#I need to read the book I NEED to put this idiot under a microscope

[horsegirl-curtis]

Dally is so frustratingly wonderful because he is both a product of his time and a good dude and also just so fucked up and in need of therapy. The behavior he displays before he's shot is literally a mental breakdown and he's like actually losing his mind, he offers to let Johnny stay with him and when Johnny and Ponyboy come to him about killing the soc he immediately does everything he can to protect them... And then he also. Harasses a girl right at the start of the movie and clearly is up to no good half the time. He's terrible in a lot of ways, it was normal for the time but it also still isn't right. But I can't fully say I think he's a bad dude because he committed himself to being Johnny and Pony's friend and did what he could to get them out of Tulsa and away from danger. It's clear that he cared about them but at the same time he's kinda apathetic towards a lot of things. Dallas Winston I am going to bite and scratch you why are you such a good character.

[what-is-the-irony-of-grass]

13 Questions about Books

Tagged by @lizziebennetss (btw thanks for tagging me and I’m really really sorry for answering this half a year later.)

The last book I read: Living a feminist life by Sara Ahmed. Honestly this was a great read. I’ve read two other books by Sara Ahmed and they’re also really good.

A book I recommend: On Earth we’re briefly gorgeous by Ocean Vuong. The descriptions are so good and the paragraph on the mother tongue being that of an orphan still eats at my brain.

A book I couldn't put down: Lazarus Rising by Beth Macy. Its an account on the various groups working on reversing the opioid crisis from providing addicts with safe healthcare to protesting against Perdue. I really enjoyed the book since it seemed focused on pragmatic methods to bring about change which was very hopeful to me at the time. It was pretty inspiring to read at the time and I would love to revisit it some day.

A book I’ve read twice (or more): Emily at Emerald Hill. I have no words to describe this book other than I really need to study Emily’s brain under a microscope.

A book on my to-be-read: I also am curious about Exile and Pride: Disability, Queerness, and Liberation by Eli Clare. I heard about it recently and I would love to read more books about disability.

A book i’ve put down: Honestly I cannot remember since I don’t do that very often.

A book on my wishlist: What’s the Use by Sara Ahmed. I’ve read three of her books already and they all were really good so I would love to read another one. I hear this book in particular is really good and I would love to have a copy especially since my library only has the three Sara Ahmed books that I already read.

A favorite book from childhood: The Giver. This book was my introduction to dystopia as a genre and I really enjoyed the book when I was a kid. I actually reread this recently and it was quite interesting seeing how my opinions on the book have changed. I am quite excited for one of my friends to read it so that I can discuss it with her.

A book i would give to a friend: It highly depends on which friend, I was going to say I’d give irl mutual Night Sky with Exit Wounds but I think she is alr planning or has bought it so I am not really sure what I’d give her. So instead I would give my other friend who is getting into Dostoevsky The Idiot.

A fiction book i own: Mallory towers, I got it as a birthday present as a child. I don’t tend to own many books since I mostly read library loans. Furthermore I just don’t read fiction books very often since I prefer non-fiction.

A nonfiction book i own: I don’t have any physical nonfiction books even though I prefer them over fiction. Most books I read are library loans.However I do have an online copy of a nonfiction book and it’s Decarcerating Disability. I haven’t finished that book yet. One day I would love to look though my library loan history and buy all the books I really enjoyed. It likely the first non-fiction I buy will either by a Sara Ahmed book or Lazarus rising.

What i am currently reading: Against White feminism by Rafia Zakaria. It’s really good so far.

What i plan on reading next: Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky because my friend is reading it and I want to be able to talk about with her and also because I really want to get into Dostoevsky and I guess this is a good opportunity.

I will be tagging @heres-to-the-new-us @dwaynethepetrockson and @selinascatnip

[seiwas]

op i am in love with this oh my god

everything abt this op, i adore so much—the characterisation, the writing, the pacing, the dialogue oh my god THE DIALOGUE!!!! it's sooooo good!! i so love their dynamic and the way you inject how reader/bakugo feels in little statements like this: he's a proper distraction from the pain at least. <- it shows so much of how reader views him in such a subtle sentence UGH i love it.

there's also the little ways katsuki cares. i am such a sucker for subtle intimacy, and i think this counts as one of them—the candy he hides beneath ointments and bandages (pls omFg that is so sweet)

and there's this line i love too: you read him like a book, finger the pages, read between the lines. <- it's so pretty!!

i love the way you characterised katsuki. how of course he feels bad about it and beats himself up. ofc he feels guilty, esp since he knows it's truly his fault.

 "And who's fault is that." He grins, light and easy and gone in an instant, with a flash of realization, guilt that reaches his eyes and worries his brow. It's his, still. <- this bit rlly got to me... bc he was just joking!!! but realised it in the middle 😭😭

He decides it's easier to turn his back to them, to you - again. It's always the same song and dance, one step forward, two steps back. <- OFC he chooses not to confront asdbgsjad

there's smth abt their dynamic that appeals to me so much too!! i think it's largely bc of the way reader was set up 🥺 how their personality challenges his, complements him in a way that matches his spunk!! they tease him and know just what gets him to move 🤧 when he bits at the bait OUUUUUGHH i go insane:

Warm fingers encircle your wrist and you bite your tongue suppress the laugh inching its way up your throat. Predictable, cute. It takes everything in you not to grin.

how he holds out his hand and reader puts their own?? and he's like 'the ointment, idiot' but he lets the hand linGER??? omg R U KIDDING ME OP. that GESTURE HAS ME SDBAS. THEN he grabs the other hand too ??!??!!? such small gestures but. i love how u put them under a microscope sjdhfbdjsa

i love the tiptoeing between them. how their relationship is teetering on a string, ready to tip over. the tension in their interactions now and the one that started to blur it all AAAH

You grin, fingers gently curling around his own. It's not meant to be romantic, the way he draws you forward, presses your knuckles to his chest. He's just trying to get a better look at the wound, head tilting this way and that. But his hand is so warm, and he's so pretty from this angle, and when his eyes rise to meet yours his breath hitches in his throat; and so does yours. <- my breath did indeed hitch at this my GOd

not when he crowded you against the wall, not when his big hand fell to the space beside your head, or when his face dipped to linger just close enough to have your heart beating wildly in your chest. <- this was so hot op h my GOOOOOOD icb he did this

You would be, should be, if it was anyone else. Big, leering, all rippling muscle and explosive temper - but it was Bakugou, your mentor, your best friend, heart of a hero and handsome as hell. You've loved him as long as you've known him. <- full on crying at thiS

He'd grinned, leaned forward til' his lips found yours, deeper, sweeter than you'd ever imagined, and gods you had, too many times <- the GRIN!! i can't stop thinking abt the GRIN 😭😭😭

i am also such a huge sucker for callbacks in writing, and you did that here op omg it was so cute 😭:

"Quit bein' a baby." Bakugou's bark holds no bite, touch softening until his rough fingers border featherlight. "Yer a hero, r'member."

their back-and-forth banter is so satisfying too. how reader watches out for him and tells him he wouldn't have been able to handle it (but he insists he does—eyes behind his head. and there's a whole 'remember seeing you almost whacked in the head' — need to get eyes checked — hearing too bc heard him like a crybaby AAAH idk!! just!! i love this kind of challenge for him 🥺

reader is so dramatic to him and i find it so funny 😭 the forehead flick and how they throw themselves over his lap, teasing!! UGHH then how he presses a kiss to reader's forehead?!???! HELLLOOOOOGUUGH????

his thumb absently strokes the soft underside of your wrist but his gaze doesn't linger. A hint of a blush creeps up his neck, eyes fixated on the opposite corner of the room. "Done bein' a crybaby?" <- this iS SOOOOOO intimate i wanna cry sahdbfsj and the callback to being a crybaby too omg 😭 everything abt this just feels so well-rounded op

"Whether or not you have eyes on the back of your head." He ignores your teasing, so you press a little further, tease a little more. "Either you don't," you squeeze him tighter, closer, smush your cheek against his back. "Or you totally just let me hug you." <-i was squEALING icb reader did that 😭 there's so much comfort in this, and intimacy, that only a reader as gutsy as the one you made can deliver

Finally he catches you, two big hands clamped down on either shoulder. You wait for him to scold you, tongue between your teeth, bated breath in your lungs. But he only grunts, fingers curling around the base of your neck until he can slant his lips over your own; You sigh, it's the second time Katsuki Bakugou's lips have been on yours. But they no longer taste of saltines, white wine, impulse or hesitation; it's not some drunken mistake or whimsy he'll pretend to have forgotten by morning. This time he's kissing you because he wants to. Because the feelings he harbors are just the same as yours. <- SCREAMED AT THIS. COMPLETELY, OP like, i love the way this paragraph flows but also ICB THE KISS OH MY GOD. the tiPPING point.

and there's another pretty paragraph: And when he pulls away his red eyes have mellowed, a dull amber, an expectant cinnabar. There's a palpable silence, one beat, two, three - possibly. His impatience gets the better of him. "Well?" <- a dull amber, an expectant cinnabar (your descriptions are so good op!!) and you characterise him being impatient too UGH so good

and ok op, i know am copy pasting so much and reacting so crazily but this entire sequence just!!! makes me ache in all the good ways oh my god:

He sucks on his teeth. "Cute huh?" His hand cups your wrist, thumbs the bandage, careful, cute. "I nearly cooked ya and 'm 'cute?'"

"There's somethin' wrong with you."

"Yeah, it's called the guy I like is completely oblivious and won't tell me he likes me."

"I kissed you, twice. If ya didn't take the hint, that's on you."

and when reader smiles when they repeatedly kiSS HIM oh my god and tells him: What? Didn't you take the hint?" You slant your mouth over his, linger a little longer this time. "I like you." You kiss him again, again, again. <- the callback, the flirting, their chemiSTRY OP you built everything up so well and wrote everything so well AND I AM JUSTTT A MELTED PUDDLE RN

this is barely coherent, but thank u so much for writing this op 🥺  i adore this piece so much!!!

pro hero!bakugou x sidekick!reader | fluff, mutual pining, blatant flirting, bakugou calls reader darlin', bakugou is soft(ish) | cw: injury, mentions of alcohol, name calling (idiot), kisses kisses kisses

-bakugou tends to your injury, pining for you nearly as much as you do for him-

Your arm burns in waves, like kindling fire, the plain between your elbow and wrist a bramble of red and purple. It stings like a million tiny thorns pricking your skin.

"Why'd ya get in the way, idiot!" Bakugou's words are fierce and his brow is drawn, but you see the way his cheeks flush. He's embarrassed, guilt-ridden though it's not his fault. Not really.

You were both too overzealous for your own goods, determined to land the final blow on the villains. But his quirk was bigger, more explosive, harder to stop when your hands inevitably collided. You're just lucky your arm took the brunt of it.

Still, you smile despite the pain and his frown deepens, "What? Ya hit yer head too?"

You take a step forward, then two, crossing the threshold of your front door, reveling in the way his blush travels to his ears. "Did you come all the way here just to nag me?" There's a lilt of amusement in your voice, and he huffs, exasperation on his breath. "Or are you finally gonna give me that?"

You point to the bag dangling from his fingertips, pharmacy label half hidden by his baggy combat trousers. He's still in costume, mask pushed up over his wild, blonde hair, light sheen of sweat dotting his forehead and shoulders.

He's a proper distraction from the pain at least.

His gaze falls to his own hand, as if he'd entirely forgotten. There's a palpable moment of hesitation, and then he grunts, knuckles clenching; he thrusts it against your chest.

"Did'ya sterilize it, at least?"

You're half listening, shuffling through the contents of the bag. "Mhm, rinsed it with water when I got home."

"Yer hopeless, darlin'."

You shrug, "If a little burn could take me out, I wouldn't be much of a hero, now would I?"

He snorts, "If ya were such a good hero, you'd have dodged in the first place."

"You think?" You humor his attitude, heart swelling in your chest when you spot your favorite candy hidden beneath the ointments and bandages. You have half a mind to tease him about it. "Are you gonna help me put this on?"

His arms fold across his chest, half a scowl twisting his face. He leans back, tapping a heavy boot against the floorboards. "And why would I do that?"

He must think he's subtle but you read him like a book, finger the pages, read between the lines. There's worry in his brow, guilt, turmoil, anger directed at his own self.

You figured it would help alleviate his conscience, at least.

"That's fine. I'll get around to it eventually." You turn on your heel, adding a cheeky "probably" to accentuate the wave of your hand, nudge him into action. It works.

Warm fingers encircle your wrist and you bite your tongue, suppress the laugh inching it's way up your throat. Predictable, cute. It takes everything in you not to grin.

Two big hands push you down by the shoulders, cushions folding beneath your thighs. Bakugou holds a palm out expectantly and you place your own atop his, reveling in the way his nose scrunches in frustration.

You don't miss the way he lets it linger - just for a moment - before finally swatting it away with a half-hearted flick of the wrist. "The ointment, idiot."

You relent, handing him the thin white tube. He spreads a stripe down his fingertips, seat dipping beside you; he extends his opposite hand. "Now your hand."

You grin, fingers gently curling around his own. It's not meant to be romantic, the way he draws you forward, presses your knuckles to his chest. He's just trying to get a better look at the wound, head tilting this way and that. But his hand is so warm, and he's so pretty from this angle, and when his eyes rise to meet yours his breath hitches in his throat; and so does yours.

It's intimate, familiar.

It makes you want to break whatever this unspoken 'something' is that the two of you have fostered - this growing affection you're both too proud to admit that wears on you, leaves you yearning to lean just a little closer and finally concede.

Just like all those nights ago, when he got a little too drunk at the hero convention, quickly annoyed by the crowds and reporters, the loud, boasting heroes. His champagne glass was quickly emptied once more, grunting when he pushed back in his chair. You remember leaning closer, close enough to discretely ask if he was alright. His red hot stare followed, burned through your chest and down to your core, left you shifting restlessly in your seat.

The air was thick when he finally careened upward, swaying perilously as he took you by the wrist, led you up and out of the dining hall until it was just the two of you, alone in an empty corridor. You could still hear the echo of stranger's voices, but it didn't bother him, not when he crowded you against the wall, not when his big hand fell to the space beside your head, or when his face dipped to linger just close enough to have your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"What about the party?"

"'as boring." He'd replied, fingers 'round your wrist, lingering on your pulse; he feels it stutter beneath his touch. "Ya scared?"

You would be, should be, if it was anyone else. Big, leering, all rippling muscle and explosive temper - but it was Bakugou, your mentor, your best friend, heart of a hero and handsome as hell. You've loved him as long as you've known him.

"No."

He'd grinned, leaned forward til' his lips found yours, deeper, sweeter than you'd ever imagined, and gods you had, too many times.

"Good."

You're so lost in thought that you miss the way skin meets skin, thin buffer of ointment between you, and it burns - his fingers against your aching forearm. Your cheeky smile twists into a grimace and you can almost taste his guilt.

"Quit bein' a baby." Bakugou's bark holds no bite, touch softening until his rough fingers border featherlight. "Yer a hero, r'member."

You watch as he carefully applies the medicine, touch gentling each time you flinch until he's barely touching you at all.

"You've said that a lot today. 'Hero'." You muse. "It's usually sidekick this, sidekick that."

He shoots you a look before wiping the ointment from his fingers. "Yer my sidekick."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head, leaning forward to rest your chin on your unattended hand. "And what's the difference?"

He could answer you honestly, if he wanted. You're capable, brave, strong in your own right - beautiful to boot. You're the best of the best; Bakugou would never settle for less after all. Not that he was going to admit that.

Instead his lips twist in amusement, curling, lopsided, askew; you realize you won't be getting a straight answer.

"Ya should know by now when t' stay out of my way, is the difference." He pulls a bandage as big as his fist from the bag, pressing one corner to the flat of your palm, working it up and around until it reaches your wrist, and further still. "Was perfectly capable of handlin' it on my own."

"Seemed like you had your hands full with the big guy," you quip back, rubbing your thumb absently over the scratchy bandage. "Was I supposed to watch while the other one pummeled you from behind?"

He quirks a brow, you're not sure if he's annoyed or amused. "Woulda been fine. How d'ya think I made it to the top twenty, 've practically got eyes on the back of my head."

"You sure? Think I recall a time or two you've been whacked upside the head."

His eyes stray for only a moment, simmering up at you beneath dark lashes. "Think we might need t' get yer eyes checked, darlin', seems yer seein' things."

"Guess I need a hearing test too, since I remember you being a total crybaby about it."

He centers the tips of his thumb and pointer just above your brow, fingertips bouncing off your forehead, a tepid flick! and he's resuming his handiwork.

"Hey!" you pout, rubbing the offended area with your unfettered hand. "I'm a patient, you're supposed to be nice to me!"

"And who's fault is that." He grins, light and easy and gone in an instant, with a flash of realization, guilt that reaches his eyes and worries his brow. It's his, still.

You sigh, "Look at me." And he does, begrudgingly as it may be. "It's not your fault. I should have trusted you more. And you should have trusted me. We're both idiots so quit blaming yourself." You lightly flick his forehead in return; he doesn't flinch, eyes never leaving your own. "Finish the wrapping and we'll call it even, yeah?"

He grumbles something lost on you, stretching the last bit of fabric beneath your elbow and tucking it into itself. He turns your arm over in his palm, lightly, carefully inspecting it before leaning back against the cushions. You can feel his guilt dissipate, the stress in his shoulders slowly deflating.

"Ya hurt anywhere else?" His voice is low, quiet. He desperately hopes not.

You think for a moment, read his face, his body language, and then you're rubbing the space above your brow, faking a pout if only to lighten the mood. "Yeah, some brute bruised my forehead earlier, think it needs medical attention."

He crosses his arms, muscles flexing, brow tightening in discontent. "I'm being serious."

You struggle to suppress the laugh bubbling up in your chest. "So am I. What a devastating injury, I fear I won't live long." You dramatically throw yourself over his lap, knuckles laid flat over your brow. There's a conflicting look in his eye; you struggle to read it. "If only a big, handsome hero woul-"

You nearly miss the annoyed huff, the subtle roll of his eyes, too enamored in the way he encircles your wrist with one big hand, guides it to rest against his chest before leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead.

You're sure there's hearts in your eyes when he straightens his shoulders, hand still idle against his heartbeat; his thumb absently strokes the soft underside of your wrist but his gaze doesn't linger. A hint of a blush creeps up his neck, eyes fixated on the opposite corner of the room. "Done bein' a crybaby?"

You try and fail, miserably so, to hide the delight dancing in your chest and curling your toes. There's a grin splitting your cheeks when you sit up, face an inch from his own. "Mhm."

You can feel his breath, his hesitation, the slippery, fluttering feelings he's struggling to catch, and name, and put into words. He decides it's easier to turn his back to them, to you - again.

It's always the same song and dance, one step forward, two steps back.

He's up in a moment, fidgeting with his tank, his gloves, his mask, anything he can get his hands on. You sigh, pushing off the couch, taking one step, two, arms wrapping snug around his middle. "What're ya doin'?"

"Checking something."

"And what's that?"

"Whether or not you have eyes on the back of your head." He ignores your teasing, so you press a little further, tease a little more. "Either you don't," you squeeze him tighter, closer, smush your cheek against his back. "Or you totally just let me hug you."

He croons his head to stare you down, if looks could kill, you'd be very very toasty right about now. Still you laugh, hide your smile in the shadow of his broad shoulders, tip toe around him when twists around to face you.

Finally he catches you, two big hands clamped down on either shoulder. You wait for him to scold you, tongue between your teeth, bated breath in your lungs. But he only grunts, fingers curling around the base of your neck until he can slant his lips over your own.

You sigh, it's the second time Katsuki Bakugou's lips have been on yours. But they no longer taste of saltines, white wine, impulse or hesitation; it's not some drunken mistake or whimsy he'll pretend to have forgotten by morning. This time he's kissing you because he wants to. Because the feelings he harbors are just the same as yours.

And when he pulls away his red eyes have mellowed, a dull amber, an expectant cinnabar. There's a palpable silence, one beat, two, three - possibly. His impatience gets the better of him. "Well?"

You stifle a laugh, keen up at him, hands absently against his chest. "Well what?"

"What d'ya mean 'well what'?!"

What ever self control you had wavers, the incredulous look in his eyes sending you over the edge until your devolving into a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny, huh?"

"'m sorry." The laughter rattles you, chest like a suitcase too small to pack away the joy that fills you, spills over the brim in fits of laughter. It's infectious; Bakugou grins.

Your hands cup his cheeks. "You're too cute not to tease."

He sucks on his teeth. "Cute huh?" His hand cups your wrist, thumbs the bandage, careful, cute. "I nearly cooked ya and 'm 'cute?'"

You lean forward, bump your nose against his. "Mhm."

