what she wants.

“You're late,” she says, in that slightly disappointed tone she so often likes to use. She's used it on him many times in the past. Mostly when he'd the gall to  show up to team briefings either still drunk or nursing a wicked hangover.

“We ran into a small problem,” he responds, and launches into a detailed tale about their awkward and unnerving encounter on the street.

She listens quietly, a hand on her hip, head cocked to the side.

“Might have been nothing,” Tyler shrugs. “But it felt like something.”

Nik knew that his  instincts were very rarely wrong. And she trusts them. She trusts him.  Even after a year. Even after everything that he'd gone through in Dhaka and the long months afterwards.  And she tells the team's resident tech expert to get on it; she wants footage from every traffic camera, security camera, and home security system within a three blocks radius -in every direction- from where the altercation had taken place.

She wants a face. A name.  And failure to find them is not an option.

“Are you carrying?” she asks, and he nods. “You?” she address Esme.

“Those days are behind me,” the other woman replies. “I'm not that person anymore.”

Nik merely nods, then gestures towards an area in the back corner of the restaurants.  Two tables pushed together; next to the windows, with the sunshine streaming in and a view of the immaculately landscaped courtyard.  She quickly makes introductions; Jason, three new guys with extensive weapons and hand to hand combat training, and a young woman in charge of the technology. The last is a familiar face; Yaz, who'd been at the helm of the helicopter that had transported Ovi to safety.

He and Tyler embrace warmly. Two old friends reuniting after a difficult year. They'd spoken on the phone and had exchanged emails and texts, but this is the first time since they'd seen come face to face since that fateful day. Tyler doesn't remember any of the visits to the hospital or cards sent or even the things that Yaz had done behind the scenes to make sure that Esme was taken care of. And Yaz prefers it that way. He's low key. Never liking praise, compliments, or thanks. Preferring to be that quiet friend that lingers in the distance yet you always know you can count on.

“Good thing nothing ever happened to this face, huh?” Yaz laughs and lightly taps Tyler on the cheek. “It's already hideous. How worse could it possibly get?!”

“Your mother used to love my face,” Tyler retorts, and Yaz gives an overly dramatic gasp and clasps a hand over his heart. Then dissolves into laughter and embraces him once more. His demeanour becoming more solemn.

“We missed you, brother,”  he says. “Glad to have you back. We were worried about you. Scared the shit out of the lot of us.”

“Scared the shit out myself,” Tyler responds, as Yaz claps him on the shoulder and moves on to greet Esme and Amelia.  Launching into that high pitched tone he  develops whenever the talk turns to anything baby related or he gets a glimpse of her on face time or he's shown a new picture.

“Let's get this show on the road,” Nik pipes up, and like obedient children, everyone begins to gather around the tables.  She has that way about her; assertive, aggressive, yet in a rather low key and never overbearing way.  Able to go from glamorous and alluring to kicking someone's ass in a matter of seconds.  Men loved her. Women wanted to be her.  Yet she remained humble, possessing an enormous amount of compassion and understanding, even for those who had wronged her or slighted her in the past.

Tyler is one of those people. He had been into her...had loved spending time with her...but he'd never been in love with her.  They were way better friends than lovers, as their numerous dalliances and his drunken and pill fuelled escapades had proven time and time again. Still, she remained loyal. Believing in him. Trusting him.

Even when he'd given her countless reasons not to.

*****

“We've reached out to Ovi Mahajan Senior about everything that has been going,” Nik announces, as she sips a cup of black coffee.

The hotel had put out their best breakfast spread for the group; various flavours of coffee and teas, everything from fresh fruit and danish to scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes and all the fixings. Workers lingering long enough to make sure that everyone was settled and digging in. Then  quietly slinking away and leaving them to their business.

“You don't suppose this is something he's caused do you?” one of the rookies...a strapping kid over six foot three with carrot red hair and an impossibly smooth baby face...inquires.

“The warden says that his track record has been perfectly clean for the last year and that he's neither caused or been involved in any issues,” Nik replies. “We have no reason to believe that he has done anything to provoke this.”

“This isn't about him,” Tyler speaks up, running his palm along the porcelain of his coffee mug. “This has nothing to with him at all. This has to do with what happened last year. The fact that we successfully extracted his kid.”

“Asif was shamed,” Yaz speaks up, as he paces the floor with the baby in his arms. Playing the role of the doting and adoring uncle. Every so often glancing down to make silly faces at her or talk in that baby voice he's perfected. “It was a huge blow that we rescued Ovi. He tried everything in his power to make sure we weren't successful. And in the end he was the one that failed. Asif has a loyal following in Dhaka. Dead or alive.”

“We believe that this is retribution,” Nik says. “But it goes past having just rescued Ovi.”

“Tyler embarrassed Asif,” Yaz again. “Single handily.”

“And not just that,” Nik adds. “He somehow managed to survive to tell about.”

A silence falls among the room as the cold hard truth finally breaks the surface. It was what they had been accepting, but it was still a harsh reality to accept.

A bitter pill to swallow.

Beside him, Esme shifts uncomfortably in her seat. One hand on her stomach, the other clasping a fork she'd been using to push the food around her plate for the past thirty minutes. It's been a common occurrence within the past week. Craving and wanting food and then immediately repulsed when it gets in front of her. Stress. Anxiety. Perhaps her own slice of undiagnosed PTSD.  With the year anniversary quickly approach, habits she's grown out of have starting making an appearance. Stomach aches, migraines, insomnia. And terrible night terrors when she did manage to nod off.

Tyler lays a hand on the back of her neck, fingers tightly yet comfortably kneading the tight, tense muscles.  She'd already been on edge when she'd gotten up that morning. Nauseous as soon she opened her eyes, making a mad dash to the bathroom to throw up. And he'd sat there on the floor next to her, holding her hair away from her face and trying his best to reassure her that everything was going be fine.  This wasn't going to be a repeat of a year ago. He wouldn't let it get that far out of control.

“This is personal,” Nik continues. “But we don't think it's necessarily directed at Ovi. We don't think he's the target. We received information that those running Asif's business and controlling the remaining assets know that Tyler is alive. They know his face, they know his name, the know where he lives. This is an attempt to lure him back to Dhaka. We believe in an attempt to finish the job.”

There's a clatter as Esme drops her fork onto her plate. A grimace on her face as she pushes  the dish away. Three quarters of the meal still remaining.

“What's going on?” Tyler whispers, taking the opportunity to comfort her as Nik pushes her chair away from the table and retrieves a pitcher of water. “Are you okay?”

“I just feel sick. I'm tired. I have a killer headache. I feel like I could puke.”

“You didn't get much sleep last night,” he reasons. And he was partly to blame. His insatiable sex drive and his need to with her...inside of her...overpowering all rational thought.

“It's just stress,” she says, and manages a small, reassuring smile. “And that guy on the street just freaked the shit of me. Something wasn't right him. I felt it. And I know you felt it too.”

Nik returns, filling Esme's glass with water and giving a soft, understanding smile. “It's a lot to hear,” she says, and sinks back into her chair. “Even if it is what you've been expecting. This is a hard time. For all of us. We lost a lot of people a year ago. And came very close to losing others. We may have extracted Ovi successfully in the end, but we failed in a lot of ways as well. We believe that whoever is behind the recent happens in Dhaka is doing this to get Tyler back there.  And it's what very reliable resources have been reporting.  This is all about revenge. Restoring honour. There's already been talk on the street.  Tensions are high. Ovi has just been collateral damage. They've been using him as a pawn.”

“So why go back?” Jason pipes up. “Why not just bring the kid here?”

“And lead them right to Tyler? And his family?” Yaz shakes his head. “Use your bloody head man. If we go there, we keep the trouble there. It isn't that hard to understand.”

“We need to keep their shit in their pond,” Tyler adds.

Nik nods in agreement. “Now Mahajan has loyal people of his own. That we can rely on when and if trouble arises. He has assured us of that and I have no reason to question their ability nor their willingness to help. He's made some powerful allies in prison. Their reaches are long. We have those resources at our disposal and we will use them ONLY if we need to. My hope is that we keep this contained to just the team.”

“We should be fine,” Tyler says, as he leans forward to grab a carafe of coffee and fills his cup. “There shouldn't be a reason for it to get that far.”

“Yaz, Monique and I will be staying here in Australia. Keeping our eyes and our ears open to any possibly trouble heading this way. The rest of you will be heading to India first. Mahajan has agreed to let you stay at his house. To keep an eye on his son.”

Tyler shakes his head. “Bad idea.”

She blinks. “Why's that?”

“We're trying to keep the trouble away from the kid, yeah? We're not trying to drop it on his doorstep. Which is exactly what will happen when word gets out that I'm there. It's better if I stay somewhere else. Alone.”

“Yeah...no...” Esme speaks up. “...that is not how this is going to happen.  That is not we talked about. That is not we agreed to. At all.”

“I changed my mind. I have that prerogative.”

“Maybe when you had a death wish,” she argues. “Maybe when you only had yourself to worry about. But in case you've forgotten, there's two other people you also need to worry about. What good is us being in India and you being in Dhaka going to do? What made you think that was even a reasonable decision to make?”

“It keeps them away from Ovi. Which in turn keeps them away from you.”

“It puts an even bigger target on us. They won't come right for you  if they know you're alone. They want revenge. And what's the best way to get it? To get you where it hurts the most. To come after the people you love.”

“She's right,” Nik says.  “It's foolish, Tyler. And it's dangerous. You're playing with fire.”

“You already have men camped out there, right? Now you're adding two more. That's more than enough to keep things locked up tight and under control. Once they realize that, they'll move right to me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I can't believe we are actually talking about this!” Esme exclaims. “You're not the only one that's in this huge shit pile. This isn't what we talked about. This is not what we decided. And you told me that if the three of us were going together, we were sticking together. That doesn't mean us in one place and you in the other. This is bullshit Tyler, and you know it.”

“We'll talk about this later, okay? We'll..”

