#before anyone asks yes. yes. that weird pattern on his t shirt? yes. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Note

hi i saw that your requests are open for the night for that list and i feel like 15&35 with spencer might be all i need to survive

anyways i’m on anon bc i’m scared you’ll hate this request but just know your writing is my favorite i would read your grocery lists at this point

excuse me i love this request please do not disparage yourself ever again <3 that’s the loveliest thing anybody has ever said to me and i will now think of you and this compliment whenever i write a grocery list

Ship: GN! (wears a bra, no mention of gender other than this) Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical case things, pining, mild thievery.

Word count: 2.4k

Prompts: #15 - "You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

#35 - “Well fuck, didn’t expect to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

A/N: This got so ungodly long I’m so sorry I don’t even know if I can call this a blurb at this point it’s a full fic but I loved this idea so much and it ran away from me.

PLEASE let me know what you think because I bashed this out in the span of an hour and I’m not sure if I love or hate it.

Rossi’s spitballing theories behind you. Your head lolls on the desk, feeling far too heavy to attempt lifting up at this time of night. The case was hard, you were sleeping in shifts, and somehow you, Rossi, and Reid had drawn the short straw. Your eyes are blearing a little too much to make out the exact time on the clock, it’s on the opposite side of the room and your eyes burn when you squint to look at the time; you’re fairly certain you’re somewhere on the wrong side of 3am.

23 hours awake.

Sighing, you push yourself up, looking around and only now noting that Spencer isn’t in the room. He must have made his exit while you were flicking through the files making notes, it was often easier to do that with your headphones in.

Thankfully, you'd set up shop in a conference room at the hotel, given the local PD was tiny and barely equipped to handle its own officers.

“What about the meat packing district?” Rossi muses.

It’s a rhetorical question but one you actually have an answer to, “I don’t think so. The busiest part of the city is between the meat packing district and where he’s dumping the bodies. Cops do random stop-and-searches sometimes, I don’t know if he’d risk it.”

“He could drive around.”

You frown, thinking, “He’d be crossing state lines. Hey, wait,” You stand up from your chair, walking to the board and starting drawing circles that illustrate your point, “Spencer thought there must be a pattern, right? But it died off here and we didn’t know about any more victims. If we expanded the search to outside of state lines it might connect here, here, and here,” You circle each here with a point, tapping the pen against the board triumphantly.

Rossi smiles, “Good thinking kid. I’ll call Garcia.”

Exhausted from your breakthrough, you flop back down into the chair. The clothes you’ve been wearing are icky, uncomfortable with sweat and flying and you’re strongly regretting your choice in underwear now too.

You hear the door swing open, looking up to see Spencer entering the room. Holding your go-bag. The one you’d left on the jet this morning. The jet that was a two hour drive from your current location.

“Where did you? When did you?” Your incoherency is related to both your tiredness, and his thoughtfulness.

He smiles, “It took some calling around but I found a cab driver willing to go and pick it up. It just got here.”

“Spencer I-,” You start, scrambling to your feet to accept the bag he’s offering to you, “Thank you. That’s so sweet of you. How much was the cab?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He says, handing it to you and heading over to the board, “What are these?”

Rossi - who was watching the exchange with some amusement - starts explaining the eureka moment you’d had. Spencer nods along, turning to smile at you when Rossi credits the thought to you. It’s something he does a lot, Rossi’s noticed. Not in a condescending way, Spencer knows more than anyone just how capable you are at your job. It’s as if he needs to channel his love for you somewhere, and chooses pride. It’s the easiest one to explain, after all, because who isn’t happy for their colleague making breakthroughs?

That’s how Spencer justifies it anyhow.

You leave the room, heading to the bathroom to change. You’re incredibly grateful to slip out of your dirty clothes and the bra that’s cutting into you, so much so that you decide to pop on a t-shirt under your blazer. The sports bra and t-shirt combo revitalises you more than you thought possible for this hour.

Digging through, you find an item that you didn’t pack. A pair of brown fluffy slippers. Attached to them, a note, ‘I thought the heels on your boots looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t want your feet to hurt. - Spencer.

He signed the note. Something about that, alongside the gift itself, sends a flush of warmth through you.

He gave you his slippers

So?

Is that something friends do?

Wracking your brain, you try to think up if he’d do this for anyone else. Hotch? The thought makes you laugh. Emily? Maybe, actually. If she didn’t make it so hard for others to take care of her. Penelope? Almost definitely.

Your heart sinks a little, and you distract yourself by fumbling to get your work boots off and the slippers on.

It doesn’t matter it isn’t romantic, it matters that he did it.

It matters to every other person you date

He sets an impossibly high bar

Thankfully, the late hour means that there aren’t many local PD still hanging around to see your interesting choice of shoe. You slip through to the conference room, where Spencer and Rossi are huddled over the phone talking to Garcia.

Spencer does a double-take. He knew the gift he’d given you, but he hadn’t expected to see you...wearing them? You look beautiful: hair mussed from fiddling with it, an old college t-shirt under your blazer, brown fluffy slippers on your feet. The mix of professional and homely attire does something to him that he can’t quite explain, and he has to clear his throat before making his next point to Garcia.

Did he just blush?

You try not to stare at him, try not to see if that’s a tinge of red creeping up under his turtleneck.

It is.

“Thanks Garcia,” Rossi clips, hanging up the phone, “I’m going to go and find some coffee. You two,” He points, looking knowingly between you, “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

No sooner has Rossi left the room, you both try speaking at once.

“You look-” He starts.

“Thank you so-” You start.

You both tinge with warmth.

“You go first,” He says, gnawing at his plump lower lip, finger turning oer the pen in his hand.

You laugh, a little breathless, “Well fuck, I wasn’t expecting to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

His eyebrows quirk, is that...hope?

No. Wishful thinking

It’s probably confusion, and you’re a little embarassed, so you quickly clarify, “I mean Spencer Reid this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m endebted to you forever, really.”

A look washes over him: disappointment? You can’t trust your eyes to see the clock, so you feel you can’t entrust them to analyse his micro-expressions right now either. Especially when you’re biased by personal desire.

“It’s no problem,” He says, voice cracking a little, “You look...” He trails off.

