Hot Wit:As you can see, Sparky, the scientific developments in the future may be imaginary, but the way they affect us is real. Witshine: Indeed. Aside from the push-button living of a utopian future, just replace “hoverboard” with “jetpack” and you’ll know how I felt. Soul Wit: I wanted to have a cool sword with a laser for a blade, or at least get down at a space disco, but unfortunately, all that would’ve happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away… Witsend: And I always wanted to be the One who lives in a dystopian future where I was awakened from my reality that is actually a simulation, and when I gain confidence in my abilities in the real reality, I could bend the laws of physics and look really cool dodging bullets in slow motion while being shot at by hordes of agents trying to eliminate me! Sparkle Wit: … Witsend: Then again, for all we know, our very reality is a simulation that I’ve yet to be awakened from, which means that I may still have a chance!
For @absnow. Henry/Lizzie from The White Princess Modern AU. ~1,800 words, rated T for now but definitely gonna have an M-rated part II because I know what I’m about. (Title from Pink’s You Make Me Sick because I was born in 1985, okay?)
“Whatever it is, the answer’s no,” Lizzie said with her eyes still on the pile of papers on her desk.
She knew without looking up that Henry’s jaw tensed and his nostrils flared. “It wasn’t a question,” he bit out. “We have to present to the American investors next week. They’ll want to see that we’re working under unified leadership so we’re both going. End of discussion.”
He swanned out of her office and Lizzie waited until he was gone to stick out her tongue. Immature, yes, but Henry Tudor was the bane of her existence. Her father had built York Industries— pardon, Westminster Industries now— out of nothing, only for this nobody to crawl out of some gutter and take it over. She’d be damned if he got all the glory of securing a new line of investment, however, so apparently, she was going to New York. An email from Margaret popped up on her screen, confirming the tickets.
At least he had the sense to book First Class tickets. But still, she wrinkled her nose at the idea of spending several days with no one but his royal-pain-in-the-arseness to deal with, and then returned to signing the contracts. She’d deal with him later.
Why did your mother think she would be welcome on this trip?
Elizabeth stopped stuffing brushes into her makeup bag and groaned. Because this company should be hers, not yours she wanted to scream, but instead she ran her tongue across her teeth and angrily tapped out a response.
Perhaps because she doesn’t trust someone with absolutely no qualifications to run a multinational company like ours.
You mean like mine.
Elizabeth screeched in frustration, the sound echoing around her bathroom.
Buying something doesn’t make it yours. But I can’t imagine someone like you would know that.
How much did your last date cost, by the way?
She felt a vicious surge of satisfaction as the message zoomed away, even if it was a low blow. And truth be told, she was a little annoyed that her mother had tried to talk Margaret into booking her on the trip too— mostly because the optics were terrible— but she understood her mother’s frustration with being out of the loop after running things for so long. Lizzie couldn’t imagine being sidelined like that, and she knew her mother was going mad up in Grafton with nothing to do but raise the little ones. Elizabeth Woodville was not meant to be a housewife, anymore than Lizzie was.
Her phone rattled on the counter with another incoming message.
You’re a brat, did you know that?
Lizzie made another face at her phone— sooner or later she was going to slip up and do it to the man himself, which would not be good— and continued angrily packing.
University was by and large a horrible time for me, I didn’t enjoy the “learning” experience, but I do have some fun and lovely memories. Like my friend K and I racing each other to the top of the Literature Tower (20 flights) and almost passing out/vomiting at the top, my professor trying to bum a smoke from all of us standing outside on a regular basis, and then there was the refectory at the base of the Literature Tower, a little hole in the wall which you had to go through narrow twisting corridors to get to and was rarely busy as a result, but once you where there it was warm and the food was good.
One day my class “Scottish Lit” (an elective, rather than a compulsory, which is more than a little odd considering I was in Scotland, but this is not the time or place to talk about the inherent bigotry in British academia towards the other three countries in the “United” Kingdom) had to be cancelled at the last minute. A bit of a blow considering it was an 8am class and I had to get up at 6 to get there only to find an apology scrawled on the door. It was also my only class of the day. But rather than go home where I would inevitably go back to bed and sleep for the rest of the day, I decided to drop into the refectory for some breakfast before I went. It also just so happened that the new Terry Pratchett book, Going Postal, had just come out that morning, and I’d dropped into Waterstones on my way past to uni. So off I went, traipsing my way through the halls until I found the back alcove where the uni had set up the eating nook. Unfortunately, because I hadn’t planned on eating there I didn’t have enough money for actual food, having spent my last ten quid until pay day on the book and stupidly left my bank card at home. I did however have enough money for a hot chocolate so I got that and told the server to cancel the tattie scone in a roll (good balanced Scottish breakfast that, fried potato scone slathered in butter and served in a morning roll with ketchup, om nom nom)
So I found myself a nice little spot out of the way, made myself comfortable and pulled out my book and started to read. It took me a while to realize that my hot chocolate kept magically
refilling itself- about 4 hours later- when I was starting to feel slightly sick from the milk overdose on an empty stomach. It was then that I also noticed the iced bun in front of me, and looked up at the server, who gave
me a nod and wink and waved his own copy of Going Postal at me from
behind the counter and promptly went back to his own reading.
