#let me know if this is unreadable to non-americans

[inimitablereel]

Okay, a very biased attempt (below the cut because this got long)

Dakotas: they're... cold. They're empty. They've got oil in at least one of them. All my family who used to live there moved away. There's a large reservation there - if you've heard about the DAPL water protests, the D there stands for these Dakotas.

Kansas/Nebraska: also empty. The Kansas-Nebraska act, which made them states and let the local residents vote on whether they'd be free or slave states, was important in starting the civil war? If you desperately need mountains in your life, pulling up a map tells me that the edge of Rocky Mountains hits Kansas, Nebraska, and South Dakota, but I don't know how much of the cool parts that is. Apparently abortion is still legal in Kansas so that's good.

Minnesota: Okay now we're getting to the good ones. Minnesota has good politics! They just passed a whole bunch of progressive legislation! Everyone who ever lived there loves to talk about being from Minnesota and is also instant friends with anyone else they met from Minnesota. Minneapolis/St. Paul (the twin cities) isn't like a super big city but it's a real enough city and it seems cool. It is very cold and snowy in this state.

Iowa: They... are the first state that gets to vote in US presidential elections? The biggest city that looks like it's in Iowa on google maps is actually just across the border in Nebraska.

Missouri: St. Louis is a pretty cool little city. Highlights from visiting as a teen were the city museum (scaled up giant playground) and a free zoo. Also supposedly there's an arch, which I did not visit. Apart from that, worth noting that even though it's not actually that much further south than the rest of the midwest, Missouri is culturally more southern.

Wisconsin: Lots of good vacation places? The politics are fairly messed up, though I think they had good news in their last election so it may be getting better eventually? They're a swing state but they're very badly gerrymandered. I'm not sure whether Milwalkee is a real city but people seem to like it. Oh and it has Wiscon (scifi convention) if that's relevant to your interests

Illinois: So larkandkatydid is right that Chicago is geographically a small part of Illinois, but Chicago (and its suburbs) is a lot of people (something like 3/4 of the population of the state?) and a great city and there's no reason not to just choose to live in Chicago the rest of your life if you're a city person. Or the suburbs if you're a suburb person. Chicago has a reputation for brutally cold winters but a) so does the rest of the midwest and b) it's getting noticably less so (thanks climate change). And yeah, the politics of the state are also pretty good! We just banned book bans! I'm leaving it at pretty good because there's a long history of corruption here and the state budget is still recovering from our super corrupt former governor who's in jail for trying to sell Obama's senate seat, but the major political problems are corruption, not politicians actively trying to kill you. St. Louis suburbs are also in Illinois, as is a pretty solid state university, though tbh most of the midwest states except for the super empty ones have pretty solid state universities?

Michigan: Why are so many people voting for Michigan? What is the appeal??? Michigan has been slowly dying because of the death of the auto industry for ages. It's got nice vacation places by a big lake? But almost this whole list has good lake access. It's got pretty good and well known schools? Uhhh I've heard that Detroit's bad reputation is mostly unfair? It's another swing state, but it had pretty good results last election and struck down its old on the books abortion ban. So I guess it's an option if you're a big fan of open space and also driving a lot to get places? There's nothing wrong with Michigan I just don't really see the draw.

Indiana: don't move to Indiana. Uhhh I guess If I'm trying to be fair it's got some nice dunes? And uhhhh a car race? And a fine university/college town? And it's an option if you want to be in the Chicago suburbs but pay cheaper taxes but at what cost (Politics are bad, and the part of Indiana right by Chicago actively smells bad)

Ohio: I do not know a lot of Ohio facts. It's one of those places people make fun of, but I'm not really sure why? Maybe for being fairly industrial? It's got multiple medium big cities (Cleveland, Cincinnati, and Columbus). It's got the only non-rectangular US flag? Clicking through random 2020 census maps apparently there are fewer married couple and more single person living alone households in Ohio vs the rest of the midwest?

Cross referencing an abortion laws map and a LGBTQ policy map, Illinois and Minnesota are actively progressive and have good laws on the books, Michigan is okay, and Missouri and the Dakotas are actively hostile, everyone else is somewhere in between okay and actively hostile. Which maybe explains the prevalence of Michigan...

[idv-news-boi]

// emote/interaction ideas

___

Laurence

{Coin Trick} *Flips an unusual coin with his left hand, definitely not an American cent-*

{Dice} *Throws dice as if he's throwing a grenade, covers the sides of his headpiece with his gloved hands as if muting the dice's sounds before taking a peek for the number with his signature smile*

{Dance} *Tap Dances before tilting his hat in the end along with a wink*

{Pray} *Starts doing the praying motions with a straight posture solemnly*

{Whisper} *Leans in near {survivor}'s ear to quietly whisper them some tea*

{Eat} *Eats a hamburger/salad with a jolly grin* (goes randomly)

{With Akihiko emote} *Hugs the camera boi tight once Akihiko tried to give him a bento*

{With Kitty emote} *hand clap games! The game somehow gets quicker over the milliseconds- then accepts Kitty's chocolate and chomps it happily bdbfbd*

{With Angel emote} *Angel was to put the blanket like a veil on Lau, but instead, the Blondie decides to gently take the blanket and pull Angel close to him with it lol-*

{With Rosalyn emote} *enjoying the puppet show, but then swoops her up into a happy hug as he lightly laughs at Rpsie's squeak,,,*

Voicelines

{If you stare at him} Like what you see~?

{Being stared at by a kid} Wassup, champ??? :D

{Talk show} Wanna talk? I can entertain you~

{About the cypher machines} These things are masochists- they only work when one person or more punches them up!

{When the first survivor gets downed} Oh dear,,~!

{When a survivor gets chaired} Don't die on me yet, partner!

{When slamming a pallet at the hunter} *sings* Oops, i did it again~!

{When slamming a pallet at the hunter} Ouch,,, My mistake, nothing personal, dear~

{Shock} *not flinching * "What, you like that, masochistic machine...~?"

{Shock} *doesn't hesitate to just gives a hard stomp on it * "Calm your guts there...~ nwn" (<- Akihiko was watching him while hiding and seeing him makes him feel a bit traumatized lol-)

___

Akihiko

{Drink} *drinks green tea*

{Dance} *Loca Toca Toca dance */ih

{Bow} *Bows in Japanese custom*

{Dice} *Not so enthusiastically throws the dice, the hand he uses to throw stays where it angles as he looks down at the dice blanky*

{Gift} *Puts his collar bag on the ground, searches for something in it, and offers a bento to {survivor} who forgot to eat/skipped lunch*

{With Laurence emote} *quickly starts taking many pictures of Lau, who technically strikes many different poses like an idol lol*

{With Rosalyn emote} *Gives Rosie a small branch of cherry blossom, slowly blooming more beautifully once Rosie accepts it*

{With Kitty emote} *starts playing the omochio tsukimasho with Kitty*

{With Eiji emote} *lets him read a manga book for minute*

Voicelines (he's not supposed to be playable in match, so most voicelines are mostly what-ifs scenarios)

{Being stared at by a peer/stranger} ...Daijobu? *Nervously sweats* (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

{Being stared at by Laurence} You can take a picture, you know,,- (half teasingly) (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠)

{Talking about the cipher machines} Are they really made for such deadly games..? No need to tell me more, That's the Reporter's job to write that down that...- (Aki doesn't have to, he's ALWAYS recording during a match)

{When the first survivor gets downed} Ah,,,! (⁠・⁠_⁠・⁠;⁠)

{When a survivor gets chaired} ...Mattete! (...Hang on, please!)

{When slamming a pallet a hunter} S-Sumimasen,,,! (I'm sorry in formal)

___

Angel

{Dice} *Throws dice smoothly with a dramatic swash with his arm, observing the dice twirl into a number with a tiny, unreadable smile*

{Pamper} *covers {survivor} and himself with the camouflage blanket, a mini pillow fort game,,,*

{Dance} *Flamingo dance in pair with an illusion figure that looks like Rosalyn *

{With Rosalyn emote} *accepts the flower crown from her before happily braiding her hair*

{With Laurence emote} *walking around the blondie one slowly before stopping Lau's non-existent heart as he lightly strokes the other's chin lol*

{With Akihiko emote} *Greets Akihiko with a calm, elegant Japanese bow, who quickly greeted back *

Voicelines

{Malewife, lol} I know how to cook, i know how clean, i know how to sew, and i know how to entertain you,,, what else can I not do as a partner?

{Bullfighting aka Kiting} ¡Olé!

{Discipline} Learn how things get done, dear~

{Shock} "MADRE MARIA- AY POR-"

{Shock} *yelps * "Ao,,,- (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)"

{pallet stunning} "My apologies... It's nothing personal, cielo-"

Rosalyn

{Dice} *Gently throws the dice with both hands, before holding her hands together while looking at the dice. As if hoping for a lucky number*

{Puppet Show} *Performs a cross puppet show with her other 3 puppets*

{Flower Crown} *Gives a flower crown to {survivor}*

{Dance} *Joropo dance with an illusion figure that looks like Angel *

Voicelines

{Pallet Stunning} {*...I'm really, really sorry,,,!*} ówò;

{Shock} *yelps in slight pain * {*I-I'm fine,,,! *}

{Shock} *yelps * {*S-Sorry,,,! *}

{Being stared} {*Is... There anything I can assist?*} *Nervous by the staring *

___

Kitty

{Dice} *Quickly throws the dice, then attentively look at the dice move before making a tiny happy jump with one punch raised in the air cheerfully*

{Hand Clap} *plays hand clap games with {survivor} as she sings nursery rhymes*

{Dance} *Chika dance*

{Chocolate} *starts devouring two chocolates from her bag, not explosive for her smh-*

{With Rosalyn emote} *Wholesome handclap game before she launches the older one into a hug,,,*

{With Laurence emote} *bubbles that show "DC!" and "Marvel!" repeatedly as they talk lol*

Voicelines

{Shock} "Yikes,,, :'3"

{Shock} "THE VIBE CHECK, ANYOOOOO- (⁠´⁠；⁠ω⁠；⁠｀⁠)"

___

Eiji

{Dice} *Takes his time to gracefully throw his dice with his dominant hand, still keeping his straight elegant posture after seeing the dice number*

{Dance} *Chinese sword dance*

{With Akihiko emote} *takes a green tea cup from Akihiko, nodding him as if thanking*

{With Kitty emote} *holding out a kitty onesie for Kitty to try, who looks curious by the sudden request at this time djdndndn*

{With Rosalyn emote} *does small steps to approach her cutely before giving her a cuddle hug, having 🥺 on his face/IH*

Voicelines

{Rescuing a teammate} "This is necessary -"

{Pallet Stunning} "Train harder."

{Shock}*sighs * "Aiyah,,,"

{Shock} "Who the heck broke this - "(<--- implying Laurence and his punching fists on the metal chunk )

___

[unnatural-transformations]

My Favorite Mathematical Proofs [1 of n]

This is the first in another irregular series of posts I'm hoping to start. In these posts I'll talk about proofs that I find particularly clever or surprising or elegant or funny. To start the series off I'm going to talk about one of my favorite ever short proofs, by Don Zagier, of an old number theory result originally due to Fermat.

This is sometimes known as Fermat's Christmas Theorem, because Fermat wrote about it in a letter to Marin Mersenne on December 25th 1640 (as usual for Fermat, I don't believe he actually gave a proof). The theorem has since been proved by a lot of famous mathematicians including Euler, Lagrange and Dedekind. Zagier gave his proof [inspired by Lagrange's] as a "one sentence proof" (which it is ... technically?) in The American Mathematical Monthly in 1990. You can read it here, if you like. It won't take long!

What I like about this proof is how little number theory it seems to involve. The key is a (fairly intuitive) lemma about involutions on finite sets, which Zagier uses without proof. Recall that an involution is a bijection which is equal to its own inverse: applying the bijection twice to any element brings you back to your original element. The intermediate step might send your element to something new, or it might not: in the latter case we call the element a fixed point of the involution. The lemma tells us that if we know that any given involution on a finite set has exactly one fixed point, then every involution on the set must have at least one fixed point.

Zagier considers the set of positive-integer solutions to the equation x^2 + 4yz = p and defines two involutions on it. One of these involutions (interchanging y and z) looks very natural, and it is clear that any fixed point of this involution will give a way of wrting p as a sum of two squares. The other involution is much more complicated in appearance -- it isn't even clear that it's an involution at all at first -- but it can be shown after some calculation to have exactly one fixed point. By the lemma, then, the first involution must also have a fixed point, which proves Fermat's theorem.

I think I like this proof because it has something of the air of a magic trick to it. It's not at all clear where the second, more complicated involution comes from. We barely seem to use the fact that p is a prime of the form 4k+1 at all. And the proof is totally non-constructive: it doesn't give you even a hint of how to go about actually finding pairs of squares that sum to p.

Maybe to some people this would all be an argument against the merits of this proof, but ... well, I dunno. I just really like it.

If you're interested in the full gory details (and the "one sentence" version linked to is a bit too terse for you), I've writen out a much longer version below the cut which does all the required calculations and checks all the details in full.

[These are given as screenshots of LaTeX output, so I'm afraid they're unreadable on a screenreader. Please let me know if you'd like the raw LaTeX.]

Now finally we have:

[boldlyanxious]

Fake dating with a twist

Masterlist

I had no intention to do the prompts but I read a couple of the jasonette fake dating stories and had a sudden inspiration.

Summary:

Marinette is at an event with a fake boyfriend but he abandons her when she needs him.

Marinette entered the ballroom with her friend Andrew. She had begged him to be her fake boyfriend because she needed to be at this event for the good of her brand but she wanted an excuse to be distant from her long time friend and former crush, heart-throb Adrien Agreste.

Adrien was a constant presence in the media recently. It had been a couple months since his break up with an American actress who he had met on set when he was given a cameo role in her show. The press has followed them around incessantly, loving every minute of their romance and sudden ending. Now as the time passed they were anxious to see him find a new love to parade around. It would look great as a comparison to his former fling now out and about with the front man to the latest boy band.

The former couple were very tight lipped about the cause of the split. Marinette wondered if she even knew the reason Adrien suddenly lost all interest. He had certainly told Marinette at every opportunity. Having hit the 10 year mark of the first day they put on their miraculous, at the moment they met both of them instantly realized who their partner had been. Marinette had been in a meeting when suddenly Adrien was calling her. She declined the call and the next several. She saw his message:

"I need to see you"

Several more popped up on the screen and the number for unread messages and missed calls kept increasing. She ended up turning her phone off because of the looks she was getting. She whispered an apology as she did and worked to get herself to focus back to the meeting.

When the meeting ended Marinette simple replied:

"Busy today. I can call later."

She focused back on her work for the day and was very frustrated that he accosted her on her way to get lunch. She had a very tight schedule today and was planning to eat lunch quickly and head to another in a long day of meetings. Adrien took her busy schedule as a personal insult and couldn't understand why she wouldn't suddenly drop everything to talk to him.

They ended up meeting for drinks later that night. Marinette was already exhausted from her day. Adrien professed his undying love for her and she just wanted a nap. She refused him. He never did learn how to handle rejection so true to form he took it as a challenge or a request to try harder. Over the past few months he had sent gifts and would show up with dinner or repeatedly try to win her heart without realizing that Marinette was just trying to focus on her tremendous workload.

So here she was at a fancy party to make connections with a fake boyfriend who was acting like a terrified valet. They walked around the room together. His hand at her back was hovering near her without actually touching as if making contact would end him. Marinette was groaning at the realization that he was a terrible fake boyfriend.

He must have seen that Adrien was here before she had. He was off and away making an excuse that he needed a drink but he passed the waiter with drinks and although he took one he was out the door on the other side of the room. Marinette sighed and turned to face the approaching man.

They were just now in range for a polite, non-shouted greeting when an arm slid around her waist. She turned to Andrew, so happy he had returned, only to see a man she did not know. He was very tall and broad. Adrien had gotten very tall and filled out but by comparison this man was several inches taller and possibly twice as broad.

"There you are, Darling." Marinette was shocked as he leaned down and placed a kiss along her hairline. "I know you were nervous but everyone is dying to meet you."

Without waiting for a response he pulled Marinette along with pressure on her hip from the arm he wrapped around her back. Marinette allowed herself to be pulled away but was looking around and marking her surroundings in case this went bad.

"Who are you?" Marinette whispered. "And why are you dragging me off this way."

"Jason Todd, at your service." He looked down at her and winked. "I'm doing this because it is what you wanted."

"What makes you think I want a stranger dragging me around? I'm supposed to be talking to people and networking."

"Then let's do that." He said simply, turning away to join the nearest crowd of people. Marinette pulled him back.

"No. You will give me an explanation." Her voice was firm but outwardly she made herself appear as if it were a simple discussion to avoid any stir of drama.

"He was watching you. Several minutes before he could get away. I'm pretty sure you didn't notice. You were probably trying to convince your escort to behave less like a robot."

"That's not--" She got out before he interrupted her.

"My guess was you brought him to discourage Pretty Boy but Robot wasn't up for the challenge. I am."

