Thanks for the tag @neonshrike! The rules are for each letter of the word you're given, share an excerpt from a WIP that starts with that letter. The word I was given is STAR.
So I picked my Rory and the Avengers WIP. I don't know if this will end up being two different stories because I haven't figured out how they'll work together yet, but yeah, I'm working on continuing Rory's story.
S - Still...the Void's curiosity tugged him down to Earth, the twinge of something new drawing him in like an unspoken promise.
T - "This isn't like..." Rhodey paused as he tried to come up with the right wording, "court-mandated or anything, is it?"
A - And while he had been in existence for many, many years, the powers he never asked for outranked him so far in years that it was laughable.
R - Rory shook her head and explained, "No no, I'm talking about you two actually agreeing on something," while pointing between Tony and Steve, causing some among the Avenger ranks to chuckle.
I choose the word REST for those I tag (no pressure, of course). @gender-kenvy @bugboybuckley @sobeautifullyobsessed @lostinwildflowers @w1nkie and whoever else wants to play!
16. brand new neighbours au
Send Me a Ship and a Number and I'll Write a Short Fic
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Southern Hospitality
Word Count: 1.9k
Content Warnings: mild body horror, some awkwardness
Crossposted on AO3
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The new neighbor was a little weird.
Nikoletta knew she was a little weird too. There weren't many apartment complexes that catered to metahumans, and those that did usually fell under one of two classes: so pricey that their only care was who could pay the rent, or so cheap that they didn't give a damn either way. After all, if they weren't even going to bother with clearing the mold out of the showers, why would they bother to screen out their paying tenants?
So everyone was a little weird around here.
But the new guy took it to a whole different level.
He'd moved in last week. Nikoletta still didn't know his name. She'd encountered him once or twice before, but he was... squirrelly. She'd offered to help him set up his TV on the day he moved in and had the door shut in her face - shut but not slammed, it almost seemed like he was trying to be polite about it, if the difference really mattered. And she'd run into him down by the mailboxes the other day and asked his name, but his response was so mumbled she couldn't make it out.
At this point, Nikoletta was tempted just to let it go. She wasn't exactly a social butterfly either, and as far as she was concerned she only needed to know her neighbors well enough to knock on their doors if there was a tenement fire.
But she was out of cornstarch. Her neighbors to the left were out of town, most of the others worked nights and weren't home, and she didn't ever deal with her across-the-hall neighbors unless she had to. Racist dickheads.
So that left the quiet man to the right.
Nikoletta knocked on his door before she could talk herself out of it. She'd never engaged with him directly like this. All their prior encounters had been brief and incidental, nothing so brazen as outright knocking on his door. She wondered why that was so daunting for her.
The door opened a crack. Through the gap, Nikoletta saw the faint glow of multicolored light illuminating the dark apartment beyond. Her first thought was of those flashy computer setups with the RGB lights - but if he had one of those, he certainly wouldn't be living in a place like this. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
"Hello," she started, before the silence could stretch too far, "I'm Nikoletta- your next-door neighbor? I'm sorry to bother you, I just- would you happen to have any cornstarch? I need to make a slurry to thicken this sauce and I'm all out."
There was a pronounced silence. Nikoletta fought the urge to shift on her feet.
"Wait here."
His voice was soft and somehow gentle, even as the door shut forcefully in front of her. Nikoletta stared at the warped, cracked wood for several long minutes, wondering vaguely if her sauce was bubbling over.
Finally the door swung open, and a plastic cup filled with cornstarch was thrust in her direction. The hand that held it was swollen with glowing pustules, illuminating the hallway with the same light she'd seen inside his apartment.
Nikoletta took the cup automatically, fingers nearly brushing his own in the flurry of it all - she realized too late that she'd forgotten her gloves - and then his hand retreated like he'd been burned.
"Hey, are you oka-"
The door slammed shut so powerfully that chips of paint fluttered down from around the doorjamb. Nikoletta stood there in stunned silence for a moment, certain he was watching her through the peephole in the center of the door, then bit her lip.
