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sxrrandomfanfics · 5 months

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(Author's note: This takes place in December of 2001, which is the same year canonically that PN1 was. And since PN2 was a few days after PN1, there's no need for a timeskip! This is specifically celebrating Sankta Lucia day, a celebration I used to take part in with my Step-Grandfather. While not swedish or italian myself, he was from sweden and celebrated with the scandanavian club where he lived in the states. I wanted to take the time to think about characters celebrating Sankta Lucia day, and with the International part of Psychonauts I figured, why not explore different holidays?)

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Lili woke up only with the sun, and she slept when the sun went down. On most days. Sure, she was waking up "late" today due to the sunrise, but it still rose at 6:50 am on the dot. The sky was already a lovely purple and she still had plenty of time before she needed to get ready for night time festivities.

December was WILD in the Motherlobe. So many agents coming in and out and different holidays spent different ways.

The Menorah was in the Atrium first and foremost, brought in during the latter-half of November. The Christmas Tree went up on the First of December. Same with the shoes to prepare for St. Nicholas's Day. The Kinara was up a week after the Christmas tree.

She might not have been good with geography, but someone would burn if they assumed that Lili wasn't "cultured." Her mother may or may not have an issue with it, but normally Lili got to spend all of her time at the Motherlobe due to her SAD affecting her moods.

She made sure to bring out her dress for tonight's festivities. White, a color she normally didn't wear, with a red ribbon belt. Lili put it on to make sure it could still fit. She stuck her tongue out a bit as she measured her limbs. A bit short for her arms, but she could make it work.

"You know, you don't have to put that on until tonight." Truman told her.

She scoffed, almost sounding like a hiss. "I know dad. Just checking it. We'll need a new one next year."

"Next year? Not this year? Because you know I'm willing to go out and-"

Lili groaned. "I don't want to dress shop for another plain white robe dress today, dad."

"Alright, my little Pumpkin." Truman walked away, letting Lili put on her other clothes for the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lili hadn't expected Raz's return from the mission this early, but she wasn't complaining. She nearly tackled him as he was staring at the menorah, five of the candles already lit.

He squeezed her tight. "Missed you, too."

She gave a tighter squeeze before letting go.

Raz began to walk, grabbing Lili's hand for the two to leave the atrium.

"How'd the mission go?" Lili asked.

Raz smiled. "Pretty good. Despite the fact we had to kind of rush it."

"Rush it?"

Raz rubbed the back of his neck. "Mom would kill me if I missed Lucia night."

"Wait, you celebrate that, too?"

"Not really on my dad's side, but mom's side." Raz explained.

"Oh! Well that's great cause we're setting up for our Sankta Lucia celebration!"

"You do that?"

"Yeah! That's why we have the candelabras framing the Christmas tree, duh!"

"I get the candles, but candelabras?"

"No, the Motherlobe tries to celebrate as many holidays as we can to include other psychics and their cultures. I'm a genuine Carmen Sandiego!"

"Carmen Sandiego knows maps, not cultures."

Lili froze at that. "Oh, shut up!"

Raz burst into laughter. "I knew it, you haven't played the games yet!"

"Shut up or I'll punch you!"

Raz giggled. "I don't think I can stop laughter on command, Lili."

Lili huffed, eyebrows furrowing. She got a thought that made her face relax a bit, only to get a devious smirk. "No, you have others that can get you to laugh, though."

"What do you mean?"

Lili raised her other hand, making a single wave of her fingers.

Raz stared, seemed to get it, then bolted towards the Artifacts closet.

"C'mere, Raz!" Lili jeered. The two ran in, Lili chasing Raz only through the beginning part. The space may have been cramped, but he was slippery and able to jump high. Lili could focus just enough and-

A purple TK hand grabbed Raz by the collar. "Hey, no TK hands! That's che-heeheeheeheeheeheeheehee!"

Lili only had to pinch the skin behind his knee to get him to squeal. "All is fair in love and war, Razputin." Lili told him with a teasing tone.

"Stahahahahahahahap!"

Lili did so, letting Raz drop.

"Mean." He accused.

Lili's face dropped and Raz quickly got up.

"Sorry, sorry. Bad joke." He hugged her.

Lili huffed. "Really bad."

He turned his head slightly, pressing a closed mouth kiss onto her neck. "I love you."

Lili squeezed him. "Love you, too."

The two settled, taking seats on top of boxes.

"You should come to our Lucia celebration." Lili told Raz.

"Really? Mom's... really particular-"

"It's fun and easy. All the kids and some teens get to go and dress up, away from some of the boring adult parts, and then we come in dressed up with candles. Well, you're a boy so you'd have a giant star you wave around instead of a real candle."

"Ah, so I'd be the star of the show?"

Lili elbowed him in the ribs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lili took in a shaky breath. She was trying to steady her nerves, like Helmut usually did. Usually, it would be the oldest girl playing Lucia, but Lili hadn't expected such a low turnout of kids. Probably cause of Coach's-

"Lili?" Her best friend, Dogen, was by her side. He was dressed in the little Starboy uniform. "You look like you're gonna be sick."

"Sick!? Sick!? I'm not sick I can't be sick!"

"Sure you can. Everyone gets sick once 'n a while."

"No, I can't be sick for Lucia Night!"

"You sure...?"

"Yeah. I'm not gonna be sick."

"...you're gonna sing tonight, right?"

"Yes I'm supposed to sing tonight thank you for reminding me Dogen." Lili said in one breath.

"Oh, you're scared about it, huh?"

"I wasn't supposed to be the one singing this until I was 14 Dogen! I'm 10!"

"So you are scared?"

"I'm worried. I don't want to mess this up."

"So why don't you ask someone else to do it?"

"Because people will get mad, Dogen. Sankta Lucia has been done a very specific way all this time-"

"I'm here!" Raz's voice suddenly said. "Is there any costumes I can get into?"

"Yes, darling!" Milla's voice rang, "we have plenty still."

Lili felt her anxiety spike. Her palms and face were sweaty.

"Lili?"

"I'M FINE." Lili snapped. "Sorry, Dogen. I just..." She let out a breath.

"It's okay... It's okay to be worried."

"I just don't want to mess up in front of everyone. Let alone including Raz and his family in that crowd."

"You sing good though."

Lili sighed with a mix of exasperation and admiration for her friend's support. "Thank you for that comment Dogen but my nerves are still on the fritz."

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sapphicscholar · 1 year

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multiples of 7 for the 50 q’s game!!

Love a random assortment <33

7. What color dominates your closet? - alllll the shades of blue haha

14. What are some places where you feel most at home? - ooh this is a fun one! DC still feels like home when I get back there (in a way where I live now actually doesn't?? I think bc so much of town is dominated by the undergrad life and culture that's so separate from my life), as do a few of the places from my hometown (the tailor, the Chinese restaurant, the Italian ice place - basically all the places where the ladies working there still know my name and my order and come out to give me a hug). More ~symbolically~ I really feel at home on my bike and up in front of my students

21. What’s your favorite period in art history, your favorite famous work and/or your favorite style of art? If you don’t know any that’s ok! - There's a lot of art I appreciate, but I think what I like is often tied together more thematically than aesthetically, so it doesn't fit any neat periodization unfortunately. I always love teaching Catherine Opie's photography when I'm able to fit it in, though! And this year I'm hoping to squeeze in a bit of Kent Monkman's work!

28. Answered this one already :)

35. Describe your favorite stuffed animal, either now or from when you were a kid. - Oh I had (still have actually) a little pink stuffed cloth doll with a squeaker (long since broken after being tossed into the dryer when I was a kid) that I took with me everywhere.

42. Do you have any games on your phone? If so, which one(s) is/are your favorite? - I have Pokemon Go (still, yes, still playing haha) and a Sudoku app that gives you 3 different style puzzles each day, all of which I do every single morning with my breakfast. They get progressively harder throughout the week, and my sad, old ladyish claim to fame is that I rank in the top 250 most weeks on the hard weekend puzzles lol

49. What’s your favorite thing to do when it’s raining? - Preferably nothing at all! The dog and I both hate the rain, so we both sulk until it's sunny again

#ask my anything #queerofdenial #random ask meme

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

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The late Daniel Fenton

It was shaping up to be a beautiful if chilly December day and Casper High, as always, was bustling. It was 7:49 and class was about to start. The teacher watched the last few kids stumbling in at various levels of wakefulness. He already knew who would be the ones to rush in after the bell but that was alright. Life was too short to stress about being a few minutes late to class, especially in Amity Park of all places.

He looked up to see Madison, one of his shyer students walk in before making a beeline for his desk. She was biting her lip and nervously rubbing her hand down her skirt. “Hey,” she began quietly.

“Good morning. What’s up, Mads?” He asked casually. She looked upset, he could probably put on a video for the class if she needed to talk. They really needed a permanent counselor but the constant ghost attacks ran off most of them so he’d taken up the unofficial mantle. It felt good to help his students like that, make up for past wrongs.

“Are we um, expecting any new students?” She asked, her eyes darting over to the door she’d just come through. “Any transfers, exchange students or anything like that?”

“No,” the teacher frowned. “Amity isn’t the kind of place people transfer into. Why?”

“There’s a kid in the hallway,” she mumbled. “I don’t recognize him, he’s got a backpack and everything but he’s... I don’t know he doesn’t feel right.”

“Oh you’re talking about that weird dark haired kid,” Kyle said as he entered and sat down with a slouch. But even the class slacker looked unusually tense. “Dude’s creepy, can’t put my finger on why but he definitely doesn’t belong.”

“Oh,” was all the teacher had to say. Suddenly he realized how cold the classroom had become, the uncomfortable feeling that was pressing ever so slightly down on them. “I suppose it makes sense, the ghosts have been quiet lately with the Truce and all. He probably got bored.”

“Sir?” Madison said.

“Shannon,” he said instead, looking over at the frizzy haired girl hunched over her sketchbook furiously at work. “Would you do me a favor and move to the vacant seat in the second row? Just for today.”

“What? Why?” the girl whined even as she gathered up her various arts supplies and got ready to move.

“That’s Mr. Fenton’s seat,” he said taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes in preparation for what he was about to see. Danny would come here, of course he would. This was Lancer’s old classroom and Danny had him for first period English Lit. He and Dash both did.

“Mr. Baxter? What’s going on, is it a ghost?” Malik asked from the back row while Shannon shuffled to her new temporary seat.

“Yes but you don’t need to be scared,” he said softly, evenly. “He won’t hurt you.” The bell rang but Dash didn’t start the lesson. Instead, he waited. Danny had never been on time to class the entire time Dash had known him, of course death wouldn’t change that.

“Sorry, I’m late Mr. Lancer,” Dash gripped his desk so he didn’t jump when Danny Fenton simply appeared in front of his desk instead of walking through the door like any other student. “My folks couldn’t drive me, they’re still working on their stupid ghost portal.” A quick glance over at this class showed varying levels of fear, shock and curiosity but they were Amity kids through and through. The cold, powerful energy radiating off Fenton told them it was best to play along with whatever the ghost wanted.

“Perfectly alright Mr. Fenton,” Dash said softly, searching the 14 year old’s perpetually young face. He hadn’t changed a bit since Dash last saw him their second week of freshman year. It seemed unreal seeing how the years had taken their toll on Casper’s favorite son, Dash Baxter. God had they really been that young once? “Take a seat and we’ll get started.”

Danny shrugged and walked over to the seat Shannon had just vacated. He sat just the same, one leg stretched out and the other propped up against the leg of the desk. As soon as he took off the backpack and put it around the chair, it disappeared. He didn’t say anything else, just sat as stared at Dash with piercing blue eyes like he could see right through him.

“We had been talking about the lead up to the Civil War but let’s table that for today,” Dash said, proud his voice only wavered a little. He knew other people had seen Fenton around town. Lina saw him standing outside the Nasty Burger maybe five or so years ago. Dale, who used to live near Fenton Works swore he sometimes saw someone moving through the windows of the long abandoned house. He’d always secretly dreaded the thought of seeing Danny Fenton again, afraid he’d finally get was coming to him.

“Instead, we’re going to talk about local history,” he continued, not daring to take his eyes off the undead teen. Every other living student was tense, afraid. He wished he could assure them that the ghost wouldn’t lay a hand on them. In the event Fenton decided to ditch the hero schtick, it would be Dash and Dash alone he’d come after. “Amity Park has long had rumors of being haunted dating all the way back to the 1600s. It wasn’t until the last century that scientists determined that Amity Park is located on top of a thin spot between our world and the ghost realm. Natural portals form here all the time allowing spirits to pass through.”

No one spoke and barely anyone breathed except for Danny would wasn’t breathing at all. He just sat and stared at Dash with steady, unblinking eyes.

“Jack and Maddie Fenton were the scientists who discovered the weak point in reality in Amity. They devoted their entire life to the study of ghosts and made remarkable advancements in our knowledge of ectobiology and culture, the first being,” he paused as Danny cocked his head in confusion, squinting his eyes suspiciously at Dash. “The first being their manmade portal to the ghost zone. The portal remained active for almost two decades for research purposes but was shut down following their deaths.”

“You’re not Mr. Lancer,” Danny said suddenly, his eyes shifting from baby blue to an ectoplasmic green. Marty, who was sitting to the left of Danny, swallowed a squeak of fear and squeezed his eyes shut.

“No,” Dash sighed, “Lancer died almost thirty years ago now. Best teacher I ever had, he gave me his blessing when he passed on the job to me.”

