#Jumbo Jumble Book

[jumbojumbledave]

MAY BLOG

 Illustration by Miki Howenstein

Such distinct beauty isn’t possible without the many disparate parts.

                                May 14 (in the book “Jumbo Jumble”)

This is the mark of great ideas: they unify people and they also act to unify the disparate parts of the human being; they speak of a social order that is possible on the basis of an ordering within the individual self. 

JR: Many of the influential ideas which have taken hold in the contemporary world focus on fear and the differences between us, and are a root cause of many modern day conflicts. Rediscovering  the benign power of ideas that bring together and harmonize the disparate aspects of the self as well as different peoples, and developing creative ways of implementing them would be an important step towards moving to fully integrate these contrasting elements both within ourselves and, from there, throughout the society.

PP: What two ideas do you hold that clash with each other and make you feel disintegrated? How can you adapt them in order to feel more accepting of both?

PA: The conflict throughout Western history has been the struggle between freedom and equality. It is also an internal conflict which I harbor. I treasure my freedom, but know that it is only in using the fruits of this gift to uplift others (along with myself) that I feel fulfilled. And by using the wealth which I’ve been blessed with to support groups that work towards more equality in society, I hope that “responsible freedom” can also be engendered.

[daffydave]

Living for the common good leads to flourishing.

(Book (Jumbo Jumble) - May 11)

Nishizawa Azalea Garden (ChitoseKarasuyama (Keiou), 30 minutes, 2011)

ChitoseKarasuyama Station is only about 15-20 minutes by express train from Shinjuku (Tokyo’s skyscraper district). This small flowering paradise is near “temple town,” which has some intriguing temples. The Azalea Garden has become smaller in recent years and it’s questionable how long it will continue to flourish.

[often-daydreaming]

Keep Running

In between one moment and the next reality quakes and for the briefest of moments Jason finds himself standing in the remnants of a destroyed Star City. He knows it's not real, that it's just some magical mumbo jumbo overlaying memory magic nonsense bleeding into their timeline but he can smell the smoke in the air from the fires and hear her tired laughter as the static filled image of a red haired woman sits down beside him. He knows her or at least this version of him does as they talk about the little suicide run they were planning in order to hopefully end things for good and Jason can feel how tired his alternate self is as he takes a seat on the ground beside her. It's all a rush of emotions and faint memories that were getting harder and harder to ignore before he's suddenly back on the Watchtower with every other available hero the League could call in stuck arguing about these stupid visions affecting heroes and villains all over the globe if some of Ra's latest movements were any indication. His men were searching everywhere for answers while others like Luthor were making more subtle inquiries. The only upside to all of this was the reactions coming out of Arkham but that didn't mean he wanted to be up here with the League nearly at each other's throats.

With everything he's managing to piece together through a couple of brief check-ins with Dickie and the girls he could see why B wanted answers.

As morbid as it sounded Dick and the others were a few of the lucky ones who were able to be pulled out of their memories faster since they were at ground zero when the Watchtower was pulled out of orbit. The quicker you died the quicker it was over but neither of them were as lucky.

In those jumbled memories him and Bruce were the only two left after Gotham went up in flames since Phantom went after them first and there were still a few lingering effects clinging to that since he could still remember what the older version of himself felt. It was somewhat muted now but some of it was still there and if he focused hard enough Jason could still see the makeshift doctor's office in his mind. He could feel the phantom pain and see her flowing red hair. She seemed so relieved to find him alive and he wanted his own answers but Impulse was in the wind.

The little speedster was gone before anyone could really recover from the sudden onslaught of memories and while Bruce was doing everything he could to figure out a plan of sorts the others weren't as lucky with Superman stuck bouncing between the moments of his own brutal death and worrying about his family's safety. Whoever or whatever Phantom was, he knew exactly where to hurt them with Jon nearly losing it in public after being forced to live through the memories of his mom dying and the man of steel's own death at the hands of some magical Martian whatever.

Wonder Woman seemed the most put together out of everyone but even she was kind of twitchy, her had never leaving the pummel of her sword as Zatara went over what he could piece together on his own since the bulk of JLD was still out of commission.

His own daughter was comatose from the magical backlash of whatever this was while Constantine was just missing, his home a mess of overturned books and hurried scribbles which left them on the back foot for now since the only solid lead anyone had was Impulse and Young Justice was closing ranks around their missing speedster.

With JLD in shambles and Ra's on the move Replacement was running his own investigation into whatever was going on and shutting everyone else out of his systems after the first attempt at locating Impulse through his tracker backfired horribly.

I blame my cough medicine and a love for Fallout for whatever this is turning into but I felt like adding onto Run a little. I wouldn't even begin to know how to explain it but I just have this image in my head of Bart and Danny in a Fallout like world but the whole memory thing could be anything really. I just like the idea of reality shifting to the left just enough that Bart suddenly remembers details about his past he'd forgotten thanks to time travel/reality resetting and he suddenly remembers Danny while the rest of his team remember bits and pieces of their missing teammate Phantom. Everyone else just gets doomsday memories cause I really don't care and mostly think it's funny so I'm either blaming this on the gauntlet from the movie or Clockwork but anyone could add something else if they want.

[deans-baby-momma]

The Story of Us-Chapter 10

A/N: This is a rewrite of a story my good friend @spnbaby-67 allowed me to take and rewrite. All mistakes are mine. This is canon divergent, meaning some things that happened in the show will still happen here but with my own twist to it.

Summary: She and Dean met when they were kids. Even at such a young age, she knew that he was her soulmate. Being the daughter of a hunter, Michaela (Micki) Singer knew the life he led came with a price, but she was up to the challenge.

Pairings: Dean Winchester/reader, Sam Winchester/friend!reader, John Winchester, Mary Winchester (mentioned only), Bobby Singer, and more from the Supernatural universe.

Warnings: Flashbacks are in italics, fluffy stuff, angst stuff, character death, kidnapping, depression, semi-dark themes

WC: 1,137

Present Day (2008)

Dean walks back into the living room from checking on Micki and Maren, to find Sam on his cellphone.

“Okay. Alright. Yea, see you then.” Sam flips the cell shut and sits at the table with all the books and lore spread out.

“What’d Bobby say?” Dean asks as he goes to the refrigerator to grab something to drink. ‘Man, a beer would be nice right about now!’ he thinks to himself as he grabs a bottle of water and twists the cap off.

Pamela is out of I.C.U. She’s stable,” Sam answers as he looks down at all the jumbled papers. 

“And blind because of us,” Dean says, sitting across from his brother. “And we still don’t have any damn answers.”

“Yes, we do,” Sam states. “We have a name or whatever. Castiel.”

“And what do we do with that information? Huh? A big ole bupkis.”

“With the right mumbo-jumbo, we could summon it,” Sam says.

“And bring it here?! Are you fucking insane dude? You saw what it did to Pamela. My family is in the very next room, man! Can’t we just consider this-” he says as he motions to himself,-as a victory? I’m back; I’m not worm food, I am living and breathing and here for Mick and Maren. Let’s just let lying dog lie.”

“So we go someplace else and draw him out,” the younger brother suggests. 

Dean looks at Sam like he’s grown a second head. He is adamant about bringing whatever it was that showed up enough to burn Pamela’s eyeballs straight out of her skull to them.

“What are you going to do? Beat him up? Work him over? What if you’re no match for him, huh? Whatever he/it is, it’s strong enough to rip me from the grips of Hell.”

“I just want to talk to him,” Sam says, defeatedly. Then his face lights up and he pulls a page closer to him and reads. “Dean, look.” 

He hands the paper to his older brother. Dean reads the text on the page. 

‘Angels of the Lord are some of the most powerful beings. They have the ability to do things that are deemed impossible and inconceivable.’

“I’m not doing it here,” Dean finally caves. “Wait until Bobby returns and we’ll go find some deserted place to summon this thing.”

Sam nods and starts gathering up the books and pages from the table. Dean takes another drink of water, silently hoping they are not making a big mistake and he doesn’t end up back on that rack of torture.

FALL 1994

High school sucks ass! Micki had always liked school but high school is another story. Not only are there more kids to fill the halls and avoid but there are cliques. There are the jocks, the stoners, the nerds, the popular ones and then the category she seems to fall into: the loners.

No one really talks to Micki but she’s not complaining; actually prefers it that way. Maybe she is a loner but she knows she’s not alone because when she gets home she has Dean. Well, he isn’t there but he calls from a payphone near their motel every afternoon and night before going to sleep. He is all she needs. 

“Oh look girls,” a female voice permeates the air. “Looks like someone’s mommy forgot to teach her how to dress.”