It was a really lovely moment that stayed with me, and always comes to mind whenever I reach for Moist Von Lipwig to cheer me up. Not just because the book is thrilling and funny and sparkles with pure Pratchett wit and poignancy, but because of that moment, that little quiet moment in the back eating room of a tower named for books, another human being wanted to be kind and fed someone else, even though they didn’t have to. And I can’t help but think that’s what Pratchett tried to teach us.
We’re not superheroes, we can’t stop a bullet and we can’t
turn back time by flying really fast, hell we can’t even fly. But we can be kind. And despite what the cynics believe, the people who profess it’s a “dog eat dog world” when what they really mean is “it’s a dog eat rat world and you’re the rat” and say things like “that’s just the way it is”, kindness is
our greatest strength. Kindness and doing what is right in small little ways, until they make up the whole.
Everyone says the meaning of life is 42, but to me it’s 41.
41 books that tried with all their might to impart the importance of kindness to others, that one small deed can indeed change the world. In the grand scheme of things hot chocolate and an iced bun doesn’t mean much. But it meant something. It still does. It meant empathy, compassion, and in it’s purest form it meant love.
Wittersweet: So, Starface, feel better now? Sparkle Wit: You know what? I kinda do. That so-called hoverboard’s still sucky, though. Firstwit: You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Sparkle. But in this case, it’s overdue for a dental checkup. [All laughing] Witsend: [sighs] Yo, what should we do now? Amble Wit: What else? Let’s eat lunch. Hot Wit: Sparky, you coming? Sparkle Wit: Maybe later. Hot Wit…whatever happened to the future? Hot Wit: The future is always yet to come, Sparky. Didn’t you know that? Sparkle Wit: I do, but that’s not what I meant. This future, it’s not the future I hoped for; it’s not the one science fiction promised me. What went wrong? Hot Wit: Nothing went wrong, Sparky; you were just taken in by the magic of sci-fi, that’s all. The science in those fantastic stories is so believable that it seems possible. But, you know, that’s what makes good sci-fi so interesting. Sure, this present isn’t as space-age as you hoped it would be, but the future can be anything you want it to be, especially if it’s the future of your life. Sparkle Wit: My life, huh? Hot Wit: Your future is whatever you make it, so make it a good one. By the way, here’s your “hoverboard” back. I’m going for a quick bite. See ya. Sparkle Wit: "Make it a good one"…
REQUESTS ARE OPEN FOR THE MCU AND THE ACTORS WITHIN
Daisies are a simple flower.
The simplicity of it is what makes them your absolute favorite. You love the bright center, nearly as vibrant as the sun, and the delicate, snow-white petals that layer themselves around.
They bring you happiness.
* * *
“Listen here, punk.” James Buchanan Barnes grabs the shoulder of his much shorter friend. “My gal Patsy’s got her self a friend. Her name’s [Y/N].”
“Not again, Bucky.”
“No Steve, this girl’s different.”
“That’s what you said about the last-”
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Steve reluctantly nods his head. “I guess so.”
“Perfect!” Bucky claps his hands together. “She’s meeting you outside the diner on Prescott Avenue.” He playfully smacks Steve’s back, and gives him the biggest grin he could muster. “Be there by six, and wear something nice.”
Blinking at his friend and letting a small frown on his face, Steve rubs a hand through his hair. “Buck, that’s in 15 minutes.”
Walking out the door, Bucky sends a wink to Steve. “Well, you better hurry up, Punk.” Closing the door, he leaves his friend to scramble and get ready as quickly as he can. “You’ll be thanking me one day.”
After changing into a pair of well fitted trousers and a clean shirt, Steve quickly leaves his apartment and heads to the diner. He arrives at the diner not even ten minutes later, and looks for [Y/N]. Sighing, he realizes that Bucky didn’t even tell him what this girl looks like.
He takes a deep breath, and a seat on the bench outside the diner. He allows himself to catch his breath, while looking for his date. He walked here much faster than his asthma would typically allow.
