ok. going to campus. getting a little treat. sitting down in the library and doing my readings. and maybe watching my shows as well at the same time.

tearing out the sutures

stargate atlantis, gen, 4k, #non-binary character, sometimes you have to move to another galaxy before you feel able to come out

also on AO3

if you like this fic please consider buying me a coffee

On a statistically significant percentage of missions, both McKay and Ronon are functionally useless.

Which isn’t a thought McKay would ever voice aloud, especially not in earshot of Elizabeth, but it’s a fact nonetheless. First contact, and the many stages in the long process of establishing diplomatic relations that first contact initiates, is not something he’s any good at. Or something he’s inclined to learn to be any good at. Really, Teyla would make a perfectly good first contact team all on her own, except for how the idea of sending her (or anyone) through the ‘gate without backup gives the entire expedition hives.

A lot of AR-1’s diplomacy missions, then, involve Teyla and Sheppard doing a lot of talking, and McKay and Ronon doing a lot of wandering around trying not to get into trouble. If asked, Sheppard would call it gathering intel, or validating intel, or some other military buzz phrase, but mostly they just try all the food. In another life, Ronon could have been an excellent restaurant critic.

“Hey, McKay.”

McKay hums distractedly, most of his attention on the woman weaving something elaborate in the corner of the market they’re in. He’s sure he’s seen the technique before, but he can’t figure out if it was somewhere else in Pegasus or in one of the history channel specials Jeannie liked.

“What’s the deal with Tau’ri and gender?”

That gets McKay’s full attention.

He turns to give Ronon an incredulous look. “Surely that’s a question for the anthropologists, not me?”

“I don’t want a three-hour lecture.”

“Sorry, have you met me?”

Ronon rolls his eyes, but affectionately. He does that a lot. “You notice when I stop listening,” he says, and, okay. Sure. They have at least another hour before Teyla and Sheppard re-emerge from the town hall, he can give Earth Gender Theory 101 in that time. Probably.

“I assume you have more specific questions, though, and this isn’t just a request for me to recite an encyclopaedia entry.”

Ronon hums, and gently tugs McKay out of the path of a woman carrying two large baskets of fruit. They’ve done a full circuit of the market without seeing anything of real interest, so they start back in the direction of the meadow they passed earlier without needing to discuss it. “You have a lot of rules.”

“Your primary source is the American military, remember. Most subsets of Tau’ri culture aren’t quite so rigid.”

But Ronon purses his lips and says, “No, they are. Who can wear what, who does what, what words to use. The anthropologists keep asking me about Sateda’s rules. Like everyone who’s industrial has them.”

“Wait, you– didn’t?”

“Child-bearers are delicate, strong people should enlist, having kids is important.” Ronon shrugs. “Nothing about clothes, or hair, or whatever. Clothes are just clothes.”

Obviously, this isn’t new information. McKay has lived in this galaxy for over three years, he knows Pegasus gender roles are generally far more lax than anywhere on Earth – and if they’re not, it’s very obviously a consequence of the Wraith trauma.

But hearing it from Ronon, as opposed to reading it in the still-impenetrable jargon of Humanities, hits harder somehow. Ronon never uses pronouns for anyone until he hears someone else use them first, and McKay had thought that was primarily a fish-out-of-water thing, but fuck, maybe it’s just Satedan courtesy. Maybe if he’d gone to Sateda-that-was, no one would have gendered him at all until he asked.

That’s– A lot. To think about.

“Uh–” They’ve reached the meadow, and McKay lets Ronon finding the sunniest patch of grass cover for him being just a little bit lost for words. By the time they’ve settled, Ronon sprawled out on his back like a cat as is his custom, he’s recovered. “Did you have an actual question, then, or did you just want to vent about Anthropology?”

Ronon shrugs. “S’just weird, how many of you there are, all going along with it.”

“Not everyone does,” McKay counters, “but it’s– pervasive. A lot of people can’t afford to go against it.”

Ronon hums, thoughtful, and they lapse into silence. Ronon’s closed his eyes, and McKay is reaching into his pack for his tablet, thinking if Ronon’s going to nap he might as well get some work done, when Ronon says, “On Sateda, you choose.”

It’s really ridiculous, being so floored by such simple statements. McKay is being ridiculous. He needs to get it together.

“Just words, really. How people talk about you.” Ronon’s eyes are still closed, he’s not even facing McKay, there’s no reason for what he’s saying to feel like such a pointed attack. How could he even tell– “S’not a big deal. Even if you’re, y’know – you don’t have to choose when you’re a kid. Or you can change your mind, later.”

“Most people,” McKay says, an edge to his voice he doesn’t want but can’t control, “would just ask.”

“You’re funny about asking.”

“Oh, don’t, we have had the DADT talk, you just– Think it’s funny, watching me squirm–”

Ronon sits up at that, gives McKay a hard look. “You and Sheppard, it’s like herding cats. You’d rather get captured by the Wraith.”

“Maybe there’s a reason I don’t talk about it,” McKay snaps.

“Yeah,” Ronon says, condescending ‘well, duh’ tone, “Your planet’s backwards. We just went over that.”

McKay huffs, but doesn’t rise to the bait. It feels like all his skin’s been peeled back, his skull cracked open and all his dirty laundry hung out for everyone to gawk at. Goddamn it, relentless repression was working just fine, what does Ronon think he knows, where does he get off just– Saying things–

“I’m just saying,” Ronon says, several minutes of silence later, “you can choose. With me.”

Everything in McKay’s head goes blank.

Except, apparently, for whatever part controls his vocal chords, which asks, haltingly, “So, uh, if I asked you to call me Meredith…?”

“I’d call you Meredith,” Ronon answers, immediately, like it’s. Like it’s easy. Like it’s that simple.

They pass another long while in silence. This is why talking to Ronon is nice – he knows what someone else thinking sounds like.

McKay’s brain has become a skipping record. Meredith, Meredith, I’d call you Meredith. What’s up, Meredith. Hey, Meredith, catch. Meredith, keep up. I’d call you Meredith. I’d call you Meredith.

“Thought you hated that,” Ronon says, eventually. Probably he could tell McKay was never going to say anything of his own accord.

“It, ah, it’s–” Surely Ronon doesn’t need McKay to explain repression, that’s not what he’s asking. “I’ve never asked any friends. In as much as I had any friends before Atlantis. It was just… passing strangers, people I wouldn’t see again, who might– assume–”

“You’re a woman?”

“I’m not a man.” Something in McKay cracks open at that, at saying that aloud, to Ronon, but he ignores it. They only have so long until Sheppard comes to find them, he can’t keep spacing out to process. “I don’t know, it’s not– I’ve never thought about it, it was just. Nice.”

“Uhuh,” Ronon says, because he knows McKay is lying. “In front of the team?”

“What?”

“Do I call you Meredith, in front of the team?”

McKay did not even know what a conversation sucker punch was, before. He thought he did, but no, he was naive, he was wrong, Jesus. Jesus.

“I– You–” It would be weird if he hugged Ronon. They don’t do that, and also Ronon is still sprawled on his back on the grass. “Right. Uh. Just, just when it’s the two of us. Thank you.”

“Sure,” Ronon says, like he just passed McKay the salt. Like this isn’t the most emotion McKay has felt in the span of a single hour since the last time the city was attacked. Like he hasn’t just fundamentally reshaped the principles of McKay’s entire world. “You hungry?”

And McKay nods, because of course he is, and Ronon pulls a bundle of something sweet-smelling from his pack, and then does close his eyes and sleep while McKay picks over the ‘gate bridge code and resolutely only thinks about how horribly redundant Ancient programming is. Eventually, Sheppard crackles over the radio, and they make their way back to the town hall, and then back to the ‘gate while Sheppard kvetches about the very uncomfortable benches, and then they’re home and it’s not-quite-beef stew for dinner and Zelenka wants his thoughts on something and the conversation with Ronon fades out of Mckay’s mind.

Of course, it doesn’t actually fade away entirely, just retreats to the background until such a time McKay can fully devote his whole attention to freaking the fuck out.

But, if there’s one thing Pegasus is good for, it’s always providing a distraction when someone needs one. And, of course, when no one needs one. The expedition could set their watches by how frequently Pegasus throws life-or-death situations at them.

He manages almost three months of avoiding thinking about it, and could possibly have continued that way indefinitely, if it weren’t for the ‘gate system’s uncanny ability to throw the one thing you’re trying to avoid directly in your face.

It’s relatively common Pegasus etiquette to ask for– not pronouns exactly, but to double check any assumptions made won’t cause offence.

So, naturally, their first first contact mission in over three months is to just the kind of considerate, careful society where the head of the council asks, “And, how do you refer to yourselves? I use she, and you…?”

And it’s just Teyla and McKay, because the Mariet are technologically advanced enough for McKay’s presence to be actually necessary but not weapons-focused enough for Sheppard to hang around after one of the hoard of children mentioned some kind of sports game.

So Teyla says, easily, “I also use she,” and then there’s the briefest of hesitant pauses before McKay says, “I, ah, he, I use he,” and he can just feel the gears in Teyla’s mind turning.

They get through the rest of the introductory spiels, of course. Several hours pass, even, and it’s not until he’s thoroughly distracted looking through the Mariet’s research into Ancient technology, and everyone else has disappeared off somewhere, that he gets a sinking feeling because, oh, of course this was coming; now he’s alone with Teyla.

