words-writ-in-starlight:
For @littlestartopaz, with the prompt “Your technomancer has a nightmare about the
electric-user and decides checking on her is the best way to calm down. But the
electric user wakes up before she can leave.”
All right kids
quick rundown of the shit you need to know (because these are characters from
one of the as-yet-untitled novels I’m writing, not fandom-access
characters). It’s set in a near future
where…basically Trump wins the presidency and sets himself up as a
dictator. We’re about 18 years down the
line from the guy (Stone) getting elected and shit’s gone to hell in a pretty
big way. People are getting deported,
people are reporting their neighbors to the police, whole families are vanishing
overnight. If you’re LGBT, non-white,
non-Christian, an immigrant, or an outspoken supporter of any of those things,
you’re in deep shit and a candidate for being disappeared. The novel revolves around Max, who is part of
a rebel organization called Polaris (largely made up of the people listed
above) and who is one of a few people who’ve started to pop up with superhuman
abilities. The existence of these
people—she calls them ‘blues’ and since she was the first one Polaris found,
they go with it—is pretty much an urban legend, largely because the government
has that shit on lock. Max’s ability
allows her to manipulate technology with her mind and make it do…basically
whatever she wants. Her (eventual)
girlfriend Lessa Stone is the daughter of the Trump-equivalent dictator, who
broke Max out of a holding cell and joined Polaris. Lessa, besides being gay as FUCK, is also a
blue, with the ability to generate a massive electrical current in her body and
project it as lightning bolts. So
basically I’m writing a novel that can be summarized as “girlfriends with
superpowers join a cast of LGBT people and PoC to smash the patriarchy.” This snippet takes place sometime between
Lessa joining Polaris and the two of them getting together properly (Lessa has
Some Issues to sort out regarding her sexuality, shockingly).
I shuddered awake, panting. The room was black around me, nothing to
reorient myself, and my hands shook as I reached out and fumbled with the lamp
on the floor next to my cot until the bulb flared to life.
Keep reading
Reblog for the next day even though I posted this at a perfectly reasonable hour because Adler told me to start doing that. And she has learned that if you needle me about my writing until I’m really flustered and then immediately hit me with a command about my writing, the command gets followed.
For @littlestartopaz, with the prompt “Your technomancer has a nightmare about the
electric-user and decides checking on her is the best way to calm down. But the
electric user wakes up before she can leave.”
All right kids
quick rundown of the shit you need to know (because these are characters from
one of the as-yet-untitled novels I’m writing, not fandom-access
characters). It’s set in a near future
where…basically Trump wins the presidency and sets himself up as a
dictator. We’re about 18 years down the
line from the guy (Stone) getting elected and shit’s gone to hell in a pretty
big way. People are getting deported,
people are reporting their neighbors to the police, whole families are vanishing
overnight. If you’re LGBT, non-white,
non-Christian, an immigrant, or an outspoken supporter of any of those things,
you’re in deep shit and a candidate for being disappeared. The novel revolves around Max, who is part of
a rebel organization called Polaris (largely made up of the people listed
above) and who is one of a few people who’ve started to pop up with superhuman
abilities. The existence of these
people—she calls them ‘blues’ and since she was the first one Polaris found,
they go with it—is pretty much an urban legend, largely because the government
has that shit on lock. Max’s ability
allows her to manipulate technology with her mind and make it do…basically
whatever she wants. Her (eventual)
girlfriend Lessa Stone is the daughter of the Trump-equivalent dictator, who
broke Max out of a holding cell and joined Polaris. Lessa, besides being gay as FUCK, is also a
blue, with the ability to generate a massive electrical current in her body and
project it as lightning bolts. So
basically I’m writing a novel that can be summarized as “girlfriends with
superpowers join a cast of LGBT people and PoC to smash the patriarchy.” This snippet takes place sometime between
Lessa joining Polaris and the two of them getting together properly (Lessa has
Some Issues to sort out regarding her sexuality, shockingly).