“Or style her hair,” another voice chimes in. “God, do you even brush it?”

Micki turns to see a group of about 5 or 6 girls, giggling. They are all in name brand clothing and their faces are caked in makeup; their hair teased high and stiff.. She looks around and realizes she is who they are referring to.

“What?” she asks, innocently.

“Did your mother know you left the house looking like the Brawny man?”

Micki looks down at her attire. Her favorite band, Guns N Roses, insignia on a t-shirt paired with one of Dean’s flannels and a pair of jeans with her Nike’s. She thinks she looks alright; Michaela Singer has never been a girly-girl anyway.

She straightens her shoulders and holds her head high as she responds to her tormentors. “There is nothing wrong with my clothes.”

“Oh honey,” the one who seems to be the leader laughs. “Who told you that? You look hideous. Maybe you need to take some pointers from your mom?”

“My mom died,” Micki says, hoping to get the girls to leave her alone. Instead it backfires.

“Oohh, that explains a lot! Daddy probably wanted a son and now that his wife is gone, he decided to raise you like a boy.”

“That’s not what happened!” Micki cries, unable to keep her emotions in check. The tears spill down her face.

“Oh little orphan Annie going to cry now,” the main girl jokes. “Mommyless and a crybaby.” 

Micki runs down the hall, not caring about running into people as she just wants to get out of the building and home.

“I hate it!” she cries into the phone that evening when Dean asked her how school was. “They’re so mean.”

“Who Micki? Who hurt you? Whose ass do I need to kick?”

“Just-” sniffle “- some mean girls-” sniffle “-calling me names.”

“Baby don’t pay attention to them. You are better than that, I know you are. They're probably just jealous."

 "I doubt that Dean," Micki sniffles again. "They are all so pretty and wear the name brand stuff."

"Micki, baby, you are gorgeous! Don't put yourself down like that you hear me, don't. I think you are beautiful. And so what if they wear name brand shit. Who cares what a person has on the outside, it's the inside that counts. You have a heart of gold and a body to die for. I know, believe me, I've seen you naked and almost have a coronary each time."

That makes Micki giggle and Dean smiles. "That's my girl. I love to hear you laugh."

Micki hears John call Dean's name and her mood drops. She knows that her phone time with her boyfriend is over. He has to go help his dad with whatever they're hunting.

"I gotta go sweetheart, but listen," Dean tells her. "Do not let those ugly bitches bring you down. You are so much more, you are my world. I'll be back as soon as we get this rawhead taken care of. I'll come prove to you how much you mean to me.

"OKAY! I'M COMING! JEEZ! Baby, I gotta go. Talk to you later."

"Okay Dean. Hey, Dean?"

"Yea?"

"Barney."

"Barney, baby. Barney all the way."

Micki hangs up the phone and sighs, as she realizes just how much she misses Dean and how he makes her feel good about herself.

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​ @spnbaby-67​ @tftumblin​ @sea040561​ @delightfullykrispypeach​ @larajadeschmidt13​ @atc74​ @vicariouslythruspn​ @squirrelnotsam​  @sandlee44​ @blacktithe7​ @hoboal87​ @mogaruke​ @deanwanddamons​ @supraveng​ @deandreamernp​ @akshi8278​ @lyarr24​ @maggiegirl17​ @chriszgirl92​

[labyrynth]

we do so much reading analysis in the US schooling system that i think a lot of us just... forget that “i hated it” is a perfectly valid analysis. like, there’s a reason you hated it— find the reason, and if you have to write a paper, talk about why you hated it. there is such a thing as wrong analysis, but there’s no such thing as “right” analysis and as long as you didn’t wildly misinterpret anything, it’s perfectly fine to say “this was a bad book/paper and here’s why”

[besanii]

wwx + lwj being isolated together on their (largely empty) campus after being forced to return early from their study-abroad trips, living across the hall from each other, bored out of their skulls; lwj's set to pass the time reading his online textbooks, meditating, playing guqin; wwx's going out of his mind without proper access to his dorm room, studio space, and novel stimulation; eventually they open their doors, tape out the space of 6 feet, & sit in their doorways swapping songs + bonding

[Read on AO3]

Tap-tap-tap

Lan Wangji takes out one earbud and frowns in the direction of his closed door. There is a long pause during which no sound is heard and Lan Wangji is about to put his earbuds back in when it starts again.

Taptap-tap-tap

Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptap…

Irritated, he storms over and yanks the door open, ready to snap at the offender, only to come face-to-face with…nothing. He blinks, confused, and moves to close the door again when he hears giggling from somewhere near the ground. He frowns.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Wei Wuxian grins up at him from where he is splayed out on his stomach in the doorway across the hall and waves. His other hand is holding onto a long contraption made of a jumble of stationery haphazardly taped together that spans the entire width of the corridor, the end of which stops just short of Lan Wangji’s leg.

“Hiya, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian chirps. “I’d come closer but we’re not allowed.”

Lan Wangji feels a headache already starting to develop in between his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose to ward it off and sighs.

“What do you want, Wei Ying?” he asks. “I’m busy.”

Wei Wuxian sits up on his knees with a wide grin.

“Can I borrow a pen?” He shrugs. “I seem to have used up all my spares.”

Lan Wangji stares at him, and then down at the long pole of taped stationery still lying on the ground by their feet. The throbbing in his head grows louder, more insistent. He has lectures to listen to, notes to take, and he needs to practice. He doesn’t have time to entertain Wei Wuxian and his flights of fancy.

“Ridiculous,” he says, and slams the door shut.

–

The next day, the tapping starts again. This time, Lan Wangji is in the middle of practicing a new song on his guqin and only hears it when he stops to make a note on the score. He’s half tempted to ignore it and return to his practice, but he finds himself instead opening the door again to see Wei Wuxian sprawled on the floor, lounging back against the door frame.

He perks up when he sees Lan Wangji.

“Lan Zhan! Hi!” He scrambles to sit back on his heels when Lan Wangji moves to shut the door again. “No, wait, don’t go!”

Lan Wangji pauses, one hand on the door, and sighs.

“What do you want, Wei Ying? I’m—”

“—busy, I know,” Wei Wuxian finishes for him. He scratches the side of his nose with a sheepish expression. “Sorry, I promise I won’t bother you for very long. I just…I’ve been working on a new piece for class and I really need a second opinion on this one part and you’re the only one on this floor who’s also doing Composition 4505 so…”

Lan Wangji feels a twinge of guilt at the hopefulness in his tone. It’s been three days since the beginning of their confinement and while Lan Wangji is used to silence, he knows it must be difficult for someone as sociable and energetic as Wei Wuxian, who is used to hanging out with others and thrives on social interactions. He sighs again.

“Give me a moment,” he says, and drags his desk chair over to the door. He takes a seat facing Wei Wuxian and folds his arms over his chest. “Alright, whenever you’re ready.”

Wei Wuxian beams.

-

The next day, Lan Wangji opens his door before the tapping even begins. Wei Wuxian’s door is already open and he’s crouching, stationery pole in hand, ready to begin tapping. Instead, the tip of the pole (one of those jumbo-sized Sharpies Lan Wangji’s seen him use to make markings on posters and charts) taps Lan Wangji on the chest and he raises an eyebrow.

“Oops? Sorry,” Wei Wuxian says with a nervous chuckle. He starts pulling the pole back when Lan Wangji makes a grab for it. “Hey!”

“I’m confiscating this,” Lan Wangji tells him sternly. “So you can stop damaging school property.”

“But how am I supposed to get your attention?” Wei Wuxian complains.

Lan Wangji sets the pole just inside the door of his room.

“The door’s open,” he says. “Just call me.”

-

Wei Wuxian takes his now constantly open door as an invitation to call on Lan Wangji at all hours of the day. He insists that they eat together (it’s one of the stranger experiences of Lan Wangji’s life, sitting cross-legged in his open doorway facing Wei Wuxian doing the same across the hall), and asks Lan Wangji to listen to him practice the dizi and give him feedback. He surprises Lan Wangji one day by pulling out a stack of flashcards he’d made to help him study for one of the subjects they didn’t share.

“I had too much time and I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, “so I looked up your course notes. You have a quiz on Monday right? Maybe this will help?”

His cheeks are tinged pink and he twirls a lock of hair between his fingers as he makes himself comfortable on the floor, not quite meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes. Bashfulness is a rather…charming look on him, Lan Wangji’s heart decides, and skips a beat. He’s still staring at Wei Wuxian, trying to process this new bit of information, when Wei Wuxian cocks his head to one side and blinks up at him with confusion in those big, gray eyes.