"There's somethin' wrong with you."

"Yeah, it's called the guy I like is completely oblivious and won't tell me he likes me."

"I kissed you, twice. If ya didn't take the hint, that's on you."

You're smiling when you press your lips to his - quick, tepid, chaste, and over and over and over again.

He breaks away, eyes full of suspicion. "What was that for?"

"What? Didn't you take the hint?" You slant your mouth over his, linger a little longer this time. "I like you." You kiss him again, again, again.

He snorts, palm falling to the small of your back, big hand heavy on your skin. "Point taken."

He dips his head low, kisses you, soft and slow, fingers flexing against your shirt, dragging you closer when you move to pull back. "I like ya." His breath is hot against your mouth. "Always have."

[phoenixyfriend]

ok. karin vs anakin's genome being 50% the Force. go

Jesus fuck, okay. Uh, fair warning, I know very little about this subject, so it’s 90% bullshit. I am in no way qualified to talk about biology past the high school level.

Anakin's sixteen. He's part of a set of Jedi assigned to a weird mission regarding making contact with an isolated planet of near-humans with superpowers but no space travel. He doesn’t really have a Job here and now, he’s just there as Obi-Wan’s plus-one. There's an underlying plot about Sidious trying to acquire people from Ninja Land, but none of the Jedi are fully aware of it. Mostly they're distracted by all the ninjas and their bitching.

They call it the Shinobi Planet, because nobody can agree on a name for the planet when they ask and the last major international alliance was named after the shinobi profession, right? Good enough, you can change it later when you idiots can agree on literally anything, oh my god. The Samurai are very offended and it's a whole thing.

Anakin wanders a lot. He runs into various strange people and is mostly polite because, listen, half his friends are distinctly not human. When your immediate circle includes nautolans and besalisks and twi’leks and whatever the fuck Yoda is, you’re not gonna blink at a Hoshigaki or... uh... okay that kid just turned into a giant fox, is anybody gonna--no? That’s normal? Just him? Cool, cool, cool.

There’s a kage summit involved in the negotiations going on. IDK what’s being negotiated, probably something to get the ninjas to set up a singular spaceport so there’s somewhere to land WITHOUT ships being regularly shot down by village defense systems powered by that massive flaming purple skeleton warrior or the girl who punched down a mountain or the.. the literal desert? There’s a guy that can control the desert? Is there any way of keeping him away from Anakin?

(Gaara’s tickled pink that the reason someone wants to stay away from him has nothing to do with fear or respect for authority, and everything to do with ‘he is also from the desert and fucking hates it, so he’s staying away from the sand powers,’ because it’s very novel and kind of funny.)

ANYWAY where was I. Uh. Right, kage summit, lots of villages, they invite smaller villages to pitch in, but nobody ever ever ever wants Orochimaru anywhere near this situation, for hopefully obvious reasons, so Otogakure sends Karin.

Really, who else was it gonna be? Suigetsu? You want Suigetsu representing you on an interstellar political field? You want Juugo before he’s stabilized? You want Sasuke, master of ruining kage summits? You want these idiots representing you at the big kids’ table?

They send Karin. She’s a bitch with a temper, but at least she’s not as big of a political risk as... literally anyone else from the snakepit.

Anyway, Anakin wanders around, meeting people, trying foods, showing off when asked for demonstrations. He doesn’t have an Entire Protocol Droid, but he did cobble together a little floating helper that can do translations for him. Assume all translations are accurate and being done by the little helper bot. Bot’s name is G1-0T. Anakin calls it Glot.

He runs into Karin at one point, who’s not super into the whole situation, but at least Anakin’s interesting. She’s not interested in him, because he’s sixteen and she’s like... mid-twenties. And his hair is stupid. But! All these force-sensitive people feel weird to her, because sensor stuff, and it’s not chakra but it’s... something. Anakin is, of course, the weirdest.

(There are non-sensitives in the envoy, so she knows it’s not just a space thing.)

She strikes up a conversation about it, because hey, she hasn’t made it this far to not lean into... you know, being the kind of person who barges ahead with Weird Questions that might lead into fun science stuff.

Anakin is like. Well. This woman’s very strange, but it’s not like there’s anything against talking about midichlorians to random people. It’s easy enough to look up in the core. Not everyone knows about them, but it’s not a secret or anything.

“Wow,” Karin says, though not in so many words, “that sounds incredibly strange, and actually a lot like it functions completely differently from chakra, though maybe it intersects with nature chakra somehow. Can I take a blood sample?”

Anakin doesn’t want to give a blood sample to a stranger. Karin isn’t stupid enough to try to steal one. She’s seen what this Force Stuff can do, and this kid’s got a lot of it. She hasn’t got enough information on hand about it to know if he’d notice.

“How about I let you look at the blood of a guy that can turn into water?” Karin asks, because she’s not going to let him look at her blood. “I’ve got it with me.”

“...why?” Anakin asks, reasonably disturbed.

“He owes me,” she says, and does not elaborate.

“What, there’s nothing weird about your blood to share?” Anakin demands, like the ornery little bastard he is.

“People took my blood against my will for over a decade,” Karin says, with the kind of smile that threatens a stabbing. This is not secret information. Her healing factor is in the bingo book. Plenty of people still want her dead. “Nobody gets my blood except me.”

Anakin has no idea what to do with that answer. Most people wouldn’t know what to do with that answer. It’s not exactly a standard answer.

“So there is something weird about your--e chu ta what the fuck are those scars?”

Karin looks at her arm. She looks back at him. She raises an eyebrow.

“What do you think they are?”

He stares a little longer, and then very carefully does not say anything as she pushes her sleeve back down.

“So can I look at your blood?” she asks again.

“Uh--”

“You can look at mine under a microscope,” she wheedles. “You can’t take any, though.”

Anakin... does eventually agree. Eventually.

-----------

There is a very angry redhead yelling at a machine, and Anakin does not know what to do.

“Is something wr--”

“What the fuck is your blood?” she demands. “It’s glowing in ultraviolet. It burned the dye up. I tried to sequence your genome--”

“Woah, I did not agree to that.”

“--and look at this. Look at this!”

“I don’t know how to read your graphs. None of this is a language I know.”

“It’s garbage,” she hisses at him. Glot takes a few moments to process it. “Look at this. This is supposed to--fuck, where’s the Jiraiya file, he’s standard--this is what it’s supposed to look like for most humans with chakra. And this is a civilian, and a few bloodline users--”

“Do you just carry these around with you?”

“Shut up, you don’t exist. You have--you have more in common with summons than people. I ran a blood test on one of your human diplomats, the ones that aren’t monks--”

“When did they agree to that?”

“They didn’t, I’m just sneaky.”

“I should tell Obi-W--”

“STAY THERE, I’M NOT DONE YELLING YET. Do you see this? Do you see this shit? This is the one and only time I’ve managed to perform any kind of analysis on a bijuu. They don’t usually have blood. Shukaku is sand. Matatabi is literally just fire. This was almost impossible to make happen, but I did it because I’m a dedicated biomedical resea--”

“Because you’re unhinged.”

“--rcher, and you know what? You know what I’ve found?”

“What?”

“Your blood looks like you’re half demon,” she says, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking, a little wild-eyed and clearly pissed at him. “Half of it’s human! Half of it looks like the non-physical chakra manifestations that were torn-apart remnants of a godlike demon. The fuckers can’t die. They also can’t breed. They don’t have reproductive organs! This isn’t just demon-tainted like a jinchuuriki, I’ve got that analyzed--”

“Why?”

“Because my cousin’s a moron, don’t change the subject. You--you shouldn’t exist. Your blood is stupid. Fuck, is this what I’d find if I analyzed the Sage of the Six Paths?”

“The what?”

She ignores him, frowning at papers. “Is--I need to call Haruno, she might still have some of Kaguya’s blood dried on her old gloves from the war, I know she kept those as a souvenir from the whole ‘punched a god’ thing.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“There was a thing a few years back, godlike alien demon princess who got sealed into a moon by her sons a thousand years ago, but her immortal sentient goo child brought her back with a giant tree that consumed all the tailed beasts-the flaming fox you saw earlier is one of them--and then used a giant eyeball to reflect off the moon to put everyone in a hallucination at the same time so she could eat our life-forces,” Karin dismisses. “It’s not important.”

“There is--what?”

Jedi see many things. Many of those things are very strange.

This is a little much even for Anakin.

“It’s over, if you want the actual details, talk to my idiot cousin,” she huffs. “But now I need to run comparisons between the actual nonsense that is your entire existence and the actual nonsense that is my cousin’s existence, and maybe Sasuke’s... fuck this is going to be a mess, I’m going to have to cross-reference all the clans with bloodlines we know are derived from Kaguya, she’s the only angle we have on gods like that, unless... maybe there’s still some black Zetsu goo somewhere... Orochimaru must have kept a sample...”

“Uh, can I--can I go? I’m not comfortable here.”

“I need to find Naruto so he can call the Sage of the Six Paths out of the afterlife so I can see if I can get blood from a ghost to compare to yours.”

[captainillogical]

Home Ch.3

The domesticity of living with an alien who hasn’t quite had the chance at a normal life.

Distant Lands sequel.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants​

Chapter Rating: Explicit

A/N: I’m sorry about the previous version guys, wasn’t my intention to write it that way, and thanks for all the feedback. Changed some things, added another thousand or so words, and re-wrote some dialogue. Thank you Star for all your help p:

This chapter is NSFW. I’m pretty sure one of the people that sent me shit was a minor, so I’d like to say this again, ya’ll. No minors.

-

"Why do 'ya seem a little out of breath? You run up the stairs?" Your girlfriend asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No reason," You lie, she doesn't need to know of whatever that was. It was probably nothing, anyway. You're just paranoid. "Met another human that lives a few floors down from us though."

"Another human lives here? Huh," She answers, interested. She's got half your boxes open, and has already stacked most of the books inside your bookcase in the living room. It's.. it's stacked like a fire hazard. You don't know what you were expecting. "Bismuth did say that more humans were starting to live in this area. Was he nice?"

"Yeah, he did ask me a lot of questions about you though."

She gives you a particular look. "Why'd he ask about me.."

"I might've mentioned I was living with my girlfriend." You say sheepishly.

"Aw jeez," She groans, wiping her face a bit dramatically with her gloved hand. 

"Am I supposed to keep quiet about it?"

"No! No. I just haven't had the chance to tell any of our neighbors about it yet." She replies guiltily. She pushes a twintail over her shoulder, getting it out of the way as she digs into an open box.

"Spinel!" You hiss out.

"What! I've been busy!" She wails. "And also, two of the quartzes on this floor are such huge gossips that I've maybe avoided the conversation with them! They've pried SO much already about my past and it's kinda 'irritatin. I know once they figure out that you're livin' with me, they're gonna bombard me with even more questions."

"Ugh, okay, you get a pass today."

"Today," She repeats, deadpan. "I should get a pass whenever."

"Nah, you're not special enough." You chuckle, grabbing some of your books to restack them into something actually resembling a bookcase.

"I am to you," She pouts a little, which is really endearing. 

"Ehhhhhhh," You start, sarcastically, until you feel a pinch on your ass and you cut off mid sentence to yelp. You whip your head around to glare at your girlfriend. "Spinel!"

"Deserved it." She grins, peering at you from the side. You contemplate throwing a book at her, but your stomach rumbles instead.

"Can you finish opening all of these boxes? I'm gonna make myself some food real quick," You say, finishing restacking that one shelf and walking into the kitchen. "I wanna be completely unpacked tonight if possible. I hate moving for this reason."

You hear her make an offended noise from the living room. "Was how I stacked these not good enough for you?!"

"I hate to break this to you, but like," You pause to open your fridge, rifling through what you bought earlier. "Pretty sure they were one bump away from being all over the floor."

"Looked fine to me."

"Have you ever had to organize anything, ever?" You take the ingredients out to make a sandwich, plopping the contents on the counter.

"..I think I'm more of the fun type, personally." She answers, and you hear her toss an empty box off to the side. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, and opt to ignore it for a little bit while you feed yourself.

"Yeah? You think so?" You snicker, adding an extra slice of cheese to your ham sandwich. "I thought you were more of the 'village idiot' type."

She sputters, and you walk out of the kitchen with your sandwich in hand to see her glaring at you non-threateningly. "That's more of a you type."

"No way! You don't even have any proof." You take a bite out of your food in hand, watching her pull out some of your cute plushies that Steven has gifted you over the years. Sandwich is a bit dry.. shoulda put on more mayo. Oh well.

"Are 'ya fuckin' kidding me?" She stares at you, deadpan. Her left eye is twitching. "Why don't we revisit everything that happened on Golgotha? Hmmmmm?" 

"Okay that's not completely fair," You take another bite, and chew it thoughtfully. "It's not like I asked for that to happen to me. It was all self preservation. Besides, it's not like you made it easy."

She opens her mouth to retort with something just as an arm comes out of your hair - she screams, making you drop your sandwich.

"W-WHAT IS THAT!?"

You grab the arm, and yank Steven out of the portal he's created through your hair. He tumbles to the floor, groaning and rubbing his butt.

"You could just, like, I don't know, knock?!" You hiss out at him, patting the side of your head. That was.. uh. That felt weird.

"Maybe you should read your texts sometime!" He groans, flopping on the floor, arms out. "My poor back.."

"My fucking sandwich," You sigh, feeling sad for what could've been your life had you been able to eat the rest of it. "You owe me another one."

"I'll make you twenty if you help me not embarrass myself in front of Connie's mom again." 

"Deal." You grab his hand, helping lift him off the floor, and throw the rest of your destroyed sandwich into the garbage bin.

"Am I 'gonna get an explanation for that or are we ignoring it." Spinel says as she stares at the two of you like you've each grown another head. 

"Oh, he can just do that now that he pink’d me.” You answer quite bluntly, and Steven opens his mouth in offense.

“Don’t call it that! But she’s technically right.” He gives you a tired look, and it makes you feel a little gleeful that you can still get this kind of reaction out of him whenever you want. “I can do it with Lars too, but he’s taken to threatening me whenever I do it now.”

“You interrupt him in the bathroom again?” You grin at him, and his cheeks color slightly.

“No!” He says all too quickly. 

“Wait,” Spinel lowers her eyes to you, getting a strange expression on her face. She walks closer to you. “He can do that just whenever?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I’m sure he’ll ask beforehand, but yes,” You reply to her, watching as she lifts a hand to your head. “What’re you-”

“-does that mean I can?” She jabs the side of your head with her gloved hand without waiting for an answer - you slap her hand away as Steven laughs.

“No,” You sigh, Spinel only looking a little put out. “Steven’s the only gem who can. That would be a nightmare otherwise.”

“Anyway, I also came over to give you an update.” Steven clears his throat.

“For what?” You ask, now concerned. “Couldn’t you have just texted?”

“What, so you can just not look at it or text me back?” He shoots a pointed look at you, and you only feel a little bit guilty. “No, I needed to change your schedule specifically to fit around two others, so your first lesson got moved up to a bigger slot. It’s tomorrow. I’m sorry for the short notice.”

You stare at him, unsure of what to say.

“If you’re not ready, I can have Pearl take over for the time being-”

“-No! No. It’s fine, I just needed to mentally adjust to it.” You shake your head vigorously, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. You feel the anxiety swirling in your gut, but you manage to push most of it down for now. “I’m basically done with all my prep for it, anyway.”

“Only if you’re sure, Y/N.” He looks at you like he’s waiting for your face to betray you of something, but you ignore it. “Because you can talk to me if you’re-”

“It’s fine, Steven.” You cut him off. “You worry too much. Besides, you’ve got bigger things on your plate. Y’know, like Mrs. Maheswaran’s divine judgement.”

“Ugggggghhh, thanks for the reminder.” He wipes his hand down his face dramatically. “She wants me to come over for dinner this weekend so she can talk to the two of us about something. I’m not even sure what.”

“Buddy, you know she’s gonna grill you about your future.” You reply, and peer into the open box to the left of you. It’s full of kitchen supplies.

“That’s guaranteed.” He sighs, grabbing some of the items from you and putting them away. Of course he’s helping without any kind of prompt. “I don’t mind it, but I’d like a single dinner with them where I’m not feeling like I’m putting on some kind of performance.”

Your anxiety is still at the forefront of your mind.

“It can’t be that bad.” Spinel turns to him, breaking down the empty box in her hand. 

“You’ve never met Mrs. Maheswaran.” He retorts, placing your tea infusers into the silverware drawer and shutting it with a clank. “You have no idea what it feels like to talk to her. Sure she’s nice, but it’s like she’s always watching you under a little microscope..”

Spinel gives him some kind of snide response and snickers, and you hear Steven chuckle and holler out something in reply to that - but you had somehow tuned out the words as you opened the box to your bathroom supplies. 

“Give me a few, I’m gonna put all these away real quick,” You manage to say to them before ducking into the bathroom, neither of them seeming to notice your brief change in mood as you leave the door three-quarters closed.

You can still hear them making jabs at each other while Steven talks to Spinel about all the pressure Connie’s mom has put him under the last few years, and you set your box down on the toilet.

Uggghhh, okay. You can deal with this. You have no idea why something as simple as moving a lesson up two days is fucking you up this much, but you’re gonna have to deal with it anyway. Why the fuck are you so nervous? You’ve dealt with worse. You have your lessons ready - they’re basic things anyway. It’s easy. Sure, there’s a big crowd for attendance which is a little unheard of, but maybe more gems want to befriend and understand humans than you had previously considered.

You grab your box of hair ties and scrunchies, and shove them under the sink. You don’t need extras right now. You can still feel the anxiety there, under your skin. You pick up your blow dryer and straightener, placing those down as well. Why did Steven seem like he was expecting you to back out?

Does he think you’re incapable of handling this? Is this some kind of test?

You pull out your phone to text Amethyst.

[21:42] Y/N: Quick question.

[21:42] Y/N: You think I’m capable of teaching those classes?

You set your phone down after hitting send, and grab all your soaps to put away as you wait for a reply. Spinel’s voice rings out from the living room, and you focus on the sound of it for the time being. You reach into the box again, and pull out all your hair dye supplies from a while ago.

Huh. 

You turn the container of bleach around in your hand.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, and try not to wince at the reflection. You probably couldn’t.. right? You don’t think that your hair would take any kind of bleach or dye now. The utter irony is that you’ve experimented with every single other color for your hair before this, claiming you would never try pink to Steven.. and now it’s.. permanent. 

Your phone buzzes on the counter. You pick it up.

[21:44] Amethyst: uhh.. yeah?

[21:44] Amethyst: the fuck you asking for?

Okay, well. Now you just seem paranoid.

[21:44] Y/N: No reason..

Your fingers are hovering over the keyboard, and as you’re figuring out what to continue to type, she shoots a text back nearly instantly.

[21:45] Amethyst: :/

You put your phone back into your pocket. You don’t really feel like asking what that face is for, because you think you know the answer.

You finish putting away the remnants of what was left in the box, and walk back out into the living room where Steven and Spinel are now talking about how he met Connie. You throw your empty box off to the side, and look at all the stuff you have left to unpack on the floor. It’s not much left, you’re well over two-thirds done at this point, and ohhhhhhhhhhh you forgot about your laundry.

You let the other two know that you’ll be back in a few - Spinel shoots you a look that you ignore, and you head downstairs.

Your mind wanders nervously the entire way down, and the laundry room is empty when you arrive to get your clothes. Amethyst texts you again, asking you if you're okay, and you shoot her a quick 'yup just peachy'. You get your dry clothes, placing them into your hamper, and you scurry back to your floor to avoid any weird confrontations.

When you get back inside, you manage to catch the tail end of a quiet mutter from Steven to Spinel before he quickly runs his sentence into something else, and at an increased volume to avoid suspicion. You opt to pretend you didn't notice, and you easily slide back into the conversation as the three of you finish what you had set out tonight to accomplish.

Steven ends up leaving the normal way after you and him have a heavy discussion laying on your living room floor about his dinner problem, and he gives you an especially hard hug after letting you know he'll drop by after your lesson tomorrow to see how it goes with lunch that he now owes you.

The door in front of you closes with a click, and you lock it for the night. Not that you're expecting anyone to barge in, but force of habit. 

You're weirdly mentally exhausted. 

"I think I'm gonna take a shower. I feel kinda gross." Is what you hear coming out of your mouth, and you move to grab fresh laundry out of your pile that you left on the couch.

“I’m gonna try to finally figure out how to work this TV, then.” She replies, and you make your way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

You place your clean clothes on the toilet lid as you turn the shower on, letting the room fill up with steam as you take off your clothes and kick them into the corner to deal with later. You don't really wanna take a shower in silence, so you opt to put some music on in the background.

