#mining cap lamp

[alastorss]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor comes home to silence.

It's strange considering how much of a night owl you've become since meeting him. The quietness is almost eerie—the long stretch of hall between the staircase and your shared bedroom seeming daunting despite the fact that he's walked it a million times before.

The rest of the hotel is dark, like it's been devoid of life all this time. Even Husk has retired for the night, the bar closed and wiped down.

He wonders if he accidentally waltzed into an alternate dimension.

Shaking his head, Alastor creeps down the hall as to not disturb the other guests between him and the bedroom. The door creaks at the hinges as he slowly pushes it open, not wanting to spook you in case you were awake.

He can't explain it, but warmth fills him from the tips of his ears all the way down to his toes when he finally lays eyes on you.

You've fallen asleep at the desk, head buried in your arms to hide your face from the light of the lamp. Your shoulders rise and fall gently with each soft snore, the blanket sloppily thrown over your shoulders cascading down to the floor to make you look like royalty.

The demon feels his grin shrink into a small smile as he slips behind you to peer at what you were doing before you passed out. Dozens of polaroid photos are lazily scattered around the desk, each one dated in the corner and signed with your name and a heart.

His eyes scan the sprawling expanse of photos, dating all the way back to just before you'd introduced yourselves to each other.

He carefully plucks the sharpie from your fingers and caps it before slipping an arm under your knees and the other behind your back. Hoisting you up and using his hip to slide the chair back into place under the desk, he watches as you stir in his arms for a moment.

Alastor carries you to bed, laying you down and re-fluffing your blanket so that you can cozy into it. He sweeps your hair from your eyes and leans down to kiss your forehead.

"Sleep well, Cher," he whispers.

He's just about to whisk himself away to get ready to join you in bed when he happens across the photos again. Curiosity washes through him and, nosy as ever, he dares to take a peek at what your little project was all about.

The demon is careful not to nick the photos with his claws as he lightly drags them across the film, tracing each memory you captured.

Your first day at the hotel, dangling between Charlie and Vaggie as they took you in like a lost puppy. He's not in the photo, but he still remembers hearing your laughter from the lobby and thinking it was wonderful.

Your first time doing one of Charlie's ridiculous bonding activities, where you confessed that you had no recollection of your life as a human. It wasn't uncommon for new Sinners to have forgotten their lives, after all.

Your first time letting Angel dress you. He had decided to put you in something tight and revealing... that bastard.

Alastor's fingers stop atop a polaroid dated to when you first became friends.

He's distracted, looking at you with an expression he can't even recognize himself. Brows quirked and smile making his cheeks cherub—you snapped the photo in his moment of vulnerability when he normally would have vanished from it instantly.

He continues tracing your face in chronological order, your smile growing in each. And he's in every single one of them, never looking at the camera but instead distracted by you in some way.

"People told me you never like to take pictures," your voice suddenly startles him. He looks at you over his shoulder in surprise. You blink at him slowly through your bleariness, the same smile he's seen in all the photos gracing your face. "But for some reason, you've always been in mine."

Alastor turns around again to scan across all the polaroids you've taken of him, dating up until just last week when you had surprised him his favourite meal.

For a moment it dawns on him that he, a demon, should never have opened himself up so much to you. That you were his greatest flaw. That he was weak around you. The thought leaves as fast as it came when he realizes how soft his smile had gotten around you.

He can't remember ever being this happy even as a mortal walking the earth.

"Al?" You say quietly, now sitting up in bed alert and awake from his uncharacteristic silence.

He's still for another second. Then, he swipes the camera from the desk and makes his way to your side. You barely have time to register what he's doing before the light flashes and the shutter clicks.

The picture prints slow enough for you to finally realize that you had been the subject of his photo.

"What was that for?" You giggle, rubbing your eyes from the blinding light.

Alastor takes the picture and slips it into his pocket.

"I want to remember this," he tells you with a kiss to the top of your head. "A memory for me to keep, dearest."

~

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[oceantornadoo]

pockets of possessiveness (john price x lieutenant f!reader)

you knocked on his door with your pillow in hand, feet freezing on bare tile. after a second, you heard a gruff “come in”, and pushed open the door to the sight of your captain smoking a cigar with paperwork spread around him. he looked up at you syrup-slow, eyes dragging up and down your body.

“whose clothes are those?” you peeked down at the oversized tee and boxers you wore. “mine.” he grunted. “y’ make it a habit buyin’ shit that doesn’t fit.” you rolled your eyes, stomping over to the couch you came for. “yes, actually. i like to buy oversized shirts and men’s boxers are extremely comfortable and cheap.” his hat was off, which meant you could see the slight rise of his eyebrows, disbelief in his vision. “‘s long as they aren’t johnny’s.” you took a while to answer that, instead dropping your pillow on couch and making yourself comfy, taking out the blanket he tucked away in a box underneath. “‘m not dignifying that with a response.” a small smile tugged at his lips, fond affection spreading slowly. he turned his desk lamp away from you so the harsh glare was no longer in your eyes. “g’night, sweetheart.” you closed your eyes. “night, cap.”

it was way too early in the morning for someone to be bothering you on your day off. you felt a presence standing over you and groaned, hand reaching out to push him away. “go back to sleep, sweetheart. was jus’ sayin’ bye.” your hand landed on his bicep, tugging him down to crouch before you. blearily, you opened one eye, watching the movement of your hand travel to his neck, wrapping around the strands with his hair. he understood you immediately, moving closer til your foreheads touched. you sighed on contact, his smell of cigars and pine seeping into your skin. “got to go, baby. i’ll lock the door so y’ can sleep ‘s long as you want.” you whined a little, then acquiesced with a nod. “‘m not sleepin’ with johnny.” he let out a big sigh. “i know.” you were both silent for a bit, breathing in each other’s presence. for a second, you could imagine it was under different circumstances. with no ranks between you and only lazy sundays like this. instead, you dropped your hand and he rose up, pinching your hip in goodbye.

“y’r not goin’. it’s a suicide mission.” you huffed at his attitude, crossing your arms over your chest so he couldn’t see your hands trembling. “but it’s made for my skills, cap. why else would they assign it to the team?” you looked to the rest of your task force around the room, making eye contact with them individually. “anyone?” gaz tried to speak and you shut him up with a look, already knowing he was going to take his captain’s side. johnny was oddly silent, eyes tracing patterns on the floor. “captain’s right. ‘s yer death if y’ go.” ghost’s voice was low and gravelly in the silence of the room. that was it - overruled by your fellow lieutenant. with him on your captain’s side, you had no shot. “fine. i’ll just not do my job.” you avoided john’s gaze, instead staring a hole into the side of simon’s face. the idiot turned and faced you, cocking his head in silent argument.

i hate you

no you don’t

you’re wrong

you know i’m right

whatever. you’re still on my shit list.

the meeting ended and you beelined for the door. despite your fervent strides, john caught up with you, tugging you into the nearest room (your quarters), before you could run away. you unlocked the door without acknowledging him, letting him follow you into your sacred space and locking the door after him. “‘s for your safety, sweetheart.” you whipped around, pushing him into the door with a finger on his chest. “no, john, it’s for you. you not trusting me, not trusting my skills.” he grabbed your finger with his hand, dwarfing it in his rough warmth. “‘s not that i don’t trust you. i don’t want- i can’t see you killed.” somehow in the darkness of the room, you could see his eyes pleading, an unusual vulnerability for your captain.

“you can’t be this possessive and still not fuck me, captain.” you mocked him with his rank, pointing out the one big problem between you. “y’ know it’s more than fuckin’, sweetheart. woulda done it a while ago ‘f it was jus’ that.” oh. oh. you had guessed, slightly, but to hear him say it was…new. “next time, can you tell me that before going all caveman in front of the team?” his grip on your finger had loosened, his hand spreading out your own so he could link the two together. your palms were over his heart and you could feel its heavy beating calm slowly. “y’ didn’t know?” you shook your head, eyes focusing on the sight of your hands intertwined. your left hand to be specific, his fingers rubbing your ring finger absentmindedly. “don’t want t’ see you hurt because i care for you. and i don’t mind using my position t’ ensure it.” he leaned in, and for a heart stopping moment you thought he would kiss you. instead, he kissed your forehead, lips resting for a second. “we okay?” you nodded against him, feeling the scratch of his beard. “yeah, john, we’re okay.”

john was two seconds away from tugging you off the dance floor, ripping off the scrap of fabric you wore, and taking you in front of the entire club. you had begged the team to go clubbing after the mission, and with gaz and johnny on your side, your prayers were answered. you’d found the perfect thing to wear in a local shop - a scrap of a dress in your favorite color that showed off almost all of your skin. of course, you’d done shots with gaz and johnny, and now the three of you were on the dance floor, dancing the night away. “gonna break that glass, captain.” ghost nodded towards the tight grip price had on his whiskey, knuckles white and strained. he loosened slightly at his lieutenant’s words, gaze never leaving your figure. “fuckin’ hell.” ghost muttered, tracking the figure of his captain’s obsession. johnny had joined you from the back and gaz from the front, the three of you grinding like there was no tomorrow. johnny’s fingers gripped your waist while kyle’s brushed your shoulders, occasionally running up and down your arms. “cap-“ but he was already moving, glass empty and dropped on the table as price made his way to the dance floor.

“‘m cutting in.” your captain peeled his two sergeants off you, sending them scampering and snickering with a glare. “didn’t know you danced, john.” he didn’t, just stood unmoving with arms akimbo and possessiveness flaring in his eyes. “come on.” you grabbed his arm and dragged him through the crowd, finding a dark corner for the two of you, away from the team. “took you long enough to come get me.” you giggled. he raised an eyebrow, resting his hands on your waist as you swayed to the beat of the music. “y’ sayin’ that was all for me?” you nodded, biting your lip in anticipation. instead of replying, he flipped you around, tugging you into him until there was no space between you. you started grinding, not the false imitation of what you were doing with johnny and kyle, letting the beat move your hips. “a worse man might take advantage of you, darlin’. so pretty an’ willing f’ me.” he was right next to your ear, beard scraping your soft skin.

“doesn’t make you worse, john. it makes you human.” huh. he’d never thought of it that way, that he was just a man instead of a captain. he contemplated it, that gray area, as you moved one of his hands from your waist to your lower stomach, pressing it above your core. “‘s not taking advantage, john. i’m not drunk, just tipsy.” he pressed harder against you, drawing out a moan in the darkness as you felt that familiar coil of arousal. you could feel the outline of his cock through his jeans, the thin material of your dress barely a barrier. “don’t want our first time to be in a filthy club bathroom, baby. when i fuck you, i’m goin’ to take my time.” he grinded his palm into you, noting the hitch in your breath as he found your cunt, hidden behind two layers of fabric. it was building up, your nipples hardening and scraping against your dress. he was rock hard now, hips loose and all yours. you couldn’t quell that one voice in the back of your mind, though. “will it- will it just be once? when you fuck me?” he shook his head, spinning you around until your back was to a wall, your captain pinning your hands up and looking down at you with a hungry gaze. his hips were still pressed into yours, cock rubbing against your cunt. “y’ gonna get it through your head. you’re mine and i’m yours.” his eyes were searching yours for confirmation that he hadn’t been grasping at straws. you nodded quickly, wrapping a leg around his waist and tugging him closer. “mine. yours. when are you gonna kiss me, john?” you whined that last part, turning on your biggest puppy dog eyes. he almost growled at it, you so helpless under him. the invisible limits he had on himself, on a relationship between a captain and lieutenant, broke easily under your heady gaze. he leaned in slowly, cupping your jaw and running his thumb over your lips. and finally, finally, he kissed you.

it was slow and soft and john, the taste of whiskey rushing through your mouth. you were in a bubble, tugging your pinned hands out of his grip so you could pull him closer. his hips slotted further into yours but his lips told a softer story, biting and licking, exploring yours. you never wanted to stop, content to lie here forever and never let him go. “y’ taste like my dreams, sweetheart.” he whispered, just for you. he tasted like your future.