“We'll fucking talk about this now. You came up with this idiotic bullshit on your own and I'm calling you on it and I don't give a shit who is here to hear  it. This is not how things are going to go. You're not going back on your word. You don't do that. You don't go back on your word. You don't go back on your promises. So don't start now.”

“Esme is right,” Nik maintains. “It is better if the three of you are together. They're safer if you're with them, Tyler.”

“They're not. You know and I know it. I stay with them, the bigger the threat becomes.”

“Are you hearing what you’re saying?” his wife remains incredulous. “Are you honestly listening to yourself? Are you listening to the words that are coming out of your mouth? It makes no sense, Tyler. They're going to hit you where it will hurt the most. And then they'll finish you off. When they know you're vulnerable.”

“I kind of agree with Tyler here,” Yaz jumps in.  “It does makes sense.”

“Like hell it does,” Nik snaps. “It makes no damn sense at all.”

“If he's alone, they'll go right for him,” Yaz reasons. “They want Tyler, right? That's who they're after? Once they know where he is, Ovi stops being the target and they move away from him.”

“Exactly,” Tyler says.

“You're so full of fucking shit, Yaz,” Esme retorts. “You damn well know that that isn't how these things work.  For Christ sake. I can't believe I'm surrounded by such horseshit!”

“Just calm down,” Tyler says, a little more forceful than he intended to be, and her eyes narrow and the rookies grow uncomfortable in their seats.

“Don't you dare tell me to calm down,” her voice is low. “Don't you dare sit there and tell me to calm down when you went behind my back and completely went against everything we've talked about. I love you. But I could fucking kill you right now.”

“Just relax. We'll talk about this later. Once you calm down and actually listen to me...”

“I have been listening to you. Every word. And I'm telling you that it's all the stupidest fucking bullshit I've ever heard come out of your mouth. And I've heard you say some pretty stupid fucking bullshit.”

“Esme and the baby are safer if you're with them,” Nik contends. “And that's the way it's going to be. You're going to India. All three of you.”

Tyler sighs “This is the wrong decision and you know it, Nik. You just signed their death certificates. You might as well just pull the trigger yourself.”

“I can't hear any more of this,” Esme shoves her chair away from the table with such force that it nearly topples over when stands.  “I can't. I need some air. I need to get away from this.”

Frowning, Tyler snatches her by the wrist.

“No!” she snarls, and yanks her hand away. “Don't.  I need to go. You need to let me go.”

“I'll go with you,” Jason offers, buttoning his suit jacket as he stands up. “Keep an eye on you.”

“Whatever,” she says, and once more wriggles out of a tight grasp her husband as wrapped around her. “What does it even matter, right? I don't get a say in any of this. It's all up to you, right Tyler? Nothing matters except what you want. Same shit, different day.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but Nik jumps to her friend's defence.

“You've said enough,” she glares at him. “And I'm totally disregarding the entire thing. You leave for India in two hours. All three of you. Together. And you stay together.  This ends here. And I swear to God, Tyler, if I get a frantic call in the middle of the night saying that you've taken off and left them there, I will come and find you and you'll answer to me. And that is battle you will not win.”  She downs the rest of her coffee and pushing her chair away from the table, smooths down the back of her simple black pencil skirt. “Wheels up in in two hours. We're done here. Do you understand me?” she directs that questions at Tyler. “No games. No sneaky shit, Tyler. Because if you go behind her back and something happens to her or that baby, I will end you myself.”

[sm-entertain-me]

Technically Off Limits (E)

Requested by @sarangtae-vante:  Hey love, can have an imagine where you've been fan of bts for a long time but then you actually get recruited in their tech team and it was really hard not to fan girl around them but they made you fell really comfortable. And then any of the member (jin or jk or jimin or all) finds that you have a crush on taehyung and you can take from here.i don't mind if it's a fluff or mature. (I decided fluff, btw)

Contains: Kim Taehyung x (f) reader, adult language, FLUFF, tech team!reader, Bighit employee!au

Synopsis: Congratulations on you getting hired on Big Hit Entertainment's tech team! It makes all those computer science classes worth it to be able to work for your favorite company. However, it’s made very clear that you are not to be romantically involved with any of the talent... 

The day you got the email to join Bighit's tech teams was not one you would easily forget. Although the events leading up to it were something to be desired since you had gotten yelled at by your boss, well, ex boss. It was a cold, rainy day and you had gotten home around 9 o'clock ish because of the intense hours your employer chose to put onto you, serving as a "warning" to not be late again. Everything seemed to be going wrong until you opened your email to find a special piece of mail sitting at the top of your inbox, shining with bold letters. You had a good feeling what the email contained, but you weren’t sure that it was an opportunity to change your life forever.

Ever since then, you’ve been whisked away to Seoul to help out with minor technical issues with Bighit’s offices and stuff like that. Most of the employees didn’t really speak English that well so they often sent one of the trainees or other rookies that had recruited from English speaking countries to give you orders. Honestly, even though you were living your dream, it was a little bit boring to you. You were under the impression you would be working closely with the artists that have been produced from this company, not fixing minuscule viruses that would pop up occasionally because of the trainee artists clicking on emails that they really shouldn’t be. You weren’t going to name names of course because that would be embarrassing for them as well as you, since you knew what kind of emails were causing the viruses. Still, a job’s a job.

It was a little later than when you were supposed to get out, getting sucked into helping with PD-nim’s technical issues with his sound system in the office. You didn’t complain because he was a very nice man, and he was easily the most powerful person in this whole facility and could ship you right back into the shithole of a life you had prior to this. “Need help with that?” A familiar voice called out from behind you, causing you to jump where you stood and dropping some of your tools on the ground. You held your hand over your heart as you inhaled sharply, turning on your heels to find Jungkook standing there with his goofy smile after he realized he scared you pretty badly. “Jesus Christ, Kook,” You groaned as you doubled over and held onto the caps of your knees, still trying to get your breathing down to a semi normal rate.

“What are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you have gone home like, half an hour ago?” Jungkook questioned as he slipped through the opened doorway and stood next to you, sitting down in PD-nim’s swivel chair to tend to the need of Twitter for another selca. Rolling your eyes lightly, you nodded at him as you grabbed the tiny screwdriver that lay on the ground, “Yeah, but I have to get this done. I’m so close to being promoted to your guys’ technical manager.” It was true. You were very close to being promoted to being one of the on hand tech managers whenever the guys went on tour. Although you only really gotten close with Jungkook and Jimin, you were more than happy to get to know the rest of them. Especially Taehyung.

Ah yes, Kim Taehyung. He was easily the most beautiful person you had ever laid eyes on. He had a smile that could melt you into a puddle, eyes that were the softest shade of brown and could carry the whole light of the world in them, and a laugh that always made you smile. However, you never really got to know him because you were super shy and didn’t want to ruin any part of the nonexistent relationship you had, he was talent and you were instructed to never get involved with any of the talent as your job was just to make sure everything was running smoothly in the tech department, and you rarely got to see him outside of practice. It was a shame really because you felt like you and Taehyung would really hit it off. You did, however, come really close to asking Jungkook to be your wingman, but you knew that if he found out your true feelings about his bandmate that he would surely make your life a living hell with the constant teasing and pestering. 

“Hey! Y/N! Did you even hear me?” Jungkook’s voice rang out to you from his position behind you, yanking you back into reality. You turned to face him with a look of confusion, still gripping the screwdriver in your hand that had yet to move from your thinking about Taehyung. That earned an eye roll from Jungkook as he stood up and came towards you, waving his hand in front of your face to bring you completely back from the vice grip your thoughts had on you, “Geez you checked out for a good minute there. What were you thinking about?” “No one,” You responded simply, turning your back to him to continue your work. That was, until Jungkook reached out to grab your shoulders and turn you completely around, “Y/N, I said what were you thinking about, not who. But now you’re going to tell me who or I’ll break PD-nim’s sound system even more than it is now.” “You wouldn’t,” You seethed, narrowing your eyes at the young man in front of him who wore a smirk like it was a permanent part of his body. “Try me.”

Jungkook was a persistent one, you’ll give him that. He wouldn’t let you leave the room, wouldn’t let you pick up the screwdriver to continue your work, and surely wouldn’t let you change the subject. He even resulted to yanking the screwdriver away from you until you at least gave him a hint on who had taken your full attention. “Is he older than me?” Jungkook questioned as he fiddled with the tool needed to finish the job, knowing it was annoying you. “Yes,” You grumbled as you walked over to the desk, sitting on it casually. Jungkook’s lips formed a smile as he looked up at you to continue his questioning, “Is he in BTS?” “Kook, seriously,” You groaned as you tried to grab the screwdriver that was dangerously close to your hand but he was way too quick, looking at you until you answered him. With a huff and a sigh, you answered, “Yes.” Jungkook chuckled, “Of course he is. That’s why you want to be on the tech team, you like someone in the band. Is it Tae Tae?” 

The sudden silence that filled the room was more than enough to answer Jungkook’s question as you looked down at your hands, twiddling your thumbs as if you were ashamed to admit it. Jungkook saw the sudden drop of your face and quickly walked over to you, bending down to meet your eyes, “Hey. It’s okay. Taehyung is a really nice guy and I’m sure that I can get you two to go out or something.” “No,” You protested as you looked away to hide the redness that was spreading through your face due to embarrassment of this whole conversation. “I’m not allowed to. I’m here to work, not date. PD-nim made that very clear.” You watched as Jungkook rolled his eyes, grabbing your face to look at him, “Y/N, do you realize how many people here have had romantic trysts with the artists here? The answer is a lot. Now, I’m going to set you up with Taehyung and you’re going to enjoy yourself. Besides, maybe he likes you too.” “Who likes who?”

The voice that asked that question didn’t belong to you or Jungkook. You both turned to the source of the noise, coming face to face with the very person you were just talking about. “Taehyung,” You said with widened eyes, trying to hide your face that still had the prominent redness from Jungkook’s pestering. Jungkook stood up quickly and rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “Oh, nothing Tae.” Taehyung’s lips formed a pout as he entered the office, walking to stand right next to you and offering a smile at you before he spoke, “Come on Kook, I barely get to hear any drama anymore. I wanna know.” Jungkook looked down at you, silently asking you to handle the situation since it was really your feelings being discussed. Taehyung also looked down at you, waiting to see if you would tell him even though you knew it could ruin any chance of getting that promotion you desired. 