“I,” the ghost ran his hand through his hair which was starting to lose its color. Seeing Fenton looking so scared and confused made him ache. It reminded him of old times. Dash had spent most of his life making sure he helped hurt kids if only to make up for the one he’d never been able to make it up to. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s okay, Danny,” he soothed. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“The portal, it wasn’t working at first,” Danny justified, his aura glowing a little more. “Sam and Tuck, they were curious. They wanted to look but I told them it wasn’t allowed, Sam, Sam she dared me to go in. I put on the hazmat suit and went inside and found the on button inside. I accidentally hit it and-” he paused midsentence and looked down at his hands. They weren’t pale flesh anymore but covered in white gloves. The black was completely bleached from his hair. A few of the students gasped as they saw the strange would be student melt into Phantom, the ghostly hero who’d been protecting their town since their parents were young. “I died.”

So much time had gone by. People were born and people were buried and the truth became distorted until it was just a legend passed jokingly around cafeteria lunch tables. Amity’s youth had forgotten their town’s history until it was sitting in a desk, trying once more to be one of them.

“You did,” Dash said sadly. He remembered hearing the news of Fenton's death. An assembly had been called the morning after the accident. Lancer had cried at the podium, Manson and Foley hadn’t returned to school for a week and had never been the same again. Dash hadn’t known what to think at the time, only that the kid he’d beat up for the crime of being different would never show up to school again. Or so he’d thought. “It was a tragedy, you were mourned by a lot of people.”

“I know you, don’t I?” Danny said quietly before he sat up straighter. “Dash?”

“In the flesh,” Dash grinned shakily.

“But you’re so old,” Danny said, once more distressed. “Your hair is grey and there’s wrinkles on your face and-and you’re a teacher now?” The last line was said with incredulity, his eyes flaring again. “You used to push me down the stone steps of the school and shove me into my locker and call me names.”

“Yeah, I did,” he sighed, feeling every one of his years. He was pushing 70 but he didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling like a stupid 14 year old who took out his frustrations on the ones who didn’t deserve it. “But you were the last; I never touched another kid again. I’m married now, four kids. I’m vice principal now, teach History and coach the school’s football team. It’s,” his voice caught again, still unable to process how young and stupid Fenton looked sitting there like no time had passed at all. It made Dash feel like all his accomplishments and attempts to be better would never amount to anything so long as his last victim roamed the earth unable to find peace. “It doesn’t fix what I did back then but I make damn sure that there won’t be any bullying at Casper so long as I’m here.”

“Huh,” Danny said, slouching once more in his seat but it looked less like his earlier teenage laziness and more weary. He and Dash were the same age after all, just because only one of them got old doesn’t mean time didn’t still affect them. “You did change, a lot of things did.” Danny looked down at the desk, “how long has it been?”

“Almost 50 years,” Dash sighed. “My wife wants me to retire but I guess I always find more things to do.” He paused then decided it was now or never. “I’m sorry Danny, for hurting you back then. I wish I'd gotten to know you better.”

For just a moment, Danny was perfectly clear. Even half floating out of his chair and looking like the local celebrity, his eyes were so painfully human. A boy killed before he ever got a chance to get started. Who’s will to protect was so strong it lasted half a century. It haunted him late at night to think of the glory and power of Phantom overshadowing just how incredible Danny Fenton had been. Not that anyone had seen it at the time. Soon there wouldn’t be anyone left to remember that quiet, kind teenager and then Danny Fenton really would be dead. Kill him just as thoroughly as that portal had.

The moment was broken by a breath of cold leaking out of the ghost’s lips and, just like that, his highschool classmate was gone and Phantom was left in his stead. He looked curiously around the classroom as if he didn’t know how he’d gotten there.

“There’s a ghost, stay here and don’t leave unless the fighting gets too close. I’ll get it though, don’t worry. No kids are dying today.” Maybe it was Dash’s imagination but he thought he saw Phantom’s eyes linger on him for an extra moment, trying to place where he knew the teacher from. Dash just smiled.

“Our lives are in your hands. Good luck, Phantom,” the ghost teen saluted before fading away entirely. Dash let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, suddenly exhausted but also lighter at the same time. It wasn’t every day you got to look your mistakes in the face and apologize. “Shannon, you can move back now.”

“No, I’m okay here,” Shannon said as she flipped to a new page in her sketchbook and looked intently at the spot where Fenton had once sat. “It’s like you said, that’s Danny’s seat.”

“I had no idea, Phantom’s been around for like, ever,” Freddie mumbled, pushing up his glasses. “But he used to be just like us.” And still was, Dash thought sadly. Danny would never grow old, never go to space like he’d always dreamed or marry Manson like he’d probably intended to. He was stuck, in more ways than one for who knows how long.

“Yes, that’s why it’s important to know your history. The Civil War and my other lessons are important but we can’t forget these smaller, more intimate histories. If we lose these lessons to time then we risk repeating the same mistakes over again.” He looked his students in the eyes, holding their attention.

“So we’ll continue today with the local history. Before he was ghost butt kicking superhero, Phantom was Danny Fenton, son of the local ghost hunters and a bit of an outcast in town. The Daniel Fenton Foundation was founded about a year after his death and was-”

#danny phantom #dead danny au #if bitch fartman won't redeem dash then I guess it up to me #god can you imagine growing up and growing old only to look at your past victim in the eye and see nothing has changed for him?#i could go on and on about what other characters got up to #but this is about the tragedy of the loss of Danny Fenton #not only his life but his memory #time moves on and Fenton got lost in the mix #once Dash's generation dies then Fenton will just be a cautionary tale #a ghost story #No one will remember that their hero was one long before he got his powers #god Im fuckign sad now #eat up and enjoy your angst

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luxekook · 4 years

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chapter one.

⇥ pairing: jungkook x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, kissing, hickies, drinking, tatted jungkook, nipple piercings

Chapter One

Fall of Junior Year – 8:57am

I curse every single decision that has brought me to this very moment as I power-walk across campus, sweating under the already blistering sun. Campus in August could easily be compared to a swamp given the amount of unearthly humidity, and I'm pretty sure I currently qualified as the local swamp thing.

The only positive feature in my morning has been the table of free coffee and doughnuts staffed by Student Government. The first day of the fall semester always seems to be accompanied by frantically wide-eyed freshmen and celebratory freebies. However, air conditioning is the only thing I would be celebrating today as I finally reach Tyson Hall – the destination of my 9:00am class.

As I rush to my classroom with one minute to spare, I slump into a seat in the far corner – my preferred location for people-watching out of the large windows and for getting away with doing homework for other classes.

Familiar faces surround me, an unsurprising observation given that this is our mandatory research seminar as psychology majors. I notice my friend Jenni sitting in the opposite corner, eyes glued to her phone screen.

Opening my laptop, I shoot her a text to come sit with me. Her head whips up, black braids moving every which way as she immediately piles up her things and hustles over, “(y/n), I forgot you were in this seminar! I just switched over from quantitative research because I couldn’t take any more statistics – or Dr. Harding.”

Dr. Harding is the dean of the psychology department and has been teaching here for ages. Feared by most psychology students for his tough grading and intimidating persona, he’s actually a huge softie – something I discovered by going to his office hours and seeing all 85 pictures of his grandchildren hanging throughout the room.

“He’s not that bad, Jen.”

She scoffs, “You would say that because you got an A in statistics like some sort of wizard. Besides, Dr. Newman is so much nicer.”

Jenni has an excellent point. Dr. Newman is the main reason I chose this seminar. As one of the most respected researchers at our university, she’s known for her qualitative studies on gender across cultures. I consider Dr. Newman to be a real badass woman and I lowkey stan her.

I turn to reply, but Dr. Newman begins taking attendance and class begins.

Fifty minutes later, Jenni practically drags me out of the classroom, “I cannot believe she kept us the whole 50 minutes. Is she aware that it’s syllabus week? It’s practically law to just read over the syllabus and then dismiss class. This is outrageous– (y/n), are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” I totally had tuned her out, focusing on the number of students flooding the quad. I had missed this – the rush of students heading to class, the yells of people greeting each other from entirely too far away, the buzz of excitement over potential parties…

“Unbelievable. How did I forget you have this whole weird-ass feminist crush on her?” Jenni forges forth, “It doesn’t matter. What are you doing tonight? You’re going out with us, right? Luna and I want to go to Hannigan’s.”

Since the three of us had all turned 21 over the summer, we finally could legally go to the bars in town. Hannigan’s currently holds the top spot on the list of bars that most of the upperclassman frequent. It’s a popular Irish pub downtown known for its cheap beer and mixed drinks.

It’s also BTS’s unofficial hangout – a fact that makes me slightly uneasy. After learning who the higher-ups are in BTS, I have taken to avoiding them like the plague. It was a relatively easy thing to do since the spring semester tended to be less focused on rushing and recruiting for fraternities and sororities.

But now it’s rush season, and I’m pretty much fucked. There will be no avoiding seeing BTS’s president Kim Namjoon out recruiting with his vice president Min Yoongi and his social chair Jung Hoseok. There will also be no avoiding pledge master Taehyung leading around new BTS pledges like a mother duckling. And don’t even get me started on how Kim Seokjin, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook will be popping up everywhere to advertise the latest BTS bash.

Sighing, I figure that the chances of actually bumping into them at the bar will be slim, given that it will most likely be super crowded and I can easily blend in.

I turn to Jenni as we keep walking towards our next classes, “Yeah, I’ll go to Hannigan’s. Are you going to come over to get ready at our place?”

Luna and I had moved into a cute little off-campus apartment over the summer. As it turned out, it’s cheaper to live off-campus than on-campus if you look hard enough. We also had it pretty good location-wise being just a few short blocks from both campus and downtown.

“Yes!” Jenni replies, slowing to a stop out front of the science building, “I’ll be over around 8 with tequila. I’ll text you later. I’ve got to go to neuro-psych lab now,” she rolls her eyes, “Hopefully we won’t be kept the whole time.”

Waving, we part ways, and I shake my head.

Tequila never leads to anything good.

Hannigan’s – 10:54pm

Fate seems to be on my side for once in my life. As soon as Luna, Jenni and I walk into Hannigan’s, my eyes are drawn to the back table where the BTS usually sits. It’s empty.

It’s practically an unspoken rule that no one else can sit there, and even though the bar is packed with all other tables accounted for, that one remains vacant – and for good reason.

Greek life essentially has a cult following around here. The Greeks provide status for those who are into that whole exclusivity thing. They also provide the best parties because of the size of their houses and because the university will never complain about one of their best sources of revenue.

I didn’t to rush a sorority way back in freshman year because I couldn’t feasibly afford it. The dues were way out of my price range, considering I was already paying for my education on my own. Luna, on the other hand, is in Epsilon Xi Delta (EXID) and consistently makes me and Jenni tag along to different Greek parties with her.

"Come on, bitches! Let's get some drinks," Jenni drags me and Luna through the packed room towards the bar that is already encircled by a crowd of thirsty students.

Tonight’s plan is simple – stick together, have fun, scope out cute seniors. Having already taken some shots before we left (saving that coin), we’re definitely feeling ourselves, flaunting our outfits like we didn’t spend a good hour picking them out earlier.

I had settled on a black t-shirt dress with a checkered flannel tied around the waist and some black Doc Martens. Luna and Jenni had tried to convince me to wear heels with them, but I knew syllabus week was a marathon – not a sprint. My feet would thank me later, and theirs would be crying.

As the bartender slides us our beers, the opening beats of Cocky AF by our badass queen Megan Thee Stallion blast through the speakers dispersed throughout the bar. Turning immediately to each other, we clink our beers together, take a sip, and head to the makeshift dance floor.

We squeeze and push our way through the masses until we reach a spot towards the back where the crowd has thinned out a little more. Within seconds, we’re in motion, hips swaying in time to Megan saying ‘bitch, I look good and you know that’.

Shaking out my hair, I get in the zone and lose count of how many songs we dance to. Eventually, our beers empty and Luna turns to me, “Another?" She accompanies her shouted question with an unnecessary charade of shot-gunning a beer in case I couldn’t hear her. I roll my eyes, laughing while I nod in response.

“Save our spot!” Jenni yells and disappears into the crowd of dancers with Luna towards the bar.

I continue dancing on my own. Swaying my hips, I decide to put my hair up to try to cool off a little in the sweltering bar. The music shifts into a new song, this one slower, more seductive, a favorite of mine – Lost in the Fire featuring The Weeknd.

As Abel’s angelic voice flows over me, a pair of hands slide over my hips from behind me. I start to pull away, but then I notice – the hands are tattooed. And for some reason, that hot little fact makes me relax into the large body behind me.

Those tattooed hands tug me back even more, bringing me flush against him as he falls into time with my movements. God, this guy can dance – a rarity these days.

His body is all hard muscle and heated skin. His mouth is hot against my neck, alternating between kissing, sucking, and biting. My skin buzzes. Fuck, I haven’t felt this way since–

Turning my head slightly, I can make out the vague outline him and it confirms my sinking suspicion... He’s a BTS boy.

"Hey, noona," he murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing over it as he speaks.

Fuck my life, I think as I shiver involuntarily in response. Spinning to face one of Satan’s henchmen, I toss my ponytail over my shoulder and jut a hip out in both defiance and defense. But really nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Jeon fucking Jungkook, the golden boy of BTS.

He somehow looks like he’s gotten even bigger since the last I saw him playing pong against Taehyung at that party – information that I cannot even comprehend. His left arm is completely tattooed, along with a few smaller ones dotting his hands. I glare at them, blaming those hands for throwing me off.