You pull the curtain back, steam rolling out and hitting you directly in the face as you step inside the tub. It's so scaldingly hot that you barely manage to hold back a scream as you adjust the temp and stand away from the stream. 

After a couple seconds or so the water finally gets to a more reasonable temperature and you stand underneath it to let it soak you. It feels nice.

You look down to grab your shampoo, but instead see the gnarly scar on your stomach, and stop. You stare at it a while. The raised skin along the outer ring of where you basically got hole-punched feels weird. It's also a slightly darker pink than the rest of your skin, which you're still not really used to when you get a glimpse of yourself.

You remember the feeling of being pierced, and decide to stop thinking about this all together for now. 

You grab the shampoo bottle and pour some into your hand, rubbing it into your scalp. You feel your muscles relax.

The door to the bathroom opens and closes, and all of a sudden you hear the shower curtain being pulled back. 

"Do you MIND." You slap your arms around yourself self consciously, still having soap in your hair. You can't see shit but you know it's Spinel.

"Pfft, 'ya act like I've never seen you naked. Anyway, I just wanted to know how to turn on the TV? I can’t figure it out." She asks, letting the colder air of the bathroom in, and you can hear some water hitting the floor.

"Will you close the curtain," You reach out, grabbing the edge of the vinyl liner, just as Spinel opens it wider to step inside with you. "-what the fuck are you doing?"

"Oh, the water’s warm? This doesn’t feel too bad," You rinse the rest of your shampoo out, just to see her fully clothed half a foot from you, hand reaching out to touch the stream of water. Your heart is beating wildly - but you find yourself at ease with her presence in here, oddly enough. She’s watching you curiously.

"What, you can't figure the TV out yourself? And you thought I took cold showers, really?!" You scoff at her, unfazed at this point by her antics. "The fact that you're in here with clothes on kinda says everything about you."

"I can take 'em off." She says to you, like, duh Y/N, don't you even know me by now? You glare at her, which isn't hard since there's water being sprayed onto you and into your eyes, and she phases off her clothes, shoes and all in an instant. "Better?" She asks, like she’s doing you a favor.

"Gems don't need to take showers." You deadpan at her. "And weren't you trying to figure out the TV?"

"Just because I don't need to doesn't mean I can't. Also, I could help 'ya." She says cheekily, grinning a little.

"I don't need help bathing myself," You roll your eyes at her in jest, water starting to drench her hair. You think it’s really cute that she offers, but you’re sure she just wants a chance at messing around with you. Not that you’d really mind right now, and well.. you school your face into one that isn’t obvious to what you’re currently thinking about. You try not to focus too much on her gemstone in the middle of her chest, or her breasts, or those soft looking shoulders, or the rest of her naked expanse of skin - you need to stop before you get carried away. "..but I bet you would."

“Are ‘ya saying I can’t figure out something as simple as bathing? Something I’ve watched you do? Wow. I’m hurt, Y/N.” She feigns offense, looking around at the bottles of soap and shampoo products you have in here, picking them up and starting at the labels.

“Then try it.” You watch her eye a bar of soap, and then pick it up with her wet hands. It almost shoots out of her hands at you, and she barely manages to keep it within her grip hilariously enough.

“See, I know what I’m doing,” She says stubbornly, bringing the bar up to her nose to smell it. She rubs a bit of the suds off, wiping it on her palm curiously. All of a sudden, you get a really good idea.

“Yeah, and if you actually did, you’d know that that’s what I use to clean the inside of my mouth.” You raise your eyebrows at her, begging your own face to not betray you. 

“Wait, really?!” Her eyes widen, giving you a slightly disturbed look. She peers at the soap, bringing it closer to her face. “I mean, it smells good and the shape is right..”

She licks it, and immediately gags. The look on her face of utter disgust is the best thing you’ve seen all week.

“AUUUUGH,” She wails, pushing her face into the water to scrape off the remaining soap, and the laugh that comes out of your mouth is so loud it echoes throughout the bathroom. “Y/N!”

“Gullible.” Is all you can say between laughs, and she musters a glare at you.

“I trusted you!”

“That was your mistake.” You retort with a grin. “I don’t eat soap. I’m surprised you believed that.”

“Never AGAIN.” She gags one more time, and you grab for your bottle of conditioner.

“Here, lemme show you.” You step outside of the constant stream of water, and trade places with Spinel. Once you’re done rubbing the conditioner into your own hair, you grab your shampoo for her. You look at her drenched in water, watching you closely. You won’t lie when it makes your heart flutter in your chest, and it feels a little like falling. “Can you take your hair down for this?”

“Oh, sure,” She makes quick work of undoing her hair, and yeah, you’re definitely staring at her now. You’re having a really hard time hiding it. Getting some shampoo in your hand, you have her step out of the water for a moment and start rubbing it into her scalp. She relaxes so much into your touch that you feel your heart start to beat a little faster. “Y/N?” 

“Hm?” You answer.

“You seemed kind of off earlier.” She says, and you quickly rip your gaze from her. She definitely notices. “I could just.. tell.”

“It’s nothing, really.” You sigh, rubbing small circles into her scalp. You were kind of hoping she’d brush it off, but noooooo. She has to be observant.

She grabs your hands to still your motions momentarily, giving you a more serious look. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nah, I’m just anxious about tomorrow, I’ll get over it.” You meet her eyes again, and hers waver between yours as if she’s searching for a different answer. Like she doesn’t really believe you, even though honestly, that’s all it really is. You feel a little something there in your chest when you realize that she’s only like this because she actually cares about you. “Don’t worry about me.” You insist, not really wanting to overthink the day you’ve got ahead of you. 

“Want me to come to the lesson?" She offers as she drops your hands, tilting her head in question; a glob of shampoo suds run down the side of her neck. The sight is weirdly enticing.. or maybe you’re just a little pent up. Being here alone with her after what feels like forever, and naked on top of that has your brain thinking of things you probably shouldn’t be thinking of right now. 

You’re only a little ashamed of yourself.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Spinel. You’ll just give me performance anxiety.” You resume massaging her scalp, managing to get some shampoo also into her ends. You briefly have a passing thought about not wanting to dry out her long strands, because split ends at this hair length fucking blow, and then you remember she’s a gem. That doesn’t even matter. You feel a little jealous that she doesn’t have to put these kinds of thoughts into her daily routine.

"I wouldn't do anything, promise. Maybe a comment or two, but that's it." She retorts as she brings her palms up in feign offense, and you push her gently back by her shoulders under the stream of water to rinse out her hair, careful to not get her eyes. She sighs as you run your fingers against her scalp, eyes nearly drooping she’s so relaxed. "This feels really nice.." She mumbles, and the way it has your heart feeling like someone’s dropped pop rocks into it..

"I know you have work to do tomorrow though, so don't shirk your duties.” You’re basically caressing her head at this point, and she’s totally leaning into it completely. You have a feeling if you dropped your hands from her head, it’d slam into a wall. “I'll ask Garnet to sit in since she offered."

"Y/N." She looks at you, water running down her hair and face, cascading over her small shoulders. The marks beneath her eyes are strikingly dark in this light, and her pink irises are locked onto yours. You're barely listening to the lofi song playing in the background as it's mainly drained out by the white noise of the shower. She's pretty, in a way that you probably think she's never considered before, and sometimes you wish you could say this out loud without feeling like you'd combust on the spot instead. She then opens her mouth almost hesitantly, like she's finding the proper words to say. "If 'ya need me, I can be there. But.. you're kind of the bravest person I know by a long shot, so.. I know you'll be okay. You've got this, doll."

You feel your face burning at the pet name and her words, and you find yourself avoiding her eyes again. You can’t even think of a reply, and feel like you might have a heart attack.

"Are you blushing?!" She grabs your forearms in glee, and you feel your face scowling just to cover up the fact that she can have this kind of effect on you. No one has this effect on you, and goddammit you’re not about to start showing it now.

"No, idiot. It's just hot in here.." You retort, and she leans right into your personal space, about an inch from your face. Your heartbeats feel so INCREDIBLY loud in your ears.

"Liar." Her grin gets wider, and you can see her canines right there at the edge of her lip. WHY is she so attractive?! This should be illegal. "I can keep talking 'ya up if that's what you need."

"Not necessary, or needed, really.." You trail off awkwardly, knowing your face is still beet red and pretending it’s from the heat of the shower. 

"Did'ja know that you're also the funniest person I know? And the smartest? And the sexi-"

"-SPINEL." You cut her off with a choke, voice coming out all strangled.

"You've got 'ta be the most stubborn person alive, I swear." She lowers her eyes, gaze lingering on your lips. The way some of her water-logged hair clings to her skin has your eyes glued to her chest, and the gem that sits upon it. 

"You should spend a few weeks hanging out with Pearl." You try to play it off cool, and you’re anything but. 

"Why, when I'd rather spend it with you." She retorts with an eyeroll, and like, you know that the both of you have your affections laid out on the metaphorical table already, but you still find your face burning at her being so clear with it. “If it’s not compliments ‘ya want, I can be a distraction?” She asks, and then blinks several times rapidly in succession very comically, and you can’t help it but laugh.

“Yeah? And how?” You ask stupidly.

“Ohhhh, remember earlier in the kitchen?”

Your eyes snap to hers. Is she..

"Wait, you’re talking about doing it in the sho-"

She yanks your arms - pulling you forward into a kiss, and your foot slips so hard on the tub floor that you have to catch yourself on her shoulders. Her laughter rings out through the bathroom.

"Oh stars, Y/N falling into my arms? I never thought-"

"Shut uuuuuuuup," You groan, glaring at her. The thought of the two of you, here, fucking in the shower is swirling inside your head. Both of you are wet and pressed together, and you are screaming internally. "You're the one that caught me off guard, asshole."

"Maybe I just wanna see you swooning, for once. Or squirming. I'm not too choosy." The grin on her face mixed with her words has you feeling some kind of way, and you try to still your rapidly beating heart. She wants to see you squirm?! You're flattered, and also embarrassed..

"I don't swoon, Spinel. You know me better than that by now. And if you couldn't make me squirm before all this, when we weren't even friends, then good fucking luck with trying that out now that I'm familiar with you." You spit out, hoping the nervousness in your voice doesn't give you away. She doesn't need to know that you like it when she's a little aggressive and grabby. That would give her too much power.

Her eyes flicker across your face, catching onto something within your expression; her grin widens.

"Then why do you seem so nervous now?"

"Uh," Your heart jumps into your throat, and you feel the red creeping back onto your cheeks. Curse your now-pink complexion. "Pffft. What? I do not! Why the hell do you think I'm nervous!?" You lie, and it comes out of your throat an octave higher you think, which is fucking embarassing really.

"Well," She chuckles briefly, and then her face drops considerably into an expression you'd deem nearly sinister if you didn't know her. 

"Um-"

She pushes you back against the shower wall behind you hard - a squeak comes out your mouth - as the air leaves your lungs, her hand splayed out on your chest into holding you there. It feels almost like silence has filled the room, when it's quite the opposite actually - the sound of the water hitting you both is quite deafening as you stare at each other. You think she can feel your heartbeats. Like, her hand is RIGHT THERE. Her thumb even rubs the skin there a little.

"I'm starting to think you like it when I manhandle you." She says, voice low. Her fingers are pressing into your sternum.

You take the time to breathe in some air, and try to blink like a normal person. A droplet of water runs down your lower spine and you fight off a shiver. Are you really that easy to read!?

"Your silence is speaking volumes right now." She chuckles, eyes watching you like a hawk.

You have no idea what your face is displaying, but it's probably something similar to mortified shock - how can she keep hitting the nail on the head?

"Oh, shit, am I hurting you?" She quickly pulls her hands away, nearly looking frantic as her face twists into worry at your silence.

"No, of course not-" You stop, getting a weird look on your face. "-I died, remember? You can't, pfft, - I mean you can, but. Spinel." You try not to laugh, because her being worried about this is extremely endearing, and you love her so, so much. "You're not hurting me, and if you were, I'd make sure you knew."

"Okay, good, because I was really worried there for a second that I had-"

"It's fine." You reassure her, and she's looking at you intently. "Seriously."

"Like, you know that I'd rather poof myself than ever put a finger on 'ya, right?"

"I'm aware, and you know that I trust you, yes?" 

"I was 'kinda worried, but, it's clear now." She's so very close to your face, and she's warm. Her eyes take in your features as if she's burning them into her memories, and you can't help but stare back. 

She kisses you again, wet lips pressing against yours so easily - it's as if she had been coordinating this as soon as she stepped into the shower with you. Or maybe this was her entire reason. Bastard. 

She slides one of her legs between yours - yeah, okay, she was definitely planning this - and you find yourself groaning into her mouth; hot water spraying onto the both of you. You tear your face away from hers momentarily to take in a gasp of breath and she grabs your jaw, her vibrant pink irises locked onto yours.

"Breathe through your nose." She demands, not giving you any kind of opportunity to get away as she kisses you almost roughly. You feel like your entire body is on fire. 

Her body's pressed against yours; and at this angle you can see her gemstone shining in the light above you, glistening with water. She slides her knee up to put pressure between your legs, and as to not make it so easy for her you attempt to slam them shut - only making the situation worse for yourself. 

You moan as you feel her pressed against your clit, and you feel her grinning against your mouth. She slides her tongue in then, and the combined sensations has your head feeling a little light. It actually irks you enough to attempt to push her off of you to get some kind of leverage over her, but she clearly anticipated some kind of fight because she growls against your mouth in resistance, and uses both her hands to slam yours against the wall behind you with an iron grip.

What a brat.

The harder you struggle, the more she presses all of herself against you. Her grip on your forearms get a little tighter; and you find that this just makes all of your current problems worse. She rips her lips away from yours to give you some kind of smug, shit-eating grin. "You're really trying this time, aren't 'ya doll. I'll give 'ya that."

"Why won't you let me touch you?!" You spit out, but it comes out all breathily and not at all aggressive like you'd hoped.

"If you're good, maybe." She laughs, and you wish you could disappear on the spot at will. "But this is your turn."

"IF I'M-" You hiss out, Spinel switching her grip so she's got the both of your hands in one, making the other completely free to grope your breast. Her palm rubs over your nipple. "You are such a shithead!!"

"You knowwww, if you don't like it you could always tell me you wanna stop," Her eyelids lower enough to still see her irises glued to your face, and she leans in to whisper into your ear. "But we already know that you want this, Y/N."

You snap your mouth shut and she chuckles darkly, and you would like to die now, thanks. If there's a god out there, you hope he's merciful and smites you on the spot.

She immediately attacks your neck, and she doesn't give you any kind of say about it either. She's using so much teeth this time that you're worried you're going to look like a spotted leopard tomorrow, and oh god, you almost forgot.

"Leave any marks and I'll attempt to poof you myself, Spinel." You shudder as she sucks hard near the crook of your neck, hot tongue against your skin, and when she looks at you her eyes have some kind of suspicious glint to them. 

"Wear a sweater." Is all she says before going right back to your neck, and the only thing you can really do is bite back a moan as she continues. You're going to kill her for this. You're going to find out how to embarrass her in front of her new friends, or SOMETHING. How the fuck are you going to cover up these marks before your class tomorrow?! The several shades of pink blush you picked up from the drug store a few days ago from your previous shenanigans barely managed to cover the lighter marks she left last time! 

You feel her slide a hand down your torso to reach between your legs, and with the last of your strength you try and slam your legs shut just to make this difficult for her.

She chuckles into your neck, and her warm breath lights your nerves on fire. It's so steamy in here now, and some kind of jazz oldie is playing that you can kind of hear over the sound of running water. And then she drops your hands just to grip both of your thighs and spread them apart forcefully, and there's nothing you can really do about that. You know that you're heavily aroused, and you hope it isn't too obvious to her.

Holding you open, she presses her palm against you, tips of her fingers hesitating at your entrance. Like she's waiting for something.. your legs start to tremble, then she slides two fingers into you and you slam a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from moaning.

"No one's going to hear us, 'ya idiot." You hear her say, and you nearly laugh. She immediately curls her fingers upwards, and you're seeing stars at the edges of your vision.

"You think I care about being loud? I just don't want you to think you can drag anything out of me too easily," You say in between breaths, and she makes some kind of displeased grunt in reply.

"Asked for this.." Is what you hear from her before she adds a third finger; you take it quite easily, embarrassingly enough, and starts to really finger fuck you as she watches your face. 

A strangled moan comes out of you, and you see the corner of her lip curl enough to show her teeth. You hate that she can do this to you. Your hands are free though, and you think you can fuck with her a little as payback. One of your hands shoot out to touch her gem, and she lowers her eyes to glare at you and the offending appendage.

"Whaddya' think you're 'doin, Y/N?" She asks, lowly. There's a darker pink that bleeds onto her cheeks quite rapidly here, and you swipe a thumb over her center facet in spite.

"Whatever I want." You reply. Her eye twitches.

"I don't think so." She hisses and slams her lips against yours - roughly pushing your hand away from her gem, like how dare you have the audacity to even think about touching her right now. She presses you against the wall with her own body, and you moan into her mouth.

Your thighs are shaking, and the hot steam mixed with the noises of her roughly pounding her slick fingers inside you makes it apparent that you're actually not going to last like this at all. She drags moan after moan from you relentlessly, unable to stop herself from biting down into the crook of your neck like she's trying to claim you for herself. As if you'd let anyone else touch you like this.

And then she lifts up her head enough to warmly whisper something about how much she loves being in the middle of your thighs like this into your ear, and you start to see stars as your orgasm violently wracks through your body.

She holds you, watching your face as you come down, leaving small kisses upon your lips.

"Was that okay?" She mumbles the question, looking at you to make sure you're alright. The water is starting to lose heat, which means both of you should finish this up soon.

"I'm going to make you regret ever taking me as a hostage." You answer with a grin, and her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. 

"Are 'ya sure about that?" She replies, withdrawing her fingers from you ever so slowly. 

You think you're in the clear, and then she slides them back in, and you can't cut the gasp that comes out of your mouth. You slam a hand on her shoulder, glaring at your girlfriend.

"I'm sensitive, you jerk." You spit out at her, and she grins cheekily. She then actually pulls out her fingers for real, and you really, really want to make her pay for this. "Let's finish this up, the water is getting colder by the minute."

The both of you quickly finish your bathing routine, and you're almost annoyed that Spinel can just vanish water from her completely while you're still soaking wet, and trying to dry yourself with a towel.

You put on your sleepwear and drag your girlfriend to bed, where you pay her back tenfold. You honestly hope the walls aren’t thin.

You're tired, and sleep comes to you easy with thoughts of what tomorrow will bring. 

[rileywrites]

Love ur Clay & Violet series & since prompts r open was hoping you'd consider this request: Nile plane goes missing in unfamiliar territory while on a mission & Bookers Not taking the news too well as he & the family search for her. Then after a few months Copley sends them a location he mysteriously got send & they go guns drawn on high alert & like the bamf Nile is she's like "One would think ur Not happy to see me?" & they have a happy reunion!

Thank you for your prompt! You can read the answer on Ao3 here: “The Search”

...

"Booker, you need to sleep. You've been staring at that satellite feed for hours."

Booker shrugs Joe's hand off of his shoulder.

"This is a new source. I have more water to cover," Booker says, marking a potential point of interest. "I can't stop now."

"Book," Andy says quietly. "You're no good to her if you're so tired you can't see."

"I can't stop." Booker looks up at Andy with itchy, tired eyes. "Please, don't make me stop."

It's hard to see the pity and exhaustion in Andy's face. It's even harder to see the understanding and resignation.

"Okay. Okay, Book." Andy sighs. "Try and rest at some point."

Nile's plane went down three weeks ago. He can't stop looking now.

Hours later, Booker is so tired he can't keep his head up, his eyes burning from how long he's been staring at a computer. He ends up asleep on the laptop, pen pressing into his cheek.

...

Copley turns up on the doorstep of the Oslo house unannounced, two months after Nile's plane goes down.

"You bring news, I assume?" Andy asks, sitting up from her stretch on the living room floor.

"They found pieces of the plane," Copley says bluntly.

"Why do you not sound more pleased?" Nicky asks.

Booker doesn't have to ask.

"They only found evidence of the pilot and co-pilot in the wreckage," Copley says, pulling up the report. "No sign of Nile."

"Send me the coordinates. I can narrow my search further, pull more detailed data from a smaller field." Booker pulls up his map of the projected flight path and narrows the range. "If she isn't in the wreckage, she isn't trapped. She must have gotten to land."

No one else is saying anything. Booker can't stop talking, can't stop searching, can't stop to think about what happens next if Nile is trapped on the floor of the Pacific Ocean.

He has to keep looking, or he's going to fall apart.

"Thank you, Copley," Joe says finally. "We appreciate the update."

"I will keep looking through my channels. I know Booker will keep looking as well." Copley's smile is tight. "Maybe we will be able to put boots on the ground at some point."