“Unprofessional?” You suggest, teasing.

He shakes his head, swallowing, “You look really nice.”

It’s your turn to swallow. You drop your gaze to the pen, feeling too flustered to continue looking your colleague in the eyes at this moment in time, “Thank you. Where did you get slippers at this time of night?”

He shifts, one hand settling over the wrist of the other and fingers nervously rubbing over the back of his hand, “They were uhm. They were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” It comes out pitchy, a squeak, “I’m sorry, that’s probably weird I just thought-”

“No, Spence,” You say, looking up at him and giving him a genuine smile, “No, it’s really sweet. I’m really lucky to have you.”

He gives his signature tiny tight-lipped smile, the one he gives when he’s feeling awkward or suppressing something he wants to say but can’t.

Please let it be the latter.

You relinquish him of the obligation of responding, instead standing to join him at the board, “You think you’ve got enough to make a geographical profile out of this?”

He nods, tapping the board with his pen, “Your idea about crossing interstate lines was really smart.”

“I have my moments.”

He wants to tell you that everything you have is a moment. You want to step closer, to cup his face in your hands, to press a kiss to the lips that you swear are pouting, begging to be kissed. You don’t.

Namely, because Rossi chooses this moment to re-enter the room, clutching three cups of coffee, “A little help here?”

From the way you spring apart, despite not even being that close, he wishes he’d taken a little longer. Damn kids and their inability to express their feelings for one another.

***

It’s 4:30am when the alarm on your phone goes off. With the work of the four of you - Garcia sporadically included when she had genius updates - you’ve managed to uncover a pattern that arches across states. You’d called Hotch, who’d commended the good work and advised that you should head to bed at 4:30. The others would get up then, and start to head out to the different potential crime scenes. Local PD was already on it.

You’d been told under no uncertain terms that you were to rest until at least 10am. Unless there was a call from Hotch. You prayed there wouldn’t be.

Rossi’s off the minute the alarm rings, bustling out the door with a “See you later kids.”

You wait behind while Spencer packs his things into his satchel. Or rather, unpacks his things from his satchel, frantically tearing it apart.

“What are you looking for?” You ask.

“My key card,” He murmurs, “I swear it was in my wallet.”

“You were rooming with Morgan, right? Want me to call him?”

“Yes please,” He says, continuing to unearth the contents of his bag onto the desk, with an increasing degree of agitation every second that goes by.

You dial Morgan’s number, and he answers after two rings, “Hey kid.”

You put the phone on loudspeaker.

“Hey. I’m with Spencer, we’re about to head up to our rooms for the night, are you still here? He can’t find his keycard.”

He lets out a breath of air through his teeth, “Sorry, I’m already on my way to one of the crime scenes. Local PD found a body over the state line. Nobody’s at the hotel but you guys and Rossi.”

Spencer outwardly sighs.

“No problem, we’ll figure something out.”

“Alright, good work kid, get some rest.”

The phone line clicks. Spencer’s brow is pinched with frustration, and your heart breaks for him. You’ve all been awake well over 24 hours, and he looks exhausted. He’s more eyebag than man at this point.

“Do you want me to go to the front desk?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “Reception doesn’t open until 6am. I’ll just wait here until then.”

He starts packing the belongings back into his bag, a resigned look on his face. And you have an idea.

“Actually,” You say, pulling the keycard out of your pocket and sliding it across the table to him, “You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

He picks the card up, squinting in confusion.

“Me and Rossi both got put in single rooms. I mean, it might not be the most comfortable thing in the world, both of us in a single bed, but it’s better than nothing right?”

He opens his mouth to object, and you shake your head.

“Spence you look like you’re about to drop unconscious on the floor and I don’t want to be responsible for yet another injureid.”

You’re so tired that the pun seems hilarious to you, and it does elicit a small laugh from him.

“Come on, it’s either share a bed with me, share a bed with Rossi, or try to sleep in one of these chairs. And I’ll be honest, I’d be kind of offended if you’d rather either of the other two options.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” He says, obviously warming up to the offer but not wanting to push his luck. You can hear the hesitancy in his voice.

“You can. But you won’t,” You tell him, settling your go-bag on your shoulder, “And might I remind you that all this time you’re spending objecting are minutes we could be spending sleeping.”

That seems to win him over. He tucks everything back into his bag, zipping it up, “After you.”

“You have the keycard,” You smile, “After you.”

***

The bed is a single bed. It prompts another round of ‘No really, I can sleep on the floor’ from Spencer, your enquiries about if it’s too much for his germaphobia or issues with touching, and his blushy embarassed reassurance that he doesn’t mind if it’s you.

He doesn’t mind if it’s you.

Not as if you’ll spend the next year mulling over those words or anything.

When you get out of the bathroom from changing, Spencer is tucked up in bed. Well, you say tucked up, but he’s practically lay right on the edge. How he’s actually physically still being supported by the mattress at this point must be his physics magic.

“I thought I said I didn’t want you getting injured,” You say, crossing the room to him.

He opens his eyes, “I didn’t want to-”

“It’s okay Spence,” You tell him, huddling down into bed.

There’s about enough room for you both to fit in, with an inch between you, so you pull gently at his arms, urging him closer.

“There’s enough room for us both without you going flying in the night,” You tell him.

He nods, obviously still a little nervous. It’s odd, lying face to face with him, illuminated only by lamplight. He looks soft. He always does, but there’s something intimate about this. You can feel his breath fan across your cheek, can feel how heat radiates off his arms.

“Do you want me to turn the lamp off?” He asks.

It’s not your staring that implores him to ask, because he’s been staring at you too. The both of you, trapped in a perfect bubble of a moment. Lamplight a spotlight, highlighting all the features of the person you love most.

“Sure,” You whisper, breath catching in your throat.

He flicks it off, settling back down.

His breath brushes against your face when he asks, “Do you want me to turn around?”

“Do you want to?”

He hesitates for a moment, voice even softer when he answers, “No.”

It’s dark. You can hardly make out his outline. Yet somehow, you both just know. Shifting, infitismally closer. Breaching the tiniest gap between you somehow feels like crossing the Grand Canyon. Your heart thumps in your chest, and you can feel it in your fingers, the fingers that trace cautiously along his jaw.