[worldofstoriesanddreams]

Is there an age limit? Part 2

“For me?” The annoying red-clad giant of a man who was all sunshine and diabetes-inducing puppies bounced around. He played with the communicator Batman handed to him as if it were a shiny new toy.

“I can’t believe I’m in the Justice League!” The Herculean man-child squealed, grinning like an imbecile. “Somebody, kick me. Show me I’m not dreaming!” 

Guy Gardner was too happy to oblige. 

“My pleasure.”

His signature kick - a brutal, no-holds-barred move - would send a seasoned fighter flying across the floor. Guy delivered one of his specialties to Captain Whitebread.

Crack!

“My leg!” 

Agony ripped from his foot, up his leg, as he felt his bones shatter upon impact with that brick wall of a man.

“I broke my leg!” He hopped to the nearest seat, clutching his foot, hoping to earn sympathy points with Ice. 

The cold beauty looked away.

Instead, the Big Red Cheese hovered towards him.

“I’m so sorry.” The overgrown baby - who was made of concrete - had the audacity to offer him a hand. 

“Can I help you?”

“Nah, Guy’s just being Guy,” Hal pulled Justice League’s newest recruit away. “You must see our recreation rooms!”

Superman, one of the Big Three, intercepted them. 

“Wait, Cap,” he dangled a set of keys in front of Captain Whitebread. 

“You get the room beside mine,” Superman grinned as the big blue boy scout wrapped his arm around the cheesy red boy scout. 

He behaved as if Cap was his twin brother. “I’ll show you your private quarters!”

Guy’s jaw dropped as he turned as green as his ring.

While every member of the Justice League had a private room in the Watchtower, a cluster of four rooms were considered prime estate. Three of the four prestigious rooms were taken by the Big Three - Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman. 

Captain Whitebread gets the fourth? 

It is as good as telling the hero community that the dolt is one of the Big Four.

Guy knew he deserved that honour far more than that joke of a hero.

 *

“Holy Moley!” Captain Marvel’s gawked at his private quarters. “Is this for me?”

“All yours,” Superman grinned, spreading out his arms. 

His fellow Kryptonian’s childlike wonder was a welcome change from the jaded cynicism, or even worse, the self-important grandeur of some heroes.

“Can this room handle lightning strikes?” Captain Marvel ran his hand over a wall.

“Well,” Superman rock on the back of his heels. 

“We are in space, so there is no lightning out here. But it can withstand intense heat, radiation, corrosive environments and physical stress, so I’d imagine it can handle a regular thunderstorm.”

Marvel frowned, in thought. “Can it handle over a billion volts at more than 30,000 degrees Celsius?”

“I’m not sure if anything can handle that,” Superman replied.

“May not be an issue if….” Captain Marvel’s face lit up with a dazzling grin. 

“Never mind. I know what to do.” He chuckled. 

“Wisdom of Solomon,” he tapped his head.

Cap’s eyes bugged out at the fully stocked mini-fridge and pantry. He picked up a can of beer. “I’m sure you must be a certain age to drink these,” he frowned.

Superman wasn’t a fan of alcohol either. It had no effect on his Kryptonian physiology. He didn’t fancy the taste. 

“I don’t like beer or alcohol either. It might be a Kryptonian thing,” he beamed, more certain than ever that he was no longer the last of his kind. “I had mine swapped for milk,” he grinned. “I can arrange that for you too.”

“That would be cool!” Cap looked delighted. “Can I have chocolate milk?”

Cap behaved like a kid let loose in a toy shop as Superman showed him the room’s features.

“The bed and walls are reinforced, but cannot withstand our strength, if you toss and turn in your sleep,” Superman warned. “Do you sleepwalk?”

“No,” Cap pursed his lips. “I’ll power down before bed so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Power down? Does Marvel have portable red sun lamps? 

That’s a brilliant idea he could adopt.”

For the rest of the morning, Superman had the pleasure of showing his new brother the rest of the Watchtower.

“Superman, this place is awesome!” Cap remarked

“Call me Kal,” Superman replied. 

“Okay Kal. You were saying you have Polar Bears in your Fortress of Solitude. Can I play with them?” Marvel pleaded with large, puppy eyes.

“Sure, Will-em,” Kal replied. 

Cap cringed. “I rather you call me Billy. William sounds so… old.”

“Bill, then?” Kal asked.

“Bill is good,” Billy replied.

Marvel prefers his civilian Earth name. 

He probably was raised on Earth too.

So civilian Earth name it is.

“Then call me Clark.”

Bill preferred flying to using the zeta tubes. He had a point. One can never tire of the magnificent view, flying on your power from the space station to earth.

“You keep your key where everyone can see?” Bill’s eyes widened at the large golden key outside Superman’s ice fortress.

“It’s made of dwarf star material and weighs millions of tons,” Clark smirked. “It’s not like anyone can pick it up and let themselves in.” He fitted the massive key into the keyhole.

“I bet I can,” Bill smirked. 

“Kryptonians can,” Clark replied. “But we’re almost extinct.” He handed the key to Marvel, who returned it to its place where it doubled up as an aircraft navigation marker.

“Holy Moley!” Bill’s jaw dropped lower as they walked into the fortress. “Are those your parents?” He pointed up at the statues Kal had created in memory of his birth parents.

“Yes. Jor-el and Lara Lor-Van,” Clark replied. “I was a baby when they sent me away. I don’t remember anything about them.”

“Oh,” Bill squeezed Clark’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay.” Clark assured him. “Ma and Pa Kent took me in when I landed on earth as a baby. They raised me as their own son.”

“That’s cool. I don’t have parents. I lost mine when I was five,” Bill’s eyes glistened with tears. 

“I can still remember them, though the memories are getting fuzzy.”He dropped his smile.

“You can always visit me and my family at the farm,” Superman patted his back.

“Farm?” Cap’s eyes widened. “You grew up in a farm?”

“Raised there. My folks live there,” he chuckled as he led Bill through the fortress' many chambers. “Talking about families, there’s a polar bear family I want you to meet.”

He opened a door that led into a natural cave just outside the Fortress of Solitude.

“My neighbours,” Clark gestured at a family of polar bears. 

The father and mother bears nodded at the men and chuffed their greeting.

Bill chuffed back. 

Then he whimpered like a playful bear cub.

Curious cubs approached Cap with their heads up and ears forward.

The biggest baby bear swatted the air in a playful mock attack. 

Captain Marvel pawed back as younger cubs rolled around. 

Their mother walked slowly towards Cap, and sniffed at him. 

The babies followed suit. 

Between the cuffs, whines and whimpers, the bears seemed to be having some sort of conversation with the man.

“Do you understand what they are saying?” Clark walked up to them, getting a growl in response.

“Oh sorry,” Bill replied. “I keep forgetting we aren’t speaking English.”

“Huh?” Clark frowned. Confused.

“Sasha here was telling me about your noisy machines driving their fish away,” Bill added. “She asks you to be a good neighbour and keep the noise down.”

Apparently, the mother bear was Sasha, the father bear was Phil.

“I’m hardly here,” Clark replied.

Bill chuffed at the mother bear, getting a series of growls in return.

“She says, you may not be here, but your machines still make too much noise. These two days, the sounds are more frequent and worse,” Bill explained.

Sasha chuffed some more.

“Then there are the newcomers in shiny suits that came through this week,” translated Bill.

“That’s not possible,” Clark had a nagging feeling something was wrong.

Phil roared. 

Sasha herded the cubs away.

“They are coming again. The bears smell them,” Clark translated for Bill. 

“Sasha is asking you to tell your guests to be more considerate.”

“What guests?” 

A sudden pain stabbed through Clark’s entire body. 

Kryptonite.

He searched for the source, but his super-vision failed him. A wave of dizziness hit him. Hard.

“Are you okay, Clark,” Bill caught him before he hit the ground.

“Kryptonite,” his vision turned blurry as an armoured figure bearing a large chunk of Kryptonite stalked past the bears, towards him.

“I got this.” 

Bill’s voice was the last thing Clark heard before he blacked out.

*

“Batman! Superman’s poisoned!” Captain Marvel strode into the Watchtower carrying a limp, green-faced Superman.

“What happened?” Batman led Marvel to The Infirmary.

“Kryptonite bomb exploded in our faces,” Marvel grimaced. “Shards of Green K pierced his skin. I removed as much as I could but I don’t have X-ray vision, but I think he breathed particles of Kryptonite, so can you check his lungs?”

“Hmmph,” Batman scrutinised Marvel. “Why aren’t you affected?”

“Kryptonite doesn’t bother me,” Marvel replied. “We were attacked in the Arctic. Who do I hand the culprits over to?”

“Bring them here for interrogation,” Batman replied. If these guys infiltrated Superman’s fortress, he wanted to find out more. “Local authorities don’t have the facilities or security to store technology that is advanced enough to take down Superman. Bring everything here for safekeeping.”

“Yes, sir!” Marvel did a chipper salute and disappeared in a red blur.

So, Captain Marvel is immune to Kryptonite. He doesn’t have X-ray vision either. The man is clearly not a Kryptonian.

As he applied the ultrasonic vibratory device to Superman’s chest to loosen the kryptonite particles in his lungs, Batman pondered on the new information that Marvel had revealed about himself.  

Marvel may not be a Kryptonian, but he could be a Daxamite. 

These are descendants of Kryptonians who left Krypton to explore space. They have the same powers as Kryptonians but do not have x-ray vision. 

Although they are not affected by Kryptonite, Daxamites have a fatal sensitivity to lead.

Batman set up the portable lung lavage system to wash out Superman’s lungs. 

Then he headed to his private quarters where he kept his contingencies against every member of the Justice League.

He removed the Kryptonite from Marvel’s box and replaced it with lead bullets. 

[moonlightcycle571]

Rock of Eternity Getting Offerings because they deserve it

I like to think that whenever there’s a magical artifact that needs containment, Billy just… takes it. Here is how it started.

Billy, after defeating an evil wizard: so… what do I do with the Staff???

Solomon: it cannot be kept in the world of man, it’s far to dangerous. You must destr-

Achilles: NEW LAMP

Hemrmes: YESSSSSSSS

Hercules: WAR TROPHY

Solomon: that is highly irresponsible, we cannot keep highly volatile objects for ‘the aesthetic’

Zeus: the burning violon

Solomon:

Solomon: well some decor never hurt anyone.

*and*

JL, after a long battle: Finally the foe has been vanquished! Now to find a secure place to stor-

Marvel, yoinks it and yeets it in a portal: done

Everyone present: w h a t

*or*

Amanda Waller: -thus the proof we need to detain you for breaking into secure government location and theft of a classified artifact

Marvel: *points to the screen* that’s not me

Waller: that’s litterally you in a French beret and a fake mustach

Marvel: I don’t know who that is, but they do look dashingly handsome. And look like a Gustavo. Probably a French mime who failed mime class and left on a journey of self discovery.

Waller: you can’t be serious

Captain Atom, fuck the government rn: I don’t know, Cap doesn’t have a mustach

Batman: the mime theory seems like a pretty sold theory to me

Several people (heroes, civilians, villains and all in between) telling Cap was with them as the time at the crime, each of them being vastly different.

Waller: this mf secretly a mass manipulator???

*or*

Cap, fighting in a museum:

Hermès: Ooh I know this pendant. Super magical, super cool.