“I... I don’t really want to tell you,” You admitted, stammering almost every single word that poured out of you because of the nervousness that sat in your stomach from Taehyung being so close and having to admit your feelings to him. Taehyung sighed as he grabbed your hand in his, stroking the top of it with his thumb, “Y/N, you can trust me.” You were kind of shocked that he actually knew your name considering he’s really only said hello a few times to you when he passed through the hallways or the elevator to get to the practice rooms, but you weren’t complaining. Jungkook was standing opposite the two of you as he watched the way Tae was holding your hand, awkwardly shoving his hand into his pocket, “Oh um, by the way... I may or may not have already said something about you liking him.”

“You fucking what?” You yelled, snatching your hand out of Taehyung’s and rushing over to Jungkook to grab him by the collar, shaking him as hard as you could even though it barely made the bulky kid move. “You told him?!?” “To be fair, it was kind of obvious. Yoongi-hyung and I had a bet to see how long it would take for Tae to find out, so I told him so I could win the bet,” Jungkook admitted as he let you continue to shake him back and forth against the wall. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You trusted Jungkook. Actually, you hadn’t even told him that you had feelings for Taehyung, so you were more shocked at the fact that it was so obvious to everyone else besides you. You thought you were pretty good at hiding your emotions, but your actions prove otherwise. 

You finally calmed down at you let go of Jungkook’s collar, pushing the fabric out so you could smooth the wrinkles you caused. Sighing softly, you pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose to control yourself, “Kookie, I’m sorry. I just, I really want this promotion and the whole reason I hadn’t said anything was so that PD-nim wouldn’t find out and threaten to terminate me... And now Taehyung knows, and so does Yoongi. God I’m screwed.” A soft hand found the base of your shoulder blade, rubbing it lightly as the person it belonged to spoke quietly, “No, no. You’re not screwed. PD-nim doesn’t have to know anything about it. Y/N, you’re a great tech expert. And if you hadn’t noticed, we kind of have a say in who’s in our tech group on the road. Both Kook and I can vouch for you. Hell, even Jimin can vouch for you.” 

You turned on your heels to look up at Taehyung with eyes that had a few tears being held back sicne you thought you would surely get fired, “You-You’d do that? For me?” Taehyung smiled softly at you, his eyes forming deep crescents as he looked at you, “Of course I would. You’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever seen, and you’re also the kindest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” A smile found its way onto your face as you looked down to hide the small blush, afraid Taehyung would catch it.

 A hand gripped the bottom of your chin and pulled you to look up, your eyes meeting once again with Tae’s, “And about you liking me, let me ask you a question. Has it ever occurred to you that I always say hi to you in the elevator when the practice rooms are below the tech department? They’ve never been above.” It all made sense to you. Taehyug had no reason to be on the elevator with you for so long. The practice rooms are on the third floor and the tech department is on the fifth. He’d gone out of his way to stay on that elevator to say hi and strike up seemingly meaningless conversations with you. That was sure to get your heart racing.

“So are you going to ask her or what? I did my part,” Jungkook said impatiently, interrupting your conversation as he stood with his arms crossed. “She nearly ripped my shoulder out of place by shaking me so hard.” Taehyung rolled his eyes at Jungkook and motioned for him to leave, Jungkook giving at nod to the both of you to say his farewells. You tilted your head at Taehyung, wanting to know what he meant by “I did my part.” Taehyung smiled a nervous smile, gripping the back of his neck and giving a good scratch, “I may or may not have planned this out since Kook told me about you liking me a couple months ago. I didn’t know how to go about it since we barely talk, but I would love to get to know you, if that’s okay.” Taehyung saw your face contort to show your nervousness, still thinking about how you could lose your job over this. Until he used an argument you simply couldn’t resist, “It’s just one little date. What PD-nim doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” 

Little did you know that the one little date that Taehyung was talking about turned into another date, and another one, and him asking you to be his girlfriend after you got your promotion to the BTS technical manager. Once you were promoted, PD-nim really had no grounds to fire you since you and Tae were dating after you got your promotion... Or so he thought. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

[butterflyinthewell]

Headcanon ahoy!

Ahh, I can’t believe how much fun I had writing Danceverse Ultra Magnus (semi OC) in my Stories Tell Us fic. I was waiting for an opportunity to spotlight him for a bit while he did his Guardian bot stuff AND finally bring to light my headcanon about his specific race / language.

I call Mags a “semi OC” because he’s a named character in the franchise, but hasn’t been seen in the Bayverse movies, so I yanked him up for myself. He first showed up in Lines as a white Kenworth t800 and later changed over to an International LoneStar.

Kenworth

LoneStar

Ultra Magnus is a Rustian. 

Rustians are native to the Sea of Rust, which is like a hybrid of a desert and a plain and the rust storms make Earth’s sandstorms look like dust puffs. Rustians are Cybertron’s equivalent to the indigenous peoples around the Earth, like Aborigines, First Nations, Native Americans, Pacific Islanders, etc..

Autobots are respectful of Rustians. Decepticons...not so much. I’ll get more into that soon.

The racial slur Decepticons use against Rustians is Junkions or Junkers-- it hurts them like the N-word hurts black people. The term exists in Decepticon mumblings because Rustian homes look like piles of junk from the outside, while inside it’s clean, neat and cozy. They build like that because the Sea of Rust is known for its rust storms, and the “junky” looking homes let the wind and blowing rust slide around buildings instead of battering against them and piling up to block the exit doors.

You can call Rustians a Rusty or Rusties because that’s what they’ll playfully call themselves (in their language), but the J-word will get you a one-strike warning if you’re ignorant, and repeats get you smacked in the mouth and kicked out of the social circle. Avoid the J-word! 

Rustians are excellent storytellers. They’re notorious for it! It’s how they pass on knowledge. They love hearing other peoples’ stories, too, the more gripping the better. A favorite game of theirs is for a group to retell a known story with the most absurd twists they can make up without changing the story’s outcome. You lose the game if your addition changes the plot and you win if you’re able to finish the story to its proper end while laughing your aft off. Like, they might tell you the plot to the Die Hard movies, but everybody is wearing tutus or has rainbow colored teeth, or all the cars drive backwards, that kind of stuff.

Rustians evolved for a long time without any contact from the rest of Cybertron, so they have their own language, writing system, culture, beliefs and technology that is totally separate from the Autobots and Decepticons. 

The first outside contact Rustians had with anyone was with the Primes, who they saw as gods capable of appearing and disappearing at will. It was a glowing contact with kindness exchanged from both sides. Then the Fallen came through later and wiped out a lot of Rustians to prevent a Prime from emerging, and it became the first time Rustians had ever seen death. Death was so new to them that they had to invent a word for it because one didn’t exist. 

They thought they somehow angered the gods and came up with prayers, music and poetry to try to appease them and prevent it from happening again. The fear of angry gods appearing gradually faded, but the legends, stories, songs, prayers and poetry about it continued through history.

The Rustians’ second outside contact was the Decepticons, who arrived shortly after Ultra Magnus’ generation first saw the stars. The Rustians were still hurt and the population was slowly recovering from the Fallen’s unprovoked attack. They were no slouch with weaponry and combat, so they were able to put up a fight against the ‘Cons. The problem was they were outnumbered.

And Optimus showed up with a small convoy, having tracked the ‘Cons to the Sea of Rust. He realized he didn’t have enough bots with him to hold off the Decepticons in the Sea of Rust, and the Rustians knew they didn’t have enough people to hold off the Decepticons either. 

The language barrier made communication almost impossible, so Optimus made his intent to team up with the previously-unknown bots clear by only pointing his weapons at the Decepticons, never the Rustians. They figured out the rest pretty quick.

Let me make it clear that both teams were screwed if they didn’t join forces, it wasn’t the Rustians getting totally clobbered until the Autobots saved the day. The Autobots were getting clobbered, too. Neither group had a chance of winning on their own. It was a mutual agreement to combine their armies and drive the ‘Cons away. The Rustian Optimus fought back to back with as a team happened to be a young Ultra Magnus. After the battle, they worked patiently through the language barrier and established communication.

Ultra Magnus recognized the Prime engraving on Optimus’ helm and believed him appearing when he did was an apology from the gods for bringing death into their ranks, so he did what people do with a sincere apology-- he accepted. He invited Optimus to immerse himself in the Rustian way of life and taught him their culture, religion, music, stories and their spoken and written language. Optimus offered Ultra Magnus the same in return, which began a complete and equal cultural exchange. Nobody forced anybody to change who they were even though there was quite a bit of culture shock in the beginning. Everybody got over it and worked out a harmonious coexistence. :)

Rustians weren’t technologically behind the Autobots. They had a lot of medical tools and navigation methods the Autobots had never seen, and likewise the Autobots had weaponry and construction equipment the Rustians had never seen. They filled in each others’ technological gaps and got stronger for it. 

Btw, some Rustian tech looks like something out of a steampunk comic because that’s their style. A lot of their art and sculptures are clockwork stuff that moves.

The technological exchange let the Rustians start building “underground” underneath Cybertron’s top layer. A lot of them started living beneath the Sea of Rust as much as living on it.

Optimus told the Rustians he had no desire to erase their culture or their way of life, but he knew the Decepticons wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly that. He offered them a place in the Autobot army if they wanted one, and they were all over it. There are no Rustians in the Decepticon ranks. Not one. 

Rustians have a very distinct accent when they speak Cybertronian; the human equivalent would be somebody speaking English with a Jamaican Patois accent. A non-Rustian who learns to speak enough Rustian to communicate will have a strong and obvious accent, too, like an English speaker speaking Patois. 