“Like them?” Jungkook waves his fingers in front of my narrowed eyes, “I got them this summer.” Smirking lazily, Jungkook makes his own perusal of me – taking extra time along the way.

His jaw flexes as his eyes turn molten, “You’re killing me, noona. Tae didn’t mention…” He trails off, swallowing hard.

I follow his gaze. Oh fuck. I had forgotten I decided to forego a regular bra tonight because I wanted to show off my piercings. Just having a thin bralette under my dress, my pierced nipples are definitely noticeable under Jungkook’s heavy stare.

Refusing to give into him, I square my shoulders, “Yeah, I got them this summer, too. But, I don’t see how that’s either your or Taehyung’s business.”

At my words, Jungkook rips his eyes away from my tits to finally meet my own eyes again, “Oh, but it really is our business. Tae said we’d like you and I agree.”

His voice is low and rough, and I swear I can feel it washing over my body, making all of my synapses fire in response.

“We?” I choked out. In full panic mode, I spin and try to leave, but I barely make it a foot away before getting stopped by a now-familiar tattooed hand wrapped around my wrist.

Luckily, a crashing sound echoes from the back table where the other BTS boys must be, and Jungkook lets out a string of curses, “Fucking hell, listen I have to go make sure no one’s hurt, or Joon will kill me. Stay here, okay? I’m not done with you, (y/n).”

His hand rushes up to the nape of my neck, pulling me into him. Our lips fuse together in a brutally hot kiss, his tongue slipping against my bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

And then he’s gone – disappearing rapidly through the fray to manage whatever trouble his frat has gotten into.

I stand there, shaking fingers on my lips wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

“Hey, sorry we took so long! This bitch cut in front of us and I swear she ordered for the entire fucking population of North America—”

Luna smacks Jenni’s arm, cutting her off, “You okay, (y/n)?” Luna peers closer at me, “Holy shit, is that a hickey? We were only gone for 10 minutes!”

My hand flies to my neck as both Jenni and Luna grab me, dragging me to the slightly quieter back alley of the bar. As they conduct the second Spanish Inquisition, I spill the details on what happened.

After a moment of silence following my explanation, they both start talking at once:

→ Jenni: “Hell yes, girl, go off! Jeon Jungkook is fine as fuck…” → Luna: “(y/f/n) (y/m/n) (y/l/n), have you lost your damn mind…”

→ Jenni: “…I’d hit that in a heartbeat. I’m so proud!” → Luna: “…Do you not remember last semester? Are you high? Oh my GOD, did he drug you?!”

“Stop!” I slap a hand over each of their mouths, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you guys are impossible. I am not ‘hitting’ anything, and, no, he did not fucking drug me.”

Sighing, I continue, “It was a lapse in judgement, okay? I remember last semester more than anyone, but he’s just so powerful and I don’t seem to have any common sense around BTS.”

I take my hands away from their mouths and immediately Jenni asks, “Wait, what happened last semester?”

Luna slings an arm around my shoulder, “Come on, let’s go get pizza and a six-pack from Ralph’s. We can go out another night this week.”

“Take-out from Ralph’s?” Jenni’s eyes widen comically, “This must be major tea. Let’s go.”

Instinctively, we clink our beers together for the second time that night and chug the remainder of our bottles in true broke bitch fashion (never leave paid-for beer behind).

With that, we trek back through the door and out of the bar. We finish our night filling in Jenni with our less than savory experience with the infamous BTS fraternity last semester.

But, as I lay in bed for the night, I can’t help but wonder if Jungkook had looked for me that night after I left… Or if he told Taehyung...

taglist (message me to be added):

@catsandstrawberries @h5naaa

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream III

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 4, 559

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything; It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i... she feels… (Read below or on the AO3 link on the chapter title.)

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Anything

Maybe I should kill my inhibition

Maybe I'll be perfect in a new dimension

On the Saturday the week after Barry’s impromptu visit, Iris finds herself down on Main Street about half an hour after 10 in the morning. Nearly the entire 8 blocks of the street are sectioned off, with a plethora of white tents set up on both sides of the street. She glances on as she makes her way down the sidewalk, as people set up books and jewelry and clothes; beer and wine and harder liquor; food and sweets and other treats.

It’s the setup for Central City’s Fall Fest, one of a multitude of fests in the city that Iris calls home. It’ll be open to the public in a few hours and, like usual, Iris will make her way up and down the blocks a few times, holding a beer in one hand and something fried on a stick in the other, a couple of bags filled with things she doesn’t need in the crook of her elbow.

Now, though, she steps into the alley that leads to the side door of Golden’s, an Asian and American fusion restaurant and bar owned by the parents of her best friend, Linda Park. She gives a heavy-handed couple of knocks and only moments later, Linda opens the door to let her in.

Iris first met the other women when they were in the 7th grade. Iris’s parents had divorced several months prior to a new school year and for reasons not then known to Iris, her dad had gotten full custody of her and six-year-old Wally. They’d moved into a new house on the other side of town and that had meant a new school for her. Linda had sat beside her in their homeroom/advisory class and the girl with beige skin and long dark brown hair was constantly scribbling something in a notebook. Iris had discovered that they’d been stories, usually with families as the starring characters. By then, Iris had begun to write in her own notebook—musings and wonderings about the neighbors she’d just met, about what it meant to be the oldest child of divorced parents. They’d bonded over their writing; well, that and being two of only a handful of girls at the school with skin darker than the pale and spray-tanned skin of their classmates.

For over a decade, it’s been Iris and Linda. Through the messy stages of puberty and their even messier interactions with high school boys; through late-night study binges and even worse interactions with college boys. Through the drug addiction that took Iris’s mom and the car crash that had put Linda’s older brother on life support until he’d succumbed to his own injuries, they’ve navigated it all together.

Now, life gets in the way. Linda, almost immediately after undergrad graduation, had begun shopping around a number of short stories and personal essays she had written until, finally, a publisher had bit and opted to publish them as an anthology. A few years and too many nights spent locked in a room later and Linda’s book is a New York Times bestseller. Iris’s own success story is pending. In addition to completing her graduate degree (which, at 26, she’d started late, after taking some time off and working at a local newspaper), she runs a blog, one she’d started by accident. Her middle school musings had become pointed interviews and, with the classes she’d taken in college, had gotten the necessary skills to begin writing up her own human interest stories. It’s amazing, she’s learned, what people will tell you when they can hide behind the face of someone else. What a Life You’ve Lived is growing in popularity, making some money too, and it’s starting to become more than just a hobby for Iris.

Neither Iris nor Linda is ever truly free; but in a concentrated effort to make time, they brunch at least twice a month. This morning, it’s at Golden’s (where Linda is working as a bartender while she writes her next book) because her parents want them to try out new menu items. When the door shuts behind them, Linda turns and gives Iris a hug, wrapping her arms around her neck. Iris returns it, smiling into her hair, her familiar lavender scent a warm comfort she didn’t know she needed.

“I’ve missed your beautiful face,” Linda says, squeezing her hard once before letting her go.

“Yeah?” Iris asks, mouth lifting in a smirk. “Is it because you’re tired of looking at Daniel’s beautiful face?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Never, though I’d rather put my eye out before I tell him that.”

Linda has been dating her boyfriend Daniel Ngyuen, nerdy engineer and man ridiculously head over heels for her, for a few months, after they met at a book signing hosted by Linda’s parents.

“You’re ridiculous,” Iris tells her, and Linda preens in response.

Something in Iris tightens, a faint film of green clouding her view for all of a millisecond. She’s ashamed she even had the thought, that she feels anything but happiness at the light in her friend’s chocolate brown eyes or the glow in her cheeks. She’s not jealous of Linda, of course she’s not. But Iris can’t help but find some envy at the feeling of contentment that so obviously surrounds her friend and the juxtaposition of her own drifting existence.

It’s almost tangible, these differences, at least to her. Iris can see the confidence practically emanating from Linda’s dress-clad form, the long-sleeved maxi dress and tall sandals, her wavy shoulder-length hair, making her look a little like a goddess. But Iris imagines that’s what it must look like, to be at the start of a career you’ve always wanted, to have the love of a man you’re secure in, to just...know your place, your purpose.

And maybe Iris is being dramatic. She supposes she looks as put together as she’s always thought she needed to be in her light denim jeans, pale pink cropped sweater, and tan block-heeled sandals. She’s been wearing her natural hair out this week and the wavy curls are piled up in an artfully messy bun. Still, even if Iris can’t touch on why she feels so scattered, like all of the pieces that make up the whole of her are floating aimlessly around her body, she cannot deny that the feeling is there, taking up space in her head like the songs she latches on to keep focused, maybe I should pray a little harder, or work a little smarter.

They walk through the restaurant, bustling with the waitstaff preparing for the 11 am opening. Golden’s isn’t an overly large place, only able to fit about 50 people at a time, but Iris thinks it’s a part of the charm. It’s decorated in dark brown wood and bright white and gold light fixtures; the tables and booths are spread out in a way that allows for privacy, making customers feel as if they’re in their own little worlds.

Linda leads them to their usual table, one actually tucked into a little alcove where only the Parks and their guests are allowed to sit. At the table, there’s already a carafe of juice too close to red-pink to be orange juice, along with a bottle of champagne. Outside of the wine and marijuana Friday nights and the occasional party or club, Iris only really indulges in alcohol when she and Linda have these brunches. They slide into the booth and Linda immediately reaches for the champagne.

Over the next couple of hours, Iris is reminded of why, regardless of her own issues, she loves his woman. They laugh, sharing stories of Iris’s students and the customers who come into Golden’s. They get on each other’s nerves, making jokes and ribbing the other any chance they get. At one point, Linda’s parents come out, her honey-skinned Chinese mother Xuan and her dad Theo, Chinese and white with skin like baked sugar cookies, and Iris blinks adoringly up at the both of them, always lost in their beauty—both tall and elegant with ridiculous cheekbones.

“It’s sickening,” Linda mutters as she watches Iris watch them walk away, “how you look at them.”

“I’ve had a crush on your parents for as long as I’ve known them,” Iris replies. “If they ever want a thre-”

“Don’t you finish that fucking statement,” Linda gripes and Iris howls in laughter until Linda points out the attractiveness of Iris’s own father. “You know I’d always hop on the chance to be your stepmom.”

“And I’d happily sabotage your wedding day.”

“But it’d be worth it when I got to climb on top of Daddy West during the honeymoon.”

Iris throws a strawberry at her.

She hears him before she sees him. She’s been at Fall Fest for only about twenty minutes after leaving Golden’s, full and tipsy, walking through the steadily filling streets. Of all of the festivals in Central City, of which there are several (seasonal fests like the Fall and Spring fests; food fests like the Food Truck and Italian Food fests; cultural fests like the Juneteenth and Hispanic Heritage fests), the Fall Fest is one of her favorites. It’s during the best time of the year, when the sun is still blazing but the wind cuts through the heat. When the leaves have begun to drift off trees and dance onto the ground, changing into the shades of yellow and orange and red that only nature can paint. When the booths run the gamut in what they sell, from cooked and packaged foodstuffs, to clothes and jewelry, to dance or golf lessons. It’s the one festival, besides the Pan-African Celebration, that their entire family would attend, even for a few years after the divorce. Her parents would take off work and put aside their differences to spend time together--until Wally had felt too old and her dad had needed too many more work hours and her mom had gotten too lost; and then Iris had started coming with Linda and then, this year, alone.

But she doesn’t dwell—she tries not to dwell these days—and besides, she’s just heard him.

He doesn’t sound any different in the light of the day. In her head, she keeps hearing him as he is in the throes of passion, when his voice is more of a throaty curse, when it’s a rumble against her heated flesh. Here, out here with children screaming from their blocked-off sections and ladies laughing as they smell through candle selections and men arguing from the faux sports bars set up at random tents, he should sound like anyone else. He shouldn’t even be heard over the music coming from the speakers they can’t see—down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; do do do down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; i hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will—or the sheer noise that’s true for events like this. But he is.

She looks up, ignoring the woman still trying to convince her to buy a bottle or three of perfume, and she sees him, right at the booth beside hers. He’s with two other men, one shorter with light brown skin and dark brown eyes and black hair pulled back in a ponytail; the other only a bit taller than the friend, with skin darker than Iris’s, glasses, and a short afro. Iris vaguely thinks that the three of them together are some sort of setup for a bar joke. They’re dressed similarly, in pants and t-shirts, though Iris’s eyes catch onto Barry’s hunter green chinos and white shirt, the beige pocket square matching his desert boots. All three of them have relatively full beers in their hands and Iris is looking at the cup in Barry’s hand (or rather, his fingers wrapped around the cup) for about three seconds before it jerks, beer spilling out. She looks up to find he’s looking back at her too, muttering “Iris,” in surprise.

She watches her hand and smiles back at him, a bit awkwardly, stepping away from the booth where the woman has already moved on to a new customer.

“Hi Barry,” she responds, walking over to them. She spares a glance at the other two, the Black man looking at her curiously, the Latino man a bit more humorously. “Fancy seeing you here.”

It’s not her smoothest line, but Iris thinks she might be in shock. When he’d left her, again, before she woke up on Saturday morning, she’d found his number written in tiny handwriting on the notepad on her desk, the unimaginative “call me” scribbled beneath it. She hadn’t. She’d thought about; oh had she.

On Monday, she’d debated calling him up to grab a coffee during her break. On Wednesday, she’d gotten an email about a new story and she’d wondered, for a moment, what he might think about it. But then she’d thought of his sweet mouth telling her “I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory,” and she had decided that he likely wouldn’t care about her days.