She lets him finish the page he’s reading before she says, as if picking up a conversation they left off earlier, “I must confess, McKay, your customs regarding gender have always confused me.”

McKay doesn’t know if he wants to do this right now.

Teyla would let him shut her down, but it would only be prolonging the inevitable. He’s never going to escape having this conversation; he just might be able to escape having this conversation offworld.

No point, of course. Might as well get it over with.

“You don’t need to sugarcoat it, you can just call us crazy misogynists.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “You know as well as I that misogyny comes easily to all of us. No, I meant your… rigidity.”

“We really don’t have to talk about this,” he tries, more a token protest than anything.

Teyla, of course, nods agreeably and says, “Ronon told me of your conversation.”

“That traitor.”

She gives him the kind of look that makes him wince for the sake of her future children. “McKay. We are your friends – if I would risk my life to protect yours after seeing you in full caffeine withdrawal, why would I draw the line at this?”

“You should charge us. Therapy this good usually costs a lot of money.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Teyla says, and means I am armed and if you do not stop deflecting I will hurt you.

“Ugh, okay, it’s not–” McKay rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s a lot to, to rewrite, okay? I spent the first thirty years of my life convinced I had to be a man, regardless of my feelings on the matter, and even if there was a– It would have been enough, maybe, to transition to a woman, or at least in my early twenties I thought it was a good idea, but God knows women have it hard enough in academia without being trans, so. I had to be able to work, to publish, that was– Science came first. And now,” his voice rises, he throws his hands in the air, “you tell me I can be a scientist and genderqueer! It’s a lot!”

Teyla nods again, and actually, putting off this conversation until they got back to the city would have been a good idea, because now McKay’s eyes are prickling and a lump is rising in his throat and ‘crying anywhere alone except alone in his quarters’ is only marginally lower than ‘being captured by the Wraith’ on the scale of terrible things that could happen on any given day.

“There is no rush.”

McKay barks a laugh. “Right, apart from the incredibly high likelihood we’ll all be killed any day now.”

“That is why lying to yourself is a fool’s errand,” Teyla agrees. “But as you said, you have spent thirty years thinking you had to be something you were not.”

“So I should expect to spend another thirty repairing the damage?”

“You certainly shouldn’t expect it to happen overnight.”

“...You’re right, you’re always right. I wish I’d met you decades ago.” He grimaces. “Oh, wow, let’s pretend I didn’t say that. Did you see this? Let’s talk about how laughably wrong the physics of this are.”

Teyla obligingly turns her attention to the research document, and doesn’t try to make McKay talk about his feelings again.

Or, of course, lets McKay lull himself into a false sense of security so that when she corners him on his way back to his rooms from the labs that night, she catches him off-guard.

It’s late, later than she’s usually up, because she’s a functional person who wakes with the sunrise and doesn’t routinely stumble into bed at 0500 even though they have to be at the morning meeting at 0700. So this is a premeditated cornering. There’s no one else in the corridor, as usual given the hour.

She doesn’t beat around the bush, at least, just raises an eyebrow at him and says, “John wouldn’t care anymore than Ronon or I, McKay.”

So, of course, he has to spit back, with more vitriol than he’d previously realised he had about this, “You don’t know that, you can’t know that, he hates himself enough–”

Sheppard and McKay have never talked, exactly, about– this, but McKay isn’t blind. Sheppard has an ex-wife he married young but never mentions and a pinched look on his face whenever any woman flirts with him, even as he flirts back with a very practiced ease. He got exiled to Antarctica for going above and beyond for a fellow officer. He gets this look in his eyes sometimes, when he’s looking at McKay, which is something McKay spends a lot of time very definitely not thinking about.

“Generally,” Teyla’s voice is so gentle, that one tone he would’ve sworn she picked up from Kate if he hadn’t heard her use it before they ever met, “we find it far easier to be kind to others than to ourselves.”

“How do you just say things like that and have them land,” McKay says, more for the way Teyla’s lips quirk than to derail the conversation. “Do they teach that on Athos? Were you born with this perpetually winning combo of sincerity and wisdom?”

Teyla does that diplomacy nod, with the ‘I appreciate your kind words even if the logic behind them is nonsensical to me’ face. She’s gone on long, long rants to half the expedition at this point, about the importance of respect and why their inability to simply talk to each other is the cause of the Tau’ri’s predilection to civil war.

And then, of course, she says, “If you do not bring it up with John, I will.”

McKay’s entire body goes ice cold. “That’s not– You can’t–”

“If the situation was reversed, and he was putting himself through unnecessary pain for the sake of your feelings, you would want me to tell you.”

Dammit. Damn everything to hell. Why did he befriend Teyla.

“Talking to you is terrible.”

Teyla just smiles, fondly. “I love you too, McKay.”

McKay, naturally, tries to put off talking to Sheppard for as long as possible.

Three and a half weeks pass before Teyla threatens him again, this time while holding her Bantos rods, and then after another week Teyla threatens him again and he’s sitting in the labs waiting for code to compile, unable to stop thinking about how that conversation would go, Teyla explaining on his behalf, him not there to see the look on Sheppard’s face, Sheppard pulling him aside later–

It’s not a conscious decision, but suddenly he’s bursting into Sheppard’s quarters. Sheppard is– was asleep, because, whoops, it’s 0427.

Sheppard isn’t asleep anymore, is out of bed and pulling on his boots because generally, if McKay bursts in unannounced in the middle of the night it’s not ‘cause he wants to talk. He says as much, in an unimpressed drawl, when McKay tells him to sit down.

“No, no, don’t worry,” Mckay takes a step towards the bed and then another step back away, “this time the crisis is contained to just me.” But that just makes the frown on Sheppard’s face change shape, not go away, so he adds, hastily, “That is, ah, I’m fine, I’m not sick or anything, it’s– Personal crisis. Identity crisis, in fact, I’m having an identity crisis.” He barks a laugh, rubs at the back of his neck. “I’m thirty-nine, I really thought I was done having identity crises. Uh, this– doesn’t actually need to happen now, I can–”

But Sheppard just looks at him, frown turning unimpressed again, and says, in that tone like it’s a whole sentence, “McKay.”

“That wasn’t deflecting! You’re negotiating a trade agreement tomorrow, you should be well-rested!”

“Teyla is negotiating tomorrow. I’m gonna sit next to her and look pretty.”

“Nodding off still wouldn’t be particularly well-received–”

“McKay.”

“–Okay.” McKay takes a breath, then another, then another aborted step towards the bed Sheppard is still standing next to, wearing one boot, arms crossed. Then he spins to face the window. He can probably get through this, but not if he’s looking at Sheppard’s face. “Okay, so, there are things we don’t… Talk about, but, Teyla kept threatening me with violence, so–”

“I already know you’re bi, McKay.”

“I– No!” McKay flaps a hand, wishes for telepathy. “Well, yes, I’m bi and we all know, but– Not that thing. A different thing we don’t talk about.”

He looks back at Sheppard’s face for just long enough to catch the quirked eyebrow. “Do I need alcohol for this?”

“No, but I might.”

“Jesus, McKay–”

“It’s fine! It’s fine, it’s just– It was different, with Teyla and Ronon, it came up naturally and they, they got it and I knew they’d get it and it was just a, a matter of being vulnerable, and that’s hardly a real issue at this point, but you– you–”

He flaps his hands again, wilder, still looking out the window. Everything about how he’s done this is terrible but it’s too late, this is the path he’s put himself on.

It’s a long beat, presumably Sheppard making sure McKay is really out of words, before Sheppard says, “There’s nothing you could say that could make me hate you.”

And that. Fuck. Fuck.

He makes himself turn to look at Sheppard, somehow, and Sheppard looks– gutted, in that way talking about emotions guts him. Like he has to pull them free with pliers.

“Oh,” McKay says, inadequately. “Oh, that’s– Did Teyla talk to you? Am I working myself into a panic attack for absolutely no reason?”

“No, McKay, sometimes I say things without Teyla holding my hand about it.”

“Blatantly false, but whatever, beside the point, I– Really?”

“Forgave you for Doranda, didn’t I?”

He did, didn’t he. That– means something, there is definitely an added layer of meaning to that sentence that McKay is very much not touching right now. One tooth-pulling conversation at a time.

He takes a deep breath. “Okay.” Another deep breath, shit he should have scripted this, fuck, “Okay, okay, okay this is going to be incredibly underwhelming thanks to my signature hysterics, but I, ah, I don’t think I’m a man. Or a woman. And, no, okay, that was a cop out, I’m not a man and I’ve known that for over twenty years and I’ve just been– ignoring it, which has fucked me up, I’m sure you can relate, please feel free to interrupt at any time–”

He’s staring out the window again. Really nice view, Sheppard has.

“I never got that into gender theory, but, okay,” Sheppard says, easily. Easily, and then he asks, “Pronouns?”

And then McKay has to sit on the floor for a minute.

It’s nice, on the floor. Should’ve been here from the start.

“Um, they?” McKay says, eventually. “But. That’s a very logistically fraught question.”

“Teyla and Ronon know.”

“They do.”

“And people outside Atlantis can know, yeah? If it ever gets back here, they’ll just assume cultural misunderstanding.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Sheppard has this look on his face, like he’s been soaked in water overnight, like someone sanded all his edges, like he– Like McKay is–

McKay looks out the window again.

“Rodney still okay?”

“Uh,” McKay says. “Um.”