"You are welcome to the spa- to Nile's room," Nicky suggests.

If Booker grinds his teeth any harder, he'll have to grow new ones.

It's not a fucking spare room. Nile is somewhere in the goddamn Pacific right now, but it's still her space.

"You know he doesn't mean anything by it," Andy says later. "Force of habit. We're searching too, you know. We miss her too."

"I know."

...

Booker doesn't know why he keeps paying for Nile's last burner phone. Doesn't know why he pings it daily like the phone isn't waterlogged on the bottom of the ocean. Doesn't know why he keeps fucking calling.

"You know what to do at the beep."

Booker hangs up. Dials again.

"You know what to do at the beep."

Again.

"You know what to do at the beep."

It's short, cheesy. It's one of the few audio clips they have of her. The downside of living in the shadows is lack of proof you exist.

Booker has a few Polaroids from their last family trip to the beach. Andy is covered in Zinc, and Quyhn's cover up is around both of them. Joe and Nicky look obnoxiously Eurotrash in their speedos. Nile looks so goddamn happy in her gigantic sunhat.

"You know what to do at the beep."

Booker cracks. To be honest, he's amazed that he made it three months without drinking himself into a coma.

He wakes to Joe gently wiping his face with a washcloth.

"Shh, habibi, you're okay."

"What if she’s gone, Joe? What if she’s gone and I never told her?"

It’s Quyhn who answers him, “She loves you. I know you two haven’t talked about it, but she loves you. Don’t you dare give up on her.”

"I won't," Booker promises. "I'll find her. Whatever it takes."

"Besides," Andy says from the doorway, voice rough. "She's too new. She's out there, somewhere."

“We don’t know how any of this works, not really,” he can’t look any of them in the eye, makes no attempt to hide the tears streaming down his cheeks.

Joe dabs at his face, and Nicky brings him water.

"Some things you just feel," Andy says firmly. "She's out there. I know it."

...

Booker has been staring at satellite footage of tiny islands in the Pacific for what feels like years when Copley comes bursting in.

They both set up shop on Java when the search for Nile entered its seventh week.

"I think I found her," Copley spits out, waving a piece of paper. "That, or someone else in trouble. Either way, time to pack and call Andy."

Booker takes the paper. Scribbled on it are a set of coordinates and a mess of Morse code.

"SOS 1812? That's really what came in?"

"The signal is bad, and it was brief, but they sent it three or four times before the signal cut out. It sounded like a makeshift device." James takes the paper and tosses Booker his go-bag. "Get in the goddamn car."

When they get to the closest airport to the microscopic island the signal came from, the rest of the team is waiting near the helicopter.

"I told you," Quyhn says with a smug smile.

Booker can't find it in himself to begrudge her the gloating, not when they have their best lead in three months in front of them.

Not when Nile might be less than an hour away.

...

They exit the helicopter on high alert, guns drawn in case the uninhabited island is actually more settled than they realized.

Booker has stared at the few images he could find for hours now. This little crescent-moon slip of land is in a fucking satellite blind spot.

The remnants of what might have been a driftwood SOS are the first sign that someone is here. It also shows that there's been a storm recently.

"There's a small crater lake that probably has fresh water," Booker says, scanning the beach. "If someone is here, they would find it."

"We'll head there first, then." Andy takes one look at him and steps back. "Lead the way."

The hike is tense, guns pointed in every possible direction with every step.

There's some sort of perimeter around the clearing, purposefully placed branches driven into the earth.

All Booker can think is "Please be Nile, please be Nile, please."

There's a shelter against the rock face, a campfire burning in a circle of stones.

"Show yourself," Booker orders, heart in his throat.

"It's about fucking time you got here."

Booker almost passes out when Nile emerges from a cave beyond the lean-to. She's thin, the kind of emaciation that comes with starving to death.

"What? Y'all don't look happy to see me."

A sob rips out of Booker's throat, and his brain shuts down. When he blinks, he has his arms around a too-frail Nile, holding her so tight she might break.

Nile crumples into his embrace. She cries until she can't cry anymore.

"I'm sorry," Booker says over and over again. "I'm sorry we took so long. I'm sorry I couldn't find you faster. I'm so fucking sorry, Nile."

"Shut up and hold me," Nile orders.

Booker can do that.

...

Booker can't relax, not until Nile looks less like death.

All the hours he put into looking for her are now spent taking care of her.

Even for an immortal, repeatedly drowning, dying of dehydration, and starving will lead to complications.

Nile wakes screaming more often than not, so Booker takes up vigil outside her door.

Nile has food trauma, so Booker helps her regulate her intake. He also brings back brownies from the bakery she likes whenever he goes out.

When Nicky gives her the all-clear, Booker is the one who helps her train.

"Stop pulling your fucking punches, Book." Nile runs a hand over her buzzed head. "Try and fucking hit me like you mean it."

Booker can't help it. He's trying not to baby her, but he can't bring himself to fight full-out.

"Just fucking fight me!" Nile shoves his shoulders, and Booker barely manages to not fall on his ass. "I'm fine, Booker. I'm fucking fine, just fucking spar with me!

Booker holds his ground until Nile sweeps his ankle out from under him and drops him to the mat. She pins him with her knee between his thighs and her hands on his wrists.

Booker stops breathing.

"Why won't you hit me?" Nile squeezes his wrists.

"I love you too much to hurt you," Booker says before he registers the thought.

Nile's fond exasperation is replaced with even fonder affection.

"You're an idiot." She kisses him, and Booker has never been happier. "I love you, too."

Booker tests her hold on him, shivering when he can't comfortably move.

"I thought I lost you without telling you," Booker admits. "I thought -"

"I'm right here, Book." Nile kisses him again. "I'm not going anywhere  anytime soon."

"No more solo missions." Booker leans up as much as he can for another kiss.

"Agreed."

[vanaera]

You Will Feel A Flash of Red

Synopsis | Seokjin colors your life with his outrageous ideas and unnecessarily wild adventures, along with his stupid mission to always scare you whenever you run into each other. Against your better judgment, you’ve already started to entertain foreign feelings in your heart concerning the certain boy. And it doesn’t help you already get scared easily without him adding his shenanigans in the mix. You just want Seokjin to stop…making you feel too much all at once. Genre | Fluff, semi-crack Characters | Seokjin x Reader (College!AU bc I’m soft and my uni life is mundane af) Wordcount | 2.7k A/N | Hi hons, this is something short and fluffy I came up with while I’m resting from my recent 21k-wordsmash-work Daffodil Rings. Hope you like this!

               Everything can be colorful if you will them enough to. Grocery shoppings can be filled with oranges and greens that warm you up as you push past the cold airconditioned mart. Laundry days can be cooled with the tranquility of blues and whites that coax your eyes to relax from such a fast-paced week. You learned to make this your coping mechanism ever since you started associating colors for everything that lived in your grey, mundane life.  

               Your study table and work station are your usual pliant canvases to your color imageries. However, your biggest coloring book has to be the people that surround you. For instance, your bestfriend, Park Jimin, is a golden drizzle of yellow for his unfailing optimism whether it be finals week or rush hour dashes. Meanwhile, your other friend, Kim Namjoon, is an inky indigo for his strange concurrent displays of placidity and chaos wherever he goes.  Your roommate, Wendy Seon, is an easy magenta for her innateness to attract attention wherever she goes. Unlike her, Min Yoongi, your batch representative, was a hard-to-determine cream white for his introvertedness and tough-bitch acts. But among these people you have met, there is one who stands out like a sore thumb: Kim Seokjin.

               Kim Seokjin is a friend of Namjoon and you only knew about it when you shared a general education film class with him in sophomore year. He was easy to say…a different story from anyone you’ve met.  

               “You’re Y/N, right?”

               Your eyes flit to your left to meet the eyes of the boy seated next to you and you nodded slowly. How did he know you? Much more your name? You’re sure you’ve never met him before and you’re much surer you’re someone everyone can easily miss.

               “Namjoon told me your name when I asked him about you. I’m Kim Seokjin,” he offers a hand. You shook it slowly, your head tilted to the side, still bewildered as to how he knew you. Unfazed by your questioning stare, Seokjin grins. “I didn’t know you’re also taking this class.”

               “I…I like films so yeah,” you shrug.

               “Me too!” Seokjin chuckles. He leans closer to your seat. “You’re in the biochemistry program right?”

               Your forehead furrows. “Excuse me?”

               “Oh, I am in the biology program and I saw you going out of the lab when our class was about to start in the same lab. Your blue scrunchie gave you away.”

                Your hand deftly reached up to your ponytail and Seokjin laughs. “Don’t worry, you look cute with it,” he waves off and the furrows on your forehead only grow deeper. What is this man spouting about? Is he outright hitting on you–  

               The door swings open and the professor barks the usual morning greeting. Your thoughts were immediately halted. A few minutes is all it takes for everything to settledown into a metronome of students whispering across each other and pens scribbling notes. You wouldn’t have found yourself bothered again by the strange man sitting beside you if Seokjin didn’t just open his mouth to say the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life when the professor asked everyone what names they would like to be called in class.

               “Señorita. Call me señorita.”

               Needless to say, the class erupted into a hysterics and you’re left wondering for days (and oddly irritated) why everyone finds it so funny to bring that scenario up again and again until the next two weeks.

               Such small timeframe is also enough for you to say Seokjin’s a mess.  But oh, everyone will disagree. They will say “Oh my God, how can Seokjin be a mess? He’s like the university crush and he has damn good grades and have you seen him wearing those goggles during lab hours?! He’s the only one handsome enough to pull it off as a fashion statement! ” in their wistfully annoying voice. First of all, you don’t care whether he’s good in what he does or he has a really good-looking face. What else but a mess will be someone who’s all-over-the-place?

               Some days, Seokjin is a calm sky blue you can actually have fun with talking about film what-ifs and chemistry memes.

               “Yo Y/N, imagine if The Princess and The Frog was remade and instead of a frog, the prince is a pterodactyl.”

               “I don’t want to imagine that.”

                “The solution of the plot will still work though. You can’t kiss pterodactyls though, but guess what?”

               “I don’t want to guess.”

               “C’mon, just play along!”

               “Fine, what?”

                “They will peck you!”

                 “Have you ever wondered what Australia will be called if it suddenly finds itself abundant of silver.”

               “No. Leave Australia alone.”

               Seokjin doesn’t hear you and bursts out “Agstralia!” He guffaws at his own joke and you can’t help but snicker at his priceless face and laugh at yourself in pity for finding it even remotely funny.

               When his laughter dies down, Seokjin goes again, “Then what if it’s filled with copper?”

               You don’t want to answer him, already biting your lip in silent laughter.

               “Custralia!”

                 Most of the days, Seokjin’s a fiery orange of fireworks who drags you into the wildest rides of your life with his ever loud, but oddly inviting, “Yo, Y/N!” Like that one Monday afternoon he coaxed you (in some goddamn way you dumbly agreed to) to scavenge for some specimen of Bermuda grass to see it under the microscope and check if it has any semblance to the Bermuda Triangle (of course it has none). You accomplished nothing that day but run around like cockroaches with no heads when an old woman chased you for trampling on her “garden” which is just a plain expanse of grass. Or that one Wednesday morning he asked you to accompany him in his dorm just in case he managed to summon a demon when he tries to cook using an old Latin cookbook he found in some thrift store. You didn’t summon anything that day but you ended up with you two getting summoned by the condominium’s landlord because Seokjin accidentally set off the unit’s fire alarm.

               There are also times when Seokjin’s an endearing bloom of pink. Like those days when his hand casually brushes against yours as you walk side by side to your film class and he’ll send you one of his goofy smiles. Or those weekends where he’ll accompany you to study in the library, helping you make flash cards for your upcoming long quizzes.   Seokjin makes you feel warm at the slightest of stares and lingering gazes. Especially in those nights where he lays his head on your shoulder as you watch required films, and he’ll stare at you while doing kissy faces when you tell him his head is too heavy.  You never knew you would be able to fill something, no someone, in such a delicate color you know you have already started to reflect on your cheeks just at the sight of him.

               But all of that gets ruined because Seokjin always, always, makes you see blazing scarlet everytime he carries on  his life mission to scare you whenever you meet. It started when your professor assigned your class to watch The Shining for a horror genre essay and you, like the scaredy cat you are, begged Seokjin to watch it with you. Of course you didn’t tell him you’re not too fond of horror films, afraid of being called out. Obviously, it only takes one stare at your curled up form for Seokjin to put two and two together and realize you’re such a…coward. And of course, like the obnoxious boy he is, Seokjin takes advantage of such knowledge and decides you need a little spice in your life–a spice you didn’t really need, nor will ever need in your entire life.

               Whenever you’ll meet him on the corridors of your film class, Seokjin is now nowhere to be found. Instead, he’ll demand you to answer a quick survey first, a condition for him to show up, and you, like the exasperated idiot you are, answer it just to get on and over with it.  Like always, you end up screaming at a scary video mid-answering the questions and you never learn your lesson.  Everytime you’ll pass by each other in hallways, Seokjin bellows a loud “Boo!” with a thunderous clap of his huge ass hands and you always jump in shock like a cat on her hackles.  You never knew how to expect the shits he pull up because Seokjin always changes his patterns. One day, he even pulled up a Scream mask by your locker just right after you closed it shut, making you scream as you fall on your bum.

               At the end of the day, Seokjin always makes sure to apologize and assure you that it’s just his way to bond with you. “I just can’t get enough of your priceless face” he snickers and you start to chuckle too at his attempts – because even if you’re scared, his shenanigans actually helped you, in some way, get less scared of horror film jump scares.

               However today–today is a different straw.

               It was nine o'clock in the evening and you just got out of your building after an org meeting. The campus gate you usually take in your commute home was already locked closed at eight so you have no choice but to take the other gate–the one on the far left boundary of the campus. All would have been fine about that gate if you hadn't read the Facebook freedom wall post concerning it yesterday. Apparently, some student was jogging around the route towards the gate every night before he goes back to his dorm. In the entirety of his jog, he hears footsteps behind him that he didn't mind at first– until he passes by a guard who greets him and asks him what's he's doing alone so late. When he glances to the left, there was actually no one following him.

               At the thought of the Facebook post, you grab the straps of your bagpack tighter. All is well. You just have about twenty meters to go before the gate and after that, you'll get on a bus. Just a little bit more and–

               Step. Step. Step.

               Jesus fucking Christ. You bit your lip and walked faster. Your steps are frantic and you could feel cold perspiration start to form on your nape. You could feel yourself tripping on your shoes anytime soon but the only thought running in your mind now is outrunning the thing behind you.

               However, the steps behind you also quickened its pace.

               Fucking shit. You break into a run. You don't care about social conventions nor how ridiculous you probably look right now with your eyes teary, mouth dry, and hair frazzled. All you know is that you have to get OUT of there.

               But your effort is not enough because just five steps in, a hand shoots out behind you and you have nothing to do but scream. Scream, drop down, and cry.

               “Leave me a-alone please. Just let m-me go home. I'm to-too young to die!”

               “Yo Y/N. It's me, Seokjin.”

               You cried harder.

               In the next second, you feel him squat down and gesture toward your arms, tightly corded around your knees with your head still buried between them. But you didn't move. You can't move. Your fingers are still shaking, and your heart won't stop pounding too fast. And you feel like any second right now, you're about to explode.

               “Y/N, I'm sorry I scared you. I just saw you going out and I have something to say to you before you go home.”

               You couldn't hold it in. You pin Seokjin with the meanest glare you can muster. “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO COME AT ME LIKE THAT THEN?!”

               “I was just running after you! You were walking too fast and you didn't see me so I–”

               “I thought you were a ghost! Jesus Christ!”

               “A ghost?” Jin sputters before breaking out into a loud guffaw. “I'm so handsome to be a ghost. Seriously, Y/N–”

               “It's not funny anymore you know,” you whisper. Seokjin's chuckles immediately die down. “Can you just stop,” you hiccup, “scaring me everytime we meet? It's not good for my heart.”

               “I...I didn't know you felt like that,” Seokjin mumbles and he looks down, rubbing his nape. “I...I thought you were also having fun because you always laugh after it.”

               “It was fun,” you admit, “but it's also scary. I'm a coward you know. I have my limits.”

               “I'm sorry,” Seokjin mumbles. But before you can reply that it's alright as long as he doesn't do this shit again, he has already cupped your face in his hands, leaving you no choice but to look at him. Look at him in all your snotty glory.

               Seokjin however, doesn't seem to care. “I'm sorry I scared you that bad. I would not have started doing this scaring thing if I knew it will end up with you breaking down. I'm sorry I didn't know you get scared this bad. I don't like...making you cry.” At this, you feel his thumbs pressing on your cheeks and wiping away the tears that have streaked down in your panic. You can't move, this time for a different reason. You can't feel anything but the presence of the boy in front of you. His warm, beautiful eyes that only look like that when they meet your eyes; his much warmer hand that feels too big on your face–big and secure enough for your hand to hold with an assurance he’ll never let go. His cheeks are rosy, just like his ears and you feel oddly elated it has grown pinker just in five more seconds of staring at his eyes. And his lips–pink and plump and looking so soft–fills your senses into sensory overload that you honestly feel you're heating up like a boiling kettle by now.

               Good for you, Seokjin doesn't question your frozen stance and silently helps you up on your feet. “Sorry’s not enough. I'll make up for what I did. C'mon.”

               Before you knew it, he's already steering you away from the gate and back into the campus. And now at ten thirty, you find yourself munching on a strawberry ice cream cone with Seokjin beside you, your knees bumping into each other.

               “Why do you do it anyway?”

               “What do I do?”

               “Scaring me,” You answer, wiping your lips.

               “Are you...still angry about it? I'm sorr–”

               “No,” you wave off, “I'm just...curious, yeah. I've never had someone doing that to me and you're probably the only one crazy enough to do that. I'm just curious why you do it in the first place.”

               “Well, you already said it," Seokjin chuckles. “No one has ever done it to you yet. So I did.”

               Your brows raise, your forehead furrows. "Wh-why?”

               “Because I want to be different when it comes to you. I've seen you goofing off with Jimin on hallways and–I don't know why, I just get this feeling that I have to be unique when it comes to you.”

               “Why? I mean," you sputter, "I don't require you to be…different to be my friend.”

               “I just want to. It feels good that I get to be the wild adventure of your life. It feels good that I get you to look only at me like that–begrudging but curious, skeptical but willing, and," he smiles, "cute. Especially when I get you to laugh.”

               You look at him, mouth agape, but Seokjin just laughs and gestures you to eat your ice cream because it's starting to melt. You oblige, but you can't help but let your eyes linger on the boy next to you. The boy you didn’t know was like the biggest hotshot of your batch but was the one to actually remember you from the crowd just by your favorite scrunchie. The boy who used to be your greatest dilemma but now the best highlight of your life. The boy that annoys you to no end but oddly makes your heart flutter at the same time. Seokjin, the boy you can now begrudgingly admit you're definitely crushing on. Because you know there's no other answer to the overwhelming, warm flash of soft red you feel on your chest whenever you're with him.

               You know you're right because after that night, you start to associate Seokjin mostly with red. Fresh roses, picnic dates, heart-shaped promises, sweet laughter, cherry kisses–a plethora of everything your heart started to long for.

 A/N | HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST GIRL @sophrosinn!!! Thank you for being a stable shoulder I can lean on in times of problems, for being a great listener to everything I rant about, and for being one of my bestest friends who never failed to support me in my dreams.  (Thank you for also comforting me when I broke down in our live news presentation in our media literacy class. I’ll never forget that). I never imagined you’ll be one of my few friends I get to keep ‘til now since it’s only two years ago we got to really, really talk with each other. Remember how we just used to pass by and greet each other in our freshman until 11thgrade year in high school? Such a great plot twist. Time sure flies fast when you’re with the best people. Meeting you is surely a blessing. I wish you more amazing years ahead of you and may you accomplish all your endeavors. I love you!

P.S. I hope you liked this fluffy fic hehe this idea started to bother me ever since your birthday started to near. And yeah, I HAVE to include the pterodactyl joke because it’s your and Jin’s trademark uwu

All Rights Reserved © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.

[the-angst-witch]

Hey There Sunshine

“How much longer till sunset?”

“Same as last time you asked.”

Kavi slumped down in his chair groaning dramatically.

Zell rolled her eyes from where she sat at the small desk chair the inn had thoughtfully provided. She was entertaining herself with a complicated braiding venture involving several loose threads pulled and pilfered from gods only knew where, a few strands of what Makky assumed was her own hair, and a dainty fraying ribbon. Her fingers twisted and turned the threads, lightning fast and hypnotizing. He’d spent many days cooped up with her staving off boredom watching the way her deft hands worked complicated braids and knots in the weeks since they’d gone on the run.