His mouth finally, finally, slotting against yours in the most gentle of kisses. A blink and you’d miss it.

And yet, in the same blink, your life changes forever.

When Rossi makes a speech at your wedding, he admits to being the thief of the missing keycard, and intentional orchestrator of the greatest love story he’s ever known. His words.

---

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painless-innit-colourful · 2 years

Text

The Tailor of the SMP (pt. 2)

The SMP has been irrevocably changed by the outcome of the L’Manberg election, and the seeds of doubt have been planted in the tailor’s mind. Thalia’s still apolitically neutral though. One hundred percent.

part one | ao3 link

“Y’know, bleeding on my carpet is a terrible way to say thank you for being your personal tailor.” “Sorry.” Was all he muttered, eyes closed and teeth gritted. Thalia’s shoulders slumped. She got up, went to her kitchen and got him a cup of tea, a towel and the first aid kit. Told him not to mention it. Sent him home an hour later with a soft smile and the promise not to tell anyone. Went to bed, but not before drawing up a quick pattern for a reinforced t-shirt that wouldn’t be too heavy to be comfortable. He still managed to bleed through it within the week, however, he said it was comfy enough, so she counted that as a win.

*****

Oh, how did she know that? Why, a certain Tommy Innit finally stopped by. “He-llo Thalia! My favourite woman!” “One of these days I will use you as a pincushion.” He pouted, sat on the window seat in her main business room - having already made himself at home - arms crossed over one and a half L’Manberg uniforms folded in semi-neat piles. “You’re so mean.” “You’re annoying.” She shot back, going to retrieve his and Wilbur’s clothes from the next room. Unlike Wilbur and his caution, Tommy had come inexplicably in the middle of the day. So she already knew he was about alright.

“Y’see, most people find me incredibly annoying at first, but-” “You grow on people like a dandelion, I know. Changing room’s second door on the left, hurry up and give me back my uniforms-” “Oi, our uniforms-” “Yes, yes, whatever, hurry up and get out of here. I’ve got Eret pencilled in for one.” His nose wrinkled. “Fuck that guy.” Thalia just laughed.

She asked briefly about the state of things after he’d reinstated himself in his characteristic red and white shirt, and learnt that Tommy and Tubbo had had a somewhat emotional reunion, before he abruptly back-pedalled to clarify that Tubbo had been the only one to get choked up (sure, Tommy). She alluded to Wilbur, to which Tommy gave the mother-of-all sighs and relayed that he seemed a little off, but was sure he’d get over the election-thing eventually so they could focus on their underground rebellion. And that was really all they had time for.

She caught his arm by the door, “Oh, take these as a freebie.” She handed him a wad of messily embroidered handkerchiefs: practice runs for expensive orders. He scrunched up his brow as he turned them over, “What the fuck am I gonna do with these?” She rolled her eyes, “Give them to Wilbur then, I don’t care. Just take ‘em and go.” He gave her one last suspicious squint and left.

Suffice to say, life from then on was weird. Business came in short bursts, leaving her with ages with nothing to do. Quackity required a new shirt after he accidentally split the side seams in what Thalia can only assume was fulfilling his job description as the “fattest ass in the cabinet”. (His words, not hers.) Tubbo placed an order out-of-the-blue for three navy-blue ‘demon hunting uniforms’, which, strange, but she certainly ran them up. Fundy came by once early-ish into the Schlatt administration, asking what her rates were on full-size flags. She shooed him off her property with a handy nearby leaf blower. She was still mad about the L’Manberg flag.

So in her newfound spare time, she found herself planning to attend a party. The Manberg Festival, on October 16th. She wouldn’t usually attend an event like that (especially when it literally had political affiliations on the poster), but she decided to put aside her introverted ways for an evening and go hang out in Manberg. Quackity playfully told her it was going to be a ‘blast’ when he stopped by for an emergency jacket alteration the day before, and she rolled her eyes in response.

Sixteen hours later, flattened against the inside of a game stall on the Manberg high street, she knew he couldn't have known the irony of what he said. Even so, it was glaringly obvious. The Manberg Festival was a blast, and she was almost definitely about to have an influx of customers again. That is if they weren’t all burgundy stains on the cobbled streets. She saw a half-shining, all-shouting blur rocket past the grandstand, fighting off an entire crowd of Manbergians with one sword swung in a continued helicopter motion, yelling the name of his best friend, and she anticipated one more important visit. If they all survived the night.

When he came, it was a quiet morning visit. The boy was wrapped in bandages, hunched small inside a hoodie at least a size too big, and holding the hand of a friend tightly. Tommy nodded tersely to her when she met them at the door, then he excused himself to watch the perimeter, antsy and on high alert, but not for himself. Tubbo was quieter than usual - which is saying something - as he asked for his usual clothes back. She wasn’t even going to bother with the remains of his cabinet outfit. The jacket was nowhere to be seen, the trousers were soaked with equal amounts of blood and alcohol, and the shirt was more soot than polyester. Gently, she asked what had happened to the suit jacket, to which Tubbo’s gaze suddenly found the floor very interesting. “We, uh- We may have- have burnt it.” To his surprise, Thalia just laughed. No, this was going straight in the bin - she didn’t think it would be worth the time looking for salvageable parts, and what would she be preserving? A claret-stained nightmare. The costume of the public execution of a child. She sent them on their way with Tubbo back in his old attire, thanking some nameless deity that he’s chosen a button-up way back when, and wondering if she should just finish the job and burn the rest of the suit. Apparently the hoodie was Tommy’s though. She thought about making him a spare. She had even more free time then.

The next time she saw Tommy, she gave it to him. His demeanour had changed - his jaw was set, brow permanently furrowed. He thanked her for the hoodie, paid, and then politely informed her not to leave her house next Monday. She knew that look even before he said it: war was once more returning to their little corner of the world. She had to catch herself before she said ‘about time.’