Sheppard’s face goes all tight and sharp when he’s uncomfortable – everyone says he’s impossible to read, and McKay has no idea why. He’s obvious, an open book, and probably it’s significant that McKay, historically so less than stellar at interpreting facial expressions, can so easily decode every tilt of Sheppard’s mouth.

His face isn’t tight and sharp now. The exact opposite, in fact. And he– It’s understanding, isn’t it, that’s empathy in the curve of his brow, and McKay has let this man risk life and limb, and has risked life and limb in turn, and this is no more significant than anything else already said, so. So.

“Meredith, as. As well? If, ah, I know that– People don’t have two–”

“Shut up, Meredith.”

And that’s. That’s. McKay is already on the floor, so maybe he’ll– maybe they’ll fall backwards, or forwards, facedown on the floor sounds appealing. They’re not tearing up, this is just some kind of delayed reaction to that new plant botany brought back, but still. Sheppard doesn’t need to see h– their face.

Except Sheppard is moving over, sinking down on the floor besides them, letting their knees press together, and that’s– good. That’s nice. They definitely still need to talk, about things, because unlike Teyla or Ronon Sheppard was raised on Earth and is therefore definitely riddled through with assumptions and stereotypes and McKay would rather get all that shit excised sooner rather than later, but. This is nice. Comfortable.

“It’s definitely past five by now,” McKay points out. The sun is just peaking over the horizon.

Sheppard hums. His head is rested on McKay’s shoulder. The hum vibrates through their collarbone.

“The pre-mission briefing is at eight.”

“S’Teyla’s show, she won’t mind if we don’t turn up.”

“She absolutely will.”

There’s a smile spreading across Sheppard’s face. His eyes are closed. “Mhmm.”

“Are you– Don’t fall asleep, oh my god, I am not spending all day listening to you whine about the entirely avoidable crick in your neck.”

“Won’t both fit in the bed.”

“I am not sleeping on the floor.”

“S’comfy.”

“No it is not.”

“Mmmm.”

The weight of Sheppard’s head on their shoulder is doing things to their cognitive functioning. This is a terrible idea, they’re both going to hate themselves in a couple hours, but somehow McKay finds themself just… Continuing to sit there, on the floor. Sheppard warm along their side. Watching the sun come up.

i meant to go to bed but instead this fell out of my brain

Stargate Universe, Rush/Young, D/S AU, yes I should be sleeping right now

Everett Young is straight.

This has never been in question. He never had any kind of drunken college curiosity, no high school fumblings, no buddies helping each other out in basic. He's comfortable in his orientation and his sexuality.

But then.

Rush.

Rush who seems incapable of taking care of himself, who is emotional and oddly fragile and painfully out of place in the military. Rush whose irrational, spontaneous rerouting of the Stargate has left them all stranded on the other side of the universe with nothing but a vague notion of whimsical romanticism about discovering new worlds and new civilizations and fucking honestly, young watched Star Trek as a kid and it never made him want to throw himself into the goddamn void with no hope of return. Rush, who has a nervous breakdown within a week because there's no coffee, who pushes and pushes like he's trying to provoke young into a reaction.

Yes, ok, Young made some goddamn assumptions. Chloe has full permission to hit him with a gender studies textbook. He assumed Rush was a sub, and he assumed rush was flirting with him, and he flirted back. Petted his hair after they didn't die in a star and took his look of bemusement for shyness.

And then he's suffering through David's helpful chats --thinly veiled attempts to snatch his command out from under him-- and they've both had a bit more to drink than they should have, and David says, "If only I could tell Daniel Jackson that recruiting bastard scientists works better if you sleep with them first."

And young says, "He's a mathematician," because half of his fucking senior staff have beaten it in to him, and then, "It wasn't like he was under your command. I don't see why you couldn't mention it to Jackson, aside from the part where it'd make you a fucking dick. But that seems to be the look you're going for lately."

David arches an eyebrow, tips his beer to get the last drops. The body that Young is borrowing is a little shorter than him, so even sitting down David can look down condescendingly at him. "Don't tell me you're asking, Everett," he says. "Because I'm certainly not telling."

He laughs as soon as he says it, but it's a sharp thing, switchblades in back alleys and a boot to the gut. Young leans as far back into the booth as he can get.

It's not that he forgets the conversation as much as he convinces himself that he misunderstood something. He's never been rapid fire clever like that, never quite in pace with the ping-pong walk and talks layered with jokes and politics and emotional warfare and a particular lore made up of academia and pop-culture and obscure trivia that has always remained opaque. He's a straightforward guy. He says what he means. Safer for everybody that way. Easier. He thinks being a member of SG1 or literally anyone on Atlantis must be exhausting from the banter requirements alone.

But then the next time he's on Earth and has some free time he googles Rush, because Voker had been bitching about how not all of them could be celebrity darlings and Rush had thrown a water bottle at his head and Young is kind of curious. Turns out there are prizes for math, and Rush as won a couple of them, but what is more fascinating is the Wikipedia article on his dead wife.

"Gloria Capple was the first openly gay performer at--" and "It has been theorized that Capple's marriage to math prodigy Dr. Nicholas Rush was a deliberate attack on her parents' conservative upper-class views--" and "The violinist's battle with cancer was likely particularly fraught, given the couple's choice to continue living in the United States where their marriage was not recognized outside of California or Massachusetts, and it is possible that this influenced her choice to remain in California instead of seeking treatment at institutions such as johns Hopkins or MD Anderson--"

He hunts down Rush's personnel file after that, actually examines the basic information at the top that he usually skims past. And.

Well.

Fact: Young has been flirting with Rush for the past few months. Fact: Rush has been flirting back. Fact: Rush is a dom. Fact: Young is a dom.

...Fact: Young is straight.

But the attraction doesn't seem to care about these facts. Even when he knows Rush isn't pushing because he wants Young to take him in hand, Young still finds himself invigorated and passionate about every argument. Even when all their staring matches end in stalemates Young still finds Rush's eyes fascinating. Knowing that having Rush on his knees isn't an option doesn't stop Young from wanting to kiss him. His fantasies start to involve more bruises and bleeding lips instead of welcoming, pliant mouths and bodies. He no longer imagines the care and responsibility of being gifted with control, but the continuous care and agility to maintain a debate or a mentally and physically demanding interaction in which he must constantly be at his best in a new way.

He starts avoiding Rush, which should make him feel better but just leaves him restless and on-edge. It's not sustainable, and after he snaps at Eli for the third time in as many hours he knows he's got to fucking get himself under control. This is all ridiculous. He made a false assumption and his body is just taking a little while to catch up. In another week or two he'll look at rush and feel nothing but the appropriate respect for his skill and equally appropriate lack of respect for basically everything else.

This is fine. He's handling it.

Rush backs him up against a wall three days later, getting up in his face, accent fog heavy over the sharp hailstones of his rage. Young licks his lips and shoves him back, hard enough that he stumbles back across the corridor and jars his hip on a consul.

Rush looks up at him and there's something brighter in his eyes, something eager. Young never noticed the switchblades in his smile until now.

reader’s questionnaire

i was tagged by @ivy-the-africanprincess. thank you lovey!

1. which book has been on your shelves the longest? probably lisey’s story by stephen king. of course i read stuff before i started reading stephen king – stephen king would’ve been a little hardcore for, say, a second-grader – but most of those books are packed away in boxes, seeing as i have no intentions of rereading them.

2. what is your last read, what is your current read, and what is your next read? my last read was the great gatsby (it was school reading, but it was a good book). my current read is it by stephen king (this is the third time i’ve reread it). as for my next read, i’m not sure. i have a lot of dean koontz books i haven’t read yet. it’ll probably either be one of those, or i’ll reread the shining. (again.)

3. which books does everyone like that you hate? this is hard, because i have different reading tastes than most people around me, nor can i say i’ve ever really come across a book that i hate. i guess if i had to pick something, i’d say jane eyre – at certain points it was good, but the majority of the time it bored me to tears. the only reason i finished it was i had to read it for school.

4. which book do you keep telling yourself you’ll read, but you probably won’t? maybe harry potter and the cursed child. i keep meaning to buy it, but i haven’t gotten around to it.

5. which book are you saving for retirement? hard to say – i’m too young to have planned that far, not to mention that in my planned career (an author), there isn’t necessarily a “retirement” – i’d just keep writing, continuously.

6. last page: read it first or wait til the end? wait til the end! what kind of maniac reads it first?? it could spoil everything!

7. acknowledgements: waste of ink and space or interesting aside? interesting aside. i always love seeing authors thank everybody – it’s cool to remember that authors can’t do everything on their own. if it takes a village to raise a child, then it also takes a village to write a book.

8. which book character would you trade places with? this is going to sound absurd and probably masochistic, but harry potter. he’s a wizard and that’s freaking awesome! and yes, i’m aware i could trade places with a side character and still be a wizard but without all the angst of being the boy (girl) who lived, but let’s face it, i love being in the spotlight. (not to mention harry got a lot of privileges that side characters didn’t, because harry was the chosen one. and yes, i’m perfectly willing to take on all the baggage harry had just for those privileges.)

