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earnestly-endlessly · 4 years ago

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Hi! I'm wondering if you can make a list of fics where Erik's jewish heritage isn't ignored? I just came across the fact that a lot of authors don't explore this part of him for some reason and i found it kinda upsetting so i'm wondering if you have any recs! I liked "As They Kiss, Consume" and "Who Shall be King Hereafter" by sherwoodfox, in case anyone who's reading this ask is interested in the same topic.

Hi Anon. I'm sorry for taking so long with this list but your request sent me on a wide search for fics that fit with your request. I tried to find a variety of fics where Erik's Jewish heritage is addressed. Some of them aren't necessarily cherik, but most of them are. I hope you enjoy this list.

Mistletoe, Latkes, and Long-Term Revenge Strategies – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles knows that Erik hates working at a department store in the best of times. Being Jewish in a department store during the holiday season is far from the best of times. He does what he can to help.

A Nice Boy (the Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

A Road Trip to Pennsylvania – Aainiouu

Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

Speech Making – phalangine

Summary: Modern Emma AU- Charles Xavier, accomplished matchmaker and headmaster of North America’s preeminent school for mutants, intends to add another notch to his belt: setting up his friend Moira. His oldest friend, Erik, has doubts about this plan.

Charles doesn’t share them.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

Bashert – AvengingAngel

Summary: Erik and Charles meet and fall in love. I wanted to write a story where Erik had a huge family. Pretty fluffy (for me anyways). I suck at summaries.

Note: The summary doesn’t reveal much but if you’re looking for a fic where Erik is jewish and has a large family with a heavy dose of cherik fluff and angst then this one is for you.

Math Reasons – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Ser

It’s kind of our whole things – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: After two years of best friendship, Charles and Erik thought they knew everything there was to know about each other. They're surprised, then, when their first summer as a couple reveals that they have a lot to learn about each other and themselves.

Sequel to Math Reasons

A Winter in New York – nextraordinaire

Summary: Charles and Erik have been childhood friends for as long as they can remember – Erik, living with his mother in Queens, and Charles in the big mansion in Westchester. For all, expect themselves, it was just natural progression that they'd end up together.

A series of ficlets from the same universe – can be read as separate and are out of chronological order.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside – heyjupiter

Summary: "It's just, this is my first Chanukah away from my parents. And it's--it's like 90 degrees out."

Erik Lehnsherr and Kitty Pryde celebrate a Genoshan Chanukah. It's a little different from the way it used to be in New York, but some unexpected visitors help them embrace the spirit of the holiday season.

Hold Back the Rain (front!strict mashup) – euphorbic

Summary: Charles Xavier: society darling, powerful political activist, well-known professor, and Dominant.

Erik Lehnsherr: anti-social, international motorcycle racer, and defiant submissive.

Erik is at Sepang in Malaysia for the fourteenth leg of the International World Championship. After doing poorly in qualifying, he's furious to find he has to take another VIP around the track instead of meeting Charles at the KL airport.

The Swan – waitfornight

Summary: In 1939 Erik and his sister Ruth are sent to Devonshire, England, during the Kindertransport refugee program to live with Kurt and Sharon Marko as foster children just before the start of World War II. Angry and wishing he could return home on the night of his seventeenth birthday, Erik meets a boy alone in the forest who is cursed to transform each day into a swan, only taking his true form by night.

Swan Lake AU.

The boy with the heart on his sleeve – euphorbic

Summary: Charles loses a high-stakes bet to Raven and is required to get a tattoo. However, when he makes a disparaging remark about the art form, Raven's acerbic mentor, Erik, steps in.

Or, the one where Erik and Raven are tattoo artists.

The Wurst Case Scenario – sareyen

Summary:If anyone asked why Charles, come rain, wind or shine, made the significant trek during his dismal lunch hour to dine at "Edie's Kosher Delicatessen", he would stubbornly say that it was because their pastrami on rye and potato knishes were absolutely to die for. He wasn't completely lying, because the deli's namesake, Edie Lehnsherr, made the best matzah ball soup Charles has ever had in his life. Still, Charles would rather shave his full head of hair off than admit that the real reason he would willingly walk through hail and fire to get to the corner deli was because of Erik, the insanely attractive man working the counter.

Sure, Erik has barely spoken two words to Charles other than "Hello, what can I get you?" or, after the third day in a row that Charles came to the deli, "Welcome back, what can I get you?", but Charles was more than happy to just ogle at the man from afar while devouring the juicy wurst Erik had put together with his (large and very capable) hands.

But, little does Charles know, Erik doesn't usually work the front counter. He only does it when he knows the cute blue-eyed man will be dining in.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction – melonbutterfly

Summary: Since that day on the beach, Charles and Erik have learned to agree to disagree for the sake of living and working together. Then, for Christmas, and Charles gives Erik Hanukkah back a second time, and their relationship shifts a little further.

Terrible Hanukkah Sweaters and Other Life Challenges – professor

Summary: “Why am I here again?” Erik groans.

“I need you to lift things and glower at people over my shoulder when I tell people that it’s not ‘politically correct’ or a ‘war on Christmas’ to have a non-denominational winter holiday festival,” says Theresa Pryde.

Well, at least those are two things he’s good at.

Shrapnel – librata

Summary: It's late 1940, and tensions between the Axis and the Allies are tightening. Displaced and alone, 16-year-old German Jew Erik Lehnsherr finds himself employed as a servant by some snobby, terrible family in England whose house is far too big and whose money never seems to end. The worst part is, he isn't just mucking stables or cleaning plates–-he's tasked with tending to the whiny, disabled son named Charles, who might just drive Erik into absolute madness.

Or, the World War II fic in which Erik and Charles experience a changing world and a lot of teen angst.

Defying Expectations – Baamon5evr

Summary: Charles and Erik meet each other’s family. Neither of them gets what they expect.

table for three – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik should have known to call ahead to the Chinese restaurant--it's Christmas Eve and he lives in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood, after all. But before he can go home to mourn the loss of another one of his mother's yearly traditions, he's accosted by a teenage girl with a strange proposition--that he should stay and have dinner with her and her mother, instead.

different from all other nights – metonymy

Summary: "This year we are slaves; next year we will be free." Kitty and Erik host a seder for Passover at the Xavier School.

Libertad – ariadnes_string

Summary: Erik knew the look, had seen it his whole life, even before the war. ”You, with your height and blue eyes and straight nose, you can pass. You can be free of us. You are not marked with your difference.” If you only knew, he’d thought then. He thought the same thing now. And it was that thought, as much as anything, that made him move towards the gate.

Wash Away – sebastian2017

Summary: One quiet, lonely morning, before Yom Kippur, Erik makes his way to the sea in search of forgiveness.

After? There is No ‘After’ – Unrepentant_Marvelist

Summary: Erik knows what he is for. He has known his responsibilities as a survivor since the moment he woke under a scratchy, lice-infested blanket in the Red Army hospital. His world is painted in lucid blacks and whites (so often splashed in red) and there is no room for uncertainty or indecision... until a certain sunburned Englishman throws himself into his world.

The Children of an Idle Brain – Margo_Kim

Summary: Sometimes, when he’s lucky, Schmidt can’t hurt him. It’s like there’s a room inside of Erik’s head that’s he’s usually locked out of, that won’t open no matter if he beats himself bloody against it. On those days, he endures. But sometimes—and Erik doesn’t know why, whether it’s that the stars align or some higher power takes pity or Erik screams loud enough to earn his reward—the door opens. Erik can duck inside and slam it behind him and watches himself through the windows as Schmidt slowly, methodically tortures him to strength.

These days, this past week, there’s a boy in the room with him and he tells Erik, “That’s horrible,” like that means something.

Somehow, across the world, Erik's and Charles' minds touch when they need each other most. They can't be sure that the other boy is real. They suspect that he is not. But that doesn't mean they aren't each other's lifeline until they lose each other and then for a while longer.

Tehillim – kvikindi

Summary: Erik, in Israel, afterwards: another life he could have had. If.

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) – childishinquiry

Summary: Erik has worn long sleeves his whole life, even before they had to wear yellow stars. Marching along his arm, in neat, black, English letters, are the words "My name's Charles Xavier."

Precious Few Years – sherwoodfox

Summary: Erik and Charles (known only to each other by the letters inscribed on their wrists) are meant to be together, soulmates, destined for the most powerful kind of love and connection a human being can experience.

But they are separated in almost every possible way- by distance, by circumstance, by language, by war. Their chances of success- of finding one another in the labyrinth of the world- are very slim. There is a reason why most people never find their soulmates.

But of course, Charles and Erik aren't ordinary children-

They have their gifts.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #Erik is Jewish #holocaust #asks #earnestly answers

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champagne-bucky · 4 years ago

Text

Rebel,Rebel

Summary: Peter doesn’t like a disobedient girl.

Warnings: Dark! Peter Parker (18+) x female reader, non-con/dub-con, knife play, face fucking, begging, humiliation kink, squirting, smut, fondling, hand job, anal play

Notes: Hehe, sooo this challenge is very very late and I’m very very sorry. I’d like to apologize to @mariessecretfantasies for being soooo late. Anyways I hope you enjoy this one!!

“WHAT YOU DID WAS INCREDIBLY STUPID. I CANNOT PUT INTO WORDS HOW CARELESS AND CHILDISH YOUR ACTIONS WERE! I SHOULD HAVE YOU SUSPENDED, NO-“

You tried your hardest to stop the growing smirk on your face as Fury yelled at you. You may or may not have almost killed yourself and others while executing a life or death mission. The key work here was almost.

Being a new recruit was no walk in the park. Other agents were constantly belittling your actions and questioning your position with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers, you showed them though. With every mission and every time you trained, you made sure to go above and beyond and prove every single one of those people wrong. As a result, a lot of agents became jealous and would do anything they could to ruin your credibility. Which brings you to Fury still yelling in your face.

It’s not like you were completely reckless, you made sure to carefully calculate everything you did so that you wouldn’t risk putting anyone in actual danger. Yes, that mission was technically very poorly executed, but it’s not your fault. Truthfully, the original plan would have cost people their lives if it wasn’t thanks to your quick thinking that saved everyone.

The only reason you were being yelled at instead of praised was because your incompetent teammates didn’t want to question the mission captain and think of a new plan. You were a hero, but those stubborn asses would never admit it.

“You really have me backed into a corner here, Agent,” Fury sighed as he rubbed his face.

“My desk is filled with complaints about your negligence to the team. Even your mission captain wants you suspended indefinitely,” you huffed.

“The only reason everyone complains about me is because they can’t be me. Everything they do, I do it ten times better than they could ever dream of. Even the lousy mission captain couldn’t think of a more brilliant plan than mine. You all should be thanking me really,” Fury raised his brows.

“Thanking you?”

“Yes, you should be thanking me because I’m the only competent one here willing to risk it all to save innocent people. Sorry you only hired people that were too afraid to get their hands dirty, what a sad sad team we have here,” Fury looked as if he wanted to chew your head off more, but for the sake of his already high blood pressure and an impending migraine, he decided against it.

“You know what I’m willing to do for you, Agent,” it didn’t take Fury long to come up with a plan.

“What, Nicholas,” you loved poking at his nerves. The vain in his forehead looked as if it were about to burst.

“I’m going to assign you to our Avengers program,” you gasped internally. The Avenger program? Does that mean-

“Don’t get it twisted. This program does not mean you’ll become an Avenger. This is a shadow program. You’ll be able to go on mission with your Avenger, go to their meetings, press conferences, you get the point,” you scoffed.

“And you’re doing all this for what?” Fury rolled his eyes.

“You may be able to get away with a lot of shit as an agent, but the Avengers are on a whole other level. One slip up and you're done. This program is gonna teach you just how we do things here at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury leaned over the desk to be eye level with you.

You thought about giving him more attitude, but you didn’t want to push your luck. Even though Fury wasn’t saying it, he was pretty much saying that this program could mean a spot on the Avengers, right? Finally, you were all that hard work was giving you the recognition you deserve.

“Alright, Fury, I’ll join your little program. So, who do I get. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Agent Romanoff, someone who matches my intelligence and skill set?” You leaned back in your chair with a smug smirk. Fury matched yours.