"Did you just apply to be my fake boyfriend?"

"I guess I did." He laughed.

"What makes you want the job so much?"

"I don't like when men act the way I'm guessing he is to make you need to dissuade him." He turned and grinned down at her before adding, "Also I'm hoping I can make a temporary job permanent."

"What?" She asked, shocked.

"We can work out details later." He said. "Right now let's get through the night and consider it an interview." Marinette looked at him for a moment and eventually nodded her head and then they went in to make their rounds at the party.

Continued

[phantomato]

As somebody who isn't British, writing HP fics seems so intimidating because I know how readers can get about how dialogue, food, orphanages, etc. aren't realistically British. I know this isn't as big of a problem as some make it out to be, but I also want to have the characters in my fic at least speak as closely to canon as possible :'( I'm not American either, so I don't feel like delving into American Wizarding culture and whatnot, so I feel quite stuck and unsure.

Oh, let’s go.

The assumption that only Brits and Anglophiles can write good HP fic is shit. I hate it. Good fic needs a good story, and all of the Britishisms in the world won’t keep me reading a bad fic. Prioritize your story, then think about the Britishness.

To break this down: there’s a base level of authenticity of experience that I think most of us writers would like to convey. We don’t want to have a British character discussing American football like it’s a normal part of their life, for example. It’s good to be generally sensitive when writing someone from a different culture. But, y’know, you’re talking about writing fanfic for a largely-white fantasy series set in Britain. This is not the most marginalized group in the world, and if your hangups revolve around getting the correct breakfast foods or idioms, it’s not quite causing harm to be inaccurate.

And, to be clear: JKR uses offensive stereotypes about particular British subcultures when she does things like literal transcription of accents for Hagrid and other characters. If you want a model of what not to do, look to the original source!

So where does that leave a HP fanfic hopeful without enough grounding to be really perfect in handling British culture? Honestly, for me, the answer was just to write anyway. Someone who doesn’t connect with your characterizations because they feel ‘not British enough’ should leave quietly.

You learn by forcing yourself to face new questions. Right now, you likely have some base level of knowledge about British culture, you know about some things that are different than your own experiences but you’re not sure how different, and there’s a huge amount of stuff you don’t realize you don’t know. As you write, make a note of things that you’re unsure of. If you use an idiom, jot it down to google later, see if it references something that’s specific to your part of the world. If you need to name a comfort food, look up British recipes from that era and choose things that are recurring, whatever the bloggers talk fondly about eating when they were children. Search for those helpful word-substitution lists that remind you of things like “it’s jumper, not sweater!” You’ll mess up a ton of stuff, but as you get used to writing for this culture, you’ll remember more and it starts to come automatically. I can almost read a sex scene that uses ‘arse’ without thinking it’s a silly word, but goodness knows I never forget to type it correctly in my own.

But all of this is even assuming you care, which you indicated that you do. It’s also allowable to just… not care that your word choices are inaccurate to British English. It’s a little trickier around cultural touchstones, I do think there’s value in being respectful of, say, national pastimes or a region’s history, but in HP, you can get very far while only referencing things made up for the fantasy setting of the series. And if someone ever tells you that your fic sounded too obviously non-British and it was therefore unreadable, you can tell them to walk into a wall.

[purplesurveys]

1188

Have you ever shared a shower or bath with someone as an adult? I did it a couple of times with a past girlfriend, but I’m honestly not a fan of it unless I’m somewhere with a serious lack of bathrooms and it’s the only choice available. I like my space when I get myself all cleaned up lol.

What kind of pizza toppings do you like?  Different kinds of cheeses do it for me, really. If I absolutely have to pick toppings, I do like bacon, bell peppers, barbecue chicken, or onions on my pizza.

When did you first take a shot of alcohol?  I have no idea, actually. Maybe 20? 21? I never noted the year down. I don’t even know the first shot I ever took...if I had to guess, it was probably tequila.

Did you babysit for money when you were in middle school? No. I babysat because I was the eldest daughter and granddaughter in an Asian household, haha.

Who is your favorite band? How long have they been?  Paramore; 17 years, have loved them for 14.

Has the last person you kissed ever been to your house? Many times. She used to be a welcome guest.

Have you ever been to a spa?  I don’t think I’ve ever entered one, no. There’s been no reason to in the past.

When talking on the phone, do you place it against your left or right ear? Right. I don’t remember ever placing it on my left, come to think of it.

What’s your favourite Lunchables meal?  Idk, I’ve never had them. American thing, I’m guessing.

Do you like Bob Marley?  I don’t hold an opinion on him; I’ve never tried listening to his music.

Have you ever eaten at Golden Corral? Nope, I don’t know what that is, either.

Do you sit and eat dinner at the same table with your family?  Yes, we have dinner together every night. We’ve been doing it since the start of the pandemic; and, with that, since my dad has had to stay at home since he can’t report to work anyway considering the situation. I imagine we’d be back to eating separately once he can report back to his job.

Are you listening to any music right now? If so, what are you listening to?  Yeah, I’m listening to Map of the Soul: 7 and UGH! just started playing. This is such a good FUCKING album it’s absolutely insane how good it is. Whatever spirit possessed BTS throughout 2019 to produce an album this unbelievable wasn’t playing.

Who was the last person to make you genuinely smile?  Hobi, since I rewatched the Run BTS segment where he called Conan O’Brien ‘Curtain.’

Is there something you want to say to someone but can’t/won’t? No.

Do you like men who have a sensitive side?  I think it’s nice when anyone has a sensitive side and isn’t ashamed to be in touch and expressive with their emotions. Doesn’t have to apply to just guys.

Have you ever tried to get someone into a certain band/artist?  I don’t do that with any of my interests because I don’t want to potentially irritate or bore someone, or to potentially face the disappointment I’d feel when they don’t end up being enthusiastic about what I’m into. I’m totally okay with my interests just being My Thing, no need to drag other people into them.

Have you ever carved you and someone else’s initials into a tree?  Nopes.

Do you like Dairy Queen?  Just some items, like their Oreo Frappe or whatever it’s called. I’m not a big fan of ice cream cakes and I’ve never really explored their Blizzards.

Is there anyone you know with an amazing personal success story?  Andi.

Is there a song in a different language that you can sing? Well Filipino is my first language rather than English, so yes.

How do you feel about bands that use pyrotechnics in live concerts?  I’ve never experienced this other than One Direction using fireworks at the end of their concert here (and they weren’t launched from the stage either, but somewhere backstage), so I don’t really know what to feel about this other than they should just make sure they’re following safety protocols and standards to avoid mishaps.

Ever fallen down a hole?  I don’t think so.

Do you like bananas?  Not so much, but I don’t passionately hate it as much as I do other fruits. I do like some dishes that incorporate banana, like banana bread and banoffee pie. Recently I discovered Korean banana milk and it ended up tasting pretty good!

How long do you normally spend in the shower? Not even 10 minutes, usually. I've never understood how people can take such long showers. < Yeah, pretty much on the same page. The only times I take a while is if I feel like shaving, but otherwise I shower quickly. Maybe around 4–7 minutes at most.

Have you ever been a featured member on any website?  I don’t think that ever happened, at least when having featured members was still a thing.

Have you ever had any weird pets?  Nope.

Are you currently talking to/texting/instant messaging anyone?  I am not. Though I know I have unread messages from Andi...I just don’t feel like checking them right now.

Have you ever experienced insomnia?  Only when I was a teenager. It’s been a while since I’ve faced any trouble in trying to fall asleep.

Do you like egg nog? I’ve never had a chance to try it but it sounds delicious, and I would definitely take a sip the first opportunity I get.

Would you ever wear Converse with a prom/formal dress?  I don’t see why I would have to but if it’s just for funsies, it sounds pretty harmless so yeah, I would.

Do you prefer hot chocolate with or without marshmallows?  Withoooooooooout. I’ve never understood marshmallows.

How many different people of the opposite sex have you cried over?  In a romantic sense, none. But I’ve cried for other reasons, like when I mourned over my grandpa and Nacho.

Would you rather be a surgeon or mortician?  Surgeon, since there’s a tiny part in me that had always wanted to take up med school.

Would rather be a musician or a painter? Painter, if anything. I’m not creative by any means, but I feel like I’d enjoy a lot more freedom with painting.

Would you rather write your own book or make your own movie? [continued from last night] Write my own book I suppose, but I could only work with non-fiction. I’d embarass myself if I had to write something not based off of real life.

At home, do you have a trampoline? No. But this reminds me of when we’d go to Rita’s place to have meetings whenever we couldn’t hold them in school. She’s the richest one out of all of us, lives in a very old money village, big-ass house, big-ass kitchen, big-ass receiving areas (plural)...and they also have a nice trampoline in their big-ass yard. We always used to horse around in there as soon as we were done with our meetings.

When you are about to go to bed, do you put on some sort of noise?  I used to put on a YouTube video that would entertain me enough to feel relaxed and eventually sleepy, but I haven’t done that in the last few weeks. These days I usually look for a fanfic to get absorbed in, then I read until my eyes start feeling heavy.

What is your favorite Christmas movie?  Love Actually or It’s A Wonderful Life.

And what about your favorite Christmas song?  It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas makes me feel festive and fuzzy.

What is your ultimate favorite stocking stuffer?  My family doesn’t really keep up with this tradition. I remember how our grandparents would fix up stockings for us when we were much younger, but they were usually filled with candy. 

After Halloween, do you sort out all of your candy into little piles?  I never collected candy for Halloween.

When you listen to music with headphones, do you keep the volume low enough to hear surrounding noise faintly, or do you blast it?  Depends. The rare times I’m working and do feel like putting headphones on, the volume has to be just decent enough so I can still focus. If I’m not doing anything else or at least doing something that doesn’t involve too much ~brain activity~, I like my music very loud.

What did you have for breakfast this morning?  It doesn’t really count as breakfast but I’m currently finishing off the remaining two pieces of McNuggets I got last night. 10 pieces is apparently too many for my appetite, haha.

What’s the largest animal you’ve ever had as a pet?  Cooper has probably been the biggest and heaviest so far.

Do you own any kind of helmet?  We have a bike helmet here at home, but it’s not exclusively mine.

Out of everything currently in your refrigerator, what food or drink is your favorite?  I don’t memorize the fridge so I can’t tell you my favorite food that’s currently in it; as for drink, I just stick to cold water.

What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?  Sprained ankle after I tripped at one of the parking lots in school.

Do you like the taste of cough syrup?  I’ve never had it.

What is something you like to have conversations about?  People with experiences vastly different from mine, because it lets me explore different perspectives. It’s why I always look forward to family reunions with one of my uncles - who’s a foreigner, from a very different country - since he’s able to share a lot of fun and reflective stories about his life and stuff he did in his youth, stuff I never got to experience and live through.

What all is in the trunk of your car?  The trunk used to be my trash can lmao, back when I was still driving everyday. My mom has since cleared it out since the beginning of the pandemic; I believe only a laptop bag is sitting there now.

Do you ever put fruit on your cereal? No. I don’t even eat either.

Is your heat or air conditioning currently on?  My electric fan is. I don’t turn on the aircon until the evening.

Have you ever fallen off of a horse?  Nopes.

Which do you value more, your appearance or your intelligence?  Both are important to me.

When was the last time you drove something other than a car or truck?  I don’t remember. I’ve only ever driven cars.

Were your grandparents present when you were born?  Neither set wasn’t in any of the photos from my birth, so I don’t think so...? My maternal grandparents definitely wouldn’t have been present, since my parents had been living in Manila then.

If you drink/smoke, how often do you do these things?  I vape...pretty much all day. I’m doing it while taking this survey. As for drink, I would say 1-2 times a month. Usually after a particularly grueling shift.

What do you think of fast food?  I love it. Unabashedly. I just don’t have them a lot because I don’t find it filling and the quality is obviously lower; but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the way fast food tastes.

What website do you spend the most time on and why?  Google Suite, if it counts. I work 5 days a week; it’s pretty much an extension of me at this point.

What’s the most amount of time you’ve spent online? Is this usual for you?  All day. I’m always using the internet to do things. I used to be embarrassed of it, but these days I feel like having a connection is virtually an essential.

When it comes to travel, what kinds of places intrigue you most? Museums, historical sites, cultural sites, and spots where they show you how they do practices native to the place. I’ve always been about immersing myself in the cultures of the places I visit.

What is the farthest you’ve walked in one day and what made you do it?  I remember having to walk for a very very very VERY long time when we were in Bali - my family wanted to explore more of the city - and the weather wasn’t cooperative at all, so I ended up feeling super cranky. I remember also walking around a lot in Shanghai, but that was a slightly better experience since the city was incredibly lively and there were a lot of things to see and stop at; not to mention the weather was also kinda pleasant. The cold was biting but I would always rather be too cold than walk around with sweat-soaked clothes.

What is something important that’s often on your mind lately?  Our financial situation what with Covid affecting both my parents’ jobs. We get by enough for me not to worry too much, but I also hope my dad can get called back to his ship soon just so I can finally exhale with relief.

What about something unimportant, but you can’t stop thinking about it?  My workplace recently introduced this workout challenge thingy for the month of May that we’re invited to join to encourage us to get fit and healthy. I get notifications whenever someone’s able to exercise for the day and it makes me feel super pressured hahahaha. Since I don’t wanna be known as a killjoy co-worker I know I’ll have to take part in it, which I will start on later.

Do you like oatmeal? If so, what kinds of things do you like in it?  No. Back in elementary my grandma made me eat oatmeal every day for breakfast before heading to school, so I don’t ever want to have another bowl of it.

What was going on the last time you felt nostalgic?  My family and I were having a conversation during dinner last night and for some reason it eventually veered towards mine and my sister’s experiences from our first school and how we managed to get up at 5 AM everyday, have classes from 7 AM–4 PM, then get home from anywhere between 5–6 PM for 14 years straight. How tf did we do that and never complain???

How much attention do you pay to the movements of the stars and planets, and do you believe they influence anything?  None.

What is the most difficult or involved video game you’ve ever played?  While I love watching playthroughs, I am not skilled at video games at all and in most video games I’ve played I never made it past the first mission, unless I was playing a Nintendo game that’s already marketed for kids in the first place lol.

Which accent do you find most sexy, alluring or appealing?  There’s a certain British accent I find very pleasant to listen to, but since I know there are a lot of variations I’m just not sure which one it is. I guess an accurate point of reference would be Hugh Grant’s or Florence Pugh’s accent.

Which accent do you find most annoying, disturbing, or bothersome?  None of them.

Can you cry on cue? Is it any kind of useful?  Nope.

Does it take you a while to actually get jokes?  Sometimes.

Can you wear socks to bed or does it annoy you?  I don’t really like the feeling of socks, so no. I find them a bit itchy, and too tight.

Have you ever bleached your hair?  Never done it before.

Do you like jelly beans?  Erm, it would depend on the flavor, I guess. But they aren’t so much my snack of choice. The texture is a bit weird.

Do you have trouble sleeping when it’s storming?  Not at all, I feel a lot cozier when it’s raining hard.

Who was the last person you know that graduated? (high school or college)  Sofie posted her graduation photo not too long ago, so probably her.

Were you happy or sad when you found out your babysitter was coming?  I never had a babysitter because I was the babysitter.

Did you have a boyfriend in kindergarten?  No. I went to an all-girls school, so I didn’t even get to interact with a lot of boys until the middle of high school.

Did you ever read the Magic Treehouse series?  Nope.

Who was your best friend in elementary school?  Angela. I was also friends for a long time with a girl named Jaynie, with whom I actually started to reconnect ever since she found out I was now into BTS. I find it so cool; I don’t think I’ve talked to her since the 2nd grade, 15 years ago.

Did you ever watch The Land Before Time movies?  I didn’t.

Did you collect anything when you were a kid? Stickers. I'd put them on my dresser everywhere to the point it was absolutely covered. < Literally this entire answer; I don’t have any clue how my overly neat mom managed to never spank me for destroying her closet. I also liked collecting Pokemon cards and pogs even though I never knew how to use them. It just felt nice having large stacks of them lol.

Did you get an allowance?  Not until high school. My grandma (and eventually househelp, when we moved) fixed up packed lunches for me and my siblings. When my mom decided to stop having house helpers at home, that’s when she started giving us an allowance to buy recess and lunch ourselves.

Were you into American Girl dolls?  I was never into dolls in general. Since my sister and I were the only girls at home, we were surrounded by toys marketed for boys and that’s what I enjoyed playing with more.

Were you friends with your childhood neighbors?  We played with the neighborhood kids every afternoon but I wouldn’t call them friends. I was a very shy kid and I found them too rowdy for my liking, especially the boys.

What was your biggest fear when you were a kid?  Flying cockroaches. It’s still one of them.

Did you ever play the "Reader Rabbit" computer games?  I don’t think so.

Did your parents let you drink soda growing up? I’m pretty sure they would’ve allowed me to, but I just never liked the feeling of fizzy drinks so I never drank soda anyway.

What was your favorite kind of cake as a kid?  I think I liked mocha sponge cakes growing up, but that has changed now.

[troop-scoop]

Mistakes & Regrets V

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

A/n: Italics are memories!