9. do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life? (a person, a place, a time, etc.) it (the book i’m reading now) used to remind me of fall of last year, but i’ve reread it too many times. christine by stephen king also reminds me of fall of last year, to an extent. i’m sure that if i reread the alienist by caleb carr it would remind me of spring of this year (i’ve only read it once, and it’s a damn good book – i haven’t reread it yet bc i first read it in march or april and rereading it this soon is too soon). also, the tommyknockers by stephen king might remind me of december of 2014. AND harry potter and the order of the phoenix reminds me of december of 2015 – i used that book as an escape from the pain of my first breakup.

10. name a book you acquired in some interesting way. i actually have 27 dean koontz books that i acquired in an interesting way: i wrote a letter to dean koontz, and he replied with a handwritten letter and a box of books, all signed with personal inscriptions. of course, i don’t touch the books he sent me – they’re safe in storage, because knowing me, they’d get dirty and/or bent/folded if i read them. not because i don’t take care of my books, but because i take my books everywhere when i’m in the process of reading them, and that naturally results in a bit of wear and tear.

11. have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person? no. this sounds selfish, but i don’t give away my books – i barely lend them out, because they come to mean so much to me (and because i’m a compulsive rereader and never know when i’ll want to revisit an old favorite). i lent the talisman by stephen king and peter straub to my ex boyfriend once, because he’d been talking about how much he loved fantasy and the talisman popped into my mind because i thought it would be right up his alley – i don’t know if it was or not, because we broke up before he could get very far (he didn’t read much because he was working every day until nine or ten at night, and then he had homework on top of that). (he actually almost ended up keeping the book, but i did ask for it back, because it’s one of my favorites and because i’ve handwritten notes on the symbolism and thematic work in the storyline and didn’t want to lose my analyses.) that was one of two times i can remember loaning out a book – the other was to my best friend, because i’d been talking about the book and how good it was and i thought she just had to read it. (she loved it too, and now we’re waiting to save enough money to buy the rest of the series.)

12. which book has been with you to the most places? i’d say the shining. it’s been to my house, my grandmother’s house, various doctor’s appointments, arizona, school, and off-campus school events.

13. any required reading you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later? i can’t say yet, considering i’m still in high school. maybe when i’m twenty five jane eyre won’t seem so bad??

14. what is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book? the only unexpected thing i can ever remember finding in a book was a note that said something along the lines of “you have great taste in reading. enjoy the book! - your fellow reader”. it was in a copy of a tale of two cities that i’d checked out from a public library, because my english final was the next day and i hadn’t read half of the book. (irresponsible, i know, but our class discussions of it bored me and i had other things i wanted to do.) that note cheered me up a bit, so whoever they are, i hope good things happen to them.

15. used or brand-new? i don’t mind either way. brand new books are great, but not only are the expensive, they don’t stay brand new for long – again, that wear and tear from being toted around everywhere. but sometimes used books are written in, and i don’t like that.

16. stephen king: literary genius or opiate of the masses? *deep inhale* my time has come. i could talk for days … weeks … months … years about stephen king, but let’s leave it at this: he’s a fucking genius. i enjoy some of his books quite a bit more than others – the shining, i think, was his best work; it and christine are close followers, not to mention night shift, his book of short stories, or hearts in atlantis, or pet sematary, or ‘salem’s lot – but overall he’s a master. not only of horror, although that is his undeniable main attraction, but also of psychological thrills: all my favorite works by him (as i’ve named above: the shining, christine and it) have degrees of psychological horror at play, as opposed to only jumpscares. however, even his jumpscares are worth the $17.99 i pay for a brand new copy at barnes & nobles. (and his nonfiction work about writing, called on writing, is also a masterpiece.)

17. have you ever seen a movie you liked more than the book? so far, no. i’ve heard the movies for the maze runner series are better than the books, but i still haven’t gotten around to reading the maze runner series, so i’m not sure yet.

18. conversely, which book should never have been introduced to celluloid? dreamcatcher by stephen king. the film was obscure – something a tv station made, not any huge blockbuster; it didn’t even air in theatres – but they changed the ending completely, and the way they changed it completely changed the theme of the book (not to mention kind of demonized mentally disabled characters, but that’s my opinion). watching it left me both laughing at the ridiculousness and pissed off.

19. have you ever read a book that’s made you hungry (cookbooks excluded)? not that i remember, but i’m sure i have. i’m always hungry.

20. who is the person whose book advice you’ll always take? no one’s, really – i read my own interests and don’t often take others’ into account (not because i’m snobbish but because i actually forget to check out the stuff they recommend). the person whose book recommendations i’m most likely to take is probably my mother – she first introduced me to stephen king, and because she opened that door for me, i trust her judgment a lot. in fact, one of the reasons i haven’t read the dark tower series by him is because my mom said she could never properly get into it, so i think it might bore me as well. lately, though, i’ve been thinking about starting the series, just to see if i do like it.

i’m tagging: - @paintingsunny - @theeverwatchingtortoise - @the-bookler - @alixismad

moving lips to breathe her name

Bellamy Blake is destined for great things, including a successful senior year and a future at the Ivy League school of his choice. But what happens when he meets Clarke Griffin, Hamilton High’s newest bad girl, a girl with an affinity for leather, ripped jeans, and bad decisions?

Clarke Griffin is angry. Still coping with her father’s recent death and a move to a new town the summer before senior year, she’s ready to fight. Enter a new best friend and a bad boy boyfriend and she thinks she’s got everything under control. Until her history teacher’s TA catches her eye. Now she’s thinking life in Hamilton just got a little more interesting.

Full Story: Tumblr | AO3

chapter 5 - bellamy

If there’s one thing he wasn’t expecting it was for Clarke Griffin to be in his car again.

Last night still feels like something out of a dream. Clarke’s fingers tapping against the window as “Bleeding Out” by Imagine Dragons poured out from the speakers. The way her long legs stretched forever when she toed those ridiculous studded heels off. The soft little moan that escaped when she flexed her toes in their absence.

“Because I’m the kind of girl that can ruin you, Bellamy Blake.”

Her lips against his cheek. Her breath hot against his skin.

That one simple statement, his full name coming from her lips damn near the sexiest thing he’d ever heard, it almost ruined him all on its own.

He doesn’t know what this girl is doing to him. One minute she’s driving him up a wall and the next he’s wishing he could push her against one.

Now she’s here again, all ripped denim and faded black leather, and he doesn’t know which way he’s currently leaning.

“What is this?”

Her curious voice pulls him from his thoughts and she’s looking at him expectantly when he slides his eyes over to her.

“What is what?”

She rolls her eyes and gestures towards his radio. “The music, obviously.”

“Oh.” He reaches over to turn up the radio a little and smiles. “It’s called ‘Werewolf’.”

He watches as her eyes flutter closed, her lips parted slightly, and damn if she’s not the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen.

“Who sings it?” She asks, her eyes not opening as she lets the music wash over her. It’s like she’s feeling every lyric and he loves that because music does the same thing to him. People might not realize it by looking at him but he’s sort of a music snob. He absolutely hates everything on the radio and if he does listen to a mainstream band, it’s usually the songs no one knows about.

“Cat Power,” he answers quietly. She’s still just reveling in the beat and he is having a hell of a time focusing on the road.

“It’s intoxicating.” She opens her eyes then and locks them with his. “Sensual.”  

Bellamy licks his lips, not knowing how to respond to that. He could say the same thing about her, if he’s being honest.

“Glad you like it,” he says roughly, clearing his throat as he focuses on the road ahead. It’s starting to get dark, the short drive to Miller’s seeming to last forever, but he can’t find it in himself to mind. What he would mind though is running off the road because he’s too busy staring at the beautiful woman sitting in his passenger seat.

They ride in mostly comfortable silence the rest of the way to his friend’s house and when they pull up out front he sees the curtain in Miller’s living room window move and a hand waving at him through the glass. He had texted him on the way to let him know not to be alarmed if he heard Clarke’s car start up and take off and Bellamy chuckles when he sees that Miller obviously isn’t going to come out to say hello.

“He must still be hung over,” Bellamy laughs as he motions towards the house.

“Or he’s trying to give you more alone time with me.” She smirks when he doesn’t say anything. “You wanna get out of here?”

He barks out a laugh.”Déjà vu.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes are narrowed and curious and it’s obvious she doesn’t remember all the bits and pieces from their night before.

“You asked me the same thing last night. In the kitchen.”

He can practically see the moment that she remembers the moment he’s talking about.

“Oh yeah,” she says with a laugh. “But that’s not the ‘getting out of here’ that I had in mind.”

“So what did you have in mind?”

She smiles widely as she opens the door, leaning through the open window once she closes it behind her.

“Follow me if you want to find out.”

***

“How have you only lived in this town for a few months and you already know more about it than I do?”

Clarke laughs as she drags a french fry through the puddle of ketchup on her plate. “It’s just a diner, history boy. Not the lost city of Atlantis.”

Bellamy smirks around his milkshake straw. “Is that a history reference because you think I’m a nerd?”

“It’s not really history if it’s a myth but no, that’s not why I think you’re a nerd.”

His heart does something stupid when she smiles at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But you do think that about me?”

Clarke shrugs one leather clad shoulder up. “I don’t think you’re a nerd in a bad way. More of in a ‘I’ve never fucked a girl behind a McDonald’s way’” She laughs at him when he chokes on his milkshake. “See, that response is why I call you a nerd.”

“I don’t know anyone that would do that,” he sputters, chocolate ice cream freezing his throat. “Wait…have you done that?”

“Now, Bellamy,” she chastises. “A gentleman should never ask a lady where she’s engaged in sexual activity.”