Lan Wangji’s heart skips again.

Oh.

-

Two weeks pass by in a blur of shared meals, study and practice sessions across the hall, and those newly-awakened feelings only grow the more time he spends with Wei Wuxian. He’s also started paying more attention to his little habits and thinking them cute, although he’s no longer sure if it’s because of the feelings or if the feelings are because of those habits.

Wei Wuxian is fidgety and restless by nature and if he has to sit still for long periods of time, he’ll start twirling things in his fingers. Like a pen, or his dizi, or his hair. He also likes to chew on the ends of his hair when he’s deep in thought, which Lan Wangji finds really quite distracting; his fingers itch to brush away the lock of hair from his mouth, and then maybe replacing it with his own—

His ears burn and he has to turn back to his book to stop himself from staring at Wei Wuxian’s mouth. Luckily, Wei Wuxian is too busy humming to himself as he scribbles on a piece of paper to notice.

They’re eating dinner on their last night of enforced isolation when Lan Wangji finally admits to himself that he almost doesn’t want this to end. He likes spending time with Wei Wuxian, just the two of them; he likes seeing him in his pyjamas, buried in his notes, reading glasses (reading glasses!) slipping off the bridge of his nose as he twirls a pen in his hand. He likes listening to him talk while they’re eating, even though Lan Wangji himself doesn’t contribute much to the conversation. He likes the way Wei Wuxian smiles at him over the top of his laptop, eyes crinkling at the corners and nose scrunched up as he makes faces.

He just…really likes Wei Wuxian. 

He doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“Hey Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, completely oblivious to Lan Wangji’s internal conflict. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do once we’re allowed outside?”

He’s chewing on the ends of his chopsticks, lips pursed in thought and Lan Wangji is transfixed. He barely even registers the question before his mind supplies the answer.

I’m going to kiss you. 

It is only when Wei Wuxian squeaks, his chopsticks clattering to the floor as he turns bright red, does Lan Wangji realise he hadn’t spoken those words in his mind.

“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. His ears burn. “I didn’t mean—”

Wei Wuxian claps his hands over his ears and shakes his head.

“Nope, nope, stop talking,” he says loudly, his eyes squeezed shut. “You can’t say things like that, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji’s heart sinks. He opens his mouth to apologise again, but Wei Wuxian interrupts him to waggle a finger in his direction.

“You can’t just say things like that,” he whines again. “That’s not fair. It just makes me want to run over there and kiss you, but we can’t until tomorrow and maybe not even then because of this social distancing thing and that’s—not—fair!”

He scrunches up his face in a way that makes him look stupidly adorable and Lan Wangji really, really wants to jump him. But he doesn’t, because he still has some semblance of self-control.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says instead, louder, firmer, and feels a surge of satisfaction when Wei Wuxian wails and covers his face. “First thing tomorrow.”

-

(He does. Multiple times. Caution be damned.)

Notes:

Okay, so this is just for fun and isn’t mean to be a reflection of what it’s actually like to be in quarantine/isolation. I also haven’t had much dorm experience besides 6 months in Japan about 9 years ago, so none of this is accurate. The 14 day period is based on what Australia’s recommended as a safe isolation period, so that’s what I’m going with.

Stay safe and healthy everyone!

// buy me a ko-fi //

[Read on AO3]

[eidetic187]

↳ @maestrodarte​ said What was the last dream they had? If they talked in their sleep, what weird jumble of words would come out? Or I guess, do they talk in their sleep? Would your muse ever partake in a séance? have they? if so, what happened and would they do it again? if not, why?

character questions

What was the last dream they had?

It’s a tossup between a job related nightmare, or just some random dream his brain came up with. Typically, if he dreams, it’s just as incoherent as anyone else’s dreams would be — maybe he’s in a random doctor who episode but nothing makes sense, maybe he’s in a library but all of the patrons are aliens && all of the books are in gallifreyan but for some reason he can understand them perfectly. As far as the nightmares go, I’ve said in a previous headcanon that they typically involve things such as him being helpless to prevent the deaths of his team, things involving forced drug use, && other things of that nature.

If they talked in their sleep, what weird jumble of words would come out?

Spencer doesn’t talk in his sleep often, && when he does it’s typically when he’s having a nightmare. During these situations, anything he says is typically whatever he’s saying in his dreams — think the scene in season 4 where he has a nightmare of being covered in leeches && he screams ‘Morgan get them off me!’ && ends up also screaming this in the waking world. If he does talk in his sleep when he’s just having a regular dream, it’ll typically be gibberish or random things from his dream.

Would your muse ever partake in a séance? have they? if so, what happened and would they do it again? if not, why?

More likely than not, Spencer would not even entertain the idea of participating in a séance. He doesn’t believe any of that spirit world mumbo-jumbo — he is a man of science && science only, && there is no scientific evidence that spirits && the like exist. If he ever did go to a séance, he would go specifically to be a jerk && explain why everything is not real, why this isn’t working, spirits aren’t real, etc. etc. He can be a bit of a jerk, occasionally — however, he’d probably only do this if someone on the team was having a séance. Looking at you, Penelope.

[moonlightcrossesonyourbody]

Words, Nerves and Cigarettes

Hiiii!!!! So, this is for the wonderful @liglitterbug to whom I promised a story for a prompt for helping me out and finding me that story I was looking for obsessively. The prompt was basically h/c and dyslexic Steve with Harringrovre which like, one my favourite things EVER!! This is pre-slash. There are a couple anxiety attack scenes that are pretty graphic. More warnings in the tags.

 Without further ado here we go!!

Okay. So Steve knew he wasn’t the smartest guy in the block. He knew that he was surrounded by people who could think circles around him on any given topic okay? He knew that. And he wasn’t bitter. No he had accepted long ago, when Mrs Johnson asked him to read out loud in 6th grade and he almost had a damn panic attack and had to feign feeling lightheaded- which honestly, not that much feigning there- that school and all that academic mambo jumbo just wasn’t for him.

His dad certainly made sure he understood just how stupid and incompetent and Jesus, Steven, you’re so damn lazy why can’t you just apply yourself, son? he was. Back when he was still young enough that his parents missing parent-teacher night would be frowned upon in the polite company of Hawkin’s upper class, a couple of his teachers would throw around, in lower tones, like a dirty little secret, words like testing and dyslexia and it’s not his fault, it’s just...his brain. That was always sure to get his father going and start threatening in hushed tones about incompetent teachers and funding and do you even know how to work with kids, he’s just damn lazy. So eventually the teachers stopped mentionning it. He never forgot that word though.

He looked it up in the school library one day when Tommy and Carol where to occupied sucking each other’s faces and too high to notice him gone anyway. He thought he might have it. Dyslexia that is. It made sort of sense anyway, as much as anything could make sense in his head, especially these days. The book said things like jumbled words and trouble reading and spelling and backwards letters like b and d...or d and b. Something anyway. And it all felt pretty familiar and it was comforting for a while, cause the book also had this section about coping mechanisms. Sounding the words out slowly, or spelling them or writing them down. Having someone read to him worked the best though and when Carol was in a giving enough mood and Tommy wasn’t around and he widened his eyes and pouted his lips just enough, she’d read the homework out loud to him. And then Nancy came.

Sweet, understanding, beautiful, smart Nancy who was determined to help him make sense of his stupid brain. She’d read to him and show him how to take notes so he’d need the books less and explain to him stuff that he just couldn’t get. But then their world turned literally upside down and school kinda went into the back and Nancy left him and then he had the kids to take care of, because he had to keep them safe, he had to. God knows he couldn’t help with anything else. So he patrolled the woods and picked them up and from wherever those little nerds-geniuses- were everyday. Cause he could do that at least. He wasn’t like Dustin who was the smartest person he had ever known, who had a science based explanation for everything.Or Nancy and Jonathan and Hopper who connected all the dots and where always, like, fifteen steps ahead of him.Or Mike who always had a plan for every damn contnigency.