Cap, on instinct, puts in pocket dimension to put it on the Rock:

Flash: … did I witness a theft????

Wether the pendant was actually magic or just a shiny jewel Hermes wanted is up for interpretation.

Anyways that’s how whenever he finds magical artefacts or books or whatnot, he just puts them in the Rock of Eternity. It’s a logical solution, as it serves as a place to safeguard and examine, and maybe purify some objects to use later.

The Wizard is so done. It started off as ‘dangerous artefacts to be relocated when a suitable place is found’ but then it became the go to storage and all the stuff just stays.

Thé Rock in the other hand, loves it. Getting more and more offerings by their new champion really shows how loved they are. It’s has been way too long since they got any offerings and new additions, so the newest champion giving them plenty of nourishment / stimulation is as if they are being spoiled.

Billy, brings an ancient cursed crown:

Wizard: another one???

Rock, already pushing Wizard aside: FOR ME!!!! TYTYTYYTY OH MY ME YOU ARE GOING TO LOOK SO CUTE WOTH THIS HOLD ONE LET ME JUST REPLACE THE MAGOC WOTH MINE

Five hours later Billy is chilling in one of the thrones with his new crown and one of his magic cape to match.

In conclusion, Billy is like a cat bringing a mouse in the house, except the mouse is actually a rubix cube that sometimes turns into sushi.

Yes Billy did bring a magic rubix cube that makes sushi when completed. Now I kinda want sushi ngl

[yaniiiiism]

stars and raindrops. ꒰ a k.sm series ; chp 4 ꒱

chapter four. > and i’d gladly break my heart for you.

ㅤ ︵ ۫ 在 ི۪۪۪ 🦢 ྀ۪۪۪ 𓈒 ֹ

series index > main masterlist > schedule > main directory

♪┆pairing : kim seungmin x fem!reader ͏ ♪┆ info : sadfic , fluff , melancholy , unrequited love (cough cough) , feelings , mature themes , suggestive , bsfs , one sided , uni au , happy ending (?) ͏ ♪┆ personas + bg : uni students ; best friends ; trio of jisung, seungmin and reader. music students! ♪┆ word count : 2.2k ♪┆warnings : kinda sad, seungmo's a sweetheart but just clueless. lots of fluff tho

The girl sat cross-legged on her bed, fingers delicately strumming the electric guitar as her macbook sat open beside her. The soft hum of the amplifier filled the room as she plucked out a melody that had been swirling around in her mind for days. 

Her loungewear, a pair of loose grey shorts and a snug white camisole, clung to her skin comfortably. Her hair was messily pulled back into a bun, a few rebellious strands slipping free, brushing against the black frames of her glasses perched on her nose.

The faint glow of her side lamp illuminated the clutter around her. Scattered pages from her journal were splayed across the bed, some scribbled with music notes, others filled with bits of lyrics and ideas. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, wafting from the diffuser on her nightstand. It was a cozy, creative chaos—her safe haven from the world outside.

A soft knock on the door jolted her out of her focus. She blinked, glancing at the door, and then back at the document she was working on. The knock came again, more insistent this time. 

“Come in,” She called out.

The door opened, and standing there, in his typical nonchalant style, was her dear dorm mate. He was dressed casually, dark trousers and a faded band tee, hair slightly tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

But there was something in his expression that made her pause – a slight hesitation that didn’t usually accompany his presence.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, dragging himself over to her bed, where a mess of sheet music and notebooks were scattered across the duvet. With a half-hearted attempt, he shuffled some papers to the side before collapsing onto the bed, resting his head on his hand as he lay on his side.

 His eyes darted briefly to her glasses before flicking back to her face. “Am I interrupting?”

She barely glanced at him. “Mmm, no. Just working on a music file.” Her gaze was glued to the screen, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose as her brows furrowed in focus.

He nodded, glancing around at the organised mess. The soft, rhythmic strumming of the guitar still lingered in the air, mixing with the sound of the rain that had finally begun to patter gently against the window.

“Well, don’t you look extra gorgeous today!” He awkwardly cheered, to which the girl simply raised an eyebrow, knowing the look all too well ; despite the slight hue of crimson heating up her cheeks.

“What do you want, lover boy?” she groaned, glancing at him over the rim of her glasses.

“Can’t I just wanna spend some time with the bestest dorm-mate of mine, yeah?”

“Quit it.”

“Fine, fine.”

There was a brief pause as he gathered his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the floor before he looked up and met her eyes. “I wanted your.. help..?”

“With?” She spoke, her words slightly muffled as she held the cap of her black pen between her teeth, scribbling down onto her journal, eyebrows knit. 

“I was thinking of asking Eunha out tomorrow. At the beach.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. The words felt like a blow, knocking the wind out of her lungs, but she kept her expression neutral. 

She blinked once, twice, processing what he’d said. Seungmin asking Eunha out. The very thought made her stomach twist into knots, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if the ache in her chest was physical or emotional. 

Probably both.

“Oh,” she finally managed to say, her voice more steady than she expected. “That’s... great.” She forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he let out a small breath of relief. 

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and... I don’t know. Tomorrow feels like the right time, you know?”

She nodded absentmindedly, her mind elsewhere. She was zoning out, slipping into that space where everything felt surreal, like she was watching a scene play out from a distance, detached. 

Of course, it made sense. He had feelings for Eunha, everyone knew that, and she knew herself that one day he would ask her out, right? The way he looked at her, the way his attention always seemed to gravitate toward her whenever they were together.

“Right... tomorrow,” She echoed, her voice light, almost too casual.

Seungmin shifted closer to her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not really sure how to ask, though. I mean, you’re better at this kind of thing than I am.”

The girl’s fingers stilled on the guitar strings, the last note lingering in the air before it dissolved into the soft hum of rain outside. She stared at Seungmin for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly behind her glasses as she processed what he had just said.

Seungmin, oblivious to the subtle change in her mood, shifted on her bed, his dark eyes scanning her face with an expectant look, waiting for some words of wisdom. "Come on," he prodded. "You've always been good at reading people. And you're honest. Just tell me what works and what doesn't."

The girl blinked, biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from letting her real thoughts slip out. 

Honest? You want honesty? 

She sighed internally, glancing away from him, her heart tightening as if someone had tied a knot around it. She didn't need to think twice about why it bothered her—why the thought of him asking Eunha out made her stomach churn.

But instead of voicing the frustration bubbling beneath the surface, she offered him a deadpan, shifting gears into sarcasm to mask the internal turmoil. 

“Seungmin,” she began, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her index finger, “I’ve rejected three guys and dated one only to break up with him in a week. I’m hardly a pro in romance here.”

Not to mention my agenda and immense love for unrequited love.

Seungmin chuckled awkwardly at her words, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but maybe those rejections were, like, super graceful. Maybe they thought they were better off without you.”

She shook her head, stifling a laugh. “Sure. If by ‘graceful’ you mean brutally honest to the point of soul-crushing.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n,” Seungmin groaned, flopping back dramatically against her pillows, arms folded behind his head. “Okay, maybe you’ve not always been the most... tactful when it comes to feelings, but you’re a woman. Eunha’s a woman. You know what women like!”

Y/n blinked at him, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. She scrunched her nose at his fumbling attempt to appeal to her supposed “womanly wisdom,” but decided against commenting. There was no need to kick a puppy when it was already down.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Seungmin whined, covering his face with one hand. “I’m serious. I really, really like her, Y/n, and I swear I have no idea what to say without fumbling every word. You’re the only person I love and know who’s smart enough to help me not look like an idiot. Jisung is not helpful by the way.”

He met her gaze then, his eyes softening, and she felt the familiar sting in her chest.

“Please?”

Y/n sighed, closing her laptop with a soft click and finally turning to face him fully. “You’re cheesy as fuck.”

He grinned, grateful for her surrender. “So? What would your ideal proposal be?”

She stared at him, her lips twisting into a wry smile.

She sighed deeply, glancing away from his eager gaze. The question hung in the air, and she wrestled with the urge to give an honest answer, one that would reveal far more than she was ready to admit. She swallowed hard, pushing her emotions back down where they belonged.

“I don’t know,” she spoke, her tone more casual now as she leaned back into the pile of pillows on her bed. “Maybe something simple. People overthink this kind of thing.”

He watched her intently, his brows knitting together as he waited for her to elaborate. “Simple?” he asked, as if the concept was foreign to him.

“Yeah, like…” She paused, staring at the ceiling as she thought. “You know, no big speeches or anything. Just… be honest. Be yourself. You’re not bad with words when you’re not trying so hard.”

He chuckled, his expression softening. “You think so?”

She nodded, smiling faintly. “Yeah. You tend to overcomplicate things when you get nervous. Just keep it real.”

Seungmin’s lips twitched into a frown, “Are you sure?”

“I mean, you asked me for my advice, Romeo. I’m no love guru, don’t come crying to me if she rejects you.” She deadpanned.

Seungmin rolled his eyes, his tone turning mockingly dramatic. “Hey, don’t give me the ‘just be yourself’ line. I need specifics! Should I bring her flowers? Maybe a pick-up line? What’s the game plan?”

The girl groaned theatrically, leaning back against her headboard, her guitar resting beside her. “You’ve been watching too many rom-coms, Min.”

She sighed, “This isn’t a drama. You don’t need a ‘game plan.’ Just… talk to her. You’ve known her for, what, a year and a half now? You’ve already got the foundation. Just build on that.”

Seungmin looked thoughtful for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. "But what if I say the wrong thing? What if I—"

“–What if she morphs into a werewolf and eats you alive mid-sentence?” she interrupted, deadpanning.

"I'm serious!"

“I am too. You’re overthinking this, as usual. Just tell her what you feel—straightforward, no fluff. Trust me, she seems like the type who’ll appreciate that more than some grand gesture.”

He looked at her, his expression softening. “You really think so?”

Her heart gave a painful lurch, but she ignored it, nodding. “Yeah. I think she’d appreciate you being honest with her. No pretence. No gimmicks.”

“Or you could try serenading her, by maybe one of your own songs or– any song of an artist she likes?”

The room fell into a brief silence, save for the soft pitter-patter of the rain outside and the faint buzz of her amplifier. Her gaze drifted to the window, where droplets of rain clung to the glass, streaking downward in winding paths. She found herself wishing, absurdly, that she could melt away into the rain—disappear, if only for a moment, to escape the conversation she wasn’t quite sure she could handle.

“Wait, you’re a genius!”

Seungmin sat up, ruffling the girl’s hair. “I’ll sing and play one of my songs during the campfire at the beach tomorrow, then ask her out when we’re alone!”

She briefly nodded, her gaze shifting to her guitar.

 “Okay,” he said after a long pause, his voice steady now. “I’ll do it. Tomorrow. I’ll ask her.”

She forced a smile, her chest tightening once more. “Great! You’ll do fine. Get out now.”

He flashed her a grateful grin, his whole face lighting up in that way that used to make her smile back reflexively—but now, it only served as a reminder of everything she couldn’t say. "Thanks, Y/nnie. You always know what to say."

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, picking her guitar back up and absentmindedly plucking at the strings again. 

She nodded, her focus turning back to the guitar, fingers gliding over the strings. Seungmin watched her for a moment, the soft strumming of the guitar filling the silence between them.

“I don’t get how you do it, you know,” he mused, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. “You’re always so... put together.”

“Didn’t I tell you to get out?”

“Hey, no, I know, just–” His hand went through his hair, as he continued.

“You just seem... unaffected by everything. Like, no matter what’s happening, you’re always calm. Always in control.”

She swallowed, keeping her gaze fixed on the guitar. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m just good at hiding the cracks.”

There was a pause. “We all have cracks, don’t we?”