After waiting for ten or so minutes, Steve begins to lose hope. Yet again, he doesn’t feel good enough. This girl probably saw him, and retreated before she would be stuck in a dead end night. Just before he decides to leave, a voice catches his attention.
“Are you Steve Rogers?”
Looking up, he see’s the most beautiful girl his eyes has ever seen. Her hair blows slightly in the summer breeze, her eyes hold a certain sparkle that he’s never witnessed before, and her lips create the most breath taking smile.
“Yes I am, ma’am.”
You release a melodic sounding laugh, as you hand him a small flower. “Oh please, call me [Y/N]. And this my apology for being late.”
Steve takes the flower into his hand, and gives you a curious look. “A daisy?”
“Yeah,” You grab his hand and lead him into the diner. “They’re my favorite.”
* * *
“[Y/N]?” Steve walks into the dark apartment that the two of you now share. Much to Steve’s surprise, you have been dating for nearly a year. He doesn’t quiet understand why a girl like you would want to be with a guy like him, but he’s thankful for it everyday.
“[Y/N], you home?” He closes the door behind him, and walks into the living room. “[Y/N]?” Concern washes over him as he walks around the apartment. Your shift ended at the office nearly three hours ago. You should be home by now.
Steve quickly jogs to the bedroom, the last place he hasn’t checked. He turns on the bedroom light only to find your sleeping form lying on top of the covers, still in your work clothes. He releases the breath that he’d been holding, and walks to your side. He reaches into his pocket and takes out the daisy he found on his way home. He places the daisy into your hair, and leaves a small kiss on your forehead.
“I love you.”
* * *
“I’m going to miss you, Steve.” Your arms are wrapped around Steve’s torso holding on for dear life. “A lot.”
Steve places small kisses to your shoulders, and anywhere else he can reach. He knows that he probably won’t make it back, and he knows that you do too. He just wants to fight for his country, but now he feels like that’s not enough. He doesn’t know if it’s enough to leave you behind, for possibly forever. “I don’t know if I can leave.”
You pull out of Steve’s arms, and cup your hands around his cheeks. You give him a scolding look. “Don’t you say that.” You kiss him softly on his lips. “Don’t you dare say that. You’ve been dreaming of this moment, where you’ll finally be able to fight for your country. You’ve worked so hard up to this point, and now you have an opportunity to fight.”
He looks away from your stare, a lets out a small breath of air. “I don’t know if fighting for my country is enough right now.”
You place a small, delicate daisy into his coat pocket, and leave one last kiss on his lips. “Then fight for me.”
* * *
Steve stops running with the rest of the trainees to catch his breath. How is he suppose to do this? How is he suppose to this for even a day longer? His lungs burn with every exercise, and his body aches every night. You’re one of the only things keeping him going.
Looking down to the ground, he finds a daisy. His mind instantly thinks of you, which brings a beaming smile to his face. He reaches down to pick up the small flower, so he can send it to you in his next letter.
“Rogers!” General Philips stands with Agent Carter, staring at the small man with looks of disbelief. “What are you doing! Picking flowers for your girlfriend?” The men standing behind his two superiors burst out into laughter.
Placing the flower into his uniform pocket, he jogs towards the group. “That’s exactly what I was doing, Sir.”
* * *
Sitting at your dining room table, you read that day’s paper. There’s an article that everyone has been buzzing about. There’s tour dates for a new wartime mascot, named Captain America. Your friends at the office bought tickets for the first show in Brooklyn, and you honestly knew nothing about it until now. Closing the paper, you rest you head in your hands. Maybe going to the show would be a good distraction for you.
You haven’t heard from Steve in weeks.
You know that he’s probably just busy with training, but you can’t help but feel concerned.
A loud knock on your door snaps you from your thoughts. You slowly get up from your chair, and shuffle to the mirror in your hallway. You smooth down your hair, and make yourself more presentable. Another knock rings through your apartment.
You open the door, and are immediately presented with a large bouquet, of gigantic gorgeous daisies. The flower immediately makes you think of Steve, and god knows wherever he is.
You look to the person holding the flowers, and see a very well built, blond man. He towers over you with a small smile. “I have some flowers for you ma’am.”
You look at the man with a sheepish smile, and begin to slowly close your door. “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong apartment.”
The stranger reaches out a hand to stop the door from closing, making you instantly get defensive. “Stop! I have a boyfriend and-”
“I know, [Y/N].”
You look at the man with complete, utter shock. “How do you know my name?”
“[Y/N],” The man sets the daisies on the ground, and takes your hands within his own. “It’s me, sweetheart.”