Mike, who was currently looking at him like he bit into something sour-which honestly was turning into the kid’s default expression right along with those eyes that he was currently rolling at him and Jesus his face was gonna get stuck like that and then he would- Jesus dammit Steve focus. He tried to go back on his train of thought, which, honestly more like a trainwreck of a thought, and figure out why Mike was currently making that face at him.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, are you gonna ever roll or fucking what?” exclaimed the kid and-

“ Hey, language-” Steve started saying and oh my god what happened to him, before he remembered that they were playing the nerds’ stupid game Gorgons and Caves or what the fuck ever. Which you know. Speaking of trainwrecks. So he rolled and landed a fourteen and Mike started spouting of some bullshit that he couldn’t hope to understand even if he was focused and not sleep deprived, which speaking of, Jesus he hadn’t slept more than five hours since Wednesday, and what day was it again and-

“ Oh my God, Dude are you fucking stupid? We’ve explained this a thousand fucking times, just read your damn character sheet and make a stupid move, come on!!” Which, okay ouch, Mike fuck you very much, he didn’t even wanna play the stupid game, but Dustin was begging and the kid thinks he’s cool and he can’t say no to him and-

“Oh, my God Mike can you  just fucking chill he was probably bored of your stupid voice-” Max started yelling and there was that word again stupid, stupid, stupid, and the kids were yelling now and-

“Okay, Okay, Jesus, hold your damn panties, Wheeler, here.” he pulled his character sheet off the floor where he had let it drop during the kids’ last yelling match, jesus do they yell, and he squinted at the page. “ Okay, so, umm...I...umm, I have that back up spell right? So I, ah, I’m gonna give that to Will...?” he trailed off, lifting his eyes to look at the rest of the kids around the table.

“Oh my God, Steve come on you have to read the spell,come on.” Mike said while heaving a big, great, sigh. “ See I told you guys, he wouldn’t get it, he’s only slowing us down-”

“Jesus, Mike shut up! How can he read if you’re always yelling at him, he’s new at this and just needs some time to concentrate, not everyone’s brain works the same. Come on buddy just read the spell like we practiced,” Dustin turned his big eyes at him and gave him that damn ridiculous smile and Jesus that’s were he’s at right now, his best friend is also his cheerleader and his mom who is also a fucking thirteen year old. 

He looked back down at the sheet and tried to read the stupid spell, but he couldn’t find where the damn word was, and the letters were dancing all over the page, and none of the words made sense anyway and he couldn’t sound them out, never mind spelling them and, was that an upside down question mark what the fuck? Oh wait no that’s an f, the spell started with an f- right?

“Okay, umm, I wanna give Will, a fu-, an umm, a fra..for,” He was stuttering, he knew he was stuttering, goddammit, and he was starting to sweat, the back of his neck was on fire, and there was no air in this stupid basement, and none of the words made sense, and his stupid brain couldn’t process anything, and his leg was jittering and his nails were digging into the meat of his palm were he had his hand fisted on his lap,

and the kids were all looking at him,

and Mike was rolling his eyes,

and Dusting was looking at him all supportive like,

and Max was looking at him like she knew, and her moth was forming a soft, quiet oh,

and he couldn’t breathe.

Out. He needed out, NOW.

He stood up abruptly, his knees knocking into the low wooden table they were playing on, almost knocking Mike’s book fortress on the floor, and he was getting tunnel vision, his hands fumbled in his pockets, searching for the cigarettes he wasn’t carrying anymore, cause it wasn’t good for the kids and-

“ Umm, I’m just,..I’m just gonna go get some... get some water,isn’t it...isn’t it hot in here, get some umm some air” he stuttered out, hand finding the nearest wall, stumbling his way towards the staircase, damn it all to fucking hell why stairs? 

“ What?!” Dustin exclaimed “Steeeeve, come on it was just about to get good-”

He cut Dustin off “ Anybody want anything?” he rushed out, the words coming out with a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He risked a glance round the table and saw Max looking at him like she understood, and she nodded her head at him toward the stairs.

“ I want some juice” She said calmly. 

Mike opened his mouth as if to argue, and she must have seen something on Steve’s face cause she was turning toward the boy, with a thunderous expression on her face and-

“ Oh My God, Mike! What the hell is your problem, he gave the damn spell to Will, just go on, you little asshole-” and that girl deserved the world.

He could hear Mike’s screech of indignation as he flayed his way up the stairs, opened the door and exited that stupid, suffocating basement, trying to catch his breath, as he made his way towards the front door, mostly blindly, mainly on instinct, feeling like his face was on fire and his hands were shaking and 

stupid, stupid, stupid, you panic because of a game with fucking pre-teens, what the hell is wrong with you, you stupid - stuttered breath-

pathetic- just a couple more steps-

useless- his hand was on the handle-

embarrassing-he wrenched the door open- 

-and promptly run into a wall.

“Jesus fuck, what the Hell?!” Someone exclaimed, as hands went on his bicep and hip steading him, his arms trapped between them, hands on a firm chest, half-clutching an open shirt, mostly pawing at warm, golden skin, golden necklace catching on the reflecting porchlight, his stupid brain going a mile a minute-

-oh hell. 

He raised his eyes, meeting twin night sky blue pools- no, no wait not pools, pools were bad and death and guilt and monsters and we killed he-

“ Okay there amigo?” Billy asked, eyebrow raised, arms still holding him, burning, scorching him, and his breath hit his face, smelling strongly like cigarette smoke and faintly of something sweet, saccharin, snapping him back to the moment and Jesus, they were standing so close, practically sharing air, that Steve couldn’t take in and he was burning and

“ Yougotanysmokes?” he rushed out, and tried to swallow, throat working, while he was still trying to draw breath, which was maybe a little easier now, with Billy’s scorching, rough hands feeling like a brand on the skin of his arm and the sliver of skin where the fabric of his shirt had bunched up on his hip, where Billy was still steading, grounding him.

“I sure do” he said stepping back, taking his hands and all their fire away, second eyebrow climbing up to meet the first. “Wanna bum one, King?” he said, devil’s smirk appearing, making the statement sound suggestive, 

smug asshole, Steve thought.

“Umm, ye- yeah.” He got out, clearing his throat and looking everywhere but at Billy.  

“ They’re in the car.” He turned around, making towards the Camaro, and of course they were. Where would he even keep them on him, it was finally warm enough that jackets weren’t a necessity and he must be barely able to breathe in those jeans, never mind shove things down the pockets- Jesus ,Steve, focus he thought to himself aggressively, blushing again, and heart stuttering, for entirely different reasons that he wasn’t examining too closely right now cause seriously fuck that.

He looked back and found Billy looking at him over his shoulder, devil smirk still there, porchlight and moonlight catching on his curls and on the angles of his face making him look like one of those marble statues in his history book, if you looked past that infuriating smirk and that glint in his eyes that spelled only trouble.

“You coming, or am I fetching them and lighting one for you, King Steve?” he drawled slowly, tongue appearing and glistening while wetting his lips.

does that thing ever stay inside his mouth? he thought and then snapped back to himself, shaking his head to clear it, and started to move towards the car.

“Yeah, no, ah, yeah, yeah I’m coming.” he said and Billy hummed behind his smirk and turned back around and made for the driver’s side, Steve following him this time, heart still beating faster than it should be and the previous anxiety and panic that chased him away from the kids and that damn basement still simmering in the forefront of his thoughts. 

By the time he had reached him Billy had already got his packet out, and had a cigarette dangling on his lips, driver’s door shut, the hand with the packet extended towards Steve, while the other held his lighter, as he made his way towards the front of the car.

When he reached Steve, Billy got between him and the bumper of the car. Steve swallowed on reflex while Billy’s arms reached behind him and he leaned back on them, hips jutting out and the fabric of his sleeves straining, and then he gave a small jump, landing on the hood of the Camaro with a grace that Steve would hardly possess in general, never mind now with his nerves wrecked as they were.

Billy lied back on the hood of his car, golden/sliver curls creating a hallo around his head, eyes closed and smoke going up, up ,up from the cigarette Steve didn’t even notice him lighting up, arms going behind his head, knees bent and exposed torso shining. 

He looks like a giant cat. Steve thought as he saw him stretch and hum, shiny midnight blue hood contrasting against the reds and golds of his skin and clothes.

He turned his head slightly towards Steve’s general direction, his eyes opened half-hooded and hazy behind the smoke of his cigarette. The cigarette he was now grinning around, the jackass. More like a lion then. Or a tiger, but definitely a predator, instead of a house pet. Like Mews 2.. or was it Tews? The one the monster didn’t eat anyway and nope. Nope. Nope. Not thinking about that right now. No.  

Steve, still trying to avoid that anxiety attack he has been trying to restrain since Mike opened his stupid mouth and his stupid brain stopped working, let out a quiet breath and rolled his eyes, when Billy lifted one eyebrow again and glanced at the packet now lying on the hood of the car next to his hip.

He reached for the packet and pulled a cigarette out, rolling it across his lips, before setting it in the middle while he searched for the lighter he still always carried on him. He lit it up, put the lighter away, safely inside his jeans’ pocket, got the cigarette back in his fingers and climbed next to Billy on the hood. He looked toward the other boy but Billy’s eyes were closed again, smoke slowly drifting up, up, up from his blowing mouth, so he mimed his stance and laid back. One hand pillowing his head, but he didn’t close his eyes, opting instead to turn to the boy next to him. 