Atop her perch in the sky, she watched. From far away, it was somewhat of a peaceful experience. Morbid to think that, she felt. Men were literally dying, but their final shouts didn’t reach her roost on the side of her own chimney stack. No, she sat serenely enjoying an extraordinary evening with a mug of tea, watching a nation burn and erupt in the distance, and wondering where she went so wrong to be watching a war involving people she cared about like a spectator at the coliseum. How foolish, to not take sides. To not stand for anything, falling for no one and thinking herself superior to it all. When she asked others why they chose their grey or green hills to die on, why was she surprised when they scorned her? When Wilbur insulted her for being, as he designated her, a centrist, why did she feel righteous in that stance? When given the choice between doing what was good, and what was easy, Thalia chose easy. She considered all of the times she had Tubbo tentatively explaining the ins and outs of the Manberg cabinet to her, and she thought of being in the second row to his execution. Guilt. Guilty of playing the game without putting anything to chance. Guilty of losing it all anyway.

As she stood to swear to change to the dying rays of daylight, an explosion like none she’d ever felt rocked the land beneath the buildings, and from the corner of her eye, a dust cloud of debris and dirt rose over L’Manberg. Crashes resonated from within her house, and her uneven footing on the roof tiles did her no favours. She slipped, sliding painfully down the slant of her roof and being dumped unceremoniously in her garden, and when she shot up in bed, the only thing marking her death point was the shattered mug of tea watering the plants.

When she considered ‘rebirth from a kind of death’, she didn’t mean literally, but earth-shattering revelations aside, her guilt and newly-discovered impetus drove her onto the streets, looking for the wounded and helpless, offering her services where she could. She met Niki in the rubble, so exhausted and weary she could barely speak of what happened. She didn’t make her say it again. She had already heard a million times who lived and who died. She sewed up a long gash on Niki’s forearm and thanked whichever higher power was listening that her skills were transferable. When the moon was high in the sky and the injured all moved on, she sat alone in the rubble, mending a L’Manberg flag with scraps of cloth left over from the makeshift bandages of the medic station. Someone approached behind her, offering a scrap of yellow material, “I thought you didn’t involve yourself in our affairs.” Tubbo’s voice was slightly hoarse, but it had this newfound drive to it, like he was a man on a mission. “Yeah, well,” She said without looking up. “Something about devils and idle hands.”

He laughed quietly, sitting down on a rock just inside her field of vision. He was in his civilian wear, but the scuzzy outlines of tight pieces of armour were marked into his clothes, like he was still wearing protective gear. Bandages peeked around his sleeves and neckline. He cleared his throat, he wants something made.

“I know it’s been a- a hectic night, but I’d like to put in an order. Of a sort.” She didn’t bother replying, just waited in the still night air. “Wilbur said-” She saw the slight shiver run down his spine too. “He said he’d left a suit for me once. And- And I’m going to need it.” “So it’s true, then.” Similarly to her, he didn’t dignify the obvious with a response. “You’re going to be the next president.” “I- I actually already am.” She glanced up from her needlework, “Tubbo, you’re sixteen.” He met her eyes, and at that moment, she saw someone far too old for the body he was inhabiting. “I know.” A quiet admission that still rang out in the crater. “I know. But someone has to do it. Tommy’s still got unfinished business with the discs and Wilbur-” He frowned. “Well, he’s the whole reason this place has gone to shit as of late.” He opened his arms, gesturing at the destruction all around, the buildings half-crumbled into the basin, the sharp edges of plumbing and electricity mains jutting out into nothing, the lake seeping into a muddy pond. “Someone has to pull this place back together.” He shrugged. “Why not?” “You’re sixteen.”

And so it was that she would be back in her sewing room, adjusting the suit of a man to make it fit a boy, her hands shaking so badly at times she had to put down her work and go outside for fresh air. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. And there weren’t shit she could do about it.

It was hard to admit that she lost someone. Others lost a brother, a son, a best friend. President, co-worker, treasured companion. Previously, she would have been afraid to associate with them.

And then, there was the version of him that others struggled to reconcile their friend with: the smooth-talking man with the explosives. The charismatic leader that made a deal with a smiling devil, or something. The demo man. The recently-made anarchist. The terrorist.

One day, there was a light knock at the door.

Suitably, it was rhythmic, soft, tentative almost, in an “I’ll come back later if- if now is a bad time-” kind of way, as Thalia nearly broke another teacup opening the door. Tubbo had been there that morning, getting a last adjustment to his new suit. Inexplicably, there was another (former) government official outside her front porch. His skin was a light grey, his hair shedding soot when he tilted his head, and his once-piercing eyes were dulled. He wore a rather ratty looking yellow jumper and black jeans with rips (from wear and tear) at the knees, and Thalia froze completely when he appeared on her doorstep. She’d heard the stories and rumours: President Soot’s graceless demise, how he gave his nation to Tubbo before blowing it to smithereens, how he asked his own father to eliminate him after hitting the kill button. She’d tossed and turned at night, feeling a kind of misplaced guilt for L’Manberg - ‘if only I’d cared’ or ‘if I’d done more’ - and imagining the conversation she’d have with him if ever he darkened her door again.

But all of her speeches died in her throat. Her scripts burned. There is no malice, or cunning, or destruction in those eyes. And if she’s being honest, she knew what his response would be.

“I thought you didn’t care.”

He isn’t accusing her, but he might as well be. He speaks so softly, sips daintily from his tea, taps his foot to an imaginary rhythm. He is everything and nothing like the man she remembers coming to her home in the night for a new coat.

“I- I did. I just-” She grimaced. “Didn’t have the wherewithal to- to join in.” “And you do now?” She looked away. Her back ached again, like it had been almost every day since she died in the shockwave of the explosion. Set off by the man on her other sofa. Funny how things are. “Something like that.”

“You should come to New L’Manberg some time.” He said, filling a small stretch of awkward silence. “See what we��ve built there.” “I should,” She echoed in a small voice. They sat in an oppressive silence for a full minute, counted out by the rhythmic ticking of the clock in the hallway, before they both spoke at the same time, “Look-”

Their eyes met, mirrored apologies building in the space between them. “I know it seems hypocritical for me to invite you to see what we’ve been building in L’Manberg when I- well, Alivebur was the one to tear it down,” Ghostbur spoke first, lines creasing his forehead, as he rocked his feet back and forth with nervous energy and gripped his teacup hard. “I don’t have all my memories from being alive, especially the bad ones, but- well, I can’t not know what he did. I- I’m really sorry, for L’Manberg. I would never have done that. I guess I wasn’t… me.” Thalia watched him carefully, noting the way his eyes didn’t lift from the floor, unable to meet hers and own up for what he’d done, through no malicious intent or misplaced self-confidence. Unlike herself.