You study his body, his voice, his hair, his face, but when you reach his eyes, you know exactly who this stranger is. A hand flies up to your mouth, as a small tear rolls down your cheeks. “Steve?”
Letting out a deep laugh, Steve wipes away your tears. “It’s me, I’m here.”
“How’d you get so tall?”
Releasing another laugh, he gives you a passionate kiss, and moves his hands down to your waist. “I have a lot to explain.”
* * *
He only has one minute.
“There’s not gonna be a safe landing, but I can try and force it down.“
One minute to remember all the others.
“I’ll get Howard on the line. He’ll know what to do, Steve.”
The minutes of his childhood.
“There’s not enough time, Peggy. This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water.”
The minutes with Bucky.
“We can work it out.”
The minutes with you.
“Right now I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die, including her. This is my choice.“ Steve begins to point the plane towards the arctic waters. “Peggy?”
Steve opens up his compass with his picture of you and that same wilted daisy you gave him on your first date; and places it on the control pad. The picture brings some small glimmer of light to his somber situation.
With your smile permanently etched into his mind, he says his final words for the next decades.
“Just tell her that I was always fighting for her, and that I love her-”
The line’s dead.
The minute’s up.
Now the man you love and the flower you love are freezing, and not to be discovered for the next 70 years.
* * *
We can all blame my dad for this. He bought me daisies, and that sparked this idea. I hope you liked it! xx
I long to be an 18th century Parisian salon hostess, a salonniérre, with a fondness for intelligent men, listening to them speak at length about philosophy, about politics, about art, about literature. To be deemed “fort jolie” even by the harshest of critics, with sparkling wit in my eyes and in my veins. I’d be fashionable and elegant, but unpretentious. I’d receive scented letters that simply said “Ce n'est plus une ardeur dans mes veines cachée: c'est Vénus tout entière à sa proie attachée” in elegant cursive every day. Who from? Nobody knows! My anonymous admirers are numerous.
I’d be the toast of the high society and wits and “philosophes” but still a good time girl; the cleverest, prettiest, kindest, most good hearted of salon hosts. In short, a girl who could quote Molière with the best of ‘em and a champion of equality, the equality of the sexes especially, to boot.
Mercury in Gemini - A Conversation with the Cosmos
“A man speaking sense to himself is no madder than a man speaking nonsense not to himself.” ―
He speaks, moves, learns and thinks as quickly as two people at once. The Mercury in Gemini individual is easily spotted by his restless movement, dazzling darting eyes and flailing arms as he speaks his mind. He enjoys thorough conversations with himself and others, and uses communication to figure out what it is exactly he thinks and believes. His insatiable, childlike curiosity spans across a broad range of topics and his mental acuity is rapid and unmatched. It is almost impossible to keep up with the Mercury in Gemini person who exudes playful intelligence, startling wit, quick humor and encyclopedic knowledge. He is like a child who forever asks ‘why?’, a textbook that detests admitting ‘I don’t know’ and an adult that begins his sentences with ‘I think…’
Mercury in Gemini people resonate in any field that requires communication. His articulate and well written disposition makes him a natural star in journalism, public relations, blogging, radio, media, and teaching. The joy of learning compels him to remain in school for as long as possible, and most of your permanent students have their natal Mercury in Gemini. He typically feels as though life is stuck in motion and not moving forward if he is not learning or involved in study. His quicksilver temperament and mercurial nature makes him terminally impossible to pin down, and he changes his opinions as quickly as the news cycle. I know a Mercury in Gemini person who, as a young child created her own news paper and magazine, and printed it out for her family - all for the fun of combining creativity with literacy. His house will likely be adorned with a clutter of books, colourful trinkets, documentaries, course outlines, phones, iPads, laptops, and the echo of the news in the background. He will likely be doing two things at once - such as watching a movie and researching the character background online at the same time.
The Mercury in Gemini person thinks so quickly and accumulates so much information he tends to forget the more practical elements of life - such as paying the bills and remembering appointments. For Mercury in Gemini, the facts are always more important then the mundane daily routine. Despite his cleverness, multiple words and thoughts fight for his mind and he becomes easily distracted, scattered and air headed. He is an avid reader who enjoys dabbling into any piece of the written word he can lay his hands on, from novels to magazines. He becomes saddened and despondent in environments that fail to stimulate his intellect and sees debate as fun loving mental play. Mercury in Gemini are usually surrounded by a crowd of engaged listeners who revel in his rollercoaster wordplay. His mind is brimming with sparkling wit and diamond clarity and his soul, mind and body is nourished by the simple exchange of ideas. He travels through stars and galaxies riding the thinking wings of Mercury.