He looked like he was sunbathing in the moonlight, greedy even with light, drawing toward him any light source there was in the bleakness of the early Midwest spring, sucking it all in or maybe better, absorbing it, and while he was watching mesmerized the rise and fall of his naked, sculpted chest, Steve wondered, when exactly, sitting in silence with Billy Hargrove, became the silent comfort of his mess of a life.

It was comfortable now. It wasn’t comfortable at the start. Not for Steve at least. He pushed through the nerves and the wariness and yes, the fear, cause Billy Hargrove wasn’t the only stubborn bastard, this side of the country. But he was dangerous. And as much as Steve liked to tell the kids that the demon dogs from Hell were by far the sole scary thing that night, he could admit it. Quietly. To himself. In the privacy of his jumbled, stupid head that Billy’s rage and raw, unstoppable force of power and anger that night were just us terrifying.

But he apologized. And Steve hadn’t slept well since October of last year and he just didn’t have the energy to hold a grudge. He was never good at it anyway. So he nodded his head and mumbled a ‘whatever dude’ and looked away. But the asshole wouldn’t leave, and then he offered him a cigarette and Nancy hated those and they weren’t good for the kids, but he hadn’t slept in ages and he remembered what the burn of nicotine felt like when it travelled down his lungs and suddenly he found himself unable to say anything but yes. 

So he started smoking with Billy Hargrove. While waiting on the kids if the weather was good. After practice sometimes. And it was nice. It quieted his head. Cause Billy was very calm when he wasn’t raging and halfway out of his goddamned mind. Or maybe not calm, exactly, cause he was always there, like, like a palpable energy, like...like what the sea must be like not still itself but calming for you like the open ocean. The ocean that Steve had never seen but Billy was missing like a phantom limb, the ocean he decided to carry along with him to the dry, dirty Midwest, that stole it from him.

He took another breath, filling his lungs with smoke that burned. Burned but not like the fire in the tunnels burning something to death alive, or like bullshit or like we’re in love or like his eyes did when he was trying to make it up the stairs, like stupid, stupid, stupid, cotton-mouth, stutters, like Max’s eyes on the back of his burning neck. Not like Billy’s hands on his skin. He exhaled slowly. Letting the smoke drift out into the night. Closed his eyes.

“You good now?” Billy’s low baritone, broke the silence, snapping Steve out of his head. He opened his eyes and looked at the other boy who had, at some point turned his head towards him, eyebrow raised again and eyes inquiring but tone surprisingly -or maybe not- not mocking.

“I..ah..eghem” Steve cleared his throat “ Yeah. Yeah I’m fine” he said all the while looking at Billy, cheshire, catlike smirk slowly spreading across face.

“ That you are alright, pretty boy.” He said in that tone he always used to charm girls and moms and teachers, and Steve turned his head away looking back up at the sky and thanked God for the darkness that hopefully would cover the fire in his face. This shit was getting tiring, what the hell was wrong with him- 

“ But are you okay?” Billy asked again snapping Steve out of his thoughts that were going downhill for the millionth time that night. The sincerity in his voice threw Steve off for a second and he turned to look at him and found it in equal measures on his face. He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat and wondered for the hundredth time since Billy Hargrove’s Heartfelt Apology Tour of 1985 how exactly he had managed to find yet another person who could see right through him. 

“I’m gonna be” He said surprisingly heartfelt and sincerely. Quietly. Billy’s eyes searched his face for a second, trying to find signs of dishonesty or maybe something else entirely. He slowly blew the smoke he was holding out and as it danced across his face while it was traveling up, up, up to meet the moon whose rays Billy was bathing in, his expression softened and his lips ticked up minutely in a smile so soft and almost... almost tender and Steve’s breath caught in his chest again in a different, surprisingly more welcome, flattering,butterfly like panic.

A second, a breath, less than a heartbeat later Billy seemed to have found whatever answers to whatever questions he was searching for in Steve’s face. He nodded slowly. Curtly. And he turned his face back towards the moonlight rays that went back to licking the sharp planes of his cheekbones casting shadows from his eyelashes. Claiming him as theirs.

He hummed. 

He exhaled.

“ I need to get Max back to the house.” He said with an apologetic sort of finality.

And whatever spell the moonlight and the smoke and the ocean, midnight blue of the Camaro had cast was broken.

He made to get up and Steve almost lost his balance with how quickly he made to get up. Because in a twisted superstition he believed in, in that moment that if he was the one to get up, maybe-

maybe time would freeze. Maybe he would be able to preserve the image or whatever mirage the moonlight and the smoke had created and Billy would be imprinted on his memory as the calming, solid...dangerous, presense laying against the hood of the ocean that he drove.

Maybe some of that calm would seep into Steve’s brain that constantly betrayed him.

So he got up, rushed out a jumbled “ Imagoget’em ” and started towards the door. he reached it, opened it and when he was inside turned around, looked at Billy, forever young and laying on his thunderous ocean and waiting.

He got back down, the sounds of the kids still yelling piercing through whatever fog -peace- had surrounded him and he started, like he just woke up. 

Max’s juice. He doubled back towards the kitchen, grabbed a juice box and sprinted towards the stairs. He was climbing down when Will noticed him first letting out a “ Steve!” and then closing his mouth with a click, an apologetic look on his face when all the rugrats turned their heads towards him and started yelling. Steve gave him a little smile to let him know that it was okay.

“ My juice!” Max exclaimed and got up with the same grace her brother possessed and made her way to him, arms outstretched. When she had the plastic straw in her mouth she mumbled a quick “thanks” to him before her voice was drowned out by Mike’s yelling as he bulldozed his way towards Steve.

“You missed all the rest of the campaign! We need your stupid character to finish this off come on!” He said petulantly as he shoved his character sheet and the dice in his hands. 

Steve looked down and gulped when he saw all the jumbled words and felt all the kids’ eyes on him. He could feel his chest constricting, the previous panic that smoke and moonlight had chased away slowly coming back to reclaim its spot.

“-umm...I”

“Max.”

A hand came up and squeezed the back of his neck. He let out a stuttered breath and turned to his left to see Billy standing there.

“ Time to get back.” he said and the kids broke out in protests and moans of “noooooo”

He looked at the juice box in Max’s hands and turned to face Steve, devil’s smirk appearing.

“You their servant now, King Steve?” he said in a tone more teasing than mocking, tongue sweeping across his lips and eyes glinting.

“Fuck off” Steve said while rolling his eyes. He leaned back into the hand still at the back of his neck, trying to match his breaths to the rise and fall of Billy’s chest, while trying not to look like he was, like, ogling the guy. “ I just got Max a juice, man”.

“Oh, so you’re her maid then, huh, Harrington?” Billy went on teasing and nodded towards Max’s general direction, not taking his eyes off of Steve or letting up the pressure on his neck.

Steve looked back at Max and winked “ Your sister’s a gift Hargrove” 

Billy snorted and raised a hand to point,” Baby Byers over there is a gift” he said and send a wink at Will’s direction, who promptly blushed all the way to his ears and suddenly found the tablecloth in front of him fascinating, the poor kid,

“Maxine” he drawled looking back between the two of them “ is a beast.” he said around a smirk that turned into a toothy grin with Max’s indignant “ Hey!”

Steve hummed and acted like he was thinking about it and then looked at Max with a conspiratory grin and pointed at her “ But she’s a badass”

“ HA!” yelled Max while raising her juice box in a toast towards Steve proudly and looked around at the rest of the boys to see if any of them cared to contest that statement. Obviously none did. Lucas nodded vigorously and agreed, Will smiled at the tablecloth while sending furtive glances Billy’s way still very much on fire, Dustin accepted the statement with grace and Mike continued to look like he had bit into a lemon.

Steve saw Billy roll his eyes playfully while the kids were busy talking over each other and looking Max’s way with a relatively fond expression he wouldn’t have been caught dead with a few months ago.

He saw Steve staring at him and winked and Steve suddenly found himself sympathizing with Will, cleared his throat and looking away.

“ Dustin we should get going too, your mom wants you back by nine.” he said with what he prayed was enough authority to sway the knuckleheads and turned to Will “ Your brother picking you up?”

“Yeah he’s coming later.” Will finally lifted his head and mumbled.

Billy suddenly took his hand off of Steve and glanced at his watch. 