Kavi sighed dramatically as he righted himself in the squat armchair in the other corner of the small room.

A grin was pulling at the corner of Makky’s lips and he did his best to hide it as he re-shuffled the deck of cards in his hands. “Why don’t you read more?” he suggested instead.

Kavi rolled his dark eyes “I can’t,” he grumbled “I finished all the books I got last night.”

“Take a nap then.” Zell said not bothering to look up from her braiding.

He groaned “I’m not tired. I’m bored.”

Zell rolled her eyes dramatically “I’m bored.” She mimicked in a high-pitched parody “Entertain yourself then!”

Kavi opened his mouth, no doubt to entertain himself by starting yet another pointless argument with Zell. Makky jumped to intervene. “Do you want me to teach you a card trick?”

Kavi shook his head “After last time I think we can say that’s a lot cause.”

Zell snorted “butter fingers.”

Kavi stuck his tongue out at her childishly and she just shot him a cheeky grin. He pulled himself up from the chair and slouched over to the bed where Makky sat with his cards. He plopped down across from him, “Show me what you’ve been working on?” He asked instead. Dark eyes intent on Makky, a familiar grin curving his lips. Whenever he smiled like that his dark eyes would light up, and his whole face seemed to glow.

Makky turned back to his cards hoping to hide the faint blush he felt heating his cheeks. Whenever Kavi looked at him like that, with his full attention, and that bright smile, Makky couldn’t help but blush. He hated that, it was embarrassing and one of these days Kavi was going to notice and ask and that was not a conversation he wanted to have yet.

The bed jostled, and Makky nearly dropped the cards he was fiddling with. He looked up to see Zell had bounded over from her chair, abandoning her braiding. She grinned at him resting her chin on her hands “Go on!” she encouraged. He laughed and obliged, putting on a little show of card tricks for them. Once he was burned through all the tricks, he’d memorized he even managed to teach Zell one or two, and Kavi finally learned to shuffle without playing 72 card pick-up.

In that unerring way of hers Zell’s head whipped toward the window the second the sun was down. She zipped over so quickly, she was almost a blur. She ripped the blinds open to reveal the darkened sky. She grinned wide and sharp with all her teeth on display “Time to go hunting!” She declared with a ruby glint in her eye.

Kavi jumped up from his place on the bed “finally!”

Zell narrowed her eyes at him “You, make sure you actually drink something. Don’t spend the entire night in the library.”

He gave her a mock salute “promise.”       She turned her gaze to Makky “And you. Actually, drink something.”

He nodded sheepishly. “I’ll try.”       And the thing was, he swore, he did try. It’s just, the thing was—With how small the town was they were staying in. It was better to hunt separately instead of the three of them prowling like a pack. They’d learned that three vampires hunting together in a speck of a town wasn’t as subtle as they’d hoped. (They’d learned the hard way, getting run out of a microscopic town not much smaller than the one they were in presently.) Zell had been cursing the very name of the town ever since. Makky had shrugged “I mean…we were kinda eating people. It makes sense they’d want us to leave.”

Zell had whipped around scandalized “It’s not like we ate them all to death!”

Kavi had thrown his hands in the air in disbelief “Besides we only went after those thugs that tried to mug us that first night!”

At that point Makky knew a lost cause of an argument when he saw one brewing so he’d just laughed under his breath and suggested they do things differently next time around.       So the point was, Makky did try to find something-someone to drink. He just…got distracted without Zell to remind him what he was supposed to be looking for. It was much more pleasant to help the old woman who ran the flower shop bring in the last of her deliveries, since the merchant had been running late and it was too dark out for her old eyes. Or help the teenager with the sprained ankle and a cat up a tree. She told him all about her recent interest in ancient poetry while he retrieved the feline and helped her hobble home. Then he’d gotten distracted by some of the old men sitting outside the tavern around a small contained fire, telling stories from their youth. They were all so excited at the prospect of having someone new to regale with their tales of adventure. Then there’d been an open gate, and a lost dog, and a very drunk couple of people that he just had to get home safely and it felt wrong to go and bite one of them. He could make it a while longer without feeding. He was only getting a little dizzy when he exerted too much strength or speed. He was fine.

Well, Makky was fine until he looked at the clock on the building he’d wandered over to look at on the very edge of town. He cursed under his breath realizing he needed to get back to the inn now if he wanted to avoid the sun. He quickly ducked around the corner of the building and he promptly crashed right into someone. It was moments like that, when Makky truly wondered if he had somehow offended one of the gods affiliated with Luck.

The man he’d crashed into and instinctively grasped the arms of to steady them both, was wearing a jacket with dozens of patches sewn all over. And the one he was staring directly at, sewn in on his left shoulder, was one for The League.

Shit. Makky thought looking up into the face of Sir Cray, one of the most arrogant bastards he’d had the displeasure of meeting during his hellacious tenure with The League. He barely had time to react past shock, and dismay before pain was exploding across the side of his face. He reflexively tightened his grip and felt some of the fabric tear under his hand as he stumbled away from the blow.

Makky caught his balance and wasted no time running as fast as he could away from Cray and his lackeys. He felt something hot and wet drip down his face and noted that Cray must have been wearing one of his stupid gaudy rings. He hoped the bastard broke his finger when he hit him.

      After what felt like a small eternity running, he paused to steady himself leaning against the cool brick of the storage building he found himself outside of. Makky tried to steady himself as a wave of dizziness overtook him him. His breath caught in his throat as he overheard heavy pounding footsteps. He pushed himself off the wall to try and run, his vision blurred, his stomach lurched, and he found himself rapidly acquainted with the hard ground. Makky groaned at the way the gravel bit into his skin. It had been a warm night, so he’d worn shorts, and a T-shirt and at that moment he regretted it for the scrapes he was sure to have. The footsteps were getting closer, and a white-hot spike of panic shot through him. Makky heaved himself to his feet and staunchly ignored the way the world still seemed to sway like a ship at sea. He could practically hear Zell’s voice in his mind calling him a “stupid idiot, who doesn’t know how to take care of himself!”

One wall of the building was a large metal door, that at present had been retracted to its place on the ceiling. That would have to do, he wasn’t going to make it very far running in his condition. He passed a sign posted on the corner that proudly proclaimed in big block letters “Space for rent!”

He stumbled his way into the building searching for somewhere to hide amongst the scattered remains of whatever business had last made use of the space. His options consisted of a few scattered raggedy boxes. None of them were big enough to actually hide him entirely if he crouched down behind them. The footsteps were getting closer. His heart leapt its way into his throat, and he shook in frozen terror for a moment, casting his eyes wildly about the room for anything. His eyes landed on one of the raggedy crates. It was made of boards haphazardly nailed together and if he squeezed, he could probably fit himself inside of it. Only the boards had decent gaps between them, what if they see me anyway? He could hear voices now, they were getting too close.

He made a snap decision and shoved a few of the other crates hastily in front of the one he’d been eyeing. He ripped the lid open and threw himself inside closing the lid back over himself as quickly and quietly as he could. He had to wriggle and compress himself painfully to make sure he fit without the lit lifting because of a shoulder or stray limb. He bit back a cry as he kneed one of the poorly hammered in nails. He’d just managed to stop moving, when the pounding footsteps and the shouting voices entered the storage building. He held his breath as he listened to the sounds of their labored breaths, their beating hearts, the blood racing through their veins. The panic was making it hard to listen to what they were saying, turning the words to a mush of syllables and phonetic noise. He hurt already from cramping himself down into the box. His neck ached, his knee was sluggishly bleeding, his face felt swollen and tender from where he’d been hit.

Suddenly there was a loud crashing sound near his face, and he flinched hitting his head sharply on the edge of the crate. He didn’t dare breathe, for one horrifying second, he was sure they’d found him. Then he heard “Damn it! He’s not here!”. He watched Cray’s boots through the space between the boards and held in a sigh of relief, as he realized Cray had just kicked the boxes he’d pushed in front of his crate in frustration. He hasn’t seen me.

“Sir Cray, it’s almost dawn anyway” one of the men with him said exasperated “and the bloodsucker can’t have gotten very far. He’ll be toast soon anyway.”

“Come on, let’s see if we can find him. Maybe we’ll get to watch him burn.” The third said with a sickening level of glee.

Makky felt like he’d been doused in ice water. Sunrise. He listened carefully as they left the building, footsteps and voices growing fainter. Maybe he could still sneak back to the Inn? Maybe he had time? Maybe he could—

The first rays of dawn’s light shone through one of the gaps in the crate hitting the knuckles of his hands, which he’d pulled up to protect his head. White hot pain shot through him like no heat he’d ever felt before. This wasn’t like touching the soup pot at home without mitts, it wasn’t accidentally getting a hand too close to the torches at The League, it wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt before. He bit through his own lip trying to muffle a scream as the burning just kept going. As the sun rose, and rose, it found its way through more and more cracks in the crate. It cast itself across his shins and his ankles, scorching strips of his knees. It laid across his wrists and forearms like violent red ribbons. He writhed in the limited space he had trying to twist and hide as much of his vulnerable flesh as possible. But all that did was expose new pieces to the unrelenting agony that the sun brought. He bit through his lip so many times in the first thirty minutes he wondered if it would ever heal. The scent of his own blood and burning flesh filling his nose, adding to the nausea he already felt from the sheer agony coursing through his body. Lancing out from the burns like a lightning strike, that hit over and over and over.

He tried to keep quiet, he really did, the possibility of Cray coming back to look for him again very present on his mind. Or of someone else finding him and opening the box. Subjecting him to more sunlight was very present on his mind. Or at least it was for the first hour when he choked back sobs, and bit down on screams. Only small whimpers, and keening whines escaping his lips. Halfway through the second hour he couldn’t think past the desperate agony to remember why he needed to be quiet. Loud sobs ripped from his lungs like they’d been dragged out by hooks. The salt from his tears stinging sharply on his still burning wrists. By the fourth hour he’d nearly screamed himself hoarse. His throat felt almost as raw as the skin kissed by the sun. He couldn’t remember if the blood on his tongue was from screaming so much he’d made himself bleed or from biting through his cheek in an ill-fated attempt to keep quiet.

Somewhere in the fifth hour he started begging. Who he was begging he didn’t know, but he needed it to stop. “Please! Please, someone help me! please! Make it stop! Please! God’s please! Make it stop!” the begging devolved into unintelligible prayer somewhere nearing the mark of the sixth hour. Praying to the Gods, to any that would listen, to Ember the Goddess High Queen of Flame, and to Cosma the Goddess High Queen of the Cosmos. To their child Soleris the Keeper of Sunlight. For anyone, anything, to please please make it stop just for a second. He couldn’t take anymore, please.

He thought someone must have answered his prayers because, suddenly he had a moment of respite. He dared to peek through blistered fingers to find that a cloud had passed over the sun. He let out a broken sob of relief. Sweat and tears mingling to make the angry red burns sting, as he trembled in the cramped space, he’d managed to hide in. His screams fading to hitching whimpers as he tried to control his breathing.

Deliriously he couldn’t help but think of his little sister, Amatis. As children they’d always sang silly songs back and forth together. Ironically her favorite had always been the Sunshine Song. He hummed it quietly to himself as he tried to shift his position in the box to give him an ounce of relief on the cramped muscles and sensitive flesh. After he kicked another nail with a burn, and promptly whited out in agony he stopped trying to move and just focused on humming.

“Hey there sunshine

You brighten my day

Hey there sunshine

You make me smile

When skies are grey”

Amatis loved to follow him places and chatter his ear off, singing songs while he walked to his little job, he’d managed to scrounge up at the tailors shop before the kindly old man died. On the days she hadn’t been allowed to walk him to work she’d tackled him in a tight hug the moment he got home. They’d been the closest to each other out of everyone in their sprawling family.

“Hey there sunshine

Just don’t take

my stars away

They guide me home

When nights are long”

He remembered the last day he’d seen her vividly. She’d been only six, and he was only ten. A Temple of Ember had gone through town looking for recruits to train up into Devotee’s. He remembered one of the nice ladies in red robes from the temple talking to him while he was at the Tailors. The same woman was at his house when he got home that evening. He remembered the way his stomach had twisted into knots at the sight of her talking to his parents.

“Hey there Starlight

You make me smile

When I am far-away”

      They’d wanted to take him for the temple. He remembered the calculated way his mother had looked at him then. But he’d been working for the tailor, they couldn’t afford to lose that money, pittance that it was. “Amatis is such a bright light.” His father had said to the nice lady in the red robe. It was settled so fast after that.

“Hey there starlight

Guide me home tonight”

      He remembered how she’d cried. How many times he’d told her she’d love it at the temple, even as he failed to hold back tears himself. She’d insisted he braid her hair one last time for her and sing the Sunshine Song. And he had to give one last piggy ride, and promise she’d always be his favorite sibling even if she wouldn’t be around to remind him.

“Make the moon shine bright

It makes me smile,

when you are far away”

      They’d managed to stay in contact for years even after she’d left. A kind merchant who delivered letters for the temple when they happened to be on his route of trade. He’d watched her grow up through shaky handed letters written in a childish scrawl, to pages and pages of elegant script. He kept his promise, she always was his favorite family member. Even if one day the letters stopped, the merchant vanished without a word, and news of the temple seemed to trickle and run dry no matter how he asked after it or tried to find someone to carry his letters.

“Hey there moonlight

Light my path tonight”

      In his state, delirious with pain and hunger, he could have sworn he heard his sisters voice, high and clear, singing The Sunshine Song. There was a slight breeze, the clouds were shifting. Light was streaming through the cracks in his crate. He couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t do anything but scream.

“Hey there sunshine

Come and take me away”

[bts-love-sweat-tears]

Café Potente

Title: Café Potente

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Type: cafe!au, pure tooth-rotting fluff!

Rating: PG

Warnings: Namjoon being a slight perv, kinkshaming if you squint (haha)

Word count: 1,628

Summary: In which Namjoon uses English and Clumsy to get himself a date. 

A/N: First ever collab with @sugarcookiesandsins. She just had to re-create so be sure to follow her. She’s also the grand admin of a really amazing Discord fangirl server. This was both really fun and obnoxiously hard to write, bc we kept dying of uwus while writing (I’m old, does this make sense)? Anyway, sorry not sorry for the massive amounts of cheese.

For once in your life, you were hoping that the universe would cooperate. So far, everything was going perfectly: the bus schedule, the weather, the heavenly smell of freshly brewed coffee. But good things come only in threes and you felt it in your gut that the universe would be giving you something bad to balance it out. 

Still, you soldiered on; you had been dying to try this new coffee shop, and it did not disappoint. From the soft fairy lights framing the chalkboard menu to the soft murmuring of the people around you, this cafe looked like it had been pulled straight from a fiction romance: the type of place where a meet-cute would happen. You dragged your eyes over the old-fashioned brick wall on the left side, patterned with a collage of art and paper notices, some advertising other stores and other simply messages about loving life. 

All-in-all you could definitely see yourself coming back here, perhaps to study, or even just to curl up in that plush bean bag in the corner with a good book.

Walking further into your personal utopia, you entered the line and focused on the menu. It had all the classics, and even a special menu that you were considering making your way through. Settling on your order, you let your thoughts wander until they settled on the other patrons. 

There was a tall boy in front of you, clad in all denim and a baseball cap pulled low over his face. You normally didn’t pay much attention to those around you, but the line was barely moving, and he had presence.  He was on his phone, speaking animatedly about something or other. As you eyed him idly, you realized that the phone conversation he was having was in perfect English. It had been months since you had had any meaningful conversations, rather than the mindless repetition of colors and numbers you circled though with your students.

Without permission from your social graces, your feet moved closer, yearning to hear more about whatever mundane conversation he was having.  Just as you got close enough to actually hear the conversation, it was finally his turn to order. He almost dropped his phone upon hanging up, scrambling to catch it, but knocking over the tip jar in the process. It clanged noisily to the ground and you noticed a blush tint the top of his ears as he bent down to recover it. 

It seemed that luck was not on his side however as his hat managed to catch on the lip of the counter falling off his head to the hardwood floor. You picked it up, and handed it to him. He nodded gratefully but didn’t say anything. You had been hoping to strike up a conversation with the stranger, but he clearly had enough on his plate. He moved to the far end of the counter to wait for his drink and before you could think of anything to say, it was your turn to order.

After ordering and paying for your drink, you moved down to the far end of the counter, and stood once again behind the taller man. He was back on his phone, emphatically gesturing as he continued his conversation on the phone. He seemed clueless that he was mixing korean and english into a new language all its own. It was oddly endearing. 

You thought that you were at a respectable normal distance, but apparently chaos was a natural state of being for him. Before you knew what had happened, you were covered in the remnants of his drink. Though you knew forces of entropy were present in the universe, this boy must have been prime among them.

Somehow, in the scant seconds between grabbing his drink and spinning around, the two of you collided. You had expected that such a public embarrassment would move slowly, like in the seconds before a fall, but no. In one fell swoop, you had gone from cozy anticipation of your drink to completely drenched in his. You felt like a complete idiot, standing there frozen pondering the statistical probability of what had just occurred. 

However frozen you felt, though, the chaotic bilingual boy in front of you was a flurry of energy, moving for the napkins, apologizing profusely, and somehow still managing to maintain that smooth flow of bilinguality with whoever was on the other end. 

You decided to choose one for him, with a small grin you pacified the man. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” You rejoiced as the syllables flowed out your mouth, relishing in the rare feeling of speaking english. 

His eyes widened comically, whether surprised at your language skills, or lack of rage; you couldn’t be entirely certain. Still he managed to compose himself pretty quickly, before blurting out a final apology, seemingly blank on any other words. 

You covered your giggle with your hand, momentarily forgetting about the brown stain on the front of your favorite t-shirt, emblazoned with the words THAT GIRL. But, the passing breeze of an opening door felt cold against the front of your chest, causing you to try to shield your torso from the offending wind. 

You glared at the new customer, blaming them for the new awkwardness you were feeling. Yet, you felt the pointed stare of someone. Turning back to the clumsy genius, you raised an eyebrow at the way his eyes were fixated on your chest. Seeing his pupils moving back and forth was the only thing keeping you from slapping his porcelain skin. 

“Oi. My eyes are up here you know.” His face bloomed roses as he realized what it had looked like from your perspective. Stumbling over his words, he tried quickly to excuse himself. The next words out of his mouth satiated your rage completely. 

“It’s not what you think. Just trying to figure out whether you’re a Marlo Thomas or Phoebe Buffay fan.” Whatever words you had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t these. Instead of swearing off men forever, you were wondering whether you had just met your soulmate. Not only was he a fellow 90s kid, but he also knew one of the original leading ladies of primetime TV. 

“And if I say both?” You tease, wondering whether his words would be as clumsy as his actions.  Instead, he was surprisingly smooth, and despite his earlier mishaps, his entire demeanor had changed from a gangly awkward youth to someone comfortable with witty repartee. 

“Then I would say that we need to meet up again to fully discuss the pros and cons of each of the shows. This is a serious undertaking and we can’t be rash,” though his words suggest gravity, the expression on his face indicates that he is joking. 

“Same time next week? And maybe next time, I won’t become your personal coffee dispenser.”

Never in your life would you have thought to yourself that the most obscure t-shirt in your wardrobe would be the reason you fell in love, yet here you were cuddled on the couch, tracing words on the paper as warm breaths caressed your neck. 

“You done reading baby?” You nod your head once, shift backwards to envelop yourself even more in Namjoon’s embrace. At his words, you put down your book and try to be more present in the moment with the love of your life.

It was a Friday night, almost 2 years to the day that Namjoon had the great misfortune of spilling coffee and inadvertently staring at your chest. You had the great fortune of meeting a cute, nerdy, multi-talented guy who enjoyed the same old tv shows at you, and remembered the same microscopic details that you did.

 It had gotten to the point where none of your friends wanted to hang out with you anymore, the two of you finishing each other’s movie quotes and winning incessantly at trivia. But you and Namjoon couldn’t be happier much to your friends’ chagrin. And despite their grumbles, you knew that they were happy that the two of you had found someone so perfectly matched. 

You smiled at the memory as Namjoon turned the page for the both of you. It had become a tradition; both of you cuddled up on the couch under the blanket that you had gifted him the first Christmas. There was always coffee on the small table, the dark color contrasting against matching couple mugs. 

It was enough to make someone vomit, but you didn’t mind, and neither did he. In fact, the two of you would often try to outdo each other on the mug front, and you were never at a loss for a clean cup for a warm beverage. Some might call you hoarders, but you and Joon maintained that you were collectors. 

You finally had the man of your dreams, romantic, nerdy, and caring all wrapped into one being and sprinkled with a dash of clumsy for good measure.