He flushes, and he fucking hates that she’s caused him to blush. It’s not as if he’s a virgin, not by any stretch of the word thanks to his time with Gina, but she’s obviously more experienced than him and it’s making him nervous as hell.

Get it together, Blake.

“I haven’t though, for the record,” she says quietly, her eyes focused outside the window instead of on him. “I’m not a fan of public indecency charges on my record.”

Bellamy snorts. “Who is?”

“Plenty of people,” she says with a hint of annoyance in her voice and now he realizes that someone must have propositioned her to do that exact thing sometime in the past. Probably Murphy, the perv.

“Well, I’m not either,” he says needlessly, maybe just to reiterate the fact that he’s nothing like her douchebag ex. “But I’m not a choir boy, either.”

“No?” Clarke’s eyebrow goes up, her lips curling into a sexy smirk when he shakes his head. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

She leans forward, her arms resting in front of her on the table and it takes every bit of his self control not to sneak a peek down her low cut black tank top.

“Are you corruptible, history boy?”

He can feel the pull, like battle lines have been drawn in the sand and it’s time to choose a side.

On one side he’s safe, Princeton in his future and Hamilton in his rear view. No one to distract him, no one to complicate things.

On the other side is Clarke. Sexy and alluring. Pretty rough edges wrapped in a tight skirt.

Dangerous.

He licks his lips, leans forward as he takes the plunge from responsible to reckless. Meets her eye to eye over the table, their lips almost touching as he lowers his voice to a whisper.

“Depends on who’s doing the corrupting.”

Her eyes dart from his eyes down to his lips and back again and then she’s kissing him, dragging his bottom lip between her teeth before sliding her tongue against his.

“We should take this somewhere else,” he groans as she yanks him towards her harder.

“And why would we do that?”

Bellamy grins and brushes his lips across hers. “Public decency laws, remember?”

He loves the way she laughs against his mouth. “Your car or mine?”

Forty minutes later they are parked at The Bluff, a make out spot he’s familiar with but hasn’t actually driven to on account of the fact that he’s never been the typical horny teenage boy.

Clarke is on his lap, straddling his waist with her hands in his hair, and she tastes so fucking good he doesn’t know how he’s going to stop this before it goes too far.

“We should slow down,” he says even though it’s the last thing he wants to do. She’s been grinding on him for a solid fifteen minutes and he needs release more than he needs to take his next breath.

“Why in the fuck would we slow down?” Clarke’s jacket and shirt are lying on the passenger seat of his truck since they started in the front seats but moved quickly to the middle row. She pushes him back so he’s laying down as far as he can go. “I want you, Bellamy. Right here, right now.”

He groans deep in his throat when she reaches around to undo her bra but his hands come up to stop her before she can.

“Clarke, we can’t. Not here. Not like this.”

The way she sits up on him makes him grip her hips, her gorgeous body illuminated in blue by the tiny light from his phone charger.

“Why are you stopping this? I know you want me. I can feel how much you do.” She punctuates her statement by rolling her hips and fuck he’s going to die.

“I do,” he stammers. “I want you so fucking badly. But not like this. Let me take you out on a date.”

It’s almost comical the way she scrambles off his lap except that it’s, you know, not. “We talked about this, history boy. I don’t date.”

She starts pulling on her clothes, which he hates but also is definitely needed.He also hates that they are back to stupid nicknames when just a few minutes ago she was breathing his given name against his neck.

“You do realize we kinda already went on a date, right? What do you think tonight was?”

Clarke scowls. “It was cheap diner food and a dirty make out session in the backseat of your truck. Is that a date to you?”

“Well, not exactly but it’s pretty damn close.”

He watches in disappointment as she slides her arms into the sleeves of her jacket, a surefire sign of her getting ready to leave.

“Wait,” he says, his arm darting out to rest a hand on her thigh. “You don’t have to take off just because we’re not going to have sex.”

“And we’ll do what? Talk?” She sneers as she reaches for her purse. “It’s been fun, history boy.”

“Look,” he calls after her when she’s halfway out the door. “I know you’ve had a rough time in the past but that doesn’t mean you have to push me away.”

She’s breathing so hard he can see her chest moving up and down. “What the fuck do you think you know about my rough past?”

Fuck.

“I…I didn’t mean anything…” He struggles to find words that won’t piss her off, push her away even more than he already has.

Clarke narrows her eyes, crosses her arms over her chest. It’s meant to look intimidating but he can see the flash of hurt in her eyes when she stares him down.

“So you think you know something about me? That I’m the new girl with daddy issues that you can ‘fix’?” She makes air quotes around the word fix and punctuates her question with a roll of her eyes. “Give me a fucking break, Bellamy. You know shit about me and you never will.”

“And whose fault is that, Clarke? Huh?”

He yells after her but its too late because she’s already in her car and driving away from him.

***

They don’t speak to each other at all the next day which is surprising only because her and Raven have decided to join him and his friends at lunch.

Apparently Raven and Jasper go way back thanks to camp and Harper knows her from a few classes over their high school careers. He guesses in his group of friends that’s enough to warrant an invitation to sit with them at lunch.

Except he knows that this is Jasper’s doing, a way to force him and Clarke into the same space. Bellamy wants to kick himself for texting Monty last night about his time with Clarke. It was just unlike him to do something like that, step out of his comfort zone and actually live a little.

And then it all backfired and he’s right back where he started from.

“Well, well, well.”

Bellamy’s eyes close, his hands forming fists under the table at the sound of John Murphy’s voice.

“You can leave now, fucknut,” Miller says in a bored tone. “No one here cares about whatever dumb thing is about to fall out of your mouth.”

Murphy brings his hand to his chest. “Now, Miller, I am offended! I am merely here to congratulate Clarke. That’s all.”

Bellamy’s eyes shoot over to Clarke, who’s wearing an unimpressed look. “What are you talking about, Murphy?”

Murphy leans down with his hands on the table, his face inches from Clarke’s, and Bellamy is shocked that he hasn’t jumped up and beat this kid down yet. Violence has never been something he’s had to resort to but right now the feel of Murphy’s nose crunching under his fist sounds pretty fucking good.

“On your new boyfriend, obviously.”

Clarke’s eyes shoot to him and of course the entire table notices. Monty’s eyebrows go up comically and Harper elbows him in the side.

“I don’t have a boyfriend. Not you and not anyone else,” Clarke replies smoothly. “Now, you can take your happy ass and all your idiot friends back to your own table and let me finish my BLT.”

Only Murphy doesn’t leave, just digs his heels in deeper as he sneers in Clarke’s face. “That’s not what I heard. In fact,” he motions to one of his lackeys. “Dax here says that he saw you and a certain someone at The Bluffs last night. Someone at this very table. I didn’t get many details since he said the windows were pretty fogged up but we damn sure know who’s SUV you were in.”

Bellamy’s eyes are narrowed so much he can barely see. He notices Miller is close to standing, always ready for a fight, and Monty looks like he’s close to jumping up as well.

“What’s the matter, Murphy?” Clarke grins as she pushes her plate away. “Mad because you couldn’t get me to fuck you anymore or mad that I found someone better?”

The table is quiet, hell the entire cafeteria is quiet, and this is the exact reason Bellamy doesn’t get involved with shit like this. Now everyone in school is going to know his business and the thing he likes most is his privacy.

“You think he’s better than me?” Murphy nods towards Bellamy and yep, not it’s confirmed. He silently prays that Clarke leaves him out of it but he knows before she speaks that he’ll have no such luck.

“I can guarantee he’s better than you,” she purrs. “His hands, his body. His mouth.” She licks her lips, takes her time as if she’s remembering their night together. “Better in every single way.”

She fails to mention fucking bailing on him but it doesn’t seem like the time or place to bring that up.

“That’s enough, Clarke.”

His voice surprises her, surprises everyone, and the whole table looks at him when he pushes himself away from the table.

“If you want to fight with Murphy, go right on ahead. But don’t fucking drag me into this with you.”

Monty catches up with him when he’s outside in the hallway, his eyebrows furrowed as they walk towards Bellamy’s next class.

“Holy shit,” Monty says, breaking the silence and Bellamy chuckles darkly as he gives him a wave goodbye.