She shrugged, her voice carefully casual. “Maybe. But some of us are better at covering them up than others.”

He didn’t respond, but she could feel his eyes on her, studying her in that quiet, observant way he sometimes did when he was thinking about something important. She kept strumming the guitar, letting the music drown out the unspoken tension that hung between them like a thick cloud.

“Y/nnie,” he said suddenly, his voice softer than before, “I appreciate you, you know that?”

She glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Of course,” she replied lightly, masking the flutter in her chest with a small smile. “Who else would put up with you?”

He chuckled, but there was a gentleness in his gaze that made her stomach flip. “I’m serious. You’re always there for me. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

He smiled, standing up, ruffling her hair once again, before waving his hand and leaving her room with a quick good night.

She felt the weight of his words settling into the space that the two once shared, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like if things were different—if the words he had spoken weren’t for someone else.

But reality, as always, came crashing back down, and she pushed the thought away with a quiet sigh.

“Like I said,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the strings, “I’m good at covering the cracks, even when they’re not mine.”

The rain continued to fall outside, a steady rhythm against the window, as the girl continued to just.. continue, to exist.

a/n. ୨ৎ

CHP FOURRR :] love this chp a lot not too motivated to write a lot for now (personal things, relationships and family) 😭😭😭 will be posting my drafts for a while, hope u guys understand :< ALSO WE'RE AT 98 FOLLOWERS?? omg thank u sm u guys :((((( i swear ill be posting to celebrate the 100 followers !!!! u guys thank u smsmsmsmsmsmsmsmsm muah i love yall :( if u liked this lmk by commenting or liking <3 check out my post-schedule/masterlist/taglists/etc right here ! thank you for reading >< !! — love, yani ♥︎

thank you to @bernardsbendystraws , @adornedwithlight , @littleraesparkle @saturno-web , @anitalenia for the dividers + mdb!

[sirenjose]

Hunter Norton - Short Analysis/Notes

Wolframite’s arm is made of pyrite aka Fool’s Gold. Hunter Norton’s name is “Fool’s Gold”

Lily’s essence where Fluorite and the others are affected by “phosphorescent illness” which “gradually erodes the skin” and causes them to “yearn for captivity”. We see in Fluorite’s design notes that this “phosphorescence” caused people’s skin to begin transforming into different ores. Hunter Norton is also made of rocks/minerals.

According to the short backstory given to Hunter Norton so far, it re-emphasizes his fear of the dark and being back in the “bottomless mine that he had always wanted to escape from”. So he stays in the light. This can tie to how in Lily’s essence, in her design notes and in her essence trailer, we see how being in the moonlight starts to cure/heal the “phosphorescence illness” from Lily aka her ore/mineral parts. If being in the light helps, that could relate to why Norton is avoiding the darkness, and especially the mine itself.

On Hunter Norton’s hip is what appears to be an Oil-Wick Cap Lamp or Tea Pot lamp. These were 1st used in Scotland around 1850, with a hook on the back and a spout where the fat and oil for fuel were pulled from and lit. Miners typically used the cheapest fuel they could find. A drip ring could be added to catch any oil falling from the wick. Compared to candles, the light was brighter, lasted longer, and was easier to carry, but the flame was smokier. The open flame could also ignite flammable gases in mines and causing explosions. The threat of explosions led to the invention of the safety lamp for use in potentially combustible mines and the invention of the carbide lamp which replaced the oil-wick lamps by the 1920s. (Main difference is Oil-wick lamps were hung from their hats while Hunter Norton has it on his hip hanging from a chain.)

[mrsdeliberatecreater]

Some fun placebos to try.

Chewing and swallowing makes your jawline sharper.

Breathing in your nose and breathing out your mouth, makes your nose <blank> and lips <blank> - insert whatever you want here. Eg. plump, wide, tiny,etc.

Turning your head a bit and scratching right under your ear turns your glamour on - It is impossible for people to conceive of anything but your beauty.

Write something down in your phone's search bar, press search and then immediately kill the search. Its a direct line to your higher self and whatever you typed down manifests instantly - your own modern wishbook/magic lamp - I use this one a lot too.

When you put a cap/watch on(running errands), you're in undercover superhero mode and cannot be bothered or disturbed by anybody till you get your stuff done. Basically you just use it to keep people away.

Rubbing your nose gives you gives your a sloped nose bridge - Using it now.

Touching your lashes grows them - personal favorite of mine. My lashes are basically falsies now.

Now for the absolute champs:

💦 Drinking water clears your skin, shield potion, replenishes health bar, increased regeneration, extremely potent beauty potion, happy elixir, instant wish potion, face/body/life editing potion, calming potion, clears mind, healing(instantly cure any ailments), strength serum, speed booster, productivity booster, wisdom draught, liquid luck - you get the idea.

🛁🚿 Bath/Shower - All of the above but ten times more potent.

I use placebos in my subs as well.

[emistoast]

linking taylor swift songs to book characters because i am unwell pt. 2 (folk of the air & shadowhunters)

Peter - JUDECARDAN JUDE AND CARDAN JURDAN !!!

“i won’t confess that i waited but i let the lamp burn as the men masqueraded. i hoped you’d return with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you’ve learned. cause love’s never lost when perspective is earned” LITERALY CARDAN WRITING JUDE LETTERS BEGGING FOR HER TO COME HOME 😭

“please know that i tried to hold on (hold on) to the days (to the days) when you were mine. but the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light” very much jude in the mortal world after cardan exiled her

— — —

mastermind - jude mf duarte

“and the touch of a hand lit the fuse of a chain reaction of countermoves, to asses the equation of you. checkmate, i couldn’t lose” jude jude jude jude

“you see all the wisest women had to do it this way, cause we were born to be pawns in every lover’s game” jude plotting to steal the throne from madoc (to cardan)

“if you fail to plan you plan to fail. strategy sets the scene for the tale” she’s a strategist what can i say

— — —

imgonnagetyouback - JUDECARDAN JUDECARDAN (SPECIFICALLY AFTER THE WICKED KING)

“whether i’m gonna be your wife or gonna smash up your bike i haven’t decided yet, but i’m gonna get you back” SHE LITERALLY SPENT THE FIRST HALF OF THE QUEEN OF NOTHING TRYING TO DECIDED IF SHE WANTED TO FUCK HIM OR FUCK HIM UP

“pick your poison babe, i’m poison either way”

— — —

champagne problems - so what if i said jordelia ??!

“because i dropped your hand while dancing, left you out there standing, crestfallen on the landing, champagne problems” HE DROPPED HER HAND WHILE DANCING AND HE LEFT HER OUT THERE STANDING

“your mom’s ring in your pocket, my picture in your wallet, you’re heart was glass i dropped it” proposal. her leaving.

“you had a speech, you’re speechless. love slipped beyond your reaches” LITERALLY THE ENDING OF CHAIN OF IRON

— — —

Paris - matthew and cordelia IN PARIS !!

“i’m so in love that i might stop breathing, drew a map on your bedroom ceiling. no, i didn’t see the news cause we were somewhere else. stumble down pretend alleyways, cheap wine make believe it’s champagne” HES SO IN LOVE THAT HE MIGHT STOP BREATHING AND SHE’S MAKING BELIEVE THAT ITS CHAMPAGNE (champagne representing james of course)

“levitate above all the messes made” idk i feel like that’s very them running away from all their problems

“i wanna brainwash you into loving me forever. i wanna transport you to somewhere the culture’s clever. confess my truth in swooping, sloping, cursive letters” nah im actually sick what the hell 😭😭 this is so matthew trying to make a confession worthy of her

— — —

i severely apologise for all the caps lmao i didn’t realize i was that intense while writing this

[aanoia]

Hii! So i was wondering if you could do a fic on JJ finding out that reader sh (self h4rm) and it just ends up in fluff?

I totally understand if you don’t want to write something like that for obvious reasons, but I’ve asked other people before and they said they would do it and they never did.

thanks!

Of course! I'm so sorry it's so short, I'm super tired haha

You cut?

JJ Maybank x reader

Summary; JJ walks in on reader doing something that breaks his heart

Warnings; TW self harm, blood, cuts, broken glass

Words; 863

If you are struggling please reach out. To me, or someone you trust. Please. I will sit and listen to your problems all night. Coming from someone who has attempted suicide and who self harmed for years, in the end it does not help. I understand the feeling of never getting better, but please try. I am here for everyone.

Requests are welcome and encouraged! I have an anon submission box and you can ask in comments!

Thinking of writing something for book Finch from All The Bright Places, opinions? Suggestions?

I sighed as I turned the shard of glass around in my hand, watching it as it glinted in the light from my lamp. I lifted my shorts so my thigh was shown and gently ran my fingers over scars, some old, some new. Some weren’t even scars, they were just scabs from last week. I positioned the glass in my hands so it faced my thigh and took a deep breath before running it across my leg with pressure applied.

I didn’t feel anything at this point, the only evidence of a cut was the red line slowly growing. It wasn’t deep, just enough to draw blood. I was too much of a wuss to go deep. Too weak. I cut again, this time quicker. And again. And again. And again until it became a blur of red. A single tear fell from my eye, which dropped and the salty water stung the cuts. I wiped my cheeks before standing up and walking towards my desk where my bandages were, ignoring the feeling of blood slowly dripping down my leg.

“Surprise!” The door flew open and I gasped. “So my plan for tonight is we’ll cuddle, maybe fuck, then watch dis-” JJ froze as he saw me, leg stained in red. It was silent for a moment as we stared at each other, and I prayed the ground would swallow me whole.

“You cut?” He asked quietly, his voice breaking slightly. I closed my eyes as they filled with tears, nodding my head.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered and his arms wrapped around me quickly. Sobs shook my body as he ran his hands through my hair, trying to be strong but I could feel his own body shaking with tears.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He whispered as he slowly pulled away. He wiped the tears from my cheeks and grabbed my hand before gently leading me to the bathroom.

He helped me sit on the counter before kneeling down and rummaging through drawers. He placed bandages and neosporin on the table before standing up straight and grabbing a few squares of toilet paper and folding them into a square. He quickly grabbed the small wrong in the shower and got it wet in the sink. He took the toilet paper and soaked up the blood on my leg before gently wiping the stains off with the rag. He threw the rag in the sink and grabbed the neosporin, twisted off the cap, and rubbed it over the cuts. After he was done, he grabbed the bandages and had me lift his leg so he could wrap it all the way around.

He didn’t waste a second to hug me after he was done wrapping. He held me tight in his arms as I inhaled his scent, fighting off the tears.

“I love you.” He whispered into my ear.

“I love you too, thank you.” I responded and he pulled away.

“Anytime. But, next time you want to cut, call me. Please, baby. I don’t want you to feel so desperate you need to hurt yourself. Will you find me next time?”

I nodded and he smiled before placing a soft kiss on my lips, his hand cupping my cheek. He pulled away and rested his forehead on mine.

“Ice cream?” I asked quietly and he laughed through his nose before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder, careful not to apply too much pressure to my thigh. I laughed as he sped down the stairs and to the kitchen. He placed me on the counter and opened the freezer, searching it for the ice cream.

“Where are your parents by the way?” He asked as he moved stuff around.

I swung my legs back and forth, watching him with a smile. “Business trip, they will be for the next two weeks.”

He paused and looked back at me with a suggestive look. I snorted and shook my head and he pouted before turning back.

“Aha!” He cheered, pulling out two ice cream cartons and grabbing spoons from the drawer. He held up the spoons with a smile. “Let’s go.” He said and ran to the couch. He set down the ice cream and spoons before jumping onto the couch.

I laughed and followed him to the couch. I picked my favorite ice cream and handed JJ the other before getting onto the couch and grabbing the remote.