“I believe a shadow program is well below their pay grade. I was thinking of assigning you to someone who was a little like yourself. I think Peter Parker would be the perfect match for you,” your eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Peter Parker? Him? Oh, Nick, you gotta be kidding me? He doesn’t even go on real missions! He just helps old ladies cross the street, scares punk teens from shoplifting, he’s not even a real Avenger!”

“Mr. Parker is way more qualified than being a neighborhood watchmen, Agent. He’s on the team because he is one of the best. You can learn a thing or two from him. He, very much like yourself, was a big rule breaker too, still is if you ask me. The only reason we haven’t kicked him off yet is because Tony Stark has a soft spot for the kid.”

You tried to argue your way out of being with Peter, but Fury insisted or you would be met with suspension. You grumbled and trudged your way out of his office. Fury mentioned before you left that Peter would be in contact with you shortly. You slammed the door before he got his last words out.

“And don’t forget, follow the rules or be faced with the consequences,” you mocked his words under your breath as you stormed back to the agent’s wing of the compound.

Peter couldn’t believe the phone call he had just gotten from Fury. More importantly he couldn’t believe who was going to be shadowing him. After all this time being in the Avengers program, no one ever wanted to pick him, but you, his crush, well his heart was just bursting at its seams.

“What’s gotten you all smiley, Spidey,” Sam took a seat next to him on the couch.

“N-Nothing, I just got off the phone with Director Fury, he says someone requested me for the shadow program,” Sam laughed.

“And that’s what’s making you get all blushing and giddy? Gee, you not getting enough attention at home?” Peter rolled his eyes at Sam.

“No, it’s, it’s just this girl that I’ve liked for some time. Apparently she wanted me to be her guide.”

“Who is she?” Once Peter said your name, Sam’s eyes lit up in fear.

“Aww no man, you don’t want to be messing around with her,” Peter’s face fell.

“Why not?”

“Well, rumor has it she’s kind of a rebel.”

“Kind of?”

“From what I hear from other agents, she’s always breaking protocol, almost always putting people in danger, risking lives, not a good look if you ask me. Come to think of it, why didn’t Fury deny her application?”

“Maybe he thinks I can be a good influence on her,” Peter smiled and nudged Sam’s arm.

“Pfft, when pigs fly,” Sam got up and walked away leaving Peter to write out an informative email to you.

“Just be careful with her is all I’m saying, kid.”

Peter ignored him as he pulled up his email and began to write to you.

Your alarm was blaring way too early in the morning for your liking. Peter insisted on starting everyday at 6 a.m. because “crime always starts early”, or something stupid like that. You two had only been with each other for a week and it was pure torture for you.

Peter on the other hand indulged in the time he got to spend with you. So far, Sam was being proven wrong about your rebel status. He always made sure you were to follow the book no matter how defiant the look in your eyes was becoming. Maybe you only followed the rules because of him, he’d like to think.

“Peterrrrrrr,” you whined.

“Whattttt,” he mimicked with a laugh.

“This shit is taking too long. Can’t we just-“

“Nope,” Peter interrupted.

“But-“

“Nada.”

“Peter-“

“I believe the correct word we are looking for is no,” you wanted to slap the stupid smirk off his face.

“Peter there is an easier way to do this,” you tried to reason with him, but he just wouldn’t listen.

“You mean there’s the wrong way to do this. I was given my instructions and now we will follow them, AS PLANNED OUT. If you don’t like how the Avengers run things, then maybe you should rethink your status in the program,” Peter stated as he kept his eyes locked on the bank.

This is what it’s been like for the entire week. You were starting to get agitated beyond belief by Peter’s smugness. What a cruel joke Fury decided to play on you. First, he makes Peter your partner, the most useless of all the Avengers when it came to missions and crime fighting. Next, his unwillingness to go off book for one measly second. If Peter could’ve known how much time he’d be saving by just bending the rules a little, he might be able to take on more serious tasks, unlike this stupid bank robbery tipoff he received earlier today.

Nevermind the other laundry list of reasons why you can’t stand Peter Parker and his dopey grin. Right now, you are thinking of good reasons why it would be impossible to get away with the murder of the most annoying person to ever walk the planet, in your opinion. While you were doing your own plotting, Peter was trying to keep his focus on the potential robbery and not the woman of his dreams next to him

The robbers made their move around 4 a.m. After countless hours of hearing Peter ramble on about Star Wars, chemistry, and his web fluid stuff you were thankful to end the night with some action. Peter made sure to take the lead while you were waiting at the back of the bank for a back up call. A stupid strategy, but supposedly Peter knew what was best and refused to go against orders.

Peter surprised the robbers by swinging himself down from the ceiling. There were four men trying to attack him and Peter fought every single one off without taking a breath. However, as things were going seemingly well they took a turn for the worst when one robber pulled out his gun and started to shoot. Peter faltered his steps and quickly dodged a bullet headed straight for his knee. During all this time you were watching from a small window, he still refused to call you for back up.

“Parker, you need my help, tap me in,” you said through your earpiece.

“No, no, uhh, I got it, thanks,” Peter responded quickly while dodging another bullet, this time to his shoulder.

“Parker, you're failing out there,” there was no response from Peter as he kept trying to tame the situation.

You huffed and decided to get to work. You really didn’t want to screw up your chances with this program, but you were left no choice. The line between Peter’s incompetence and stubbornness finally frayed and you just about had to butt in.

“I’m saving his life, I’m not breaking the rules… right?”

Peter was now tackled to the ground by two of the robbers. The one with the gun was reloading his bullets and the other was taking the money out of the machine. Somewhere along the line, they seemed to have damaged a part of his suit and he was bleeding out. That weakness alone was enough for the robbers to use all their strength and hold him down,

“It’s the end of the line for you, Spider-Man,” Peter started to freak out. Was it too late to call you?

“Hey boss, why don’t we see who’s under the mask,” one of the men holding him down said.

The “boss” agreed and began to walk his way towards Peter. He started to hyperventilate at the thought of not only his life ending, but his identity would be exposed.

The robber started to put his hands on the material of his mask, but not before he halted his actions and fell to the ground. Peter was stunned as were the rest of the men, but not for long.

“Hey, who’s that,” one man said as you came down from the ceiling where Peter had entered.

You have your few weapons at the ready and no time to waste. It had already been a long day and you were angry and exhausted. It took no time for you to wipe out the robbers and alert authorities of what went down. The men were hurt badly, but they should be okay, maybe.

Sirens were becoming louder as you quickly grabbed Peter and hauled him out of the back door and into the car. You whipped off his mask and started to check him for any injuries. When you went to touch a bruise on his face, he swatted your hand away.

“What did I tell you?” He said angrily.

“Peter I-“

“I said I would call you for backup and you defied me,” he pressed a button on his suit and it disappeared to his normal clothes.

“Peter you were choking out there! If I would’ve waited for your call you probably would’ve been dead by then! I saved your life, the least you could say is thank you,” you rolled your eyes and slumped back into your seat.

“Thank you? Y/N you blatantly went against my orders and did your own thing. Do you not have any respect for me?”

Your jaw dropped as Peter spoke those words. You cannot believe how irrational this boy was behaving. He was in trouble and you offered to help him.

“You know what Peter? No, no I don’t respect you. You were close to dying and I came in and saved your helpless ass. I have never met somebody so dimmwhitted, so stubborn, so incompetent, so STUPID, and so so SO annoying as you, Peter Parker. Come to think of it? How are you even an Avenger? Aren’t they supposed to have more than the one brain cell you seem to possess? Do they just let anybody be an Avenger or do we all have to suck up to Tony Stark just to get a spot on the team?”

“Get out,” Peter said through gritted teeth.

“What? Can’t handle the criticism?” You laughed as Peter slammed his hand on the center console, creating a dent.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT,” you were surprised at Peter’s tone of voice.

“Get out, get out of this car before you make me do something I’ll regret,” your eyes went wide as you got out of the car and started to run home.

Peter cried that night after he kicked you out of the car. Nobody, not even Mr. Stark talked to him the way you had. The girl he fantasized about each night had called him stupid, annoying, and possibly more hateful words in the English language synonymous to the ones she had said in the car.

Peter needed to take the weekend to himself to process everything. His heart was crushed and his emotions were conflicted. Even after all those terrible words, he still had some feelings for you. How could someone so perfect for him be so cruel to him at the same time?

He avoided everyone at the compound for the weekend. Usually he’d spend the few days there to work on some new tech with Mr. Stark or train with Bucky and Sam, but you lived there too and he couldn’t face you at the moment.

Peter was also screening calls from Fury. At the end of every mission with you, Fury would demand a status report. Peter would always have positive things to say about you, but this time he wouldn’t even know what to tell Fury.

After a movie with MJ and Ned to clear his head, Peter walked back home to the small apartment he shared with his Aunt May. He felt a little better after seeing some friends, but his heart still had a pang in it from your words. Was he really as annoying as you said he was?

Peter didn’t dwell on his thoughts for long before he felt himself getting pulled off the sidewalk and into a sleek black car. He tried to fight off whoever pulled him in, but he stopped struggling once he heard the ring of his cell phone.

“So, it does work,” Fury ended the call and scowled at Peter. “Any reason you haven’t been answering me?”

Peter took a deep gulp as he figured out what he was supposed to say. “Director Fury, I-”

“She finally cracked you,” he simply stated as Peter nodded in agreement.

“I didn’t know what to say because I’m afraid of how you’d react.”

“And what did she say?” Fury questioned.

When Peter told him the whole story from the robbery to her hateful words in the car, Fury just about had blown a fuse.

“SHE WHAT?” Fury expected the absolute worst from you, he’ll admit that, but blatantly insulting her superior crossed a huge line for him.

“Director Fury, I have it all-”

“No, Parker, I’m in the driver’s seat now. No more Mr. Nice Guy,” Fury called for the driver of his car to take off.

“Fury, please, just let me handle this,” it took a lot of convincing, but Fury came to an agreement with Peter.

“If you don’t get rid of her attitude and I find out that she continues to talk to you the way that she did, I’m terminating her position with S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury had no time for further discussion as he basically pushed Peter out of the car and sped out of Queens.

Oh, Peter was going to do all he could to make her obey him. It didn’t matter how he was going to train her, but when the time is right he’ll make his dreams come true. Peter was going to make his fantasies come true.

After about a week of no Peter Parker, the Avenger was back and surprisingly better than ever. He made no mention of the car incident and you didn’t want to bring it up either. In fact, Peter seemed to be his happy, normal self while the two of you trained together for an upcoming mission. He was cracking the same jokes and still rambling your ears off about the usual stuff. It shocked you to say the least, he held no ill will for you because of that night. Maybe he finally wised up and was starting to see things your way.

It seems as if lately Peter has become more lax with you. He didn’t get mad when you were just a little late for training sessions or when you would begin your back talk with him. It was as if Peter changed overnight into a completely chill person. Not that you minded at all, you would definitely be taking advantage of his easy going personality.

However, you did notice something in his eyes that you never seen before. You couldn’t pinpoint it, but it was almost like whenever you too got a little rough during training, he would enjoy it and try to push the limit. Maybe it was all a test to see how far your strength could go? Whatever it was, it kept you curious. Peter was acting different, but not too far off from his normal self.

“We have a mission tonight at the docks. Be ready at 10 and we can take turns being watch,” was all Peter said to you before he left the gym to go off with Mr. Stark.

You weren’t used to going on a mission so late. Peter always wanted to arrive at missions early just in case he was being fooled by a criminal. Of course, he always ended up being wrong and everything would happen later at night than in broad daylight (you tried telling him that and he simply waved you off).

You quickly rushed back to your room, slamming the door and triple checking that the locks were in place. The events from tonight’s mission left you speechless, shocked, horrified. Never in your life had you gotten out of a car and booked it to your room so fast. Peter Parker, Spider-Man, New York’s favorite defender, had done an unspeakable act.

It started out like always, just sitting in the car hiding out. Peter wasn’t talking as much so you decided you wouldn’t make conversation either. It was only until the criminals came to the docks where it all went downhill.

Peter told you the same thing he always had, he’ll call you if backup is needed. Of course, Peter found himself in hot water yet again and you decided to intervene. Only this time, you were met with more than just yelling and a kick out of the car.