•••

You were scared, and alone.

The star and moonless sky sent chills up your spine, and the cold made you feel like it was winter. But this place didn’t have any seasons. It was just cold, and empty. And slimy.

It always felt like your feet were slipping whenever you tried to sneak around whatever those things were around you. They were terrifying, growling, and faceless.

And you made a big mistake, you’d ran away, you broke the rule of never going into the woods alone. This was on you. And you wanted nothing more for your phone to work. To be able to call your dad, either one of them. You wanted to apologize for being an idiot, for not being responsible.

You were hiding, holding your keys. They were too loud. All the keychains you had on it were jingling drawing attention. You were trying to take them off of the ring as quietly as you could, the first one to go was your Millennium Falcon keychain, quietly slipping it into your backpocket. The second was the Avatar keychain, that one being slipped into your hoodie pocket. You needed to seperate them, keep it so the jingle was no longer there. So you could get by them easier.

The last one you hesitated on. The rose quartz crystal keychain your brother had bought you from the dollar section in Target for your birthday. You didn’t really have an opinion of crystals, you thought they were pretty, so you kept it on your keyring.

You hesitated, before deciding against it, holding your pepper spray as if it would do anything, the pale pink can being gripped in your hand, fingers wrapped tightly around it, your nail polish a dark shade of purple, contrasting the pink, even in the dark.

“Could you find a way to let me down slowly.” You sang as quietly as possible, holding the keychain in your hand, trying to calm your down as much as possible. They’d seen you once. You didn’t want to risk it again. You’d lost your skateboard along the way, having dropped it the moment you saw one of those. . . things.

“A little sympathy I hope you can show me.” Tears were close to going down your cheeks as you grabbed your bag, holding it to your chest as tightly as you could. Your phone died a day before. And you’d been here a total of two. Evading the creature’s, never really getting a good look at them. Just knowing that they towered over you and looked emaciated, and their hands were huge, if you could even call them hands. They looked more like claws. And reminded you of the Windigo from that one video game whose name kept slipping your mind. And that’s what you called them, because that’s what they looked like, even if they weren’t because you knew these things had to be a different species, not a cannibal turned monster from Native American lore.

“If you wanna go then I’ll be so lonely.” Your low voice cracked a bit as your grip on the

sketchbook inside of your bag tightened. Your knees meeting your chest as you held the red material of the Jansport bag.

“If you’re leaving, baby, let me down slowly.” A loud noise came from down the street. Away from where you were hiding. Looking from the tree branches to the dark uninhabited houses you saw one of them moving. But you moved quicker. Hopping down from the tree and carrying your bag while you ran

•••

You didn’t know where you were going, you were pretty sure you were just running. Maybe there was something behind it. Some reason you were going towards the center of town, like a gut instinct telling you that you needed to go, run away from the motel you’d been living in for the past months.

The second the bowl had shattered and Linda snapped you out of it, you’d ran, going for your room again, and packing a few things you thought were necessary, and you went running down the street, it’d been 15 minutes now.

And at the end of those 15 minutes, you turned a corner, and almost ran straight into an older woman, who looked upset, and frazzled. An unreadable look on her face. But you knew it wasn’t a happy one. Maybe one of being deep in thought? Contemplation maybe.

It took everything in you not to call her what you knew her as, but you also knew that would get a strange look before she left. But as she steadied your by grabbing onto your shoulders, you grabbed her arms.

“Mrs. Byers! I was just looking for you.” Realization struck, your instincts telling you to run into town, where Joyce would be at the coroner's office, to tell her that Will couldn’t possibly be dead, because you were still there, you hadn’t disappeared like in all of those movies where something bad happens and someone was never born.

Or this could be like in Avengers, where something caused another timeline to happen. But then what would that mean for you? For the rest of your family here? For Will? Would he really be dead?

You refused to believe that. It didn’t feel right.

“I’m sorry? Do I know you?” Joyce looked more confused than she could have ever been in the entirety of her life.

“No, you don’t.” You spoke sadly, looking down to the ground, blinking away quick tears before looking back up to Joyce. “I’m new to Hawkins, just please listen, this is about your son-”

“If Jonathan told you anything-”

“There’s no way he’s dead!” You interrupted, grip on her sleeves growing tighter before she slowly pulled her hands away from your shoulders, eyeing you cautiously, almost as if you’d found out a secret.

“Wh-what?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, like, psych ward level crazy, like needing to be so heavily medicated that I wouldn’t be able to function normally-”

“Sweetheart, I’ve been the crazy one in town the past few days. I’ve seen it. . . What’s going on?”

You felt your heart swell a bit when she called you ‘sweetheart’ because that was what she’d always called you. Dad called you ‘baby’ and she always called you ‘sweetheart’. You blinked away more tears as you tried to muster up the courage to speak, but you couldn’t.

Carefully, and almost hesitantly, you pulled off your bag, and opened it. Taking out the large notebook and closing the backpack again, flipping to the page you were looking for, the image you and your dad had drawn together. You handed over the  sketchbook, and you saw her eyes widen a little as she looked down at the carefully drawn image.

“This is- this is Will’s Dungeons and Dragons character-”  

“Will the Wise, Right? A Cleric, a healer, he’s clever and smart, and he helps people! And that’s my character that he helped me make when I was nine, she’s a half-elf rogue, I named her after Elizabeth the first!” You explained.

Growing up, you played D&D with your Dad and uncles whenever they came to visit or you went to visit them. They weren’t actually related to you, but rather the kind of uncles that everyone else had, the uncles that were your parent’s best friends. They all helped you make your favorite character.

“When you were nine? Will’s only been playing with his friends for a year and a half? Right after he turned 11, he asked for the set for his birthday, there’s no way, and he doesn’t know you. He has three friends.”

“Check the date. Upper right hand corner.” You told her, watching as he eyes darted to the date on the paper, and you watched as her face fell before she looked back up at you.

“January 21st 2019? That’s. . . like 40 years from now-”

“36, actually.” You corrected quietly, a small shrug given when her face now turned into a scowl at how you corrected her.

“What are you saying?” She asked cautiously, flipping through the sketchbook. “I know I have no right to say someone else is crazy, I mean- I’m talking to Will through my christmas lights, you being from ‘2019’ sounds more believable.”

“There’s no way that Will’s dead, because I’m his daughter.” You admitted to her.

“Tell me something about him then. Only someone who knew him would know.” She demanded, closing the sketchbook and handing it back to you.

“He has a birthmark on his right arm, I had the exact same one, but then I burned myself on a pan, and it went away. . . Um- His favorite song, it’s ‘Should I Stay Or Should I Go’ from The Clash. Uncle Jonathan introduced him to it. Dad introduced it to me.”

Joyce’s face was once again, unreadable as she stared at you, eyes tracking over your face carefully, catching every detail, and everything that was asymmetrical. Everything that made you look like a Byers.

“Oh my God. You’re not lying.”

•••

“So, I’m your grandmother.”

You nodded as you grabbed the boombox, setting it down on the table, examining the christmas lights she’d put up around the house. It looked like something a crazy person would do. Put up this amount of christmas lights. And paint the alphabet on the wall.

“And you have two dads?”

You turned your head to her, giving her a look. You’d explained everything to her, how your dads had met, how you’d been conceived and born, how you’d grown up, and who your brother was. How close you were to your Uncle Jonthan, and that your favorite non-related uncle was Uncle Lucas, which sold her even more into the fact that you were really from the future, and were really her son’s daughter.

“Yes, I have two dads. But I’m biologically Will’s.” You explained once again.

“Okay.” She said quietly, taking the tape out of the boombox, rewinding it with a pencil. “Alright, one more question.” Joyce started again, making you sigh. “How’d you get here?”

You paused, looking down at your dirtied and almost ripped converse. You didn’t quite remember. All you could remember was running into the woods after getting away from Enzo’s, trying to take a short cut to the motel, and then you fell through the ground, into something cold, and gooey. What you imagined it would feel like to stick your hand into a dead body for an autopsy. But you didn’t remember anything after that. Just waking up, in dirty clothes laying on the ground in the woods, backpack on, skateboard gone. And you had gotten up, legs feeling weak, and wobbly, before you’d found yourself back in town, but it had all been different. You hadn’t realized that it had been a different century until you’d gone into Melvad’s and saw something with the expiration date of ‘November 28th 1983.’

“I don’t remember. But I remember I made a mistake, and I ran off. And I regret it. If I could take it back I would.” Looking back up you noticed she was looking up at you, sympathy written on her face, and you knew what she was thinking. And you knew that one day her sympathy or your situation would turn to empathy for your Dad. Who would be going through what she was now.

You reached down and pressed ‘play’ before standing up straight again, giving her a soft smile as you looked up at the lights. This was not the house you’d assume belonged to a perfectly sane woman. And yet, it did.

“Come on Will!” You yelled “Do your weird magic bullshit!” Joyce started a bit before standing up.

Banging came from the wall, and you turned your head to look over. Joyce stopped the music and went to the spot on the wall where the banging continued, with you following shortly after.

“Mom?”

Joyce gasped. “Will?”

“Holy shit.” You murmured

“Mom?” The boy asked again, banging on the walls continuously as if trying to get through. Something told you that it wasn’t as easy as Joyce thought it was by running outside while you placed a firm hand on the wall, nails digging into the wallpaper and peeling it away.

“Will?” You questioned.

“Where’s my Mom?”

“Will!” Joyce yelled, running back inside seeing that the wallpaper in her living room was ripped off and you were staring at what looked like a thin layer of skin. Maybe a membrane. You didn’t like it, and that feeling came back, of being on a roller coaster drop, but the drop never ending. It was a bit sheer, and you could see the outline of the small boy banging against the membrane.

“Mom!”

“Will! I’m here! I’m here!” Joyce yelled back.

“Hello? Mom?”

But when she put her hand over the membrane you froze up, standing and watching in terror, because all of a sudden, you knew how you got here, and the growling of something getting closer to Will made a shiver run through your entire body, goosebumps showing up on your skin.

“Mom, it’s coming!”

The image of what ‘it’ was was fuzzy, but you saw it, like a memory. Almost ten feet tall, and so skinny their bones protrude, and almost sickly pale, white skin stretched out over the body. And the claws. You could almost feel the scratch of one of them against the back of your neck.

Reaching a hand up to your neck you could feel a skinny and elongated bump in your skin

that had never been there. But it felt like a scab. Like a scab over a healing scar.

“Tell me where you are! How do I get to you?” Joyce cried, her hand over Will’s.

“It’s like home, but it’s so dark. . .It’s so dark and empty. And it’s cold! Mom? Mom!”

You couldn’t even attempt to hold back the tears that were burning at your eyes and making

your vision blurry as you could hear the echoes of your own voice, calling out for an older version of him, the version that knew you the entire time you’d been alone. You’d been scared, and freezing in just a t-shirt and pair of ripped jeans. Holding a broken skateboard that you’d landed on in your fall.

It came to you briefly, running into the woods after Pa had yelled at you at Enzo’s. But then the rain had gotten worse, turning into the thunder, and loud noises never really scared you, it was the lighting that was a little too close to you that had you running, searching for any way out, yelling and screaming for both of your fathers, for anyone.

And then you took one wrong step, in the wrong direction. And you fell into the ground, instantly feeling cold, and as if the temperature was going to kill you. It felt like falling through cold slime before you’d landed on your skateboard, breaking it in half.

Everything there had echoed, and it felt like the entirety of the town had been placed inside of an infinitely large and inescapable cave. You’d cried out even louder for your Dad, getting no response. You’d begged and pleaded for the nightmare to go away, but it never did. You remembered screaming out “Dad! Dad please, I’m sorry!” And then you remembered waking up in the woods, sun shining down on you, a real sky in view.

•••

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[areluctantsblog]

Hades and Persephone AU

that I’ve started to write for my 2019 Starker Bingo but I’ve only finished it in 2020. This is a non-powered modern setting mob au loosely based on the myth, with criminal underworld, kidnapping, setting free but returning eternally and the rest. Hope you enjoy!

1.3 k. Warning for implied kidnapping but no violence. SFW. Also on ao3.

***

What Have I Become? 

“I won’t drug you,” Tony remarked, when the young man stopped struggling against his restraints and glared at him. “I won’t hold you at gunpoint either,” he added and held the other’s gaze. “I’ll just wait until you are ready to talk.”

Peter didn’t reply. When he looked away though, he didn’t continue his struggle. Tony waited. 

Peter Parker was a cop. A detective in all but name yet. He was strong. He was smart. In any other scenario, Peter would have had a decent chance to escape. Tony knew this and he let Peter go through all the ideas his training and his experience provided him with. He was patient. He wanted Peter to realise that this time was different. That he, Tony Stark, was different.

He’d been watching Peter Parker for a long time. Nephew of legendary detective May Parker, a rising star in the NYPD himself, who at the age of twenty-five has done a good enough job at Narcotics to draw Tony’s attention to himself. With his determination and resumé, Peter wouldn’t have to wait long before being promoted to the rank of detective. And then, he could follow in his aunt’s footsteps and join in the never ending fight against organised-crime.

Tony admired him. He admired every honest cop. He’d heard the tales of one too many corrupt ones and he felt only disdain for them. Too weak to follow the law, too weak to own up to breaking it, they clang to their rationalisations to sleep better.

Men were beasts. Tony knew it and so did the likes of May and Peter Parker. The only difference was what they decided to do with this truth. Tony respected their trust in civilisation. In treating criminals better than they treated their victims. Tony had no such trust in mankind. He believed in justice that was as pitiless as the crime that warranted it. And at places buried so deep in darkness that most would even doubt that they existed, justice could only be unlawful. 

Not that Tony cared about justice, but his guest did, and since Tony’s own hands couldn’t reach into the abyss, he needed Peter Parker.

He shook his head and looked up. They’d been there for almost half a day. Outside, where they couldn’t see it, the sun was up and shining on unsuspecting citizens. Inside, time had changed. It was measured by the changes in the silence hanging between them. At first, Peter struggled. Then, he regained his calm and went over his possibilities again. By the time he looked up eventually, he must have seen that there was no way out. But Peter wasn’t ready to admit that he was seeking help yet. It was a pity because Tony was so ready to give it to him If only Peter had asked… But they would get there, no doubt.

The moment came almost twenty-four hours after his men brought Peter to him. Tony could hear the shift in Peter’s breathing. It still took him a few minutes to start but he spoke eventually.

“What do you want from me?”

Tony smiled.

“I have an offer for you.”

Peter huffed and looked away.

“What is it?” Tony prompted, his smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth.

“Kidnap seems more like taking than offering,” Peter replied, turning his piercing gaze at him.

“I knew it would take time for you to listen,” Tony explained simply.

Peter turned away but he knew better than to let his spiteful words out. 

“I thought you were ready to talk.”

His words carried no threat, he merely observed and then it was Peter’s move again. They would talk eventually. The sooner the better, but Tony was patient. 

Peter rose his head and met Tony’s gaze. Tony smiled again. He didn’t need words to understand that Peter was listening. 

“I’m offering you a chance to make the city safer.”

Peter scoffed. “Then shouldn’t it be you tied to this chair?”

“If you think that I am the worst in this city, then you don’t know it as well as you think.”

“Be that as it may, I’m not for sale.”

“And I’m not offering you money.”

Tony could see confusion, defiance and reluctant curiosity in Peter’s expression.

“I’m offering you the Winter Soldier. Have you heard of him?”

“He’s a legend,” Peter said. “An alias probably used by several members of the Russian mob.”

Tony shook his head. “He is one person. And he is not Russian. He was trained in Russia but he and his boss are very much American.”

Peter didn’t say a word but Tony knew that he had his attention.

“Underworld. This word has always seemed a little pompous to me. Old-fashioned, euphemistic. Mob. Now that’s what we are. A horde of beasts. But it’s true: we inhabit our own world. Places the rest of the world can’t see and there are corners so dark and well-hidden that no beam of light can penetrate it.”

Peter was still watching Tony in silence. His face didn’t give away anything.

“You might think that I’ve gone crazy, talking about semantics, but it’s important that you understand, Officer Parker, that there is a layer of this world that you can never bring to light.”

Peter’s face was unreadable, but Tony could still see the struggle inside him. Peter knew that he was right. Deep down, he’d always known, and the time had come for him to accept it.

“I’m offering you all those who you could never reach from up there.”

“You want me to work for you,” Peter said at long last.

Tony shook his head. 

“You would never do that. But you would do your job and if you had information about the deadliest gun for hire, you would want to do what was needed to be done.”

***

The raindrops were stinging Peter’s face. It prompted him to pull his hood further down and quicken his pace. He glanced at the map Tony gave him to check his next turn, but it was unnecessary. He was familiar with these streets. He had used to patrol them. He used to be NYPD’s eyes in these hidden corners off the grid where there wasn’t any surveillance. Now, it was him hiding in the shadows. 