Now, he gives her a thorough once-over, probably remembering, and Iris feels a flush of heat run through her that she knows has very little to do with the warm late September sun.

“Iris,” he says again, his voice a touch higher than normal. His companions look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Iris,” the long-haired one repeats, laughter coloring his tone. “I’m Cisco.”

“And I’m Chester,” says the one with dark skin, and they both stand there looking at her, grinning like loons until Barry cuts in.

“Alright, stop being weird.”

They don’t. Barry rolls his eyes and pushes past them to stand in front of her. Even with the heels she’s wearing, she has to stretch her neck a little to look up at him.

“Hey,” he says, this time lower, a soft breeze on her skin.

“Hi,” she repeats, just as softly.

The sounds of the carnival don’t disappear so much as they become muted, such as if she were submerged in water or if there was a rushing in her ears, because everything becomes background noise save for the concentrated sound of his voice.

“You didn’t call,” he says to her.

“I—” she starts, but she’s got nothing to say, not anything that won’t make her sound needy or desperate.

“Hey Barry,” Cisco calls.

“Yeah?” Barry answers, but he doesn’t turn away from her. No, he’s looking at her still, assessing her almost. He’s trying to figure something out, she decides, or at least that’s how it seems, what with the way he stares so intently, blue-green eyes pouring into her, bringing up images of them staring up at her from between her thighs, bringing out impressions that feel like more than lust, like more than just two people who’ve only ever bared their bodies to each other.

“We’re gonna go to another tent,” Chester says. “Catch up with you later.”

“Alright,” is the reply, those eyes glittering like the sea in the afternoon sun, still fixed on her. There’s a slight frown to his mouth, and when he speaks again, she can’t tell if he’s reached his conclusion or not.

“Walk with me?”

She nods before she even thinks about it. “Sure.”

They start back down the path. The booths are in abundance this year; it’s a bigger festival than she’s seen before. For a while, they don’t talk. They walk side by side, arms brushing every so often, stopping at booths that catch their attention. For him is a booth with a variety of multi-piece puzzles, some featuring landscapes and gardens, others of the solar system or space. For her, it’s one selling notebooks, beautiful leather-bound journals. She stops, enthralled, picking up one in coral-colored leather with rose-gold edging.

“We can also engrave the name,” the sun-tanned woman with pale blonde hair behind the tent says. “Or you can order custom colors.”

Iris nods, murmurs, “these are really nice,” and continues flipping through the heavy cream paper in the coral notebook. These days, much of her writing gets done on her overused Macbook; it’s just easier that way. But when she writes, for herself—little anecdotes about her day, her feelings spelled out in poetry—she does so in notebooks like these.

“You’re a writer,” Barry wonders and it’s a statement as much as it’s a question.

“Yeah.” She looks up at him and nods. “I’m actually getting my master’s in journalism.”

She puts the journal down once she notes the $40 price tag and thanks the woman as they walk off, Iris looking back at the notebook with longing.

“I also run a blog,” she tells him, and the words tumbling out of her mouth are a shock.

“Really?” he looks at her in surprise. “What’s the site? Is it popular?”

It’s not like she’s embarrassed of her blog or anything, but it feels different, to tell people she knows about her work. Because it’s one thing for strangers to read what she types out in earnest, and in tears and in vulnerability, but it’s something altogether different for people she knows to do the same. They aren’t her stories, not actually, but they are always her words, always her emotions she puts into them, and it feels too, too telling somehow.

“It’s growing in popularity,” she tells him, because she’s the one who opened this can of worms. “It’s called What a Life You’ve Lived.”

He hums, like that means something to him, but before she can ask what, two kids come barreling through the aisle. Iris tries to step out of the way and she slips, her heel catching in a small crack in the asphalt. Her knees buckle, but before she can hit the ground, Barry’s arms are around her. One of his large hands holds onto her, pressed against the bare skin of her belly, and then she’s pressed fully against him.

It’s absurd how much she likes the feel of him—the slim but corded muscles in his arms, the apparent strength in his fingers; and she likes the smell of him too, the faint hint of his laundry detergent mixed with the heat of the sun mixed with the citrus of his cologne. It’s another moment (™), which doesn’t make sense because he’s only just caught her from falling. But he’s looking at her like there is more in her gaze besides the brown of her irises, the flutter of her lashes. It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i...she feels…

“Are you alright?”

Barry’s voice is quiet, too quiet for the energy they’re surrounded by. And maybe she doesn’t even hear it as she does read the movement of his pink mouth.

“Yeah, I am.”

He straightens, then, and gives her a half-smile. “You know, Iris, if you wanted to fall all over me, you could have just called.”

He likely had been trying for levity, but it’s pointed, right there at the end. She steps away from him and he lets her, his fingers sliding along the small of her back until they’re no longer on her skin. It leaves her cold

(only that can’t be true, because it’s far too warm out)

and she watches as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I was waiting on your call, Iris.”

They've moved into a corner where the direction of the festival booths turn right. Straight ahead of them is a 21+ section; it features a stage where performances will begin around 5 as well as a number of makeshift bar stations. There’s a similar set-up with kid-friendly activities on the other side of the festival. Barry’s friends are standing at one of the bar stations talking to two women, both with chestnut-brown skin and long kinky hair. Iris’s eyes shift to take in the rest of her surroundings, to the sound of people laughing and the couples holding hands and the families who seem elated to be together on a day like today.

When she turns back, Barry is patiently watching her, head tilted to the side, expression thoughtful, like it always tends to be.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Barry suggests “We can walk around some more. And once we get sun-tired, I can take you to this spot that I like nearby and we can talk. Maybe about why you didn’t call.”

She licks her lips, pulls the bottom one between her teeth. She hedges, long enough to tell herself that this would be a foolish endeavor, that she should just say no, that he’s nice and cute and what harm would it do. But, really, when he asks, those cyan eyes gleaming and his cheeks faintly pink and his face so goddamn hopeful it almost makes her look away, she really has no other choice.

“Okay, sure.”

She doesn’t tell him why she doesn’t call.

What she does is tell him about her dad and how she’s always been in awe of him, of his grace and his strength and the lessons he’d taught her. She tells him about Wally, who’s brilliant and searching, trying to figure out his way (not unlike her, though this she doesn’t say). She tells him about Linda, her sister in all of the ways that count, who’s always with her, even when she isn’t. And when he asks, because of course he does, she tells him about her mother who was beautiful and kind, all the way until sickness took her away.

She tells him this because he tells her first, about a larger-than-life father whose proximity to wrong-doing bureaucrats had landed him in prison, and an easy-going mother whose life had ended because someone else had been desperate for the money in her purse.

They do indeed walk around ‘til they’re tired, until around 6. Then Barry takes her to a little American bistro where they pride themselves on grass-fed meats and homegrown vegetables. They devour burgers the size of their heads and a mountain of fries that deserve their own table. He stuffs her with food and a piece of pie after, and he asks her some questions. He wants to know her favorite color and the television show she’s currently watching and if she’s always wanted to be a writer: yellow and Bridgerton and only since her parents’ divorce, when she’d needed to know that hers was only a unique story—or maybe she had needed confirmation that it wasn’t. She wonders about his dream job, his favorite hobby, the one thing he wishes he could do: forensic scientist, which he is, amateur theater, and getting his dad out of prison. That opens up a space for more convolution than should be allowed on a first date, and so she asks him more about amateur theater.

After, he walks her back to where her car is parked past Golden’s. When they get there, he listens for the sound of her car alarm, and then he turns her around, pressing her back against her car door. He walks closer, a hand at her waist, the other reaching up to cup the back of her neck, thumb circling lightly around her throat.

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispers. “I had a really nice time.”

“Yeah?” His mouth ticks up, that half-smile that is somehow both charming and a little bit maddening. “Enough that I might get a kiss?”

She tilts her head as if in thought, even as she gives in to her desire to touch him too, reaching up to finger at the faint moles dotting her cheeks. She only barely nods her acquiescence when he closes whatever distance is left and kisses her. Iris is always surprised by how warm his mouth is, by how sweet he tastes. He tastes like the apple pie they had earlier, but also like early sunset coffee on cool fall mornings and like how slow sex in the middle of the night feels.

He’s gentle in some ways, his mouth moving slow against hers, his tongue licking into her mouth like he’s trying to find life inside of her. But he’s a little rough too, squeezing at her waist so he won’t fondle her in the middle of the street, tightening his hold on her throat, only a little, but enough that Iris begins to feel the action in the throb of her sex. They kiss, eyes closed, her own fingers scratching at the nape of his neck, her hips thrusting against his in time to the flick of his tongue across her bottom lip, until she feels the swell of his dick against her belly and her loud moan tears him away from her.

“Fuck Iris,” he all but growls, licking his lips as he looks her over, a little wrecked. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, playing with the soft strands of his hair, until she notices it’s all messy, matching the state of his swollen mouth, his wrinkled skirt, the heavy dent in the center of his pants. She wonders what she looks like.

“Get in the car, baby.”

Wide-eyed at the endearment outside of sex, Iris does as he tells her to, sliding in and buckling up before he closes the door. When the purr of her engine starts, he motions for her to roll her window down. She does, waiting as he plants his elbow on top of the car, bending his lean frame down so that his face is level with her.

He smiles softly at her. “Go out with me next Sunday.”

She bites at her lip, if only to give herself another moment to breathe. Because this date would be moving beyond a two-night stand, beyond an impromptu date, far beyond kissing on the side of the street.

“What time on Sunday?”

“Early afternoon,” he says and leans in even closer. “I’ll pick you up.”

She nods before she can talk herself out of it, even if she knows that she should. Barry motions for her with a crook of one of his long fingers, and it makes her think of what’s been playing in her head, of down for the ride, down for the ride; you can take me anywhere, and when she comes to, he places a sweet kiss on her mouth.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says, pulling away slowly.

And then Iris watches him—his strong and assured walk, his compelling and commanding aura—until she can’t see him anymore.

Do do do down for the ride, down for the ride

You could take me anywhere

I hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry allen

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rvmmm21 · 4 years

Text

. you know who i am? .

k, so i didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand. also, my first time writing in present tense? idk how to feel about it, but i guess it’s different. it felt so different writing for like actual humans lol. my first ‘normal’ fic, this is!

please for the sake of this making sense can we all pretend jennie, joy and irene are around the same age? also look who had fun with brand names. moi.

anyways this is [badgirl/bully!joohyun ‘persuading’ clumsy freshman!seungwan to be her assignment buddy]

...

University culture is grating.

It’s overwhelming and it suffocates her. She has no time to prepare herself for the apparent runway the halls have become, what with the stupid-rich kids treating every day like it’s a fashion show; Seungwan can barely blink from one person to the next without being smacked across the face with fur coats from Chanel, Louis Vuitton sunglasses hidden under Prada nylon bucket hats and Off-White tracksuits tucked into Balenciaga socks. She hadn’t considered a future in law enforcement, but had she done so, anyone who tucked their trousers into their socks mid-calf would find themselves behind bars with the rest of the criminal scum. End of.

Just as she dusts her hands of that smug little sentiment, Seungwan finds herself with a face full of hair, and an even bigger nose full of what smells like laundry detergent. She lets out an embarrassing squeal, and the girl turns round to face her. A ghost of a scowl brushes across her face before she fixes her with an indiscernible gaze.

That scowl is an awful colour on a face as pretty as yours, she impulsively thinks.

Seungwan knows no more about the history of art and the intricacies of sculpture than the average Joe, but she’s sure Michelangelo missed the mark with David. She inwardly laughs at the thought of the man dedicating his entire being to crafting his flimsy idea of ‘perfection’ when she’d just bumped into it; the real thing. Of course, if that was defined by forming new constellations from faded freckles on flawless skin, or vantablack tresses framing sharp features like a painting, then yes; she was, by very definition, ‘the perfect (wo)man’. Easily outdoing anyone within a 50-metre radius.

Heck, make that 500.

The girl glares intimidation and Seungwan manages to save herself the humiliation of drooling in front of the white-hot beauty and her friends with a quick gulp, already feeling crimson seeping into her cheeks.

Perfect; now that she’s watched whatever new potential friendship this was blow up in her face, all she has to do is avoid her at all costs from here on out.