“I think I’m the last person you need to apologise to, Wil- Ghostbur.” Imperceptibly, he nodded his agreement, ashamed in every fibre of his being without understanding why. He tilted his head further forward and a handful of ash previously contained in his hair fell away like a mist descending on her carpet. They frowned at it in tandem, the serious atmosphere of the room blown away on a light autumnal breeze, already tinged with the early chill of a harsh winter approaching.

“S-Sorry, a-about that.” He fought to suppress the smile, but one glance at her and they matched. “Actually, you’ve reminded me of something. Wait here a second.” She stood quickly from the sofa and went into her storeroom, darted between mannequins and chairs equally draped in half-finished garments, and retrieved what she had been meaning to give to Ghostbur since she’d caught the edge of a rumour that Soot had left more than a tattered legacy behind.

Thalia’d been busy. She’d been busy, and yet not busy enough to keep her hands from idling. So she’d found new things to occupy them.

It was made of soft, grey wool, the colour patchy in parts, like it was spun from a mountain cascading stones. She hadn’t really worked with wool before, so she hoped it would fit okay. There was a label sewn haphazardly to the inside, betraying noviciality and hands that rarely stopped shaking anymore. It read: ‘from your friend, Thalia’ in bleeding marker against a muted brown scrap of thin leather.

As she shuffled back into her living room, the muscles in her back twinged again as she caught sight of him again, her body pulling her consciousness by the wrist and forcing her to empathise with the ghost whose yellow jumper was stained with shimmering blood that flickered in and out of reality. He rose from her sofa, floating almost, hands meeting hers in the middle and receiving her gift. “For me?” His voice rose like ashes from a fire, floating and turning and getting lost on the way to his next destination before falling back on track again. “Thalia, I- How did you… know?” She smiled plainly, “A man must always be his best dressed, right? It’s yours. Please, the measurements are very particular. If I got them right.”

Fulfilling her next request before she could query it, he pulled the beanie over his head. It fit snugly but comfortably, letting a few stray curls poke out at the front. He tilted his head back and forth, balancing an invisible crown, watching the surrounding air for falling soot. When none came, he shook his head, stopped, laughed, and did it again. Thalia watched, grinning, her hands clasped before her as her midriff felt like it could rip itself open and just watching him made her dizzy and-

Since being ‘blown to kingdom come’ and then also thoroughly withered, L’Manberg had developed a rather particular smell. It may have been part-lingering sulfur, but it wasn’t all bad. Florists provided portable meadows, and bakers gave small portions of their wares to sweetening the air, but it was the lake - or rather lagoon - beneath L’Manberg, rising and falling with the tides that scented the air with the aroma of seaweed and a small sprinkling of salt. Fresh smells. Good smells.

“You smell like L’Manberg.” “I- What?” Her nose was pressed against his neck as she hung limply where he caught her, just a hint of role reversal. “You smell like L’Manberg,” She repeated slowly, speech slightly slurred. “Like flowers blooming in a crater.”

He was cold with clammy skin, unsteady as the flame of a candle, flickering violently in a strong breeze. They stood as best as they could, one incorporeal at times and the other dizzy and sick with reopened injuries and a fresh mental fog. “You’re not bleeding as well, are you?” “...What?” “Like I did, when you caught me.” He swung his head, flipping the hair out of his eyes and trying to look in hers, unfocused as they were. “I remember, I remember that. When I- Alivebur was here, and he was bleeding, and you caught him - just like this! I remember that, when you did that for me- him, because it was a good memory. Because I knew you… you cared-”

With her mind addled as it was, it took a few moments for her to register the words, and a few more for their meaning to come across. “Look, Ghostbur,” She cleared her throat several times, rehearsed speeches and rants and apologies all taking their turn on the end of her tongue. “That was- That was the last time I ever saw you. Him. And I need to say something to him for a moment.” He nodded slowly, digesting. “Well, he’s in here somewhere. Supposedly.” He tried for a smile.

“Wil, that night, here, was the last time we ever spoke. I saw you at the Festival, I watched you lead an army into war a month after that, and the next thing I knew, you were already gone. If it were really you here, I think this conversation would pan out a- a little differently.” She sighed, sagging a little more in Ghostbur’s arms. “I don’t know what made you lay however many stacks of TNT below Manberg. I don’t know why you set it off, or why you, well, committed suicide after. I don’t know if I can truly say I knew you. Nor can I say I know myself anymore.” She closed her eyes. “But I wish you were still here. I still have your uniform; y’know how you told me to keep it nice for you? I made you a hat, I- I changed. I’d be on your side now. I’d fight for your cause. I realised where I was wrong, and I can’t believe you died because you owe me an ‘I told you so’.” It was like she had run out of words. There was more she wanted to say: she could spend an eternity rambling and never make up for her apathy. “The you that I knew was right. I stood for nothing. I died for nothing. And I’m sorry… And for the record, I would’ve voted Pog2020. So I’m sorry for that too… One percent and everything…”

Silence, true silence settled over them, lingering peacefully for maybe a minute: Thalia drifting in and out of true consciousness didn’t exactly help with her time-keeping, but the ticking of the clock in the hall marked the passing of enough time to be vaguely disconcerting. Ghostbur’s embrace was warmer than she recalled it being, and she tipped her head back to look at his face, gauge his reaction, and she froze. “To be clear, I never thought you were lazy.” When he spoke, his pitchy tone remained, but his eyes were swimming with warmth too, and there was that characteristic glint in them, accompanied with a smile. “Oh, and I told you so.” It was him.

Warm arms encircled her properly for the first time since she’d leapt from a ship to the sands of a brand new world, far from a place called childhood. She wasn’t a hugger, but she made exceptions for close friends. “You’re bleeding through your jumper.” “I know.” She made no attempt to move.