He was doing it so that he could cover for Tony fucking Stark. The taste of the man’s kiss was still on his lips, and his name lit a fire in him every time he spoke it inside. Flames that had less to do with the determination of an investigation and more with the passion that led him to his ruin. Peter heaved a trembling sigh and didn’t fight his tears. The relief the hot streaks on his cheeks brought against the prickling cold dissolved as soon as it registered. It was not unlike the kiss he shared with Tony Stark. It warmed him inside but it only made their world colder.

Peter’s shoulders shook with his sobs. He couldn’t see where he stepped, but he didn’t need to. He knew where he was going. He was going back to Tony Stark, even if right then he was walking away from him. Tony Stark had released him after two weeks, but it didn’t feel like freedom at all. Peter had sacrificed that along with the life he’d known the moment he kissed Tony and accepted his offer. Every step he was taking towards his precinct, every second he spent practising the cover story Tony had given him, every time his heart skipped a beat at the thought of Tony, his mask was solidifying. It felt strange and heavy, but Peter was calm underneath it all. He was going to return to Tony. How could he not, when he became the only person who could see him for who he was?

[mymarvelbunch]

Be Your Own Hero - Steve Rogers x Reader (Part 4)

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N has lost all her family and most friends in The Decimation (I refuse to call it The Blip). Refusing to believe their deaths are permanent, she dedicate years to find a way to reverse it. When she finally finds something that might help, she searches for the Avengers. It’s Steve Rogers x Reader, but there is also a lot of Badass!Reader. Also, Non-American!Reader. If you are American, think of a country you’d have loved to be born into :D

Warnings: none!

Note: Y/Co = your country. Y/Ci = your city; Y/N/L = your native language.

Previously: Romanov asked to speak alone with Rogers, and two left the room. Scott looked at you. “They probably think it’s a trap.”“I’ll bring Wong here if I have to”, you replied instantly. “I spent three years finding a way to bring my family and friends back. I won’t give up now because the Avengers think I’m HYDRA, or whatever.” There must be have been something in your expression that frightened Scott, because he quickly looked away. “I believe you”, he said in a low voice. “I have to.”And you understood. You had to believe in yourself, too.

Part Four

In the end, you did have to bring Wong to the Avengers’ headquarters - without Scott, because Romanov and Rogers didn’t want to ‘risk anything’. At least Uber was cheap.

As soon as you identified yourself as an apprentice from Y/Co, who studied the Infinity Stones under a Master’s supervision, Wong recognized you. He asked you many things and agreed to confirm your story to the Avengers.

“Forgive me for my skepticism, sir”, Rogers said when Wong finished talking. “But I’m curious: if all Y/L/N said is true, why hasn’t any of your sorcerers come up with this idea before?”

“Because none of us had the idea of joining magic and science to do it”, Wong replied instantly. “Had Strange survived, I don’t doubt he’d have reached a similar conclusion. He and Miss Y/L/N are rather similar in that aspect.”

You were pretty sure he was praising you, so you thanked him. “If my task is done here”, he continued, “I’d like to go back to the Sanctum. I have important work to attend to.”

Rogers nodded and opened the door for Wong to leave. You offered to pay an Uber ride, but he said it wasn’t needed. When the doors closed, you turned to Rogers. “So, are you going to believe me now?”

He sighed. “I suppose so. Still, none of us have resources to create a... what you called it? A time heist. We’d need help.”

“So, we go get it”, Scott said. “Where is Tony Stark?”

The following day

Stark’s new home was a few hours away, so Romanov suggested they all got proper rest before getting on the road. You promptly agreed; you haven’t slept well since the day you boarded the plane to Los Angeles, nor eaten well for that matter.

Unfortunately, there was barely no food in the kitchen. Romanov apologized and blamed herself; she had postponed grocery shopping for quite some time now. “You can order something, though.”

“Maybe, if I knew how to. Or where to. I have no idea how delivery works here.”

She frowned. “Just like in any other city.”

“Yeah, any other American city. I’m from Y/Co, I’ve never even used dollars before this week.”

The former assassin raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you’re not from US. Well, neither am I, but I’ve learned how to order food online. What do you want?”

Eventually Rogers and Scott showed up hungry as well, so you ordered two big pizzas. While they waited, Romanov asked you about your life. You told her (and technically the men too) about your former job as a doctor, your deceased family and friends, and some of your journey to get what you were now. At one point, after the pizzas arrived, Rogers started asking about Y/Co, and you animatedly gave him details, glad to change the subject.

You wanted to ask them about their lives too, but refrained yourself. They were only asking so they could judge your character, not to make friends with you. At least, that’s what you believed.

You slept on where used to be Scarlet Witch’s room. There were few of her personal belongings, since she had taken most with her upon running away. Honestly, the lack of decoration was comforting; you didn’t think you’d be able to sleep well in among the reminders of a ghost.

Rogers took Scott’s van to the road, due to the machine inside. The ride was mostly silent, despite Scott’s attempts at conversation. You were all tense; Tony Stark was your best shot at putting your plan in motion.

You arrived in a big wood house in the middle of a small forest. Rich people, you briefly thought as you got out of the van and followed Rogers and Romanov to the house.

You recognized Stark from the news as you got closer. His hair was partially dyed blonde, and he was playing with a little girl. You smiled a little; you had read somewhere about his daughter Morgan Stark, and there she was.

Stark raised his head and made little attempt to hide his surprise. “Hello guys”, he said. “It’s been a while, huh?”

“We need your help, Tony”, Rogers said matter-of-factly.

Stark sighed and asked for his daughter to go inside. Then he stood up to face them - or rather, Captain. “Of course you do”, he said. “With what? And who are those?” He glanced at Scott, but set his eyes on you.

“You may not remember me”, Scott said, “I’m Ant-Man. I was on Cap’s side-”

“-On Germany. Yeah, I remember you now. Thought you were dead. And you?”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, Mr. Stark.”

“She’s kind of the reason we’re here”, Romanov added. Stark frowned and gestured for them to sit down.

A two-hour explanation later

At that point, they were all in the living room. Pepper Potts had joined them after letting Morgan play in her bedroom.

“I know it sounds crazy and impossible and surreal”, you said at the end. “And it’s probably a poorly written movie plot somewhere. But this... this is a real change. To bring everyone back. Half the freaking universe. Just... please, Mr. Stark. Give it some thought.”

You felt tears threatening to fall, and then a hand on your shoulder. You turned to see Romanov looking softly at you. Behind her, Rogers had a soft look of his own.

Then you turned back to Stark, who sighed. “Look, there is a lot at stake here. I’m well aware of what we lost, but Morgan is not the only child born after the Decimation. Even though you are telling me time travel only creates alternate timelines, there is no telling nothing will truly change here. Are those children’s lives worth the risk?”

You took a breath. “Honestly, I haven’t thought of that, because in my mind they wouldn’t be at any risk. At all. If we play our cards right, people will only notice we did something when people start to come back.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that, we go back in time, get the Stones, come back to same moment we left here, make our wish and voila! Everyone comes back. Your daughter wouldn’t even notice you were gone. No one would.”

A brief silence. “I need time. Not to think whether I’ll do it or not. But we have to find a safe way to travel back in time. We don’t even know if we’ll make it alive. Scott has survived, yes, but we don’t know if we can reproduce it.”

“Actually”, Scott interrupted, “it is possible. I wasn’t the first one to get stuck in the Quantum Realm.” He briefly told them about Janet Van Dyne, who also seemed to have been unable to tell how much time has passed.

“This Quantum Realm sounds like Narnia or something”, you mumbled, but Stark heard you.

“Exactly, Y/N. That’s why we need to make our safety top priority. Only then we map our strategy. I won’t risk anyone’s lives.”

Rogers nodded. “Fair enough. How much time do you need? Do you need any help?”

“A month. Scott’s van has the machine that took him to the Quantum Realm, right? It’s gonna be useful. Don’t worry, I’ll get you a car to drive back to New York. Also, Scott’s experience on the machine will be useful, so I’d ask you to stay around. Do any of you know how to get in touch with Banner? He’d be a great help in this. Also, Nebula and the Raccoon. Is there any way to contact them?”

“The Raccoon?”, you mumbled. Scott look equally bewildered. Romanov, however, was unreadable.

“I get in touch with all of them on a weekly basis. It’ll take a while for them to get here, but it’s manageable. Anything else, anyone else?”

“I’d say our quasi-sorcerer over here, but honestly, Y/N, you look a little sick. I’d suggest you all to use the following month to gather as many allies as possible and get some training done. We don’t know what we’ll find in this time travel thing. We all need to be prepared.”

You looked down at yourself. While you couldn’t notice anything alarming, Stark wasn’t wrong. In the year you spent at Y/Ci’s Sanctum, you did little exercise and ate only the strictly necessary to avoid hunger from distracting you.

Stark stood up to bid them goodbye, but suddenly the little girl ran downstairs. “Daddy, Daddy! Who are these people? Are they your friends?”

She saw you and ran to you. “You seem nice”, she said. “Are you nice?”

Giggling, you opened your arms in invitation. She climbed to your lap. “I don’t know, you tell me! By the way, what’s your name, little one?”

The girl beamed. “I’m Morgan! Are you Daddy and Mommy’s friends?”

You looked around the room. Potts just nodded and gestured for you to keep going. “Yes, we are. Why do you wanna know that, Morgan?”

“Because Daddy and Mommy’s friends are my friends too! Do you wanna play?”

Your face showed genuine sadness. Poor girl probably didn’t have many friends around to play with, given the secluded place she lived in. “Oh Morgan, we’d love to, but we have to get going. It’s a long way to New York.”

Morgan asked to be taken along, because she wants to visit New York so much, but Scott managed to get her attention. Potts thanked everyone, and especially you, for giving them hope, and led them to the garage. 

“You are good with kids, huh”, Rogers commented as you followed Potts. You shook your head.

“Don’t let that moment fool you, Captain. I’m actually a disaster.”

He let out a small laugh, but didn’t reply as they arrived at the garage. “Tony loves cars”, she explained. “It’s a rich men thing. Pick whichever you like.” They left the choice up to Rogers, the driver. The first sentence said on the car after they left the house was spoken by Romanov: “I honestly thought this was going to be way harder.”

You wanted to say it was easy for her to say that when it was you who spent two hours straight talking, with only a couple intermissions from Scott, but you kept your mouth shut. The Avengers knew each other for a decade; the woman could be talking about something else entirely.

“Now what?”, you asked instead.

“I’ll contact all of our allies, as Tony told us to do”, she replied. “Despite the Decimation, we have quite a number of them. Meanwhile, Steve will train you.”

You could almost feel Rogers’ question as he briefly turned to his teammate, but he said nothing on the subject. Soon you arrived back at the Avengers headquarters.

“You heard her”, Rogers said at your side as you got in the building. “Training time. But first, let’s get you in shape. You do look a little sick.”

Next

--------------------------

I decided to dedicate a part exclusively to training month, so we can have more detailed moments between the two of them. So, part 5 will feature training and recruiting. We’ll see the remaining Avengers coming together to save the universe!

Part 6 will feature major changes in Endgame canon. I want the Reader’s presence to actually change the course of events, not just Steve’s storyline. So be prepared!

Taglist (open!): @autobotgirl15-blog​ @starstrucknature @cheeseburgersstuff​ @aamzter2013

[v-thinks-on]

Generations - Part 5

First | Previous | Next

Jim awoke in an empty bed, but he was not alone.

Spock was sitting at the table in the other room, reading over a mug of Vulcan spice tea. Jim attempted to focus to get a better look at what he was reading and Spock projected it over the bond. To his surprise, it was not a PADD in Spock’s hands, but an old book written in a blocky script that almost looked like it was Klingon, but which he belatedly recognized as Romulan. It was apparently an ancient book of Romulan philosophy that had been passed down through the generations, graciously loaned to Spock by one of his students.

Jim could feel Spock’s pride and even affection for the young Romulans, so eager to learn about a culture that was no longer and not yet their own. It was not an easy life on Romulus, but better than decades spent wandering the galaxy in luxury alone. Jim refused to begrudge Spock his happiness, but still he could not help but wish that Picard had freed him from the Nexus just three years sooner.

Spock closed the book. I am pleased that you have returned. Though he did not deny that Jim’s presence made matters more complicated.

Finally, Jim hoisted himself out of bed and joined Spock in the main room. Spock was dressed already, of course, back in his stately Vulcan robes. He had gotten up and meditated hours before, and he even reassured Jim that he had eaten a small breakfast.

“Good morning,” Jim said aloud.

Spock did not retort that, as they were not in orbit around a star, morning had no real meaning. Instead, he replied, “Good morning, Jim.” He watched Jim with restrained fascination.

Jim smiled.

Spock could only raise his eyebrows at the familiar expression.

More seriously, Jim asked, “Still subsisting on hardtack?”

Spock did not deny it, though they both knew that wasn’t what the Vulcan bread was called - it was accurate enough.

“You’re not going to ‘reacclimate’ if that’s all you eat,” Jim insisted.

Spock knew better than to argue.

Jim went over to the replicator and got a mug of coffee for himself and a proper breakfast for the two of them. “Unfortunately, I don’t think this place has a kitchen, so this is the best we’re going to get.”

“Thank you,” Spock said.

Jim sat down beside him with a smile and took a long sip of coffee - not quite right, but good enough.

Spock put down his tea as the strong flavor slipped through the bond like all of Jim’s thoughts, aided by the fragrant smell. For an instant, it was as though it was just another morning in their apartment in San Francisco eighty years ago, or in their quarters on the Enterprise some years before that. Jim was almost sent reeling by how much time had passed so quickly.

Spock knew the time around Jim’s retirement had not been easy, but he felt a deep pang of nostalgia. Again he was struck by how little Jim had changed in the intervening years. Spock looked largely the same, but there were tell-tale signs of how the years had affected him.

“I have a lot of catching up to do,” Jim acknowledged ruefully.

Spock raised his eyebrows in disagreement. He knew Jim could perceive his feelings, but he said them aloud for emphasis, “I am not disappointed, but relieved.”

“I know,” Jim said. He brushed his hand against Spock’s, letting their conflicting emotions mingle in the hope that together they might find some order.

Spock’s gaze softened in the suggestion of a gentle smile.

“You look younger already,” Jim teased.

“I feel younger,” Spock said seriously.

Jim leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. They both longed for the past, even though they both knew they could not return to it.

At last, Jim stood to get ready for another day on the Farragut.

Spock watched Jim go until he was in the bedroom, out of sight. Only then did he return to his reading.

  Counselor Troi rang at Captain Kirk’s quarters.

To her surprise, it was not Kirk who answered the door, but Ambassador Spock. She could sense that they were both there, of course, but, like most Vulcans, the ambassador was a telepathic wall. He was not completely unreadable like Data, but all she could sense were carefully constructed shields and practiced restraint. Even Kirk seemed more muted by association.

“Hello, Ambassador,” Troi greeted him with a smile. “I’m here to see how Captain Kirk is doing, though I would be happy to speak with you as well.”

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. “The captain will be out momentarily,” he said and waved her inside.

Spock returned to the couch and she sat down in the chair next to him.

“How are you?” Troi asked once they were both settled.

He quirked an eyebrow at her in something that looked like disbelief or skepticism, but with his mental shields, she couldn’t be sure. “I am fine,” he said at last, though he didn’t sound entirely certain about it, as though the words were forgein to him. “How are you?”

“I’m doing alright,” Troi said. “How is Captain Kirk?”

“He is in remarkably good health for his age,” the ambassador replied. Troi almost thought she detected a touch of wry humor.

“Yes, it looks like the Nexus kept him in a kind of stasis,” she explained. 

Spock nodded. “It is a fascinating phenomenon.”

Before he could continue, Captain Kirk emerged from the other room. “Counselor,” he said with a smile, as he joined Spock on the couch. They sat side by side, not quite touching.

“Captain Kirk, how are you doing?” Troi asked.

“Fine,” he said. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

He seemed much happier than he had been before the ambassador’s arrival, even muted as his emotions were. But Troi could not forget the unease she sensed at dinner the night before. She turned back to Spock and asked conversationally, “What are your plans now that you’ve returned to Federation space?”

“I will return to Earth with the captain and assist him in reestablishing himself.”

Now she could feel that uncertainty and determination coming from Kirk.

“Do you have any thoughts about what you might want to do on Earth once you’re settled?” Troi asked him.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Kirk said with a very purposeful smile. “What are your plans while you’re waiting for the Enterprise-E?”

“I haven’t had a chance to think about it. I’ll probably continue to meet with my patients, possibly do some sight-seeing.”

“Are there any sights you recommend? Anything new over the past eighty years?”

“A vacation sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll have to think about places to recommend.”

“I’ve never been to Betazed. What’s it like?” Kirk remarked - Troi detected something of an ulterior motive, though she couldn’t tell what.

“It’s a very beautiful planet, very varied like Earth.”

“Did you spend your formative years on Betazed?” Spock asked - she felt some satisfaction from Kirk.

“Yes,” Troi said, “My mother insisted that I get a proper Betazoid education.”

Spock nodded in understanding. “My father agreed with Ambassador Troi about few things, but it appears that they had analogous opinions on child rearing.”

“I learned about my human side from my father,” Troi explained. “He liked reading me stories about the old American west.”