She mouths a haphazard apology and zooms past before anything can come of it, keeping her head down even after she’s well out of sight. Seulgi, Seulgi, Seulgi, save me, she brisk walks and begs all the way to class.

~~~~~~~~~~

A small commotion rings through the lecture hall of keyboard clicks and lethargic shuffles, calling to attention the girl who’s just spilt her drink down her front, now frantically digging around in her backpack for anything she can use to soak it up. A few jeering giggles are stifled, meanwhile students close by donate tissues and sympathetic looks. They are gratefully accepted with rapid-fire bows and machine-gun stuttered apologies.

“That freshman’s just ruined her rep, huh?” Jennie chuckles, “blindly walking into people… can’t even keep liquid in the cup. Give her a dog collar and a sign and she’s good to go.”

“Eh, I thought it was cute.”

Jennie’s retort comes quick.

“Sooyoung, you think anything in a skirt is cute.”

“What,” the girl says, ignoring the implication, “Haetnimie doesn’t wear skirts. And she’s not even wearing one right now. Plus, I didn’t say ‘she’s cute’, I said ‘it’s cute’. Learn the difference, idiot… it’s not like I wanna have at her or anything…”

Jennie shoots her an incredulous look and Sooyoung relents the banter. They both turn their attention to the girl sitting next to them, completely un-present in the moment. Sooyoung notices who she’s looking at and leans in to nudge her.

“Joohyun,” she whispers, poking her in the ribs when it’s obvious their friend is well on her way to signing a contract with NASA with how apparently well accustomed to space she is, “what do you think of her? Or are you still mad she walked into you?”

“Nah, forget it,” Jennie waves her off before she’s even had a chance to respond, “she’s not interested. I had to literally pay her money to go on a stupid double date with me in high school. I washed five cars for her to not even hold his hand once during the movie.”

Instead of participating, Joohyun sighs, casting the girl in question a seemingly uninterested stare. Unbothered eyes take in the sight she’s presented with: frustrated brows knitted together under a wispy caramel fringe and a blot of taro milk tea the size of Canada staining her baby blue jumper.

“I want her.”

The words are so simple her friends almost miss them entirely.

Sooyoung and Jennie battle for first place in an impromptu competition of ‘who’s-the-most-shocked’.

“You’re joking! Yah, you’re so annoying seriously, now?! You couldn’t have ‘wanted’ Min-seok in year nine?! I paid good, hard cash for that stupid boy!”

Joohyun looks at her, smug as a cat.

“I did it for you, Jennie. I didn’t even remember his name was Min-ho.”

“Min-seok.”

“Yeah, right.”

Sooyoung, wide-eyed and on the verge of passing out, grabs Joohyun by the shoulders, ignoring the glare she receives for it. “Joohyun, seriously? You’re serious. You want her like want her? Or want her like you wanted that cookbook after that trial week of Food Tech during summer break?”

Joohyun regards her, absolutely blasé. “I don’t follow recipes.”

“Exactly. Are you play-”

Sooyoung’s statement dies down with the rest of the class as the lecturer walks in. Furious clicking, hurricane scribbles and flipping pages are all that remain as the lesson kicks off, Jennie and Sooyoung casually scrolling through Instagram while the professor speaks. Joohyun leans forward, elbows on desk and chin resting on interlocked fingers. Her full attention is on the poor girl on the other side of the hall, intermittently peeling the cold, damp fabric away from her body, face flushed and avoiding all eye contact. Joohyun snickers at how uncomfortable it must be to have to sit through class in a wet jumper, how awkward and squeamish she looks.

Strawberry-tinted lips curl into the faintest smirk.

Hello cutie.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Yah! Kang Seul-Gi!” Seungwan calls out to chocolate-swirly space buns and baggy gym clothes hurtling towards her from across campus grounds, “where the heck were you?!”

“Sorry sorry! Overslept!”

“What!? Your class starts at noon! … and this is like… day 1!”

The girl looks like she’s barely had the chance to screw her head on the right way as she joins Seungwan on the steps of the university entrance.

Seungwan’s sweating buckets; physically and metaphorically, both from the waves of humidity and her all-exclusive one-idiot circus show this morning in class. That little muck up makes it to the tippy top of the endless list of embarrassing things Seungwan has stored in her long-term memory.

“You okay?”

Seungwan palms rosy cheeks as she takes another mouthful of her rainbow sherbet cone.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened to me.”

Seulgi chortles as her best friend recounts her ordeal, trying to subdue the sea of smart alec remarks bubbling under her skin.

“So that was great, too. And now I’m a laughing stock. A meme. They’re probably editing my stupid face as I speak…”

Seulgi reverts back to the first incident. Of course she would.

“Sooo… not like in the dramas then?”

Seungwan hangs her head, “not at all… she looked like she wanted to kill me.”

Seulgi lets out a snort before prodding her with more curious questions. The cogs in Seungwan’s brain churn and stutter as she tries to filter as many redundant adjectives as possible, only using ones she deems absolutely necessary to describe the most beautifully terrifying girl she’s ever seen.

Just then, as if Seungwan had meant to conjure hell itself, the three girls make an appearance from round the corner, chatting amongst themselves and taking Seungwan and Seulgi by surprise. The latter glances down where steely fingers are squeezing her wrist, as if that’d activate some magical cloak of invisibility. Seungwan’s as good as swallowed her tongue, shakily motioning to the girl in the middle of the black velvet storm with her eyes and a few nose twitches.

“H-her…” she stutters, finally getting her brain into gear after they leave, “… her.”

Innocent eyes double in size at the realisation.

“Wha-wait no, her?! You bumped into… her?! Her, Bae Joohyun leader of killer senior pack Bae Joohyun?”

Seungwan’s heart only thumps faster at the panic in Seulgi’s voice, but her words still mean nothing. The other girl swipes the dangling question marks off the top of her friend’s clueless head.

“Yo Wan-ah, you have to lay low. I mean why would you even – oh geez wow you really messed up. Can’t you look where you’re – I can’t even begin to – why would you – oh my gosh!”

Seulgi’s disjointed sentences allow enlightenment to trickle in and Seungwan slaps a hand over her forehead, mortified.

Oh god no. That’s the Bae Joohyun?

She’d heard the rumours. Many, rumours. Bae Joohyun who makes her juniors cry. Bae Joohyun; precious daughter of the most elusive mafia gang leader in all of Korea. Bae Joohyun; ice queen senior, sole roost-ruler of Hanyang University and the biggest bully you’ll ever meet.

Positively preposterous, empty claims with no evidence whatsoever to back them up… she hopes.

“Pft yeah okay she’s… mean, but she’s not like… jesus or anything she can’t… like… part the Red Sea or, turn water into vodka I don’t know,” Seungwan tries and fails at consoling herself, receiving nothing but an apologetic pat on the back from the girl beside her.

“Yeah well… she’s not the messiah but everyone treats her like it. And for the sake of your own neck, you’d better start too. Watch out, Wan-ah.”

Seungwan hadn’t paid any mind to those wet-eared freshmen whom she’d overheard during orientation gossiping about Joohyun and her charming little posse; but perhaps she should have.

She gulps, too afraid to think of anything else.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seungwan often fantasizes at work. There has to be some way to pass the time, after all.

Deep down she’s a sucker for romance, she knows it far too well; she envisions herself ten years down the line, letting whoever she has on the other end of the phone know that she’ll be home soon, that work has just been extra grueling today, and that she cannot wait to give them a cuddle. She’ll stir the dinner pot while she tells them stories, pausing in between to remind her lover how beautiful they are. Perhaps one day, the honour will be hers, to see her soulmate walking down the aisle.

But as the tinkling of the doorbell rings through her café, Seungwan files those cloudy fantasies for later and greets her first customers with a smile.

She hasn’t been sleeping very well, worrying her mind with ridiculous thoughts and impossible scenarios. All involving Joohyun as a tick-tocky alligator and herself as none other than Captain ‘I’m-actually-innocent-why-are-you-still-trying-to-eat-me’ Hook.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s five minutes to closing time. Seungwan suppresses the yawn in her chest and blinks away the moisture in her eyes. Just zero to sixty, five times in your head. You got this, Seungwan. Gosh, there’s no one in the café and hardly anyone outside. She briefly contemplates closing early.

“Small iced Americano.”

“Coming r – aii!! Ai…!”

Seungwan’s adrenaline spikes so high she could serve it ice cold in a coffee cup right now. Caught completely off guard, she begins stammering nonsense behind the till, crinkling the leather of her dark brown work apron and then using the hem of her polo shirt to wring clammy palms none the drier. All the while her customer stands there, brow quirked and card held out between slender fingers. Her expression, although slightly amused, threatens her to take her money, or else.

Before she can open her mouth, a buttery voice snaps her out of her trance.

“Hello, Seung – wan… hey, don’t we have Korean Literature together?”

Seungwan tries not to spontaneously combust on the job as she instinctively slaps a hand over her name tag. It’s useless though, it is now known. Known to her, of all people. The notorious Bae Joohyun; dressed in Acne jeans and an over-sized midnight Balenciaga cardigan, she looks like any other young, caffeine-dependent university student. But Seungwan knows a lot better.

Oh god save me… what the hell is she doing here!? This has to be a set up. She’s here for me. I’m going to die tonight. Mummy, daddy I love you.

“J-J-Juh…”

She can’t say it. All the years of schooling; learning the alphabet and how to enunciate your words drain out through the holes in her ears. She gawks dumbly, moving her head in what could be considered to be a nod.

“Ah, I thought I recognised you,” she doesn’t even bother trying to sound surprised, “I’m Joohyun.”

Don’t I know.

All Seungwan can do is nod again, hating herself for even breathing right now.

Joohyun clicks her tongue and fiddles with the card in her hand, impatient, “soooo… is this Americano free, or…?”

Yes, yes it’s free, please just take it and go! I’ll upgrade it to an extra-large if you want, on me! If it means I’m spared for the rest of my student life, take it all! Jesus, how did you even find me?!

“Ah, yes. Sorry! Uh, yes that’ll be um two fif – two… two thirty.”

There’s a shaky exchange of a debit card and a forgotten peace treaty iced Americano before Seungwan takes an unconscious shuffle back from the register, eyes glued to the smudge on the toe of her right sneaker, unable to meet Joohyun’s piercing gaze for too long.

“Thank you, Seungwan.”

The way she lingers on the ‘S’ whispers shivers down the girl’s spine. She glances up at the worst possible time, too, nearly jumping out of her mismatched Muji socks when she sees Joohyun’s hibiscus-tinted lips bloom into a coy smirk.

“I’ll see you around.”

And with what a shivering Seungwan could’ve sworn was a terrible attempt at a wink, Joohyun is gone. Clutching at her chest, she tries to slow her accelerated heartrate, praying she doesn’t need heart surgery after what she’s just been through.

Seulgi’s so hearing about this.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Daebak,” Sooyoung scoffs, side-eyeing Joohyun as she twiddles her pen.

“What else did you say?” Jennie presses, taking a sip of her chai latte.

Joohyun merely hums, disclosing no further details of her little cafe incident. She misses Jennie’s disbelieving grin when the walking, talking definition of awkward bumbles into the lecture hall, just on time, armful of texts and messy cinnamon locks matted to her face.

Sooyoung can’t resist a jest. “Joohyun, look. It’s idiocy on legs.”

Joohyun bites back a snort as her eyes follow the girl stumbling and murmuring apologies all the way to her seat. She slumps into the chair with burning cheeks, brushing her hair back with her fingers and fiddling with her gingerbread fringe. Too cute, Joohyun thinks, gritting her teeth.

It happens about mid-way in the class. The mention of pair work triggers the uniform eye-roll, groan and grumble combo, more so from the seniors, who sure as hell don’t want to be paired with icky, snot-nosed first-years who can barely lift their spoons to their mouths. The grumbling evaporates when it is stated that, although compulsory, it is not a fixed-paired assignment.

Seungwan breathes a sigh of relief along with a few others, content to set up camp in the aisles of the library, perfectly undisturbed. But she suddenly feels paler than chalk; flashbacks of heeled boots, midnight cardigans and heart surgery flooding into her veins once more when she catches a pair of stealthy pupils regarding her from across the room. A deceptively sweet smile sparkling on those dreaded lips, breath-taking and utterly petrifying all at once. Even from the other side of a bloody lecture theatre, Bae Joohyun has Seungwan sweating bullets and unconsciously fidgeting at her collar to release steam no one else can see.

About a minute away from hurling herself out the nearest window, Seungwan diverts her attention to her notebook at the last second.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seungwan stabs her chopstick into the egg yolk, watching it dribble all over her rice. She’s jealous of her own best friend who doesn’t have to live every waking hour with a red sniper laser dot on her back.

Should’ve majored in art too, goddamnit, she curses, poking her lunch in a dazed stupor.

“Wan-ah!”

She scoffs at the familiarity, but Seulgi’s crescent moon grin makes Seungwan momentarily forget.

~~~~~~~~~~

The black cursive of Han Kang’s literature stares up at her as she tries to digest what she’s reading, but she swears her brain allocates the worst times for that sneaky Bae Joohyun to pop up like an unwanted advertisement. Seems like now, she’s going to have to sit through an entire trilogy.

Despite the crippling dread, Seungwan can’t help but wonder. They’re so silly, but she wonders them anyway. She feels free to let her mind wander in the safety of the university library.

Bae Joohyun; Seungwan’s mind is unchanged; she’s the most beautiful girl she’s laid eyes on. It’s a unique kind of beauty; mysteriously edgy, knife-like and femme fatale. The grin Joohyun gave her in class this morning, she knows she should be running from it, but it doesn’t stop the fact that it’s been playing in her head on repeat ever since.

Seungwan unintentionally imagines what it would be like to kiss that sunset-infused smirk right off her face.

Too bad she’s a mean one, she sighs.

She doesn’t get much further with the actual task at hand when her blood-pressure plummets; she watches leader of the killer senior pack, Bae Joohyun, artlessly sit down in the chair next to her. It’s like the world stops spinning for the second it takes their eyes to meet, and Seungwan quivers in her seat, thoughts of literature fleeing out the back of her brain.

Trying to be polite, she gives her a courteous nod and returns to her reading. But Joohyun just sits there, staring, peppering her body with smoking bullet holes – it frightens her in the weirdest way. She can’t help the tiny bubble of… excitement? At the fact that Hanyang’s notorious Bae Joohyun is sitting next to her. Probably to get close enough to kill her, of course, but she’d count her blessings, no matter how terrifying. The thread finally snaps, and Seungwan is able to channel her inner stone statue no more, wordlessly excusing herself and stumbling to the bathroom.

It’s empty and silent; exactly what she needs. She flicks some cool water over the burning in her cheeks and dabs at the heat welled in the corners of her eyes.

But just as she’s about to leave, Joohyun’s standing in the doorway; cloaked in all her intimidating aura and eclipsing her only exit.