Ultra Magnus is perpetually amused by Optimus’ command of Rustian. Optimus comes from the southernmost tip of Simfur and has the Cybertronian equivalent of a thick rural Alabama drawl. Sentinel Prime “cleaned up” his speech a bit and trained him out of his tendency to mumble, but the drawl is bleepin’ obvious in the way he pronounces words. Optimus sounds funny when he speaks Rustian, but he speaks it correctly. He knows Rustians find his pronunciation hilarious and he’s fine with the teasing.

Regional Cybertronian accents (Rustian included) don’t show up when bots speak Earth languages because they download those and pick up whatever regional accent they scan off human voice transmissions, like people talking on cell phones, Skype and so forth.

Rustian has to be learned, so you can’t download it off a dead bot and suddenly be able to write / speak it. Only a native speaker of the language can teach it properly, and there’s a lot of nuance outsiders will never pick up and mimic perfectly.

Here’s a small taste of the language. One phrase will be familiar if you’ve been in the TF fandom for awhile.

Bah weep gragnah wheep nini bong is a universal peace greeting that means “I arrive at your presence peacefully and harbor no ill intent towards you”.

Bah weep is a greeting for when you’re arriving, literally “I arrive” or “I come”.

Nini weep is a greeting to somebody who is arriving, literally “you arrive” or “you come.”

Bah gneh is a farewell you say when you’re leaving, literally “I go”.

Nini gneh is a farewell you say when somebody else is leaving, literally “you go.”

The Rustians gave the Autobots and Decepticons nicknames in their language. Autobots are affectionately referred to “shinies” (ar ang) and Decepticons are derided as “sharpies” (ing arg). They refer to anyone in general who isn’t Rustian as nileeng. It’s a non-offensive term that means “others”.

The Rustian “I love you” is bah ethsteo nini.

Ultra Magnus’ name is still his Rustian name. Ult Ra Mag Nus. He’s got a name people can easily squish together and pronounce in Autobot, Decepticon and English. It means warrior elemental or warrior of the elements, and references an old story describing a Rustian who faces and overcomes the four elements-- ground, fluid, flame and air.

Rustian language sounds like total gibberish to someone unfamiliar with it. Listening to two native speakers of it sounds a lot like radio interference where two frequencies mix up because they talk fast. Optimus asked if he could utilize the spoken and written language as a code language. That was totally cool with the Rustians, and from then on you were likely to find a Rustian sitting in on listening posts and teaching Rustian in the Autobot Academy. They could relay information over Decepticon channels to help conceal Autobot frequencies, and the Decepticons still haven’t caught on to the trick.

Rustians like Ultra Magnus became the Cybertronian equivalent to Navajo code talkers. The written language looks like a bunch of dots, so somebody could carve or shoot holes in something to say “there’s 200 ‘Cons holed up here” or “Warning: Snipers” without alerting the Decepticons that they were onto them.

A Rustian who hasn’t scanned another planet’s vehicles looks distinctly different from other Cybertronians due to their protomatter coming from the Sea of Rust and living life where rust storms can scour a nice paint job off in a matter of hours. 

Rustians are matte and appear rusted, like old vehicles left out in nature for years and years, but they're in good physical condition. They don’t creak, they aren’t breaking down and they can move like any other bot. 

Their optics are white, though a lot of them got blue filters voluntarily so people knew they were friendly to the Autobot cause, and they can turn the blue off any time they want. 

White optics help them see and be seen in heavy rust storms where rust is blowing like sand. Rustians in their native environment will paint reflective stripes on their faces and wear a scarf around their neck with reflectors arranged in decorative patterns to aid in visibility, and they can flip the scarf over and scrape off the paint to camouflage themselves if they need to.

Their creation story says their optics are white because Primus swept the stars from the sky to light the Sea of Rust and the stars became the lens through which they see the beauty of the universe. Cybertron’s oldest star charts are Rustian in origin.

Rustians who scanned an alien vehicle are almost indistinguishable from any other Autobot, so you can’t spot them in a lineup unless you know what to look and listen for. Like all Cybertronians, Rustians don’t attach too deeply to their physical appearances aside from their dot glyphs. They keep those no matter what form they take, and they’re easy to miss. All Rustians have a dot glyph somewhere on their body, so those glyphs, an occasional glimpse of optics without blue filters and noticing an accent if they speak Autobot Cybertronian are the only hints that you’re talking to a Rustian. 

Ultra Magnus’ dots are on the backs of his hands. He’s got a whole bunch of other Autobot Cybertronian glyphs on his body, kind of like somebody who has a lot of tattoos.

But Ultra Magnus isn’t the only Rustian. They are a minority in the sense of not many are left after war tore Cybertron apart, but they’re not in danger of going extinct. 

So I headcanon an onscreen bot as also being Rustian because he’s got dots right smack out there on his chin.

It’s green duster double-gun boi, aka Crosshairs.

Crosshairs goes by Crosshairs because the Autobots have a hell of a time trying to pronounce Kroz Stiz Ay Ras correctly (humans can’t either!) and he got tired of non-Rustians butchering it, so he goes by an Autobot approximation that doesn’t make him cringe. His Rustian name means aims well and swift because he’s ridiculously good at sharpshooting while moving fast.

And I hinted that Rustian survives into the future in the same way languages evolve over time, but readers didn’t know it at the time because I hadn’t “brought out” my headcanon for Mags and Crossy yet. The roots of Rustian words still exist a trillion years after the Autobots first touched down on Earth. 

In Tin Man’s Treasure, the main Trillian characters (distant techno-organic descendants of humans) are named Eth and Steo. :)

[midnightsorciere-blog]

Our System: Introduction

So, this is something I’ve wanted to do for a while, but have been sort of putting off. In case you'd didn’t already know, I am part of a multiple system. Now I’m not professionally diagnosed or anything, so I don’t know whether we have DID or OSDD, but if I had to guess I’d say it’s more likely OSDD. Having a label for it isn’t terribly important to me, but I figured it might be helpful in getting a basic understanding of how our system works in general. 

But I’m not going to go into detail about all that right now (though I might later if anyone’s interested). Today, I just wanted to do some basic introductions for all of us here! Partly so people can get to know us a little better, and partly because it fulfills some of my therapy goals. I’ll put it under a cut in case it runs a little long (sorry mobile users, you’re still screwed).

Our system name is the Arcadian System. I wish I had some grand reason why we chose this, but the reality is that none of us could agree on a name, so we all just decided to go after our town name in Animal Crossing, which is Arcadia. For a very long time we never had an actual identity as a system, but after a recent crisis which involved some alters disappearing for a time, others being shoved to the front and being ‘stuck’ there, and then others switching way more often than we ever have before, we figured it was necessary. I of course can’t speak for every system, but for us, having a group name-something we can all identify as no matter who’s fronting-really helped our internal communication.

Now, when we went through and tried to create a system map, we found that some of us already had names, and some of us didn’t, and some of us refused to pick one. What we ultimately decided on was assigning each of us a color. So in our little bios, if you only see a color as a name, it’s either because they don’t have/want any other name, or because they don’t want to share their actual name. Anyway, let’s get on with it!

Name: Green/JayDee

Age: 17

Gender: Nonbinary

Orientation: Ace, Grey Aro

Fav vine/meme: Hewwo Mr. Obama

Description: Green’s the one who originally got us into Tumblr. They used to be @woodlandprincen, but then they deleted that one and moved to @starbound-solivagant. They try to be very compassionate and understanding, and I think they were the most concerned out of all of us with making friends. They’re highly sensitive, which makes them very empathetic, but also prone to getting hurt most easily. A very black and white thinker, but also idealistic in nature.

Name: Blue

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Orientation: Demisexual, 90% gay, 10% ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Fav vine/meme: Adam!

Description: Blue is the one who actually discovered Tumblr first, but he never actually made a blog. He just went through and screenshotted posts he liked, so now we have a folder with literally hundreds of photos in it. Still bitter about how Pepe the frog was co-opted by nazis. He tends to be the most chill and responsible out of all of us, but he’s also a bit of a control freak. He thinks he runs our life the best, so he despises relinquishing the front spot once he’s up there. But, that makes him very prone to burnouts. Equally as likely to be reading all the nonfiction on the internet as watching the 30th vine compilation at 3 in the morning.

Name: Red

Age: 31

Gender: Female

Orientation: don’t fucking try it

Fav vine/meme: pretty much anything by Sarah Schauer 

Description: The oldest of all current alters, and also the only alter mentally older than the body. Considers herself ‘retired’, and has absolutely no interest in fronting. Generally pretty snarky, and very low empathy. Kind of a bitch, but she's gotten a lot better. Whereas she used to be incredibly antagonistic during our teenage years, she’s now mellowed out and functions as a sort of protector for the system. Is an excellent writer, and she doesn’t even have to try very hard, and I’m incredibly jealous. She’s a heavy smoker (although we switched to e-cigarettes), and would be the most likely to try drugs if she didn’t think they were too expensive. She runs on spite and a general ‘fuck everything’ attitude.

Name: Clear

Age: N/A

Gender: Agender

Orientation: N/A

Fav vine/meme: N/A

Description: Clear is a bit of a strange one. They have a very hard time focusing, so they don’t go on the internet much. From the outside, they could easily be confused for a little-they’re mostly nonverbal, they have a hard time reading, and their vocabulary is limited. But rather than being young, they’re just very much withdrawn. They live mostly in their own little world, which is fine for the most part, but causes problems when they front for long periods of time. And because they only front for a few hours, or a day at most, they’ve never needed to develop much of a personality outside the headspace. Their thinking patterns are also very abstract. They’ve thought it might be closer to how an animal experiences the world. They live a peaceful semi-existence, and they seem happy with that.

Name: Indigo

Age: 24

Gender: Demigirl

Orientation: ?

Fav vine/meme: Doesn’t have one yet

Description: She’s the second newest alter we have. She’s high maintenance, and extremely selfish. She’s also not one to be trifled with. While she can generally put on a nice front long enough to get her way, internally, she’s already thought of several ways to ruin/blackmail you. But only if she thinks you deserve it. Because of how confrontational and vengeful she can be, she’s generally kept from fronting by all the other alters. When she is allowed to front, it’s only during times where she either can’t do any damage, or her temperament is needed to protect the system.