“You didn’t listen,” the tone in Peter’s voice changed.

“Peter, c’mon now you were in trouble,” you began to speak, but he quickly cut you off.

“You didn’t listen, and now you’re gonna have to be punished,” Peter had a dangerous look in his eyes that scared you.

“Peter, if you’re gonna throw me out again I’ll save you the trouble and just leave. You know I don’t get why you have to be so stubborn all the damn time, if you just-,” as you were going to open the door, you heard the lock click.

“You didn’t listen, you need to be punished,” Peter began to lean closer to you as you pulled harder on the door.

“Peter, PETER,” you screamed as he put his hand on the front zipper of your top.

“Take this off,” you stayed still, “NOW!”

You rushed to take your top off and avoided the tears forming in your eyes. You fumbled with the zipper towards the bottom and Peter groaned impatiently. He grabbed the top and tore it off of you only leaving you in a bra.

You tried to look away from him and cover yourself in the process, but Peter wasn’t having any of that. He grabbed you by the chin with one hand as the other made its way to your chest. You tried to fight his intentions, but he wouldn’t have it.

“Stop moving. I’ll make this worse for you,” he grabbed your chin harder and you stopped trying to move.

He dipped his fingers into one of the cups and began to fondle your chest. Once Peter found your nipple, he circled it with the tip of his thumb. Peter was moaning as soon as it hardened. He never took his eyes off of you.

“Take off the bra,” Peter gave you a look that dared you to defy him. You quickly got rid of the bra and he took it and threw it in the back seat.

Peter was in awe, you were as beautiful as he imagined. Your bare chest and the tears in your eyes made him hard as a rock. He took his hand off your chin and began to palm himself through his suit.

Peter made his suit retract back into his regular clothing. He took your hands and placed them over the palm of his jeans. He pressed your hands down as you bit back a terrified whimper.

“Why don’t you help me out, yeah?” It wasn’t a suggestion judging by the look in his eyes.

You pulled down his zipper and didn’t go any further than that. Peter chuckled at you and brought your hand into the inside of his boxers. You couldn’t form any type of sounds as he made you hand travel through his patch of hair and up his cock. Peter was impressive, but there was no room for a pleasantly shocked emotion.

“Now take him out and finish what you started,” Peter pulled down his boxers and fully exposed himself to you.

You started off slow with a shaky rhythm. Who could ever be confident and cool in a situation like yours? Peter didn’t seem to like what you were doing and put his hand on top of yours. He guided you up and down his cock and took it off once he gave you a pace.

“Don’t be shy, go faster,” you picked up the pace as you saw Peter swipe some precum off his tip and shoved his finger into your mouth.

He didn’t even have to say anything to get you to start licking his fingers. You closed your eyes and Peter didn’t seem to stop you. The faster this was over with the faster you could finally be home.

After a fast few pumps, he was ready to come undone. He slowed you down and then demanded you picked up the pace. You were told to open your eyes and look at him, but you would close them again after a short few seconds. When he finally did cum, he brought your body close to his cock and let it all spill out on your chest. You felt disgusted, humiliated, and baffled that Spider-Man would take advantage of someone like you.

You opened your eyes once you heard the beep of a phone. Peter had his phone out and was taking a video of the whole thing. He took an additional few pictures and stashed his phone away in case you tried to grab it.

“You might want to clean yourself up, won’t take long to get back home,” Peter tucked himself away and started the car.

When you arrived at the compound you darted out of the car before he could say or do anything further to you. If he wanted to talk he would have to call you now.

You shed yourself of your clothes and began to scrub your body down. No matter how hot the water and how hard you scrubbed, the feeling of Peter on you will forever remain. You took a few showers once you thought the scent and act of Peter had washed off of you. When you left your bathroom it was well past 2 a.m.

Making sure the doors were locked for the hundredth time that night, you finally settled down into bed. You tossed and turned for the next hour until you heard your phone buzz. Not thinking anything of it, you picked it up to see who could be texting you so late at night. Your heart dropped once you saw the messages.

One after another Peter was sending you the videos and pictures that he had taken. Each one made your stomach turn more and more. He was mocking you.

Don’t ever disobey me again or I’ll send these out to everyone.

It took a lot to impress Nick Fury after everything he’s seen and been through. Alien invasions, aliens, cat aliens, raccoon aliens… a lot of aliens. However, nothing could’ve impressed him more than reading your progress report from Peter this morning. It took all of Fury not to frame the report and send emails to all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents the news of this miracle.

It’s true, over the past weeks you’ve been ever so obedient to Peter. You didn’t move unless he told you to move, didn’t speak until given permission to, he had you right where he wanted you and you couldn’t do anything about it. Even if you thought of telling someone of his mannerisms towards you he would hold out his phone and get the file containing all those pictures ready in a “Send All” email.

Fortunately, Peter never touched you like that night again. True to his word, you would only be treated that way if you ever went against him again. Needless to say, you were walking on something sharper than egg shells. He would tease you spook you relentlessly, even going as far as locking the car door just to see you jump.

Even late at night he would spam your phone with obscene text messages just to taunt you. Sometimes he would send you photos of himself and when he asked for some in return, you had no choice but to give in. Day by day, this man was messing with you and you had no way of outing him.

Peter would be hot on your trail if he saw you making your way to Fury’s office. He would stop you before you could even get to his office corridor. Peter couldn’t have this getting out, his credibility would be ruined and Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers would see to it.

He wasn’t happy about what he did, but he didn’t feel a lot of guilt either. What he did that night in the car set something diabolical off in him. It felt good to take what he wanted right there and then. Peter couldn't help but be a little prideful about what he did. He even hinted to Sam a few times that something might’ve happened between you and him.

While he was gloating you were scheming your way into telling Fury what happened. You can’t go anywhere near the man without Peter right beside you, and you can’t call Fury because he never seems to answer his phone. In fact, Fury has been out of the office more and more lately, perhaps keeping up with the other Avengers or being involved with more aliens.

Regardless of what it was, the next time you saw Fury in person you would say something.

You finished off your makeup and were now putting on the expensive dress your fellow agents coaxed you into buying for the party tonight. The material was tight and it was a little hard to breathe, but you’d get through it. Your body was buzzing in anticipation and nerves as you checked your hair one more time before heading off to the gala.

Every year, the Stark x S.H.I.E.L.D. Gala was held to promote and spread awareness for local and international charities across the globe. You never had an interest in going before, but this year you were bugged by the other agents to go and Peter had expressed his interest in your presence at the party. If you didn’t show you were afraid of what he might pull in your absence.

The hotel was extravagant, from the way it was decorated to the mass amounts of people in their expensive suits and elegant gowns. You scanned the room for Peter, but saw no sign of him. He was either taking photos with the Avengers or watching you from afar, and you wouldn’t put it past him to do that.

While you didn’t see him you got to work finding Fury. You went through the humongous crowd of people just to see if you could catch a glimpse of him, you even started to ask around, but no one seemed to know where he could be. It felt like forever and you were beginning to lose hope that you would never find him. If anything was going to happen it had to be tonight.

A tap on your shoulder stopped you in your hectic search. You knew who it was just by the clear of his throat. You faced Peter with a nervous smile on your face as opposed to the devilish one on his.

“I‘ve been looking for you all night,” Peter drank in your appearance, “you look beautiful.”

You squirmed under his gaze while he lingered a little too long for your liking. When he was finally done ogling you, you saw the lust in his eyes grow. You gulped as he extended his hand.

“Dance with me?” The band started to play a slow song.

You looked at his hand and then up to his eyes which dared you to say now. Reluctantly, you grabbed his hand as he led you to the dance floor. Immediately, a few wandering eyes were on yours and Peter’s figure as he led the first dance.

“You know I’ve been thinking. Since you’ve been so perfect lately, I was going to recommend you to Stark for a spot on the Avengers,” your skin formed bumps as he spun you around.

“Could you imagine that? My obedient little angel fighting alongside me. Ugh, could there be anything more perfect?”

You were about to speak, but the music had stopped and all attention was directed to the stage. Up walks Fury and Tony Stark, Fury was first to take the podium and began his long speech about the gala and what supporting these charities means to him and everyone here tonight. You kept your eyes on him the entire time and ignored the words Peter was trying to whisper in your ear. You only started listening to him when he squeezed your waist hard causing you to yelp.

“I said, why don’t we go back to my room when this is all over, huh?” You froze when he ran his hand up and down your spine.

“Peter, don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate?” He hummed in disagreement with you and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Nonsense, I don’t even know why I asked, it’s not like you have a choice in the matter anyways,” the fucker laughed.

Your body was shaking and your face was turning red in anger. Peter was going to hold you down forever. There was no way you could ever escape someone as evil as him. Peter had a hold on you for as long as he wanted. You only had one chance to escape it seems and Fury had to be your ticket out.

Before you could form a response Fury handed over the mic to Tony. Fury stepped off the stage and you kept your eyes on him for the entire time. He was making his way out of the gala and you needed to be fast in order to catch him. Peter seemed too distracted by what Tony was saying so you loosened yourself out of his grip and stood beside him. Peter only glared at you for doing that, but you didn’t care, tonight would be the night you take down Peter Parker.

Slowly, you slinked away into the crowd as a round of applause sounded off for whatever Tony was saying. Peter didn’t seem to notice you leave and that’s when you took off. People were giving you disgusted looks as you began to run out of the ballroom and chase Fury.

You almost lost him in the elevators, but you took the steps and ran once you saw what floor he was heading to. You shucked off your heels and ran up the many steps to catch him. When you got to his floor, you pushed the stairwell door open and ran after him.

“Director F-,” you face planted.

Your ankles were tangled by some sort of slim rope and they wouldn’t come undone. Fury’s footsteps faded and new ones approached your struggling body. A pair of expensive shoes stopped right by your head as the body leaned down. You came eye to eye with an angry Peter Parker.

“Rebel, rebel,” he shook his head and hauled you up. You were beating on his back the entire time as tears formed in your eyes. The rope-like material was his webs which kept you trapped.

He went back in the stairwell and carried you up a few more flights until he came to his floor. The hallways were empty as everyone was still at the party. You tried to yell, but it only got you a harsh slap on your ass.

Peter stopped in front of his door and opened it. The second he closed it he threw you on the middle of the bed. He made his way to his suitcase and took out a pocket knife. You were screaming uncontrollably and he began to cut the webs loose. You knew better than to fight with a man with a knife, let alone Spider-Man with a knife.

“Rebel rebel, you’ve torn your dress,” Peter noticed the small tear towards the end of your gown and tore up the rest. “Rebel rebel, your face is a mess,” he looked at your makeup stained face. He put his thumb near your lips and began to smudge lipstick around your face.

“Rebel, rebel, what are we going to do about you?” Peter took off the rest of your dress. The only thing you were in was a lace thong. Peter licked his lips and began to trace the knife down your breast.

You were shaking, afraid that he might dig the knife deeper into your skin. Afraid that he was so mad at you he would go as far as to kill you. You started to whimper as Peter looked up. The smirk on his face grew wider and wider.

“Beg for me not to hurt you. Beg like the good little angel you are,” you were so close to not giving in, but Peter dug the tip of the blade into your skin just enough to pinch it.

“Please Peter, please, please don’t hurt me Peter,” he hummed in a way to tell you that he wasn’t convinced by the performance.

“Please Peter, I’ll do anything to please you. I’ll do anything to make you happy. Please Peter, I’m so sorry for being bad,” you were hysterical as he moved the knife further down your body. When he reached your center he chuckled and threw the knife to the other side of the room. He roughly grabbed you by your scalp and made you come face to face with him.

“Anything?” You shook your head in agreement. “Alright, I wanna fuck that naughty mouth.”

Peter pulled off his suit pants and became complete bare from the waist down. He pumped his cock a few times before grabbing your jaw and forcing your mouth open. He didn’t give you any time to get used to his size as he put all of himself in your mouth. He grabbed you scalp rougher this time and pushed your head up and down. Tears formed in your eyes again as you were forced to take him down your throat. He was a moaning and groaning mess until his thrust started to falter. Peter quickly pulled out watching in awe and the trail of saliva connected from your mouth to his cock.

