Anonymous asked: heyyyyy, i would love an exr au where one of them has to teach the other how to dance and it's so frustrating because "he won't fucking cooperate" and there's the deal with sexual tension so one of them just snaps and. . . i'll let you decide their fate ;)))) (love your work btw)
Heeeeeeey,
sorry this took a little while, life…is happening to me. But!
Abuse of the fact that Grantaire is canonically a dancer! Sexual tension! Here we go!
“One-two-three,
one-two-three, that’s-my-foot, one-two-three, one-two—Enjolras!” Grantaire huffed,
doing an awkward sort of two-step to back up without releasing his grip on his
partner’s hand and waist. “There are actually nerve endings in my toes,
do you mind?”
“I’m trying, you’re not telling me what to
do!” Enjolras scowled down at the floor,
brow furrowed as he tried to place his feet, and tugged his hand out of
Grantaire’s. Grantaire released him
without a fight, dropping his hand from Enjolras’ hip and immediately missing
the warmth.
“It’s a waltz, not brain surgery,” Grantaire
said. “I told you what to do when we
started. There are literally three steps
to this dance.” Enjolras stopped, his
frown deepening until it seemed etched into his face, and Grantaire sighed. “Come here, we can try again,” he said,
holding out his hand again. “Your hand
on my shoulder, the other like this,” he coached, pulling Enjolras in
again. “Come on, Apollo,” he said with
an attempt at an encouraging smile, “weren’t you valedictorian in high school? You can do a waltz.”
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So I got this ask from my darling @twistedangelsays and I wrote this entire thing, and then realized that I’d written five thousand words for a headcanons ask. Soooo now it’s getting posted separately. I might crosspost it to AO3 if Adler hassles me into it and/or there’s interest in that. Once again: Tarsus IV warnings, and even thought this is…pretty calm comparatively speaking, it’s still under a cut.
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lathori asked: Okay, so I just saw Star Trek tonight and spent an hour talking to you about it. I literally cannot believe I am doing this. I am already suffering because of your other Star Trek headcannons but I guess I'm just a fucking masochist. So, my dear Bones, give me (at least) five headcannons on how Tarsus IV happens in the alternate new Star Trek trilogy universe. <3 Your Kirk
HA, and people say I’m the twisted one.
Fortunately for you, I am a wee bit of a sadist, and I love talking about
Tarsus IV, so heeeere we go. I WAS going to do five people finding out about Tarsus, but that turned into a five thousand word monster so instead here are just some headcanons. For those of you who aren’t aware, Tarsus was
a famine and genocide, which Jim Kirk survived as a kid—basically, if you can
think of a content warning, it applies, thus: everything is under the cut.
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sroloc--elbisivni asked: *whispers* your original fic slays me it is lovely and gorgeous and the characters are so alive and vivid and downright delightful would it be presumptuous to ask for some of your favorite headcanons re: Polaris characters?
H O N E Y, I love you so much right now, fucking YES you can ask me about my original writing. Original writing is everything to me, and my ridiculous gay revolutionaries are just…I love them a lot. Also the best part is that I’m the author, fuck the man, my headcanons are fucking CANON. OKAY. This got HELLA LONG, I’m so sorry, I ramble about this shit. Let this be a lesson about asking writers about their original characters: it leads to LENGTHY responses.
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It makes me feel really warm and fuzzy when people like or reblog my original writing! I just wanted to tell my followers who’ve been going through my writing tag lately that I appreciate the fuck out of all of you guys.
Anonymous asked: Headcanons for your Claire Temple Ao3 fic? Maybe five random run ins Claire has with superheroes while not on the clock saving their lives. Also, since I know you are a bastard, preferably /funny/ or happy run ins. Try to rein in the pain, agony inc.
Oh God, that’s right, that fic exists. For those of you who are new to the party,
it’s this, and I haven’t updated it in literal months, for which I am formally
sorry. In unrelated news, yes I am a
bastard, and Agony Inc. is my new favorite thing, I will be tagging all
upsetting writing as such.