Name: Black/Midnight

Age: 24

Gender: Female

Orientation: Sapphic (mostly)

Fav vine/meme: Gandalf Sax

Description: It me! :D I am the currently fronting alter, and also the newest (kind of, it’s complicated). I’m actually not entirely my own identity, but rather a combination of several other alters: Green, Blue, Clear, Purple, and Indigo. If you think of alters as their own paints, then I’m not my own paint, nor am I all those paints mixed together. Rather, I am a box that has all the paints inside. So I’m just one alter, but I’m always in communication with the other alters, and I can break down into those separate components if need be. I don’t know if this is considered integration, or co-conciousness, or what. But it’s what I am right now. Personality-wise, I’m this weird combo of trying too hard to be relatable, and also trying too hard to be mysterious and cool. So I’m just generally super awkward. Plus my brain acts like English is my second language and I don’t have a first, which is why I can’t fuckin read and I say things like ‘I got gangbanged by skeletons’. But despite that, I’m still trying to be a writer cause I actually like writing (or the thinking about stuff part, anyway). It’s just the getting it out intelligibly part I struggle with. 

Honorable Mentions

Purple: Oldest alter any of us can remember, gone. None of us has been able to communicate with Purple in years, so it’s assumed that she either integrated, or otherwise just stopped existing. However, I’ve been getting some of Purple’s memories back, bit by bit these past few months, so there’s something of her left.

Orange: No communication, presumed no longer existing. The only memories we have of Orange’s are of the abuse we went through during their relationship at that time. Everything else is incredibly sparse.

White: Persecutor, no longer existing, thankfully. Was incredibly cruel, continuously goaded Purple into self harm and several suicide attempts, always made their mental health worse. I don’t remember what happened to her, and Red doesn’t share those memories.

Pink: Succesfully integrated into later alters. Used to be a troublemaker. Got Purple and Red into dangerous situations for the ‘fun’ of it, then would bail and leave them to clean up the mess. Really just wanted attention and validation, but didn’t know how to go about getting it correctly.

And that’s it! I’ve had several more alters in the past, but I don’t remember them, and I don’t think any of my current alters do either. We have almost no memories of anything before age 11. But hopefully, you know a little more about us, and ergo about me. This was helpful for me, anyway. Sorry for the long ass post, but this deserved the space. Anyway, I wish you all well!

[fanficsandfluff]

The Best Spider-Man

I took the liberty of kind of joining this prompt with this one. I tried my best to get a balanced feel of both of these prompts to make one cohesive story. Hope you like it, sweeties!

Words: 2,722

Another lab report due by the end of the week. Jesus, this was the third week in a row his teacher did that to the class. And that means a whole lot of staying up late typing the damn thing. Peter Parker knew he’d be getting straight A’s anyway. It was just another thing piled up on his week’s worth of science, math, language, english, and technical homework.

You can do it, Peter. You’re Spider-Man. You can do anything.

Oh right, Spider-Man. Yet another load onto Peter’s full plate. He wanted to be Spider-Man full-time! But unfortunately, it wasn’t up to him. It was up to Tony Stark. 

Speaking of the man, Tony had been paying Peter more visits. Whether it was to scold him or congratulate him on something, Tony was acting more and more like some father figure to the kid. Except when he wasn’t.

Tony had become semi-obsessed with teaching Peter everything he knew. How to be the most spidery Spider-Man ever. The training added another weight to Peter’s young shoulders. He could’ve easily said no and that he was too busy, but what would Mr. Stark think of him then? That he wasn’t strong enough to bear the burden of being Spider-Man? Hell no. He couldn’t have that. 

So Peter was stuck dealing with schoolwork, his social life, being a superhero, and making time for Iron Man’s teaching. Wow, he was so screwed. 

A weekend arrived. Finally! Some relaxation at last, right? His cell phone ringing and the voice of Tony being the caller told Peter that he was wrong to assume he’d ever get a break. 

The phone call went something like:

“Hey, kiddo. You free today?” “Me? Oh um, yeah I think so, Mr. Stark. Why?” “I was gonna ask Happy to pick you up and take you to the Towers. I have a new upgrade for your suit I think you’ll like.” “That’s... that’s real nice of you, Mr. Stark. Sure. I’ll come over.” “Great. See you soon.”

Peter sighed after he hung up and flopped down onto his bed, shutting his eyes. He needed sleep. If not sleep, he needed at least an hour with no worries and no responsibilities. 

But within half an hour, Peter was showered and dressed and Happy was downstairs ready to pick him up. He was too tired to even annoy Happy today.

Upon his arrival, Happy took Peter to the gym inside the upstate Avengers facility where Tony was waiting for him. 

“There he is. Spiderboy,” Tony teased gently, welcoming Peter with a smile. 

“Hi,” Peter mustered up his own smile and he waved to Tony.

“C’mere, let me show you what I have so far. Then I want your comments.”

Tony showed Peter a new power grid for his suit as well as a new program that improves Peter’s agility within it. That and a few other tweaks were what Tony started off with.  

Peter listened attentively, offering minor quips about the technology Tony was developing for those programs. Tony took in each one with humbled pride. 

“Alright, now that that’s out of the way, why don’t we take the suit for a test run? You and me? Sparring?” 

Peter almost threw up at the word, not imagining he could handle a full on fight after a night of no sleep. His tired look of disgust transformed into an appreciative smile just for Tony. 

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

Peter got changed into his Spidey suit and met Tony in a large sparring arena. 

“Now, I’m an old man so go easy on me,” Tony joked, hoping to get a crack of a smile or a laugh from the kid. Nothing. Tony sensed early on that something was on Peter’s mind, but he figured maybe not bringing it up was his best bet. 

Tony was trying to teach Peter all the new moves and specialty powers he could unlock from his suit. Tony was very aware how much this sounded like a video game tutorial. 

Peter would try. Most of the moves he’d get right, and a specialty web would shoot out of his wrist. But there was always one or two he stumbled on. 

“It’s alright, Pete. Why don’t we move on to the next one?”

Peter was panting, that one move taking a lot out of his sleep-deprived body. 

“T-There’s more?” 

“Only another five or so,” Tony shrugged, “Then I want you to actually use them. Against me.”

Peter wanted to groan out loud. He choked it back in his throat and continued on with the moves. 

Once it was the final new move, Peter found he didn’t have the stamina to do it. He tried and tried, over and over again. Each time the jumps and kicks taking more and more out of him. 

Tony couldn’t sense the fatigue so much and just continued watching, thinking Peter just had to find his groove. 

He was proved wrong when Peter tore off his mask and screamed, “I can’t do it!”

Tony stood still, shocked at the sudden outburst, “Peter...”

“I can’t do it! I-I know you want me to, Mr. Stark, but... there’s just so much going on right now. So damn much,” Peter threw his mask on the ground as tears welled up in his eyes, “I’m not the superhero you want me to be. B-But I’m trying! I’m doing my homework, studying for my tests, going out at night and stopping the bad guys and--” he sniffled, “It’s so much... You believe in me, I know. You put so much faith in me and here I am, unable to manage every little thing I should be able to. I’m not cut out for this, Tony,” a tear slipped down Peter’s cheek. Not waiting for Tony to give him any answers, Peter ran out of the sparring gym. 

Tony rocked back and forth on his heels. He then took a few steps forward and picked up Peter’s discarded mask. With calm, even steps, he went in search for Peter. After asking the Tower’s supercomputer where he was of course.

Peter ran through the Towers, going up a flight of stairs and turning a corner. He continued running until he found an open door. It seemed to be an unoccupied sleeping quarters. Probably unused and brand new, judging by the pristine-ness of it all and the smell. He ducked inside there and shut the door behind him. 

Peter took one look at himself in the mirror there and he got even more enraged. He screamed with anger and anxiety all mixed into one tearful shout. He ripped the suit off his body and kicked it after throwing it to the ground. Then he curled up on the pearly white bedsheets, sobbing quietly. Weak. That’s what he was. He couldn’t handle even the least bit of pressure. And he just exploded like that in front of Tony Stark. He was done being Spider-Man. That was the end, he was sure of it. 

Now only clad in boxers, Peter sniffled into the pillows, holding one close to his chest. 

Minutes past and Peter was still upset and crying. He couldn’t stop his tears once the stress took over. This had happened before.

Half an hour. Peter shut his eyes and was no longer crying. He cleared his mind and just sat in silence. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. By now, all expression on his face was nonexistent. A blank stare accompanied with red eyes from his fit of crying. 

A sudden knock on his door made Peter cringe and he rolled onto his side, back facing the door. He did not want to interact. 

Tony stepped in after waiting thirty seconds post-knock. He saw the forgotten suit on the ground first and then the curled up pale blob that was Peter. Tony sat down on the edge of the bed, fiddling with something in his hands. 

“When I was a little younger than you, and I’d be upset or stressed about something, you know what my dad would do? He’d stand in my room and tell me, ‘You’ve got to be better.’ Hmm,” Tony stared in front of him absently as he reminisced, “And I’d always think, gee... that was some shitty pep talking. I mean, he didn’t even say ‘You’re better than this,’ or ‘It’s okay, things will get better.’ I got none of that. And it’s funny because... every time I speak to you, the one thought always running through my mind is don’t be him. So I have to be better to you than my dad ever was to me. I’m failing,” Tony smiled sadly, “Clearly. I can’t read the signs that you’re tired. That you need a break. I mean, you’re just a kid. I’m starting to realize... I’m exactly like Howard.”

“No.”

Tony turned his head, surprised to hear the second voice pipe up. Peter was now sitting up, half his body still turned away from Tony. 

“You aren’t like that, Mr. Stark. You’re doing everything right, it’s me that’s the problem.”

“If you are still believing that you’re the problem, there’s something going on. Right?” Tony lifted half his leg onto the bed to look at Peter fully, “Pete, you’re an amazing kid. And I don’t say that to every Spiderboy I know.”

A glimmer of amusement shown in Peter’s eye.