“Sarek forbade my mother from raising me as a human, but I do recall her reading me some of the stories she enjoyed as a child. Alice in Wonderland was a particular favorite of hers.”

Troi could feel Kirk’s fondness, though she couldn’t sense the ambassador’s own feelings.

“It captures many feelings that come with living on an alien planet,” she said.

“Yes.” After a pause, Spock asked, “Why did you choose to join Starfleet?”

“Psychology as a field doesn’t exist on Betazed as it does on Earth. As a counselor, I felt I would be most useful to non-telepaths. Living among humans took some getting used to, but I never really felt out of place.”

“You are fortunate.”

Troi felt a burst of gentle affection from Kirk as he moved his hand to rest against Spock’s, if only barely. It was a subtle gesture, but as soon as they touched, Kirk’s feelings seemed to vanish behind Spock’s mental shields.

It took Troi a moment to catch up with what Spock was saying - “I came to the same conclusion that my skills were most needed among humans.”

“Yes, there is nowhere you are more needed than on a ship full of illogical humans,” Kirk teased.

Spock shot him an unreadable look.

“At dinner you said Vulcans have become too extreme in their pursuit of logic,” Troi remarked, inviting him to continue.

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. “They have forgotten that logic is only the beginning.”

“What would you say comes next, after logic?”

“Openness; acceptance of that which does not conform to our ideals. Vulcans have become closed-minded. They regard all who do not conform to their narrow definition of logic with derision. Centuries of alliance with Humans has not changed that, but there is an understanding between Vulcans and Romulans because of our common origin. The Romulans also have much to gain from reunification with Vulcan.”

“Good luck, Ambassador,” Troi said. Only belatedly did she notice how uncomfortable Kirk looked, though she still couldn’t sense any of his emotions.

“Thank you,” Spock said.

Troi hesitated. Very carefully, she said, “I understand that a lot has changed for both of you in a very short time. Uncertainty and some uneasiness are a normal part of the adjustment process. I just want to encourage both of you to communicate openly with each other in this difficult time. Sometimes, even for telepaths, it’s important to say things aloud.”

Kirk removed his hand from Spock’s and Troi was suddenly hit with a burst of turbulent emotion.

“Thank you, Counselor,” Kirk said, polite, but pointed. His smile did not match his feelings.

Before he could change the topic, Troi said, “It was good talking with both of you. I should probably be going.”

“It was good speaking with you as well,” Spock said and showed her out the door.

 Jim could feel Spock’s immovable determination, the will to do what needed to be done - his purpose in this new world Jim had found himself thrust into. It was dangerous, but as much as he dreaded losing Spock again, Jim had no right to get in his way and any attempt would be cruel as well as futile. But still, Jim was too stubborn to give up.

As the door closed behind Counselor Troi, Spock turned back toward Jim. They could both feel an argument brewing, boiling beneath the surface. They each knew everything the other would say long before they said it, but their feelings still threatened to burst out into the open. Maybe Troi was right, some things needed to be said aloud.

“If you’re going back to Romulus, I’m coming with you,” Jim said at last.

“It is too dangerous,” Spock attempted in vain. He sat back down next to Jim and fixed him with his most unyielding look.

“If it’s too dangerous for me to come, then it’s too dangerous for you to go alone!” Jim badly wanted to be able to make it an order and end it at that, but Spock hadn’t been his first officer for a long time and now Spock outranked him.

“It is not your fight.”

“Bullshit,” Jim snapped. “I haven’t come back from the dead just for you to die on Romulus!”

“I have no intention of dying.” Spock kept his voice steady even as he warred with Jim’s frantic emotions that were much stronger than anything he had experienced in his time alone.

“Then let me help!” You don’t have to be alone!

“It was because of me that you were sent to Rura Penthe. I will not allow you or anyone else to walk into danger on my account.”

“And I got you killed!” Jim cried. For an instant, Spock felt the full force of the anguish of the broken bond, though it rapidly subsided.

Spock rested a hand on Jim’s arm as a reminder of his presence, though he did not risk skin-to-skin contact. He looked Jim firmly in the eye. “The decision was mine.”

“And I decided to board the Klingon ship!” Jim retorted. “It was my fault we ended up in the situation in the first place; it was me Khan was after, I didn’t raise the shields fast enough, I should have gotten us out of there.” He pounded a fist on thin air in vehemence.

Spock tightened his grip on Jim’s arm. “You did nothing wrong.” He tried to impress the words on Jim’s mind, but he rejected them, sending a shudder through the bond. Spock shored up his shields and tried again with words alone, “I followed you willingly and would do so again. It was not your choice to meet with the Klingons, I forced the duty upon you even though I knew the risks.”

“You should have told me,” Jim acknowledged. “But you were right; it was the right thing to do, and maybe being forced to fight for the treaty did me some good. Anyway, you got us out of there in the end.”

“It was the least that I could do. You risked everything to return me to life and I did little to repay you.”

Jim gave him a searing look - Do you really believe that?

“I will not permit you to waste the remainder of your life in the catacombs of Romulus or imprisoned on Remus on my account,” Spock insisted.

“It’s not up to you,” Jim snapped. “If I can’t stop you, then you sure as hell can’t stop me.”

“Jim,” Spock attempted.

“You can’t keep me locked away on Earth, not while you’re out risking your life half-way across the galaxy.”

Jim could feel Spock warring within himself, torn between his mission on Romulus and the safety of his newly reawakened bondmate.

“Jim, I am unwilling to risk anyone’s life but my own,” Spock tried again. His tone was sharp, but internally, Jim could feel him pleading.

“Your life isn’t any less important!” Again, Spock saw himself pressed against the glass - out of reach - dying.

“Jim,” Spock said softly, but urgently.

Spock let his hand brush against Jim’s, conveying as much of his living presence as he could. Jim’s breathing steadied, though his fierce determination lingered in his eyes.

“I must meditate,” Spock said at last, withdrawing from the contact.

“Go ahead,” Jim said with a dismissive wave. He was disappointed, but not surprised. He conveyed his understanding clearly through the bond.

“Thank you,” Spock said, before retreating into the bedroom.

  When he was done meditating, Spock found Jim in the ship’s gym, standing off to the side with a towel slung over his bare shoulders. Jim’s breathing had returned to normal by the time Spock arrived, but Spock could see the sweat on his torso and feel his muscles aching from exertion.

“You will be sore tomorrow,” Spock remarked.

Jim smiled at him. “I know. That means I did it right.”

Spock raised his eyebrows in a silent argument, but did not debate him.

“After spending eighty years in stasis, I have to do something to get back in shape,” Jim said.

“Your muscles did not deteriorate while you were in the Nexus. Physiologically, you changed very little, as though you did not experience the passage of time.”

“I know,” Jim said with a touch of impatience. Spock seemed distant; their bond was still mostly shielded for meditation and his emotions were carefully restrained.

Spock rested a hand on Jim’s arm and attempted to convey some reassurance. “I may be able to ameliorate some of the discomfort.”

Jim glanced up at Spock to confirm that he really was suggesting what Jim thought he was. Spock nodded, and Jim smiled despite himself.

Jim tossed his towel in the laundry, pulled his shirt back on, and gestured for Spock to lead the way, back to their quarters.

Slowly, their bond reopened. Jim could feel some of Spock’s unease and guilt for having abandoned him to meditate. All of Jim’s human emotion had been too much for a Vulcan long accustomed to living alone. But, Spock insisted, that just meant he needed to reacclimate to it.

They arrived in their quarters and went straight to the bedroom. At Spock’s direction, Jim sat down on the edge of the bed and Spock positioned himself cross-legged behind him, as though to meditate.

First, Spock eased off Jim’s shirt, his fingers trailing gently behind, sending shivers down Jim’s spine. Then he got to work, rubbing circles in Jim’s shoulders. Slowly, his hands traveled down Jim’s back. The warmth of Spock’s hands against the human’s cold skin relaxed Jim’s aching muscles on its own. Well practiced, precise movements kneaded away the remainder of the tension.

Their minds came together with the steady rhythm, they seemed to move as one. There was comfort, warmth, reassurance, a familiar presence that had been absent for much too long. It soothed the crashing waves of Jim’s mind and vitalized Spock’s desert with lightning and rain.

I am here now, whatever would come in the future. And even if they were separated, their minds remained together; parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched. The familiar litany echoed between their minds, working its way through Spock’s hands into Jim’s back, to seep into his bones. Even his mind seemed to soften with the rhythmic motion, drawing them even closer together.

Relief surged through them in waves. They were no longer alone, their thoughts and emotions swirled together into one. It was peaceful and warm in the eye of the storm. Only there, were they whole.

Slowly, together Jim and Spock emerged. Jim leaned into Spock’s chest. Spock’s legs had unfolded to bring them closer, until their bodies were pressed together. His hands had left Jim’s back to splay across his face so his fingertips rested against Jim’s meld points. Spock’s chin leaned against Jim’s shoulder.

Spock felt a rush of embarrassment that he had initiated a meld through no independent conscious thought of his own.

Jim merely grinned in response and leaned even more heavily into Spock’s chest. Spock obliged and wrapped his arms around Jim’s torso, pulling him closer. A lick of illogical fear made him hesitant to let go.

You are not alone. The words echoed between their minds.

They stayed like that for a while longer, each soaking up the other’s presence. Even for Jim, it had been a long time since they’d been so close.

Spock silently apologized. He had intended to spend more time on Earth after their retirement, but he had gotten caught up in negotiations with the Klingons and he always assumed they would have plenty of time - not enough, but more.

“I wasn’t great company,” Jim admitted. Retirement had not been easy for him. Spock’s absence hadn’t helped, but even when Spock was there, he wasn’t happy.

Spock raised his eyebrows in disagreement. His regret was clear enough without words.

Jim turned around in Spock’s arms and kissed him on the lips. Sparks of gentle human affection scattered across Spock’s mind. His lips tingled with the soft, purposeful touch.

[reenakawwa]

Final Draft of Non-Fiction

Reena Kawwa

Professor Reiter    

ENL 267

04 February 2020

            Qahweh of Life

I grew up around the rich aroma of Qahweh. Qahweh is the Arabian version of brewed American coffee. It is lightly or heavily roasted Arabica coffee beans with a hint of Cardamom. There is no limit to what Qahweh can be served for. In Middle Eastern countries, Qahweh is a commonality between everyone from poor to rich and muslim and christian, which is why it is used as a peacemaker. In The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, Qahweh Sadah (Black Coffee) is a hospitality staple. We greet our friends, families and royals with 3 oz of dark, boiling, black liquid. To not offer coffee during meetings is seen as disrespectful. During engagement parties in Jordan called Jahaa, the groom's family visits the bride's house to ask for her hand in marriage. The groom will be offered a cup of Qahweh, but will usually postpone drinking it until the bride’s family gives their blessing for the marriage. This simple act is seen as respect for the two families involved.  During the Jaha, the Qahweh Sadah is seen as a peace offering. This tradition adds emphasis as to why Qahweh is not just coffee. It is a sacrifice, a gift, and a common denominator.                                

I personally never knew what the hype was about. The 3oz cup of bitter coffee

seemed like torture. The first sip is somehow also the last. After that, you’ll be up for hours,  

possibly on the edge of an anxiety attack. My Grandma never started her less-than- busy day without a Finjan (espresso sized cup) of Qahweh. She also never ended her day without

one.  Making Qahweh is a process. You put the pulverized coffee beans into a Rakwe. A Rakwe

is a small pot that is used specifically for Arabic coffee. Many people in Arabic countries prefer

to add cardamom pods to the Rakwe. That addition however, is your choice. Oftentimes, people

enjoy Qahweh black, but you will get the occasional guest that prefers to get a sugar rush with

the caffeine boost. In that case, you can add the desired amount of sugar into the Rakwe before

the coffee is made. Kids were never offered Qahweh. They would be given Chai as a substitute.

Arabian Chai is not your regular Starbucks Chai latte. Chai is the Arabic word for black tea. It is

our Earl grey.  Up until the age of fifteen, I was enjoying a small cup of Chai every morning with

breakfast and every night after dinner. The caffeine boost is minimal but it goes great with

Jordanian meals.

One morning, I woke up to a fresh Rakwe of Qahweh being made by my father. At that time, I was a kid trying to rush into adulthood. Being surrounded by older cousins, the escape from childhood is justified. Being a kid is hell. I was done having Chai while they all sipped their little cups of Qahweh and gossiped about everything that is far from important. I wanted in. So, naturally, I picked up a finjan and poured myself 3oz of that black liquid diploma into adulthood. My mother was not having it. She bombarded me with negative side effects to coffee as she was sipping on hers. If you are under the age of 17 and drink Qahweh, in a few months you’ll be cursed with a full-ass beard. That myth is the ultimate threat to Arab women as facial hair is seen as the end of the world. The full-ass beard is not a threat to me. I drank up. I sipped it while listening in on the ted talk that my mother hosted with her sisters in our kitchen.

             I did not enjoy the first sip. It was bitter, too hot to take as a shot, yet too tiny to drink slowly. Nevertheless, I intended on finishing it. The second sip took me by surprise. I could feel the Qahweh’s acidity in the pit of my stomach. For beginners, Qahweh is like taking a shot of liquid ginger. You close your eyes, pinch your nose and pray you don’t gag. I did not enjoy the second sip, but I also did not hate it. I tolerated it. My pinky finger did not get the gist of the Finjan. It was not supposed to fold around the baby cup, rather it was supposed to be slightly tipped to the side. At least that is how the adults held it. I eyed how my Grandma held it closely because it somehow looked elegant. The conversation had shifted from travel ideas to juicy family gossip.

                   As a teenager, there is nothing that amused me more than the talk of family members. I listened closely until I had an anecdote to add. I finally had a great addition to the story of my cousin’s messy engagement. I might have shared too much and I blame that all on the two sips of Qahweh. Nevertheless, I got everyone’s attention instantly...there it is! I mastered the art of sipping the Qahweh! That was the third sip. The ultimate sip. During that short-lived moment, the Qahweh in my mind became a rocky road ice cream. I could still feel the sharp acidic flavor on my lips. It was far from the French vanilla, splash of caramel, soy milk latte everyone seems to be obsessed with. I suddenly did not mind the blandness. I somehow enjoyed the sharp sting that I had previously dreaded during the first few sips. By the third sip, when you finally start to want more, there are only two more sips left. The second to last sip is just as good as the third, if not better. It’s still boiling, silky smooth like velvet, and pitch black. This sip is a hard one to swallow. You can feel the end of the Finjan nearing so you take your time. You make small talk, pretend like you're interested in whoever’s story you're listening to, and try to make plans for the next Qahweh session. Most importantly, you dread the upcoming sip. You despise it. You mull over the idea of just pouring the rest into the sink and running. It’s crazy to think that just as you start to want more, it becomes distasteful. You crave more of that third and fourth sip. You know the one coming will be far from good. You wanna know what the last sip of Qahweh feels like? It is similar to the feeling you get when you go overboard on that “All you can eat sushi buffet”. When you promise that that Philly roll is the last order you’ll put in, yet you somehow end up getting three more. You enjoy the first two pieces, but then wonder how you’ll finish the rest. Your full but yet you don’t want to stop. It’s a deadly cycle.

Ultimately, you never end up pouring the rest of the Qahweh out. You want

to stay in the conversation and force yourself to pull it together. You close your eyes, pinch our nose, and try your hardest to keep it together in front of your family. This sip is the only sip I took as if it was a shot of Irish Car Bomb. It was no joke. Almost identical to taking a shot of hard liquor. It was bitter, potent and yet essential to the after-effects. Do you want to be vigorous? You must drink the remaining sip. The last sip is not smooth. Since the Qahweh in the pot is unfiltered, the grounded beans end up at the end of the Finjan. So the last sip is filled with little tiny bits of coffee beans that get stuck to your upper lip as you drink it. You pull through though because what comes next is the most exciting part of drinking Qahweh with family members.

After everyone finishes their cup, we flip it upside down and rest it on the saucer that the cup comes with. We let the residue dry and then turn it over. The myth is that once the residue of the Qahweh is stained on the cup, a superstitious person with a gift of reading the future will try and “read the cup”. This is called Tasseography. The stain of the left-over liquid and coffee beans make all kinds of shapes on the cup. Usually, in most Qahweh dates, there is that one person who is gifted at Tasseography. They can make out crazy stories through unclear shapes on the cup. They analyze every little stain pattern and interpret it into real-life situations for the person who drank from the cup. No stain is left unread. Every detail is a clue to predicting the person’s future. I’m Christian, so this tradition is only for fun, we are not allowed to take the predictions seriously because we believe fate is in the hands of God. Yet, we always find ourselves asking someone to read our cup. It’s like even though we know it’s wrong, we still need all the hope we can get.