Jasper Hale imagine requested by anon! “hi! i’d like to please request an imagine in which jasper meets his human mate for the first time/is slightly taken aback because she’s essentially his polar opposite? like him being unsure how to act because she’s very vivacious/confident/joke-y?” Hope you like it!
You were concerned, at first, to be paired with the sullen, silent Hale twin you’d heard so little about; other than his exquisite good looks and polite refrain from conversation, he was all but a mystery to Forks High. You weren’t the type to pry your way into scenes you weren’t a part of, especially when it came to cracking the quiet kid’s shell open, but you couldn’t help but fidget with your mental crowbar when he chose his seat beside you in your History class, a subject he usually sat out, his desk’s partner eternally vacant, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened intently to each lecture. God, you hadn’t realized how hyper-aware of him you were until just now, while you sat comparing his every strange action to his usual reclusive state. You hadn’t expected him to sit beside you because he usually walked passed your desk en route to his shadowy corner, and you hadn’t expected him to glance your way as he sat because he usually kept his head ducked, avoiding eye contact, nodding apologetically, respectfully if he dared to stare at someone. But here he was, the man of the hour, his body slightly inclined toward you, his arms folded on the desk before him. His eyes weren’t brown, as you had suspected, but a gold colour, something warmer than yellow but colder than butterscotch. They were bright, they were attentive, and their focus came paired with an inquisition.
“Hello,” he spoke, his voice quiet and kind, his lips turning up in the corners, though they remained pressed in a thin sort of line. “Do you mind if I sit here today? I thought I should be closer to the board. My eyes…” he trailed off, a hand slowly, almost cautiously raised to his eye-level, a finger making absentminded circles in the air beside his temple, as if to physically explain his troubled eyesight. You nodded, granting the strange boy a smile.
“Yeah, not a problem. Never thought I’d see the day you stepped out of the shadows, there,” you noted, your voice lilting with the ease of your joking laughter. Jasper’s brow furrowed, his eyes dropping out of focus just beside your hands, though his expression remained light, open, his lips parting over words he seemed to have to organize before speaking.
“I’m sorry, have I been so rude as to never introduce myself?” His eyes lifted to meet yours, the intensity of his casual stare closing a vice around your heart, your chest growing tight. It wasn’t that you were frightened, per say, more… disarmed by his attentiveness. “My name is Jasper Hale. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am-” He cleared his throat, shaking his head almost unnoticeably, before extending his hand for you to shake. You obliged, your hand frozen in his, shocked by the chill of his skin. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice, moving your hand in his shortly before breaking contact.
“I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you. I don’t think I’m old enough for ma’am, though. At least wait until a woman hits forty before you pull that tone,” you snickered, raising your brows, your head tilted in his direction, your hands rubbing against each other beneath the desk, hoping to chase the ice from your fingers. “Young man.” Jasper ducked his head at your punctuated remark, a grin playing across his lips, though he fought for his composure before speaking, not quite managing to banish his smile before speaking, hushing his voice to accommodate for the beginning of class.
“My apologies. I was raised in the South before moving to Washington with my adopted family,” he explained, his voice leaking hints of his former drawl, his eyes on the window behind your head. “I’ll never get used to the clouds you’ve got up here.” You nodded in understanding, turning your face to the rain as it ran in streams down the streak-swept windowpanes the janitors had neglected for at least a week too long. A voice whispered, far closer to your ear than before, continuing your conversation. “I miss the sunlight. You don’t get much here.” You turned slowly, finding Jasper leaning away from you, a kindred smile on his closed lips, his eyes shooting towards the board, a notebook on the desktop before him, his hand flying easily over the lined paper as he took notes on the current lecture. You bent to remove your own notebook from your book bag, searching about in the mess you knowingly allowed to consume all hope for organization, your hands struggling to find a writing utensil. Jasper nudged your elbow with his, extending his uncapped pen in your direction. “I can listen in. Good memory,” he explained, his fingertips brushing against yours as he handed you his pen. You shivered absentmindedly, thanking him under your breath.
“I can see why you miss the sun. You run cold or something?” He stiffened beside you, his brow furrowing with exaggerated, but serious, confusion, as if hoping to divert you with his lack of understanding. “Seriously, you’re freezing. You need to go bake in the sun for a while if you want to pass as a warm-blooded human like the rest of us,” you jibed, scribbling a few key points onto your paper, watching Jasper melt beside you from the corner of your eye. Sensing it was safe to continue, you allowed yourself another go at his unnatural temperature. “I mean, really, we’ve all stuck our hands in ovens before. Can’t let the mortals know we’re dead on the outside, too.” Jasper shifted until his torso was almost completely turned to you, his eyes quizzical on yours.