Holy shit is right.

you knew it was coming aLL OF THEM

*darth vader voice* NOOOOOOOOO

1. Favorite action film? Does Raiders of the Lost Ark count as action? If so that2. What movie(s) could you watch over and over and not get tired of? JURASSIC PARK I’ve watched it about a trillion times by now and the soundtrack’s been stuck in my head for like a month straight and even now I’m kinda like “hey I should watch it YET AGAIN”3. Any old school favorites (pre-70s)? I don’t even remember how many pre-70s movies I’ve seen I’m so sorry Belle I know I’m a disappointment to you4. Top 5 directors? Idek if I can name five directors lmao5. Favorite dead actor/actress? Alan Rickman was pretty great

6. Favorite movie from the 90’s? JURASSIC PARK (apologies in advance for how many times I’m going to answer that)7. Ever been/are you such a hardcore fan of an actor actress you watched/will watch any movie they were/will be in? I tried with Harrison Ford a few years back. Watched a handful of movies but didn’t even come close to all of his. I watched a bunch of things solely because Richard Armitage was in them. And as soon I find Diego Luna’s spanish movies with subtitles I’m watching those8. What movie are you looking forward to coming out the most? THE LAST JEDI9. Pixar or Dreamworks? I like both but am not a diehard fan of either?10. Favorite animated movie? Disney’s Atlantis11. Favorite musical? …I’m gonna be controversial here and say the 2004 Phantom of the Opera movie because it was my introduction to the wonderful world of musicals in general so... Ooh or does Dr. Horrible count?12. Are you against book-to-movie adaptations? In theory I’m all for them. It’s just that in practice they’re rarely good.13. Your guilty pleasure movie(s)? The Outsiders. It’s not very good (like, at all) but everyone’s just so pretty (and now younger than me… yikes)14. Robin Williams or Eddie Murphy? Robin Williams15. Favorite chick flick? Legally Blonde and/or She’s The Man. I don’t really watch chick flicks so those are the only ones I can really think of16. Ever watched a movie just because you heard the effects were awesome? No17. Favorite indie film? I don’t even know honestly18. Favorite movie heroine? Princess Leia, Marion Ravenwood, probably others that I can’t think of rn19. Favorite movie action hero? Indiana Jones obviously20. Ever read a book so you could understand the movie? Not to understand the movie, no, but I’ve read books after seeing the movie because I enjoyed it and wanted to know more, because movies always leave things out.21. Favorite kids movie? Atlantis, Mulan, why is my brain malfunctioning there are many more…. OH and I loved the first two Ice Age movies22. Favorite Disney movie? see previous question23. Favorite movie soundtrack? JURASSIC PARK. Also the Lord of the Rings trilogy24. Movie that makes you cry every time? Serenity, Rogue One, and LotR: Return of the King25. VHS, DVD, or Blu-ray? We only have a DVD player out of those so26. Best experience going to the movies? I have two. One was when my friend Nicole and I went to the opening night of the first Hobbit movie, and while the movie itself was… kind of a disappointment, to put it mildly, we had a great time poking sleep-deprived fun at it and attempting to sing Thorin’s ridiculous bass notes (I was sick so I could actually kind of do it). The other was Rogue One; I was… not in the best emotional state going into that, or coming out of it for that matter (can I really call it a “best” experience if I sobbed my way through the last 40 minutes? discuss) but at the same time you know how when a movie or character comes along at the exact right moment in your life? Yeah. That.27. Top 5 actors? Currently Harrison Ford, Richard Armitage, Diego Luna, Nathan Fillion, Hugh Laurie28. Top 5 actresses? (It’s a testament to the fact that most movies are very gender-imbalanced that I’m having a much harder time thinking of actresses than actors) Daisy Ridley, Catherine Tate, Carrie Fisher, Lauren Lopez, Kate Winslet?29. Movie you completely regret seeing? Trainspotting was… strange. And very very TMI. There was also this German movie about a restaurant owner’s misadventures that was just no get this away from me this is cringey and gross and also just utter nonsense. I think I liveblogged it on the OT actually. I had to keep pausing and watching it in small chunks because I just couldn’t handle the terribleness all at once.30. Movie you wish was never made? That German movie. Most sequels and remakes (none of the German movie exist though, thank god).31. Movie your parent showed you? My mom showed us The Great Race, a 60s comedy about an automobile race (I’m imagining that in Tony Curtis’s voice, heh) around the world, and it’s wacko and completely amazing. On the other side of the coin, my dad let me watch Bladerunner when I was way too young for it…32. Last movie you watched? Probably Rogue One33. An overrated movie? Groundhog Day. It was so stupid34. An underrated movie? Atlantis. It’s one of the least-well-known Disney movies, which is crazy because it’s completely amazing35. Favorite comedy movie? SPACEBALLS36. Movie quote you live by? Now I’m just thinking of Spaceballs quotes. None of those are particularly good life advice…37. Movie quote that will always make you laugh? The “everything that happens now, is happening now” “go back to then!” “when? now?” “now!” “I can’t” “why” “we missed it” “when” “just now.” “……when will then be now?” “SOON.” exchange from Spaceballs is PURE GOLD38. Film(s) you’ve watched on a date? Jurassic World. The movie sucked, but the date was fun. There was also one about a recovering heroin addict and his pet cat, which I should have taken as a sign that the dude I was with was not a good match for me. There were also plenty of movie/tv-show ‘dates’ outside of movie theaters.39. Favorite cult film? I don’t think it’s well-known enough to count as a cult film as such but it was on Mystery Science Theater 3000, so…. Teenagers From Outer Space, made in the fifties on an approximately $20 budget with no actual teenage actors. It’s…. it’s an experience in so-bad-it’s-good-ness. Cannot recommend highly enough.40. Directors you’d like to see work together? I don’t pay attention to these things I’m sorry I don’t know41. Actors you’d like to see work together? Everyone from the BBC already has worked together42. Films you wanted to watch, but never got around to watching? Pretty much any so-called classic film you can think of43. Favorite teen movie? It was more elementary school than teen, but The Lizzie McGuire Movie was pretty iconic. (Also I’ve seen a grand total of, like, three “teen movies” so)44. Top 5 favorite films? Raiders of the Lost Ark, Jurassic Park, LotR: Return of the King, can I count the entire Star Wars series as one, and Spaceballs. Such a wide repertoire I know45. Favorite superhero film? Uh….. Thor? Maybe….? That’s solely because of Hemsworth’s and Hiddleston’s faces though. Maybe Guardians of the Galaxy?46. Favorite cop film? The Fugitive isn’t a cop movie but Tommy Lee Jones was a great cop in it so that? (I can’t even think of any cop movies I’m sorry)47. Favorite road trip film? The Great Race, simply because it’s also the only one I can think of48. A disappointing film from your favorite actor? Diego Luna was not exactly a main character in Elysium but I still watched it solely because of him and then his extremely underdeveloped character was killed off halfway through to motivate Matt Damon and basically that movie was a dumpster fire. But, like, a really boring dumpster fire. I think I’d rather watch a literal dumpster fire, actually….49. A disappointing film from your favorite director? I wouldn’t say Peter Jackson is my favorite director my any means, but LotR was amazing and then The Hobbit movies happened and just… why…… why would you do this…..50. The first movie you ever remember watching in theaters? I don’t remember. Maybe one of the Ice Age movies?51. A movie that was better than the book? I wouldn’t say Jurassic Park was better than the book because it left out so much cool stuff, but I did actually like many of the changes they made. And I also saw it before reading the book so that probably helped my opinion of it quite a bit.52. Vin Diesel or Bruce Willis? Vin Diesel was the Iron Giant and Groot so him53. A movie that not many have heard of that you’ve seen? Nobody I know has heard of Teenagers From Outer Space. (How did I hear of it, you might ask? It was on tv at three in the morning and I was really really bored that night)54. A movie that changed the way you view the world? The LotR trilogy certainly changed the way I view New Zealand. I wanna go there.55. Favorite sci-fi movie? I know Star Wars is more space opera than actual sci-fi but I’m answering that anyway.56. Movie you completely nerd-out over every time it’s mentioned? Really any of my faves57. Movie that you’ve seen all the behind-the-scenes action for? Not all because there’s so damn much of it, but I’ve definitely watched a majority of the LotR behind the scenes stuff.58. Movie where your favorite actor was the only good part? Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights was absolutely AWFUL and I enjoyed it immensely, because tiny Diego Luna dancing and being otherwise adorable. That being said he was the only one that knew remotely what acting even was and the parts when he wasn’t onscreen were just… really bad. The script was also awful, but at least it was unpredictable (because it made no sense). At least it was the entertaining kind of dumpster fire.59. Movie from an actor you hate that was better than you expected? First I need to think of an actor I hate….60. Most visually stunning movie you’ve seen? LotR was just beginning-to-end scenery porn.61. A movie your parents introduced you to? Didn’t I already answer this62. Favorite genre? “Soft” sci-fi and/or space opera is usually a good bet. Alternately, anything at all involving archaeology. And if you combine them I’ll love you forever.63. Least favorite genre? Romance. I’d like an actual plot, please64. Comedy movie that you didn’t find funny? Most of the ones I’ve seen tbh65. Horror movie that didn’t scare you? Also most of them, but I rarely watch horror66. Favorite remake of an old movie? I can’t actually think of any where I’ve seen both the original and the remake67. A movie that started a passion for you? Jurassic Park. My dinosaur phase lasted into high school….68. A movie that sparked an interesting conversation? Also most of my faves. Though whether those conversations were interesting for the other person too remains up for debate.69. The main movie you remember from your childhood? Star Wars: A New Hope70. The first movie you saw on it’s opening night? The first Hobbit movie71. A move that made you ache for love. ? Is this asking for a movie that hurt because I loved it so much, or a movie that made me want to find love in my real life, or…? (I guess Rogue One for both? It was painful af and I really want a Cassian, so)

Petra - Coffee Shops are Liminal Spaces

He was there again, and it was seriously messing with her day. Again. Petra scowled at her laptop screen, and shifted in the hard wooden seat of the coffee shop. Who gave him permission to exist during her lunch break? Seriously? She had to talk to someone about that, because he was a distraction while she tried to get even more work done.

Not that she had a problem with workaholic-ism. Not at all. That would be patently ridiculous, but Stefan had insisted she get out of the lab - and that was a perfect time to do some independant research on compounds.

And here was this asshole with his stupid trendy undercut (and platinum hair! Really. Some people would just do anything to be trendy wouldn't they) and his stupid laugh. Petra knew she'd already griped at Astrid enough about his existence in the last week. But this was just too much.