“Max. Get going.” he said with finality. He looked at Steve. “ Pretty Boy.” he said with a smirk and clapped him on the shoulder as he made his way back up the stairs. Max rolled her eyes at her brother’s back, but put her shoes on, grabbed her bag, said a bye to the boys and followed him.

“I’m ready, BYE guys!!” said Dustin and started tagging at Steve’s sleeve to get him moving. Steve gave a salute that Will smiled at, Lucas returned and Mike, unsurprisingly, rolled his eyes at but nodded in their general direction so you know, progress, and they started climbing up the stairs. 

They got out of the house and in the car just as Billy and Max were pulling out of the driveway and Steve stared as the blue of the Camaro slowly became one with the darkness of the horizon.

“Steve!” Dustin snapped him out of his thoughts “ Are you gonna stay for dinner, Mom made lasagna and I know you love them. You should stay and celebrate. That spell you gave Will literally saved the whole village” he said in a pointed and encouraging voice, “ Mike’s just an asshole don’t listen to him he’s just pissed cause El wasn’t allowed to come and Nancy’s always blowing him off and he’s jealous that she won’t play with us but you do, even if you’re new at this and you don’t really have the hung of it- but you will don’t worry, cause you’re really smart and -”

“Dustin!” Steve cut him and his flayling word vomit off “ It’s fine, it was fine, it was fun you know, it was great” he said and hoped that Dustin didn’t see through the lie even though he found himself believing it a little. Don’t get him wrong the anxiety attack wasn’t fun but the rest of the evening, listening to the kids bicker and laugh and then smoking with Billy....

yeah. It wasn’t all bad.

Dustin was looking at him expectantly beetle eyes shining in the dark, toothy grin splitting his face in two and Steve caught himself smiling back and wondering what the hell this kid ever saw in him and thought he was so cool. He found himself grateful anyway.

“ Yeah, yeah I’ll stay for dinner, kid” he said fondly and reached over and messed his hand through Dustin’s curly hair. The kid just gave him a big smile.

“Oh my God I love this song!” Dustin yelled excitedly and reached to turn the radio up. Steve started driving, breathing, finally normal and hummed along with Dustin’s excited singing

Someone told me long ago

There's a calm before the storm

I know, it's been comin' for some time. 

 When it's over, so they say

It will rain a sunny day

I know, shinin' down like water.

I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain? ....

[redhairedmichaelonrainydays]

Calvin’s valentine

Luke knows the day will be insufferable the minute he walks in school and sees red.

Everything red.

The once pale and dull hallways, with the orange salmon-tinted lockers and bone-white walls, littered with red glittery heart-shaped cardboards covering almost every inch, are nowhere to be found under valentine’s arrangements. Most lockers have roses taped to the door, tangled with love letters, with the occasional teddy bear, and the end of the hallway hidden between the large crowd of loud teenagers with screamed banter and obnoxious laughter. He has never liked Valentine’s Day.

Maybe it is because he has been single for his 21 years of living, not having a proper girlfriend has taken a toll on him, or maybe because he does not like the excitement of such a superfluous celebration. He likes been kind to his friends, and he does not look for an excuse to show his fondness. He buys a soy latte for Calum almost on every morning coffee run, and he won’t hesitate to get Vader’s merchandise if he comes across anything he knows Michael would like; he’s gotten at least 15 seeds packages for Ashton’s garden. He just does not like Valentine’s Day.

He is greeted by a mass of people blocking the way to his locker, so once he releases a long sight, he starts making his way through the throng of people, avoiding the effusive hugs and the endless display of pda. The chatter is loud and Luke finds himself avoiding the stumped roses, probably forgotten after a love confession, and the glittery mess of decorations that have fallen onto the floor, sticking to the sole of his all-black chucks.

He opens his locker’s door, almost hitting a giggling girl in the process, and fumbles with his books in hand. The air is clogged with sweetness and Luke is not reluctant to love, but god does he feel suffocated. The 600-page book is trapped between his ribcage and the metal door while he tries to get his backpack inside, and god does he want to leave already. With the word around him almost glitching, he barely notices the white little paper that floats onto the floor, with a little red dot in the middle of the page.

His curls are falling onto his forehead, while he maneuvers to keep both his book in hand and his backpack stuck in his locker, and just right after he closes the door, he picks the little paper from the floor. He does not pay much attention to it as he thinks it could only be a cheesy flier with Valentine’s Day offers or some other cheesy mumbo jumbo that he puts in the massive book he carries all the way to first period.

He does not feel safe until he finds himself in his wooden chair, in the front corner of the classroom, far from the obnoxious giggles, admiring a bouquet of flowers that was placed on the desk of the smallest one of them. The noises coming from the hallways simmer down as soon as he puts on his earphones, submerged in poetic melodies, and he starts to feel like a blinking light, ethereal, muffling the noises from the outside. Focused on the words that drench his ears – he murmurs the lyrics and blinks without a second thought- without a care and the world, immersed in ever flowing words, and for some reason he starts to listen to melancholic notes- the mournful words echo in his mind, creating a hollow chest.

He takes a bite of his chocolate granola bar, and catches a glimpse of the girl with the wild hair when she makes her way in the classroom. He has noticed how she always sits behind him, but does not utter a word. She strolls in like a hurricane and sends a swirling wave of CK and shampoo to his nostrils ad now when he is at home on Sunday mornings he finds himself missing that smell. He has forgotten what it feels like to have a quiet morning without her silent presence and enticing smell. She has dark wandering eyes, always observing everything, but at the same time nothing at all. She is attentive, but he does not think she notices him. Their eyes cross, but she looks so unaltered that he doubts she feels the same electric shock through her chest like he does.

Its not until he hears her sipping on her coffee that he remembers the note snuck in his book. He goes through the pages with the sole resolution of getting rid of the polluting propaganda when a messy scribble catches his eye. He was not expecting the messy but poised handwriting, or the kind words.

“you don’t know me, but happy valentine’s day”

A smile creeps up to his pink lips, and his eyes drift back to the messy girl. His smile only widens.

She sits in her wooden chair, and feels the draft of cologne that radiates from him, but she fights herself and keeps her attention on her steaming mug of Chewbacca’s Americano. She wants to stare, but she will not.

She has spent her whole life depriving herself from the desires of her heart, and when she likes something to much, for some reason, she finds herself backing away. Maybe when her father lectured her about the meaning of hedonism he meant something different, but all her 8-year-old mind could grasp was that everything joyful was too good to be good. Her stubborn mind was not changed. Malleable was a concept she knew but would never apply to anything but the erasers she used while drawing. 21 years running away from all the real joys life could offer; she would just look away.

The problem was she never found it so hard to run away as she does with this cherub-like boy.

It was not meant to be sinful, but it went from the simple adoration of some abnormally pretty phalanges to the thought of the raptured coloration of his strained knuckles while meddling your waist to his handsome phalanges wrapped around your limbs and the tender cafune his hands could perform on you.

It went from the admiration of the length and poised way his fingers joined his metatarsus, to the constellations you found scattered on the left side of his face, spread from his cheekbones to the edge of his jawline. Fifteen stars you found yourself lost in – Sartre’s thoughts will remain unknown to you now that you lost Mr. Grun’s seminar, too lost in the galaxies you found hidden under his left cheek- lost in the cartilages that trespassed the flesh at the summit of his nose, and the uneven pigment that underlined the edge of his cupid bow. You found yourself lost in him.

Words were never really exchanged. The fresh smell of pomegranates always drifted to you, floating with the warm drafts of February’s air, through his light hair and making a home in your nostrils; having him at arm length always left you uneasy, depriving you of the courage of being your argumentative self, with a clenching heart hollowing your chest. Your voice was a funny rumble, like a throng of words that could never exit your mouth, as you wanted them to. your thoughts always rushed to your lips, and while lacking of an exit big enough to let all of your jumbled thoughts out evenly, they piled up, one over the other, and your mouth emitted a cacophony of stumbling words. He radiated beauty, with his presence, your heartstrings were kept tight, and your voice turned into a quiet rumble in the back of your throat that would barely leave your mouth.

The shallow days in the black and white classroom turned into an art display, and luckily, you had snatched a place at the front line. He was a marble sculpture with buffered edges, an oil painting with powerful strokes and hyper realistic glimmering eyes, a powerful carving with strong limbs, and a photograph with motion effect. You tried to be discreet, but your eyes always drifted back to him: your stray eyes had found a shelter.

Maybe he would be good, she thinks. He has a kind soul. She knows from the flapping motion of his lashes, and the ghost of a smirk that draws itself on his face when you stutter while answering a question, and he throws a brief glance at you with kind eyes. Glances have been constantly exchanged and every time his oceanic orbs cross yours you swear you feel your heart stuttering. He just wonders if he has ever seen eyes that dark.