“I picked you for a reason. Took you under my wing, gave you the suit, given you all the support I can give. I see the strength in you. I see what you’ve been through. And frankly, I see myself.”

Peter’s cheeks tinted with blush. 

“You get easily distressed, easily anxious, and pressure isn’t the thing you handle best. But I wouldn’t take my Spider-Man any other way. We both gotta just keep,” Tony gently socked Peter’s shoulder, “Rolling with the punches. I’ll be a better mentor. I’ll recognize the signs easier. I promise. I’ll work on that. And we’ll make you the best superhero you can be. Okay?”

Peter took in all of what Tony said and he nodded. Tony tossed the thing he’d been holding in his hands this whole time at Peter. The teen caught it and he sighed, now looking at his mask. 

“New York needs Spider-Man,” Tony concluded, shrugging his shoulders, giving Peter a knowing look. 

Peter nodded again and he was about to speak but another article of clothing got chucked into his face. Oh, how sentimental, Tony.

“No big speeches, that’s my job. And especially not when you’re half naked.”

Peter huffed and he grinned, seeing that Tony threw his change of clothes at him. 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter slipped on his shirt. 

Peter knew Tony was doing all the right things. He had all the right instincts. Tony knew to give him some time to cool down, and when he confronted him, he wasn’t all about yelling at him to get him to come to his senses. He wasn’t lovey dovey with hugs or anything and that was nice, too. 

“So, what can I do to make it up to you?”

“Nothing. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I can take you out for ice cream. Isn’t that what dads do? Hell, you don’t know either so why am I even asking?”

Peter grinned again, “It sounds like something a dad would do. Especially taking his son to get the biggest soft serve cone out there.”

Tony reciprocated the grin, “Oh boy, it sounds like Peter’s being sassy.”

Peter stood up to pull his jeans on properly and he smiled at Tony, “I think I know who I got that from.”

Tony chuckled now, the joke still carrying on, “Wanna sit on dad’s lap and tell him all your woes? Girl troubles? Friend drama? Sexual escapades?”

Peter let out a laugh and he grabbed a pillow, pushing it into Tony’s back, “Stop! You’re soho creepy!”

Tony smirked and while Peter was pushing the pillow into him, he turned and was able to nab one of Peter’s arms and wrench him forward. So now Peter was on his back beside Tony. 

“What’s the big deal? I’m just trying to get my boy to confess to me,” Tony, while still holding one of Peter’s wrists, used his free hand to spider a set of fingers into the teen’s belly. 

The soft, teasing sensation send shocks up Peter’s spine, and he yelped. He could do little to stop it from happening, despite being Spider-Man.

“T-Tony! No wait! Plehease don’t!”

“My dad never did this to me. I gotta be his opposite, Pete, you know that.”

Tony latched onto both of Peter’s skinny yet muscular sides and kneaded them up and down. He heard Peter’s laughter escalate and he knew he was doing something right. 

“Thihis isn’t fair! NO! Tony, not thehehere! ACK!” 

Peter whined and cackled when Tony’s fingers crawled up to ripple against his ribcage. Peter struggled harder now and was able to wiggle himself away from Tony for a second. But he wound up with his upper half hanging off the side of the bed and Tony held onto him tighter so he wouldn’t move. With Peter’s ribs now sticking out more prominently thanks to his back being stretched, Tony massaged and caressed his way up each and every rib. 

Peter’s mouth was open in a wide smile, desperate laughter pouring from his lips. He could barely form words to beg Tony to stop. But did he really even want this to stop? This was a drastic 180 compared to his earlier behavior. 

“SHIHIT!” Peter wailed and panted when he got a break. Tony’s fingers stilled on his highest ribs, Peter’s arms clamping protectively to his sides. 

“How’re you holding up?” Tony asked with a wicked grin, his face popping over the edge of the bed to look at Peter. 

“J-Juhust don’t go any hihigher...” Peter panted, his head hanging back to savor this moment’s rest. 

Tony rose a curious brow, “Does the spider have a weak spot under his arms?”

Peter blushed and tried worming away again, “Noho he doesn’t!” the teasing wasn’t helping his predicament at all.

Tony smirked and he slid his hands up under Peter’s protective arms and wiggled his fingers briefly just to test it. Peter shrieked just from those two seconds of tickling, and Tony could feel his arms press harder into his sides. 

The billionaire playboy resumed his tickle attack, able to scritch every bit of skin in Peter’s armpits just fine. Peter threw his head back and dislodged himself from Tony’s hold just a little more so now he was hanging upside down from the bed. 

“TOHONYYY! STAHAAA!” Peter was done for now. He couldn’t finish words and all that overtook him was his own laughter. 

“Isn’t this like the part of you always vulnerable? What with you swinging on webs and climbing buildings? Geez, some warning would’ve been nice before we named you Spider-Man. Better planning should go into future heroes if they’re all as ticklish as you.”

Peter’s face got even redder and he shook his head back and forth, unable to escape Tony’s torturous digits. They wouldn’t stop wiggling and digging into his hollows. It was hell. 

Eventually, Peter’s squirming got to be so adamant that he fell off the bed and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Tony chortled and looked down at Peter. 

“You good, Pete?”

Peter was still giggling, and he looked right up at Tony, “Behetter.”

Tony’s heart warmed and he got off the bed, helping Peter to his feet. He couldn’t help but ruffle the kid’s hair affectionately. Tony decided to call off the suit repairs and training for the rest of the day. He even offered to help Peter with his schoolwork, but the brainiac declined, as Tony expected. 

Before Peter left with Happy, he ran towards Tony and squeezed him in a tight hug. 

“See you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smiled and he patted Peter’s back, “Go show that chemistry teacher who’s boss.”

Peter laughed and nodded before jogging off to meet up with Happy at the car. He spun around and waved to Tony one last time before leaving. 

Tony stood there and watched the car drive off. Now that was the Spider-Man he’d come to know and love. 

[overplannedbutunnamednpc]

This week’s ask meme Monday theme is “I make my friends do math” SO start at the top and answer prime numbers until you 1) run out of characters 2) run out of prime numbers or 3) lose interest. STEM boy

:(

but i’m still doing it. randomly rolling starting with pcs, then npcs, then stopping

1. What’s one experience your character had that made them very afraid? Isaac: so i don’t know how much i’ve said on here about what isaac’s experience in hell actually Was Like. and i think I’ve used the word “puppet” before, and I think that was what it was like. she doesn’t remember a whole lot about it, because for the most part, she just wasn’t there. if she really tried, i think she could remember specific things, but she doesn’t Like To. it’s remembering when you had no choice or control, when your body wasn’t your own and you had to smile and laugh for things with too many hands and tails and teeth. a devil full ass remade her as a tiefling, grew her horns slowly but surely through the skin of her cheeks, up and through and out her eye sockets. like. shits fucked. now that she has her brain back, shes Very afraid of the thing that did that to her.

2. What is your character’s happiest memory? Nyxi: her patron probably had a kid while she was working with her and oh my god...... thinking about her and that tiny small little baby while her patron recovered....... knowing that no she wasn’t the one to give birth to them but they’re going to be, like their siblings have been, just a much a child of hers as theyve all been. she loved all her kids, of course, but there was something special about holding that baby in the first few hours of their life, watching them grow up and helping them with that growth. she’d probably rank those first few hours among the happiest of her life, for sure.

3. What’s one skill your character really wishes they had? Sarril: hmmmm. the ability to heal, maybe? I think that’s the kind of skill he would like. there’s just something nice about like. even if you get too angry and go too far there’s still a way for you to make it right, you know?

skipping 5 bc I don’t care for it overmuch

7. Have they ever encountered someone they really wanted to kill? Zephyr: no. like does she dislike a lot of people? sure! but she’s been mostly a stay-in-the-ivory-tower kind of person, and as such hasn’t really made any enemies. rivals, sure, yeah, and I doubt she made many friends before she entered into the academy. but she doesn’t want to kill anyone. (yet.)

11. What was something they struggled with greatly and how did they overcome it? Legacy: hmmmmm. I think legacy struggled a lot with like.... Mattering, if that makes sense? I think she got her Powers rather early in life because her grandmother looked at her immediately post her spouse dying and went “yeah she’s old enough” and came by like “yo adore whats up. want some cool Spells (eventually) and also to be my grandchild” and legacy, then adore, then 9 years old, said “boy WOULD I!!!!!” and then she spent the next eight or nine years really struggling with what to do with them? she’s got spells at this point and all she’s done is work in a print shop. at some point she turned to petty crime because she was good at lying her ass off, and then eventually she got a sword and went to Adventure because she straight up didn’t know what else she wanted to do. it’s only now that she’s kind of figuring out that like. yeah she does kinda like adventuring? even more when there’s people around her.

13. Does your character have anyone that they really care about, to the point that they would give their life for them? If so, who are they and what is your character’s relation to them? If not, do they wish they did? Is there anyone they wish they could build such a relationship with? Zier: so like......... yes and no? zier sucks. zier sucks big time. and I think the closest thing he has at least at the points i’ve played him, are MAYBE one of his little siblings. like yes he’s meant to be making them paranoid and selfish. but also maybe he has a little sister who’s just always been a bit too soft for his family. and maybe he remembers that he’s the only boy in his family because his oldest sister killed the other one. so maybe he’s a little protective but very good at pretending like he isn’t. maybe his littlest sister knows better than to trust him even if she’s soft, so he’ll never have much more of a relationship with her than that. and maybe he wishes that it was different. and maybe he knows better.

17. How was their childhood? Did their parents treat them fairly? Did they have any really good friends? Kenny: kenny had a very nice set of parents and I think I said in game that he had a little brother but I also think he might’ve been an only child? idk. but this ask doesn’t ask that!!! his parents were very fair. maybe a little lax but only because kenny was a pretty Good Kid. and I do think he kind of sees them through rose colored glasses now that theyre gone but they were pretty good. his tragic backstory focuses on Losing them. in addition, I think he did have some really good friends! he’s a charming boy and pretty friendly, and it was a decently small village. I think he found some other folk his own age and they played together when they were young and that translated into proper friendship as they got older.