“I guess the world was wrong Joonie?” Your boyfriend lifted his eyes from the book, glasses allowing you to see the shades of brown that painted his irises. He gave you a quizzical look that made you giggle - it wasn’t often that you were able to confuse him. 

“Good things don’t come in threes. They come in fours.”

“Spilling my coffee on you was a good thing? You know, y/n, some might call that a kink.” His dimples are out full force, softening your heart and the gentle smack to his arm.

“You know, Joon, for someone so smart, you’re pretty dumb sometimes,” you want to make him sweat a little, but you are unable to keep a straight face.

“I mean you.” 

[moonyinthestars]

Stop texting me weird stuff so late at night! (Peter Parker x Avenger!reader)

This is for @mr-delmar, for your 1K followers writting challenge!

Prompt : “Stop texting me weird stuff so late at night!”

Words : 2558

Summary : You really have the worst best friend. Who else would drag you to the pool at nearly midnight?

Masterlist 

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Also, I’d love to hear what you thought about this! 

Spread back on your bed, a pillow shoved under your head supporting a messy bun of wild hair, you were scrolling absentmindedly through Instagram, checking the new pictures your friends had posted today. A quick glance at the top of your phone indicated you that it was already 11 p.m. Dropping it next to you, you stood up and grabbed your pyjamas, heading to the shower.

“Friday, play the last album of Panic! At The Disco, please.”

“Sure thing, miss.” Responded the artificial intelligence as the first notes of High Hopes were echoing through your room and attached bathroom.

Today had been a good day, you had gone to school as usual then trained a bit with Natasha, and the whole team had had dinner together. Of course, it had ended in laughter, punctuated with “language!” escaping Steve’s mouth, nerd jokes from Peter, Clint and Sam throwing wads of bread at each other, Natasha rolling her eyes while Tony was once more talking very loud and Bucky frowning at all the scientific vocabulary he was employing. They were people you kept dearly in your heart, your weird and protective family. Getting along with everyone was easy, but you were especially close to the spider boy. When you had joined the Avenger a couple of years ago, Peter had immediately tried to learn more about you, as he was fascinated with the power that you had. Actually, you had been offered to join the team when your friend Wanda had managed to find you thanks to Tony’s technology, after you had been separated from her and her twin before the attack on the HYDRA base in Sokovia. You had been away from your red head friend for six months when she rescued you among with the team, and it had been one of the best days of your life. However, Pietro’s death had been a hard one.

HYDRA had also experimented on you, but to them you hadn’t been as successful as the twins: your skills weren’t of direct use when it came to fight on the battle field. Indeed, your sight had been modified: you were able, in case of any injury, to see through the layers of skin, muscles, tendons and bones to fix what had been damaged. With the help of Bruce Banner, your powers had developed a lot: you could now heal the others even faster, and with your special sight came an in-depth knowledge of the human body. When you were focused, you could now force the cells to contract and do whatever you wanted even when he person in front of you wasn’t hurt. One day you emitted the idea that you could maybe help Bruce to transform back from the Hulk thanks to your new abilities. After a lot of convincing from Tony, Bruce had finally let you test your hypothesis. Peter had been the first to volunteer to protect you just in case things went wrong. As you were now both eighteen, your friendship had grown a lot and you were happy to live with him and the team at the compound.

As your muscles stretched under the hot and steaming water, you knew that a good relaxing shower had been exactly what you needed. Focusing your gaze on your biceps, you were absorbed into a microscopic word composed of cells, blood and many complicated molecules. There it is, you could see the lactic acid accumulating in your cells, causing the cramps you were now having. Funny thing that it was to be able to perceive such tiny and minuscule things!  Shaking your head at the weirdness of your thoughts, you finally got out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your chest. Singing along with the song that Friday was playing, you slipped on a large red hoodie that you had probably stolen from Stark with your grey pyjamas shorts. You brushed your hair, putting it in a less messy bun than before and headed back to your room after brushing your teeth. Jumping on your bed, you asked Friday to stop the music and subdue the lights as you slipped under the warm sheets. Grabbing the book that was laying on your bedside table, you made yourself comfortable, leaning on the many pillows your bed was provided of. Sighing in content, you began to read, escaping in a total different universe. Turning the page, a ringing sound took you out of your world. Reaching out for your phone, you raised you eyebrows when you saw that it was already 11:30 p.m. Who could send you a text at this hour?

Hey, I have an unsolved problem and I need your help.

Peter, your best friend.

Of course, you began typing immediately. What’s wrong?

Now worried, you watched the little dots undulating at the bottom of your screen, indicating that Peter was texting back.

Spider boy: Well, I have been thinking for the past hour, and I just can’t seem to find a solution.

You: Peter what’s wrong?

After a short moment, you burst out of laughter when you read the new text he had sent you.

Spider boy: Do you think that my webs stick under water?

Shaking your head smiling you answered him quickly, thinking that after all, you weren’t the only one to have crazy thoughts crossing your brain.

You: Omg Peter, stop texting me weird stuff so late at night!

Spider boy: But I can’t help it! I need to solve this or I won’t be able to sleep, you know me, Y/N.

You: Peter I’m tired.

Spider boy: But you’re my best friend!

Spider boy: Please Y/N!

Spider boy: Y/NNNNNN please

You: What do you want me to do about it? You’re the scientist, I’m not!

Chuckling under your breath, you lied back on your bed. Not even a minute later, there was a knock on your door. Knowing perfectly who it was, you opened it.

“Hi Mister Parker, what can I do for you?” you asked with a smirk.

“Come with me? Please?” pleaded the spider boy standing in front of you with his puppy eyes, his hair just as messed as yours. He was in his pyjamas too, his web shooters already attached to his wrists.

“And where would we hypothetically be going to?”

“To…”

“To?”

“To… the swimming pool?” he answered hesitantly with a light grimace on his face.

“Really Peter? The pool, when it’s nearly midnight?” you burst out laugh.

“Come on, it’s gonna be fun, you know it!”

“Of course I’m coming, you replied with a grin. Let me just get my swimsuit.”

You had noticed that your friend had already traded his pyjamas shorts for swimsuit shorts, so you hurried up and went to your cupboard to retrieve your own. You quickly put it on and added Stark’s red hoodie on the top of it but let your shorts of the floor, as your hoodie was reaching your mid-thighs.

“Let’s go web the entire pool Parker!” you exclaimed as you climbed on his back. “Come on, you want this, you’ll have to carry me all the way long!”

Arms securely wrapped around your knees, he exited your room toward the elevator, answering: “Okay, no problem. But I don’t wanna hear you complain if I’m going too fast”, he grinned mischievously.

“Me? Complaining? You mumbled, where did you get this idea?”

“Careful, back there, you wouldn’t like me to drop you, would you?” he mimed the action of letting you go

“Peter! Don’t you even dare!” you replied seriously with a slap on his shoulder.

“Sh shh, darling, he chuckled. You’re gonna wake the whole building up.”

Pinching his cheek with one of your hands wrapped around his shoulders, you shot a look at the both of you in the mirror of the elevator. You wished you had taken your phone with you, because it would have made a beautiful picture. The doors finally opened to reveal the training level, where was located on of the two pools of Anthony Stark, the other being on the roof. Peter suddenly broke into a run, a light laugh escaping his lips while you were trying to repress your surprise squealing, holding tighter onto his neck. He pushed open the glass doors separating you from the gigantic Olympic-sized pool and as if a lightening had struck you, you realized what your best friend was about to do.

“Peter, don’t you DARE JUMP IN THE POOL RIGHT NOW!” you shouted in his ears, the grip of your legs tightening around him in the feeble hope that it would stop him.

But, it was too late, and the only response you got was his laugh echoing through the big area.

Water splashing everywhere, you instantaneously let go of Peter when your body hit the cold liquid at the same time as his. Your big sweater floating around you, you couldn’t help yourself but laugh when your head broke the surface.

“You big idiot! I accept to help you and that’s how you thank me? My hoodie is all wet now!”

In front of you, Peter was grinning like mad, very proud of himself.

“Say something instead of staying there laughing at me!” you splashed water in his direction.

“Oh you want the war Y/N?” he replied with a hand placed in front of his face to avoid the water.

“You’re the one who started the war in the first place, darling.” You smirked back with a devil glint in your eyes.

And with a solid battle cry, the fight started. Pushing and splashing all the water you could toward him in all the possible ways you could imagine, you tried to get closer to him in order to make him surrender. However, your sweater was slowing down your movement although you knew that you couldn’t risk pausing to take it off if you wanted to win this crucial battle. But Peter hadn’t said his last word either, and he suddenly plunged under water to grab your feet.

“NooOOBLBLblbb!!” you cried as you were dragged under water, your hands slipping on the wet edge of the pool.

Kicking in every direction you could, you started to panic when you suddenly weren’t able anymore to dissociate your feet one from the other, as if they had been glued together. Without your feet you couldn’t move as efficiently as before, even if your arms were doing all they could to compensate this unpredicted loss. Feeling Peter’s arms around your waist bringing you to the surface, you chocked all the water your lungs had absorbed as you were at last able to breathe again.

“Well, I think that I have my answer”, he said with his arms still holding you close to his chest, smiling.

Frowning while still trying to recover from your brief trip under water, your hands knotted on Peter’s shirt, you mumbled:

“What are you talking ab- PetER YOU FITLTHY LITTLE TRAITOR!”

Your fists repeatedly hitting his cheat that was resonating with laughter, you couldn’t help but join him.

“UNWEB ME THIS INSTANT!”

“Okay!”

And he dropped you.

“No, Peter DO NOT LET ME GO!”

“How do you want me to take off the webs if I’m busy holding you?” He smiled deviously, his hands finding their way back around your stomach, under your hoodie.

“Well get me out of the pool you dumbass! And he calls himself an Avenger!” you said loudly.

After getting you out of the pool, he sat you on one of the benches nearby.

“How are you going to take this off anyway?” You wondered out loud

“Well, that’s the problem.” He grinned sheepishly.

You threw him a dark glance.

“You see, I’ve never had this kind of problem. I usually just wait for them to dissolve.”

Breathing in, you prepared yourself for what was next.

“And how long does it usually take Mister Avenger?”

“Do you want a towel? I’m going to get you a towel, you must be freezing! See, even I am cold so you should be cold too, ain’t you?” he quickly started rambling, walking away from where you sat to find you these precious towels.

“Peter! Tell me!”

“Here is your towel!” he said happily, wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Just tell me already! “

“Well it-usually-take-two-hours but given that the webs were shot under water it probably affects their solidity and how long they’ll last and the way they’re going to dissolve so it may take more or less time but once again I’ve never done this before so I can’t be sure-

“God, Peter...” You said with a sigh.

He glanced at you guiltily, barely looking you in the eyes, and you burst out of laugh. You really couldn’t be mad at him.

“You are really the worst friend” you continued to laugh.

“But you love me anyway?” he said with a knowing smile flourishing on his lips.

“Keep telling yourself that, you chuckled while giving him a bump with your shoulder. Well… if I really have to wait two hours, I’m not doing it here, and neither in these wet clothes.” You stated.

Staring at you with an unmotivated expression, you stared back into his brown eyes.

“Does that mean that I have to carry you again?”

“Do you really expect me to bunny hop all the way back to my room?”

“I guess I deserved that” he chuckled.

“Oh come on, don’t expect me to believe that you’re not enjoying this.” You replied with a smirk.

“As you wish!” he exclaimed, quickly taking you bridal style into his arms.

As Peter was carrying you, you were pretty sure that all the way leading to your room was now wearing his wet footprints and the drops of water from your soaked hair, but you didn’t mind. After all, it would all be dry by the morning. After Peter had dropped you in your bathroom, going to his own room to change, you started to take off your hoodie and realized that you no had another problem. How the hell were you supposed to get rid of your bottoms if you ankles were tied together? Shaking your head, you tried to dry as much of your body as it was possible, wrapping a towel around you to cover your bare chest.

“Peter!” you shouted through your room.

He came running in, hair still wet.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, I figured that since you’re the one who made my hoodie impossible to use for tonight, you owed me one of yours.” You replied grinning.

You spent the next twenty minutes in one of Peter’s hoodie in your bathroom, while he was carefully drying your hair thank to the blow dryer. The heat had helped to dry your bottoms as well, so that you were now sure that any excess water had left the surface of your skin. Peter carried you again all the way toward your bed, and after convincing him (which hadn’t been complicated at all), he also came to lie under the covers next to you after that he had turned the lights off. Comfortably wrapped in his arms, your head against his chest, you chuckled:

“Peter, you know that you could just have asked Karen about your webs, right?”

“I know, he chuckled back, just figured that it’d be funnier that way.”

[gosecretscribbles]

Forduary 2019 Week 1 - Praise, Recovery

AO3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957654

Summary:

Science owl is bullied. Crusty mackerel saves the day. Much angst, many comfort.

SLIDING INTO THE END OF FORDUARY LIKE MABEL ON A MAPLE-SYRUP SLIP-’N’-SLIDE

So I’ma do two things this year. One: All four stories are linked, like chapters in a book! Two: I. Brought. ANGST.

Trigger warning: Bullying

“Hah, he's really squirming now!”

“Quit thrashin' and get in there!”

“Whoa, check it out, he's gonna fit!”

“Get off me – get off!”

Ford struggled as hard as he could, but Crampelter dragged him toward the supply closet of the science lab. His two neanderthal accomplices stood on either side of it, grinning. The closet was barely bigger than a full-length locker, its shelves stocked with microscopes and jarred mutant frogs.

Crampelter shoved him in. Ford braced a foot against a bottom shelf and pushed, but Crampelter grabbed the back of his head and slammed Ford's skull against a shelf. Before Ford could recover, one of the troglodytes kicked at his legs. As he started to fall the closet door swung shut, hard, hitting his back and pinning him in with his legs half-collapsed beneath him. He felt an ankle give and gasped with pain.

The troglodyte laughed. “Teach him for tryin’ a build a satellite for aliens! He already is one!”

“Where's your bodyguard now, huh, Pines?” Crampelter banged on the door. Ford was crammed in so tight he could barely breathe, and every hit on the door threatened to crack his ribs against the shelves. “You hear me, Freak? If you want out you better beg for it!”

“My thoughts exactly, unless you want me to pound your face in.”

Stan! Shouldn't he still be at his boxing match?

Crampelter growled. “Back off, Meathead, or I'll make that shiner the least of your problems. Although with your looks, it might actually be an improvement.”

“Where's my brother?”

Ford didn't have enough breath to yell. He banged his elbow against the door.

“Just a little cleanup,” Crampelter sneered. “Putting the freak with the other mutants where he belongs.”

“THAT'S IT!”

Stan yelled and there was a massive crash, like the entire stand of glass beakers had been overturned. Crampelter, Thug 1, and Thug 2 grunted and cursed, punctuating insults with loud bangs and the muffled thud of fists. Something huge and heavy fell against the side of the cabinet, jarring the door. Several frog jars toppled and a couple of them crashed over his head. Formalin and frog juice spurted over his his hair and soaked his shoulders. More jars hit his bent leg. Pain flared and Ford broke out in a cold sweat.

There was an especially nasty crack and a horrible yelp, then Stan was bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“YEAH YOU BETTER RUN, CRAMPY! I SEE YOU NEAR MY BROTHER AGAIN YOUR FACE IS GONNA GET REUNITED WITH MY FIST REAL QUICK!”

There was a second of silence, then something scraped in the door. Stan was picking the lock.

“Sixer? You ok?”

“I can't breathe,” he whispered hoarsely. His chest was really starting to hurt. He couldn't inflate his lungs.

“Gimme a second, almost got it.”

Ford closed his eyes and started calculating pi in his head. He'd only gotten to the sixtieth digit when the door swung open and he started to fall back. Stan caught his shoulders, but Ford tried to catch himself with his bad ankle and cried out.

“What? What? Sixer?!”

He took a shaky breath and glanced back. “Don't worry, I – Stanley, your face!”

Stan's face looked like someone had repeatedly bashed it with a hammer. He had shiners on both eyes, a cut on one cheek, and the other cheek was already swelling to twice its size.

Stan grinned. Which, all things considered, looked rather horrible. “You think this is bad, you should've seen Crampelter' face, he looks like mincemeat! 'Sides, mosta this is from the fight. Guess what? I won!”

“Good, that's good,” Ford said, leaning on the closet. His ankle throbbed and his ribs ached.

Stan grabbed Ford's arm and looped it over his shoulder. “C'mon, we gotta get you fixed up.”

“You're one to talk.”

They had to move very carefully out of the classroom. Stan had turned it into a warzone: the beakers really had been knocked over, ceramic displays of neurons and plant cells lay shattered over the lab tables, and a few of the tables had been overturned themselves – one of them was even lodged in the ceiling.

Normally the sight of desecrated science equipment would have been deeply disturbing. Today Ford didn't give it more than a passing glance. He just wanted to get home.

The two of them moved quietly out of the room and down the hall. At least the janitor was nowhere in sight. In unspoken agreement they bypassed the nurse's office and headed out of the building for the side gate. They could always get ice at home, and it was just better if they could get to their rooms before Pa closed the shop for the day. The last thing Ford wanted right now was another lecture on being “a real Pines man”.

They were only a few blocks from home when Stanley finally spoke.

“Want to hang out in the Stan O' War?”

“Maybe later, Stan.”

“I could bring you your nerd stuff. You know Ma 'n' Pa don't care as long as we make it home by eight.”

“Not right now.”

Ford concentrated on moving his feet, concentrating on mathematical proofs as they went. He was pretty close to practicing Fermat's Last Theorem, anyway.

“Uh, Sixer? What's that gunk in your hair?”

“Formalin.”

“Like baby stuff?”

“Not formula, formalin. A solution of formaldehyde and water. From the frogs.”

“Oh. Uh, well...you make it work! Right?”

Ford looked at him.

“Yeah, okay, that was pretty bad. Listen, you know Crampelter is full of dog turd, pardon my French. Heck, the whole school is full of morons.”

“I just need some ice for my ankle.”

They'd reached their back door. Stan reached up with his free hand, got the spare key from the gutter, and let them in. Ford let go of Stan and hobbled toward the freezer.

Stan stopped him. “I'll get it, okay? Just go upstairs and do nerd stuff.”

Ford wasn't really in the mood to argue. He braced himself against the wall and limped into the hallway, sort of step-hopping up the stairs. He grabbed a cleanish set of clothes from the hamper on his way to the bathroom, cleaned himself off, and then made it to his room, where he collapsed on Stan's bed. He knew Stan wouldn't mind. He just wasn't up to climbing the ladder at the moment. His ankle felt hot and nausea rose in his gut. He closed his eyes.

The Theorem. Just focus on the Theorem.

Something cold slapped him in the face and he yelped.

“Stan!” Ford pulled off the ice pack. “Are you trying to break my nose?”

“Tryin' ta get your attention, sure. Move over.”

Stan shoved his way onto his bed and Ford quickly made room. Stan lay stretched out, his head on his pillow, and Ford rested his back against the wall with his legs over Stan's stomach. Ford leaned over and put the bag of ice on his propped-up ankle.

“This too,” Stan said, tossing another ice pack at him. “For your face. You look almost as bad as me.”

“Gee, thanks. Where's your ice pack?”

“It popped. Besides, people see me looking like this, they know not to mess with Stan Pines, Master of Punches!”

“You really need a different title.”

“Hey, I won my sixth boxing match in a row! I got all the titles!”

Ford made a sound of agreement and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. His head ached. He'd forgotten where he'd left off with the Theorem.

He felt Stan shift under him. “Look, Sixer, you’re smart enough to know they’re just pickin' on you because they can. It’s how idiots like them get their kicks.”

“It's how you get your kicks with Roger Morris.”

“He started that rumor about you, he was asking for it. Why don't you just read a nerd book or something? Want me to get you one?” He gestured to the bookcase in the corner of the room, so laden with texts the shelves were sagging.

“No, no. I’m – I'm fine.”

Stan sat up, dumping Ford's legs onto his lap. “You don't want to read? Did you get body-snatched or something?”

“Would you just leave me alone?” Ford snapped. He struggled to get up, but the angle was too awkward to manage.

“Hey – ow!” Stan caught Ford's wrist and he couldn't squirm away. “Geez, Ford, what's gotten into you?”

“What do you think?!” Ford burst out. “You keep telling me I'm smart, but that's the whole problem! That's exactly why I'm getting picked on! Because I stick out like – like my stupid sixth fingers! If I'm so smart, why haven't I figured out a way to keep Crampelter off my back? Thanks to him I got beaten up and you look like someone stuck you in a meat grinder face-first!”

“Yeah, and I still look handsome! Eh? Eh?”

Ford jerked his hand away. “This isn’t a joke, Stanley! Being a freak is bad enough. Being a smart freak just draws a massive target on my back.”