“What should we watch?” I asked, scrolling through the different apps on my TV.

“Moana. Duh.” JJ deadpanned and I laughed as I opened up Disney+.

About halfway through the movie JJ wrapped himself around my body, clinging on like a sloth. I gently ran my fingers through his hair as he listened to my heartbeat, smiling every time my stomach shook with laughter. The last fifteen minutes of the movie played as I noticed JJ’s slow breathing. I looked down and softly smiled as I noticed his relaxed face. He was sleeping. I gently kissed his forehead and let sleep take me over as well. The slowly melting ice cream was completely forgotten, the real heartbreak of the story.

[callsign-birdie]

Just being horny again. I'm not trying to make this neutral in anyway. This is purely my filthy thoughts, but I'd figure I'd share

Rhett's pulled off the side of the road in his pickup, he's got half his body resting against the driver's side door. My body resting against his. His thighs bracketing mine, as he has his forearm pressed against my throat. His other with his long calloused fingers in my pussy. He's nuzzling and biting my neck while whispering in my ear, telling me I'm being such a good boy for him. How he loves the feeling of me so helpless, but I trust him. His face is lightly shadowed by the ball cap he's wearing, but I can still make out his features lit up by the street lamps as I stare up at him. I let out breathy moans and thank you's for indulging me.

[mining-info]

Why Mining Engineers Rely on Cap Lamps in Underground Mining

Underground mining presents a unique set of challenges, one of the most significant being limited visibility in dark, often dangerous environments. For mining engineers, working safely and efficiently in these conditions is paramount. Cap lamps, worn on the helmet, have become an indispensable tool in underground mining operations, offering reliable illumination in tunnels and shafts where natural light is nonexistent. Here’s why mining engineers heavily rely on these essential devices.

1. Safety and Hazard Detection

In underground mining, the potential hazards are numerous—from uneven ground to equipment and moving machinery. Cap lamps help engineers identify potential hazards early on, whether it's a loose rock formation, low-hanging objects, or slippery surfaces. The bright, focused light provided by these lamps enables quick detection, helping engineers take necessary precautions to prevent accidents.

Additionally, mining engineers need to assess structural integrity and geologic formations. With a high-quality cap lamp, they can examine cracks and other signs of instability in rock walls, mitigating the risk of collapses and ensuring a safer environment for the entire mining crew.

2. Enhanced Productivity

Effective lighting in underground mining doesn’t just enhance safety—it also boosts productivity. Mining engineers rely on clear visibility to accurately measure, inspect, and map mining operations. The brightness and beam range of modern cap lamps ensure that tasks such as drilling, surveying, and equipment handling can be done with greater precision. Engineers are also responsible for guiding their teams, and without adequate lighting, productivity would slow as workers fumble through poorly lit tunnels.

3. Long-Lasting Battery Power

Mining operations often run continuously, making it essential for lighting tools to have long-lasting power. Modern cap lamps like cordless cap lamp are equipped with powerful, rechargeable batteries that can provide light for an entire shift or longer. This ensures engineers are never left in the dark during crucial moments, allowing them to focus on their tasks without worrying about recharging or replacing batteries frequently.

4. Hands-Free Operation

One of the key advantages of cap lamps is their hands-free functionality. Mining engineers often handle tools and equipment, making it impractical to carry a handheld flashlight. Cap lamps provide consistent light directly from the helmet, enabling engineers to work with both hands while maintaining full visibility. Whether they are examining geological features, operating heavy machinery, or communicating with other workers, having their hands free is crucial for performing tasks efficiently and safely.

5. Durability and Water Resistance

Underground mines are harsh environments, often involving exposure to dust, moisture, and rough terrain. Mining engineers need equipment that can withstand these conditions. Cap lamps are designed to be rugged and durable, resistant to both physical impact and water damage. Many lamps also come with waterproof ratings, ensuring they continue to function in wet or humid conditions, such as those found in underground mines with water seepage.

6. Emergency Signaling and Communication

In cases of emergencies or accidents, cap lamps play a critical role in communication. Engineers can use cap lamps to signal distress or communicate visually with other workers in low-visibility conditions. Many modern cap lamps have different modes, such as blinking or strobe functions, which can serve as emergency signals, helping rescuers locate trapped or injured individuals in dark, confined spaces.

Conclusion

Cap lamps are an indispensable part of underground mining, providing mining engineers with the light they need to navigate, inspect, and work in the challenging conditions below the earth's surface. Their reliability, durability, and advanced features make them vital for ensuring safety, enhancing productivity, and facilitating efficient mining operations. Without cap lamps, mining engineers would be at a significant disadvantage, making these tools critical for underground mining success.

[fakegingerrights]

Walk By Faith (2)

[TW: Medical Checks, Seizures.]

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He woke up to light.

Crosshair blinked his eyes open to a blurry mess of light and shadows, all the shapes indistinguishable from each other.

Sight was both a huge relief and a curse, a headache instantly building as he squinted and batted at the desk lamp until it turns off.

It wasn’t just his head. His whole body ached with a low thrum of pain. He stumbled out of his room, looking for the water that he had left out and downing it greedily.

“Morning sleepyhead. Or, Afternoon.” You said, glancing up from the kitchenette where you had a stool pulled up to the counter, he squinted in your direction in hopes to see better what you were doing. You sounded exhausted. Crosshair gave a grunt and placed a toothpick between his teeth.

“I have some commcalls to make. There’s a painstim on the counter if you need it. "

He huffed, chewing on the toothpick as you ducked into your room and shut the door behind you. The painstim sounded tempting, but if it was gonna knock him out again...

Bah, he wasn't allowed to do anything else as is, may as well.

Ignoring the slight dizziness that passed over him as he stood up, Crosshair stumbled to the counter and found the capped stim. Pulling the needle cover off, he gritted his teeth and jabbed himself, hitting the plunger. He swabbed the pinprick when he was done, rolling his neck against the stiffness that too many stims in the muscle tended to bring. Stalking back to the sofa, he flopped down. Failing to get comfortable, he slid down the seat to sit on the ground, leaning back.

His legs complained at the new position, his entire body stiff from laying down for so long. Slowly, Crosshair unfolded his legs and leaned into the stretch, hissing slightly. The physical strain, while not as good as a proper workout, felt nice after days of immobility. He breathed into the pull and sank until his nose was brushing his knee before switching sides.

The pain was nice as he tuned out your muffled voice through the flimsi-thin walls. It gave him a clarity and focus he often felt deprived of in the last few weeks. Once his legs had loosened, he swung his feet behind himself and planted his hands firmly on the rug, pushing back until his chest was parallel with the ceiling and his back clicked several times, making him huff in satisfaction. Sitting up properly, he went through his joints from his knuckles clear up to his shoulders and neck.

Finished with that, he tucked his feet under his hips and lay back down, sighing at the pull in his hamstrings. When that wasn't enough, he pushed his feet forward up past his hips. Tech always got on him for this, saying it was bad for his knees, but it was an effective stretch. Just as he relaxes into it, your conversation catches his attention.

"-would disobey direct orders?" A familiar voice came from the closed door of your room.

Rampart.

Crosshair moved closer to listen, cursing his unfocused vision as his foot caught on the edge of the carpet. He sighed and sat down just outside the door, on the ground.

"You are not at liberty to give me orders, Admiral." Your voice floated back, slightly muffled.

"I'm not? You are in possession of something of mine for the time being. Take much longer and I will begin to get impatient." Rampart's voice was as impassive as ever, but Crosshair knew better. He was pissed.

"Possession? No. I am in the service of the Kaminoans as a contract Optician. Crosshair is my patient. You are not at liberty to order me around, unless you've suddenly been granted a Kaminoan science degree while the Empire wasn't looking. And until I choose to release Crosshair, which will not happen until he has a clean bill of health, you may not issue orders to him either." Your voice is flat, the usual cheeriness or at least calm reassurance gone.

"Watch your tone, Doctor. Some might think you're threatening to withhold Empirical property." Rampart commented offhandedly. "I'd hate for your career to come to an untimely end, especially with your newest research grant in lens replacement, especially with how well your test run is working."

"Commander Crosshair is more than an experiment. If this is my 'test run' then it's a piss poor one. He already had near inhuman vision, this might slightly improve his sight, but this would be far better spent on people who actually need it?" You hiss slightly on the words, then take a deep breath to calm yourself.

Crosshair could almost imagine the muscle in your cheek twitching as you fought from ripping into the admiral. He had to shut that train of thought down before he chuckled and gave away his eavesdropping.

"You dare insult the Empire's generosity?" Rampart asked, a shade of amusement coloring his tone.

"Generosity is not the word I'd use for it. But because Mama raised me right, I know when to shut up and take what I'm given. And I will take. You've just admitted Crosshair is my trial run on my research. Empirical law on medical research, in Article 257, Paragraph 12, says that I am entitled to use my trial for the entirety of my experiment, if need be. Now, because I am generous, I'll give you back your Commander, once he has a clean bill of health and I am satisfied that I have gotten all the results I need."

A pang of betrayal tore through Crosshair. He really was just another experiment to you, wasn't he. That's all he ever was.

"Doctor-"

"If you'll excuse me, Admiral, my Test Run is waiting. Good day."

"... Good day, Doctor."

There was a sound of the holoprojector powering down, and Crosshair scrambled back to the couch, leaning back and throwing an ankle over his knee.

You sighed, scrubbing at your face tiredly as you stepped out of your room. You paused in the doorway, glancing at something on the floor he couldn't make out.

"You left the corner of the carpet flipped up." You grunted, kicking it flat as you exited your room. "That... went better than I was hoping."

Crosshair grunted in response, chewing on his toothpick as the headache slowly started to fade as the stim kicked in.

"Only because Rampart screwed up though. I guess taking medilaw was a useful elective. You took a painkiller?"

Another grunt. You sighed, throwing the used stim in the trash. "I'd hoped for better... How are your eyes?"

“Kriff off.” He ground out. “Unless you’re gonna force some eyedrops or something into them.” You sighed and glanced at your mess of paperwork.

“No. I’m trying to get the proper permissions so we can take a look at your head. That episode last night was terrifying.”

Crosshair glared. “I’m not letting the long necks poke around my head. They screw with my eyes enough. You screwed with my eyes enough.”

“Crosshair, if these keep getting worse then you pose a danger to yourself and others.” You chastise. “Hungry?”

“No.” He bit out, closing his eyes and snarling slightly. “Where’s the eyedrops?”

“On the table in front of you. You need a hand or-“

“I’ve got it.” He snarled, grabbing the small white bottle and fumbling with the cap, then putting two drops in his eyes and hissing in irritation at the itch.

"Grab another glass of water once those have settled. You're dehydrated." You call over your shoulder. Crosshair just flips you a rude gesture.

He did, to his credit, refill the glass at the sink and go back to sulking on the sofa, sipping it slowly. He stuck a fresh toothpick in his mouth to gnaw at as the headache slowly faded into a dull buzz in his skull, spitting out the old one chewed to woody fibers.

"I'm taking you down to do a level five scan of your head, no Kaminoans present. Then hopefully we can get some answers."

"I don't care who is poking around my head, I'm not kriffing going." Cross sets the glass down harsher than he means, knocking it over and sending it spilling to the carpet below. "Kriffing-"

"Leave it, commander." Your voice is tired, even if he can't quite make out your face. "It's a non-invasive procedure. Just a scan. You don't even have to be asleep for it."

"I'm done with the kriffing tests! You and the rest of the doctors can go kiss a hutt for all I care, but I'm not going back in that lab. Ever."

"Unfortunately, Crosshair, you're not the one who gets to make that decision, as long as you're under my care." He watches your blurry form approach with a glare. "I am not your enemy here. You're in pain. Something is karked up enough in that head of yours that you are receiving enough of a constant low level exposure to electricity the very atoms in your bloodstream are falling apart."