“Bathroom break so soon?” Joohyun’s voice drips into her ears like melted honey as she observes a wry smile crawl onto her face, “we’ve barely gotten started. Let’s get back to work… partner.”

It’s kicking in only now what Joohyun is saying. And it takes everything Seungwan has to formulate a pathetic response.

“Oh right, a-about that,” she nervously chuckles, averting her gaze and scratching the back of her neck, “uh, I-I was just um… I don’t wanna drag anyone down with – you know because you’re a senior and all – was m-maybe thinking –”

She doesn’t get very far when Joohyun begins advancing, walking towards her with such sure, dominating strides Seungwan has no choice but to back away, the piercing squeaks of Adidas sneakers easily drowning out the clicking of Louboutin heeled boots. Joohyun sports that coy smirk the whole time she’s cornering poor Seungwan, further and further back, until…

A tiny yelp is torn from her as her back hits the wall. Seungwan strains up to meet her eyes, 5 inch boots are a very useful intimidation tool. Her heart feels about as fragile as sugar glass, and she thinks it would do her good to invest in those styrofoam packing peanuts and a roll of caution tape.

Joohyun observes the little caramel-haired mouse girl she’s caught; pressed against the cool, beige tile, both hands out in front of her, quivering like a jello pile. She quickly notes the way the top of Seungwan’s head just about grazes the bottom of the wall-mounted paper towel dispenser, and it stretches her grin even further. She looks irresistible, those doe eyes the colour of warm cocoa. Who knew she had a thing for sweet faces, well-intentions and weak-hearts?

Realising her hands aren’t doing anything to keep the other girl at bay, Seungwan drops them like a tonne of bricks - she’s never felt so small and helpless in her life. The rich scent of vanilla and mint tickles her nose; Joohyun’s too close, and she really needs those fragile stickers to go over the thumping in her chest. But she also wants to nuzzle in closer to that intoxicating shampoo smell.

“P-please… I-I didn’t mean to…”

Her voice sounds so tiny and fragile, it tugs on Joohyun’s heartstrings.

“You know who I am?” she demands in somewhat of a growl, caging the smaller girl in with both arms pressed on either side of her head, causing her to gasp out, “you’ve heard?”

Seungwan shrinks a little more, petunias searing onto her milky cheeks at the proximity, but terror-stricken nonetheless. It’s burning, and it’s too much.

A small ‘mm’ and a teary nod is all she can offer.

Joohyun shoots her a challenging smirk, a kaleidoscope of obsidian pebbles flicker in her darkened eyes as she brings a single finger under the girl’s chin, tilting her so she’s forced to look up.

“And you still think you have a choice?”

Seungwan wishes she could rear up at the challenge, hammer some humility into that smug attitude in front of her; put Bae Joohyun in her place. But who is she to change the way the world works? Girls like Joohyun toy with what they want, and get what they toy with; the natural order of things Seungwan has no hope of re-routing. Her resolve, her dignity and everything she’s built up in her 20 years on earth crumbles at her feet; she doesn’t bother picking up the pieces.

With that, she looks up at the girl who still has her locked in with her eyes alone, and meekly shakes her head.

Seungwan can finally breathe when Joohyun detaches herself from the wall and runs both hands down the front of her blouse. She hears a chuckle and before she knows it, there’s an arm around her waist, moving them in tandem.

She doesn’t see the triumphant smile etched into Joohyun’s rosebud lips, like she’s swallowed a coat hanger. All she knows is that they’re now bound by this assignment, and that Joohyun is leaving with exactly what she came for.

Seungwan hides a shy grin of her own.

#wenrene #university au #bully irene #red velvet #i got carried away #seungwan the cafe worker #seungwan doesn't mind #red velvet scenarios #red velvet imagines #kpop scenarios #girl group scenarios

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wot-tidbits · 5 years

Text

RJ’s notes Part 34 by WOT Ethnographer

Male Channeler Pogrom and its consequences (Siuan raising to Amyrlin Seat)

So the Pogrom was from “early 979 into 985 NE (984?)”

Some of the sisters who had some sort of knowledge about the events suspect that quite possibly “10,000 men and boys died during those six years” and some think it might have been twice that or even more. [The Companion says this or something similar]

Alviarin escaped clean as did Elaida, though in fact Owyn was the only man she was involved in taking and gentling. Alviarin was quite heavily involved in various ways up to 983 NE. Alviarin of course, took over the Black Ajah in 983 after being hand-picked by Ishamael, and did her best to stop the pogrom because of his orders (She had certainly taken part in it before then.) When she realized that non-BA sisters involved were not going to stop so easily, not even some of the Red, who of course Galina ordered to, she arranged for Sierin Vayu to find out, knowing that Sierin's love of the letter of the law would outweigh her "strong streak of Red." She is one who suspects that Sierin's death was not natural and she might wonder whether Elaida (who visited the Tower about the time of that death) was involved.”

Remember her seemingly sycophantic letter to Rand in Cairhien. The Black Ajah, on orders, does not want Rand in the hands of the White Tower. It is felt (not by them, of course) that Rand on the loose adds more to disorder, while Rand in the hands of the White Tower might actually increase order and increase the strength of belief in the Dark One and the Last Battle.”

The woman Tamra called to help her search did not typically know the other woman she called because she was so “secretive”.

• Somehow they avoided Black Ajah because “ it was confined to close friends of Tamra, women she knew she could trust (it also avoided Red Sisters because Tamra didn't think they could really be trusted in this)” however, “the lack of Black sister roused Black Ajah suspicions, perhaps they had been discovered somehow.”

• The Black Ajah kidnapped Tamra in the first weeks of “979 NE (Taisham…)”.

• They were clumsy in their interrogation: because “of anxiety over the possibly of discovery (even for them, putting an Amyrlin to the question inside the Tower itself was not a small or easily done matter), partly a matter of haste (for the same reason as their nervousness) partly their inbred AS prejudices ( they knew that they know and what they know must be so), and partly because of the excitement/shock at what Tamra revealed. They failed to learn before Tamara died that the DR had just been born, a matter of clumsiness, and in part because Tamra was trying very hard to hide as much as she could. They did press to learn who all the senior Aes Sedai were and where had been sent, knowing that it was to their advantage to get rid of anybody else who knew this; that information squeezed out of Tamra completely. They also failed to inquire closely enough into who knew, however, into whether anyone was involved other than senior sisters she was making use of.”

• Apparently they used the forced linking to cause enough pain to torture and kill her – the Yellow Ajah who examined Tamra “might have detected that she had died of heart failure, perhaps induced by some tremendous stress or shock – but they would not have detected any use of the One Power in it.”

• So 30 to 50 or more senior sisters were killed over the next year – some of the oldest sisters but also some sisters who were expected to be Sitters or hold high positions or be candidates for the Amyrlin Seat in the next century.

• Few of the Searchers were put to the question: “the Black Ajah though it has all necessary information from Tamra; what she had told them was all there was to know... Besides putting a sister to the question is not easily done even inside the Tower. Outside, it is even more difficult.”

• Some other sisters were involved who were not Black Ajah or Red Ajah, but few as “these had to be sisters who were willing to violate Tower law and of course keep it secret.”

• “Sierin discovered the pogrom and had it confirmed in late 983 or early 984, when a betrayal of events was orchestrated by the Black Ajah.”

• By the time Sierin was ready to do something, she was too late, as she was assassinated by a group of Reds: “Supposedly she died of natural causes in 984 but in fact she died of a heart-attack brought on by a small groups of Reds (one of whom knew how to induce heart attack with the Power? Or was it poison?) who suspected that she knew and was not only going to put a halt to the pogrom but impose severe penances. There was no Black Ajah involvement in this; in fact, Alviarin was infuriated.”

• This was one reason was Marith Jaen was called back. These deaths also shock up the political culture of the Tower: “there were several assassinations, including of senior sisters, during the pogrom, to keep it hidden” beyond the BA killing the Searchers and “added to Ishamael's devastation of the Supreme Council of the Black Ajah, and later Marith Jaen forcing a number of high-ranking women into exile, including all three Sitters for the Red, severely reduced the pool of women from whom Marith Jaen's replacement could be chosen, setting the stage of deadlock and Siuan Sanche's eventual selection”.

“Since the War of the Hundred Years, most Amyrlins have been well over a hundred years of age when raised, many over two hundred. Historically, there have been Amyrlins raised as young as 50, so there was a precedent for younger, and the Hall was convinced that the Tower needed a younger Amyrlin because there was need for a long reign after so many short ones, both to provide stability and continuity and to demonstrate that stability and continuity to the nations.

At first, there was considerable-infighting and difficulty over who would be chosen. Not every sisters was considered equal to the task of course, and several possible candidates were disqualified because of their involvement in the pogrom was know. Among others, there was such division of support that it resulted in deadlock over two or three names. More maybe more than two or three. These women were all under 150 years of age.

Finally, two other names were brought up, Elaida and Siuan. Both were much younger than the others who had been considered (well under 50, let along 100) and neither had strong support, but the first point could be passed over and the second was in their favor, because they had no support, they had no real opposition. Also, there was a feeling that an Amyrlin that young would be under the Hall's thumb, a pleasant change from Marith. In times past the Hall had Amylins who were puppets, so it was not a new notion. Each was absolutely clean insofar as the pogrom went, and each was the sort of strong, capable, intelligent woman who, under other circumstances, might well have been considered for the stole in the normal course of events beginning in another 100 years or so, or a least for the Hall.

The final choice was made based on these fact:

1. Elaida has spent most of her life as an Aes Sedai in Andor; she concentrated so strongly on Andor that some thought she was identified too strongly with the country, and some that she plainly had no interest in the world outside Andor.

2. Siuan left the Tower shortly after achieving the shawl and traveled in the manner of Blue, acquiring a Warder, then returned to the Tower where she became involved in administration, at which she showed a very adept hand. Known only to the head of the Blue Ajah, she was at the time of her nomination heading the Blue Ajah's network of eyes-and-ears for a time (the youngest ever to do so). She demonstrated considerable and keen knowledge of the world. The points she made about how events in different lands should be handled always showed intelligent consideration.

In 988, Siuan Sanche was raised to the Amyrlin Seat. If not for the "male channeler pogrom" she certainly would not even have been considered for at least another 100 years.”

#Wheel of Time #notes #male channeler pogrom #siuan sanche #black ajah #aes sedai #Amyrlin #Alviarin Freidhen

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locke-writes · 5 years

Text

In Other Words

Author: locke-writes

Title: In Other Words

Prompt: Fly Me To The Moon - Frank Sinatra, “Would you give me the pleasure of this dance?” x Bucky Barnes. For: @becaamm ‘s Valentine’s Challenge

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,047

When Steve Rogers was pulled from the ice you were the first person Nick Fury called. It had been his idea to set Steve up in the hospital room that mirrored the 40's but he wanted it only to be used as a test. No one was certain as to how Steve would react when he woke up in the new millennium. Would it be with rage or with reluctant acceptance, no one could truly have predicted any outcome.

He had been frozen for many years, missed so much. Friends, family, anyone he'd ever known was perhaps dead or if they were still alive they were quite old. It was a lot for anyone to take in at once and he needed someone to guide him along, someone who could get him up to date with everything he had missed yet at the same time sympathize with him about everything he'd lost.

You weren't called in because you were an expert on time travel which would help with explaining the drastic time change, because you weren't an expert. You weren't called in because you had a degree in history, because that degree did not exist. You were called simply because you had an old soul. It had somewhat been inherited through your family, the love of old films and of old music. You lived in the present and loved the things of the past, Fury hoped that this would allow you to connect with Steve, provide some common ground, helping with the adjustment process.

Steve was a quick learner. Due to his being frozen it was like sleeping and waking up years in future, his brain hadn't deteriorated but was preserved. He knew events of his childhood like they happened yesterday but the gap came when he couldn't recall anything about the years after going under the ice. Pop culture stayed on the back burner for a while, history stood front and center. Updating Steve on the missing gaps was more important you thought then teaching him about the top grossing films of the 50's. You told him that he should make a list of things pop culture related to look into and gave him some starting points.

Your work with Steve led to a strong friendship. Coulson knew everything about Steve which could be intimidating, you knew everything about the time Steve grew up in which provided a sense of calm. Steve knew that you weren't actually alive then but he felt that you were with the way you could talk about the movies he'd go see as a kid or the music he'd listen to on the radio. Even the way you asked him questions about his favorite baseball players made him feel less like a man out of time.

All this was the number one reason why you were the first person called when Bucky had been found.

Bucky had been a more complex case. He had no memories of anything after the jump off the train. That was the last memory and the next was meeting Steve on the bridge. You knew when he had been brought in that there was going to be a lot of trauma to work through. And so that became your priority. Steve had been stuck in ice for years, that's all he'd been doing. History was the only real thing that mattered when it came to what to teach Steve. When it came to Bucky, history was important but making sure that healed from constant brainwashing was more important to you.

Working with Bucky took longer than it took with Steve. You'd called in favors from friends outside of SHIELD, forced them to sign confidentiality waivers and then briefed them on Bucky's condition. While Bucky wasn't exactly pleased by what you were requiring of him, he grew to understand and appreciate every bit of effort you put in to healing him all around. Reluctantly he began attending appointments regularly. Seeing doctors to determine what could be done about his arm, removing the mark of HYDRA control that was ever present and following him, and replacing it with another prosthetic. He'd started seeing a therapist, at first three times a week but then dropping to two when it was deemed that he had made tremendous progress.