“I don’t understand you,” he stated, his voice a hair louder than before, his brow knotted with curiosity. You started at his directness, cursing yourself for tormenting the quiet kid, no matter how handsome he was or how good-natured you believed your jests to be. It was always the quiet ones, you reminded yourself, that started fires in the men’s room with intent to burn the school. His eyes fell to your stiffen posture before returning to your face, his hand raised at the wrist from the desktop, buffering his oncoming statement. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend. All I meant was… I take pride in my ability to… read people, but…” he paused, his head tilting from the strain of his confusion. “I’ve got nothing on you. I don’t understand.” You nodded slowly, a mischievous smile toying with the corners of your mouth.
“So that’s why you sit so quietly back there. You’re taking notes on your classmates,” you snickered, your hand reaching across his arm to snag his notebook, his jaw tightening as your eyes ravaged his impeccable handwriting. “What is this?” you whispered, breathless at the words he had written. Incorrect, incorrect, never happened, didn’t happen like that, wrong body count, read his bullet points. “What do you mean, incorrect? Were you some kind of child prodigy? Did you go to college when you were thirteen or something, major in Civil War studies?” He remained silent his eyes on the cover of his notebook as you read, his shoulders unmoving from their stance angled towards your body. “What does ask Alice mean?” His hands were taking the notebook from yours then, his head shaking.
“Alice is my sister. I had to remind myself to ask her for her notes. You have my pen, she has this class after lunch.” You feigned offense, a hand on your chest.
“This was a gift, Mr. Hale. How very rude of you. What would the South say about this?” His composure cracked, a smile dancing on his lips, his eyes on yours. You continued in this fashion until you had expended your History class, poking fun at your companion’s constant denial of the facts your teacher supplied. Just moments before the bell dismissed you, Jasper’ attention was once more absorbed in your eyes, his stare direct, his features friendly, though his eyes danced with curiosity.
“Would you like to have lunch with me?” he asked, his voice stronger, louder now that the bell was blaring, setting the rest of your classmates sprinting for the door. “I’d like to get to know you, if that’s alright.” You smiled, handing him his pen, pushing yourself up from your seat.
“Sounds like a plan. Should we start with my childhood, or with yours?” He chuckled, rising to stand beside you, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, snagging yours from behind your chair.
“No, there’s not much to talk about there. I was a bit of a… problem child,” he spoke, continuing though his laughter at you quick, disbelieving quip, “I got into a lot of fights. Not much else to talk about.” You sighed dramatically, watching the sparkle behind Jasper’s eyes glimmer as you followed him into the aisle, your eyes on his. “I’d like to hear about you, though.”
“Hmm, since you can’t read me very well, I suppose it’s my duty to clue you in, huh?” He shook his head, his laughter bubbling from within his chest. “Well, for starters, I have a habit of going for the throat with people I don’t know, mocking their past and their reclusive tendencies, stealing their school supplies and baiting them into extended conversation with my sparkling wit,” you nudged his arm, barely throwing him off-balance. He shrugged at your words, his lips twisted in a playful grimace.
“I’m not sure I’d call that going for the throat, but… it seems about right.” You traveled with him through the halls, aware of the eyes drilling holes in your back and in his, though he didn’t seem to notice the concern the school had for this new side of the silent Jasper Hale. A girl passed by with jaw agape, and unapologetically so, to hear him speaking to someone outside of his tight-knit family group. Whispers surrounded you as you walked to the lunchroom, expecting to join the Cullens and Jasper’s twin sister at their usual table, surprised when you both bypassed their seating to travel outside, Jasper holding he door open for you like a true Southern gentleman. You stared at him, inquisitive, unsure why such a polite young man would leave his family waiting at the metaphorical alter. He smirked at your apparent horror, handing you your book bag, which contained your lunch, settling into your seat as you rifled about for your paper bag. “They won’t mind much. We spend a lot of time together.” He settled beside you, assuming his usual position, his posture angled towards you, his attention completely invested. You removed an apple from your bag, staring at the empty space before him.