"You're just another doctor. You're the reason they changed the lenses in my eyes. You're the reason right now that I can't kriffing see." He spits right back. "You will never know how terrifying it is, to be told that the only reason your creators bother keeping you alive is because of your eyes, because you can see everything, only for them to turn around and decide they're not good enough? That I have to stay blind and in pain for weeks and should be thankful that they're fixing the issue instead of outright decomming me? And then you more or less tell Rampart to shove it for what? So you can poke at me some more?"

A heavy silence follows his words, him glaring at you for all he's worth and you just watching him silently.

"You're right." Your words are soft, half a whisper. "I never will know. Right now, I'm doing my best to keep you out of Kaminoan... and Empirical, hands. You are my patient, my responsibility. I will stop at nothing to get you healthy and happy." You crouched and picked up the glass, handing it to him. "If it means this much to you, then I'll hold of on the scan for now. But if these episodes continue or get worse, I'm taking you down there and we're getting to the bottom of this."

Crosshair hugged, taking a step back. His knees hit the sofa and he sat down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Whatever. I couldn't care less right now."

“Crosshair…” You trail off with a sigh, considering how to approach this. "You're not just an experiment to me, Crosshair." Your voice was softer now. "I hope you know that."

"That was some nasty piece of politicking." He eventually says, in lieu of an answer. "Last person to try and talk circles around Rampart got shot."

You snort. "Glad it was a holocall then." You pick up your bag and Crosshair stiffened, his posture going from carefully neutral to coiled tight to forcibly relaxed in the span of a second. "I know, I know. I really need to do this, though, and make sure nothing's wrong. You have some vision back, so I have to do this now that your eyes will react to light."

"Who's it going to?" His voice grated slightly.

"Pardon?"

"You're going to write everything down, who's it going to?" He folded his hands behind his head, normally a gesture to show surrender, but for him it hid the sudden tremors in his fingertips.

You gave Crosshair a small smile, coming into a better range of focus with a bag of instruments at your side.

"Usually, it goes to the head researcher. So, me. The empire will have no access to it, if that's what you're worried about. Neither will the Kaminoans, unless they go through a painfully long legal process and get your written consent." You sat across from him, spraying sterilizing mist on your hands.

"I'm a product. They can do what they want with me." His bitterness hit close to home. You managed a small smile.

"Not for this. Not when you're under me. You're listed as a patient, not a piece of equipment." You sprayed the sterile spray into a rag you just broke the seal on and sat closer to Crosshair, knees almost touching.

"... Alright." The word was softer than you expected.

"Ok, this should go pretty quick, ok? But if you need a break, tell me." You carefully began to brush the antibacterial spray across his face. Crosshair goes stone-still, chomping down on his toothpick so hard he was surprised it didn't snap as his mind dissolved into static, a mess of everything too much and memories of being tied down, too bright lights, the maker-awful pressure wash on his eyes as they-

"Crosshair. Breath." Your firm voice came as a jolt. "You know how I'm gonna do this, why don't you walk me through it. What comes after sterilization of the surrounding area?"

"Uh." He mumbled intelligently, focusing on the procedure. "The light."

"Good." You pulled the flashlight out of your bag, gently pinning his eyelid open on the left side and letting the sensor lock onto his pupil, flashing the tiny screen green when it was good to go. "Ok, flash in 1... 2... 3-" The flashlight went off, measuring how fast his pupil reacted to the light before returning to normal. You let out a low whistle as the numbers flashed, jotting them down on a scrap of flimsi. "You really are incredible. Even just out of surgery, you beat out most human reaction speeds."

Crosshair let out a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as you moved to the other eye. He didn't flinch, he wouldn't flinch. The flash went off again and he sucked in a breath.

"Ok, ok. That part's done. What comes next?" Your voice was placating, gentle.

"The air." He managed, his voice strained as his heart rate ticked up another notch.

"Excellent." You murmured, switching instruments and pretending not to notice the hitch in Crosshair's breathing or the thick swallow. This was a bad one, then. "Can you tell me what it measures?" You set it right against the bottom part of his eye, against his cheekbone.

"How fast I can blink." Crosshair switched to counting out his breathing, following the same pattern as the one you had used the night before.

"Do you want a countdown?"

"No." He rasped. "Just... Just get this over with." The puff of air hit his eye just as he finished his sentence and he flinched violently, snapping his head to the side. Thankfully, you still got the reading.

"One more. Gotta get the other one now." You set the instrument against his cheek at he went completely taunt, every muscle ready to flee. The flinch came again with the puff of air, along with a strangled gasp. Once the reading flashed, it was quickly pulled away from his face.

"There you go, it's done." You sat back, giving him a break. Crosshair closed his eyes and leaned back, swallowing around the ball in his throat that he wasn't totally sure wasn't his heart as it showed no signs of slowing down, hammering against his chest. The sofa shifted as you stood, grabbing his forgotten glass and refilling it, along with retrieving something from a cabinet.

"Here." You murmured, pressing the water into a lightly trembling hand. "Let's take a small break. We still got the worst part to tackle. Then it's just the stupid easy stuff. I'll be done messing with your eyes."

Crosshair sipped at the water as you set the second object, a ration bar, in his lap.

Yellow, Hunter's favorite.

He nibbled at it as you dug through your bag. He froze at what you pulled out.

"No." He ground out. "Not that."

You paused, setting the instrument next to you as you checked the battery on it. "It's alright, Commander. I know you hate this part, it's not pleasant. Tell you what, I'll let you make the choice. Now, and get it over with, or we can do the more non-invasive tests before we take a look at the surgery flap and test eye pressure."

Crosshair knew he should get it over with, but he could hardly catch his breath as it was. "Anything else first." He spat. You nodded, as if he had said the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ok then." You moved to sit in front of him, holding up a finger. "Without turning your head, I want you to follow my finger." Crosshair tracked your finger as you swept it across his vision, clear out past his periphery. "Good. Other side?" You repeated the motion across the other side of his head.

"Any discomfort?" You ask, jotting something down on that blasted flimsi scrap. Crosshair shook his head. "Good. I'm going to move a bit farther out now. Keep your eyes facing ahead and tell me when you can no longer see my finger." You swept your finger out to the left until he stopped you, then the right, then up, then down.

"Excellent. Ok, let's cover one eye?" You left the sofa and grabbed your holoprojector, setting it on the counter and pulling up an image of an aurabesh letter chart. "What's the lowest line you can read clearly from there?" Even at a mere ten paces away, he could only get to the third line.

"Auruk, Peth, Forn, ..." He squinted. "Orenth, Trill,"

"Very good. Other eye?" The image changed to a different set of letters. He tried the third, but it was a mess of lines and blur. Second it was, then. "Besh, Herf, Krill, Enth."

“Got it. Ok.” You powered down the hologram and stepped forward again, holding up your thumbs about two feet apart in front of you. “You can see my hands?”

“Not really.” He mumbled, and you stepped a little closer.

“It’s alright. Now?” You waited for his faint nod. “Got it. I want you to look back and forth between my hands as fast as you can while I count to ten.” As you counted off, you kept track of how fast Crosshair could move his eyes.

“Good. Any discomfort?”

“…” He pressed his lips together. “A little.” He admitted at last. “When I look up.”

“Sharp pain or just pressure?” You sat back down next to him. Crosshair pursed his lips, a mix between a frown and a grimace.

“Pressure.”

You nodded. “That’s normal. Ok, you ready for the hard bit? I’m going to do both eyes at once, ok?”

Crosshair goes deathly pale. "Get it over with."

The instrument was simple, meant to measure the pressure of the eye. The problem was, it had to touch the surface of the eye. You went fast, barely waiting to get a reading before moving the instrument away from his eyes. As soon as you were done he ripped himself away and shut his eyes tight, unshed tears being squeezed out and tracking down his cheeks as he fought to get his breathing under control.

"Crosshair." You keep your voice low and soft, gently nudging his hands down before he can rub at his eyes. He snarls slightly.

"Didn't you learn last time not to kriffing touch me?" He glares at your bandaged hand for emphasis.

"I'm not afraid of you." You reply.

"You should be. I am not a good person." The distraction is working, slowly. Crosshair's form was still tense, angry lines and hard angles.

"I've faced worse." Came your stout reply as he squinted in your direction in an attempt to get his blurry sight into focus. "You weren't scary last night."

Last night he had been... vulnerable. Too many emotions, too many memories that came from his sightlessness. He was stronger, he was a clone. "Last night was different. I didn't have a choice to trust you."

"I'm sorry." You sit next to hin, pulling your knees to your chest. "For what I said earlier. About your voice not mattering. I lost my temper."

Crosshair snorted derisively. "That was losing your temper? You need to get out more." his tone is tired, but it's lost some of the heaviness.

"What, you planning to take me?" It comes out more bitter than joking. "I have work. I always do. Right now, it's keeping you out of empire hands until you've healed." Crosshair crunches down on the toothpick in his mouth, making a face as it splits down the middle. He takes it out and flicks it off to the side.

"The Empire isn't some monster you need to save me from. I made my choice." There's a steel note in his voice and you back off a bit.

"The Empire treats you like property. They want you fixed up and ready to go back on the frontlines with hardly enough time to heal. And since it rose, you've lost weight. You've developed a slight anemia. You look like you hardly sleep. That... it isn't healthy." You don't look at him, unfolding your legs to sit crosslegged and staring straight ahead.

"I am property." He grunts, nibbling at his ration bar.

"......." You don't say anything for a long moment. "Droids are property. Animals, are property. You are not. None of your brothers are either."

If Crosshair was caught off guard by your sentiments, he didn't let it show on his face. He studied your side profile with a slight squint, as if trying to see inside your head and unspool your thoughts out for him to read.

“Why are you kind to me?” He asked after a long pause. “I’m not made for gentle things.”

You hesitated, then shifted closer so that your knees touched his. He stiffened but held his position in the end, accepting your silent olive branch “You’re my patient, Cross. It's my job to care for you.” He stiffened slightly. “A job I enjoy. You’re grumpy, yes, but you are much more than your armor. So much more than a pair of eyes.”

“Cross?” His voice is tired. So tired.

“Is that alright? To shorten your name?” You asked. Crosshair was silent for a long moment.

“It’s what my vod-… my squad, before they went AWOL. They called me that. I haven’t heard it in a long time.” He winced and put a hand to the side of his head, blinking a few times to try and get his fuzzy vision into focus.

“Is it alright to call you that?” You asked again. After a long moment, Crosshair nodded. He shut his eyes tight against the growing migraine as static began to crackle in his ears.

“Cross?”

“How long has it been since your commcall?” He grunted.

“Almost two hours. Are you alright?”

“Headache.” He grunted. “Already took a stim.”

“Water? And you still need to finish your ration.” You went to refill his half empty cup. You only look back when a loud thump of something hitting the ground caught your attention.

Crosshair was sprawled on the floor by the couch. You set the glass down sharply and slid on your knees the last foot or so as you turned him on his side. His breathing was shallow and fast, eyelids fluttering to reveal only the whites.

“Hey, Commander!” You patted his cheek in what felt like a pathetic attempt to rouse him. Nothing.

Then the silence snapped into motion as Crosshair’s spine arched and his limbs went rigid, full body spasms shaking his thin frame. Cursing, you slid under his head and held his head and shoulders steady with an arm across his chest as you yank your commlink off your belt and punch in the frequency of the infirmary with hands only steady after years of training.

“Hey! This is the optician assigned to the long term care of CC 9904. I need a gurney down here stat and an emergency exam room prepped,” You hoped the authoritative anger hid the fear in your voice. “Now.”