Bucky was different when it came to teaching. Steve wanted to go alongside it with you, to be walked through and talked through with it. He'd missed so much he wanted to be guided as though he might misstep. Bucky wanted to be instructed, to be given something and left alone with it to think, to process at his own pace. He wanted to be handed books and given time to read. He wanted to understand technology for faster access of information and to be able to contact you with any possible questions that he had. It wasn't so much the knowledge and history portion of his life he needed help with. That part of his life was easy for him to pick up, he was an intelligent man, always had been you would learn, but he needed someone to be there to help decipher, to decode the given information.

It was the healing portion of his life that he needed greater help with. It was the healing portion of his life that led him to accept the help of your friends. And while it was easy for him to process the missing gaps of time in his memory by filling them in with what he'd gleamed from books it was harder to process the memories that were coming forth from his time with HYDRA.

That would take longer to heal from but he'd go about it in his own way with help and guidance. New understanding of mental health, of medicine, would greatly benefit him. He'd improve with time and he'd have more faith in himself. He'd have more ways of coping, of understanding what had happened to him and what he'd done.

The change in Bucky was gradual but it pleased you to watch.

He'd recently been approved to get a support dog. A German Shepard named Charlie that was specifically trained to deal with symptoms of PTSD. He was making incredible progress and you felt that now with his life coming together in terms of recovering from HYDRA control that it was time for you to step away. At least this is what you were planning on telling Steve.

You anticipated Steve's protest, you just weren't ready to admit the true reason for your stepping back to anyone but yourself. Yet Steve would understand, you knew and believed he'd have to understand to agree with you. Confessing to him what you'd only confessed to yourself was the only way you could think to go about it.

"It's been eleven months, he's in therapy, he's adjusting to his new arm and to having Charlie. I think he'll be fine on his own."

"He needs you" Steve protested.

You shook your head, "I don't know if that's true but either way I can't stay Steve. I have to go."

"Can't? Why 'can't"

You think Steve knew the answer in that moment. You were sure he knew what you were trying to say. You also knew that he wouldn't accept it if it wasn't proven true. Assumptions were fine but confirmations were great.

"I like him Steve. I like him a lot. Whether what I feel for him is love I don't know, I've never been in love. But I have feelings for him, strong feelings. Being around him. That's something that I want, I'll always want. I just can't be around him while helping him heal. I'm afraid my feelings will get in the way of any real progress that he still has left to make"

"I think I'm beginning to understand. I can't blame you for wanting to step away then if these feelings might get in the way. Don't worry about it, I can tell him. I'll figure something out with Sam. Going to the VA meetings has been helping me I'll see if Sam knows some people near Bucky's apartment"

"Thanks Steve. I owe you one. Really I do"

The next meeting you had with Bucky was a week after you had talked to Steve. You sat at the table where the two of you usually met waiting for him to show. Or rather hoping that Steve had talked to him and that he wouldn't show. Checking the clock you watched the hand tick the last few minutes away before hearing the chair beside you scooting across the floor. Turning you saw that Bucky was, as usual, on time. What was unusual was the lack of books he'd brought with him.

"Steve talked to me." He let the words slip out into the air.

"About what?" You questioned, hoping that what was spoken wasn't every word you had said.

Bucky smiled but you knew that he was nervous. You'd been around him long enough to be able to tell the signs as they appeared on his face.

"Do you want to go to dinner?"

"What?"

"Dinner? Unless that's not something people do for dates anymore. Not that this would be a date I mean. It could be though. If you wanted it to be."

"I take it that Steve really did tell you everything."

"He did. I would have liked to hear it from you but if I were in your shoes I probably would have done the same. If it's any consolation I like you too. And I too have no idea if what I feel for you is love."

"Dinner huh?" You questioned, a small smile on your face.

"If you're up for it."

You grabbed his hand and squeezed, "You know, I think I am up for it"

Some days you still look back on that first date. It felt like you'd only just met but at the same time it felt like you'd known one another forever. Whatever you had felt for one another only grew deeper during that first date. It continued to grow with every story Bucky told of his childhood and every antidote you had from your own.

It continued to grow as slowly the two of you found you had more in common than originally thought. It continued to grow after Bucky asked to take a walk in the park, reaching for your hand around the first lap. It grew when you sat on one of the park benches and laid your head on his shoulder. It grew and it grew and it grew.

That would be the first date but it wouldn't be your last. Not by a long shot.

You'd continue going on dates at least once a week, mainly because that was as much time as you could stand to be without seeing one another. Bucky agreed that once you started dating you shouldn't continue to be his teacher, it wasn't weird or anything it was just distracting when he found himself kissing you in the midst of discussing the changing American economy. He began attending VA meetings with Steve and Sam instead, finding it helpful to talk to other soldiers about what he'd been through.

Six months into your relationship came the first I love you.

One year into the relationship came renting an apartment together. It was halfway between the Avengers base and SHIELD headquarters. Dog friendly and close to public transportation if you needed to get farther out.

It was an adjustment living together but a good adjustment. Getting a place together felt more like the two of you having a home rather than living in the others home had Bucky moved to your apartment or you moved to Bucky's

One year in also marked the first time Bucky would go on a mission.

It had taken time before Bucky had begun working with the Avengers. Steve had asked him to join but Bucky refused, saying that he wasn't ready. No one wanted to push Bucky into anything he didn't think he was ready for and so they waited. Bucky worked on the information side of things, he still wanted to help in some way, but working in the field wasn't something he wanted to take up just yet.

It had taken one full year but finally Bucky felt like he would be ready to go out into the world. He feared many things in regard to that first mission, the main one was simply being recognized as the Winter Soldier. To everyone the Winter Soldier was a HYDRA agent, an image that was going to be hard to shake off. To those who had become close to him, Bucky was far from the man that had been under their control.

Indeed some still associate the name of Winter Soldier with the HYDRA agent but after that mission the perception began to change.

For you it had taken only a few weeks to see this change. You'd come to care for him in only a few weeks, you'd come to love him in only a few months. You'd come to date him for a year, and in one more year, Bucky would see for himself the change that you insisted was in him.

Two years since you had first been asked out by Bucky, two years and he was finally coming to see himself in the same way that you had seen him. You could thank yourself for that change but really you owed it all to one little girl and Halloween.

At the time Bucky had been reluctant to do any media appearances or even any public appearances. His reputation and image had changed somewhat when it came to others but the fear was there. Some days you believed it always would be. Somehow he had managed to be roped in to handing out candy on Halloween with the rest of the team, yourself included. While it was a small way of giving back you knew it would mean a lot to the children and the parents who couldn't afford tickets to meet and greets at conventions often one Avenger was invited to.

She was maybe eight years old and she stood there before him stunned. For Bucky it was the first time he'd seen anyone at all dress up like him, for her it was the first time she'd seen anyone like her as a hero.

"We decorated my arm just like yours! Sometimes people say I can't do things because of my arm but I tell them that the Winter Soldier has one arm too and he can do anything!" She raised her prosthetic for him to see.

Bucky was speechless for a few moments before telling her that she was right, that having one arm just meant sometimes she might have to work harder but she could do everything she wanted. Bucky took a few pictures, signed a few things, and then practically dumped the entire candy bowl into the little girls bucket.

One year of missions, two years of dating, and one little girl with her Winter Soldier arm were all that it took for Bucky to slowly begin to accept himself. Time was always needed to convince oneself that they were more than what they were brainwashed to be.

A few weeks.

A few months.

One year.

Two years.

Now.

Now here you were, a long way from when you had first met Bucky. Now here you were lying on the couch in your apartment waiting for him to come home. He'd texted you, something he was still getting the hang of, not to wait up. You never listened to him in this aspect, you were an agent, you knew what missions were like and the protocol of after. The mission with Steve had lasted a full week, far longer than had been anticipated. The debriefing at the base wouldn't take quite as long but it would still be a lengthy amount of time.

You yawned once more, fighting off sleep. Bucky was set to be home at any minute according to what you assumed based on your own debriefings. Focusing on the music you'd put on and the book you were currently reading wasn't helping.

The opening of the door and the feeling of a weight being added on top of you let you know that Bucky and Charlie were home. Charlie had to undergo some training but he'd been accompanying Bucky on mission since day one. You scratched behind the dogs ears.

"How was the mission?" You questioned after Bucky kissed you.

"I guess it could have gone better but no one on either side was killed which is the only thing that matters most"

You nodded, sitting up slowly and stretching.

Bucky turned his head to glance over at the record player, "I know that voice but, not the song."

"Oh yeah, you wouldn't. That's Sinatra's song Fly Me To The Moon. It didn't come out until after the train incident"

"Wait? Sinatra? As in Frank Sinatra? He had a career?"

"A long lasting one at that. Were you aware of him back then?"

"Not just aware of him, Steve and I saw him live once. Of course back then he was the new singer in a band that had just come to town but. Who knew he was going to be known for decades."

"I can't believe you never found out about his career, maybe Steve hasn't fully caught up on music after all. Remind me to make you a list of singers from back in the day that are still well known"

"I will. In the meantime, would you give me the pleasure of this dance?"

As the two of you swayed to the music you once again though back to all that Bucky had been through. Sometimes when you thought back you wished it had never happened to him, sometimes Bucky wished it too. But if that were the case then you would't be here dancing in your dimly lit apartment, your head on his shoulder.

You whispered that you loved him and Bucky whispered it back.

It was moments such as these that made Bucky a truly grateful man.

#locke writes #marvel #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fic #bucky barnes fic #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel oneshot #bucky barnes oneshot

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ionecoffman · 5 years

Text

83 Things That Blew Our Minds in 2018

Most “Himalayan” pink salt is from the Punjab area of Pakistan, not the actual Himalayas.

Hippos poop so much that sometimes all the fish die.

In addition to the supermassive black hole at its center, the Milky Way galaxy may be home to thousands of smaller black holes, invisible to even our finest scientific instruments.

There’s a parasitic fungus that doses cicadas with the hallucinogen found in shrooms before making their butts fall off.

The Arctic Ocean is now so warm that its floating sea ice can melt even during the coldest, darkest times of the year.

You can make thousands of dollars a week charging electric scooters.

When your eyes look right, your eardrums bulge to the left, and vice versa. And the eardrums move 10 milliseconds before the eyes do.

More than 2 million years ago, well before Homo sapiens evolved, one of our ancient-human relatives lived in what is now China.

Women who have had six to 10 sexual partners in their lives have the lowest odds of marital happiness, according to one study.

When Chicago’s Shedd Aquarium opened in 1930, the inland aquarium had to ship a million gallons of ocean water by train from Key West, Florida.

Twitter is the preferred social network for nudists to meet and connect online.

The population of older adults who misuse opioids is projected to double from 2004 to 2020.

The data economy didn’t begin with Google or Facebook in the 2000s, but with electronic information systems called a relational databases, first conceived of in 1969.

At their most voracious, wildfires can grow 100 feet high and consume a football field of forest every second.

People with autism are 10 times as likely to die by suicide as those in the general population.

The number of exclamation points now necessary to convey genuine enthusiasm online is, according to most internet users, three.

An “ice tsunami” killed a herd of musk oxen in February 2011 and kept their bodies perfectly entombed for seven years.

Ten thousand years ago, the people who lived in Europe had dark skin and blue eyes.

Facebook sent huge volumes of data about you and your friends to millions of apps from 2007 to 2014, and you have no way to control—or even know—how that information gets used.

A fishing cat is a water-loving cat species that lives in swamps, quacks like a duck, and dives from riverbanks to snag unsuspecting fish.

Astrology is experiencing a resurgence among Millennials, fueled by meme culture, stress, and a desire for subjectivity in an increasingly quantified world.

In the beginning of 2018, Amazon had 342 fulfillment centers, Prime hubs, and sortation centers in the United States, up from 18 in 2007.

Ivy League universities took nude photos of incoming freshman students for decades.

Some fundamentalist Christian groups think the spread of implantable technology is a key sign of the impending apocalypse.

The shopping mall put a cap on consumerism as much as it promoted it.

Bees stop buzzing during total solar eclipses.

The scientist who advised the production team of Interstellar made so much progress on his research in the process that it led him to publish multiple scientific papers.

High fibrinogen content can help a blood clot stay in a shape like putty—even if it gets violently coughed up.

Many butterflies in the nymphalid group can hear with their wings.

Some scientists think the reason you want to squeeze or nibble on a particularly cute baby is to snap your brain out of the euphoria that cuteness can summon, making you able to tend to the baby’s needs.

In the fourth quarter of last year, 25 percent of all new office space leased or built in the United States was taken by Amazon.

The first scooter was invented in 1990 by a guy who really wanted a bratwurst.

The streets of Boston carry an average of four gas leaks a mile.

In August, Oxford University’s Said Business School came up with a clever way for homeless people to receive cashless donations: Donors could scan the barcodes on homeless people’s lanyards to send them money.

Don’t worry if you forget all the facts you read in this article by tomorrow—that’s normal.

Many doctors have difficulty accessing the health records of patients treated previously at another facility; less than half of hospitals integrate electronic patient data from outside their system.

The original indigenous American dogs are completely gone, and their closest living relative isn’t even a dog—it’s a contagious global cancer.

Donald Trump can’t really send a message directly to your phone. In fact, the president’s ability to address the nation directly in a time of crisis, available since the 1960s, has never been used.

In 1995, a man in Germany realized his pet crayfish was cloning itself. Clones of that crayfish have now spread all over the world.

Four hundred years after Galileo discovered Jupiter’s largest moons, astronomers are still discovering some tiny ones.

The fastest someone has ever hiked all 2,189 miles of the Appalachian Trail is 41 days, seven hours, and 39 minutes. That averages out to roughly two marathons a day.