- There’s actually
tentative plans for this to be a sister-fic, but since it’ll obviously take me
a millennium to write that, here: Superhero Adjunct Drinking Night, facilitated
by Natasha Romanoff (who won’t hear argument that she’s a superhero, and therefore part of the problem) and enabled by Pepper Potts’ gold card. It starts after Natasha comes and gets Claire
to help her fish Clint out of a dumpster, and when Natasha turns up not a week
later Claire’s first response is to grab her first aid kit. Instead, Natasha waves her down, hands her a
jacket, and steers her out of the apartment and drives to a bar—it feels more
like a kidnapping than getting drinks with friends, but Natasha generously pays
for drinks all night, and Claire could stand a few more kidnappings like
this. This proceeds to happen about once
a week for two months, at which point Claire gets a call from an unknown number
on her personal cell, and a polite voice asks, “Would you mind if I accompanied
Natasha to your girls’ night tonight?”
Pepper proves to be a riotously funny drunk, with enough stories about
her time as Tony’s PA to keep them laughing too. The next time Claire treats Jessica for acute
failure to demonstrate the common sense God gave a squirrel (technical terms)
and sees Malcolm silently working up a stress ulcer, she invites him out with
them—he gets juice rather than liquor, but he’s witty and wry and only a little
starstruck, all in all a good addition. Karen
is the next addition, after she spends a full hour shouting at Matt while
Claire stitches him up, and it’s lucky that she doesn’t bring Foggy that first
week, because there’s a deeply
awkward moment where she and Natasha eye each other like feral wolves and greet
each other by strange names. “Vasilisa,”
Natasha says, “I thought you were dead.” Karen bares her teeth politely and replies, “Natalia, I thought you were
a better spy.” Pepper looks up at the ceiling
like she’s praying for strength and orders an entire bottle of vodka, setting
it between the two other redheads like an olive branch. All is calm, after that, although the two are
eerily alike, dark gallows humor flecking their speech. Foggy comes, the next week, then a woman
named Candace who drops into a chair like she belongs there and introduces herself
as ‘an ex of an X-Man’ and snickers at their faces, then a dark-haired
twenty-something in glasses who complains about Asgardians, then a cranky blind
woman who refuses to talk about her roommate….
It snowballs pretty bad, is the point, and it gets to the point where
Pepper is comfortably dropping a grand on drinks. Claire likes it, though, it’s the most normal
thing she’s handled lately.
- Also: she’s not
sure how anyone finds out about Superhero Adjunct Drinking Night, but
apparently it’s sovereign, because
through mysterious happenings there’s never once an attack or other disaster on
the night in question, even though they’re a perfect target for any
enterprising villain in the mood for hostages.
“Mysteries of the life,” Claire says dryly. “Another round of tequila, I think.”
- Claire definitely sees Steve Rogers in her
preferred grocery store. Actually, she
sees him in her preferred grocery store a
lot, so much that she corners him and interrogates him about who made him
follow her. He looks pretty alarmed—for a
six-foot-plus brick house, he does ‘alarmed’ remarkably well—and sheepishly
admits that if he gets groceries anywhere closer to the city center and the
Tower, he gets accosted. Hell’s Kitchen
is a little out of his way, but apparently it’s worth it for a few minutes of peace. Claire huffs, grabs the cheap box of cereal
he’d tossed into his basket, and informs him that if he’s shopping on seventy
years of back pay he can afford to get the name brand stuff that doesn’t taste
like paper. They see each other about every
other week, and Claire works really hard not to laugh at his offended tirade
about bananas.