I can not help but wonder if life is merely a cup of Qahweh? Is our life those five sips of roasted coffee beans? It’s a weird thing to believe, but let me explain myself. The first sip if you recall, is bitter, too hot to take as a shot yet too little to drink slowly. The first sip is not exactly enjoyable. You get a sudden wave of anxiety mixed with indescribable energy that keeps you going for hours. You want to stop drinking but you can’t. You encourage yourself to suck it up and keep going. What if, the first sip of Qahweh, was the first time you felt rejected? It's a bitter moment when you realize that something you wanted so bad, was simply not for you. Maybe it was that fancy-schmancy job interview in the city that you could swear you mastered. You left the office thinking you secured that position with a wide smirk across your face. That smirk, however, was wiped right off two days later when you got the “I’m sorry, but thank you for your interest and time” email from the manager. Just like that first sip, you would love to just give up but something tells you to keep trying. The second sip of Qahweh took you by surprise. Just when you thought things might start looking up, you are filled with that acidic flavor in the pit of your stomach. Maybe that acidity is the butterflies you get when you are in that second job interview. You worked on your weaknesses and vowed to show up with more confidence. With this sip, however, you want to keep going and see how the finjan will end. You get that call back for a second interview and suddenly those butterflies in your stomach become a little more tolerable.

The third sip or as I like to call it “The ultimate sip”, is nothing short of amazing. You start to feel the Qahweh in action and begin to love the acidity. The third sip is an unexpected adventure. Maybe that third sip is the first time you locked eyes with someone you love deeply. You're still nervous, the butterflies are still flying all over your tummy, but that look is too beautiful to give up. You feel safe and decide to continue on this unexpected, eccentric, and personally unorthodox journey. The fourth sip is even better than the third. It is still hot and smooth like velvet. It flows right out of the cup with ease and elegance. You can feel the end of the finjan coming up shortly, so you take your time and enjoy every second. Maybe this sip is the unforgettable moments that you have with your significant other. In those moments, you do not have a care in the world. All your focus is on each other. However, stressful thoughts about every minor detail in your life cloud your mind and all of a sudden you fear the end of those carefree moments. As humans, we are wired to think about our future and often overthink details that are simply premature.

The last sip is nothing like you’ve ever feared. It is messy, way too bitter, and almost scary. The little coffee bits that roll off the finjan into your mouth are inevitable. You knew this was coming. Maybe the last sip is that crushing feeling you get when you are not given that promotion. Maybe the last sip is the moment you learn that you are being evicted due to a large amount of rent money left unpaid. You worry you do not have what it takes to pay that bill, or even talk to your boss about the promotion. Even with all those fears, you push through it. You talk to someone you trust, you work a little harder, and you encourage yourself by believing that what comes next will be exciting and life-changing.

After all that, once the finjan has come to an end, the tasseography begins. Maybe the Qahweh cup reading, is us trying so hard to predict our destiny and see where life will take us. We know that no matter how hard we try at reading every detail in that cup, our future is not in our hands. We do not have full control of what is coming up next. Instead, God is the only one who holds our future. We can try all we want, but life is a beautiful, tiny 3oz cup of hope. It is unexpected, enjoyable, delicious and bitter all in one. The only thing for us to do is close our eyes, pinch our nose, and pray for the best.

[searchforthescars]

What up Amanda, you know that I need some Memori fic more than ever at the moment so based on your recent sentence prompt post: 37, 38, 46, 70, if you’re feeling crazy ambitious. Love you ❤️

geez I’m so sorry I’m just not getting to this - it came in just as I got sick and then Life happened so here I am like a month later with some spicy Memori modern-day AU post-breakup angst content

ALSO PEOPLE this lovely lady ^^ graduated high school recently so send her some love and congrats for surviving the misery that is the American educational system

37. “You still remember?”38. “I guess I just wanted to know if you missed me.”46. “Take me home… please?70. “I need someone to hear me.”

Emori is used to her new normal. No, really, she is.

It was agonizing at first. She wasn’t sure what hurt more: the silence in the apartment after John moved out or the ghosts that lingered in every corner the longer she remained. Even small things like the squeal of the kitchen faucet or the creak of her mattress would a pang through her heart that left tears in her eyes.

It’s been six months since then, and she’s...fine. Not okay. Not good, not even happy, but fine. She’s settled into a new routine of work-home-cook-clean-sleep-repeat, punctuated by wine nights with Raven and the occasional Friday night dinner with Monty and Harper. It’s still awkward to see Echo and Bellamy because she knows John is – or was, she doesn’t know and never asked – staying with them, but whenever she sees their names in her phone she smiles and sends a quick text to make sure they’re okay.

The hole in her heart where John’s smile and hands and kindness used to be hasn’t healed. She deals with that by never prodding at the wound.

After sleeping for 11 hours, she decides to pass the remainder of her Saturday at the coffee shop underneath her apartment building. It was her favorite place even before she moved in upstairs during her last year of the mechanical engineering masters program she thought for sure would be the death of her. Their coffee – and the corresponding deliveries she later learned they only made for her – got her through her thesis. Surely, she thinks, it can get her through this.

She isn’t surprised to see Harper at the counter when she walks in, bent over a heavy law textbook that looks like it weighs more than her. “How’s that going?” Emori asks as she approaches.

When Harper looks up, Emori winces internally at the dark circles under her eyes. “When was the last time you slept?”

Harper shrugs. “Can’t sleep. I live off coffee and adrenaline at this point.”

“I’m sure Monty loves that.”

“I don’t,” comes a faint voice from the back room. Emori snorts.

“What can I get for you?” Harper asks, slamming the book closed dramatically and pushing it off to the side. “Is this a tea-and-honey day or a ‘please elevate my blood pressure with six shots of espresso’ day?”

“Just tea, please,” Emori says, laughing a little. “I have the week off since we’re done writing grants for the lab.”

“I never understood why they call it that,” Monty says, tossing Harper a bullet bag of coffee beans. “‘Grant writing’. Aren’t you the ones applying for the grants? You shouldn’t have to write the damn thing too.”

“That’s not what that means,” both Harper and Emori say, in near-unison. Emori remembers that Harper is studying non-profit law, and lets her have this argument with her fiance while she takes a seat-

Or, tries to. John is there, sitting on the overstuffed couch near the fake fireplace that emanates real warmth. He’s staring into the glowing red light, face unreadable. Emori feels a strange cocktail of anger, frustration and something else swirl in her stomach. How dare he be here? she thinks, though she has no right to. On the heels of that anger comes a longing to sit down next to him, tuck her feet under her legs and lean against his shoulder like she used to.

She takes the hot mug Harper hands her without thinking and dips her right thumb into the burning liquid, hoping the pain will startle her from this irrational desire to take him back even though it’s not what he deserves.

He looks up suddenly, as if sensing the pain in her thumb and her heart. They lock eyes for only a minute before he stands. “I’m sorry,” he says, fast. “I know this is your favorite place, I just-”

“You still remember,” she says, without meaning to. Her voice sounds far too soft. She hates it. She sucks on the burn on her finger just to give her mouth something to do other than say stupid phrases that sound like they belong – along with this whole situation – in the kind of cheesy romantic movies she and John used to make fun of.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, sharp. 

He shrugs, familiar sardonic smile crossing his features. “I guess I just wanted to know if you missed me.”

He’s hurting himself, and he’s using her to do it. “Fuck you,” she hisses.

“Language!” Monty says reflexively. She turns to shoot him a glare. When Monty actually looks up at her, his expression changes from mild to ‘want me to throw this guy out for you?’

Emori shakes her head minutely, then turns back to John. “Get up,” she says softly, and he does. “Let’s go,” she says, and he does.

She marches him up to her apartment, slamming the door and dropping her bag – and nearly her coffee – on the table before turning to face him.

“What, John?” she asks, throwing her hands up in exasperation. She can see his eyes tracking the movements, lingering on her bare left fingers. “What do you want?”

He gets defensive. “Damn, are you going to listen to me before you rip my throat out?”

“Depends,” she shoots back. “Are you going to say anything worth my time?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s something under his eyes that makes her stop, think maybe he isn’t using me to hurt himself. He looks tired, yes, but stronger somehow, as if he has learned something about the world in the months they’ve spent apart that has enabled him to stand on his own feet, maybe even without looking over his shoulder.

Or, she thinks, this could all be wishful thinking and she could just be an idiot girl still hung up on her ex.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he says, and those words deflate Emori’s anger like a popped balloon. 

She crosses her arms over her chest. She can feel her heart fluttering. “Sorry for what?” 

John shakes his head, backs up so he can lean against the arm of her – their – couch. “Everything.” His voice shakes. “I know I fucked up. I was too possessive; I wanted to keep you to myself and I got jealous because I thought you would get tired of my dead weight.”

Emori laughs once, short. “Why?”

“Because you were taking your life places and I’m just…” He gestures to himself. “I’m just here.”

Emori can feel herself start to tremble. It’s bone-deep, this shaking. For a second, she wishes she could pause this moment and call Raven for help. But that’s impossible, so here she stands. “John…”

He holds up his hands. “You don’t have to say anything. I just...needed someone to hear me, I guess. Preferably you but, you know.”

They regard one another across the room. Emori takes several halting steps toward him. He doesn’t move away. 

“I wasn’t going to leave you even if I got smarter than you,” she says, awkward, halting. “I left because you were unhappy with me for going farther than you. I need someone who will help me excel, not get jealous when I do.”

He nods. “I know. I’m sorry. I was selfish.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, “you were. But we all are sometimes.”

He sighs, thin shoulders moving. “Do you want to stay?” she asks, tentatively. “You picked the couch. You know it’s comfortable.”

He looks like he wants to say yes, but he shakes his head instead. “Take me home, please?” he asks softly. She isn’t sure whether or not she’s imagining the tears in his eyes.

They don’t say anything to one another on the way to John’s place. The only thing that gives Emori a little hope is the feeling of his skin on hers when she rests her hand atop his on the car’s center console and he doesn’t pull away.

[tonguesanndteeth]

Tongues & Teeth Chapter: 4

Jasper waited across the street from the little coffee shop on the corner. By now it was too dark for anyone in the cafe to see his face. He was early, but Teddy was already inside, seated at a table by the window with her nose buried in a book. It wasn’t like him to keep a lady waiting, but Jasper took this opportunity to study her, if only for a moment. 

Her flaxen hair hung long and straight down the length of her back, her eyelashes casting delicate shadows across the planes of her cheekbones. Whatever she was reading must have been captivating, or perhaps confusing, as he watched her eyes dance across the pages intently. A little dimple appeared between her eyebrows when she focused. The emotions pouring out of her were unreadable.

Jasper crossed the street, the late November air frozen and still. A bell rang as he opened the door to the shop. It was a cozy, hole in the wall kind of place with old wooden walls and green subway tile. There weren’t many people here this time of night and Teddy’s head snapped up at the sound.

She smiled at him as he walked in, and it was breathtaking. Only his inhuman eyes could see it, but the light glinted off her teeth and threw a dazzling eight color rainbow.

“Sorry I’m late, ma’am,” he said, striding over to her table. Their table.

“Don’t be, cowboy. I was early.” 

Jasper tried to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Should I be offended by that?” he chuckled, taking a seat.

“Why, whatever do you mean?” she said, putting the back of her hand to her forehead and feigning a swoon, “My very own southern gentleman, I do declare.”

“Definitely offended.”

“What, you don’t like my Scarlett O’hara?” she teased.

“I suppose it could grow on me,” he smirked, no longer working to keep the natural twang out of his voice.

Teddy smiled and looked away, taking a sip of her coffee. But when she looked back at Jasper her brows knit together. He felt a wave of confusion roll off of her.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, eyeing him over.

He silently cursed himself, he’d forgotten to wear a jacket. His body didn’t register the arctic temperatures, but still, he needed to dress as though it did. Humans tended to notice little things like that.

“No, I’m fine,” he said, hoping she’d drop the subject.

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she reached across the table to touch his hand. Instinctively he moved to pull it away, but she caught it in her grip. Teddy inhaled sharply through her teeth and dropped it immediately as if she’d been burnt. 

“Fuck, Jasper, you’re freezing.”

“Really, it’s nothing. I have poor circulation.”

And by poor, he meant non existent.

“Bullshit. Here, drink this,” she said, pushing her cup of coffee towards him.

Jasper grimaced at the black drink in front of him. Human food was even less appealing than the herbivores, at least those had a heartbeat.

“I’m serious,” Teddy said firmly.

Jasper sighed and took the mug in his hands. If anything, holding the hot ceramic would warm his fingers to a semi-human degree, should she try to touch him again.

He looked at the soft ring of pink that her lipstick left on the rim of the cup. He wondered if he’d be able to taste her.

Bracing himself, he took a small sip.

The drink was hot and acrid on his palette, but he skimmed his tongue over her lipstick stain and his mouth was washed in her flavor. It was slightly waxy from the makeup, but round with notes of smoke and peppermint. Jasper shuddered slightly.

“Thank you,” she said with an approving nod, “now your hypothermia won’t be on my conscience.”

Jasper rolled his eyes and pushed the mug towards her.

“Nah, you keep it. If I drink anymore I’ll be up all night.”

He bit back a comment about not having slept in a century and a half, something told him she wouldn’t find it as funny as he did. Instead, he set his gaze on the book she’d put aside.

“What were you reading?” Jasper asked.

“Oh, that? Nothing, just notes.”

Her tone was too casual. Jasper could sense an evasiveness in her aura.

“What about?” he pressed, settling a blanket of calm over them. Jasper had never used his powers on Teddy before, and he wasn’t proud to do it now, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Teddy sighed and the tension melted away from her shoulders.

“It’s just where I write when my mind gets too full. Sometimes it feels like my thoughts turn into these sharp, twisting puzzles. Getting it out on paper helps though, I can rationalize the mess a bit better. I-I don’t usually tell people this.”

She shook her head as if to clear a daze.

Jasper was slightly taken aback. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. He’d always known that Teddy felt things strongly, processed life differently, but hearing it in her own words was a wholly other thing. Was that what she had been experiencing the first time he’d sensed her mind? When he’d felt it lashing out with a powerful and shattering force?

“How do you endure it?” Jasper asked.

She shrugged.

“You find ways to cope. I wasn’t always a smoker, you know.”

“And that helps?”

“It helps enough. Plus it’s cheaper than knocking back a xanny every few hours.”

Jasper wasn’t entirely sure what a “xanny” was, but it sounded stronger than cigarettes.

“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly.

“Don’t be, everyone’s got shit. I’m sure you do.”

“What makes you say that?” Jasper asked, quirking an eyebrow. She was right, he did have ‘shit’. A lot of it. But he was curious as to why she thought so.

Teddy shot him a scathing look. 

“Jasper, have you looked in a mirror? You look like a goddamn Kalvin Klein model. Nobody’s that pretty and okay on the inside.”

He barked out a laugh, surprised at her choice of words, but also the weight of their accuracy.

“It’s that easy to see through me, huh?” he grinned.

“Crystal clear, unfortunately. You look like you’re ready to throw yourself off a bridge half the time.”

She wasn’t far off the mark. Being in such close proximity to humans, to her, could be torturous. If only jumping off a bridge could solve that problem.

“We’ve both got issues in the coping department, I’m afraid.”

“Well,” she grinned crookedly, “cheers to being two of a kind.”

Jasper smiled sadly in return, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with his pinkie finger. He was contemplating forcing down another sip just to taste her again.

“Tell me something,” he said after a moment.

“What?”

“Anything. I just..want to know you,” he admitted.

She flushed deliciously at his words, blood pooling in the thin, clear membrane of her cheeks. Jasper clenched his fist roughly under the table, marble skin pulled taut over his knuckles. He didn’t let himself breathe until the blush faded.

“I’m a vegetarian,” she offered after a moment of consideration.

“So am I,” Jasper said, amused.

“Really?” she laughed, “I would’ve pegged you as a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Red blooded American and all that.”

“Oh, believe me, I used to be,” he said wickedly.

“What changed?”

“My family. When they adopted me they showed me a new way of life. More humane.”

“You’re adopted?” she asked.

He nodded.

“My parents died a very long time ago. I was on my own until Carlisle, my father, found me. He gave me a home, siblings, endless patience. Everything I could have ever hoped for.”

“Wow,” she breathed, processing his words.

“What’s your family like?” Jasper asked.

Teddy’s expression turned sour.

“Dysfunctional.”

“How so?”

“I mean, I guess my childhood was pretty normal. My parents got divorced when I was seven and I stayed here with my mom. Which was, spoiler alert, a big mistake. My dad moved to Nevada, owns some shitty motels now, I think. I see him every couple of years. I don’t even know where my mom is anymore.”

“You don’t know where she is?”

“Nope, and I don’t really care to. She was in and out of rehab too much to keep track of after I moved out, it’s just better like this.”

He could sense her sadness as it rolled off her body.

“Maybe I should have asked you about your favorite color instead,” Jasper said regretfully, he shouldn’t have poked at such a sensitive topic.

Teddy rolled her eyes at him.

“I’ve never been very good at small talk anyway. But, for the record, my favorite color is white.”

“An interesting choice,” he mused.

“Hey, no judging! It’s a nice color. I’m sure yours is something stereotypical like blue.”

Jasper was torn. If you’d asked him a minute ago his favorite color would have been red, the rich iron pigment of her blood. If you’d asked him again he might have said green, the electric shade of her eyes. Or possibly rose, the hue of her lipstick smudged on the rim of a porcelain mug. But he couldn’t say any of that. Instead, he just smiled and said:

“Ya got me.”