“C’mon, Sixer, I love that you’re smart!”

He snorted. “Sure, because you get great grades sitting next to me.”

“That too! But look, you’re not the only one with a target on their back. You’ve seen how Pa looks at me. Plus Crampy and the Goon Patrol liked beating me up all the time before I got good at boxing, and I only had the regular number of fingers.”

Ford stared down at his hands. “If I could just - just hide my intellect the way I try hide my hands…”

“Then I would be the smart twin, and we both know I'd get us into way more trouble than I already do.” Stan punched Ford lightly on the arm. “Bein' smart is part of what makes you you, Sixer. If you weren't so smart, you wouldn't be my nerdy book-lovin' poindexter of a brother.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ford said drily.

“Point is, I wouldn't change anything about you, ever. You don’t have to change just to make some morons happy, at least not around me. And I don’t feel like I hafta change myself when I’m around you, either. So what if they call us a freak or the bad twin? You’re a genius, and I’m a six-time boxing champion, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

A lump rose in Ford's throat. “I...don’t feel like I have to change, either, around you.”

“That's what I'm sayin'!” He grinned and laid back. “You just wait. One more year a this stupid town and then we’ll be out on the open ocean. Beaches, babes, smooth sailin', maybe a kraken or two for you and a smokin'-hot mermaid for me!”

“Stan, mermaids are reported to drown sailors.”

“Plus you'll come up with the best treasure-hunting equipment on the planet!” He swiped a magazine off his nightstand and shoved it at Ford. “Speaking of which, I saw this amazing picture of a doohickey that can detect mermaids underwater!”

“It's called 'sonar', Stanley,” Ford said. He tried to sound annoyed, but a smile was tugging at his lips.

“It's called the awesomest of awesome! We’re gonna be out on the ocean for months at a time, Ford. I’ma need some hot dates. You think you can make one a those puppies?”

“Yes,” Ford said immediately. He opened the magazine, but he knew already he could make decent sonar equipment. He'd already read the entire selection on naval technology at their local library, actually, not to mention doing a good deal of extrapolation on how to use advance the current sonar capabilities. He opened the magazine.

“I knew it, I could practically build this in my sleep. But we'll need supplies.”

Stan sat up eagerly. “Done! What supplies?”

“A sheet of metal, a blowtorch, wires, an ultrasonic sensor...”

[mybullshitsensesaretingling]

A Mistake

Request: Hi I was wondering if I could have a Spock request where I tell him about my feelings towards him but he says he does't feel anything towards me which is a lie because he wants to keep me safe so I avoid him to save the heartbreak. Soon he find out that I died on a mission and breaks down until they realise I haven't died and confesses his feelings.. sweet fluff and angst would be wonderful... thankyou <3 - @sammat97

You pulled your face away from your microscope to record your findings. Your attention drifted away from your research and up to Spock standing across the room, reviewing some data. He stood perfectly still, completely focused. When he turned around you went back to your work, removing the slide and pretending you hadn’t been watching him.

It wasn’t until he started walking towards the door that you spoke up, “Spock, do you have any plans for this evening?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, in that case,” you put in a new slide. “Would you like get a drink with me?” You hesitated a second, and then clarified, “On a date.”

“I don’t believe that would be a good idea.”

“Oh.”

“It would be inappropriate, as I am your boss.”

You nodded a little too quickly. “I understand.”

He nodded like he was saying “good” and left, leaving you to wallow in the aftermath of the conversation.

-

“Tell me again how you hit your head?” Bones said, shining a light in your eyes.

“There’s only so many times you can laugh.”

“I’m pretty sure this is an endless source of amusement.” He swapped the light for a tricorder. “I just don’t understand what the cactus was for.”

“If you don’t already know, then I can’t tell you,” you smirked.

He shook his head. “I’m sure Chekov had it coming, but, come on, he’s just a kid.”

“He knew what he was getting into.”

“I’m a little scared to see how you get even when you’re not stuck in space.”

“Let’s hope you never find out,” you smiled.

“Are you warning me to stay on your good side?” As he stepped off to the side, you saw Spock walking through the sickbay doors and your face fell.

“I should be going.” You dropped down from the exam table.

“We’re in the middle of an exam.”

“And now we’re at the end of one.” You patted his arm. “If I vomit I’ll come back.”

“You better,” he called after you as you darted from the room.

-

“Hey.” You barely glanced up from your station as Phillips passed by. You held up a PADD as he came to a halt. “Could you take this to the Commander for me? It’s the report for yesterday’s mission.”

“You want me to take that to him?” His tone made you look up.

“Yes. I’m busy. You don’t seem to be.” You turned back to your work. “It’s called teamwork, Phillips.”

“I know what teamwork is.” He took the PADD from you and folded it under his arm. “It’s just weird that you’re passing up a chance to see your precious Spock.”

“I have a lot to do. If you’re planning on making fun of me for my feelings, could you hold off until my shifts over? Or at least give me back the report so I can take it to him?” Without looking up at him again, you held your hand out.

“No, no, I’ll take it.” As he left the lab, you heard him add, “Someone’s testy today” under his breath.

-

Readjusting in your seat, you switch your PADD from your right hand to your left. Your peaceful reading was interrupted every couple minutes by Bones grumbling and scoffing from the other side of the table.

“If it upsets you that much, stop reading it,” you suggested, scrolling down the story displayed on your screen.

“It’s a classic.” He fell silent again. But it was short lived.

“Leonard,” you said interrupting his string of complaints. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to grouch about the inaccuracy of a book written in 1818 by an 18 year old. If you want accuracy, read a medical journal.”

“1816.”

You looked at him over your PADD. “What?”

“Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein in 1816. It was published in 1818.”

“My point still stands.” You returned your attention to your story.

“It’s a classic,” he said again, only this time he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself that that was a good enough reason to continue reading.

You glanced back up at him, shaking your head. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Spock talking to Scotty a few tables away.

“I should get to work,” you muttered, switching your screen off.

“What?” Bones looked up at you. “Your shift doesn’t start for another hour.”

“Uh.” You hesitated on your way to getting to your feet. “Early bird gets the worm?”

You backed away returning his suspicious expression with an almost apologetic one.

-

Just as you were getting settled on the couch, your bell rang. With a sigh, you got back up and walked over to the door. When you opened it, you saw Bones standing in front of you.

“Hey. What’s up?” you said with a forced casualness.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m not letting you in here so you can criticize the way I live.” He held up a bottle of whiskey. “Is that booze? Nevermind, Come in.”

He followed you back into the room and sat down on the couch while you went to get some glasses.

“You know, you bringing alcohol is almost sure sign that you came to criticize the way I live, but I don’t really care.” You sat next to him and set the glasses on the coffee table. “Free booze is free booze.”

“It is not a sure sign of anything other than that I have whiskey.” He poured your drink.

“Last time you told me I overwork myself because I have a fear of being unuseful and that I put too much emphasis on other people’s validation.”

“That’s not criticism. That’s concern for your well being.”

“A rose by any other name.” You took a sip. “So what is it this time?”

“Your boy troubles.”

You coughed, “My what?”

“Spock,” Bones said, “I’m all for avoiding him, but it’s a little out of character for you.”

“I was really hoping you’d be too oblivious to notice,” you muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right? Even Spock noticed and that man wouldn’t notice behavioral changes if they came into the room screaming. So, tell me what that mean green elf did.”

“He didn’t do anything,” you mumbled, picking at the couch cushion. “I told him.”

“Clearly it went very well.”

“Oh, just grand. He rejected me, I embarrassed myself. Such a good time. Wish I could do it everyday.”

“I can’t believe he rejected you,” surprise laced his words, but you passed it off as the usual sentiment that no one should ever reject one of his best friends.

“Very politely too.”

“Bastard.”

You snorted, leaning back against the couch and propping your feet up on the coffee table. “Everytime I see him I want to crawl in a hole and die. Or at least just lay face down on the floor for a few years.”

“The man’s an idiot and you can do much better.” He looked at you. “But you can’t keep avoiding him.”

“Oh, yes I can. I’m no quitter. I’ll keep this up ‘til I die.”

-

“Sir, we’ve lost contact with the landing party,” Uhura informed the captain.

“I want them back on this ship now!” Kirk demanded.

“Aye, Captain,” the technician said over the communicator.

The whole bridge fell silent as they waited with baited breath, the shouts of their fellow crew members on the planet below echoing in their minds.

“Sir, I’ve got them, but we’re one short.”

Kirk sighed. “Thank you, Ensign. I’ll be down in a moment.”

He put his hands on the armrests and pushed himself to his feet. Spock followed him into the lift. They rode down to the transporter in silence.

When they got there, Kirk scanned the defeated faces of the team, trying to see who was missing.

“What happened to (Y/L/N)?” Spock asked, before Kirk had the chance to.

“They didn’t make it.”

“They got caught in the cross fire.”

“How many people were there?” Kirk ask.

“Jim, I need to get them to the sickbay. You can read about it in their reports later.”

“Yes, of course. I want you all to stop by my ready room when you’re done for a debriefing.”

The team filed out of the room with the help of the nursing staff and Bones. Kirk turned to Spock and for a moment he could have sworn he saw a flicker of emotion. But it was gone long before Kirk could be sure what it was or even that he had seen it.

“If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I have some things to attend to.”

Kirk gestured towards the door and Spock nodded once and left.

It took Kirk a moment to leave himself. He felt like he was rooted to the spot, but eventually he was able to tear his gaze away from the transporter pad you hadn’t arrived on and get back to work. He was only able to focus for a good ten minutes before his curiosity about Spock started to grow. It wasn’t long before he could no longer get any work done. Abandoning his post, he went to search for him.

When he reached his quarters, a small, muffled voice told him to come in. The room was dark, lit primarily by the computer screen sitting on the desk. Behind the computer was Spock’s face, scrunched up with eyes glistening.

“This is what you had to attend to?” Kirk asked, crossing the room to the desk, “Crying in the dark?”

“I am not crying.”

“This is a little unusual for you,” he said, ignoring Spock’s previous statement and sitting down on the edge of the desk. “This isn’t because of (Y/N), is it?”

“I would prefer not to talk about it.”

“It’s ok if it is. You cried when I died,” Kirk pointed out. “Crying about the death of someone you care about is natural.”

“Vulcans do not cry,” Spock sniffed.

“You’re half human.”

“I don’t know why you insist on reminding me of that.”

“I’m sorry, I can see you’re very sensitive right now. I was just trying to explain that you have a right to be upset about this.”

“I’m sure that you believe you’re being helpful, but I would much rather you simply left me alone.”

“Alright, if that’s what you want.” Kirk slid off of the desk. “But listen, take as much time as you need. We can make do without you for awhile.”

-

“Spock.” Kirk poked his head out into the hall. “Get in here a second.”

Spock stared at him for a second, before finally complying and walking though the sickbay door Kirk was hanging out off.

There were few things left that could truly surprise Spock, but the sight of you sitting on a biobed smiling and nodding along to the lecture Bones was giving you definitely did. You were bruised and battered, but most certainly alive.

“If you ever pull this shit again, I’ll hang ya from the rafters,” Bones threatened.

“Oh, no you will not.” The way you smiled around the words pulled Spock forward as he fought off a smile of his own.

“(Y/N)?” You turned your head at the sound of your name. “We were told you were dead.”

“I supposed it did seem that way.” your smile faded slightly, “But I’m alive as can be.”

“I see that. I just don’t understand how.”

You shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m going to go get the dermal regenerator.” Bones put a hand on your arm. “I’ll be a couple minutes.” He gave you a look that told you you had better use those couple of minutes wisely.

You smiled at him and he left along with Kirk.

“Are you alright?” Spock asked once you were alone.

“Just fine.” You tugged down the sleeve of your uniform that Bones had pulled up earlier to inspect a cut along your forearm.

“You do not look fine.”

“It’s nothing we all haven’t dealt with before,” you said dismissively.  

“Most of us have not been thought to be dead.”

“No,” you chuckled, “I guess you haven’t. Still not any cause for concern.”

“Your dying is certainly cause for concern.”

“You do seem oddly concerned for a Vulcan.” You looked up at him for the first time since the conversation had started. “Especially a Vulcan who didn’t want much to do with me a month ago.”

“You are the one who has been avoiding me. I simply said that us getting romantically involved would be a mistake.”

“Might have something to do with why I was avoiding you,” you muttered.

“The fact that we both wish to make a mistake that would over complicate our professional relationship does not give you the right to avoid me. That was incredibly juvenile. Not to mention unprofessional.” He took a few steps so that he was directly in front of you.

You waved a hand. “Yeah, I’m a real child. Did you say both?”

“I did.”

Wincing, you got up so that you were more level with him and stared at him through narrowed eyes. “So you have feelings for me?”

“That seems to be the case.” He watched you apprehensively, like he was worried you would topple over at any moment.

You smiled, “Good.”

[nimpnawakproduction]

Mafia/baker au: Origins story part 1

Heya AA fandom! You thought you seen the last of me? Surprise 8D !!! Here’s the next part of the AU. I don’t have the energy or the time to draw the entire story so it will be in a fic form from now on. Thanks to @punxbarton for the beta-reading ;D

Note: You need to have read the first comics to understand what is going on. Here’s the link: OwO

The day he buried his father was a sunny day. In all of the movies or the books he had read, funerals happened with a storm raging outside, with big and heavy drops of rain falling from the sky. Everything was grey and sad, family and friends gathered together under black umbrellas. But on that day, the weather was wonderful. Miles didn’t know what to make of it. Everything seemed rather dull lately. As for the crowd around the coffin, he didn’t know a third of them. People from the police department, fellow attorneys and strangers sorry for his loss that he couldn’t even remember meeting ever before. At least, Lieutenant Badd had come. He hadn't stayed long because of a big case coming up, but had brought the biggest bouquet of flowers Miles had ever seen. Uncle Ray had put it at the feet of the tombstone. The roses were especially pretty. His father would have loved them. Miles was lost in the contemplation of one of them when a thought occurred to him.

“Uncle Ray, can I take one of them?”

Lost in thought by his side, his godfather started a little at the sudden question. He was doing a lot of that lately, looking surprised nearly every time Miles said a word. To be fair, he barely spoke most days. So he humoured him.

“Yes. Yes, of course. Go ahead.”

Miles picked up one of the roses. A white one. It didn’t have a lot of petals, not quite fully bloomed yet, but he liked the shape of it. Then he began to stride away, flower in hand.

“Where are you going?” Ray asked, a worried expression on his face.

“Not far. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Not waiting for an answer, he continued his pace along one of the paths crossing the cemetery. After some time, he finally found what he was looking for. The tombstone of Lucy Wolff was shiny and immaculate, just like his father’s. The flowers at its feet still looked fresh. She had certainly been buried a few days prior, or maybe even just hours ago. With great care, he put the rose down among the others. Lieutenant Badd had refused to give him more than her name, but she looked very young on the photo published in the newspaper. At least no more than 30. Maybe she was still a student, just passing by this small street on her way to school. Wrong place at the wrong time, as Lieutenant Badd had said. He sat down on the ground, hugging his legs in front of him, his eyes fixed on the golden letters engraved on the tombstone.

Thank you, Miss Wolff. Thank you for saving my life, he said in his head, hoping she could hear him from wherever she was now.

I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.

He held an imaginary conversation with her for a long time. He felt a little better, after. His task accomplished, he stood up and began to go back when he heard his father's name in a conversation held by two men standing a few meters away, their backs to him.

“What a shame really. A good man like him,” one of them said.

“Well, that's what you get when you dig a little too far,” said the other. He sounded like the older of the two.

Intrigued, Miles hid behind a mausoleum near him. The men walked on, oblivious of the presence of the boy.

“You think that he… discovered something, Sir?”

“That's one way to put it.”

He sounded pensive for a moment. Then the older man said: “That idiot. As if a single man could make a difference.”

The men walked away afterwards, heading in the direction of his father’s grave, not saying anything more. Miles didn’t move for a couple of minutes, processing what he had just heard. They knew something. Those men knew what had really happened. And one of them sounded almost…glad. Still thinking about it, he went back to Uncle Ray. Those men were talking with him. Noticing his presence, his godfather greeted him: “Oh Miles, I was wondering where you were.” He then turned to the men besides him. “This is Inspector Shady and Mr Damon Gant, the Chief of Police. They were kind enough to want to come and greet you, Miles.”

The older man crouched in front of him so they would be at eye-level and held out his hand. He was wearing a black costume with a red tie. His hairstyle was… interesting, in place of a better word. Glasses with pink lenses perched on his nose, while a severe expression stood on his face. After a slight hesitation, Miles took the offered hand.

“Hello boy. Your father was a remarkable man. My deep and sincere condolences.”

Instead of thanking him, Miles simply nodded his head in acknowledgement. The man continued: “What happened was a true tragedy, but if it can help you feel better, hold on to the thought that the culprit is now behind bars and will never harm anybody again.”

Then the man smiled. It was a crooked grimace. Miles didn't need anything more to confirm his suspicions. He stared at the man, storing his face in his memory, and calmly declared: “Yes… Thanks to you and all of the police task force. I hope you will always be as efficient so something like this never happens again.”

He didn’t know what face he had made but the man in front of him looked uncomfortable, his smile dropping a little. But it quickly came back on full force and the man shook his hand vigorously before giving him a hard slap on the shoulder.

“Exactly, my boy!” he said with a booming voice. “This is what we all need: optimism! I promise all of this to you, little man!”

He then stood up. After giving farewell to both him and his godfather, the two men walked away. When they were at a reasonable distance, Inspector Shady turned to his colleague. “Something the matter, Sir?”

Damon Gant suppressed a shiver and said: “This child's eyes… I had the feeling for a second that he would have killed me on the spot if he could have.”

Later that day, on the way back home, Miles felt better. After days of agony, a new-found serenity was coming into his heart. He was no longer lost in the dark, looking aimlessly for answers. He finally had a lead: the first face and name on what was going to become a very long list.

Tyrell Badd was a busy man. Years could pass without him noticing, his schedule always hectic and filled with more and more cases with each passing day. He had even become inspector, which added one more layer of responsibilities on top of all the others. But today, he took the time to take his car and pay a visit to two of his old friends. Stopping at a traffic light, he took his eyes off the road to look at the box sitting on the passenger’s seat. The big “DL-6” filling one side of the box was bringing back a lot of painful memories. With a long sigh, he focused one more time on the road. He couldn’t let the precinct simply call Ray, after so much time, and ask him to come and fetch this. No, it was definitely something that you had to deliver in person.

After a short trip to the edges of the city, he pulled his car to the side of the road and made his way to the door of a small two-floor house, box secured under his arm. The microscopic garden in the front was getting wilder and wilder each time he was passing by, overrun by weeds. It seemed that Miles didn’t have the same love for gardening as his father. He climbed the few steps leading to the front door and knocked. A moment later, Ray was at the door. It was always astounding to see what a few years could do to a face. He had lost the little softness you could typically find on the face of a teenager, his eyes a lot sharper and his jaws more defined. He even had the beginning of a goatee growing on his chin.

Seeing who was at his door, Ray greeted him with a small smile “Oh, hello inspector. What gives us the pleasure?”

“Hello Ray. I came to bring you this.”

He took the box into his hands and held it out to Ray, who took it with a pained expression.

“Are those..?” the younger man asked.

“Gregory’s things yes. The ones he had back there.”

Ray clenched his hands tighter around the box, bringing it closer to his chest. He looked furious. “And the police finally gave it back.” he spat out. “After 5 fucking years.”

A heavy silence settled between them, the two of them staring at the box for several moments. Ray closed his eyes and sighted, his shoulders dropping a little. Anger gave way to sadness, and a moment after, he just looked resigned. He took a step to the side, asking with a motion of his head if Badd wanted to come inside.

“Want to have a coffee?”

“Nah, I’d better be going,” said the inspector. “Say hi to Miles for me. Take care, Ray.”

“Yeah. You too.”

After a two fingers salute, Badd jumped over the few steps of the stairs and went back to his car. Ray looked at him ease back into the traffic before closing the door. A few seconds later, Miles made his appearance at the top of the stairs. Ray made a quick note in a corner of his mind to go shopping and get the teenager new clothes. He was having a bad case of growth spurt lately, leaving him with pants and sweaters way too short for him.

“Who was that?” the young man asked.

“Inspector Badd. He came with this.”

Miles looked at the box for a few seconds before recognition flashed in his eyes. He furrowed his brows, sadness obvious in his voice.

“Is this..?”

“Yeah.”

A long silence filled the room. As much as he was relieved to finally have Gregory’s things back, Ray was terribly afraid of Miles’ reaction. After years of failed psychological therapies, the boy was finally coming out of his shell a little, starting to look happier and more lively. If digging through this box meant digging out enough bad memories to erase all of the progress they had made, Ray was almost ready to throw it in the nearest bin and put it on fire. “Do you want to look through this alone? Or…” he tentatively offered.