- Claire’s pretty much
over the shock of having someone knock on her bedroom window, which is
inaccessible by human means and on the fourth floor besides, but she’s used to
having it happen at night, not three in the afternoon. But she opens it, lets the person—people—through
and starts working up to a lecture about how she gives them a phone number for
a reason before she realizes that it’s just Peter, sitting on her floor, apparently
uninjured and dressed in civvies and dripping dismally onto the carpet from the
downpour. “You could’ve been seen,” she
says automatically, and he slants a look up at her through the floppy locks of
wet hair falling into his face—it’s pouring, and has been for hours, so it’s
unlikely anyone was exactly paying enough attention to see a kid crawl down a
building. “Mind if I hang out here for a
couple hours?” he asks, and when she doesn’t answer immediately he flicks his
hair out of his face, looking uncomfortable, and adds, “Um, it’s the
anniversary of my uncle’s death and my aunt’s not home and I…didn’t really want
to stay there alone.” Claire sighs and
throws a towel at his face, and walks out into her kitchen, calling back to
grab some dry clothes out of her closet before he gets her couch wet. She’s no great shakes in the kitchen, but she
can make tea, so she does, the chamomile blend Abuela gives her in vast
quantities as a remedy for stress. Peter
sits on her couch in sweats that are about four sizes too big—most of her spare
clothes are for people who aren’t nineteen—and
drinks the tea in silence and watches a Harry Potter marathon on TV while
Claire lays out her first aid kit and sorts through it on the floor. When she joins him on the couch, he leans his
head onto her shoulder and falls asleep, face twisted into a frown and his hair
drying into cowlicks. She sighs, the
deep, from-the-soles-of-her-feet, why-does-this-happen-to-me sigh she perfected
after the second time Matt called her, and shifts them so that Peter’s head is
in her lap and her hand is in his hair.
It eases the frown, so maybe it’s okay that this specific thing is
happening to her.
- This is how Claire
Temple meets Frank Castle, AKA the Punisher, AKA a dead guy: she gets a
date. She goes on the date. She brings the date back to her place. She finds a tall and menacing guy standing
outside the door of her apartment building, dressed in a long coat and a
shoulder holster and a black eye under his military buzz cut. He stops her date with a look like steel and
offers Claire a file without a word, and she takes it, because that’s what her
life is turning into these days. The
file is either a threat (unlikely, because Buzz Cut Man is armed and hasn’t
directly threatened her yet) or something that someone thinks will help her
(more likely, because Buzz Cut Man is glaring at her date like he’s pissed him
off personally rather than standing there and looking pale and scared), so she
opens it because either way, it is what it is.
It turns out that the file is a terrifyingly
complete background check on her date, all the way back to grade school and
annotated by three people, and includes his marriage certificate, with a
post-it note in Karen’s tidy handwriting that says ‘no divorce in the works.’ Claire sighs—the guy seemed like a pretty bad
lay anyway, too narcissistic—and closes the file. “You,” she tells her date, “go home to your
wife and ask for a fucking divorce if you’re going to sleep around anyway. You,” she tells Buzz Cut Man, “can come
inside and I’ll give you some ice to put on that eye. And tell Karen and Natasha that I can vet my
own dates.” He mutters something, and stands
to attention when she arches an eyebrow at him.
“You can tell them,” he
repeats, and she snorts.
- And a sneak peek of
the next chapter, if I ever have time to write the damn thing: Claire has a lot
of friends in the medical field, and even though she hasn’t spoken much to this
particular friend since undergrad, the Organic Chemistry bond is real, so when
her friend calls, Claire answers. Her
friend helps run a women’s health clinic that offers abortions and has been
facing increasingly aggressive harassment, not to mention their financial
problems, and she’s been calling around looking for anyone, anyone at all, who’s
willing to help protect the women trying to get into the clinic. Claire’s response is “Well, I’ll see what I
can do, and I’ll come up on my next day off.”
And then she calls Jessica, because Jessica knows everyone, and
explains, and Jessica’s whole response is “Leave it to me.” So when Claire goes up to help out on her
next day off, she’s more than a little surprised to find Captain America, Luke
Cage, and Colossus all standing in front of the doors and looking solemn. Not nearly as surprised as her old friend,
though, who’s talking to Natasha and Kitty and a blonde woman—is that Trish Walker, Claire wonders, making a
mental note to invite her to the Drinking Nights—and looks about a second from
fainting.
- “Claire, who the
fuck are these people?” her friend hisses when the protesters start turning up
and Steve, Forties charm in full swing, offers his arm to the first girl he
sees, shooting a venomous look over her head at the closest sign-bearing man.
- “Uh,” Claire
says blankly as she catches a familiar pair of figures on a nearby roof—one horned,
one sleek and bright red and blue. “My…friends?”