Luke observes everything, as he also does observe her: details fill him with joy and he cannot fathom a perfect being, as he seeks for rawness, and gushy spots, like analyzing pixels of a maximized picture. He tries to join the dots to create an even line that traces from your temple to the sole of your black leather chucks, maybe that could help him understand the reason behind your constant lip biting and hair grooming, and why you cannot seem to looking him in the eye.

He has seen how she enters the classroom at least half an hour before it actually starts, and she carries a coffee mug, Chewbacca’s themed, filled with an unaltered Americano, bitter to no end. He sees her face contract into a sourly wrinkled nose and pouty mouth, but relaxes the second the bitterness wear out, only to take another sip a second after. Her hair curls undecidedly as if an argument took place on every morning with the direction of the day as the matter of the quarrel and she carries a Levi’s jacket instead of a purse or bag. She keeps her belongings stuffed in the inner pockets of the jacket while she carries her binder by hand, switching it from one hand to the other, struggling to keeps it from falling to the ground.

She never talked to him, and even though whenever she intervenes in class it’s all mumbled whispers, he swears he has heard her outlandish laughter sometimes when she passes down the Hall. He can almost picture a pentagram with the notes of her laugh; he can only imagine a proper smile showing on her face. He has never actually seen her smile, just a small lifting of her cheekbones and muffled joy. He can hardly believe himself when he hears a soft “hi” coming from the chair behind him.

soo, its not finished, im gonna work later on this, but i would like the feedback very much.

[styomi]

Fifteen study dates | 15-day prompt challenge | Sweet Pea/OC | Day 12

AN: And, with this one, we’ve officially entered into the kink territory… Enjoy the ideas, you little curious ones :D

Info:

Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Sweet Pea/OC Rating: T Word count: 1718 + 120 bonus Chapter count: 12/15

                                                   Stay still for me

Ruby was seriously regretting taking Mattie’s challenge and signing up for the art class at school. It was positively kicking her butt. The worst part, though, was the fact that her current assignment was to draw someone important in her life. And, she probably would’ve asked Jo to sit down for a portrait, because he wouldn’t’ve bothered her, no matter how crappy it came out. But, her father was out of town for work, like usual. So, that left her with the next best thing. Ruby groaned in advance and grabbed her phone, dialing a familiar number.

“Hey, short stuff,” Sweet Pea’s attractive rumble came from the other side of the call. “What’s up?” Ruby closed her eyes, praying for patience.

“Are you busy?” She asked, opting to take the least destructive road. Teasing would come, she knew, but that didn’t stop her from attempting to postpone it as much as she could.

“Not really, just hanging out with the guys.” Toni’s voice protested from his side, making Ruby grin. “And girls.” Sweet Pea corrected himself pointedly, more for his friend’s sake than anything else.

“Well, then… um… Canyoumodelformyartclassportrait?” Ruby rushed to get it all out, the words jumbling together in a smushed sentence.

“Errr, can I what?” Sweet Pea asked. “Didn’t catch that last part of mumbo-jumbo.”

“I’m in art class.” Ruby started again, her face on fire.

“A beautiful fact well-known to all, I don’t doubt. What’s that got to do with me?” Sweet Pea was quick to shoot back teasingly. She was already regretting calling him. She should’ve asked Toni or Fangs. Maybe even Jughead.

“We have a portrait assignment. Someone important in your life.” The girl couldn’t back down then. She’d already stepped into the mess with one foot.

“Oh, want me to ask Toni to come over?” He asked, voice going a bit distant as he moved away from the speaker, undoubtedly looking for the purple haired Serpent.

“No, you,” Ruby quickly cut him off. “I want to draw you,” Sweet Pea laughed. He actually laughed at her. Ruby snapped and cut the call off. She would just draw Jo from memory or something. Her phone rang again from the spot on her desk where she’d tossed it in mild anger and embarrassment. She watched Sweet Pea’s name flash on the screen for a few seconds before giving in and picking up the call. “What?” Ruby’s tone was anything but courteous.

“I’m coming over,” Sweet Pea replied in his usual rumble. “I’m leaving the quarry now, so I’ll be there in ten.” Ruby felt her anger vanish at his calm tone.

“Alright. See you in a bit.” When the line cut off, the girl placed her phone on her sketchbook gently, looking at the dark screen for a few moments. Then, she jumped up from her chair. Ruby rushed to her wardrobe, throwing the drawers open and looking for something nice to wear. Finally, she settled on a light blue sundress with a golden pattern of a phoenix on the front, which Mattie had drawn with some fabric paints when she’d come over. It took the girl a few minutes to have the dress on, tame her long hair with a brush and finally apply some casual mascara and her Chapstick. With a final check in the mirror, she decided that she looked nice enough, but not date-worthy. So, perfect. The doorbell rang Chili’s barking ringing throughout the house. Ruby jumped and rushed down the stairs barefoot, pulling the door open with a sharp motion.

“So, how naked should I get for this assignment?” Sweet Pea was leaning in the doorway, a smug smirk on his lips.

“It’s just a portrait. So, not at all.” Ruby shot back with a small smile, letting him in. Instantly, her dog started singing a different tune, trying to get the biker to pet him with passion.

“Bummer, I think that I’d be a great nude model.” Sweet Pea bent down a bit, petting the eager Chili across the back, then ruffled his ears and let the pooch go. As Ruby led the way to her bedroom, the dog stopped following them, retreating downstairs, where he usually hung out.

“Sit there and don’t move, if that’s possible,” Ruby instructed, making Sweet Pea plop on the window seat and get settled in. He shrugged off his signature leather jacket and tossed it on her bed, before starting to mess with the pillows on the seat, checking out the books and notes on it and looking out at the driveway.

“So, how’s it coming?” The boy asked after the first half an hour. Ruby was focused on her sketchpad, her pencil always moving and eraser coming up from time to time to correct something. She tossed him a glare at the question. Sweet Pea threw his hands up and leaned back, taking up one of the books she’d been reading and opening it. He started skimming through the pages at first. Then, he actually focused on it, becoming immersed in the storyline and reading it slowly. It gave Ruby plenty of time to draw him.

She wasn’t a good artist by any means. Mediocre, at best. But, at Mattie’s challenge to take an art class and develop that skill, she couldn’t resist. Now, drawing Sweet Pea, she wished that she was better. She knew that she couldn’t do his handsome face justice on the paper. After a while, Ruby lost focus and just ended up staring at the tall biker, ridiculously out of place in her window seat, reading a romance novel she’d been given for her birthday by her best friend, Mattie, as a joke.

“Am I distracting you?” Sweet Pea asked after a while, his eyes leaving the page and meeting hers over the top of the book.

“Incredibly.” Ruby sighed, closing her sketchpad and tossing it on the table, along with her pencil and eraser.

“Does that mean that we’re taking a break?” Sweet Pea eagerly suggested. “Because this thing has some very interesting suggestions that I’m just dying to try out.” He put the book up in the air, waving it. Ruby couldn’t resist laughing. She knew that the book had quite a few intimate scenes, rather descriptive, too.

“Mattie gave it to me,” she elaborated. “As a joke, of course.” But, Sweet Pea was already grinning wide from his spot.

“Maybe your bestie just wanted to help us spice it up from time to time,” he waggled his eyebrows and she lost it, bending over with laughter. “Seriously, that scene with the blindfold… Damn, it sounds good.”

“Do you want to try it, then?” Ruby suggested, rising from her seat. She walked over to the door of her room, taking a scarf from one of the hooks. When she turned, she saw that Sweet Pea’s eyes had been glued to her behind the whole way.

“Sure,” he replied, swallowing thickly. Ruby walked over to the window seat, pushing the books to the side to sit next to him and handed him the scarf. Sweet Pea’s hands were cold when they wrapped it around her head, covering her eyes. It told her that he was beyond excited about their little game. “Can you see anything?” He asked, voice coming from right in front of her. Ruby felt his hot breath on her face, smelling of peppermint and some kind of food. He’d probably chewed a gum on his way to her house.

“All dark,” Ruby replied, her voice trembling.

“Alright. Tell me if we go into weird territory, okay?” Sweet Pea’s rumble sent a pleasant chill down her spine.