“Aren’t you going to get lunch?” you asked, to which he replied that he wasn’t hungry. Come to think of it, you couldn’t recall ever seeing him with food on his tray. Perhaps the Cullens weren’t as wealthy as everyone assumed. He denied your offering of your apple, insisting he was fine. “Didn’t you have to ask Alice about something? The notes?” He replied, confusingly, that he’d already asked her, indirectly. You assumed he meant he had texted her, but he glanced through the glass at his family’s table, tipping his head ever so slightly at his brother’s waiting glance, his bronze hair catching light as he turned to address the smallest of the bunch. Had you missed him speak to his brother? You had passed so swiftly, it was possible he could have bent his head as you moved toward the door, but he’d been there to open it for you. You made a small sound of confusion, sparking Jasper’s interest once more. The boy straightened, returning his focus to your face.
“So, are you… seeing anyone?” he inquired, causing you to nearly choke on the chunk of apple you had intended to swallow. You caught your breath, your eyes wide on his. He was concerned behind the humour splattering his features, his lips barely concealing their inclination to smile at your failure to complete the most basic human task of eating.
“Jesus, you’re direct,” you noted, checking for saliva on the corners of your mouth, dragging the backside of your hand over your lips. He waited patiently for you to calm yourself, clearly serious from his silence. “Um, no, I’m not seeing anyone right now. Any reason why you’re asking?” Jasper rolled his eyes, a playful expression you hadn’t seen him take part in before now. Perhaps you were rubbing off on him.
“I’m sure the conclusion isn’t very hard to come by.” You remained quiet, abandoning your apple completely, waiting for him to continue. “Like I mentioned before, I don’t understand you. I’d like to. You’ve surprised me today, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it, about you, before. Having spoken to you now, though, I can see that this could be a very interesting friendship, or… more than a friendship.” He offered a simple smile, his eyes unashamed by his confession. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to muster his courage in a hundred years. He tucked a strand of honey-blond hair behind his ear, his hands falling to the grated table, his fingers twined, thumbs together. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve met before, and I’ve been around for… I’ve been around a lot of places, I’ve met a lot of people. And you… I’d like to know you better, is all.” You grinned, feeling the warmth of your blush paint your cheeks with what you hoped would be a delicate rose, but you knew was, realistically, the most garish display of blood beneath skin to ever grace mankind. You moved to shield your cheeks with your hand, propping yourself up on your elbow.
“I have no idea how to react around you,” you admitted, watching his eyes glow beneath the cover of clouds above, lingering after the earlier rainstorm.
“We can work on that, together,” Jasper whispered, his lips moving to a breathtaking smile, his inquiry picking up where you’d left off in history, creating your own as you went.
“I could have chosen a different life
Settled down, made it work with a simple wife
Instead I’ve taken my days by the horns
And honey, that’s where my problems were born.
I could have slept in a moonless night,
Closed my eyes, denying a restless fight
But what I did was to gaze upon the dome,
Seeking desperately for something called home.
My heart’s a mess,
My heart’s a mess, and my wounds are burning.
I could use a kiss to appease the stinging
What do I care if I’ll ever be fine ?
I just need my rose, and all of its spines.
All I wish for is my mind to be resting
But the shifting tides keep heating my blood,
Every single thought appears to be bursting
Lord have mercy, I’m not far from a flood.
My heart’s a mess,
My heart’s a mess but my soul will flourish.
I have gladly traded soundness to grow quite foolish
A genuine smile will appear on my face,
Anyways, I’ve chosen to live by that pace.
And now, my rising sun would finally sparkle
Reviving my aching wit, warming every parcel
I might as well get out of that nervous cell
To seize my scarlet rose, honey, I would go through hell.” ~ @ouahibjalal
Mod: Happy birthday, Banana Pie! Sorry Bananas Wit couldn’t be there, but he’s conveniently stepped out. And by “conveniently stepped out,” I mean that he bolted into a nearby deep forest as soon as he learned that today is your birthday, never to be heard from again until tomorrow. He also told me not to tell you that.
Peter Pan is the mischievous captivate, the eternal child and the double figure shadow, and through his character we are given a close insight into the mysterious Gemini archetype. Gemini is ruled by the cosmic trickster Mercury, and like Peter Pan, Mercury was the winged messenger who could fly. Geminis are known for their charismatic, though deceptive charm which seduces with intellectual neverlands and an imagination that knows no boundary. Like Peter, Geminis are disinterested in growing up and tend to remain young in mind and spirit late into life. They tend to reject the grown up facets of life and neglect keeping up with their bills and responsibilities. And this can be infuriating to the more conservative types. Geminis frequently dismiss the consequences of their actions, and like Peter Pan remain playful and seemingly detached in the midst of danger and threat, “to die would be an awfully big adventure”. “What’s a kiss”, is Gemini, while Leo communes with affection, Gemini bonds with shared laughter, conversation and sparkling wit. Peter Pan’s shadow relates closely to the double theme in Gemini’s nature. In mythology, Gemini encompasses the archetypal motif of the twins, one of which is an embodiment of everything that is deemed good, worthy, and noble, and the other, an embodiment of all that is evil, reprehensible, and undesirable. He cut off Hook’s hand, and Gemini/Mercury rules the hands. Geminis typically talk with their hands and possess great hand eye co-ordination and dexterity. And they need their hands for writing! Peter Pan is loving, and Gemini is loving, in the childlike way, the way that twists words with fairytale and allures with naive charisma, “ “Wendy,” Peter Pan continued in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist, “Wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys.” And this is the Gemini. Adored in the eyes of his company who he bewitches with his inner light, vivid imagination, clever quips and wispy charm. Through the second star on the right, first thing in the morning, Peter Pan flies us right into the exquisite Gemini mind. -Cherry
“Dude, admit it,” Stiles slurs. “We’d be great parents!”