Anonymous asked: Your Enjoltaire "superpower compliments soulmate" headcannon has given me liFE AND I AM FOREVER IN DEBT TO U. Jesus Christ, ur amazing.
Oh my God thank you so much, I’m glad you liked it! Honestly I think I’m still in shock from how popular that thing got, I keep expecting to wake up. But, if you are interested, there’s more ExR fic here, and more of my writing generally here, and I’m always taking requests for headcanons/ficlets/other stuff!
skymurdock asked: Star Wars/Star Trek? pls imagine Han and Jim having the weirdest friendly rivalry ever bc Han maintains the Millennium Falcon is the Best Ship and Jim maintains the Enterprise should have that honor.
I
just got out of Beyond last night and I am DRUNK on the Star Trek thing right
now. LET’S GO. I did a little more with the crews than the ships but like. Yeah.
- The thing about
exploring space is that it’s big, but
not infinite. So sooner or later the final frontier pushes
right up to the raggedy edge of a galaxy far far away. Specifically, a ramshackle ship at the outermost
edge of Republic space. (They’re on a
sort of ‘remember the good old days when the three of us plus Chewie and a
couple droids were on the fucking run’ sort of trip. Han doesn’t know why he’s doing this but
sure, Leia, for old time’s sake, something like that, and Luke just looked at
him and blinked and somehow the farmboy eyes still work on him after all this
time.) The Enterprise sees it on its radar and…well, to be completely honest,
Spock takes one look at the readings and announces that there appears to be a
ship in distress. They go investigate—the
Enterprise makes the Falcon look like a slightly haphazard
guppy beside a sleek and shining whale, a sheer wall of matte white kissed with
space dust. (Inside the Falcon, everyone has a completely
independent moment of holyfuckingkriff we’re
going to war again before the polite text hail comes through and the ship
translates the message.)
- Okay so…it turns out
that Republic Standard and Federation Basic have basically nothing to do with
each other, and the universal translators aren’t in the mood to translate an
entirely foreign language. The crew of
the Falcon and the Enterprise away team spend a good long while
cycling through every language they know (and with Uhura with them, that number
is prodigious) before they figure out
that there seems to be at least a degree of commonality between Bocce and Ferengi,
and between an archaic Vulcan dialect that even Spock barely knows and an
equally dated Naboo dialect that Leia knows a few scraps of and C-3PO knows a
few more scraps of (Padmé believed in knowing her planet’s history). They cobble together a pidgin that at least
lets them introduce themselves while half the engineering team scrambles to
clap together a translator. (It takes
two hours and Scotty is bursting with
pride over the thing, which turns Basic into Standard and back again with no trouble
at all.)
- First contact with a
foreign Republic: pretty much par for the course for the Enterprise, and hey, they have a Senator of said Republic right there, so for Kirk and his crew
this is going great. They have a war
hero, a general in the military, and a political figure on hand, in addition to
a droid loaded with a massive amount of history and a soldier. The Falcon’s
crew is pretty much exactly the diplomatic cadre most planets send out to meet
the Federation, so it doesn’t even occur to them that they’ve pretty much caught
the Falcon with their pants down. The Falcon
isn’t a diplomatic vessel on the best of days, and even if it was, the Republic
hasn’t made a business of making first contact with anyone in quite a long time.
So when a clutch of various aliens—including humans, who aren’t so alien after all, and ain’t that a kick in the
head, as Han says—in brightly colored uniforms introduces themselves as members
of Star Fleet, representatives of something called the United Federation of
Planets…that’s new. Leia pushes Han out
of the way with an elbow, and shuts Luke up with a glance, and does her best to
look Senatorly and In Control.