19. Have they ever lost a loved one? What happened to them, and are they the same as they were before they lost them? Ecstasy: okay so. I made it semi canon that when she got the reapers hand, it may or may not have made her shoot her best friend point blank to devour her soul when it got hungry. I am canonizing this. this did happen, and it was the reason ecstasy started taking rogue levels instead of fighter levels. she like. got back to using guns? but she handed over her hugely cursed but also HUGELY powerful gun to her fuckbuddy’s friend without much of a fight, I’ll tell you that much.

23. Does your character know any languages apart from their native language? What one would they like to learn? Glade: lemme look at his character sheet. okay he only knows common and orcish. he uses common a lot more than he uses orcish, but orcish was his first language and now that he has red he uses it a lot more, trying to have her pick it up as a language too. and this is a predictable answer but still true: if he had much time to learn a language, he’d learn infernal. he knows a few words because he’s married to a tiefling, but he doesn’t have the bloodline-given understanding of the language like they do and he would Like To Know What His Wife And Two Year Old Are Giggling About, Please.

29. If they could change just one thing about themselves, what would it be? Endurance: so. like. I don’t know if endurance would change anything about herself??? actually no she would. she would love it if she were more decisive. like, relentless decided to fall and decided to claw her way back to amaunator’s side, and endurance like. isn’t like that at all. I think a lot of her regrets are still tied up in “should I have turned lent into the crownsguard” and because of the violence that happened, she shouldn’t have. but like. she REALLY hates how unsure she is about the circumstances surrounding it, you know? she didn’t heal her, she didn’t really try and stop it until it was too late, and she hasn’t accepted that she was passive in those circumstances. at least if she were more decisive, she thinks she would have already made peace with the things she did pre and post lent’s fall.

31. How patient is your character with others? Do they find it easy to handle people that try and bug them, or hard? Iris: very patient. she’s a princess and also deals with motherfuckers unlimited Literally Constantly. she’s SO patient. however. she also takes no shit. if someone is trying to bug her, then she will not attempt to deal with it. her ability to have Diplomacy means that she can rather easily and relatively politely just go “you are not having this conversation with me in a respectful manner. if you can stop deliberately prodding me for a reaction, we can continue with what we are discussing. if you cannot or refuse to respect me and my time here with you, then I am stopping the conversation here. which option would you like?”

skipping 37 as well

41. Where do they live? What is that place like, do they enjoy living there? Kiya: kiya likes highgrasp! she probably likes it more than any other place she’s lived. it’s a nice city, it’s a clean city, she likes the ocean, and she likes the job she got there. not much to complain about!

43. What are they like when they’re drunk? Don’t be a prude and tell me they’ve never been smashed before. Coriander: zephyr and coriander are the Same when drunk. Loud and Intelligent. coriander also may be a Horny drunk but that may be because she just likes talking about her spouse and thinks (rightly so) that they are Sexy. she will get on her construct to be eight feet taller than most opponents and she will Debate them about magical theory whether they want to be a part of the conversation or not. Fucka You.

[losille2000]

The Ugly Duckling, Part I

TITLE: The Ugly Duckling CHAPTER NUMBER: 1/3 AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom GENRE: Romance/PWP FIC SUMMARY: Sometimes an ugly duckling believes she’ll always be an ugly duckling until someone comes along and shows her otherwise. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS: Um, nothing yet. AUTHORS NOTES: I… don’t know where this came from. But it came from somewhere and it’ll be at least two parts, maybe three. Let’s just say three. Short and sweet. But let’s be honest, I have whole world planned for this, so who knows if there will be more afterward. For the location mentioned in this story, you can watch any one of these videos to get an idea of the peril Astrid faces. The last one is the best, because it has nice, peaceful music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6wTgncf_rA

https://youtu.be/iZoacDf5p-U

https://youtu.be/xk6firqVC-U

https://youtu.be/S8GX486ym9Q

Part I - The Duckling

 Of all the harebrained ideas Astrid had ever had, hanging onto a cliff by her fingernails two hundred feet over a Hawaiian beach probably classified as the worst. Not that she planned it this way. In fact, the travel brochure she picked up at the tiny eight-gate Kauai airport said this path down to the secluded beach below it was easy enough for even the mildly physically inclined. She didn’t run marathons or anything, but chasing rambunctious kindergartners qualified her as mildly physically inclined. She certainly didn’t spend her time sitting at a desk job or riding a couch in front of the television. Right?

Wrong.

 Now she wished she had a gym membership and some modicum of upper body strength, just to hold herself up by the flimsiest piece of twine masquerading as a hand rail stretched between two shoots of thick bamboo. While her legs kicked wildly on the soft ground, searching for purchase.

 Maybe there was a reason why they called this Hideaways Beach, why they said only a few people ventured to it daily. She’d been lured in with the promise of relative privacy and solitude. She’d been blindsided by everything else.

 What the brochure neglected to mention was the on-and-off Hawaiian rain. And the fact that, after a rain, as it had done most of the night before, the trail became treacherously slippery. And apparently, in Hawaii, volcanic dirt happened to be five million percent slipperier than normal people dirt like she was used to back home in Las Vegas. This, also, wasn’t considering that most of the pre-laid handrails had either rusted away in the salty sea air or had never been placed to begin with on the steep incline. Like some construction crew realized trying to make the path safe wasn’t even worth their time or effort. They knew the haole would be stupid enough to try it out anyway.

 Like her.

 Because she was so haole, it hurt. Not to mention stupid.

 She realized now, with some startling clarity, that she was probably going to plummet to her death, completely alone. Unloved. Young, basic, and likely easily forgotten. At least the view before she met her fate was gorgeous enough. Anyone would be lucky to die staring out at the crystalline waters of Kauai’s north shore.

 But she’d already come too far to give up and, looking back up the steep, uneven stairs leading to the top of the trailhead, she couldn’t summon the energy to try to climb them. Falling, or at least going downhill, seemed like the best option. There was no turning back, even though she still hadn’t figured out how to maneuver her shoe-covered feet into the soft red mud beneath her. Maybe sliding down the muddy incline would be better?

 She groaned as she released her sloth-like hold on the nylon rope, setting her butt on the muddy path. The red goo smooshed into the thin bathing suit cover-up she wore, and it honestly felt like she’d had an accident. But her burning arms finally had a rest. And at least like this, she wasn’t liable to take any cartwheels down the cliff. Maybe she’d just sit there and waste away, or maybe turn into Te Fiti from Moana. Her students loved that movie. She’d promised to bring back photos from her adventures to share with them. They’d be so disappointed that they didn’t get to see where Moana and Lilo and Stitch were from.

 “Um, excuse me,” said a deep, tentative voice above her.

 Astrid startled, but she didn’t jump far, the mud creating a strong suction with her bottom. To add insult to injury, the suction made a disgusting wet fart sound as she settled back into her spot. Now she could die from mortification instead of blunt force trauma. Just great!

 A tall man, thin but muscular, peered down at her through dark Ray Bans. He wore a holey threadbare t-shirt in blue with crinkled board shorts underneath, those a plain black. A brightly colored beach towel decorated in hibiscus was slung over a broad shoulder. The dirty boat shoes on his feet seemed to be doing perfectly well holding him upright on the slippery path, enabling him to peer down his straight patrician nose at her. His face pinched and he looked up toward the sun beating down through the trees while he readjusted his baseball cap.

 “I’m sorry to bother,” he said again. Goodness, his voice was rich, like honey. His English accent made him purr. Maybe he was doing it on purpose, trying to calm the crazy not-really-farting lady sitting on her ass on a hiking trail. “But are you okay?”

 Astrid squinted and looked up at him. He looked like a giant from her position, impossibly tall, like one of the trees surrounding them. “Do I look like I’m okay?” She felt the wetness on her cheek and reached up, wiping away a few anguished tears that seemed to have erupted without her knowledge. She didn’t know if she was crying because she had failed herself, or because she was relieved someone found her.

 “May I help you?” he asked, extending a hand. It was a nice hand, big palm, with thin, elegant fingers. His forearm was nice, too. He probably worked out, hence why he was still standing.

 She was definitely hitting the gym when she got home. If she got home.

 Astrid reached for him, closing her fingers around his forearm, as he did the same to her, for more leverage. With a little hoist, and some more effort, she was finally standing on two shaky legs again. Except now that she had him for support, she didn’t want to let go.

 He was more solid than any of the railings around her. She liked it; he peered down at her with amusement on his lips. Maybe she needed to let go of his arm, but she was too terrified to do so.

 “Are you going down or coming up?” he asked.

 “I have absolutely no idea,” she said with a high-pitched chuckle that came out as exasperation. “I’m technically still going down, but I think maybe I should go back. But then I’m looking back up there, and I don’t think I have it in me right now.”

 His bright laugh made her insides bubble. “How about we tumble down the trail together?”

 “You sure you want to do that?” she asked. “I’m a bit of a walking disaster.”

 He looked down the trail, and back up, then straight at her. At least she imagined he was looking at her. The sunglasses were too dark to see through. “I’m game if you are.”

 “You’re probably going to regret it.”

 “Let me be the judge of that.”

 Astrid couldn’t contain the silly giggle that bubbled up her throat. At least there was some gallantry left in the world. Most men wouldn’t even look at her twice, much less stop to help her… and then offer to escort her down the cliff face with the threat of meeting their own demise. She just wasn’t worth it.

 They moved slowly and quietly, and once they were past the initial incline, it became easier to walk without taking small, measured steps to preserve balance. The incline turned shallow, and the terrain changed from dirt to rocks and leaves. These seemed to be mostly dry, covered as they were with such a dense tree canopy above the trail.

 Finally, they made it to the beach. True to the travel brochure’s word, it was completely empty. Oh, and it was gorgeous. Aided by the difficult path down, she figured not many people had spent time in this pretty little cove, making the water bluer, the sand cleaner, and the reef more vibrant through the clear aquamarine waters. It was a perfect place to spend a day, even after almost hurtling to a sure death.