The boy jumped a little, lost in his thoughts. “No…. No. Let’s look at it together.”

He walked down the stairs, took the box out of Ray’s hands with absolute reverence and made his way into the living room. They sat at the table. There was a moment where Miles looked lost in contemplation of the container. (Ray suspected he was gathering his courage.) Then he opened the lid. They were greeted by Gregory’s signature hat. Miles took it, brushing his finger along the rim. He sighed, and put it aside. Then came his clothes, insignificant things he had had in his pocket at the time, and his coat. Shaking any dust that could have gathered out of the clothes, Miles said with a bitter smile: “At least they had the decency to clean them before giving them back.”

Ray had to think for a second before understanding what Miles was talking about: of course, the clothes should have been covered in blood back then. He shuddered and put his attention on the rest of the things lying on the table. They got at the bottom of the box, the only thing left was a book. Miles picker it up, intrigued, and looked at the title. “The Hound of the Baskervilles”. One of the most popular Sherlock Holmes’ stories.

“This book” Miles said, surprised as a wave of nostalgia hit him. “I completely forgot about it… I never had the chance to know the end…”

After a moment lost in his memories, Miles put the book on his lap, along with his father’s coat. Ray was holding the hat, feeling nostalgic as well. Miles always loved that hat. When he was little, he was always saying that once he’d become an attorney, Gregory would have to lend him the hat, claiming that you couldn’t be a good attorney without it. Ray was a hat lover himself, never leaving the house without one on his head. But he had never had a hat of this quality. It was probably handmade. He lightly brushed against the rim with his thumb before holding it out to Miles. The teenager took it and, after a moment of consideration, gave it back to him. Ray looked perplexed as the young man started in a gentle voice: “Uncle Ray, I’m sure my father would have been very happy if you kept it. He knew that you love hats, I remember he was planning to buy you one back then.”

Choking on emotions, Ray had to hold back tears. He held the hat close to his heart and only managed a soft “thank you”.

Some time later, back in his room, Miles hung the coat in his wardrobe and sat back at his writing desk. He had been writing a paper for his history class, before going downstairs when he had heard the knock on the door earlier. He looked at the book in his hands. Sherlock Holmes… An idealistic detective who always managed to solve the mystery in the end, no matter how indecipherable the enigma first appeared. He looked at the cover for long minutes before throwing the book in the trash can under his desk. 

[godlessriffs]

Dog Wisdom: Are You Freaking Kidding Me?

People can be real idiots. It's not just that they don't read their history or science books and can't usually see past their own noses politically or sociologically. They also let wishful thinking inform their worldviews, eager to believe in all kinds of weird claims that not only can't be substantiated but couldn't be explained even if they were proven true. God, of course, is the biggie, but also past lives, extra-sensory perception, ghosts, astral planes, and all sorts of other supernatural nonsense.

I honestly wish I understood what people get out of such beliefs. It seems to me that humanity is having a hard enough time figuring out the hows and whys of existence without complicating it further by asserting as fact things for which no evidence can be found. For my part, I'm a skeptic because it's important to me to believe as many true things and, crucially, as few false things as humanly possible, and the only way you can be sure your mind is even geared in the right direction to do that is to put everything under the microscope. If it can't bear honest scrutiny, it's probably bullshit. I have beliefs, of course, just not a belief system, if you understand the difference. What I do believe I believe because that is what the evidence indicates, and then I believe it only tentatively. I have to be able to change or modify my beliefs in the face of new evidence, or drop them completely if they become obsolete. It's the only sane way to go through life. Which is why I chafe when confronted with beliefs based solely on faith, or even just mere gullibility. See, there's this one belief some people have that I find particularly galling, and I have personal reasons for feeling the way I do about it.

Sometimes people post memes on Facebook that say "I don't trust people who don't like dogs, but I trust my dog when it doesn't like a person" or something to that effect. This really bothers me, because what they're basically saying is that if their dog gets inexplicably hostile with someone, they will assume that that someone is a bad person because they think their dog somehow knows things humans can't figure out at a glance.

Two things you need to know about me. First, I don't know if I can truly call myself a good person, flawed as I am, but I can say truthfully that in all the years I've been alive I've never purposefully set out to victimize another living soul, in the short or the long term, and if I were ever to really try to hurt someone you can be damned sure they drew first blood. I do have a conscience. Secondly, I love dogs. I really like any animal that likes me, but dogs and cats especially. I don't usually approach dogs unless they seem... well, approachable. But if a dog comes toward me with a waggy tail and love in its eyes, that dog's getting petted, no other option.

But dogs are, after all, just animals, and intelligent though they may be, to credit them with preternatural wisdom and insight beyond human capabilities is a mistake. Yet some people are stupid enough not only to make this mistake, but to treat such qualities as a defining characteristic of the animal. It's true that dogs' noses and ears are far better than the human equivalent, and they can sense emotions in humans quite well. But people erroneously, and foolishly, assume that dogs are flawless judges of human character as well. I take extreme exception to this.

You see, I've encountered more than a few dogs who took an instant dislike to me, with no provocation, when all I wanted was to pet them and be friends, and certainly had no ill will toward their owners. The disappointment I feel when that happens is bad enough, but on top of that now I have to worry about what that dog's owner is assuming about me? Based on what, the barking and growling of a dumb, angry animal? What if it's just being territorial? Or, long shot perhaps, but what if my appearance reminds it of someone who abused it in the past? None of that is my fault. But you don't care. Canine justice has rendered its verdict and that settles the matter, doesn't it? As an introvert and a loner I have a hard enough time connecting with people. I don't need this shit and I don't fucking deserve it.

But you know what? If you're fine with judging me based on such dubious evidence, and if you're unwilling to consider that you might not be interpreting your pet's reactions correctly, then maybe you're not the sort of person I want for a friend anyway. Just saying.

[jinxedncharmed]

It was good to play hooky today. I slept quite late, then built the cats their new cat tree. It's the same as the old one, only new and clean. Surprisingly Charm was the first one on it, as Jinx preferred to lounge in bed with me. I cleaned and took a shower. I finished a good book on sulfa drugs called "The Demon Under the Microscope." It was interesting and well written, and I learned a lot. It was sad in the end, though, due to WWII and the rise of the Nazis, but an interesting story and good facts to add to my brain attic. I then took a muscle relaxant and had a nap, waking around 5. Now I'm just reading and lounging. I'm reading a book of Haruki Murakami short stories, "Men Without Women." It's good but no "South of the Border," which I loved. I hope I have made the right decision to leave my current job. I'm anxious about it. I worry I may be leaving some opportunities; the brand engagement leader emailed me with some projects she wants me to do, and I had to inform her I had resigned. It would be bad if I was leaving something, you know? I'd be passed if I put all this time into building a reputation and then I left right before the payoff. It's been a very slow build though, or has it? Several coworkers told me they would have left after a year, I stuck it out for 2.5. And any "opportunity" is nebulous, anyway, no guarantees. No, it's best to get away from Current Boss. I will get more money, learn a few more skills, and hopefully regain my health. I can't wait to see the doctor next week. I'm so tired of the pain, and I miss going for walks, especially as fall approaches. I'm worried about missing eventd, like the National Book Festival, my favorite event of the year; and my niece's first birthday in October. Will I be healthy enough for those things? I can't imagine missing them. I'll have to see what he recommends. Probably a cortisone shot, and maybe it will help. That'd be great, I've forgotten what it's like not to have constant pain. It's been about two months now and I feel raw and drained, sandpapered down to a nub. It will be good to get a fresh start. I will be able to restart the diet, even though I can't exercise, and hopefully establish a new, healthier routine. The money will make me feel a little more secure. I'll save the first two or three months, then start investing. Dad wrote me to tell me I should cash half my retirement savings; I imagine he heard some idiot pundit on TV predict doom and gloom for investors. True, the economy is overdue for a bust, but I'm only 30 and can ride out waves. He's 61 and must be more conservative with his money. I do need to consolidate my savings into one vehicle, though; I have 2 403b plans and an IRA, and the new job gets me a 401k. I should do some research in what to do. It's not a lot of money. One 403b has about 15k, the other 6k, but it would make life easier to consolidate. Anyway. I'm so boring, ha. But I try to save for my future, whatever it may bring.

[supremeoverlordofdarkness]

“The Arms”, a short story by A. Siegelster

“I fail to see how this is funny.”

Sam was drenched with the icy water from the bucket that had just fallen from the top of the opened door, and Jamie was laughing hysterically.

“Oh - oh my god, S-Sam, you should see your face!”

Sam tried to stomp forward toward Jamie, only to slip on the pooling water and fall on his butt. This only made Jamie laugh harder, clutching her stomach with one hand and the arm of the sofa with the other as she tried to stay standing. Sam rose carefully, bracing himself on the other side of the sofa. His face was still set in a grimace of pain and embarrassment, and Jamie’s peals of laughter were dying down slowly.

“That was mean, Jamie!” Sam whined. He started to shiver in his soaked clothes.

“Aw, do you need a hug?” teased Jamie.

Sam gave a short, gruff laugh. “Ha, no thank you, I don’t think I trust you to do anything after that prank!”

“That’s fair, and good for me too, you stink! When was the last time you showered?”

“Hey, I didn’t smell this bad before the bucket fell! Where’d you get the water anyway? The water from the tap in the sink doesn’t come out smelling this gross.” Sam smelled himself and pulled a face.

“I got it from the cistern down in the basement,” Jamie replied. “Isn’t that where all the water in this cabin comes from?”

“Uh, no,”  said Sam. He was looking at Jamie as though she was an idiot. “All the water is piped in from elsewhere, and purified first. This smells like it’s been sitting there for a long time. Nice going.”

“Hey I’m sorry, I didn’t know!” Jamie crossed her arms.

“You couldn’t smell it when you were filling the bucket?!”

“I hadn’t taken my allergy meds yet. You know I can’t smell well before I do!”

“So you didn’t think to take your meds before going into a dusty and mildewy basement?”

“Uhm… I forgot?” Jamie gave an innocent smile and shrugged.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I’m going to go shower and attempt to get this stench off me.”

Sam huffed out of the living room, and Jamie sighed, smiling to herself, and threw herself down on the sofa. She picked up a book which she had brought with her - the cabin they rented for the week had no TV, or anything technological that wasn’t useful for cooking or washing. The book was a Lovecraftian story, filled with all sorts of strange science fiction monsters, including the tentacled god Cthulhu himself. Jamie could not get enough of it, or of any science fiction story, and she talked incessantly about it, to her own delight, and to Sam’s annoyance.

Jamie was just getting immersed in her book when she heard Sam call her.

“Hey, uh, Jamie? Can you come here for a minute? Something’s weird.”

Jamie called back. “Are you still in the shower? Cause if you’re still naked and this problem has to do with your penis then I think I’m gonna stay right here.”

“I’m out of the shower, I have pants on. Just come here.”

Jamie groaned, marked her place in her book, and got off the sofa. She walked over to the bathroom where she found Sam standing in front of the mirror, flexing his arms.

“Are you sure you didn’t just call me here to show off your muscles?”

“Ha ha,” Sam replied. “No, just take a look at my arm. I didn’t used to have this many freckles before, did I?”

Jamie took Sam’s left arm and inspected it. “Well, there are a lot of freckles. But we’ve been out tanning by the lake for a few days now, you probably got them from the sun, right?”

Sam looked at his arm again then nodded hesitantly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. Nothing to worry about. Freckles are supposed to be fashionable now, right?”

Jamie chuckled. “Absolutely. Now come on, let’s go for a hike before dinner.” They came out of the bathroom to grab their hiking boots. Jamie spotted her book lying where she had put it on the sofa.

“Oh, and I am getting so into this book I’m reading, Sam. Did you know that Cthulhu - ”

Sam held his hand up. “Please, Jamie, save your sci-fi facts, I get enough of them the rest of the time!”

“Aw,” Jamie whined, but then giggled as she was lacing up a boot. “But they are fun facts! You don’t want to know about the squid-faced…?”

Sam pulled a face, and Jamie stopped, laughing and patting Sam sympathetically on the shoulder.

“Alright, Sam, I’ll stop. For now.” She flashed him a huge, toothy smile as they got up, and he pushed her out the door, following behind.

The rest of the day was uneventful, except for the sighting of a small woodpecker on their hike, and dinner consisted of roasted weenies and marshmallows. They each went to bed content and sleepy, thinking about what the next day would bring. In the morning, however, Jamie’s eyes snapped open, having woken up to the sound of Sam’s distressed calls. He was in the bathroom, looking at his arms again.

“The freckles are raised, red, and they kind of hurt!” Jamie took a look, and sure enough, the freckles were raised, red, and larger, almost like welts. She sucked in a breath.

“We should probably take you to a doctor, Sam,” she said.

“But the closest doctor is hours away,” Sam replied, “and I don’t really want to go if this is just temporary. I mean rashes usually go away within a day, right?”

Jamie thought for a moment. The welts looked pretty bad, but maybe it was just a rash. She went into the bathroom and found aloe in the cabinet.

“Here, put this on,” she told Sam. “We might as well help the rash heal quicker - if it is a rash.”

Sam rubbed the aloe onto his arms, and thought he felt a little better. That same evening, after another day of hiking and swimming in the lake - and other various mountain adventures - though, they both would start to wonder.

As they did every night since they arrived at the cabin, Jamie and Sam were roasting marshmallows in front of the fire, outside under the stars. They had forgotten the rash on Sam’s arm, and didn’t think about anything unusual, until Sam suddenly threw his roasting stick right into the fire.

“Sam, why the hell did you do that?” asked Jamie, annoyed. “Now we’re short a stick!”

“I - I’m not sure,” Sam said, looking confusedly at his hand. “I really don’t know why I did that.”

“Oh well,” said Jamie, shrugging. “Maybe it was just an irresistible impulse. I know sometimes when I’m standing by the lake I have urges to throw my phone in, or jump in with all my clothes on.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied slowly, “yeah, maybe that was it. Weird.”

For the next couple of days neither Sam nor Jamie paid much attention to Sam’s arms, being busy with the adventures of nature during the day, and as Sam took to wearing long sleeves on cold evenings.

One night, Jamie slowly drifted awake, still half asleep, to the sound of talking from the other room. She thought that Sam might be talking in his sleep, maybe having a nightmare or strange dream. She had had those herself sometimes.

That next morning at breakfast she asked him if he had slept well, wanting to know what his dream was, if he had one.

“I slept fine,” Sam said. “How about you?”

“Fine,” answered Jamie. “No dreams?”

“Nope,” said Sam. “None that I can remember, anyway.” Jamie noticed that he was scratching his arm lightly.

They both sat at the table in silence, Sam eating his cereal. Jamie picked up her book and started reading, trying not to pay attention to Sam’s arms. After a while this proved difficult, and she slammed the book down on the table, the images of Cthulhu reminding her again and again of those welted arms, though the monstrous god was always her favorite. Her thoughts then were interrupted suddenly by Sam yelling,

“Look out!”

Jamie ducked just in time as Sam’s cereal bowl flew past her head and hit the wall with a loud smash as it broke into many pieces. She looked back up, wide-eyed, to see Sam with his right arm extended toward her. They stared at each other.

“Did you throw that?” asked Jamie after a moment.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, lowering his arm. “Well not really me, my arm did it by itself. Again.” He looked from his arm to Jamie, eyebrows crinkled with worry. “Jamie, I’m starting to get really freaked out. What the hell is going on with my arms?!”

Jamie thought for a moment. “I’ve heard of a disease - maybe it’s neurological - where your arm acts by itself because it’s detached from some part of the brain or something. That could explain the random throwing things.”

“But what about these disgusting lumps on my arms?” asked Sam. He poked at a welt with a finger, dragging a line of viscous brown goo when he took his finger away. He made a face.

Jamie looked to her book for a moment, thinking, then said slowly,

“It could be a rash from the water. Or maybe… never mind.”

“No, no,” said Sam, “tell me.”

“Well, this may be a far-fetched idea - a very far-fetched idea. But what if the water in the cistern that got all over you was full of microscopic creatures?”

“You mean like bacteria?” asked Sam.

“Maybe,” said Jamie. “Or maybe it’s some intelligent microscopic creatures inhabiting and controlling your arms.”

Sam looked at her incredulously. “You’ve been reading too many sci-fi novels, Jamie.”

“Just hear me out,” she said, “it’s far-fetched, but not impossible. I read a story once where it rained these tiny microscopic creatures from space, which invaded the water supply, and thus inhabited the bodies of humans too, eventually controlling them, using them in one unit as vessels to live on earth.”

“Let me guess,” Sam cut in, “they end up taking over the world and preparing it for their alien overlords, right?”

“Well not exactly like that, but…”

“Oh come on, Jamie!” Sam said. “You don’t actually believe my arms are inhabited by microscopic alien overlords, do you?”

“Hey, I told you it was far-fetched, but it’s the only other way I can think of right now to explain your oozing warts!”

Sam sighed. “Not everything’s about aliens.” He looked down at his arms again. “It’s probably that first thing you said. The brain thing. And the rash”

“Yeah,” Jamie replied. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. Awful coincidence though, right?”

Sam shrugged.

Jamie sighed. “We can’t just leave your arms like that, though, can we?”

Sam got a tinge of worry on his face again. “Maybe we go to the village tomorrow and see about a doctor, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Jamie, nodding, looking down at her own hands. “I’ll drive.”

It was later that night, the moon was bright, beaming through the window onto Jamie’s face. Looking up at the sky she couldn’t help seeing eyes and a mouth on the silver face of the moon. A face in the sky staring back at her. A face in space.

She kept thinking of Sam’s arms. The story she told him replayed over and over again in her mind. It couldn’t be true, could it? she thought, Sam’s probably right. My imagination is running away with me. She settled again on the less-exciting explanation they came up with earlier. The brain thing, she thought. And yet, with the light of the moon and the wild thoughts of hers, she couldn’t help feeling that there was something more to this than met her eye.

Jamie had just dozed off when she was startled awake by a loud crash. She sat up in bed, waiting to see if it was not part of some dream. She heard it again, louder this time, and leapt out of bed, racing out of her bedroom without any shoes. She followed the sound into to the living room, where she saw, a few feet from the basement door, Sam making a hole in the floor with a sledge hammer.

“Sam!” Jamie exclaimed, “what the hell are you doing?!”

Sam turned back to her, a look of terror on his face, while continuing to hammer at the floorboards. “Jamie! I - I don’t know why I’m doing this! I mean, I’m not doing this, it’s my arms! Help me!”

Jamie looked around, thoughts racing as she tried to think of what to do. She’d have to time it right, so that she wouldn’t get in the way of the giant hammer. In a second she sprinted just as Sam was about to bring the hammer down again, tackling him so that they both fell to the side of the large hole he had made. She quickly grabbed the hammer and slid it across to the other side of the room.

“What the hell were you doing, Sam?” Jamie asked again, as calmly as she could.

“I- I don’t know, I was sleeping and all of a sudden I was startled awake. I heard voices in my head… ” Sam paused and looked down at his arms, on which the welts were larger and darker and oozing more. “The voices, they told me to get the sledgehammer. I didn’t want to, I really didn’t. But then my arms, my body, started to move by themselves. You saw the end of that.” Sam looked back up at Jamie, eyes wide with fear. “Jamie, there’s something in my arms. Something controlling my arms, controlling me! It’s like you said before, something small, and smart, is in my arms!”

“Sam,” Jamie said, shaking slightly, “we said... we already said before that it was a disease, something in your brain -”

“Yeah, there’s something in my brain alright, and they’re controlling my arms!” He held his arms up to Jamie’s face, so she could see the dark, oozing welts. They seemed to be writhing. Suddenly they grasped out at her. Jamie jumped back just in time. Her back was to the large hole in the floor.

“Sam!” she exclaimed.

Sam was picking himself up off the floor, though he seemed to be struggling with himself. “No, no, don’t make me, I don’t want to!” His arms raised, stretched out towards Jamie. “Yes,” Sam said, in a voice that wasn’t quite his own. “Yes, do it, do it! Make her one of us! A new vessel! A NEW VESSEL!”

In an instant Jamie was holding her hands up as Sam ran towards her, both shouting, “NO!” as he pushed her back through the hole in the floor, where she fell through directly into the cistern.

Sam stood looking down at the cistern - at Jamie in the water, floating down to the bottom. She did not come back up.

He walked away from the hole in the floor to the bathroom steadily, calmly. He turned the water on in the faucet, took a washcloth, soaked it in the water, and ran it over each arm, each time coming away with a dark brown, gelatinous material.

Once his arms were clean he looked up in the mirror at his own reflection. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Well,” he said, “that’s done.”

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