[A/N: Wow. I was genuinely not expecting this to completely blow up like it did. Holy Smokestacks. Uh... I guess updated taglist:

@the-hexfiles @moon-wrecked @stunkbiggu @urfriendlyneighbornightfury @anotherschuylersister @endo-bunny @renon4224 @tecker @rinwritesfics ]

[bulkyphrase]

Cap-IM Rec Week - Cap-IM Monday Extra

Last day of @cap-ironman's rec week event! Thanks so much to them for organizing this event, and all the other events that inspired the following fics!

The Highwayman's Baronet by mariana_oconnor, orphan_account (@mariana-oconnor) (MCU | Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 125,525 words)

Written for: 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Big Bang

Summary: Steve Rogers has returned from the war. He has made his fortune, but lost everything in return. He is reeling from grief and at a loss of what to do with himself when the son of an old friend writes to offer him a home. He takes up the offer, but finds himself embroiled in a plot to bring down the country and raise Hydra from the grave. Can he uncover the traitor, save the handsome baronet, and avoid being hanged as a highwayman? A Regency AU featuring highwayman!Steve, Baronet!Tony, treason, nefarious plots and a dash of magic.

The Laird in the Water by jellybeanforest (@jellybeanforest-a-go-go) (MCU | Mature | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | 17,920 words)

Written for: Cap-IronMan Bingo

Summary: In 14th century Scotland, Steve is a child with an imaginary friend that lives in a nearby river, the site of many drownings and horrific discoveries. His Nan claims it to be the work of a kelpie. Steve doesn’t believe her of course. Kelpies are a myth, old wives tales to keep children from playing near swiftly-moving streams and young women from entertaining the company of handsome strangers. However, as he grows, Steve realizes that the young man in the water may not be quite as imaginary nor as innocuous as he once believed. For the Cap-IronMan Bingo 2019 Round 2 – AU: Fairy Tale Creatures.

Bugfuck Crazy (In Love With You) by Sadisticsparkle (sadisticsparkle) (616 | Explicit | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 7,912 words)

Written for: Cap-IronMan Bingo

Summary: It's the Avengers' first mission in a long time. Everything is familiar but awkward, but Steve is sure they'll find their groove. And then Tony is turned into a giant bug. Things get a little out of hand after that.

More below the cut!

Eigengrau by vorkosigan (@the-vorkosigan) (MCU | Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 16,811 words)

Written for: 2017 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange

Summary: Tony is captured; he doesn't know by whom, or why. He doesn't know how much time has passed since. What he knows is, he can now hear something in the adjacent cell, and that 'something' sounds a lot like Steve Rogers.

Let Us Not Forget This by citsiurtlanu (@citsiurtlanu) (Iron Man Noir | General Audiences | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 36,040 words)

Written for: Captain America/Iron Man Reverse Bang 2017

Summary: Steve Rogers knew, knows, will know Tony Stark, the adventurer, the scientist, the futurist. And Tony Stark - well, he's not really fond of the idea of this Captain America fellow being assigned to tag along as he, Rhodey, Pepper, and Jarvis race to find a powerful relic before the Nazis do, but he just has to go with it. What he doesn't - and can't - realize is how deeply Cap is tied into his life in ways he can barely even understand. Also available as a podfic read by DuendeVerde4 (@duendeverde4)

Before the Darkness Swallows You by Veldeia (@veldeia) (616 | Mature | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | 30,837 words)

Written for: Captain America/Iron Man Reverse Bang 2016

Summary: Steve was gone. Tony was all alone in the dark, the blackness of the damp, rock-walled corridor only occasionally broken by the fluttering fluorescent lamps in the ceiling. He wasn’t afraid of the dark. An abandoned mine was by no means the scariest environment he’d ended up in. Still, he’d have been crazy not to be afraid of what lurked in these shadows.

The Unlikely Wingman by Sineala (@sineala) (616 | General Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 1,074 words)

Written for: Cap-IronMan Bingo

Summary: Clint doesn't see why he should have to follow Captain America's orders. But he also doesn't see why Captain America should have to sit around looking miserably lonely, either.

Think of This as Solving Problems (That Should Never Have Occurred) by Sineala (@sineala) (616 | Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 35,216 words)

Written for: 2015 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange

Summary: No one knows Tony is Iron Man. Then Tony gets amnesia, and literally no one knows Tony is Iron Man.

Got You Under My Skin by BlossomsintheMist (@blossomsinthemist) (Ults | Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | 26,115 words)

Written for: Captain America/Iron Man Reverse Bang 2014

Summary: “I’d be happy to show you a good time,” Tony said, smiling a little obscurely, Steve thought, as if to himself, but still with that warm, knowing look, affectionate and oddly fond, “any time you want.” Steve Rogers goes to Tony Stark's birthday party. Things progress from there, with a lot of flirtiness leading to propositions, and propositions leading to, well, what comes next, and Steve isn't even sure what he wants after that. Set in the Marvel Ultimate Universe, and written for the 2014 Cap_Ironman Reverse Big Bang. Art by wiredoll, here.

[mintytealfox]

Hiii! Just wanted to ask what means you think Alice would use in order to bring Norton back down to earth whenever he's fool's gold?

OOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOOOO 👀🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌Yesssss this is so fascinating to ponder about AH! This is where my mind ended up going:

I think Alice would be studying Norton closely, especially after realizing that he needs help to get out of that Fool's Gold mode, ready to rescue him when needed 👀

Actions definitely speak louder than words for him (and Alice also honestly) So for anything to work there would have to be plenty of action before the words start being heard. I also think it would have to be a process of multiple things cause of how hard Norton has to battle with himself, it would have to take a few things to get him to finally listen.

My thoughts kept going back to that coin he had. I wonder if he still has it or if its lost forever in that mine he blew up. But if he still has it then Alice could find a way to get it and make sure he can see that she has it. That would bring in that laser focus towards that coin and getting it back. This would ensure that he is following her and Alice can get him away from everything else and somewhere she can corral him and try to get him to get his mind right again.

I feel like fire would get his attention, especially if its that Oil-Wick Cap Lamp of his. Seeing that ignited again might make him pause and stare honestly. Cause the last time it was lit was likely from that explosion, whoops. But before all that it was with him in every scene of that trailer, as his light, so he can study and work and do all the things that he believes will lead him to a better life. But Alice illuminating her own face with that light could then get him to look at her and potentially begin to realize THAT light is illuminating HER. and maybe thinking like 'that is where I want to be, wherever she is going, that is a better future'.

Then whenever the opportunity shows itself, Alice can finally give him some proper physical touch and words about loneliness and how he doesn't need to be lonely anymore (bringing it back to that coin and those tear stains ahhhh) and stuff like that. Which makes him finally fully come to, with him just relaxing into her touch.

Alice finally able to breathe and relax and just lets Norton lay curled up on his side and resting his head on her lap *at her insistence), still in Fool's Gold form cause I think getting out of hunter form could take a bit sometimes.

So I guess to summarize this lol Alice may use things that are important to him then topics that get him to stop and think about what he is doing and the ONLY REASON they work is because its her.

I think if anyone else tried to do this he might get so PISSED OFF LOOOOOLL like who are they to touch his stuff and talk about such things LOOOOL

There is also the possibility that Fool's Gold is having fun, and Alice needs to make it NOT fun and by smacking his past in his face that would get his head back on right pretty well pff

I feel like I have so many other thoughts and DIFFERENT thoughts but I am having trouble articulating them well enough, so this will do for now~

This was COOL! THANK YOU FOR THIS 👀🤌🤌🤌🤌👏👏👏👏👏👏👏💖

[theredhavendelegate]

Off The Record No. 1: Carmine Letter

Here's a scoop you won't get anywhere else. They won't print stories like this in the paper, not even in rags like The Broad Street Negotiator.

If you want to know what's really going on in Redhaven, then you have to go off the record.

---

A man in a bowler hat, a vest, and wire-rim glasses walks down a long hallway. The carpet is ornate, patterned with fibers of dark red, blue, and gold. The walls are papered with an equally ostentatious style, and wood trim covers them from the baseboards to a little over waist height. It is dim, lit just by gas lamps. The windows are all shuttered.

There are paintings hung along the way, well dressed figures standing alone, contrasted and framed by rolling landscapes, statues, and bowls of fruit. One portrait depicts a brown-furred foxhound so saggy and wrinkled that it appears to be melting.

The Valet stops in front of a pair of hand-carved wooden doors and knocks with an uneven cadence. The response is a single knock from somewhere on the other side, and The Valet enters.

The room is a study, walls lined with bookshelves and more paintings. There are side tables, a couch, a balcony, and a large, imposing wooden desk at the center, which has been etched on its front with the image of a large feather.

Behind the desk is a woman with long, reddish-brown hair and ice-blue eyes. She wears a small amount of makeup, something to sharpen her brows and, to the keen-eyed, foundation on the cheeks. Her clothing is practical, though flawlessly tailored from shoe to cuff.

She smiles coolly at The Valet and gestures with a hand as she says, “We’re on a wonderful little adventure now, meddling in the affairs of the lay folk so directly. I wonder, will it all play out in our favor? I worry that I’m beginning to lose my edge.”

The Valet closes the doors behind himself with a featherlight touch, and then walks over to the desk. Arms at his back, he replies, “One cannot make statements encapsulating a whole person, but your plans, at the very least, are as keen as those of any Carmine to come before you.”

The mayor leans back in her seat and steeples her fingers. “You would know better, wouldn’t you? I see vanishingly little of the effects of my decisions. The balcony provides a stunning view, but very little insight. Enlighten me.”

The servant nods and removes his cap to reveal a mostly vacant scalp which is interrupted by a neat row of thinning strands. “You’ve chosen wisely. All the laborers you’ve selected have agreed to the meeting, including today’s visit, Mister Dahl. He has more influence than he realizes, and his cool temper should prove a balm to that of The Blue Coalition’s agents. All that said, assuming this first meeting goes well, Redhaven’s laborers should be protected without upsetting General Harrison too badly.”

The mayor scoffs. “Nothing could prevent that man from getting his medals in a tangle.”

“Quite right,” The Valet agrees.

There is a knock at the door and the mayor comments, “Right on time. Let Lord Redhaven in and fetch us refreshments. You know what he likes.”

The serving man goes towards the door, his gait soft and prudent. He pulls open them open to reveal an old man with a white, well kept beard and a broad build. The Valet bows and gestures deeper into the room, and once Lord Redhaven has walked past him, closes the doors again. The valet exits through a side door.

“Oswald,” Mayor Carmine calls brightly. “Please, make yourself comfortable. My man will be back in a moment with tarts and Candamoran coffee, a good, coastal blend.”

The lord’s brow is furrowed and his lips are slightly pursed, but he forces a smile and nods, taking a seat before the desk. He slouches deeply into the maroon upholstery and clears his throat. “Well, Desdemona. It’s good to see you again.”

She beams fawningly. “My lord, the honor is all mine! It’s always a blessing that you’re willing to take time out of your busy day to talk about matters of such import with a lowly public servant.”

He rubs a temple. “Well, my schedule only gets busier with the passing days. Did you know that the Confederates conducted an inquest at my estate? They wanted to imprison half of my scientists and philosophers! Claimed they were operatives of The Covenant! I had to bargain directly with that upstart general just to keep those good people free, and I still had to lay a few of them off for his satisfaction.” Oswald has begun to rake his fingers through his beard and the strong impression that he’d been wearing sloughs off to reveal weariness.

The side door opens silently and The Valet returns. He carries a sterling silver platter, upon which rides a set of fine porcelain serving-ware: saucers, teacups, and a steaming carafe, along with a plate of fresh fruit pastries.