- By the end of a few
hours’ meeting, there’s a tentative alliance drawn up and a friendship in place
between Leia and Jim, who, Bones and Han agree, have bonded over being reckless
idealists too stubbornly brave for their own health. Spock interrogates Luke at length about the
Force—fascinating, he pronounces at
once—and is disappointed to find out that the Jedi have largely been wiped out
will all their information. (Luke, on
the other hand, is a little dazed from the rapid-fire queries and thinks that,
if all Vulcans are so emotionless, it’s probably for the best that the Jedi
never met them, because can you imagine
if that was the Jedi standard for emotional control. Also, Luke is smarter than your average
bantha, thanks, and knows a telepath when he sees one, so he makes a mental
note to look into testing the Vulcans for Force-sensitivity, if he can figure
out how the hell to do it.) Uhura corners
3PO and commands him to start teaching her Republic Standard. She makes terrifying
progress, and also learns enough Shyriiwook to understand Chewbacca’s careful
and kind farewell (C-3PO is in love, he’s
never met someone so brilliant in his entire existence, he almost follows her
home like a lost puppy).
- Regarding the ships: Jim
is very polite about the Falcon
because there’s just no point in being rude about other people’s ships when yours
is so evidently the best in the
universe—honestly, if Han tried to insult his ship, Jim’s response would be a
blank expression and “Are you blind? We
can have Bones look at that.” Han
grumbles a bit, but he’s not an idiot, and the Falcon is a damn good ship, he mutters, even if she’s not
flashy. (It should be noted that, here, ‘not
flashy’ means ‘occasionally unwilling to hit hyperspeed without some serious
antics,’ which is kind of the equivalent of saying, about a car, that ‘not
flashy’ means ‘hope you don’t want a second gear that works all the time.’) So the two captains get along pretty well,
because if there’s anyone that Han Don’t-Tell-Me-The-Odds Solo is going to
click with, it’s Jim Rules-What-Rules Kirk.
Scotty, on the other hand, is
apoplectic the first time he hears Han compare the Falcon to the Enterprise. That bucket of bolts! Falling apart at the seams! Compared to his lady! The Falcon
is unworthy to pass through her ion wake!
Chekov sees the Chief of Engineering puff up and Jim shoots him a look,
and Chekov claps a hand over Scotty’s mouth, towing him out of the room with
Sulu. Han’s back is turned and the nod
Luke gives, to say nothing of the hidden smirk, suggests that he won’t be
telling, so Jim has avoided, once more, starting a diplomatic incident because
of Scotty’s determination to defend the Enterprise’s
honor. This is a fairly regular occurrence,
and a large part of the reason that Scotty is on probation from diplomatic
missions.
- Bonus sixth headcanon: Jim is the most fucking Force-sensitive. They find this out because Luke, still
half-trained and a bit prone to error, brushes a brief mental probe across his
mind and gets thrown out with all the violence of hitting warp three from a
dead halt. Luke asks where his mental
shields came from and Jim gives him a blank look and Luke has a moment of horrible
revelation: he’s not only going to have to scrounge up some teaching ability,
he’s going to have to comb an entire
Federation for Force-sensitives.
When the nav officer—Chekov—sees the look of appalled shock on his face
and politely offers brandy, with the additional remark that the Captain can have that effect, Luke takes him up on it.
A 5 Headcanons request from @littlestartopaz. “Okay, let’s see…. New Star Trek world, where old Kirk came
through with old Spock.”
Oh
my God I love it, it would be a mess, we’re gonna do double headcanons for it,
I love these guys. We’re gonna need a
read-more on this sucker, and I swear to God that this is only ten headcanons, but it got so out of hand.
- Through methods
unknown but probably involving the Nexus, ex-Admiral James T. Kirk got snatched
off the bridge of the Enterprise just
before the collapse that would have killed him, and between one blink and
another he’s on a sleek silver-and-white ship with an elderly Vulcan at the
controls, bursting out of…what, a black hole?
Maybe he’s dead after all, because what
the fuck.
- “Who the hell
are you?” Kirk blurts before he can think it through, and the Vulcan spins
around like…well, like a human,
startled and alarmed.
- “Jim?” the Vulcan demands after a long
pause, and that look of unsuccessfully repressed shock is familiar.
- “Spock?” Kirk half-shouts. And then they’re being sucked into a giant tentacled
ship and it’s suddenly very hard to figure out what’s going on, what with the
swarms of Romulans and everything.