Her coffee was getting cold and who gave him permission to be so handsome? She was supposed to be the highlight of this coffee shop's day, dammit.

"Stupid glare," she muttered, just in case anyone was listening, and moved her laptop to face the other way on the table, switching seats so her back was to the bastard. Better. Much better and she hadn't looked insane in the process. A quick adjustment of her screen, and she resumed reading a study that had been completed over in Germany last year regarding the conversion of plastic bottles into renewable energy. Two fingers - perfectly manicured nails included, thank you - scrolled down on the trackpad as she got invested in her research. She shifted, grabbing her now-cold coffee to sip and-

"Are you fucking serious." She scowls at her screen.

Maybe she said that a touch loud. Oh fucking well, because that stupid asshole was now reflected in her screen thanks to her inversion extension making the screen dark. His stupid face, in all its glory, reflected right on top of work.

The cafe grew quiet for a minute, like everyone was watching her for an outburst. Well she wouldn't give it to them, dammit!

Stefan would just have to deal with her getting back to work a little early. She couldn't focus with this type of environment.

The laptop didn't appreciate the way she slammed the lid closed, shoved it into her bag, and went up to the counter for another coffee, this one to go. Ignoring the way she was so aware of the grey-haired prick over her shoulder the entire time. This was her coffee shop and she would make sure he knew that before he started getting cozy with Neya, the sweet barista.

---

Stefan was smiling at his phone when she arrived back at the lab. Something about that didn't seem fair - her lunch break had been ruined, what gave him the right-

But it was that gentle, adoring smile that she'd caught him with before, and there wasn't a touch of consternation to it, which meant that he was reading a text from Joel and not from Carina. She decided not to crash on his good mood, because she was just so nice and such a romantic. "Hey Professor. Sorry, I'm coming back early. Lunch sucked."

Stefan startled easily. She'd almost imagine him as a mouse or something, with the wide eyes blinking at her, the way he nearly fumbled his phone. It was a wonder, really, that his phone was still in one piece. Maybe it wasn't - whatever Joel did for a living, it paid well, and maybe Stefan was just going through a steady stream of repairs. She could imagine that. "Petra! Hi, how was- wait, what happened? What's wrong?"

And this was why she liked working with him. Just like that, instant Dad mode that was endearing and not really annoying. "Oh, nothing big. Just some self-centered jerk at the coffee shop I like." A roll of her shoulders. Briefly, she wondered if maybe it was unfair of her to characterize a stranger she'd never spoken to like that but - well, really. Noone asked him to be stupidly distracting.

Stefan blinked and frowned worriedly, coming over. "Is everything okay? He didn't say-"

"Nope. Nothing to get worked up over, really," she smiled quickly. Not about to own up to exactly what hadn't happened. Stupid handsome guy anyway.

"Maybe you could talk to the owner, though. If it becomes a problem, anyway..."

"Yeah. Maybe..." Or maybe she could just change her lunch hour. Surely he wouldn't be there at all hours and-

---

He had inconsistent lunch hours. Just her luck.

For the past two weeks, it's been a fifty-fifty shot that he'd be at the cafe for at least a portion of her lunch break. She was over it, and Stefan seemed to be getting a kick out of it once he'd gotten to the root of the issue.

(Which had, basically, been when he'd asked for specifics of what this gentleman at the cafe had actually done or said.

Silence had reigned for a moment while she tried to think.

Stefan had, bless his heart, waited patiently.

"Well he has this really stupid laugh when he's chumming it up with Neya. Neya of all people!" A traitor to the cause! That had been a grevious insult indeed.

"....So he hasn't actually done anything?"

"His existence is enough. He's stupidly handsome. The type of handsome that gets away with shit. I don't trust him."

"Okay, Petra." Stefan had said, and left it alone, but she wasn't so blind that she couldn't see the amusement in the corners of his lips.)

She wasn't about to surrender the only coffee shop that had managed to understand her when she asked for just the right amount of sugar though. She wouldn't let that bastard win, dammit.

The apartment downstairs from her had obviously messed up dinner, whatever dinner was supposed to be for them. She got home at about six, to an apartment full of smoke and the smell of burnt fish. Fan-freaking-tastic.

She knew which apartment, too! They were always burning shit, and she almost wanted to tell building management about it, but that was too much energy by the time she got home, so she huffed and strode into the living room. The blinds rattled as they opened, and the window took her throwing her whole weight into it in order to open, but open it did, and the smoke started lazily drifting out of her space.

If anyone asked, life was fantastic.

Her phone rang in her bag, and she went over to it. The particular rock song playing was Astrid - probably something to do with the latest juicy gossip she had text her at lunch. Good, some gossip that she could wrap herself up in and get her mind off annoying petty things like a guy with silver eyes.

Silver eyes - what a ridiculous thing to even exist.

"Did she really tell you that?" Astrid's voice comes in crystal clear when she answers, and Petra tries really hard to not laugh at her friend's eagerness.

"Yeah, she said she's still getting her life together after getting out of a bad relationship. So you know - she's not on the market, but it's not exactly like Neya's off-market either. You should get back in there sometime. She's asked about you."

"....She has?" Love - okay, okay, crushes - made people weird. She would have laughed if anyone ever had suggested that Astrid was capable of sounding so timid.

“She has, promise. I mean, not everyday, so you're good, our sweet little pink-haired barista isn't some stalker, but she gets this little smile and asks about you if it's a slow day and – son of a fat fucking bitch.” Her tone fell flat as a rock.

“What??” Clearly, Astrid had been startled by the change in tone.

“Son of a bitch! I won't even believe-” Petra's eyes had wandered to the window and of all the fucking indignities-

The city of Atlantis was a metropolis. Petra had grown up cradled in its smog-ensconced arms and creepy, adult-focused billboards and storefronts, and it hadn't been a surprise when the apartment she leased out was a short alley-way width's away from the next apartment building over. It hadn't even bothered her that the other apartment's window was equal height and width from hers, to the point of being able to reach across the alleyway and shake hands with a neighbor, 12 floors up from the ground. Whatever, these things happen and the apartment across the way had been empty the whole 9 months she'd lived here.

Not anymore, and maybe he'd moved in a few weeks ago – she didn't make a habit of opening her windows very often, liking the freedom to dress – or undress – however she liked in the safety of her home.

“Pet? Hello?” Her childhood friend tried to catch her attention through the phone.

The walls in the other apartment had been painted a quiet green color and there was artwork up, and – clearly someone had been living there for a few weeks in fact. And clearly someone else liked wearing – or not – whatever they liked in their apartment.

“This prick is trying to ruin my life, I swear, Astrid, I don't know what I've done to deserve this.” Petra informs her friend. She patted herself on the back for sounding so calm, and reasonable too. So few people would, faced with this level of shit from the universe.

“....Coffee shop guy? He's still bugging you? That was at noon-” Astrid started, a frown clear in her voice. There was the no-nonsense girl she'd gone to school with.

“And he's living in the apartment building next to mine!” Petra doesn't bother hiding her scandalized tone. This was too. Damn. Far, Universe.

“....No way.” Astrid scoffed. “It just looks like him, definitely.”

“How many assholes have that haircut?” Oh fuck, was he built, too. He'd obviously just finished a shower, hair hanging limp and damp over one side of his skull. Clearly, someone had trouble remembering that they'd opened their blinds for the rest of the world to stare into their home. What a self-absorbed-

“...I guess. You're not going to do anything, are you, because-”

“I'll finish talking about Neya in a bit, okay? Or text her, lemme know it how goes, bye!” She tossed the phone on the couch, not bothering to actually hang up – Astrid would take care of that, and she went over to the window.

The jerk was definitely some type of bodybuilder or something because his abs had abs and there was a sharp V-cut disappearing below the belt of too-tight pants. His existence was flying in the face of some ancient rule. Definitely. She set her jaw and went searching through her apartment, finally finding some river-pebbles she had bought for an aquarium she'd never set up. She leaned out her window and tossed one at his window.

Nothing.

Another one, then, and it pinged satisfyingly against the window, before clattering down to the street below.

The coffee-shop-jerk looked up from toweling off his hair. Looked around – as if the sound could come from anywhere but the window, obviously – and then spotted her mid-throw of a third pebble.

There was a moment where he stared like he wasn't sure what he was seeing. Great, handsome and slow on the uptake. Truly, his existence flew in the face of everything just in the world.

Then the guy opened his window. “Hi?” He said uncertainly. Like he wasn't sure where this was going.

Well. If she was honest.

Well, maybe she hadn't thought this through.

She took too long to think of anything witty to say – demanding he put a shirt on didn't have a whole lot of pep to it and besides-

“....Can I help you?” The guy tried again.

“....I just didn't know if you realized your curtains were wide open. There might be creepers watching.” She finally said. Wrong thing to say. Oh, was Stefan rubbing off on her now?

He blinked. Offered a lop-sided grin. “I think I can handle it. But.... thanks?”

“...Sure.” She frowned and didn't move from the window.

“You're from the coffee shop, right? Curtain Call Coffee?” The guy asked after a moment.

Well, with her bright purple hair, clearly she hadn't been missed either. “Nope. Must be thinking of someone else.” She said deadpanned. Maybe if she aimed just right she could nail him in his stupid perfect face. Would that be assault?