“I knew it,” she smirked.

Jasper noticed that the already sparse coffee shop had emptied considerably, the young woman behind the counter beginning to clean up for the night.

“It’s getting late,” Teddy sighed.

He sensed something like disappointment coming from her.

“May I walk you home?” he asked tentatively.

The disappointment disappeared.

“You may,” she smiled.

The two of them exited the warm cafe, the frigid winter air soaking through to their bones immediately. Jasper felt nothing, but Teddy shivered and pulled her coat more securely around her shoulders. He frowned to himself, upset that he could offer her no warm embrace to take the chill away.

She fished around in her bag for a moment before producing a lighter and a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds. Apparently she wasn’t picky about brands. She lit one swiftly, inhaling deeply, and then let it go in a gust of smoke and frozen air.

“This way,” Teddy said, walking down a side street.

She offered the lit cigarette to Jasper, which he accepted, falling into step beside her.

He took a drag and held it in his chest, watching as the breeze whipped Teddy’s hair around her face. They walked in silence for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth.

“Do you think the stars know that they shine?” she asked absently.

It was a rare, cloudless night. The sky was an impossibly inky black and studded with stars like white diamonds. 

“Maybe,” he mused, “but they might be happier if they didn’t.”

“That’s true,” Teddy sighed, “things seem so much easier up there. No worries, no responsibilities.”

“But we get a much better view.”

“Yeah,” she smiled, meeting his eyes.

They approached an old, but well maintained apartment building, and Teddy stopped.

“Well, this is me.”

There was a beat of tension between them. Jasper felt the pull of emotion coming from her. It was small, and cautious, but it was the unmistakable feeling of desire. He had to work very hard to keep his mind in order as he realized this.

He wanted to do something reckless. He wanted to kiss her. It was a terrible, horrible idea, but it tempted him almost more than her blood. For as strong as Jasper was, he needed to be equally as gentle. He could stroke a soap bubble with his finger and leave it unharmed if he issued enough control. Teddy was just as delicate. Silk over glass. Breakable. 

She looked up at him with her wide, clear eyes, and he felt himself lean in. Her pulse quickened and his mouth pooled with hunger. He’d never been this close to a human’s without intent to kill before. The scent of her blood seared its way through his throat and dizzied his head. 

With all the pressure of butterfly flapping its wings, Jasper pressed his lips to the supple flesh of her cheek. He wanted to linger there, overcome with the sensation of her warmth, but the thirst ripping its way through him was too powerful.

“Goodnight,” he whispered as he pulled away.

He turned and began to walk back down the street.

“Goodnight, Jasper,” he heard her say quietly as he slipped into the night.

[sophisticity]

not just duty ↬ t’challa udaku

prompt – you’d lay your life down for t’challa, but not only because he’s your king. 

warnings – non-graphic mention of blood and bullet wounds

“He will expose us, T’Challa,” you hiss, staring through the one-way glass that separates you from the interrogation room that Klaue and Agent Ross are currently in. You realize what you’ve said a moment too late, your horrified expression visible in the glass in front of you, and T’Challa’s amused expression and raised eyebrows reflected next to yours. “I mean– uh, my king,” you manage to stutter.

Beside you, Okoye stifles a laugh and you grimace. 

“With all the work you have done for me and the time we have spent together, I am sure you calling me by my name is long overdue,” T’Challa reassures you with a smile that is warm enough to melt metal – even the vibranium that he wears around his neck. “Besides, we have more pressing matters than you disrespecting the king.” He nods to Klaue, who is currently making gestures and describing machinery and weapons through his actions.

You can all hear him as he talks about Wakandan secrets, explaining to Agent Ross that the ‘third-world’ appearance is all just a front, that Wakanda is more advanced than any nation and holds treasures and technology previously unknown to humankind. It’s all true, of course, but no one outside of Wakanda knew that.

Well, except for Klaue.

“I’m the only outsider who’s seen it and made it out alive,” he insists, straining against the chair he’s cuffed to. “If you don’t believe me, go ask your friend what his suit is made of.. what his claws are made of.”

T’Challa keeps his eyes trained on the arms dealer as he speaks, then turns away from the glass and starts walking. You’re quick to follow, not just because you consider it your duty to stand by him, but because you find yourself wanting to be close to him any chance you get.

Before you can speak any words of advice or comfort, Agent Ross walks out, his expression unreadable. 

“We thought you told the UN that Klaue stole all the vibranium you had, but now he’s telling us you have more?” The statement is accusatory and you cast a glare at the American.

“Watch your tone,” you hiss, sidestepping so you stand in front of T’Challa. “You are talking to a king.”

T’Challa moves to stand next to you, his eyes flicking to yours in warning. You can almost hear what he’s thinking; you know each other well enough.

“It is alright,” he murmurs, but his stare says, It is not the time or place to fight. We cannot be discovered, so let me handle this.

“And you believe the word of an arms dealer strapped to a chair.” T’Challa addresses Ross and his tone drips with just as much accusation and a hint of disgust. 

Agent Ross is unphased, saying, “How much more are you hiding?” Just then, Nakia runs in, looking alarmed. You turn to your best friend, worry crossing your face.

“Nakia, what is it?” you ask, starting towards her. She utters a warning in Wakandan, but none of you comprehend it in time. 

The explosion that follows tears a hole in the far wall of Klaue’s interrogation room, and the people around you erupt in screams. You groan, not really remembering that you’d fallen, as the blast had knocked you back against a desk and left you disoriented. Gunfire comes from the direction of the interrogation room, and you have to crawl away as the glass shatters and shards start raining down on everyone and everything around you. Through the chaos, you see the shooter, his face covered by an animalistic, tribal mask.

You crawl towards him, and it feels like time has slowed down, until it’s just you and the shooter and the ringing in your ears and the wetness that slides between your fingers…

Fuck, you think. Your hands are covered in blood and you can feel the sting of a stray bullet that has lodged itself in the fleshy part of your arm. You moan, pain shooting through your limbs. From the corner of your eye, you see Agent Ross force Nakia to crouch down, his lips forming the words, “Get down!” 

Your eyes search the room quickly, finding T’Challa who hasn’t activated his suit yet. In your peripheral vision, you see the shooter swing his gun around, letting out a barrage of shots and you shout. A single thought pounds in your head (or maybe it’s still the deafening noise of the gunshots): Save T’Challa. 

You spring into action and dive for your king, pushing him away as bullets tear through the air around you. You feel them pierce your skin and you scream in pain, tongues of fire licking your lower back and thighs. I picked the worst day not to wear armour, you think hysterically. 

T’Challa shouts your name a moment later. When he reaches you, only his face is exposed, the rest of his body finally protected by his Black Panther suit. “Are you okay? Please, answer me.” 

You groan, laying on your back so he can’t see the extent of your injuries. “I’m fine,” you manage to say, feeling the pool of your own blood spreading beneath you. “Go get Klaue.”

T’Challa’s expression switches from concern to fear, and you can’t help but be glad that he is scared for your life and worried enough that he’d hesitate to fulfill his duties.

“Go,” you insist, but you know your eyes say, Stay. You look away so he can’t read them. A split second later, you glance back up and see the grenade that the shooter has left in his wake –  a few feet away from you. T’Challa shoves you out of the way, and you yelp in pain. Your vision goes black at the edges and you wish silently, Don’t pass out.

The Black Panther throws his body onto the bomb and through the tears welling in your eyes, you see his torso jolt as it explodes. Purple lines spread through his suit as it absorbs the kinetic energy and as you lose consciousness, you think, beautiful. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

“He took a bullet for me.” Nakia’s voice. You drift into consciousness, but you’re too tired, too weak, to open your eyes or move. Against your back, you feel the cold metal table and the low vibration that comes from the jet. You’re heading home.  

“That was his choice,” Okoye counters, then you fade away again.  

♦ ♦ ♦ 

You wake again a few moments later, and you hear T’Challa’s deep voice rise in controlled anger.

“…not just let him die, knowing we can save him.” 

Your king, ever so benevolent, so caring. You hold the thought lightly in your mind and everything goes black once more. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

“What happened to her?” Nakia asks as you come to once again. Bright light turns your eyelids red and you consider moving but the slightest shift causes pain to shoot through your limbs. 

“She threw herself in front of me as my suit was unfolding,” T’Challa says, a twinge of sadness in his voice, but it’s mostly coated with worry. “The bullets hit her before I could jump in front of her and protect her… It should have been me, Nakia. It should have been me.” 

“You know we will always protect each other, no matter what,” you hear Nakia say and her voice comes closer. Her shadow casts darkness across your eyelids as she blocks the light streaming in from the jet’s windows. Next to you, you feel T’Challa’s fingers brush over yours. Knowing him, the gesture was probably unnoticeable, even to Nakia who pays attention to everything.

“And you know that she knows it was her duty to protect you,” Nakia continues and she shifts again, blocking more of the sunlight. 

“But look at her,” T’Challa replies, “she almost died.” 

The concern in his voice is evident and you dare to hope that it is more than just the fact that he almost cost you your life; you dare to hope that the concern comes from a place where his feelings return yours, a place where his fingers still being in contact with your own means that he is yearning to hold you as much as you yearn to hold him. 

So you do. 

You muster enough strength to shift your hand and hold onto his, not caring that Nakia might see.

T’Challa calls your name but you’re already drifting away and not even the warmth of his hand, curled around yours, is enough to keep you awake…

♦ ♦ ♦ 

When you finally, finally open your eyes, you’re in…Shuri’s lab? You blink, letting your vision adjust to the garish white and blue lights and the pristine state of the princess’ work (and play) area. You flex your fingers, feeling the sudden absence of T’Challa’s hand, and focus on stretching your arms and legs so you can forget him for the moment. You manage to sit up, wincing at the pain that sparks from your lower back, but unlike before, it’s bearable. 

“Good, you are finally awake,” Shuri’s voice pipes up from behind you. You swing your legs over the lab table and crane your neck to look at her. Behind her approaching figure, you see Agent Ross on another table. Huh, he must have been the ‘he’ that Okoye and Nakia were arguing about, you think, and the one T’Challa wanted to save.

“Princess,” you greet, bowing your head, “no offense or disrespect, but what am I doing here?”

“My brother did not want everyone to know that he brought back another broken white boy, so he brought the poor American to me. And you as well, since you were injured badly enough that he could not waste time taking you to the infirmary,” she explains, before coming around the table and standing in front of you. Her eyes glide over you, her gaze practical. “You look fine to me,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I do not know why my brother was so worried. I told him you would pull through.” 

T’Challa was worried? 

“Speaking of, I should tell him you have woken up,” Shuri says, as she lifts her hand and taps the kimoyo beads that decorate her wrist. She smiles gently at you and you clear your throat, realizing you’re being rude. 

“Thank you,” you say quickly, “for healing me.”

“Anything for my brother’s girlfriend.”

“Oh– we– um, he’s not my– we aren’t together,” you flounder, the statement catching you off-guard. You feel your cheeks heat up and you silently thank Bast for your dark complexion. At least she won’t notice my embarrassment, you think to yourself.

“Right, of course.” Shuri giggles.

“Shuri!” T’Challa’s voice echoes through the lab and without warning, your heart beats faster at the idea of seeing him again. 

“Down here, brother,” Shuri yells back and casts a knowing glance in your direction. You shake your head at her, too casually you’re sure, as she is the princess after all. 

Upon seeing you, T’Challa says your name and your head snaps to face him. He makes his way down the ramp, his face void of emotion. Your heart leaps into your throat, as you didn’t expect the cold look he gives you. His eyes, normally a warm shade of brown, golden in the sunlight, are now frigid orbs of depth and darkness. “Go find Nakia; her beads are turned off so you will not be able to contact her,” he orders, his eyes flicking to Shuri for a moment. The princess takes her leave, understanding something you don’t.

“T’Challa…Your Majesty, hello,” you stutter as you hop off the lab table. You wish you can blame your dishevelment on medication, but unfortunately, you know that isn’t the case.

“How are you feeling?” he asks carefully. He closes half the distance between you two, standing a few feet away. You take in that he’s still wearing his suit and normally, you’d relish the way it outlines his muscled body, but not this time. Not when you can see all the tension he carries in his taut limbs.

“Better,” you reply with a shrug that hurts your wounded arm a bit, but you play it off with a small smile, “especially now that I’ve been blessed with a visit from the king.”

Your tone is too flirty, too confident, and you hope he doesn’t think badly of you for it. But his expression only hardens again, and now you recognize the darkness in his eyes for what it is: anger. 

“Why did you do it?” he asks quietly, his gaze shifting away from yours. 

“Do what?” you ask. 

“Take the bullets for me,” T’Challa snaps. He turns around and faces you, staring at every part of your face except your eyes. “I had the suit. I had it, it was coming on, and I would have been protected by it. You had no armour, no weapon, no defense. And you just threw yourself into the line of fire like it was nothing. You could have died!”

You stare at him, as his voice had risen as he spoke, and your mouth hangs open in shock. “You’re angry because I saved your life?” you demand.

“I did not need you to save my life,” T’Challa retorts. He tilts his head away as his jaw clenches, his frustration rising. “I needed you to save yours and other people’s so I could focus on getting Klaue.”

You grit your teeth now, your fists starting to clench even though it sends pain shooting through your arm. “You’re blaming me for letting Klaue slip away?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, that’s pretty unfair.” How dare he blame me? 

“No, that is not what I meant,” T’Challa sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. 

You walk closer to him, hoping his anger has subsided. “Tell me what you meant, then.”

He doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t open his eyes or answer either. 

“T’Challa,” you press, “you cannot yell at me for saving your life. It is my duty to protect you, my king. It always has been and always will be. I have risked my life for you before – what makes this time any different?”

T’Challa finally opens his eyes, his gaze snapping to yours almost magnetically. You’re relieved to see that the warmth is returning, but it is still guarded, like you’re looking through murky waters and seeing golden treasure at the very bottom. 

“T’Challa..,” you repeat. “Come on, you are not allowed to just come in here, acting all concerned, asking if I am okay, then yell at me for being reckless or stupid when I was just trying to protect you!” Your voice rises and you have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from yelling at the king any further.

“That is why,” he finally says, and he presses his lips together, trying in vain to keep his pent-up emotions within. “You should not be the one protecting me. I should have protected you.”

You’re surprised once again by his response and you take a step back towards the lab table. He keeps his eyes trained on yours, hesitates for a second, then moves towards you.

“There was so much blood, everywhere, all over you, and your pulse was so weak,” T’Challa breathes out. His voice has lost its edge and as you stare back at him, you see the murky waters clearing. “I can never bear to see you like that again. I– I do not know what I would have done if you died. And worse, if you died saving me.”

“It is my duty to lay down my life for Wakanda and its monarch, you and I both know–”

“Do not say that to me,” T’Challa replies curtly, then he reaches for you slowly. His hand rests on your uninjured arm, and it is reason enough for him to close more of the distance between you two. “Do not say it was because of duty.”

Your eyes stay locked and just like before, his stare conveys more than words can. Tell me the truth, the golden orbs whisper and you hear it, you understand what he is asking.

“I saved you, not just because you are the king,” you say slowly as you lean into his arm and move forward, closer to him, “but because I care for you deeply.”

Just like that, I’ve confessed, you muse.

You observe as his expression softens and the tension in his jaw releases. “You…you have always done more than I have ever asked, than I have ever needed,” T’Challa murmurs, and he steps even closer until you share breaths. “But this. Trying to protect me when you have no defense yourself…you did not need– I would never have asked you to…” 

“I know,” you reply and in a moment of boldness, you lift your hand and caress his cheek; you lay a hand on your king, despite the possibility that it is wrong, or inappropriate, or disrespectful… “But I wanted to.”

Another slip of the tongue, you think, but you don’t care. You don’t care. 

T’Challa holds your gaze with his own, his eyes clear and focused. You’re more than relieved to see that the hardness within them is gone, replaced by a gentle stare.

“I guess you are not mad at me anymore?” you ask cautiously.

“Mad? No,” he replies, and the hand that rests on your arm shifts up to your face and returns the caress you had given him just moments ago. “I am still upset that you thought it was a good idea to save me without any weapons but no, not mad. I am upset with myself for failing to be the one to protect you.” 

“That is not your job,” you blurt out, because deep down, you both know it’s true. He is the king, your king, and your duty comes before anything. 

“Maybe not as king, but as the Black Panther, I need to protect those that I..,” he hesitates, his brows furrowing in a silent question. You dare to hope that he is about to reveal a confession of his own and your breath catches. 

“As the Black Panther,” T’Challa repeats, as his gaze drops away and back to yours, “it is my job to protect those I love and care for.”

Well fuck, there it is, is your first thought. The second: “You care for me?” 

“Deeply,” T’Challa answers honestly, emphasizing the confession with your name. It sounds divine coming from him, every sound woven into the timber of his voice. He smirks, probably at the stupid, gaping expression that contorts your face at the moment. “I always have. It is a shock you never saw it. Why do you think I gave you a position so prestigious and so near to the throne, to me?”