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girlonstage asked: I have been feeling a desire for a happy Pepper and Tony fic, and if you wrote that, most certainly read and enjoy it. Also, hello! Hope your day had a thing that made you smile really wide :D
Mmmm well I got to get dinner on the dime of my summer program, all the students in it were there and the bill was pushing $400 and I spent the whole time talking with a few people including this dazzlingly gorgeous (although probably straight) girl in the program, so THAT was good, you are so sweet. I’ll admit I’m pretty tired to toss off a ficlet right now (between work and socializing and starting editing on one of my Actual Real Completed Novels, I have exactly zero brain), BUT, I’ll tell you about one fic I kind of want for this pairing.
Okay, so if I wrote this thing I would call it “Twelve” and it would be literally just happy, there would be very little angst, which is…probably why I haven’t gotten around to writing it, let’s call a spade a spade. But it would be all the times the number twelve has appeared in Tony and Pepper’s relationship, and I’m sure I’d come up with more while I wrote the thing, but here are a few that would definitely make the cut (with a total disregard for official timeline).
- THE FIRST TIME: Tony has fired…so many personal assistants, okay, and definitely a few quit on grounds of “HE IS IMPOSSIBLE” after finding him asleep half-under a car or after he took apart their coffee machine or something, so Peggy Carter (I’ll fight you for Peggy as Tony’s quirky British aunt) is like “I’m going to handle this, kid,” and gets ahold of the massive list of Stark Industries employees and starts sifting through them for potentials. Once she has her list of possible candidates, she hacks into Tony’s work (actually she has his password because she knows him and he might be a genius but he’s also sentimental) and changes one value in a file he’s about to send out and makes sure it’s going to go to all of her selected candidates and ships it out. The next day a woman in a pair of ruthless heels with a stubborn set to her jaw and orange hair marches into Tony’s office and announces that there’s a mistake in his math–it’s 0.12 off.
- ANOTHER TIME: So Pepper’s been considering quitting because her boss is…Tony Stark, and like even once he shapes up that’s got to be stressful, and she’s only been working for him for a few months at this point. So she takes a few minutes to steel herself and goes down to the lab and finds him drinking, which is…normal, honestly, but he’s not doing anything and the bots are all quiet and he’s just sitting there getting drunk and he looks so pathetic that she can’t bring herself to just quit. Pepper sits down next to him on the lab bench and he says hi, very quiet, and she asks what’s wrong, because Pepper’s like that, and he admits quietly that it’s the anniversary of his parents’ death. She should have known this, in retrospect, because the death of Howard Stark was BIG NEWS, but still: kind of slipped her mind. And he just sighs, this deep bone-shaking sigh, and leans to the side until he reaches her shoulder and says even quieter that it’s been twelve years now (he looks maybe twenty-ish in the flashback at the start of Civil War?), and Pepper decides she can put off quitting until tomorrow.
- ANOTHER TIME: Pepper turns in her resignation twelve times. She also storms in to snatch the letter out of his hands and chew him out for his latest transgression and snarl “Of course I’m not quitting” when he reaches for the letter twelve times. She stops somewhere around the two year mark.
- ANOTHER TIME: During Iron Man. Tony’s been missing for twelve days. Pepper has been handling media relations that whole time–she hasn’t cracked her perfectly smooth professional face once. She locks herself into her office, orders JARVIS to keep everyone out, and cries for two hours that twelfth day.
- ANOTHER TIME: The twelve percent thing in Avengers? Yeah, that’s a running joke, what percent of the Tower Pepper’s responsible for, there would be a bit dealing with that.
- ANOTHER TIME: I don’t fucking know, like, how much do you think the Chitauri damage is going to cost to fix? It’s fairly localized damage, but it’s impressive. So Tony and Pepper have a chat and they decide to donate twelve million dollars to the reconstruction effort, in addition to other stuff.
- THE LAST TIME: Tony takes Pepper out for dinner and reserves the whole restaurant because he DOES actually learn from his mistakes and Pepper doesn’t love being made a public spectacle, and after the meal when she’s looking down at the dessert menu he sets a black velvet box on the table with a ring in it. The ring has a central sapphire–as blue as the dress ‘he’ got her for her birthday–surrounded by twelve minuscule diamonds. She says yes.