Peter quickly sat you up and ripped off your underwear in the process. He started to rub his fingers along your folds where he found that you were wet. He smirked and chuckled as he continued rubbing up and down to make you become slicker than before. You tried biting back your moans, but Peter would only press down harder on your clit which caused you to cry out.

“See, I’m not so bad, princess. I could be good to you if you’re good to me,” he removed his fingers and pushed you down on the mattress.

“Peter, please,” you didn’t know if you wanted him to stop or urge you on.

“I know honey, I know. Just lay down and let me make you feel good,” Peter rid himself of the rest of his clothes and slotted himself between your legs.

His tip began to enter you and the rest of his length painfully stretched you out. You squirmed a little, but Peter reassured you it would feel better soon. Sure, he wasn’t your first, but it had been a long time since the last guy and you were a bit tight.

“Oh, angel, you really do feel like heaven,” he started to thrust a little faster.

Pretty soon, Peter was getting really rough with his thrust and making you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. Peter got carried away and didn’t realize how fast he was going on you. You felt an orgasm building and were trying to communicate that to Peter but couldn’t form the words. Peter felt you tighten around him just a little too hard and he took that as the signal to pull out. After all, he did want to see his crush cum, for him and only him.

You felt the rush of your orgasm after Peter pulled out. When you looked up at him, his chest was covered in the slick sheen of sweat mixed with your arousal.

“Holy shit, you squirted. That’s got to be the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Peter went back inside you and hoisted himself on his knees and making you face to face with him. “I wanna see that again, and again, and a hundred more times.

He didn’t slow down no matter how many times you tried to beg and plead. Peter ripped out orgasm after orgasm from you and it only coaxed him to go harder and faster. Your bodies were covered in each other’s sweat and you were beginning to get a little tired. However, your eyes quickly shook away their tiredness when you felt fingers prodding your other hole.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” and as Peter continued his thrusting, he pushed one finger into your tight muscle and pounded into you harder.

“Aww fuck this feels so good,” Peter cried out one last time and finally came inside you.

You both collapsed onto the bed still connected to each other. Tears formed in your eyes once the shock wore off. He had finally gotten what he wanted from you.

Only a week went by when you had finally heard from Fury again. This time, he wanted to speak with you privately in his office. Your time with the Avengers program was up and he wanted to give his final thoughts.

“Well Agent, I am shocked to be saying this, but I am thoroughly impressed by your behavior with Peter. A little rough in the beginning, but I’m glad to see you both worked through your differences,” you wanted to scoff, but you wouldn't put a damper on Fury’s mood.

After that night in the hotel, the sex became a regular thing. Peter would demand and you were forced to give in. His punishments were still ongoing as he was still mad at you for trying to snitch on him to Fury, but now that the program has ended you and Peter Parker wouldn’t be seeing each other at all.

“And because of your improving behavior I’ve decided to push through your request,” you furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Request?”

“You know, your request to join the Avengers team officially. Parker has been raving about your skills and training that we decided to recommend you for a spot on the team. You’ll have to meet with Mr. Stark for a few interviews and sessions, but seeing as Peter has talked so fondly of you there is no doubt in my mind you wouldn't be offered the spot.”

You stayed frozen in your seat as Fury went on and on about you. You only left when he dismissed you, reminding you that Tony Stark would be contacting you soon.

When you shut the door behind you, you began to freak out. Peter was planning on keeping you as his. At this point, there would be no way out unless you either die, face embarrassment and let the video get leaked, or wait around until Peter gets bored. Knowing Peter and his fatal attraction to you none of those could happen.

On your way back to your room, you heard the familiar footsteps you’ve grown too disgusted to know. You turned around to face the man who would be running you entire life for who knows how long. Just as you were about to speak he opened his mouth first.

“Rebel, rebel, there you are.”

#Dark Avengers #dark peter parker #dark spider man #dark marvel #dark!Avengers #Dark Fic #marvel smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #maries500challenge #peter parker image #peter parker oneshot

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alittlefrenchtree · 4 years ago

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I have a PR question. How do we know if a non-paparazzi photo is staged/arranged or not? I’m talking about random pictures someone takes of him and his supposed dates. ☺️

I don’t think you can know for sure, Nonny. That’s kind of the beauty of it 😊

If you’re interested in joining today’s class and read a little more about stuff, click below.

Disclaimer 1) I really shouldn’t be any kind of authority in terms of pr and of famous people pr but since many people here are presenting things as true statements without knowing anything about anything, it’s only fair that I tried to explain some stuff while knowing, like 5% of stuff.

Disclamer 2) I’m not really interested about talking specifically about Timmy’s situation. His dating life is either a private thing that shouldn’t be commented as a public topic or a pr thing that I don’t want to encourage it by commenting. Or both and see all of the above.

What I’m interested in, is talking about pr strategy and public images in general ways, why it’s there and how it works and that’s about it.

That being said, let’s start today’s class.

My belief when it comes to pr and related stuff is that knowing the ‘truth’ is less important than having as much knowledge as possible on the subject. It’s kind like math. If you have an equation and someone gives you the answer but you don’t know how to get to there yourself, knowing the answer doesn’t get you much. But if you have all the keys to resolve the equation, you can try to find the answer on your own. And, even if you don’t find the answer, knowledge will help you understand the logic of it. Why it’s there. What it says.

So what’s our equation today? A content of one (or more) public person/people taken from a smartphone camera of someone we don’t know.

Smartphone content isn’t inconsequential. Using ‘low’ quality camera instead of a professional one says something different. It’s supposed to bring more authenticity, closeness to the audience, spontaneity. It feels truer because you could be the one taken it, since there is a large chance you own a smartphone when you probably don’t own a professional camera. It has to be genuine if you could be the one taking it, right? You would have any interest in taking part of something fake, wouldn’t you?

It can feels logical like everybody knows that or it’s not really important but it’s something that is actually thought through by professionals when it comes to create content. There is that brand of cooking videos (you know the one you stumble on when you remember Facebook exist and that show you recipe that always look really easy to make at home and delicious (and also overly greasy and/or overly sugary) that was explaining how they could totally shot their videos in professional kitchen with high quality stuff but choose to do the complete opposite instead? Because their goal is to make their audience feel like they can make the recipe at home so they shot their videos on small kitchen with smartphones.

Creating professional content on un-professional devices is a real thing. Half of the business of influencers people is built on this. To think that the strategy has stayed only in the influencers people business would be very naive. In the famous people world, content created on smartphone is used for these bts vibes. We’re showing you what you’re not supposed to see so you feel like a part of it. This is how the famous people you love are in real life, when the camera is off. Except they’re not off, since you’re seeing it.

You’re not part of it, we’re showing you just enough for you to want it, to envy it but you’re not.

Let’s go back to the casual pic of that public person. Truth is, you could be taking the picture yourself and still don’t know what you’ve taken.

Say I’m well known top model who has signed a new contract with a clothing brand. I have pap walks to put the clothes in online articles and magazines. Of course pap pics also ends up on social media but they aren’t the type of media design for the platform. Pap walks create some distance from the audience because they often looks like real photo shootings. Part of the audience is defiant towards it. Either it’s an invasion of privacy or it’s staged. It’s not that positive.

What’s positive is me going out in my brand new clothes and cross path with people who recognize me. They wouldn’t know anything about my contract but would do all the job themselves without knowing they’re doing it. They would take a picture from afar, maybe a selfie, share it on social media with a cute context. A story. Write about that cute dress I was wearing, what my coffee order was (omg, she likes almond milk like me!), what’s the interaction was like. Was it staged? I like that dress and I really wanted to go for a walk and for that cup of coffee. And the fan was nice, everything was genuine. Yet, I still went out to be seen and the clothing brand is happy.

The problem with that scenario is that I’m not in control of anything. Maybe nobody will recognize me or care enough to take a picture or something went wrong with the fan/person I’ve seen and instead of a cute story I have someone insulting me all over the internet. Lot of time lost, some risk taken, not much result. Wouldn’t be easier to take a friend or a PA who would snap a few pictures and we’ll be home in 5 minutes, job done? Pr team get the pics and share them with the world with one of the twelve stan accounts about me they’ve been running for years. Even write a little story to go with it if they’re inspired enough. If you think it’s too much, you’re naive. Everything that can be faked or staged to save time, money or give you more control of the result, has already been faked and staged by someone. Multiple someones.

My take on this would be, the bigger you are, the more money you have to carry on your shoulders, the less you let things to chance and the more you take control of your narrative. PAs, agents, PR people,… When you have a whole team around you, you don’t (overly) pay them as secretaries. They’re not just here to handle your planning and bring you coffee or you would only need one person, not 7 of them walking around you all the time.

But what if there is no contract? What if I’m just wearing that dress because I like the brand? Or maybe there is a commercial deal with the brand but I have no obligation to wear it on my daily life or been seen with it. Wouldn’t the pics look exactly the same to an outside eye?

Of course I can go low key, move only inside cars with tinted windows, don’t walk around in popular places and only go in isolated, private places. I can. But maybe sometimes I’m tired of it. Maybe I just want to meet my non-famous friends where they like to go and fuck it if I’m seen there. Pics taken by people would look like they’re staged. Except maybe they’re not.

But if I stop caring, I indirectly accept that however I’m seen becomes part of my public image. And if it has become part of my public image, I should accept that it will be monitored to some extend by my team, and eventually by myself.

So how do we find the answer? We can’t. Based on a single photo alone, I don’t think we can. Unless you’ve seen contracts or you know the person personally, you can’t really pretend what’s going on being doors. Even so, would you know everything? Sometimes a contract is just a contract. Something a commercial deal is also a friendship. Sometimes a real friendship became public et become part of your public image. Sometimes you don’t really feel like talking about commercial deals with that cousin you’re seeing 5 times a year and doesn’t really care about what the details of your fucked-up public job are. So even your own family doesn’t know the truth about everything.

What we can do, if we’re interested in doing it, is look at every piece of content and ask ourselves. What are we seeing? How is it made? For what purpose? How that type of content is used in different contexts?

With more context, you can make interpretations for yourself. Will everybody will have the same? Of course not. Mathematicians, physicists, chemists, spent their time disagreeing on interpretations of stuff, how can we expect people to agree on the interpretation on something based of human behavior?

From what I’m seeing, PR conversations seem to be going on in many (many) fandoms. From a PR point of view, I don’t think it’s not a bad thing, whether what we’re talking about is real or fake in the first place. Having people think it’s fake and people think it’s real makes the conversation going. They’re always be people who would want to defend their point of view, their opinions, their favorite celebrities. Names will keep being mentioned, pics shared, word spread. SEO (Search Engine Optimization) and algorithms are happy.

My best advices, I guess, is, first, remember that you aren't obligated to have opinions on everything or to care about every aspect of the life of an artist you love, even when media and people would like you to think you are and you should. There is even things, such as dating life of other people than yourself, you shouldn’t really have opinions about at all.

If romance, love and sex keeps getting used to sell, it’s because it works. Think about all the books, all the movies, all the stories where a love story is integrated in an action movie/horror story/sci-fi scenario even when it has nothing to do with anything. Romance/love/sex sells since forever and probably for a long time. Because most people think falling in love is the main purpose of life and the most important thing in the world.

My second advice would be, don’t be naive but don’t be cynical either. Contexts and nuances are always important.

Anyways, like always I don’t have an answer and I’m barely even interested in the answer but I hope I'm able bring some perspectives to things because it’s important. More than ever, content is a tool. Since everyone is part of an audience, if not potentially part of all audiences , we should all learn more about how the tool works.

Of course i'm joking about the concept of class. I'm not a teacher. I'm only sharing some personal knowledge and opinions. I can be wrong or contested. No hard feelings against anyone.

#aflt asks #it's pr talk time again

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materassassino · 4 years ago

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48 for Shallura! (are you sick of me yet? >:3)

I could never get sick of you, dear Socks!

This is based on the Altean Resistance AU that never was

Send me a pairing and a number!

48. Shackles

They find him deep in the bowels of a Galra slaveship. He is separate from the rest of the ship’s… cargo, kept in darkness and manacled. The purple light from the door makes him blink rapidly, but his eyes quickly adjust and he raises his head. From the defiant glint in his eye and the rigid set of his jaw, it is all for a reason. This one is untamed, unbroken, still rebellious. Allura feels a wild surge of kinship with him, as she steps into the cell and breaks the shackles with her vibrating lightblade.