"Thank you," she said through the door, the only other thing she could think to say after the strangeness of that whole interaction, and trudged back to her apartment.
Twenty minutes later, she found herself back in front of his door.
This was a mistake. Clearly he wasn't feeling well. She could return his cup tomorrow, or even just leave it by the door for him to pick up on his own. She didn't need to knock on the door. She didn't need to bother him.
But here she was.
Nikoletta watched colorful light spray out under the base of the door and knew he had to be standing just on the other side.
"Excuse me," she said, summoning her courage, "I brought your cup back. And I wanted to invite you over for dinner."
Like before, the door opened just a crack. She caught a glimpse of him on the other side, just one dark eye and more of those glowing tumors amid the darkness.
"You want to invite me over?"
It was the most she'd ever heard him say at once. His voice still held the same gentle hesitance, like he was shocked she would even speak to him. Nikoletta nodded, now gaining a little more courage.
"I made more than I could eat anyway, and I figured it's only fair since you contributed to it too." she said, and held out the empty cup towards the crack in the door. This time she'd remembered her gloves.
He took the cup and wedged it through the crack in the door without releasing the chain. There was another long silence as he seemed to turn her words over in his head.
"You want to invite me over." he repeated, like something about the words just wasn't computing. Nikoletta shrugged.
"I'm not forcing you. I won't feel offended if you say no. But if you wanted to come over, eat a little home-cooked food, maybe meet your new neighbor..."
"Will you give me ten minutes?"
A smile burst across her face before she could stop it. She'd extended the offer mostly as a courtesy - this was the South, offering to share a meal was hardly any more uncommon than saying "bless you" after a sneeze - but had never really expected him to agree. That alone was a surprise. It was just as much a surprise that she found herself looking forward to it.
"Of course," she said, regaining her composure quickly, "Just knock on my door when you're ready. I'm just next door on your left."
"Thank you."
And then the door slid shut and he was gone once again.
Those ten minutes proved to be a godsend. Because she hadn't expected him to agree, she hadn't thought to get her apartment ready for any guests. And sure, ten minutes wasn't enough time to vacuum the floors or tackle the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink, but Nikoletta was at least able to set the table and clear a bit of the clutter before her neighbor knocked on her door.
She jumped at the sudden knock, and found herself hesitating as she made her way to the door. What it was that she was really nervous about... she didn't know. Being face-to-face with whatever those pustules and tumors were? But she'd spent plenty of time around metahumans, she'd certainly seen worse. She couldn't say she was delighted by the thought of it, but neither was she disgusted.
Maybe it was just the thought of having another living human in her home. She was nearly as much of a loner as he seemed to be. It was strange- more than strange, to have company that didn't boil down to a landlord or electrician.
He knocked again, a touch more hesitantly.
"Nikoletta?"
She took a deep breath, steadying herself, then pulled the door open with what she hoped was a welcoming smile.
The man on the other side of the door looked nothing like what she'd glimpsed inside his apartment. Gone was the strange multicolored light, the glowing masses that stretched the skin of his hands and face. He was about her age, taller than she expected and a little thinner too, dressed in slacks and a button-up printed with patterns she'd have expected to see on the carpet of a roller rink. His face was angular, sharp cheekbones and a strong, sloped nose, and he offered her something like a smile when he caught her eyes.
He was... kind of cute. In an awkward, kicked-puppy sort of way.
"Here, come in," Nikoletta blurted before she could get too lost in her thoughts, and ushered him inside.
It felt like a dance neither of them had rehearsed. She tried to usher him to the table and realized too late that she hadn't even gotten his name. He stumbled for words and introduced himself as Abner Krill, and she tried not to linger on the touch as she shook his hand. It had been far too long since she'd had physical contact of any kind, even gloved and shielded.
He noticed the smears of inky darkness across her wooden countertops, left from times she was too tired or careless or simply didn't bother to put on gloves, but didn't ask. She noticed the scars on his wrists and the way he seemed to tuck in on himself like he wanted to take up the smallest space he could, but chose not to ask about that either. She certainly didn't ask about the strange lights she'd seen in his apartment.