“I– I just thought..,” your words drift away. Your head is spinning, because even though you had hoped and wished for this for so long, you didn’t think it would actually happen. 

“That is also why I was so angry,” T’Challa says before you stutter more. “You should have had my protection. You should always have my protection and I am so deeply sorry for not being able to save you from the attackers and the injuries they inflicted on you. I do not know how I can make it up to you, but I thought putting a stop to the denial of my feelings for you was a good start. I cannot lose you, my love, I cannot. And it would have pained me excessively if you had died and never had the chance to hear about how much you matter to me.” 

The whole time he speaks, your mouth is open in awe and shock. You lick your lips and press your mouth closed, taking a shaky breath. “You know,” you say with a small smirk. He has confessed himself and now, you are too confident, too sure of the feelings between you two…and too sure of what you desire. “There are other ways to make up for it, my king.”

“Aye? What are you talking about?”

You lock eyes with him, closing the remaining distance between you two and tilting your head up so that your nose brushes his. It is daring and stupid and you’re probably going to regret it…but you don’t have time to think about all of that as his lips press against yours. 

He is just as soft and warm as you imagined, his movements graceful yet dominating, and within moments, his tongue has glided past your lips and into your mouth. He tastes like fresh air and metal and Wakandan tea and you relish it all, pulling him to you and deepening the kiss by pushing your tongue back against his. 

His hands snake around your waist, careful to avoid your wounds and that just makes it all the better, because you are reminded of his gentle nature, of his infinite care, and his strength, and now, you know he is yours. 

[missytearex]

Hi! So I’m combining my October and November favourites here, as I never made a post for last month! Oops. Anyway, I’ve started making fic boards! I’ll link to those throughout. Here you go!

Larry

Boiling Blood Will Circulate by whoknows | @crazyupsetter (42k)

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

deleted your number (so i can't call you) by tofiveohfive | @tofiveohfive (9k)

Harry wakes up to a voicemail.

It’s Saturday morning and it’s raining, a barely there drizzle. He sees the notification as soon as he picks up his phone from the bedside table, bleary eyes making it hard to distinguish the words. He’s got a few instagram mentions, a couple unread texts, but what really stands out is the “Missed Call and Voicemail”.

From Louis.

Or the ten hours before Harry comes home to Louis, and the five hours after he does.

Lilo

don't you hear me howling by theamazingpeterparker (13k) - [my board]

Liam turns and looks at him for a while. A scruffy, sleep-warm Louis Tomlinson curled up in a Star Wars blanket, asking what’s for breakfast after a night of running around the upstate forests. Werewolf or not, Liam had almost forgotten what a goddamn menace Louis Tomlinson was.

Louis has seen An American Werewolf in London enough times to know that city living isn't an ideal lifestyle for a new werewolf. He moves back home to find that Liam never left.

i'm never gonna fall (but i'm never hard to catch) by carissima (5k) - [my board]

TFLN: we were supposed to fuck one time, but ended up fucking for 2 years

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Liam’s boxers and shoving them down past his knees. He’s inordinately pleased to find Liam’s dick is just as nice as he remembers. He curls his hand around him and hums happily as Liam fattens in his grip. “You know that, right? Who cooks breakfast for their one night stand? And then washes up afterwards? I feel like I should send your mum a thank you note or something for raising such a polite young man.”

“God please don’t,” Liam says fervently.

Lirry

the stars look very different today by colourexplosion | @jessimond (5k)

Harry's an alien who blogs about aliens. Liam's a human. Or is he?

an AU

Narry

just a little rush, babe by theamazingpeterparker (10k) - [my board]

“You know everything they say about Dracula? All that stuff I wrote in my paper?” Niall asks as he rips one of the glazed donuts in half. Harry hums. “It’s all bullshit. Real vampires do tomato juice cleanses and do yoga. Fuck.”

Harry's a vampire who's awful at parallel parking, being scary, and being alone. He meets Niall walking home alone one night.

Niam

Building Castles in the Air by el_em_en_oh_pee | @dulosis (10k) - [my board]

Liam is overwhelmed by his bootcamp roommate, who is loud and friendly and so totally up-front about what he wants out of this competition.

"I plan on winning," Niall says, twenty seconds after introducing himself, slinging his duffel bag down on his bed. "Touring. Playing my guitar, you know. Selling albums. Maybe working with Justin Bieber, if I'm lucky."

Lately I've Been Taken In by el_em_en_oh_pee | @dulosis (53k) - [my board]

Niall is the youngest in family of vampire hunters that extends back, generation after generation, for the thousands of years since St. Patrick brought vampires to Ireland to get rid of all the snakes. He's been well-trained in the fine art of slaying practically his whole life, racking up over eighty kills by the time he leaves the motherland to join a boyband.

His new bandmate, Liam, swears up and down that he’s not a vampire. But Niall’s senses never lie.

Nouis

Ask If You Know The Answer by disarm_d | @onedisarmed (4k)

It takes them longer than it should to realize that something is up. Telepathy.

Zarry

baby I'll never leave if you keep holding me this way by estrella30 (10k)

“Does he have your mark?” his mum asks. Zayn shakes his head. He’d looked at Harry’s wrist explicitly for the edgings of Zayn’s family crest but couldn’t find anything. Not that that means Harry’s not the one; it might need a touch or connection to come to the surface. Zayn’s not sure he wants to find out though. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to know for certain.

“Ah, well. It could be coming,” she adds, and Zayn shrugs. She’s silent for another moment, before quietly adding, “You could pick him, you know.” She sounds thoughtful, distant even. Zayn wonders what she’s thinking about, what she’s remembering. “If you want to that is. I know you’ve not been looking for your mate Zayn, but maybe this was what you needed. Maybe you needed your mate to find you.”

or - Zayn is an immortal modern times non evil sexual incubus who is reluctant to find his mate. And then he meets Harry.

Ziall

our names are written with starlight by softzindagi | @softzindagi (7k) - my board

After four years of failed attempts, Niall is still hopelessly single with no match to his soulmark in sight. But just because he can’t find his soulmate, doesn’t mean he can’t find love.

Got fire for a heart, i'm not scared of the dark by geewhizmo | @sleepymouses​ (45k)

“I dunno,” Zayn mutters. “I just think you’re much more in the business of flying than falling, y’know?”

That’s not entirely true, Niall thinks. I’m falling for you, aren’t I?

*

Niall leaves home for the first time and moves to a big city. There, he meets a group of people who will shape the course of the rest of his life. He tries (and fails) not to fall in love with one of them.

Also, they all have superpowers.

Ziam

Heart of Stone, Life of Fire by SoftlyandSwiftly (96k) - [my board]

A war with the city of Banshia and its conquering King threatens all of the Cities on the continent of Kiza. Young Zayn Malik finds himself hopelessly entangled in the web of the war, his future rewritten in the span of a morning as allies and enemies shift. Traded for the promise of an ally, Zayn finds himself among the warrior tribes of the Nakizi people, where he must carve out his own place and take his fate into his own hands.

For All the Stars We Cannot See by iambluehead | @iambluehead​ (30k)

Zayn grins sheepishly, the light hitting his face and making him squint, his fingers curling around the strap of his bag and his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck, a habit of Liam’s own that he recognizes on the other boy. “Yeah,” he finally says. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow?” “Yeah,” Liam says, letting out the breath that he’d been holding in his lungs until it burned. “Yeah, see you then.” The door slams shut, and Liam watches him walk up to his front door, wondering what would have happened if in that moment, he would have just leaned forward and— “The boy’s in bloody love with you,” Louis says bluntly, pulling away from the house and slamming around a corner at the speed of light. “You should get over your fear of everything and just kiss him already.”

(This is the high school AU where Liam plays football and is afraid of failure until someone puts Zayn in his life and he learns to be brave. There’s music Liam’s never heard of, eventful rides home from school, and drunken toasts to the stars they can’t see from Wolverhampton.)

Zouis

all the stars were crashing by sarcangel | @sarcathlon (25k)

“We should practice,” Louis says. He’s got a faraway look in his eye that doesn’t bode well for anyone, based on Zayn’s newly-formed knowledge of Louis. “Find a place, set up a schedule, all that.”

“What?” Zayn says, not sure where the conversation is exactly headed anymore.

“You know, in a movie - like, this would be our montage sequence,” Louis says, hands everywhere, gesturing wildly. “There’d be some song playing in the background while we spar and gain strength and -”

(and lick sweat off of each other’s necks, Zayn thinks, and then you knock me to the floor and lay on me and)

“Yeah, that’d be sick,” Zayn says, instead, not knowing if he’s more surprised that anything coherent comes out of his mouth or that he’s actually agreed to Louis’ awful plan.

In A Small Town I Saw You by zouee | @louiswmalik​ (153k)

Zayn nods a few times, judging whether or not he should just fucking spit it out. He should rip off the band-aid, jump into the cold water, throw this earth-sized weight off his shoulders and look Louis in the eye. “You should’ve remembered me.” He feels like saying. “I’m the reason you couldn’t.”

~

Zayn Malik spends the past eighteen months alone - using whoever and whatever he can to take his mind off of the one person he regrets leaving - and it’s not until he finds himself residing in a small town called Hillside when he finally remembers what peace feels like. Louis Tomlinson spends the past eighteen months surrounded by people - he’s coddled, fawned over, and most sickeningly; sympathised with - until he finally breaks away from the suffocation and finds himself face to face with someone who instantly hates him. Cue: endless angst, devastation, pathetic pining and Disney references mixed together in a pot full of misunderstandings and one-sided memories. The end result is ghastly. Proceed with caution.

Gryles

hold this thread by disgruntledkittenface | @disgruntledkittenface​ (26k)

The air is heavy between them as they both watch Nick’s clumsy fingers mend the fabric. It must only take a minute, but it feels like ages. Beads of sweat form on Nick’s forehead and he can’t tell if it’s from the panic of the moment or the way the man seems to be waiting for something. He’s done a bad job of it, but finally the hem is stitched up. Nick loops the end of the thread and can’t stop himself from lightly poking the man’s skin again, next to the dark ink smudged on his hip that Nick is currently dying to ogle in full, just to… see.

The man shudders this time and luckily Nick is still looking down or he would have missed the man’s cock very clearly twitch in his bloody loose trousers.

Fucking hell.

On his way to visit Henry getting ready for his London Fashion Week show, Nick bumps into a (stupidly pretty) model and pulls a loose thread on the sample he’s wearing. Horrified, Nick tries to mend the simple mistake, but it may just unravel into the best thing that ever could have happened to him.

Tomlinshaw

Lost and Found by shiftylinguini | @shiftylinguini​, Writcraft | @writsgrimmyblog​ (31k)

In a year when things are coming to an end for Nick, an unexpected chapter begins at the start of a long, hot summer.

An accidental romance in Malta. Featuring Annie on the decks, Nick and Louis below deck, a handful of bad nautical puns and weather that's far too hot for trackies.

OT5

The Youth Branch of Magical and Fairy Tale Creatures and Beings Anonymous (Volume One) by sunsetmog | @magicalrocketships​ (5k) - [my board]

Sometimes trying to pass for human is hard. Monthly meetings of the Youth Branch of Magical and Fairy Tale Creatures and Beings Anonymous offers them the chance to be themselves, have an agenda, and work on some life goals. Just so long as Zayn can stop asking people to marry him after just one kiss, Harry can turn his Veela powers down, Louis can stop pre-emptively trying to usurp the god of mischief, and Niall can stop turning things into scythes. Liam just wants some orange squash and a biscuit.

steal my heart tonight by ThankYouMerlin | @thankyoumerlin​ (40k)

Niall rips off his ski mask, it was cliche and stupid (and totally Harry’s idea) anyway. “This is my mission.”

“We know,” Liam says, pulling his own mask off. Niall thinks they’re all wrapped a bit too much around Harry’s finger, maybe. “We just like watching you work.”

or,

An OT5 international thieves AU that contains very little actual stealing because I have no idea how to break into vaults in real life and lots of friendship and feelings from five boys in love.

Lilourry

only because you know (that you wanna feel the same) by words_unravel (34k) - [my board]

Liam may be able to catch glimpses of the future, but he never saw this coming.

Shiall

After All, You're My Wonderwall by alienharry | @aceniall (7k)

Guitar Prick: best eagles song, hands down, is peaceful easy feeling. they knew their stuff.

And Niall can't hold in his outrage. He's pissed. The Eagles are his thing, and how dare Shawn think he can message Niall, only nineteen years or so of experience under his belt, and shove his shitty musical concepts and overall terrible taste in Niall's face.

Niall: victim of love is clearly their best song. ya really ought to get your head out of your ass and educate yourself before running your mouth lad.

-

Niall's used to being the center of attention, so when a bright, musical boy with a charming smile starts routinely stealing his spotlight, he decides then and there to do everything in power to put an end to it.

[starryshelf]

A BOOK THAT IS ALSO A STAGE PLAY OR MUSICAL - THE DAY THE WORLD CAME TO TOWN: 9/11 IN GANDER, NEWFOUNDLAND, JIM DEFEDE

Okay, two things: first, I’m not gonna carry on with the pictures because I’m really behind and a lot of the books I wanna review were from the library and have already gone back, or else have been passed on to secondhand shops. Second, as I mentioned, I am very behind - I’ve got about 11 reviews to write up including this one from the last few months - so I’ll be using my queue a lot, and also panicking as I try to read all the other stuff on my list for various categories, whilst also sticking to my New Years Resolution: for every new book I read, I read the next unread one on my shelves and work my way through in alphabetical order. I’ve stuck to this all year so far and I’m still on the As, thanks to my dad’s collection of vintage Asimov, none of which I had previously read. Plus I’ve got book group reads for my two groups and a bunch of proofs from Netgalley which I’ve ignored for months on end. 

To make sure I can get through everything on my list, I’ve changed a couple of planned reads. This is one of them. Originally, I meant to read Les Miserables for this prompt, as it’s the only really major ‘musical based on a book’ I haven’t read (I’ve reviewed Alexander Hamilton and Phantom of the Opera for this challenge, you may remember, and I read Wicked years ago. The other major musicals I’ve loved are mostly Lloyd Webber, and the ones which are based on books I’ve already read.) However, I didn’t think taking on ‘the brick’ would help me get through the challenge in time, so I’ve put it to the side, as I have done the last few years as well, and instead chose (based on the date) to read this book, which inspired the musical Come From Away. I haven’t actually heard or seen anything about it, so I’ll have to check it out after this!

The Day the World Came To Town is probably one of the lightest books about 9/11 out there. It tells the story of the tiny Newfoundland town of Gander, which found itself home to about 38 passenger planes and all the people on board after US airspace was closed in the wake of 9/11. It’s a heartwarming tale about hospitality and generosity, focusing in on the lives of several families from the planes and others who lived in the town. 

There are some really lovely bits and pieces of personal stories dotted around - the school which let several people running ‘a small business’ use their computers, only to find out that they’d been hosting the president and senior staff of the Rockefeller Foundation, who wanted to replace their entire computer lab in thanks; the major designer of Hugo Boss who was offered a private plane home but decided to stay with his fellow passengers; the Rabbi from London who felt he’d been brought to Gander for a reason and found out what the reason was when he met an elderly man who was a refugee from WWII Poland and had been pretending to be Catholic all his life. There are also sadder stories, of people who were stranded waiting desperately for news of friends and families living and working near the towers. Some of them received good news, but many did not. 

What fascinated me was the sheer range of people who landed in Gander. Many of them were travelling on business and were employed by federal or international agencies, and had to get in contact to help co-ordinate a response to the attacks - one was a US Army General overseeing intelligence in Europe and part of the Middle East! Another was a security advisor for the New York Mayor’s office. 

I’m probably part of the youngest group who can still remember 9/11 - I was 7, nearly 8 at the time, and my memories of it are fuzzy, to say the least. (Due to both age and geography, I remember the 7/7 London attacks far better). But the aftermath has shaped the world I live in. I don’t like reading about it for many reasons, not least the way nationalists love to cite the tragedy as justification for their aims. It’s an ugly event which brings out a lot of ugly emotions, but this book is the opposite of that. Instead, it’s the epitome of that ‘look for the helpers’ quote which so often comes out in the wake of a tragedy. People in Gander opened their homes, donated their belongings, and decimated their businesses to provide a welcoming environment for their refugees. 

One thing I would’ve liked to have seen was a greater focus on non-Americans coming in from abroad - certainly non-Europeans. Everyone spoken about (bar one or two) is American, Canadian or European. DeFede briefly mentions a couple of Iranian girls, and I’d really love to know what the aftermath was like for them. Whilst the people of Gander surely welcomed them, I doubt US immigration was quite so open... one of my most distinct memories from  the time I visited the US aged 12 was seeing the Iranian lady in front of us be escorted off to a different room to be ‘interviewed’ by two armed immigration officials, purely because of her country of origin. But then the book would not be as feelgood as it is, which I suppose is fair enough. It’s a difficult topic and this makes it into fairly light reading, so all credit to DeFede for that. Now I’m gonna see if I can find any clips of the Broadway show!