“Quickly, Allura!” Riluan hisses from the doorway.

“Come with us!” Allura urges. The man looks at her, but he does not hesitate to take the hand she offers and lets her haul him to his shaking feet. Despite his obvious weakness, he keeps pace with them, and soon they are out into space, the slaves freed, and perhaps a new ally by their side.

They remove the shackles fully on the castleship, and immediately the man rubs his left wrist with a deep sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” he says. The first word he utters to her is with a grateful smile, and Allura has to keep down the glow in her cheeks by force. His smile makes his face look younger, less stern and weary, and even more handsome than it already was.

She clears her throat, responds with her own brief nod. “You are welcome,” she replies.

They learn his name is Takashi Shirogane (“call me Shiro, everyone does”) of Earth. It is in a quadrant of space so overlooked and far away Allura marvels at how far he has travelled.

“Not willingly,” he says bitterly when she remarks. Her ears burn.

“Forgive me, I meant no offence…” she quickly says, and he shakes his head vehemently.

“No, no! I mean… I’d have liked to be here under better circumstances,” he amends with a small, gentle smile that has her heart pounding in her chest. “But… now I’m here, I can’t go back. There’s too much to do here. I can’t just turn my back on people, not when I can help. Earth can get by without me.”

They also learn Shiro is incredibly capable at a great many things, despite the obvious primitive nature of his own planet’s technology. He learns their engineering quickly, he fights with a vicious pragmatism Allura finds herself admiring in all the least appropriate ways, and he leans towards a bright, resplendent optimism that fills her with a furious hope she’d never dared to allow herself before. They go on missions together more and more, working together in a way so seamless any outsider would think they’ve known each other for deca-phoebs. He doesn’t have Altean strength or chameleon flesh, but he works his strategies around what Allura has, and while he works well with everyone else, it is beside her that he shines.

Steadily, they draw closer, brought together by the inescapable gravity of war and hardship and trauma. They talk, of far-off distant worlds and people lost, of fears and hopes and dreams and family. His warmth spreads through her when she rests her head on his shoulder as they watch Arus’s night sky drift by. His arm around her waist is strong and comforting, her fingers laced with his an anchor for them both. Yet even as they talk, they make no mention of this thing between them, this taut, golden thread of comfort and longing. Allura is afraid to speak it aloud, to give it a name.

And everything is going good, as well as a rebellion can go, until it isn’t.

It happens when they are not together. It happens where Allura can’t protect, can’t save him, and as soon as she hears of it she leaves the bridge, ignoring Coran’s shout of her name, and she rushes to the cryopods.

He is already in one, his face drawn and pale with pain, and three long, vicious gashes across his chest.

“It was a berserker,” Feno says, shaking. “It was going for Qizea and he threw himself in front of it.”

Allura can feel terror bubbling within her. She feels sick to the very depths of herself, and, unbidden, tears roll down her cheeks as she presses a hand to the glass.

“Survive,” she murmurs furiously. “I have so much to say to you still.”

He awakens three days later, and both relief and fury swirl inside Allura’s core. She barges into the medbay, where Atheron is giving him a last scan, and she breathes deeply through her nose, fists clenched, shoulders squared, preparing to tear him to pieces out of worry.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, before she can even open her mouth to say anything. Her hands tremble, loosening, she bites her lip, and the tears return. Atheron clears his throat and bids a hasty retreat, the door sliding closed behind him, but neither of them truly notice.

Shiro opens his arms, and she rushes into them, her face buried in his chest. She has never felt more at home since Altea burned.

“Never do that again,” she sobs.

“I won’t, I won’t,” he promises, peppering kisses on her hair. She pulls back, stares at him, opens her mouth to speak…

“I love you,” he says, so sure, so steadfast. He’s beaten her to it once again. She can’t help but chuckle, wiping away her tears with the heel of her hand.

“As I love you,” she replies. The words are said, they cannot be taken back now. Neither of them seems to care, as they fold back into each other’s embrace.

It is three hectic missions and four days of no rest later, and they have returned to Arus. They leave the crowd and the chatter, the warmth of fires and friends, for the quiet, starlit spaces beyond. She still rests her head upon his shoulder, but now his arms enfold her from behind, and she can turn, press her face to the warm skin of his neck, breathe him in whenever she so likes.

“Why did you not return to Earth when we offered?” she asks, tracing her fingers along the seams of his Galra arm, cool metal and the thrum of quintessence beneath her touch.

“Well, because people need help,” he said. “No good man just turns his back on those in need. And also…” He kisses the tip of her ear, just to hear her giggle. “You were the one that found me.”

She cuts off a sigh. “Am I… tethering you here? Keeping you when you could be free?”

“Allura,” he murmurs. He tilts her head to look her in the eye, that soft brown she’d never seen before, so alien, so rare and precious. “You meant freedom from the very start.”

She rises up to meet his lips with hers, winds her arms around him, pulls him closer, and feels her heart become lighter than it has in centuries.

#voltron #shallura #shiro #allura #braincoins #fanfic asks #pixie writes #42

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barnzbucky · 5 years ago

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reach for the moon - chapter 1 (Ivar x Reader)

Pairing: Ivar x reader; Hvitserk x reader (but barely)

Summary: 5 years have passed. Hvitserk finds out something Ivar did behind his back. The reader returns to Kattegat, and meets the man she longed to see the most.

Warnings: ableist talk (if feels unlike Ivar to not mention his condition when he gives his self loathing speeches, but it’s strange to write it); mention of arranged marriage; mentions of war; mentions of unrequited love; canon divergence; oc characters; fictional city; uncanon light hearted characters; cuteness at the end, but it made me feel guilty; (please, let me know if I missed something)

Word count: 2k

A/N: Hi!! Thank you so much for all the feedback in the prologue, I was beyond happy. My classes have just returned, and I also work, so I only have time to write and edit during the night, and I was supposed to edit this chapter yesterday, but I stayed up the whole night binge watching The Circle, and got nothing done 😂 Well, I hope you like the first chapter, I’m pretty proud of it 😂 please, tell me what you think and I hope you enjoy this ❤️️❤️️

masterlist | series masterlist

As the last citizen walked into the throne room, Ivar almost sighed in relief. He was most serious about his position as king, but he truly felt like everyone was working hard to make his job unbearable. He used to be known as the least patient man in Kattegat, and now, no one minded bothering him with meaningless cases. Sat in a throne, from morning to evening, listening to people talk his ear off about stupid ordeals, like neighbors stealing sheeps, or loud noises animals made during night, was not what he had in mind when he took over the city.

Battle plans and strategies were the only thing he was interested in, trade and economic deals weren’t too inconvenient, but having to deal with his subject’s complaints, no matter how insignificant, made him wonder if it was worth it.

However, Ivar knew he had to work harder than any man to earn the respect and admiration he longed for, and for a while he thought war was the only way, but life and the Gods were quick to teach him pointless conflict, in the longer run, brought only pain and loneliness, and fear was quite different from respect.

So he settled for making Kattegat the most prosperous city in Norway, a trade reference, with advantageous alliances, and satisfied citizens who had nothing to complain about. But they had become too spoiled, and complained about everything to their heart’s content.

Still, as bored as he was, Ivar could finally say he proved everyone who doubted him wrong, and he imagined his parents would be proud of him.

When the man finally left, he wasted no time, but before he could get out of the throne to eat his dinner in peace, Hvitserk stormed in looking almost angry, with Ubbe after him, unbothered.

“Would you care to explain what is this marriage nonsense?” his brother asked, almost laughing, as if it was a joke he didn’t quite understand.

Ivar merely raised his eyebrows and looked away from him to Ubbe, “I take it you told him, then?”

Ubbe told Ivar it was a bad idea to make the deal without telling Hvitserk. If he refused, the king would be angry and they would go to war. But his younger brother was so sure nothing was going to go wrong, and refused to listen to him. Now, a confrontation he didn’t want to be a part of was happening right in front of him.

“I’ll let you talk, I have nothing to do with this,” Ubbe didn’t hesitate to leave before he was forced to take a side. None of the other men bothered with him.

“I am not going to marry Tove just because you want more warriors at your disposal.” Hvitserk looked frustrated. He knew this would happen eventually, but not that soon, and certainly not without being consulted first.

“The alliance also includes fur and food,” Ivar had a mocking smirk on his face. It was funny to him, and almost insulting, that his brother thought he would force him to marry for something as meaningless as men and gold. “And I thought you liked her, Hvitserk! Surely, she is a beautiful woman, and a princess. I imagine you know her very well, what is so bad about this?”

“I like many women, brother, and I don’t need a wife!” he crossed his arms and lifted his chin, defensive and defiant at the same time.

Ivar’s hands tightly griped the arms of the throne, and he took a deep breath, trying not to get mad. His brother had chosen the worst day to do this. He was tired, hungry, cold, and in pain, and all that just made him angrier, “Good alliances are not made out only of a man’s word, Hvitserk, don’t be stupid. King Fredrick wanted his daughter to marry, and I offered him that. We all need to make sacrifices for Kattegat.”

“Why don’t you marry her, then?” the question made Ivar’s smirk return and he chuckled.

“A wife is of no use to me, yet. I have too much work to do. Any woman would be miserable to be left aside by her crippled husband in benefit of battle councils, and meetings,” he explained, still amused by his brother’s question, “All you need to do, brother, is to humor the king until the marriage is complete. After that, I’m sure you and your wife will come to an agreement.”

Hvitserk shook his head and sighed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to change Ivar’s mind, and now the arrangement was made, it was too risky to break it. He supposed Tove wouldn’t be the worst bride, and doubted she would ask him to be faithful to her if she wouldn’t be the same. He knew her well enough to say she probably wouldn’t, “I’ll think about it.”

Both knew he wouldn’t think about it. It was already decided. But Ivar could let his brother win the argument if that meant he would follow through with the wedding. So he just nodded.

After Hvitserk left, finally he had time to rest.

It took you two entire days to arrive in Kattegat.

The heavy set of fur was only vaguely familiar, heavy over your shoulders. You almost wanted to take it off. Maybe the unmistakable cold of your hometown would make reality sink in faster.

If you squinted your eyes, you could see it. The enormous coast, filled with more ships than you could count, the white, icy fog over the docks, and people coming and going at the beach. Soon you would be there, and your heart ached in your chest when you remembered how things used to be five years ago.

You laughed, remembering you didn’t want to go to Gleðiborg in the first place. If you only knew then, how wonderful and warm and comforting that town was.

Gleðiborg provided you the best years of your life. It taught you to actively live and make the best of your time in Midgard, instead of watching it all go by from afar.

You felt beautiful, confident, and happy. So unlike the person you were before, lonely and invisible.

You blinked to get your mind to calm, and focused again in the city ahead of you. Before you got into the ship, you promised yourself not to let your bad thoughts and memories control you. And you never broke a promise, even if self-made.

No matter how much you changed, your biggest wound was not yet healed. Prince Hvitserk still held your heart.

But regardless of how nervous you felt, you were as ready as you would ever be to face your past.

You thought about your last night in Kattegat, so long ago, but still so clear on your mind.

The usual heartache of seeing Hvitserk holding and kissing another woman felt worse, you never wished so bad to be in his arms as in that last time you saw him. That night, he only gave you one of his friendly smiles and politely asked you how you were. You could almost hear him saying your name.

Then, prince Ivar trusted you to his feelings and showed raw vulnerability… everything that proved he was more man than beast, you secretly promised to keep to yourself. It made you feel special and comforted that night, to be useful and needed, even knowing it only happened because you were the only one there. You were sure he didn’t even know of your existence before.

You hoped he was better. You supposed so, he was the king now. You were happy he had made it through his insecurities and finally got what he wanted.

Sooner than you thought, your ship arrived at the docks. You took a deep breath before daring to look at the city streets.

When you only had warm and sunny Gleðiborg to compare to, it was dark and cold. The sun was hidden behind the clouds and the wind hurt your skin and made your eyes burn. The smell of fish was so strong you were almost certain it was impregnating your clothes, and your head ached from the loud noise of people talking and shouting.

It wasn’t the best.

But you remembered how Kattegat looked like when you left. And this was completely different from your memory.