Derek nods empathetically. “We would be!”
Stiles looks at him with wide eyes. “We should totally adopt a baby!”
“We should adopt a baby!”
Earlier that night, 9:35 PM
“Still bummed out about the breakup?” Derek asks, coming up behind Stiles. It’s a chilly night so Derek’s glad he decided to wear the dark purple cable knit sweater Laura got him as an early Christmas present.
Stiles gives an indifferent shrug. “Meh.”
“Pathetic, isn’t it?” Stiles murmurs, sipping his drink. “Goddamn, Allison makes a mean drink.”
Derek huffs, taking a sip of his own coke-infused vodka. He makes a face at the burn in his throat. “She does, and it’s not pathetic.”
Stiles frowns. “What? Of course it’s not. Allison is the best bartender ever. She knows what my heart wants and needs. She’s gifted, not pathetic.”
Hi! Here's a prompt if you're willing, sterek arranged marriage - the day they fall in love. (If that makes sense hahaha) Thank you! :)
I wanna punch you in the face for this prompt. (✿◠‿◠)
Derek grows up knowing that he won’t be able to choose the person he marries, and for the most part, he’s fine with this. Laura’s the heir apparent, so Derek’s marriage will be to someone of less significance to the kingdom, some lesser noble or the child of a minor ally. For most of his childhood and teenage years, it’s common knowledge that this person is likely to be the youngest princess of a nearby kingdom that’s one of their oldest allies.
Derek’s content with this; if he has no choice, Paige is far from the worst. Their families grow up close, and she’s more like a sister to him than anything, which he thinks is a good thing; even if they don’t end up in love, they have a close relationship that will serve their kingdoms well.
Then comes the accident. Derek goes to bed a prince and wakes a king without a family. Suddenly, the kingdom is fragile and the need for strong allies is great. Marrying Paige is no longer an option; her kingdom is small, already a friend. The advisors tell Derek that he needs to marry into a powerful family, or a kingdom of great economic strength. They give him options, which is more than he expects, but there’s no time for courtship, no time to get to know any of them on even a cursory level. Derek does what’s best for his kingdom, picks the dignitary his advisors point him to, the crown prince of a kingdom on the other end of the continent. Their marriage will forge lasting trade routes between their kingdoms, a gateway to the sea and the kingdoms beyond, and the crown prince’s status as an omega means they’ll soon be able to produce heirs, which is essential to securing the peace in both their kingdoms.
They are to be married upon the crown prince’s arrival in the kingdom, though the journey takes him the better part of two weeks. Derek is waiting outside the day he arrives, along with most of the castle staff and several noble families. His palms itch with sweat as the carriage pulls up in front of him, his stomach tense with nerves and anticipation. He knows next to nothing about the crown prince, except that he’s said to have a sparkling wit; Derek doesn’t even know what he looks like. His mouth goes dry when a manservant opens the carriage door and the prince unfolds himself from inside, stepping down onto the smooth stones. He’s tall and lean, with long, coltish legs, elegant hands, a proud set to his shoulders. His eyes meet Derek’s and Derek’s dismayed to see nothing but anger and disdain in them, his mouth set in a grim, fixed line.
“Crown Prince Stilinski,” Derek says, struggling to keep his tone light and welcoming over the dismay gathering in his chest. “Welcome.”
“It’s my honor, my king,” the crown prince says icily, and Derek can tell that nothing could be further from the truth.
As this blog’s 3-year anniversary closes, I present to you the cast of 2016! Along with my characters, this poster also features the few followers that have been, are being, and will be assimilated used as secondary characters here. To all of Ask Bananas Wit’s family, friends, foes, favorites, and fixtures following it, thank you for developing its subject’s character and being a part of his life so far!