Her name was Thalia, and she was completely apolitical and didn’t care for anyone on the server at all. And that, was a lie.

---

Taglist: @nixavia @zrenia @spaceheatertrash @waitblues @kinda-late-but-here-though @icyisweird @boomybelovd @rozugold @thatfriendlyanon - If you’d like to be added to or taken off the taglist, let me know :)

#AYYYE THERE WE GO #hopefully more cohesive than the last time i did a multi-parter XD #anyway if you managed to read both parts at different times... nice. i love it when the website works yanno #anyway thalia my beloved i have been writing this fic since january i'm glad it's finally done #this ain't the last of her! :) also send questions if you have any? i dunno. she's on the brain lately #dream smp #crim writes #tommyinnit #tubbo #ghostbur #wilbur soot #reduced cast in the second half huh #anyway! rbs and comments are as always so appreciated!#i'm never gonna stop writing (i'd go crazy) but kind words are what makes me keep coming back to post these things #even when tumblr formatting drives me uP THE NEAREST WALL #okay i'm done rambling enjoy your evenings all #oh god i have to add the links to the other post lmao

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donutloverxo · 4 years

Text

Pinky promise

*gif by @marvelheroes*

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

Note - Tis part of my donut series which is linked in masterlist. You can just read it for the smut tho, smut usually doesn’t have anything to do with plot🥴🥴

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Summary - Steve yells at you but promises not do it again. But then he had to teach you a lesson too...

Warnings - 18+ONLY, smut(m/f), some assplay, spanking, daddy kink, brat tamer Steve, angst, references to stalking, more to come in future chapters.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 4.8k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

He traced the bridge of your nose with his finger, ever so lightly, his touch barely there so as not to wake you from your peaceful slumber. He smiled at the way you cutely scrunched up your nose when he withdrew his finger.

With your hand across his chest, both your legs over his thighs - you were pretty much sleeping on top of him - clinging to him like a koala. Not that he’d complain. He couldn’t be happier.

Most nights he can barely sleep for two hours, if that wasn’t interrupted by his consistent nightmares - but with you everything felt so serene. He hoped to make you feel the same way.

“No more kale,” you murmured in your sleep.

He frowned, what the hell were you dreaming about?

After your first time together he had given you a nice bath, washed your hair. His bathtub was too small to fit both of you so he simply helped wash you up and then help you into his t-shirt. He never knew he would find his clothes so sexy on you. He wondered how big the baths in the tower’s apartments were. Surely they could fit the both of you. Maybe then he could bathe with you and more...

That was maybe the only flaw you had. How insatiable you manage to make him without even trying. Lathering up your soft skin had done a number on him, especially when his hand drifted between your legs, cleaning you up thoroughly. You were pretty out of it to know what was going on.

Even now, he had woken up with an achingly hard erection. What with snuggling your plump ass that was persistent on grinding against his crotch, for some reason. He decided to ignore it - maybe take care of it later in the shower.

He needed to make you some breakfast first and get you replenished and strong. Then if you’re up for it, maybe he can have his fun.

After struggling to get out of your snuggly trap without waking you he made his way over to the kitchen. Beating up the batter for waffles, some fresh fruit, juice and a PB and J. He put all of it on a tray, wishing he had a rose or two to make it easy on the eyes, he made his way over to you.

Caressing your face, placing a few loud kisses on your cheek as you whined, “Wake up, darling,” he whispered against your skin.

“It’s Saturday,” you pushed him away, turning on your side and away from him.

“I know but I have to go to work. I’d like to spend some time with you, wouldn’t you? It’s your first time sleeping over I want us to have breakfast together,” he nuzzled the crook of your neck.

You kicked your blanket away, squinting your eyes to adjust to the bright light, “Okay,” you slurred, “but you should know I’m not a morning person.”

“Noted,” he smiled, hugging your back closer to him.

Your eyes snapped open when you felt it against your butt cheeks. There was no mistaking it, “Steve, are you... hard?” you asked in a low voice. You wiggled your butt so you could be sure - yup, that’s his monster cock awake again, alright.

He hummed, “It’s just what you do to me, princess.” He snaked a hand up, fondling your soft flesh of your breast with it. Squeezing your hard bud through his t-shirt.

“Does... it hurt? I know it’s a weird question but I’m just curious...” you trailed off.

“Sometimes it’s just annoying and sometimes it’s painful. Like right now,” he husked in your ear, holding onto your hip and rutting up in your ass. His palm making it’s way between your legs, tracing patterns on your inner thigh.

“Oh. Then maybe you should do something about it. I don’t want you be in pain,” you squirmed in his hold. You could still feel the ache of last night’s activities in your core but the idea of going at it again was just as appealing to you.

“Yeah? You want it?” he let his fingers dip in your folds, “You’re fucking drenched, princess,” he groaned.

You gasped. It’s not everyday you hear Captain America spouting such profanities.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to do a thing,” he promised, pushing you on your stomach he took his shirt off of you. Shoving a pillow under your hips to give him access and let you relax at the same time. “You were so good last night, doll. Can you be good now? For me?”

You nodded your head, your cheek pressed to the soft pillow. You didn’t really know what ‘being good' entailed. You did know that if he wanted to slap you and have you thank him for it, you’d probably do it. Really you would do anything to please him.

You jerked as you felt the tip of his tongue nudge at your entrance. Dipping inside your heat - so warm and velvety - and then pulling out to lick a stripe up your slit.

“You’ve got a nice ass, sweetheart, fits in my hand perfectly,” he praised, squeezing your ass and then kneeling behind you.

He touched the column of your spin, pressing on the middle of your back to arch you up to him, your wide hips and butt presented so perfectly to him. It was like a dream come true. There was no way he could resist.

Pulling your cheeks apart, he admired your holes, before prodding at your second hole and tracing it with his tongue.

You squealed at that. “St - Steve, what are you doing?” You looked at him over your shoulder.

“You don’t like it, doll?” he asked, licking at it again, “If you don’t just say so. I’ll stop.” he stated. Which wasn’t a lie, he probably should’ve asked you before doing it in the first place.