Back then, because of the upcoming war, everyone was rigid, tense, and more violent than usual. The city could barely hold that many people, and the food was too expensive for the poorer citizens eat more than a small meal a day, at best. Now, it seemed to be doing much better.

The market was full of people, children, the older folk, artisans, non-warriors, all vulnerable and glad, like it wasn’t before. This was far from how you imagined a place ruled by a man they called a “ruthless monster”.

When your parents visited Gleðiborg, they told you about an unforgivable king when it came to criminals and traitors, intolerant of the people’s silliness and drama, who never engaged in commoner’s celebrations like his brothers, only the ones held in the Great Hall, and was extremely impatient over everything else. But who still prioritized food and warmth over war and luxury for himself and took the time to find and make it better the problems of his kingdom.

Snapping from your thoughts, you stepped out of the ship and searched for your father in the crowd. You expected him to be there, it had been a while they announced there were people coming.

You hoped you wouldn’t have to wait for too long.

Unknown to you, you had drawn attention, standing there in perfect posture, right beside your bag. The furs around your body didn’t hide the vibrant yellow of your dress, a refreshing contrast before the gray sea.

While distracted searching for your father, someone lifted your baggage from the floor.

You turned back to see who it was and your heart almost failed you. Of course, the first person to greet you was the one you were most nervous to meet again.

Hvitserk had in his face a specific smile you had seen many times before, but never directed at you.

You almost gasped. He looked as attractive as you remembered, with the years difference, and all.

“May I help you? These seem too heavy,” his voice was comforting, and the flirty tone had you melting.

You opened a wide smile and fixed your posture, finding your new confidence self again, and didn’t bother hiding your excitement, “Hi, how are you?”

“I’m fine, how are you?” He crooked his head, as if he was confused, but the smile didn’t falter, ��Who are you?”

“Who am I?” you chuckled, clearly amused. You knew you looked different, but not to the point he wouldn’t even remember who you were.

“Am I supposed to know?” he still looked confused, but had the same flirty tone and big smile.

Thinking about how no one, not even you, would have expected you to look as confident and liberated as you did now, it was shocking. You didn’t even feel like the same person, and until now, you haven’t realized it.

You couldn’t blame him for not recognizing you. You used to be friendly with each other, but being unable to look into his eyes whenever you talked, and standing in the light corners of every outing made you invisible.

“No, I supposed not,” you shook your head and laughed some more, “And yes, you may help me! Would you be so kind to walk me home?”

He held a hand out, the other holding your belongings. You stared at it. “Well, let’s go. Show me the way.”

You took his hand and started to walk to your home holding him behind you, occasionally glancing at him over your shoulder and giggling, until he had enough and decided to walk by your side. His cheeky smile made it almost impossible not to sigh.

“What is your name?”

tags: @luvjiminssi ; @ryukjin ; @hecohansen31 ; @heavenly1927 ; @youbloodymadgenius ; @ace-fiction ; @poisonous00 ; @jzr201 ; @rose1729 ; @shestrying2write ; @zuxiezendler ; @learninglemni-blog ; @didiintheblog ; @the-jess-life (if you’d like to be tagged or to be removed from the tag list, just send me a message/ask, no problem ☺️ if I wasn’t able to tag, please check if your blog is available to show on search)

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar imagine #vikings imagine #vikings fanfiction #ivar's heathen army #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar fanfiction #vikings #vikings x reader #reach for the moon #barnzbucky

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princessnyria · 5 years ago

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( alia bhatt, cis female, she/her ) — here ye, here ye, behold the princess of sunspear, nyria martell. the twenty-four year old is known for being adventurous but has the tendency to be calculating too, which should be expected of the storm of sunspear. ( slender daggers peaking out of the fanned out hem of a vibrant dress, the relishing relief of the first drops of rain after a drought, a quirked brow that goes unnoticed by an enemy who’s already been beaten, the taste of freedom on tongue as you ride towards the setting sun on a sand steed )

BASICS.

full name: nyria nymerios martell. title: princess of dorne. kingdom: dorne. unique title / moniker: the storm of sunspear. gender: cis female. age: twenty four. sexuality: bisexual. abilities: elemental - rhoynish water magic.

FAMILY.

parents: prince luras martell and princess natari martell. siblings: queen dyana targaeryn née martell ( older sister ), prince dariss martell ( older brother ), princess valeria martell née staunton ( sister-in-law ). spouse: none. children: none.

FAST FACTS.

she’s definitely a charmer & knows how to turn it on when she wants to.

she adores her sand steed, named cress, takes better care of it than herself.

known for wearing colorful dornish gowns.

she’s vexingly defiant & believes when it comes to those close to her, it’s usually best to practice honesty to the point of bluntness because secrets among people you’re near to can get you killed

while she’s by no means a warrior, her parents did teach her to protect herself so she can hold her own & her father specifically shared with her his love of spears as a weapon

ABOUT.

they say the drought bore down on dorne as one of the longest they’d ever had to weather. that is, until the water broke on her mother’s womb and she was born– her birth was accompanied by a bold storm that rose above sunspear and moved throughout the nation, ending the drought and saving the land from further despair. the baby was named nyria, a shortened derivative of nymeria, an homage to their first princess and the woman who commanded ten thousand ships.

they called her the storm of sunspear and the smallfolk sang praises of an oblivious infant nyria for weeks. they claimed the skies broke with her birth, claimed she was born just to save them from scarcity, that she was glory made flesh - they claimed her for greatness. she became a legend just by being born and she’s never known how to stand in front of a shadow cast so big by happenstance.

she always adored her parents. their weathered eyes winking with vigor and passion when they smiled on her with preciousness, she couldn’t help but be in awe of them both. her mother grew her love of horses and held wisdom and bite in one body. and nyria loved her father especially, always following him around and tugging at his shirt. he loved her in kind, putting a spear in her hand when she was scarcely old enough to grip it all the way and even allowing her to sit beside his throne or on his lap when he was working - it was one of the rare times she could sit still. watching him fight and rule, she thought him the bravest man in all the world.

her valorous nature and adventurous spirit lead her into mischief, even when she was young. her older siblings were twins so nyria was determined to make her own fun, often wandering off. her mother would capture her attention with stories at night and nyria drank them up, relishing in the tales of intrigue and daring, memorizing many by heart.

she lost her parents too young, only being about 12; each year she grows older her remembrance of them grows more and more into absence. she’s managed to fill the emptiness inside with rage. she had always been an excitable girl, and had never much cared for the world outside her beloved dorne. but with her parents taken from her, convinced it was by the targaryen’s, her anger grew. and swelled even higher when she heard her eldest sister had been sold off like some steed to the targaryen’s in the name of “peace” - peace with a destructive empire with maddening rulers ruled by their own madness and greed.

with the death of her parents came the worry for her, the guards being greater and the eyes cutting sharper in her direction. but the way she was treated was not all that changed; nyria changed too. her carefree-nature melted into something more focused. she had to be smarter, like her siblings. she would not wear her emotions across her face like she used to. she would learn to hold her tongue around certain people until she was ready to bite. though she is not great at it, she has grown better through the years, much more calculating. her mind has always been interested in unique military strategies, and she applied that nature with relation to those who were her enemies - and many became her enemy in her mind’s eye with the death of her parents. she no longer knew who she could trust.

now she wears daggers under her dresses, concealed so well that the only time you can truly tell she’s unarmed is when she’s disrobed. now she is learning what it means to find freedom, if not for herself then at least for her people.

as the only eligible child of house martell left for betrothal, her hand was looked upon as advantageous. dorne is different, is allowed certain privileges that other lands are not, dorne is strong and the title of prince, even if it is not a ruling one, is alluring enough that many houses, great and otherwise, attempted to form an alliance through marriage with dorne. but they should’ve looked past her hand and to the anger in her eyes. while many came to vie for her hand, promising plenty to the prince, they did not have what it took to walk among vipers - and a young nyria proved it, placing serpents in their beds, at the feet of their steeds, and sometimes into their minds with doubt-causing whispers. she scared them off and her family was not stupid - they knew what she was doing. but her brother has not seen fit to marry her off yet.

nyria likes her hand unheld and free of a husband. in an attempt at rebellion, in the hopes of keeping her sovereignty longer, she bedded her first love in early adolescence. taking pleasure in her own, she continued her flirtatious trend. and who could resist such a girl, whose tongue can tame vipers when she sees fit but who tears through a room like a hurricane. she beds men and women in kind, though she considers her weakness to be skillful women with an air of danger about them.

it was a few years ago when she got lost traveling. an argument leading her to ride off alone, desperate to get away from the overbearing principles of responsibility. a sand storm found her lost on her own in the desert for days. the heat bore down and the water grew scarce and her anger and frustrating grew, swirling around her and on the second day, half delirious, she laid next to a dry stream as her emotions boiled over. she could scarcely remember the words she whispered to herself as water began to flow back into the stream. she had barely the strength to wet her face and her tongue before she passed out. she was found the next day unconscious next to a free-flowing stream that none could remember being there.

when she awoke back home, she at first tried to convince herself it was a hallucination but she could not ignore the hum in her bones, the difference in…something…or perhaps it had always been there, and she’d never known or chosen to ignore it. she could not resist the tug towards the library and ancient scrolls on water magic, learning about the rhoynish practice of it. she was particularly interested in how it was able to stop dragons…

now she feels the power crackling inside of her. she cannot do much because she has not managed control. even small acts like attempting to water a plant bring on a flooding of a fountain near her instead. she has told scarcely anyone about it, unsure what to make of it. it kills her to admit it, but she may need help, if she ever wants to make this power useful.

the sadness never goes away, the suffocating pressure of everyone she has lost sitting stiflingly in her chest. she wishes she could be as open as she once was when she was younger but the walls are there now. she questions her capability to love when she already carries so many people in her heart: her parents, her siblings, her people, her land. or when suitors have always said love and marriage and meant power and ownership and control. sometimes she thinks the burning anger inside of her is what is keeping her alive, though she questions if you can live off of fury.

she is leashed chaos, driven by love, emboldened by belief, and made all the more complicated with growing power - not just in the magical sense but also in the way she’s learned to conduct herself politically. her tongue still strikes like a serpent but she waits for it to coil more carefully now.

she is incredibly loyal, loving, and protective of her family, particularly her siblings. growing up, they were all she had. her heart is with dorne and her people. she’s heard the flippant, remarks by those in the other kingdoms about the dornish and their culture and in truth, the talk, and many of them, disgust her. she finds their succession laws foolish, much of their culture barbaric, and their food bland. she is quick to remind everyone that dorne was never conquered by the targaryens, that even fire and blood cannot make the sun bow to it, that in truth, the legacy of the targaryen conquest in dorne is one of failure; dorne only joined the seven kingdoms through marriage. and though it was on dornish terms, nyria’s always thought it a mistake. what do the other kingdoms know of dorne?

WANTED PLOTS & CONNECTIONS.

you can find my post of wanted connections here! please feel free to message me to plot. i prefer tumblr but can do discord as well though i’m not well-versed. and/or like this and i’ll hit you up.

#loyal:intro #hi i'm diane!#asldfajsdl that is all #sorry this is kinda long

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newstfionline · 3 years ago

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Tuesday, August 10, 2021

UN report: Earth warming (AP) Earth’s climate is getting so hot that temperatures in about a decade will probably blow past a level of warming that world leaders have sought to prevent, according to a report released Monday that the United Nations calls a “code red for humanity.” “It’s just guaranteed that it’s going to get worse,” said report co-author Linda Mearns, a senior climate scientist at the U.S. National Center for Atmospheric Research. “I don’t see any area that is safe ... Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.” The authoritative Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report makes more precise and warmer forecasts for the 21st century than it did last time it was issued in 2013. The 3,000-plus-page report from 234 scientists said warming is already accelerating sea level rise, shrinking ice and worsening extremes such as heat waves, droughts, floods and storms. Tropical cyclones are getting stronger and wetter, while Arctic sea ice is dwindling in the summer and permafrost is thawing. All of these trends will get worse, the report said.