The lifespan of a meme has shrunk from several months in 2012 to just a few days in 2018.

Elon Musk’s $20 million SEC fine might make his ill-advised “funding secured” tweets the most expensive ever.

Thousands of horseshoe crabs are bled every year to create a miraculous medical product that keeps humans alive.

Single-celled microorganisms can survive in lab conditions that simulate the icy environment of Saturn’s moon Enceladus.

Only 10 major hurricanes have ever made landfall along the Southeast Atlantic coast, if you don’t count Florida.

Animals that live in cities are sometimes found to outperform their rural counterparts on intelligence tests.

Jupiter’s famous Great Red Spot is shrinking.

The paleontology consultant for Jurassic Park had a Tyrannosaurus rex eat a doppelgänger of another researcher with whom he had academic beef.

Some people think tennis balls are green while others think they’re yellow, and the disagreement has a lot to do with how our brains perceive color.

Conservatives tend to find life more meaningful than liberals do.

It’s easier for spacecraft to leave the solar system than to reach the sun. Thanks, physics.

Despite giving away hundreds of millions of dollars to charity, the Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen was worth $20 billion when he died, 48 percent more than when he signed the Giving Pledge in 2010 and promised to give away at least half his wealth.

China consumes 28 percent of the world’s meat—with the average resident eating 140 pounds a year.

Europa, a moon of Jupiter, may be covered in 50-foot-tall blades of ice.

You can reconstruct a pretty decent record of historical whaling intensity by measuring the stress hormones in the earwax of a few dozen whales.

Doing a good deed—or even imagining doing a good deed—can boost an athlete’s endurance by reinforcing his or her sense of agency in the world.

A science adviser on Stargate: Atlantis imagined a fictional astronomical phenomenon called a binary pulsar system for the show. Years later, such a system was found in real life.

The lowercase g in Google’s original logo is really, really weird.

Sixty percent of gun deaths in 2017 were suicides.

From 1984 to 2015, the area of forest in the American West that burned in wildfires was double what it would have been without climate change.

An astrologer came up with the phrase “super blue blood moon” to describe a celestial event that’s much less scary than it sounds.

The Cambridge Analytica scandal caused 42 percent of Facebook users to change their behavior on the platform, according to a survey conducted by The Atlantic. Ten percent of those people deleted or deactivated their accounts.

In the absence of federal regulation or good research about how skin-care products work, communities of citizen scientists have started compiling pretty decent resources.

The figure-eight trajectory flown by the Apollo moon missions was the very same path followed by fictional astronauts in a classic silent film from 1929, Woman in the Moon.

After one year in America, just 8 percent of immigrants are obese, but among those who have lived in the U.S. for 15 years, the obesity rate is 19 percent.

There’s a spider that makes milk.

Goats love to feast on weeds, and you can rent dozens of them to landscape your lawn.

Some people have a bony growth on the back of their heel, called a pump bump, that makes it hard to wear pumps and other kinds of dressy shoes.

Astronomers can still detect ripples in the Milky Way caused by a close encounter with another galaxy hundreds of millions of years ago.

China built its rocket-launch facilities deep inland to protect them during the Cold War, but decades later it actually makes launching rockets into space more dangerous.

The folks who make Piaggio scooters hope you might buy an R2D2-like cargo robot to haul a case of Aperol home from the market.

Shifting the pitch of an audio recording can make it sound like an entirely different word.

Kids under the age of 8 spend 65 percent of their online time on YouTube.

A reservoir of liquid water may lurk just a mile beneath the ice-covered surface of Mars’s south pole.

When people overdose in public bathrooms, many service workers become the unwitting first line of medical responders.

Some people think that quantum computing will bring about the end of free will.

Mouse urine is a major cause of asthma for poor kids in Baltimore.

The House of Representatives’ longest-serving member, Alaska’s Don Young, was first elected to his seat after his opponent died.

In September, Hurricane Florence dropped about 18 trillion gallons of rain over the Carolinas—enough water to completely refill the Chesapeake Bay.

Europe suffered its worst carbon dioxide shortage in decades (think of the beer and the crumpets!) because of a closed ammonia fertilizer plant. Yes, these two things are related.

Americans spent $240 billion on jewelry, watches, books, luggage, and communication equipment such as telephones in 2017, twice as much as they spent in 2002, even though the population grew just 13 percent during that time.

People get more colds in winter because chilly temperatures make it easier for microbes to reproduce inside your nose.

Article source here:The Atlantic

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tinybibmpreg · 5 years

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Day 43 // ft. Aetell Th’zei and Veveo Zh’zei, my ST ocs

#50 / Temper

“You can’t just lose your temper like this every time you get a bit upset!” Aetell hissed at them, ridges flared and darkened. He took a step back, but Veveo just got up in his space again. Their antennae were drawn back, eyes flashing with anger. A flush spread across their blue cheeks, going all the way up to the tips of their ears.

“Why not? You get furious all the time, why can’t I?”

Aetell opened his mouth to answer, but decided to stay silent. Veveo bristled as they waited for him to respond. After a drawn out moment, they snarled.

“You’ve been acting like a coward for almost two weeks now, keeping secrets from me.”

“I’m Cardassian. It’s in my nature, my love.”

“Not like this!” It seemed they’d moved on from their original argument. Aetell resisted the urge to cross his arms over his belly, to put his hands over the child nestled inside of him. Veveo didn’t know he was pregnant yet, and he had no intention of revealing it during a real argument.

If it had been a Cardassian argument, he would have waited for just the right moment to bring out the padd with the doctor’s examination record on it, to watch as Veveo scanned the screen until they got to where the scan had confirmed an embryo.

“Like what, dear?”

“Don’t get evasive, Aetell. You’ve been leaving the house without telling me where-”

“Oh, I’m not allowed to go out? I wasn’t aware that I was a prisoner here.”

“You never leave. You hate how cold it is outside.”

“Nothing a few extra layers and a heat pack won’t fix.”

“You’ve been making calls and encrypting them so I can’t see who they’re to or how long the transmission was.”

“Again, I’m allowed to use our computer to call who I wish.” Calls to the medical center, and one call to Cardassian space to get information for his doctor here to look at.

“If they’re innocuous, then why not tell me about them? I tell you where I go and who I call, since you’re so paranoid.”

“Darling, I’ve trusted you for a few years, now. I thought that was just another little show of affection between us, to remember the old days when I was still a suspicious Gul in exile.” They growled. “Again, I’m a Cardassian, my love. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t like keeping secrets.”

“Are you cheating on me?”

“What? No!” Did Veveo really think that? “Wait, aren’t you Andorrans polyamorous? The whole… five sexes thing.”

“Four, and yes, typically, but we haven’t ever discussed it, so I assumed we were following your culture’s monogamy!”

“Yes, I figured, but-”

“Ugh, you are, aren’t you? You’re just a lying snake like every other damn Cardassian I’ve met!”

“I may be a liar, but that doesn’t mean you have the right to insult me! It’s not my fault we’re raised to be secretive. At least I wasn’t raised to be a violent fool like you were! You Andorians are practically Klingon!”

“Don’t call me a Klingon!”

And though it wasn’t a good idea, as they were both angry people prone to violence, Aetell shoved them away and sneered, “All you both care about is fighting and worthless fantasies of honor.”

Veveo snarled and launched a punch at him. He grabbed their arm. Most of their real arguments were settled in fights, where they would both attack each other until they were worn out and ready to make up. They never struck to seriously injure, knowing each other’s limits. No matter how upset they were with each other, they were still in love.

But Veveo didn’t know his limits had changed, that his abdomen would be considered off limits.

Still, he struck back, landing a hit to their eye. Their antennae pressed back against their head.

Aetell missed the next punch to his face, that knocked him backwards and made his vision blur. A hard kick to his stomach had him sprawling backwards, and he hit their kitchen table.

On the ground, he gasped and curled up, wrapping his arms around his belly. Fear immediately seized him.

“Aetell?”

“Oh, chaos, the baby…”

“Baby?” Veveo echoed, horror in their voice. “Aetell, are you pregnant?”

They knelt down next to him, all their anger gone. They tried to help him sit up, but he hissed at them, scrambling away.

“Aetell, wait!”

Aetell got to his feet and darted to the bathroom. He shut himself in, locking the door behind him and putting in a code to override the usual unlock number. He sunk down in a corner, hugging his knees with one hand, the other clutching his belly.

“Idiot, you know Andorians fight to solve their problems,” he scolded himself. “And you just had to go along with it. Foolish, now the baby’s probably-”

Chaos, he’d been so excited when the doctor told him that the baby looked perfectly healthy and viable. Provided you take extra care of yourself and your diet, the doctor had cautioned. So much for that.

Veveo knocked hard on the door, calling their husband’s name. “Aetell! Please open up! I’m sorry! I never would have hit you if I’d known you were pregnant! Aetell!”

Damn, no wonder Aetell had been behaving so strangely. Veveo wondered when he had been planning to tell them, or if he had been going to at all. They’d had no idea that Cardassians could even reproduce with an Andorian. Their physiologies just seemed far too different.

All the outings and calls must have been medical. They couldn’t imagine a hybrid between their species being healthy at all. Maybe Aetell was being so secretive about it was because he didn’t want to get their hopes up about a child that might not survive.

And what they’d done had probably just ruined their unborn child’s chance at existence.

Furious with themselves, Veveo dug their nails into their arms, backing away from the door. Worrying wasn’t going to help his husband.

They heard a quiet, muffled sound. Pressing their ear against the door, they realized the sound was Aetell crying.

“Gods, I have to do something.”

They tried to think of what they could do. Aetell wasn’t going to be unlocking the door any time soon, so there was no way they could bring him to a medical center.

“Ah-” Maybe they had no idea what doctor Aetell had been seeing, but the nearby medical center would be bound to know, and could send the doctor to their house.

“So, uh, Captain Th’zei finally told you he was expecting?” Veveo didn’t understand why the doctor was calling Aetell ‘captain,’ but now wasn’t the time to figure out what lie their husband had told now.

“Uh… Not exactly.”

“Huh? Oh, right. You wouldn’t have hit him if you’d known. Right?”

“Yes, you’re right. Cardassians are usually pretty sturdy, so the abdomen has always been a pretty safe spot for both of us.”

“Well, physical fighting is off limits, now. You’ll have to settle things the Cardassian way.”

“Cardassians don’t settle things. They love arguing.”

“I’m certain you’ll figure something out. Where is Captain Th’zei? The sooner I examine him, the better.”

“He locked himself in the bathroom. That’s why I called you here, and didn’t just take him to the medical center.”

“I see.”

They stopped in front of the bathroom door. “He’s in here.” Veveo knocked on the door again. “Aetell! I called the medical center, and they sent your doctor here! Open the door so they can check on the baby!”

After a few seconds, there was a thump, and then the door slid open. The two of them walked in. Veveo could see Aetell seated in a corner, arm flopped on the ground like he’d just thrown something. A quick glance at the floor showed that a brush had been tossed at the door panel to open it.

The Cardassians unfolded himself, quickly swiping at his eyes with his sleeve. The doctor knelt down in front of him, opening their medical case. Veveo hovered nearby, worried. They wanted to provide comfort, but knew they’d just get in the way, and that Aetell probably didn’t want them near him.

Aetell gave them a desperate look, eyes filled with tears, and they disregarded that thought. They sat down by his side, taking his hand and letting him lean his head against their shoulder. With their free hand they stroked his hair.

“Although you took a hard hit, Th’zei, the baby didn’t receive any serious damage. They’re just a bit shaken up, but it’s nothing a few days of rest won’t cure. If you feel any sort of pain in your abdomen before your exam next week, call me immediately. Other than that… I can heal your bruises, if you’d like.”

“S-sure.” A few swipes of a dermal regenerator got rid of the bruises forming on his face and abdomen. After giving Veveo their contact information, the doctor left, leaving the two of them alone.

Aetell got up and left the bathroom, heading towards their replicator. Veveo followed him. “One hot rokassa juice.” A mug of the pungent drink appeared. He took a long sip from the steaming cup, and then sighed.

Veveo warped their arms around him from behind, putting their hands on his belly. Nuzzling the back of his neck, they asked, “So, dear… when were you planning on telling me?”

“During one of our Cardassian arguments, in bed. I was going to pull out a padd with my exam records, and watch you get to the part where I received my diagnosis- pregnant, not gravid, with a singular live young, completely healthy and viable.”

“We never liked to do things the way we planned.”

“I suppose. Well, my love, what do you think?”

“Hmm?”

“Of a child. Us having a child. The first Andorian-Cardassian hybrid, a baby ‘zei.”

“I’m happy. I can’t wait to see you grow heavy with our child and I think I’ll really love being a father. How about you?”

“I’m excited. Really, I thought my tears proved I didn’t want to lose the child!” Veveo huffed. “ Anyways, I’ve always wanted to have children after discarding of my first clutch. Not so excited about carry a live child instead of a few eggs, but I’ll manage. The doctor seems confident that I’ll be able to carry to term.”

“And the birth?”

“They suggested a c-section. Once they calculate my due date, they’ll set an appointment.”

Veveo gave him a slight squeeze. “Good. Now… You need to rest. I think you’ve had enough stress for the day. I want you off your feet for at least two more days, darling.”

“Ugh, two?”

“I thought you’d be more concerned about the baby’s health, considering how hard you cried when you thought they were hurt!”

“Alright, I’m going to bed, dear.”

#oblio's fics #mpreg #male pregnancy #aetell th'zei #veveo zh'zei #ST OCs

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