“Well, it’s not that I don’t like it... it’s just so dirty but I think in a good way,” you shove your face back in your pillow.

He chuckled, maybe that was why he loved the idea of it so much as well. It was so debauched - something he only got to share with you. To the world he maybe pure and pious but he won’t hesitate to eat his girl’s ass any chance he gets.

“I know, doll. It’s like you stir up something dark in me,” he gritted, pressing his thumb inside your tight pluckered hole, “I knew the moment I met you, you were nothing but trouble,” He groaned when he felt you clenched around his thumb.

You jerked forward at the unusual fullness. Gasping incredulously, “Wh - I’m trouble?! You’re the one with your finger buried up my ass. But sure! I’m the one corrupting America’s son,” you yelped when you he delivered a harsh slap on your butt. “Jesus! Warn a girl!” you heaved as you felt heat rush to your cheeks. Being so exposed to him and letting him have his way with you - most of it liking it WAY more than you should have should make you feel at least a modicum of shame but it didn’t.

He shushed you, “Didn’t you promise to be good?”

“I promised no such thing!”

He shook his head, there was no point in making you behave, not that he truly wanted you to be good anyway. Pulling his thumb out of your ass, he slathered some lube on your slippery folds, massaging it on your bundle of nerves.

You whimpered into the pillow, “Do we even need it anymore?”

“Yes, we do,” he held your hips in a firm grip, lining himself up to your cunt, “You’re too small to take me without it,” he smirked as he pushed into your warm heat.

You would never understand how much he loved the fact that you were smaller than him. He could fight off anyone who dared to threaten you or hurt you, he had to bend a significant amount to kiss you, he could easily haul you up, manhandle you - do whatever he wants to you. Not that he’d ever take advantage of his strength - but these were some privileges he would never have without the serum.

He bend over you, his chest to your back, pulling you closer to him by circling a hand around your soft stomach. Driving his hips back before harshly snapping them forward. He nuzzled the crook of your neck, “How does that feel? Hm?” He set a fast pace, thrusting into you with much more vigor than the previous night. Something about doing it from behind made it all the more primal and needy.

“So good,” you choked. Your fingers digging into his forearms as you felt his tip hit your spongy spot, making your vision blurry and mind hazy.

He knelt above you again, so he could look at your ass. Jiggling from the force of his thrusts. His hand ached to spank it again - but he knew he shouldn’t. Not before talking to you about it. He compromised on fondling it with his palm as he felt you clench around his length.

“You close, doll?”

“Yeah,” you murmured as you felt the coil in your belly snap, your whole body going taut as pleasure took over you.

Your hips collapsed back on the bed - not really having enough energy to hold yourself up anymore.

He pulled out just when he was about to come, jerking his cock with his hand till spurts of his spend landed on your ass and back.

He used the shirt you were wearing to clean to you up, setting the tray of breakfast before you and giving your forehead a quick kiss.

You munched on a slice of apple, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your giggles. causing him to raise his brow at you. “It’s just I’m completely naked -having breakfast in bed. Never imagined I’d get so lucky.” you gushed, making heart eyes at him.

“I’m the lucky one,” he smiled, booping your nose, “I have to get going though.”

“I thought you wanted to have breakfast together?” you pouted, hoping that would make him stay as he rummaged through his closet, setting his clothes out. Giving you a nice view of his bubble butt. It’s thicker than mine.

He looked at you over his shoulder, “I already had my breakfast, doll,” he winked.

Your jaw dropped as you closed your mouth and then opened it again, gaping like a goddamn fish as you tried to think of something to say.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, making his way to the shower, “I’m running late since you distracted me.”

“Sure I distracted you.” you rolled your eyes.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve greeted him, putting a hand over his shoulder to get his attention.

“What the fuck?” he helped, spilling his coffee all over his keyboard. He turned around in his chair, giving Steve a steely glare, “What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. Sure ambushing Tony in his lab may not be his greatest idea but - “I need a favor.”

“It’s always about what people need from me,” the billionaire shook his head despondently, trying to clean his soiled workspace with some napkins, “Came to ask for sex tips, have you?”

“What?!” Steve blurted out, his eyes widening.

Did Natasha go around telling everyone about their private conversation? If so he’ll never hear the end of it. He was on the receiving end of almost all of Tony’s jabs. Why was he coming to him for such an important favor anyway...

“Too bad for you, I don’t give away my trade secrets.” He shrugged.

Steve rubbed a hand over his face, taking a deep breathe, he can do this, it’s for his girl.

“Fine, I’ll tell you some of them. A woman has eight erogenous zones - ”

Right, this was just Tony being Tony. Nat would never to that to him.

“Jesus, Tony! I don’t need sex advice from you!” He was well acquainted with your erogenous zones now, even though you’ve only been together a couple of times. He could make you come without even touching you.

“Really?” Tony raised a brow, eyeing him up and down, “It’s weird that you have a life outside of the Avengers in the first place.”

“Right. You probably think I go to sleep in the cap suit,” Steve retorted, his lips pressed in a flat line. To most people there was no distinction between cap and him.

“Actually, I did,” he grinned, “What did you want anyway?”

“Well... I need you to promise to keep this between us,” Even if he and Tony had somewhat of a ‘complicated’ friendship, there was no one he could trust with this,

He nodded, “Cross my heart,” doing so over his chest.

“Is there anyway you can hack into a CCTV camera?” Steve asked, giving him your address. There was only one outside of your building, it wasn't much but it was all he had to work with.

“Should be easy enough,” he said, hitting the keys of his keyboard, “Looks like their footage expires in a month or so.”

“That’s okay, I only need to see this past week,” he pulled up a chair, taking a seat beside him.

“Are we stalking Miss unicorn? Is she cheating on you?!” he gasped. “If you get cheated on then the rest of us don’t have any hope.”

“No... she thinks she’s being stalked. And I believe her.”

“She’s awfully lucky to have an Avenger for a boyfriend then.... are you sure you want to go through over two hundred hours of it? Just get an intern to do it,” he pressed play, fast forwarding it over four times.

“I can’t trust anyone else with this. Besides I’ll know what to look for,” The serum also gifted him keen eyes. Even if the the footage was blurry and pixelated he could figure out a lot by just looking at body language and such. “You don’t have to watch it with me.”