Canada begins allowing vaccinated US citizens to visit again (AP) Canada on Monday is lifting its prohibition on Americans crossing the border to shop, vacation or visit, but the United States is keeping similar restrictions in place for Canadians, part of a bumpy return to normalcy from COVID-19 travel bans. U.S. citizens and legal permanent residents must be both fully vaccinated and test negative for COVID-19 within three days to get across one of the world’s longest and busiest land borders. Travelers also must fill out a detailed on application on the arriveCAN app before crossing. Even though travelers have to register, the Canada Border Services Agency won’t say how many people they are expecting to enter Canada for the reopening. But travelers should plan for the possibility of additional processing time at the border. The U.S.-Canada border has been closed to nonessential travel since March 2020 to try to slow the spread of the coronavirus.

Dixie Fire rages (1440) Northern California’s Dixie Fire has grown to the largest single-source wildfire in state history and the second biggest overall, having consumed roughly 490,000 acres as of this morning (21% containment). Most of the damage surrounds the Lake Almanor reservoir. At least five people are missing, with thousands under evacuation from small towns in the area. The blaze began 27 days ago, potentially sparked by faulty power equipment. Driven by high temperatures and unpredictable winds, the fire leveled the town of Greenville last week, destroying almost 100 homes. Fire officials said the Dixie Fire may be fully contained by Aug. 20, pending weather conditions.

U.S. sending drugs to Mexico (Washington Post) The most sought after marijuana being trafficked across the U.S.-Mexico border is now the weed entering Mexico, not the weed leaving it. “The demand here for American weed has exploded,” said one dealer in Mexico City, who estimated that 60 percent of the marijuana he sells now comes from California. “It’s aspirational for many of my clients. They want to be seen smoking the best stuff, the stuff rappers brag about smoking.” Over nearly a century, the United States spent billions of dollars combating drug trafficking from Mexico—with marijuana long at the center of that effort. Now the world’s most famous cannabis strains—with names like Girl Scout Cookies and Bubba Kush—can be purchased just north of the U.S.-Mexico border, including at outlet malls walking distance from Mexican territory.

More Cubans try dangerous trip to US across Florida Straits (AP) Zuleydis Elledias has gotten up each morning for the past two months hoping for a phone call, a message—any news on the fate of her husband and nephew, who disappeared at sea after the boat they were in capsized as they tried to reach Florida. Cuba is seeing a surge in unauthorized migration to the United States, fueled by an economic crisis exacerbated by the pandemic, increased U.S. sanctions and cutbacks in aid from its also-crisis-wracked Venezuelan ally. That has led to shortages in many goods and a series of protests that shook the island on July 11. And legal ways to leave have been strained by the Trump administration’s near-closure of the U.S. Consulate in 2017 following a series of mysterious illnesses among diplomatic personnel that some claimed could result from an attack—allegations Cuba bitterly denies. Most Cubans who want to try for a U.S. visa now have to go to embassies in other countries—and getting there is almost impossible due to sharp cuts in air traffic during the pandemic. Most can’t afford tickets anyway unless relatives abroad can front them the money. That has pushed many Cubans to launch themselves into the sea on small boats or rafts to attempt the dangerous crossing of the Florida Straits to the United States.

In Haiti, a clouded assassination probe prompts fears of political crackdowns (Washington Post) Nearly a month after the assassination of President Jovenel Moïse, none of the dozens of detained suspects have been taken to court. Some of the judges and clerks involved in investigating the killing have gone into hiding, fearing for their lives and claiming they faced pressure to tamper with reports. Now, with the plot and motives still murky, many Haitians have begun to believe the authorities are also using the investigation as cover to crack down on political foes of the administration trying to keep power after gunmen killed Moïse on July 7. A prosecutor for Port-au-Prince has issued a series of arrest warrants against political opponents—high-profile evangelical pastors, a former justice minister and Moïse critics—who all say they had nothing to do with the assassination. Steven Irvenson Benoit, a former senator and presidential candidate in Haiti, described the arrest warrants as “a war” against political enemies who could challenge the country’s interim leadership. “The regime in power wants to stay in power, so they issued arrest warrants against those who can be a threat to them,” said Gérard Forges, a well-known pastor in Haiti and outspoken critic of Moïse who was the subject of one of this week’s arrest warrants.

In border crisis between Belarus and Lithuania, salvos fly in ‘propaganda war’ (Washington Post) Belarus calls it shocking: state media reports on an Iraqi migrant who died while trying to cross into Lithuania. Lithuania calls it fiction: a story invented by Belarus to smear its neighbor amid a growing crisis in which migrants have been used as pawns by Belarus’s leader, Alexander Lukashenko. Amid the conflicting accounts, Lukashenko is raising the stakes in his showdown with the West as his country grows more isolated, his crackdowns on dissent widen and his tactics grow more defiant—including opening routes for thousands of migrants, mostly Iraqis, to stream into E.U.-member Lithuania over the past months. Belarus’s accusations against Lithuanian border guards came as Belarusian Olympic runner Krystsina Tsimanouskaya flew to Poland to seek asylum, saying she was afraid to fly home to Belarus after criticizing her country’s Olympic team.

France’s health pass (Foreign Policy) France today extends the use of a COVID-19 health pass to bars, restaurants, and long-distance travel as it seeks to encourage vaccination. The pass, which has been in use for those entering museums, theaters, and sporting venues since July, is backed by a majority of residents according to polls, but has still been subject to fierce opposition; 237,000 people demonstrated across France on Saturday to protest the measures, in demonstrations that united far-right and far-left figures wary of the damage to French ideals of liberty and equality.

Massive forest fire in Greece still burning for 7th day (AP) Firefighters and residents battled a massive forest fire on Greece’s second largest island for a seventh day Monday, fighting to save what they can from flames that have decimated vast tracts of pristine forest, destroyed homes and businesses and sent thousands fleeing. The smoke and ash from the fire on Evia, a rugged island of forests and coves almost touching the Greek mainland, blocked out the sun, turning the sky orange as the blaze rampaged across the northern part of the island. Evia’s fire is the most severe of dozens that have broken out across Greece in the past week, after the country was baked by its worst heat wave in three decades which sent temperatures soaring to 45 degrees Celsius (113 Fahrenheit) for days. The heat, coming amid what has already been a particularly hot summer, has turned Greece’s forests, including large areas of easily flammable pine trees, into bone-dry tinderboxes. Other big fires have been burning forests and farmland in the southern Greek region of the Peloponnese, while a major blaze that burned through homes, businesses and forests on the northern fringes of Athens was on the wane.

Virus-free New Zealand plans border reopening amid labour shortage (Reuters) Under pressure from businesses and public sectors facing a worker shortage that policymakers fear will fuel inflation, New Zealand Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern is due to unveil plans this week to reopen the country’s borders. Ardern garnered global praise for containing local transmission of COVID-19 via an elimination strategy, imposing tough lockdowns and slamming New Zealand’s international border shut in March 2020. However, that tactic is now straining an economy heavily reliant on an immigrant workforce, leading to higher costs and lower output. The dairy, horticulture, housing, services, health and broader public sector have all reported acute staff shortages, and called on the government to raise border blocks.

Spanish village seeks Unesco world heritage status for outdoor chats (Guardian) It’s a nightly summer ritual across much of Spain: as the sweltering heat of the day eases off, chairs are hauled out to the street for an alfresco chat. Now an enterprising village in southern Spain is seeking to have the tradition recognised by the United Nations as a cultural treasure. The aim is to protect the centuries-old custom from the encroaching threat of social media and television, said José Carlos Sánchez, the mayor of Algar, a town of about 1,400 people. “It’s the opposite of social media,” he told the Guardian. “This is about face-to-face conversations.” “We want to return to having everyone outside of their doors alfresco instead of scrolling through Facebook or watching television inside their homes.” Sánchez, who regularly spends balmy summer evenings on the doorstep of his 82-year-old mother’s house, is quick to list off the many benefits of what is known as charlas al fresco, from the energy savings gleaned from turning off the air conditioning for a few hours to the sense of community forged as neighbours share in the day’s gossip or comment on the latest news stories. The nightly chats also offer a sort of psychological release, keeping loneliness at bay at a time when concerns around mental health have sharpened, he argued. “Residents come out onto the street and instead of feeling that they’re alone, what they get is a therapy session,” said the 38-year-old. “They share their stories or the problems they’re going through and the neighbours try and help.”

#headlines #news

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karderseals1990 · 4 years ago

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Bacterial Vaginosis Fatigue Astonishing Cool Tips

There are many different opinions and snippets of information to everybody because bacterial vaginosis is a very nasty cycle that is considered mild, it can have negative long term alternative treatment that corrects the problem with BV don't suffer from repeated outbreaks, this is strong capsule form can help to replenish the body's pH is a vaginal gel or cream and you need to make sure that it is still best to know a real problem many women with single partners.For example, cereal, soups, tea, soda, fruits and vegetables.There are other medications that are actually causing it to wash and wash.However, 50% of women who are suffering from the comforts of your own fingers.

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Bacterial Vaginosis Gel Treatment Uptodate

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Bacterial Vaginosis Zinc

It is best to try different cures until you get bacterial vaginosis.The bacterial vaginosis as it indicates a problem, there's nothing wrong with using antibiotics, is that this infection without any treatment.There are a variety of things that you have identified the only one in three women would give anything to increase and as most people will know, the stronger the medication, you can buy these ingredients for little cost, but they can overpower the Lactobacillus bacteria will build-up and increase your chances of needing a fast recovery.What actually implies that if you're pregnant and have been unable to narrow it down and cannot be seen in the afflicted genital region to resist the urge to scratch it.With that said, while BV isn't very dangerous in the vagina.

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#Bacterial Vaginosis Fatigue Astonishing Cool Tips #Can Bacterial Vaginosis Cause Dryness

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random-imagines-blog · 7 years ago

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The City is Far From Here {Jon Snow oneshot}

Winterfell was everything that you had thought that it would be. It was cold, it was a bit dreary and yet it seemed strong. It had survived the invasions that had come from the Boltons and the Greyjoys, and was standing proud and defiant just the same. It had seen a lot of bloodshed and now, hopefully, it would see some warmth since the family that belonged to Winterfell was back again. You, as a companion of the man known as Little Finger, had come along to help with the Battle of the Bastards, using your strategy and organizational skills to help an attack but stay on the sidelines where it was safe. It was an honor to help the Starks, whose bravery and defiance you had heard about and greatly admired.

You found a new position in Winterfell, moving from being Little Finger’s companion to being the handmaid of Sansa Stark. She did seem to be a cold woman but you lit the fires in her rooms each day in the hopes that she may just thaw a little bit more, and bring some sunshine to Winterfell before the dark days fell upon you. You had heard the rumors whispered around about Jon Snow and where he had been, what he had seen. And you believed in them whole-heartedly. You just believed in Jon, having seen him around the castle, always serious and ready for battle.

You sat by the closed window, watching the sunset over the snowy hills, your hands kept busy by the laundering. The warm, thick fabrics were especially difficult to get stains out of and took lots of special care. You could see the field where the murders of so many soldiers had taken place recently, but your focus was not on that area. You were thinking about being back home, where it was warm. Where it seemed safer. Where the only concern of yours was whether it was going to be rabbit or venison for dinner that night. Oldtown, the home of the Citadel. A very intelligent city, and you didn’t think it overly-confident to believe that some of that resided in you.

“The sky turns red, the air is cold,” You started to sing, eyes staying out on the sunset while your hands were at work, scrubbing out a particularly tough stain from Lady Sansa’s gown. “With one last chance to do as I’m told.” You continued your song and then resorted towards humming. It was an old song, from some other handmaidens that you had overhead singing back in Oldtown. It seemed to fit. The air really was getting cold and you would have to return to the fireside soon just to keep your fingers from freezing in the water. The city that you came from, that you had considered home, seemed so far away now. You had left to use your smarts for good, where they could be useful, and yet here you were washing dresses you would never wear.

“No need to stop on my account.” A smooth voice said. You stopped your washing and looked towards the door, realizing too late that you had left it just a little bit open so you would be able to hear if Sansa returned to her bedchambers. The first thing that you noticed was the mass of fur that seemed to take over the shape of a human, but then the pale face with the dark hair came into view. Standing as you knew you were supposed to, you bowed your head at the King of the North, Jon Snow. “I can’t say that I know the song that you were singing.”