The server fills a cup with coffee so dark it seems to suck the light out of the air around it, and then passes it to Oswald. The lord takes a sip and another layer sloughs off of him, weariness giving way to calm. He mutters to the man, “Thank you good sir, thank you.”

Mayor Carmine serves herself a cup as well and turns to The Valet. “Thank you, that will be all.” He bows low, a hand on his bowler hat, rises, and takes his leave.

“Now,” Carmine begins, “It can’t all be bad news, can it? What have your learned men discovered?”

Oswald turns his chin up slightly and smiles. “Ah, yes. Progress. The fog, which had been making people quite fatally ill, can be filtered. Doctor Bell has already seen success with a round of prototype suits, which also mask his condition to his satisfaction while he searches for a cure. He’s rather a lot more confident with his face covered. Another thing: The complex is finally secure again. The entrances that formed during The Transit are all locked down and it’s no longer threatening to collapse, and we’ll be back at full capacity in another month or two.”

Desdemona nods and stirs her coffee, which must have four sugar cubes in it by now. She says, “That’s wonderful to hear. I’ll have you know that the civil side of things is stabilizing as well. Our friends in orange should have their hands full soon enough, and The Blue Coalition won’t be any bother. I’m working on giving them some…competition.”

Oswald nods with a furrowed brow, “I see,” he says, clearly lying. “This…competition, you said? It should see a little…uh…reduction in the population’s general anger, yes?”

The mayor nods decisively and stirs her coffee.

“Good, good then.” Oswald takes another sip from his cup, closing his eyes and sighing with contentment.

A grandfather clock by the window chimes and his eyes snap open. “Oh, goodness me! Is it that late already?” He rises, mildly aback, and sets his cup on the platter. “I’ve got to see Doctor Bell. He has a demonstration for me, something about these peculiar crystals he’s found in the ‘Void Fields’, as he’s taken to calling them, but it was a fine visit, very fine.”

Desdemona pushes the plate of pastries towards the lord and he takes a strawberry one from the stack as he turns to the door. “I really ought to arrange to swing by more often. I swear, our conversations are the only times that I get any rest. Take care and all that.” She nods and waves, and the lord hurries off without another word, pulling open the office doors with one hand while the other handles his tart.

Carmine stares at the doors as they shut and she keeps her eyes fixed on them as Lord Redhaven’s tread fades down the corridor. Once the sound has fully vanished, she sets her untouched drink back on the platter and claps once.

The Valet reemerges from the side door and strolls over to the desk, placing a notepad on the corner of the desk. A few pages are filled with large, neat handwriting, which mirrors the conversation that had just taken place. Carmine tucks it into a drawer as the serving man carries off the platter, and she sets to work writing her own notes after a moment.

She doesn’t write for long. There is a thunderous knock on the door, a sound that echoes throughout the room, and Carmine’s face rankles with displeased familiarity. “Enter,” she vociferates dispassionately.

A brusque man pushes through the doors and throws them closed again. He has rich, olive skin and black eyes that pierce the gloom. His clothing is robe-like, beige and maroon and tied off at the waist with yet more fabric. He carries himself to one of the chairs in front of they mayor’s desk, seats himself, and crosses his legs. “The seat’s still warm,” he remarks.

“Indeed,” Desdemona sneers, not bothering to look up from her note-taking. “The lord was just here a minute ago, and I doubt he’d be happy to see you out and about.”

The man pouts. “You consider this ‘out and about’? You really out to get more sunshine.”

Carmine sets down her pen and glances up, locking eyes with the man. “You are here under my service, Mister Jazari.”

“Please, call me Hasan,” he interjects.

She relaxes slightly and rolls her eyes. “I can tell that you’re bored, Mister Jazari, but I’ve got a bit of good news for once.”

The mercenary raises a dark brow.

The mayor explains, “We’re expecting some agitation at the northern science post not too long after public hiring begins. You’ll be on over-watch to make sure nothing gets too loud: we want to bring things to a simmer now, not a boil.”

Hasan cocks his head to the side and grins. “Over-watch,” he repeats, gnawing on the word slightly. “Sitting around and gazing about? Holding fire unless absolutely necessary? That means I get out of the kennel and I don’t have to waste ammunition. I like the sound of that.”

Carmine furrows her brow. “Regardless of how much ammunition you expect to waste. Make sure you and your rifle are ready. The Valet will give you more details on a need-to-know basis.”

The mayor goes back to writing, and Hasan stares at her for a moment. without looking up, she says, “There are fruit tarts in the pantry, help yourself, and don’t come back in here until I call for you.”

The mercenary grins and finally rises. He heads off through the side door and disappears, leaving Carmine alone in her office. She sets her pen down and strolls over to the glass balcony doors. The sky outside is a dim grey, and it grows dimmer by the minute.

“We’re on a wonderful little adventure now, aren’t we?” she whispers to no one in particular.

“A wonderful little adventure.”

---

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[kvetchlandia]

Moisei Nappelbaum     Anna Akhmatova, Moscow     1929

No foreign sky protected me, no stranger's wing shielded my face. I stand as witness to the common lot, survivor of that time, that place.

Instead of a Preface

    In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror I spent seventeen months waiting in line outside the prison in Leningrad. One day somebody in the crowd identified me. Standing behind me was a woman, with lips blue from the cold, who had, of course, never heard me called by name before. Now she started out of the torpor common to us all and asked me in a whisper (everyone whispered there):     "Can you describe this?"     And I said: "I can."     Then something like a smile passed fleetingly over what had once been her face.

Dedication

Such grief might make the mountains stoop, reverse the waters where they flow, but cannot burst these ponderous bolts that block us from the prison cells crowded with mortal woe. . . . For some the wind can freshly blow, for some the sunlight fade at ease, but we, made partners in our dread, hear but the grating of the keys, and heavy-booted soldiers' tread. As if for early mass, we rose and each day walked the wilderness, trudging through silent street and square, to congregate, less live than dead. The sun declined, the Neva blurred, and hope sang always from afar. Whose sentence is decreed? . . . That moan, that sudden spurt of woman's tears, shows one distinguished from the rest, as if they'd knocked her to the ground and wrenched the heart out of her breast, then let her go, reeling, alone. Where are they now, my nameless friends from those two years I spent in hell? What specters mock them now, amid the fury of Siberian snows, or in the blighted circle of the moon? To them I cry, Hail and Farewell!

Prologue

That was a time when only the dead could smile, delivered from their wars, and the sign, the soul, of Leningrad dangled outside its prison-house; and the regiments of the condemned, herded in the railroad-yards, shrank from the engine's whistle-song whose burden went, "Away, pariahs!" The stars of death stood over us. And Russia, guiltless, beloved, writhed under the crunch of bloodstained boots, under the wheels of Black Marias.

I

At dawn they came and took you away. You were my dead: I walked behind. In the dark room children cried, the holy candle gasped for air. Your lips were chill from the ikon's kiss, sweat bloomed on your brow–those deathly flowers! Like the wives of Peter's troopers in Red Square I'll stand and howl under the Kremlin towers.

II

Quietly flows the quiet Don; into my house slips the yellow moon.

It leaps the sill, with its cap askew, and balks at a shadow, that yellow moon.

This woman is sick to her marrow-bone, this woman is utterly alone,

with husband dead, with son away in jail. Pray for me. Pray.

III

Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound. I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground. Whisk the lamps away . . .                                         Night.

IV

They should have shown you–mocker, delight of your friends, hearts' thief, naughtiest girl of Pushkin's town– this picture of your fated years, as under the glowering wall you stand, shabby, three hundredth in the line, clutching a parcel in your hand, and the New Year's ice scorched by your tears. See there the prison poplar bending! No sound. No sound. Yet how many innocent lives are ending . . .

V

For seventeen months I have cried aloud, calling you back to your lair. I hurled myself at the hangman's foot. You are my son, changed into nightmare. Confusion occupies the world, and I am powerless to tell somebody brute from something human, or on what day the word spells, "Kill!" Nothing is left but dusty flowers, the tinkling thurible, and tracks that lead to nowhere. Night of stone, whose bright enormous star stares me straight in the eyes, promising death, ah soon!

VI

The weeks fly out of mind, I doubt that it occurred: how into your prison, child, the white nights, blazing, stared; and still, as I draw breath, they fix their buzzard eyes on what the high cross shows, this body of your death.

VII

The Sentence

The word dropped like a stone on my still living breast. Confess: I was prepared, am somehow ready for the test.

So much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.

Not quite. Hot summer's feast brings rumors of carouse. How long have I foreseen this brilliant day, this empty house?

VIII

To Death

You will come in any case–so why not now? How long I wait and wait. The bad times fall. I have put out the light and opened the door for you, because you are simple and magical. Assume, then, any form that suits your wish, take aim, and blast at me with poisoned shot, or strangle me like an efficient mugger, or else infect me–typhus be my lot– or spring out of the fairytale you wrote, the one we're sick of hearing, day and night, where the blue hatband marches up the stairs, led by the janitor, pale with fright. It's all the same to me. The Yenisei swirls the North Star shines, as it will shine forever; and the blue lustre of my loved one's eyes is clouded over by the final horror.

IX

Already madness lifts its wing to cover half my soul. That taste of opiate wine! Lure of the dark valley!

Now everything is clear. I admit my defeat. The tongue of my ravings in my ear is the tongue of a stranger.

No use to fall down on my knees and beg for mercy's sake. Nothing I counted mine, out of my life, is mine to take:

not my son's terrible eyes, not the elaborate stone flower of grief, not the day of the storm, not the trial of the visiting hour,

not the dear coolness of his hands, not the lime trees' agitated shade, not the thin cricket-sound of consolation's parting word.

X

Crucifixion

"Do not weep for me, Mother, when I am in my grave."

I

A choir of angels glorified the hour, the vault of heaven was dissolved in fire. "Father, why hast Thou forsaken me? Mother, I beg you, do not weep for me. . . ."

II

Mary Magdalene beat her breasts and sobbed, His dear disciple, stone-faced, stared. His mother stood apart. No other looked into her secret eyes. No one dared.

Epilogue

I

I have learned how faces fall to bone, how under the eyelids terror lurks how suffering inscribes on cheeks the hard lines of its cuneiform texts, how glossy black or ash-fair locks turn overnight to tarnished silver, how smiles fade on submissive lips, and fear quavers in a dry titter. And I pray not for myself alone . . . for all who stood outside the jail, in bitter cold or summer's blaze, with me under that blind red wall.

II

Remembrance hour returns with the turning year. I see, I hear, I touch you drawing near:

the one we tried to help to the sentry's booth, and who no longer walks this precious earth,

and that one who would toss her pretty mane and say, "It's just like coming home again."

I want to name the names of all that host, but they snatched up the list, and now it's lost.

I've woven them a garment that's prepared out of poor words, those that I overheard,

and will hold fast to every word and glance all of my days, even in new mischance,

and if a gag should blind my tortured mouth, through which a hundred million people shout,

then let them pray for me, as I do pray for them, this eve of my remembrance day.

And if my country ever should assent to casting in my name a monument,

I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed

not near the seas on which my eyes first opened– my last link with the sea has long been broken–

nor in the Tsar's garden near the sacred stump, where a grieved shadow hunts my body's warmth,

but here, here I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.

Because even in blissful death I fear to lose the clangor of the Black Marias,

to lose the banging of that odious gate and the old crone howling like a wounded beast.

And from my motionless bronze-lidded sockets may the melting snow, like teardrops, slowly trickle,

and a prison dove coo somewhere, over and over, as the ships sail softly down the flowing Neva.

-- Anna Akhmatova, “Requiem”  written over a long period of time between 1935 and 1961