I shuddered awake, panting. The room was black around me, nothing to
reorient myself, and my hands shook as I reached out and fumbled with the lamp
on the floor next to my cot until the bulb flared to life.
Keep reading
Oh God, here we go. So @littlestartopaz asked me to do all of these for Ouran and…yeah, I’m going to put it under the cut because I like to pretend that I have dignity, sometimes. Please do not read this if you aspire to still have any respect for me at all, and I’m blaming @twistedangelsays because she’s convenient to blame.
Keep reading
For @littlestartopaz: Rogue/anyone really, with AN (“Have I
entered an alternate universe or did you just crack a smile for me?”) from this
post
Remy
LaBeau, it’s gonna be Remy La-Fucking-Beau, because I am shipper trash and
Rogue/Gambit is my hill to die on, y’all.
Also, since Rogue’s life sucks PRETTY BAD, I’m going to try to write
actual fluff tonight. This could be
almost any continuity—I’m kind of visualizing the potential future of the MacAvoy,
Fassbender, et. al. movies, because I saw Apocalypse twice in a week and
that’ll do stuff to you. I don’t really
like writing out accents, so feel free to mentally sub them in—Rogue’s from
Mississippi, Remy’s from New Orleans, in case you didn’t know.
“Oh m’God, who’s
cooking, that is amazing,” Rogue
called as she swept into the mansion and was hit by a wall of smoky-sweet warmth
spilling from the kitchen. “Is that jambalaya? Am I gonna have to do extra Danger Room
sessions or somethin’ for that?”
“That depends, ma chérie,” the man at the stove said,
turning and shooting her a smirk.
“What’re you prepared to do?”
Keep reading
For @littlestartopaz, Wanda/Vision, C (“Please, don’t leave”) and G (“I almost lost
you”) from this, post CA:CW
Time for pain, children.
Blame it on the fact that I found this gloriously accurate post full of
thoughts about Wanda’s stint in the Raft. In which Wanda has some trauma from being wrongfully imprisoned by a bunch of dickheads, and doesn’t talk much anymore.
“Wanda,”
Steve said quietly, wrapping his hand around hers—he had tried to steer her by
an elbow at first, the old habits of the forties coming up under stress, but
she had stumbled back so quickly she’d barely missed falling off a curb. “Come on, let’s go.” He gave a tug and she drifted after him,
silent. He steered her toward the couch
in their newest hideout and she let him push her down until she was sitting
down, her hair pulled back into a tidy braid and her hands linked tightly
together in her lap. A blanket settled
over her shoulders—Sam—and she slowly pulled her legs up to her chest, binding
her arms tightly around her knees.
“We’re
just going to be in the next room, kid,” Sam said, resting one hand on her
shoulder, and waited, as if to give her a space to reply. When she said nothing, he squeezed her
shoulder and followed Steve out of the room.
Wanda waited until they were gone and reached out with her fingers to
catch the blanket and tug the corners over her hands.
Keep reading
Request from @littlestartopaz: I has a Plunnie for thee. Little snit bits between Wanda and Vision at the compound about Vision learning to do things like when it’s okay to go into someone’s room. Or being the only one to knock on the wall like it’s a door. Or that one time he knocked on the floor under her bed because she was having nightmares and scared the shit out of her.
Pre-Civil War, so no spoilers.
“Pardon me, Miss Maximoff, Captain Rogers asked me to–”
“Hey!” Wanda yelped in alarm, casting a hand out toward him. Red light lashed out and left scorch marks on the wall, passing through him harmlessly. He looked startled, eyes widening as he hung there halfway through the solid wall, and she dropped her arm, scowling. “Do you mind?” she asked, tightening her grip on the towel wound around her chest. Her hair dripped down her shoulder, a neat twist, and she could feel each drop of water leaving a cold track over her skin. “It’s polite to knock if someone’s door is closed.”
Keep reading