 She sighed and glanced at the man beside her, who seemed to have frozen in his own awe of the location.  Astrid smiled, looking at his profile. High cheekbones, strong jaw covered in a healthy growth of stubble. Short auburn curls poked out from beneath his hat. He looked youngish, yet older than her. She wanted to see his eyes, to gauge his attractiveness further. Not that it mattered. Because it didn’t. He was just being nice, helping her.

 “So, uh, thank you,” she finally said, making him turn to look at her.

 He grinned. “No problem.”

 What did she say? Should she invite him to sit with her? It was weird being the only two people down here, now strangely bonded through a near-death experience. Well, her near-death experience. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, then drew in a breath. “Yeah, have a good day.”

 And that’s how she left it, giving him a stupid semi-wave of her hand as she scurried through the grainy yellow sand to her right. Away from him, and away from the awkwardness. She hated awkward, but Awkward was her middle name. Always had been, though her mom had refused to let her use it as her Confirmation name when she was taking catechism classes as a child. She went with Joan, as in ‘of Arc’, instead. Thought it’d give her the push to be courageous for once in her life.

 Astrid knew exactly where courageous got her. She’d barely survived the hike down the cliff.

 Astrid took the rucksack from her back and pulled out her own beach towel, laying it carefully on an untouched patch of sand, half under a shade tree, but still with a good splash of sun. Then she tossed off her own sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat before heading to the water.  She waded into the surf, letting the cool ocean tickle her toes. Preferably, she’d have come later in the year for warmer temperatures, but March’s spring break meant she still might be able to see the whales that came in the spring for their calving.

 She carefully inched further into the water, peeling off her cover-up and jumping into a reef-less area of deeper water to wash off the slimy red mud clinging to her body. Fortunately, most of it disappeared in a cloud of rusty water, but her clothing didn’t fare as well. At least she was still alive to tell the tale.

 After bobbing in the slow undulating waves for a few minutes, she trudged back for the shoreline and her blanket, wringing her wet hair as she emerged. Even though it was wet, she could pick out the light golden streaks running through the usually mousy brown, actually making it look something other than drab for a change. If only she could keep it and her nice tan going for the rest of the spring and summer, she’d be happy.

 The tiny hairs on her neck rose, and a frisson of electricity sizzled up her back.  A sure sign someone was watching her, or at least had looked at her. She glanced to her left to make sure no one else was there—she’d been duped before thinking someone was looking at her, but they were really looking past her—and then glanced at the only other person on the beach.

 He stood still at the surf’s edge, his feet buried in the sand, small frothy waves lapping at his ankles. But his eyes were on her, not on what he was doing. Still with the glasses and hat, she couldn’t really make out any intent in his gaze, other than a friendly smile and a nod of his head.

 The thought that he might be checking her out made her laugh again. No one checked her out. Well, maybe not ‘no one,’ but the someones who did were typically only in bars and clubs when she was the only one left out of a group of girls or the men were too drunk to care who they went home with.

 It wasn’t false modesty, either, that had made her laugh… and blush… at the stranger’s attention. She’d always known she wasn’t pretty. Not like her older sister, the beauty queen. Or her cousins, all striking in their own way. Her mother had called her the ugly duckling—she of the unremarkable plumage, plain face, and squat rounded figure. A terrible thing for a mother to say, but that was Mom. Love her or hate her.

 Astrid had waited to turn into a swan for years, like the story she always read to her kindergarten classes, but it still hadn’t happened. And why would it? This wasn’t a fairy tale and that man wasn’t looking at her appreciatively. He was probably just being nice, his eyes finding the only other moving thing on the secluded beach, before moving on.

 She settled down onto her towel, deciding to lay first on her stomach and read a bit from the Kindle she’d brought, since it seemed to have survived her slip earlier. She didn’t get very far before a voice called out to her.

 “Is the book good?” called the Englishman, now closer to her, but still at the surf’s edge. He was looking back in her direction, then bending down to inspect a shell on the sand.

 Astrid frowned. “Excuse me?”

 He motioned to the Kindle sitting on the blanket in front of her. “You came to one of the most beautiful places in the world and you’re reading instead of watching. I sure hope the book is worth it.”

 “You don’t like to read?”

 He barked out a laugh and looked back at the sun. “I love to read, but I find there’s so much to explore in unfamiliar places like this. Unless you live here and this isn’t new to you.”

 Ah, so he was playing the information mining game. “If I lived here, do you think I’d be stupid enough to attempt that hike on my own?”

 “No, I suppose not,” he said. “Then where’s home?”

 “Las Vegas.”

 “I’ve been,” he replied. “Fun city.”

 Sure, if you liked always smelling of stale cigarette smoke, losing money, and ignoring the seedy underbelly of a city built on mobs, human trafficking, and obscene wealth that never trickled past the Strip. Astrid rolled her eyes and dipped her head to read again.

 He didn’t take the clue. “Where are you staying?”

 She groaned and shut her Kindle cover. “At the condos right next to the trailhead.”

 “I’m at the St. Regis down the way,” he offered. “This the first time you tried to come down here?”

 “First time I’ve had the courage to attempt it,” she shot back.

 The man nodded, running his fingers thoughtfully across his mouth. “It’s my third time. I slipped the first time, as well.”

 Astrid rolled her eyes. “You did not.”

 “I did! Arse over kettle,” he said.

 She scoffed. “You’re a lying liar who lies.”

 “Why would it be so difficult to think I fell? That trail should probably be closed due to safety concerns,” he replied, stepping closer to her, dry sand sticking to his bare feet as he walked. Eventually, he stopped in front of her with his hands on his hips, looking down his nose again.

 From her vantage, all she could really see was crotch, so she quickly pulled herself up into a sitting position. She rested back on her hands, with her legs outstretched. “I had my hands on you, I know how strong you are.”

 “Muscles don’t mean strength,” he said.

 Astrid groaned and rolled her eyes again. This man was both incredibly annoying and alluring all at once and she wanted to keep talking with him… until she didn’t. Finally, he seemed to get her reticence and turned on his heels, walking back toward the water, stripping off his glasses, hat and shirt as he went. They landed on the sand in a heap.

 He dove into the blue depths, but the moment before he did it was long enough for Astrid to verify that the man was walking muscle. How long did he have to work out every day just to maintain it? Or was he naturally that lean? It was ridiculous and a little unfair, really.

 When he popped up out of the water, he was facing her direction, the first time she’d been given an opportunity to really see him. And heavens, was he gorgeous. Not just the sculpted-from-marble body, but his face. Maybe not male model pretty, but that’s what made him so attractive to her. He was a man, interesting and maybe a little on the rugged side, not some baby-faced model perfection. The water dripping around him and off of him, however, made it seem like he’d been ripped straight from the romance novel she’d been attempting to read a few minutes ago.

 Maybe he was. Maybe this was all some delusion she’d created as she lay dying on the bottom of the cliff, after actually falling the two hundred feet. She pinched her arm.

 No, not a delusion. He was real, and he was headed for her. Again.

 “So,” he said, dripping onto her towel as he pulled the hat back down on his head and replaced the sunglasses. For what she had been able to see of his sea-green eyes, she found them to be intense and gorgeous. But she knew she’d have to stare into them for a while to know for sure.

 “Yes?” she asked, lifting a brow at him.

 “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”

 She tried not to sound incredulous. But there was no helping it. No one that looked like him had ever asked her out to dinner like this. “Excuse me?”

 He chuckled at her. “Dinner, at the St. Regis. Say seven?”

 Astrid frowned. “I’m sorry, but—”

 “It’s the only polite thing to do after I saved you,” he said.

 “Shouldn’t I be the one inviting you out, then?” she asked.

 He shrugged his shoulder. “Nah. My treat. I’d simply like the pleasure of your company.”

 “What about the people I came with?”

 “The more the merrier,” he said, but he hedged anyway. He wanted her alone, clearly. Which was strange. Everything about this day had been strange. “How many shall I make the reservation for?”

 But he knew. She didn’t know how he knew she was all alone, but he did. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, as they were once again hidden behind his sunglasses, she felt them on her, assessing her, reading her. He had her number. She only wished she had his.

 “Just the two of us,” she finally replied. “I don’t even know your name.”

 That seemed to change him, to make him do a double take. Almost as though he were surprised by the question. He cleared his throat and said, “Henry Longfellow.”

 “That’s a stupid name,” she said. “And fake.”

 “How do you know?”

 Astrid licked her lips. “Add a Wadsworth in there and you’ve got yourself one of the greatest American poets to ever poet.”

 His shoulders slumped and he harrumphed. “I’m impressed you know that. What’s your name, then?”

 She sighed. She damn well wasn’t going to give him her real name if he wasn’t going to give his. “How ‘bout Jane Austen?”

 “Ha!” He laughed. “No Jane, can’t do Jane. You strike me as more of a Brontë--a little darker and more Gothic around the edges than old Jane.”

 “Charlotte, then,” she said.

 “Not Emily?”

 Astrid shrugged. “I’m more of a Rochester girl than a Heathcliff.”

 He stared at her for good long moment, as though memorizing what she looked like. “Alright, dinner at seven, then, Charlotte.”

 “Do you do this often?” she called to him as he turned and started for his towel.

 “Do what?” he asked.

 “Make edicts and expect people to follow them?”

 He grinned. “Most people do what I say.”

 Astrid couldn’t believe his cockiness. But there was also an infectious friendliness in him that made it difficult to say no to anything. “If I don’t make it tonight, it’s because I’m stuck down here, or dead at the bottom of the cliff from trying to climb back up.”

 He laughed. “I have faith in you, Charlotte.”

 “Thanks,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

 “Seven! Don’t forget! Or I’ll come bang on every one of the doors of the flats you’re staying at,” he yelled, slipping onto the path and out of sight.

 Astrid groaned and fell back on her towel, staring up at the impossibly blue sky.

 When had her life turned into this, anyway? Damn it, though, if she wasn’t just a little excited. She let out a little squeal and reached for her Kindle, happy to finally have the peace she craved, as well as a weird new happiness bubbling up inside her.