“It’s from my home city, Oldtown.” You said, sitting back down since Jon had given you a nod. He came and joined you, to your great surprise, pulling up a stool closer to the fire than where you were sitting. He did not offer to help with the laundering however, so your hands got back to it quickly. “It’s just a song that the handmaidens would sing, I used to overhear them.”

“I have a friend who wants to go there. To the Citadel.” Jon said, continuing the conversation. You smiled, picturing the giant spire that had made the rest of your city look small in comparison.

“He must be very smart then, it is the best place to go for knowledge. I’ve never been allowed in there myself since I am a woman but I’ve caught peeks of some of their books.” Your eyes had met his then went back down to the laundry. Your fingers continued to work nimbly, scrubbing at the stain. It was difficult to get wine out of fur.

“I know how hard it can be to leave your homecity. Did you have family there?” He asked, continuing the conversation.

You did talk a little about your family. Your mother, your father, a couple of your siblings. “It was scary to leave, I will admit that to you, my King. But I am very thankful to have found a home here with you and your family. I hope that I can adjust to the winters soon enough.” “Stay inside of the keep and by the warm fire, and you should be fine.” Jon advised. “In fact, you should move closer to the fire now. Your hand is starting to turn white.” He stood up and moved his stool closer to the window so that you had no choice but to scoot over to get closer to the fire. His perception was true. Your fingers were bare so you could work more diligently, but the cold was really starting to affect you. Even the water that you were using to launder the clothes was starting to get more and more chilly.

“Thank you.” You said. By the light of the fire, you were finally able to get that tricky little stain out, and then hung up the dress to dry by the flames, but not close enough to where it would burn. “Is there anything that I can help you out with? My work for Lady Sansa is finished.” I crossed my hands in front of my body but did not lower my head. So far, Jon Snow had talked to me as an equal so I will do the same.

“Is it warm in Oldtown?” Jon asked. I blinked and then fell right into the conversation.

“It can be. It is quite a damp city, however. It rains a lot, since we were right on the shore. And the winds could get trapped in the streets, like they are stuck in a maze. But the sun did shine down warmly upon it throughout most days. More wet than snow. I think I like the snow better.” You spoke, sitting down again.

“I can almost feel the warmth.” Jon said, looking at you with curiosity. “And you were happy there?”

“I’m not so sure that I was, my King.” I told him. “I miss it the way that most miss their homes. I always had shelter, food and family that I could depend on but at times - should I really be talking about this?”

“I’m curious about you.” Jon stated. It didn’t sound like a suspicious curious either, but if it were, you wanted to stop those thoughts in their tracks so you carried on.

“I felt as if things were expected of me and I wanted to find out more about myself.” I realized that perhaps he might have felt the same way, but different as well. As a bastard whose mother wasn’t in the picture, maybe he understood? You didn’t want to get too hopeful about that though, and suddenly fell embarrassed. “I left Oldtown of my own volition and I like it here. As long as Lady Sansa will have me, I will stay.”

“I heard about how you had come up with some of the strategies that were used during the battle.” Jon said, willfully not using the nickname for it that everyone else had. The Battle of the Bastards.

The room stayed quiet after that had come out, save for the sound of the crackling fire. It didn’t sound like anyone was even walking through the halls despite the fact that they were usually teeming with guards. Finally, you nodded your head.

“Did you learn that in those books?” Jon implored.

You told him about how you had indeed learned some of the strategies from the books that you had peeked at from the Citadel. But then went on - “When I was a child, my friends used to play war games. We grew up hearing about history and all of the great battles that had happened. We used to re-enact them, even if it wasn’t exactly proper for a young girl to do so. I just got really good at those games.”

Jon chuckled. “You remind me a little of my sister, but at the same time-” You knew he was talking about Arya, having heard a bit about her from Little Finger and from Sansa. You felt a little churn in your stomach. You did not want to be thought of as a sister. “- you are not at all like my sisters.”

“Is that meant to be an insult?” You asked, knowing full well that he loved his sisters. Jon’s brow furrowed as he looked at you. He stepped in close to you. You could feel his breath on your face, hotter than the flames that were by you.

“No.” He said, simply. You felt a little vulnerable at being so close so took a step back. He did not follow. “Do you really have no regrets at leaving your city?”

“Not at all, Jon Snow.” You said, finally using his name. He looked at you differently as you did so. “I already feel like I might be building a home here in Winterfell. My birth city may be far, and I may have been fearful on the journey to come to this new place, but I do not feel scared now. I’m not scared of anything.”

Jon didn’t step forward again but he did reach his hand out and touch yours lightly. “While you’re here, there’s no need to fear anyone. But Winter is coming and I may need your help. Not washing clothing, but thinking of tactics. I know you’re good. Will you help me?”

“Of course.” You said, opening your palm so that his could slide in against yours. You tightened your fingers around it, holding his hand, feeling the warmth of his body. “This is my city now.”

#Jon Snow #Jon Snow oneshots #Game of Thrones #GOT #Game of Thrones imagines #GOT imagines #Kit Harrington #Imagines #nonrequest #JonS #Sansa Stark

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selectivememoir · 4 years ago

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Selective Memoir

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Mozelle Called (1)

I’d meant to tell her Mozelle’d called.

Since I’d flimflammed Mom into ("just for a while") leaving her home two hours away, Mozelle kept up these days only by phone. If she didn’t get hold of Margaret as quickly as she’d like, she’d call me, all worried - thoughtful, on the face of it.

Mozelle Mason is a woman of means, self-made, with a will wound deliberately and excruciatingly round her slight but steely frame. Flinty and frugal, with a Pentecostal imperative, she amassed her fortune.

She’s at least 102 and in suspiciously Faustian good health. Against nature and reason, she still works and wields authority as the proprietress of her two stores, The Gold ‘n’ Comb and the Golden Gallery. Both are strokes of evangelical entrepreneurial genius and are identical in concept: in the front half, the tchotchke-obsessed can sate themselves with Precious Moments™, Hummel™, Lladro™, Swarovski™, et al, while waiting for a style–n-set in the beauty parlor at the rear: kind of a QVC meets PTL meets the Emerald City.

Mozelle’s disposition emphasizes the “mean” in means. As is the wont of the pious-vain, she could turn her convicting guns on any sinner / competitor / covenant sister – and annihilate prey with her damning and benign curse: I’ll pray for you. A peer and fellow churchwoman of my grandmother, Dell, who’d been deceased since before Watergate, (Dell’d called her Sister Mason, or really just Mason), Mozelle kept the circle unbroken in her praying fists.

Dell had a curious, but come to find, common, practice of referring to other women by their last names. This was a strategy that successfully deodorized the siren perfume of a beautiful first name. Ostensibly borne out of modesty, this practice eliminated other women as potential rivals and served as a sort of Church-of-God burka. This said, the point would be moot in Mozelle’s case, unless “Mozelle” sounds a lot more alluring to you, dear reader, than it does to my ears. There were no Lydias, no Dorotheas, no Thalias in her social orbit. This garden grew only sturdy Flerds, Lones, and Myrts. Perhaps referring to last names was a kindness. Here’s an RC Cola toast to Teagues, Marshall, Wise, Baker, and countless others.

In that roll I mentioned Baker. Two things about Baker: of course, if you put a gun to my head I wouldn’t be able to tell you her first name. Anyway, Baker’s son, Eugene, shot his father for raping and abusing her. Details are sketchy, due to the whole affair being buried in church gossip archives. Eugene did some time in a mental institution, got out, lived with his mom and remained unemployable for the rest of his days. The thanks you get.

Baker’s neighbor had entertained in vaudeville as a contortionist. At my expressed admiration of it, she gave me a photograph of him, costumed as a princely frog, in a split, chest flat on a Persian rug, and frog face to his certainly spellbound audience. It’s framed and hangs on my wall even as you read this.

Selective Memoir

Friday, January 21, 2005

Fried Green Stigmata

In the latter years of my mother’s defiant and reckless independence, Mozelle became an unlikely benefactress-at-whim for her. She’d come by with home-cooked southern specialties on days I couldn’t be there.

The meals themselves were the Three Faces of Betty Crocker (or Cracker?). From Mozelle’s kitchen came down-home real-deal fare: fried green tomatoes, savory pressure-cooked garden-grown green beans, and cornbread (to be crumbled into a tall tumbler of buttermilk, thank you). A “garden dinner” was as close as you could get to healthy: tomatoes, okra, corn, green beans and diced onions jumbled in a friendly mess on a plate, with the cornbread broken and smashed around in it. [If eaten at a church dinner-on-the-grounds*, a minimum of two Chinets are required.] These dishes were accepted with grace, genuine or feigned. You see Mom’d had the audacity to have fallen on, plummet into - Hard Times. And Hard Times, as everyone knows, is always the result of sin, so naturally punishment was to be exacted. This was a sternly smiling retribution, the pound of flesh extracted for my mother’s Jai-Alai debts, her dissipated, slovenly lifestyle, and the unbecoming depression borne from THE divorce some 25 years gone. There was no small amount of glee at the contrast between the condemned building that was now my mother and former red carpet-worthy glamour she’d possessed, the resentment it’d inspired, and which to both she was entirely oblivious.

Mozelle demanded and got my mother’s Social Security card for her own use at the local food pantry, on the premise of saving Margaret the trip, which had become too much. Impersonating Christian charity, Mozelle forged this ongoing ransom with Mom, very much against my wishes. Worth millions, mind you, Sister Mason thought nothing of stockpiling food, keeping the greater and preferred portion of the government cheese and canned peanut butter bounty for herself. Delightful as this was, Mozelle had an even darker side.

Monday, January 24, 2005

Mozelle Called (2)

Representing both a connection to the vanished churchworld Mozelle knew, and serving as an easy-commute missionary experiment, my mother drew by familiarity and some infamy. Mom had long since concluded that her keen sense of irony was a mutant gene. It’d been bad enough she’d made her living in a bathing suit.

Gratitude and dread were inexorably joined in the receiving of Mozelle’s generosity because the dutiful Sister Mason was in the infantry as God’s Rod of Judgment, as indicated by the downward skeptic's angle of her nose and chin, she was born insulted. Sister Mason knew, like a heat-seeking missile, where my mother’s deeper wound lay. She knew how to faithfully open and salt it. Mozelle knew when to inflict blame, alternate it with the comforting balm of familiarity, and revile again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

The meals came invoiced with guilt and shame. Mom insisted on enduring the indignities and soundly rebuked my objections; the proffered meals were not her incentive, but the connection they represented. As Mozelle considered it her mission, my mother likewise considered the mortaring of that historical tie hers. Job incredulously confronted his friends / accusers with the superficiality and cruelty of their counsel; Margaret elected to embrace her tormentor. It baffled anyone, including Mozelle’s own family - her daughter especially who had fond and glowing memories of kindnesses she'd received at my mother’s hand in those early years.

There is a point where exponential shame ceases to be shame and becomes merely a passageway which ends in a cul-de-sac of forgiveness. But whose forgiveness was being offered? Margaret’s forgiveness for Mozelle’s warped notion of an overdue vindication? Margaret’s for Dell’s abuse? Margaret’s for Margaret’s failures?

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

The steak's just a buck

And so where the cornbread elicited gratitude, Mozelle’s sadism began to express itself with curious offerings in her charismatic catering.

Duck and cover came with Deliverance-like experimental “chilies,” “stews,” and “meat loafs”, the central ingredient common to them being venison (“Just try it, Margaret! I swear it isn’t gamey”). The deer meat would make its way from the Buckeye state by way of Mozelle’s son. It was never clear if it came from the butcher, a hunting expedition, or just a lack of familiarity with how the snowplow worked, but graciously receive them she did, for the unthinkable alternative was to offend Mozelle and that really wasn’t an alternative.

But this arrangement was destined to wear thin, and so ensued Mom’s refusals, tacit and open, and subsequent attempts at cover-ups from both parties.

Mozelle, determined: “..enough beans and chili powder and she’ll never know.”

Mom, polite, in hopes of a return to standard fare: “Really, I’m full”

Mozelle with the bait and switch: “Margaret (all twinkly friendly) would you like me to bring you over a steak and some cornbread? Fresh Made!?!”

Mom: humphh “I-don’t-know-who-she-thinks-she’s-kidding”.

The score at the buzzer was just nod and amiably grumble.

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