“We passed it some time ago.” But, the comment wasn’t a biting remark, rather, a sentence of consent, which Sweet Pea knew well. It was like pressing the play button. The first thing Ruby felt was a soft brush of Sweet Pea’s fingers along her neck, down to her collarbone and then they traced the top of her dress and vanished. She took a shaky breath, waiting. Next, his hand took hers, interlocking their fingers. For once, hers were warmer than his. His lips were on her cheek then, gently trailing over it, without a kiss, but with a teasing touch. And, as he neared her mouth, Ruby leaned in, expecting a proper kiss, but met air. She huffed in disappointment.

“Relax, cupcake,” Sweet Pea whispered into her ear, almost making Ruby jump out of her skin. She had had no idea that he was there. “I’ve got you.” The next touch came in a form of a kiss to her neck, making her sigh. Sweet Pea knew what he was doing when it came to neck kisses. They were open-mouthed, hot, coupled with gentle and hard nips, along with promises of hickeys which usually stained Ruby’s skin for days. She couldn’t resist reaching up with her hands, letting go of his fingers, and following his arms up to his shoulders, neck and finally settling for pulling on his hair. It was gelled, an annoying fact that made running her fingers through it hard, but she wasn’t in the business of gentle toying with his locks then. Ruby just wanted to tug on the damned thing and make him kiss her properly. So, she did.

Sweet Pea obliged, his lips meeting hers gently at first, but she deepened the kiss immediately, her tongue seeking out his. It was sloppy, as Ruby couldn’t see anything, and she’d always preferred having her eyes open when kissing. However, the two managed. Then, Sweet Pea pulled away and his arms came around her, hefting her small body up and carrying her somewhere. Ruby sighed, excited by the suspense of not knowing what was going to happen next.

Then, her back met the mattress and she felt Sweet Pea lean against her body, the weight a familiar and welcome feeling. Ruby’s arms came up to go around his shoulders, but he pushed them down.

“No touching, tater tot,” Sweet Pea ordered her. “I sat still for you earlier. Now, it’s your turn.” Ruby nodded shakily and her fingers twisted into the covers, holding on for dear life. She managed to let him do as she wished for a while before she abandoned all thoughts of obeying his wishes.

I’m looking forward to hearing what you guys thought of this one :D

Taglist: @enticinghell @projectcampbell @sweetscamille @xoxodege

Previous parts: Day 1: A way to memorize Day 2: How to prepare for a study date (?) like a proper gentleman Day 3:  With proper motivation, anything is possible Day 4:  PG13 PDA sugar can be good motivation Day 5: Autumn time is picnic time Day 6: It’s best when we can compete Day 7:  Master of procrastination and his jailer Day 8: Take me anywhere, everywhere, away from here Day 9:  Dirty French for beginners   Day 10:  I need… sleep?… no, you… Day 11:  Delirium   Day 13:  Debate? Apparently, a turn-on   Day 14: Two-seater and Chinese   Day 15:  Unintentional intentions  

                                                          Bonus

“What the heck is that?” Toni asked, looking at the drawing Sweet Pea had pinned to the DIY cork board he had above his desk.

“Ruby drew me for her art class,” the tall Serpent shrugged. “I managed to convince her to let me have it.” The purple haired girl leaned away from inspecting the portrait done in pencil in order to raise her eyebrow at her friend.

“Sweet Pea, I love Ruby and all, she’s a darling in a small package…  But, that’s just plain ugly.” Toni spoke slowly like he couldn’t understand her. Sweet Pea laughed heartily and nodded.

“I know, but don’t let her hear that. If you ask me, she needs to drop that class ASAP.”

Now, I’m done :D

[caseyfultonellenwood-blog]

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[jumbojumbledave]

APRIL BLOG

 Illustration by Miki Howenstein

The less you carry herein, the higher your spirit can soar.

                                April 20 (in the book “Jumbo Jumble”)

Once we change our possessions we have a very hard time going back down. Ownership simply changes our perspective. Suddenly, moving backward to our pre-ownership state is a loss, one that we cannot abide. And so, while moving up in life, we indulge ourselves with the fantasy that we can always ratchet ourselves back if need be; but in reality, we can’t. Downgrading to a smaller home, for instance, is experienced as a loss, it is psychologically painful, and we are willing to make all kinds of sacrifices in order to avoid such losses. 

JR: We seldom consider how our income level traps us into a certain lifestyle and way of thinking. It’s natural to mingle with others belonging to a similar socio-economic class; therefore, if we find ourselves suddenly getting a significantly lower income, we either feel ashamed or end up grudgingly changing our friends aligned to our “lowered status.”  However, the few who purposely downsize hold out a ray of hope, in that they generally express a freedom and joy in escaping from their previously materialistic lifestyle.

PP: How does your socio-economic level effectively shape your lifestyle and acquaintances? Does this concur with your deeply held values? If not, how can you better integrate them?

PA:  One of the many benefits of living in Japan is that there is not such a large wealth gap. And this is largely because of a conscious effort (by government and generally accepted by society) through high inheritance tax, universal health insurance, and support of the less fortunate. In this sense, I am indeed fortunate to live in a society that effectively lives out these values of fairness and equity.

[daffydave]

Live harmoniously—that’s the only way we can survive 

(Book (Jumbo Jumble) - April 9)

Seiunji Temple (BushuuNakagawa (Chichibu Tetsudou), 30 minutes, 2014)

This is truly one of the most incredible display of weeping cherry trees in the Kanto Plain. If you hit it right (usually early April), this easy walk from the station will bring you to a flowering wonderland fit for a fairy tale. For those avid hikers, there is a good 4-5 hour hike from here to Hitsujiyama Park (also full of cherry trees at the same time) bypassing the large Tokoku Goddess of Mercy statue. 

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[nilority-blog]

And A Bunch Of Other Rappers Get Called Out Too

This is definitely the year rappers are getting things off their chest.

First it was Drake and Pusha T, then Nicki Minaj had something to say about everybody, and now Eminem is coming for heads on his surprise album Kamikaze.

On “Fall” Eminem takes jabs at Tyler the Creator, who’s criticized him in the past, with the lines “Tyler create nothing, I see why you called yourself a fa**ot, bit**. It’s not just ’cause you lack attention. It’s ’cause you worship D12’s balls, you’re sacrilegious. If you’re gonna critique me, you better at least be as good or better. Get Earl the hooded sweater, whatever his name is, to help you put together some words, more than just two letters.”

Joe Budden also wasn’t safe from Em’s rhymes since the rapper turned media personality also criticized Eminem in the past. On “Fall,” Slim Shady raps “Somebody tell Budden before I snap. He better fasten it or have his body bag get zipped. The closest thing he’s had to hits is smacking b*tches.”

Eesh.

The White rage didn’t stop there. On “Kamikaze” he also had bars that can be read as subliminal shots at Drake and even Chance the Rapper. “Put me on a track, I go cray on it like a color book. You got some views, but you’re still below me. Mine are higher so when you compare our views you get overlooked. And I don’t say a hook unless I wrote the hook.”

Something must be in the water this season. On the album, Eminem went on to name drop everyone from Lord Jamar, to Machine Gun Kelly, to Lil Yachty, to Lil Pump and Lil Xan, saying the last two imitate Lil Wayne.

And surprise, surprise, he’s not a fan of “mumble rappers” in general. “I heard your mumbling but it’s jumbled in mumbo-jumbo,” he raps on “The Ringer.” He continued, “The era that I’m from will pummel you. That’s what it’s comin’ to. What the fuck are you gonna do, where you runnin’ to?”

What do you think?

Is all this name dropping a call for attention for the sake of sells or is Eminem speaking from the heart?

We’ll keep you updated if any adversaries respond!

  #gallery-0-5 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-5 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Go to Source Yikes: Eminem Uses Gay Slur Against Tyler The Creator & Threatens Joe Budden On New Album And A Bunch Of Other Rappers Get Called Out Too This is definitely the year rappers are getting things off their chest.

[jumbojumbledave]

MARCH BLOG

Illustration by Miki Howenstein

Only you can free yourself.

                                March 26 (in the book “Jumbo Jumble”)

“Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” (Albert Einstein Quote)

JR: The majority of our preset ideas of love and compassion have trapped us into an exclusivity mindset where I love those close to me while remaining indifferent (or worse, hateful) towards those outside of my intimate circle of relationships. In a spiritual sense though, your love is meant to become ever more expansive and inclusive, thereby freeing your spirit to be compassionate to all.

PP:How far does your love and compassion reach out? What is one way in which you can stretch it a bit farther?

PA: It is easy for me to become spiritually lazy and passively accept that there are simply some people I don’t get along with. However, if I am able to honestly ask why this is (which I cannot always do when the dislike is too strong), I often gain insights into my own faults or the other’s strengths (or better understand his weakness) and can be more loving and compassionate towards him.