“Clearly. Well, damn. I was actually trying to work up the courage to talk to that girl. It would have felt-” he was self-censoring. She could practically see him grab some words back mid-air. Curiousity stirred in the back of her brain, wondering what those words would be if they escaped. He had a nice voice. Another unfair strike against him. “Would have felt pretty lucky, finding out I'm neighbors with her too.”

“World's not that small,” she quipped. Patted herself on the back for that one. No, the world wasn't that small, but clearly, a fan of pretty unlikely odds.

“....My name's Dyllan. Pretty old-school of you, throwing rocks at a window.” He grinned.

“Don't get used to it.” She commented mildly. “Petra. Definitely not the girl that takes lunch breaks at Curtain Call.”

“Clearly not.” Dyllan said agreeably, folding his arms on his window sill. Watching her curiously. “Which is a shame, I'd ask that girl if I could buy her coffee sometime, and maybe share a lunch break sometime.”

“....Well, that's definitely a shame.” She set the rest of her pebbles on the outside window sill. She wouldn't do this again. This wasn't the sort of mess she got into. She hated rom-coms and this was reeking like one. “Because I mean, I definitely won't be at Curtain Call at noon tomorrow.”

What was she doing?

Dyllan brightened. She, for a moment, thought of a particularly energetic puppy. What a weird image. “Well, I.... won't look for you. I guess.”

He was still stupid and definitely too handsome to exist. Maybe Astrid needed to check on her sanity. Or would Stefan be a better judge...

“Sounds like a plan.” She pushed away from the window.

“Hey!” The new neighbor waved at her, stopping her. Petra paused, watching him. After a moment... “Are you burning something in there? That's a lot of smoke,” he said. Sounding concerned.

“Downstairs neighbor flunked out of culinary school. Put on a shirt.” She said and left the window before she could say anything else stupid.

---

Lunch was two coffees with just enough sugar in them, a pastry cut in half, and a lot of snark.

---

Petra put a little terracota planter full of river-pebbles on her windowsill two weeks later, and had a new contact at the top of her contact list. Dyllan was weird – mysterious about work and his past, but charming and eager like he hadn't had someone to talk to for a while now – and what was Petra but a kind-hearted soul, available for talking when she wasn't working.

She definitely wouldn't take him out on a date or anything.

At least not for another month. Gotta make the masses want it, first.

30, Tony - Superior Iron Man

Burn everything you love/Then burn the ashes

I’m gonna be honest, I’ve never actually read most of Superior Iron Man, so this is just my take, I guess? Song is:

My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark

There’s a channel on the news dedicating entirely to Avalon now. All day and all night cameras and satellites watch Tony Stark’s sky island as the air cruisers carrying hundreds of one-in-a-million passengers ferry to and from the city.

The people that go in aren’t always rich. In fact, most of them aren’t. Most of them are average, everyday, living average, everyday, boring lives. Of course, Tony caters to the clientele. Every world leader has gone. Even Carol has been, though Stark kept her to one of the smaller islands anchored below Avalon. 

The rich, the powerful, they come back the same. But the others - they come back different. They never say they had a good time - most can’t even remember the majority of the seven-day maximum time allowed spent there. ‘It changed my life,’ is the common theme. They’re maybe a little bit smarter, a little bit tougher, maybe they can move things with their mind if they’re not focussing.

They all talk about Stark as if he’s god.

No one stops it. No one would, would they? Tony Stark saved the world. He beat back the Shi’ar just when all hope seemed lost. They are in his debt, and he is collecting.

He rules the world, and he does it with such nonchalance. Countries place embargoes on trading with him and he shuts down their early-warning defense systems until they back down. SHIELD sends him warnings and a thousand drones wearing Iron Man’s old face land on the helicarrier for a friendly chat. Latveria, Atlantis, they launch small attacks that are destroyed. Stark films the body bags that he personally loads into helicopters to send back home and broadcasts it worldwide.

“Let it never be said that I am against ideas,” he says to the camera, his smile at one-million watts and like nothing you’ve ever seen. “Just you getting the wrong ones. We here in Avalon are only interested in a peaceful future. Can your leaders say the same?”

With a few honeyed words and a glimpse at a carefully controlled paradise, Stark changes the world. People kill for tickets upwards, and Maria Hill tells you one day that those particular people never come back down. Admiration for Avalon turns to imitation.

You seethe as you watch it happen slowly. Stark never needed bombs or secrets or lies to destroy the world. He never needed to betray you and all the rest of your friends. This was within his grasp the whole time.

It would be better if Stark was miserable. If he was lonely up on his island, surrounded by strangers. But you have never seen Tony so happy. He comes down to mingle with the common folk every once in awhile and he wheels and deals and manipulates everything to go his way, he drinks and never gets drunk, he smiles and laughs and has orgies he doesn’t even try to hide and he is so happy. All the things that used to weight him down, the guilt, the self-loathing, they haven’t disappeared, that’s not how the inversion worked. They’re just not important to him anymore. Along with everything that made him a hero. His thoughtfulness, his compassion. His fear of going too far. 

He works better, faster, quicker than ever before. He has never looked healthier. His former friends won’t speak with him. Pepper Potts won’t deal with him, though Stark Enterprise is never punished like the rest. When last he came down, Rhodes punched him in the face and Tony just laughed as the bruise healed before their eyes, clapped Jim on the shoulder and told him he was getting old. You have talked to him yourself, fought with him, multiple times, but he disarms you easily with words and tech. You hate him. You tell him so, as ardently and as often as you can. And he shrugs.

He’s burned every bridge he ever built. He has lost everything he once had, all his friends, his family, his team. He is utterly alone. And he is so happy.

You wonder if that’s why SHIELD is slow to act, as well. They’ve seen the evidence detailing experimentation, the satellite shots of Avalon showing massive fabrication plants spewing out robots. But Stark does nothing but build and tinker and rule over his tiny little world. He is content.

Until another Avalon appears.

Camelot is smaller, hanging around the Mediterranean Sea. Stark announces it as the daughter of Avalon (he is the son. He is the sun. He is the once and future king. You get it, Tony. Please stop.). Maria Hill suspects this new one won’t be the last. You think, of course. Stark could never quite bear living in this world. Of course he has to build his own.

Stark is staying in Camelot for the next week. It isn’t even finished, no defenses, no inhibitors in the air, nothing to prevent the small strike team you assemble from going in and taking him out.

By any means necessary.

I sound like you, you rage. You’re remaking the whole world to be just like you.

(At least you’ll die happy.)

You sneak on board with Black Widow, Spider-Woman, Sue Storm, and Hank Pym. The team is beset upon by drones, but the others push you to keep moving. Old enemies have taught you well. Cut off one head and two more shall take its place. You have to take out the heart.

Stark is in his control room, all sleek and modern and strangely comfortable. He is clad, as he always is, in his silver-white armor, though he has long since ditched the headpiece. “Hey, you made it!” he says when he spots you. He smiles so brightly you want to shield your eyes and tuts at you. “You didn’t come here to fight, did you?”

“I came here to stop you,” you respond flatly, sinking into a fighter’s stance. 

“But…why?” Tony laughs, but somewhere under there is genuine confusion. “I’m not hurting anybody - well, even if I am, I make them all better. Beauty from pain, aren’t I right?”

“You’re kidnapping people - experimenting on them -”

“Everyone comes to me of their own free will,” Tony corrects, his mouth flattening. “I’ve got 1.2 millions emails in my inbox right now from people all over the world begging me for a place on Camelot. They’re desperate. I’m helping them. I’m doing more good than I ever have before. Why would you want to stop this?”

“Because it isn’t right,” you shout, and you just wish Stark would show you something, give you a sign. Your old friend, your partner, he’s still in there somewhere and you just want to see him one last time.

And for a moment, Tony’s face darkens, and you have a ridiculous hope that you’ve gotten to him before he sighs, loud and theatrical. “That argument? Again? You never learn, do you. You never listen.” There are repulsors whining to life and Stark is levitating as his eyes glow blue. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s an old dog who can’t learn new tricks. In my opinion, there’s nothing to be done for them. They have no place in this world; they must simply be put down.” He fires and you dodge and the fight begins.

You want to go back five years - no, ten - no -

How many years have the two of you been broken? How many times did one of you or the other just put the pieces back together and hope against hope that the picture of your friendship held?

There is a searing pain through your abdomen and you look down at the hole gaping there. Stark has stopped dead, something like surprise flitting across his face. “I can fix that,” he says blankly, but it sounds like its coming from very far away. You’re on your knees, your hands, then the ground rises up to meet you. 

You see a red and gold robot out of the corner of your eye. “Shellhead,” you try to say through a mouthful of blood, and then it all goes dark.

He stops breathing just a few seconds later. Seconds where you could have been active, injecting him with Extremis, boosting the super soldier serum to new heights. He would heal in an instant.

He dies instead. You watch.

It had been so long since you fought anything, you have forgotten your own strength. You didn’t mean to. You would never want to kill him. He had annoyed you, but he always had. You used to like it.

The drones are reporting that the stealth squad has been forced off the island. Its just you, them, and the body. You should get back to work, but - the body - you should do something with the body -

You are wracked with indecision. You’ve forgotten what this felt like; how much you hated it. How much you hated yourself for it. You look at the body and it all comes screaming back. Extremis shoves it down but the taste of bile remains in your mouth.

Your perfect new world, and now all you’re going to remember is this.

“Steve,” you say, and your voice holds a note of something that you thought you’d programmed out months ago. “Steve, you’re ruining it.”