Eventually she got him seated at the table and set a plate in front of him, doing her best to act the part of the Southern hostess. She was a little new to this, to say the least. At least he didn't seem to mind her awkwardness. Not when it only matched his own.
Nikoletta wasn't sure how to make small talk, or if he'd want to make small talk, so she just tucked into her food and waited for her neighbor to do the same.
Abner took one bite and looked like he was about to burst into tears.
"Oh, honey, you don't have to eat it if you don't like it," Nikoletta blurted with a wince, "It's my dad's recipe, it's a little spicy- I'm sorry."
But he shook his head and took another bite, curling over the food like he thought she'd snatch it away from him.
"No, it's-" he mumbled, "It's good. It's just... been a long time since I've had, um, anything homemade."
And once he started, he couldn't slow down.
"I've never lived on my own before," Abner said, gaining momentum, "I used to live with my mom, but- um, she died, and I don't know where all my brothers and sisters ended up, so now I'm on my own. I'm still trying to figure it out. I don't know how to cook yet."
"I'm new to having company myself," Nikoletta admitted, managing to find his eyes for just a moment before he ducked his head again, "But if you'd like, you could... you could come over tomorrow, around six, and I'll show you how to make some chicken tacos. It's a really easy recipe, I think it could be a good one to start you out."
"You want me to come over again?" There it was again, that careful uncertainty, the way his voice fell to almost a whisper like any volume would scare her away. But there was hope there too, she thought. Subtle, but it was there.
Because I just realized I didn't answer two of the questions:
What is your ideal AU for your muse?
The ideal ultimate AU life for Bruce is one of healthy multiplicity where he and all of his Other Guys co-exist and work together. He's recognized as an Avenger. He actually gets to have poker nights with his friends Tony and Reed and Hank and he isn't on the run. No, he and Betty are married again or there is some complicated polycule situation, but in that case all of them are raising their new kids together.
Amadeus and Rick and Jessup and Charlie all know each other. They're all part of the Hulk fam that includes Jen, Lyra, Hiro-Kala, Carmilla Black, and the Warbound.
Bruce is not on the run.
What plots/interactions leave you feeling protective of your muse?
Every single run where Bruce is running again because he was mind-controlled or influenced and wasn't responsible for whatever stupid violent thing he was accused of doing.
I know it's not going to stop in comics but when does Bruce get to feel like an Avenger or a hero? Just. Why???
He just never gets to feel safe somewhere? That's what we're going with?
Pantheon? At least they were trying something. Agent of Shield in Indestructible Hulk? They tried something new.
Good question! I like “What do you call a fish with no Is? A fshhh.” One of my friends saw Afterlife before me and sent that line to me out of context. Hearing it in the actual film was great and McKenna’s delivery is perfect!
Yikes, I Don’t See The Appeal || Not My Type || He’s Alright || I See The Appeal But I’m Different™ || Cute But On Alternating Wednesdays || He Has A Kind Face And That’s Good Enough || Pretty || Gorgeous || I— I Love? We Don’t Deserve Him.
i fear i am not a huge Nerdy Guy person and i do not trust adult blond men 💔 he gets points for wearing the same glasses as me though!
I have a fair few, but I think one of my favorites this year was the morning after scene in All Along the Watchtower that I posted in April. Getting to write Rory in a moment of quiet reflection and peace after going through the horrors and wearing Price's iconic boonie hat just made me very happy. Also one of the few moments of fluff I've written compared to all the angst lol
11) Fandom you'd like to create more for next year
I can't really say tbh. I find I can only create for things I'm fixated on and for the moment I'm still stuck in my cod phase
28) A song that relates to one of your creations
Stay Awake by London Grammar is like the unofficial ship song now. So much so, it directly influenced a fic I wrote called "Stay Awake With Me" about Rory's issues with insomnia and her trauma