“Oh no, don’t worry, I have nothing else to do,” he drawled, “JARVIS, cancel all my appointments. We’re stalking Steve’s girlfriend. I’ll go get the popcorn.”

It was not easy to spend the entire weekend sitting in a chair watching basically nothing with Tony, but Steve managed to just tune him out. He seemed to get excited, to poke fun, every time Steve dropped you off at your doorstep, always leaving with a thorough goodbye kiss.

Think of the children!

All this PDA is not good for you squeaky clean image, Cap. You’ve been corrupted by the Gen Z and the millennials.

“Wait, stop right there,” Steve asked upon spotting an electrician, inconspicuous at first sight...

“It’s just the cable guy.”

“He’s carrying a gun, see,” he pointed at the screen.

Tony scrunched up his nose, “No, he’s not. You can barely see his face.”

“Is there a way to get a clearer image of his face?”

“No. This isn’t a movie. You can always interrogate her neighbors,” he suggested.

“I don’t know about that. Let’s keep that as a plan B.”

They didn’t really find anything else of use. He cracked his neck, ready to home to you after a long day. Grateful that he had someone to go home to. He thanked Tony while putting on his jacket.

“Don’t thank me. Just remember that you owe me forever.”

“That’s fair I guess...” he dusted off the wrinkles in his pants.

“So does she like live with you now? Haven’t you only been dating for two months? I’ve never even had a relationship that long.”

“Well, I’m not you.” And he didn’t appreciate other people snooping in his private life. He had no idea what he would do if his relationship went public. He decided not to worry about that for now. He needed to work on his first least.

Three weeks later

You huffed, your ankle twisting against the ground. You straightened your feet back up and willed yourself to keep walking. Just two more blocks. You can do this.

Today was not your day. Your boss had sent you all the way to Connecticut to do a delivery. Even though it wasn’t your job to do deliveries. Which meant you had to take the subway - which was over an hour late. You couldn’t even call Steve to let him know that you would be late because your phone just chose to stop working.

And then your heel broke... which meant you were dragging yourself back home all the way from the station.

You were ready to just go to sleep and maybe never wake up.

“Finally,” you grumbled, slamming the door behind you and ridding your feet of the uncomfortable strappy knock offs. “Oh, Steve, you wouldn’t believe the day I had,” you plumped down on the couch, laying back against the cushions.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” You opened your eyes to see him standing tall in front of you. His hands folded over his chest and his jaw clenched as he glared at you.

“Huh?”

“It’s almost midnight,” he shook his head. “Did it occur to you to maybe call me and let me know that you were going to be late?”

“I - my phone just stopped working - ”

“Let me guess - you forgot to charge it again,” Your name rolled off his tongue, which meant something was wrong - he never said your name, he had over a million nicknames for you. “That’s not charming. That’s just careless and irresponsible of you. You’re an adult, start acting like it.”

“Fuck you.” The words escaped your mouth before you could ponder about it. Tears burning your eyes, but you held them back, you had never been afraid of being vulnerable in front of him. Right now, however, you needed to stand your ground.

A look of hurt crossed his face before it hardened again. “You can never take any sort of criticism - ”

“It just stopped working!” you yelled, interrupting him. “It’s old and yeah I don’t use it properly because I’m irresponsible, so it stopped. I didn’t even know what time it was.”

“I was worried about you,” his voice cracked. He rubbed his eyes. “I made so many calls. I called your mother - who didn’t even know who I was.” He gave you a sardonic chuckle. He was discussing marriage plans with you and you hadn’t even told your family about him.

“You know, Steve, if you want a responsible and mature girlfriend, you should go and get one. I’ll make it easier for you,” you stood up, bumping into him and heading towards the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he grabbed at your forearm, pulling you back.

“I’m leaving! I’ll go stay at my mothers,” you choked on a sob, your arms feebly trying to fight him off, “I don’t need you or your help! I’m sure plenty of mature women would love to be with Captain America.”

“Stop it! I didn’t mean it like that and you know it,” Your tears pulled at his heart strings. Making him regret his words.

“If you didn’t mean it then you shouldn’t have said it,” you spit. Finally gathering enough courage to look into his eyes, “I guess I know what you think of me now.” Your bottom lip quivering as you tried to push at his chest. But he was built like a rock, refusing to budge even a bit.

He grabbed your wrists, “I’m sorry, doll. I should’ve used better words. But you can’t just pack up and leave whenever we have a fight.”

You scoffed, “Yes I can! Just watch me!”

“Yes, you can,” he sighed, pulling your head into his chest, “but you shouldn’t. Don’t you think your words hurt me too?” he asked. Nuzzling his nose in your hair, swaying you both side to side but you were still pushing at his chest and whimpering. “Just let me hold you for a while. I thought something bad had happened to you.”

Which seemed to quell your rage for the time being as you went limp in his arms. He hadn’t told you about the suspicious cable guy or how maybe you were being stalked. Either by SHIELD, someone out for revenge on him or an unwanted suitor of yours. It didn’t really matter. He didn’t want to worry you, maybe he should tell you to get you to take things more seriously.

“You really had me worried there,” he mumbled, “Do you forgive me?” Placing a kiss to your hair.

You shook your head against his chest. “Nuh-uh.”

“What do I have to do to earn your forgiveness?” he wanted to know.

You rubbed your tears and snot on his shirt - as a petty revenge, looking up at him with your swollen eyes and nose, “I read somewhere that the best way to ask for forgiveness is changed behavior.”

“That is true,” he nodded.

“Since you’ve never been that mean before - I can let it go for now. Only if you promise not to do it again.”

“Of course, sweet - ”

“I mean it. No yelling, cursing or meanness of any sort. I don’t care that you’re Captain America. You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I promise.”

“You have to pink promise to seal it. A pink promise has higher esteem than a normal one,” you stated, holding your pinky up to him.

“Can I seal it with a kiss?” he suggested but then bit his tongue at the deadly glare you have him. “Okay then, I pinky promise,” he linked his pinky with yours, looking into your eyes, “I’ll never ever yell at you or curse at you. Or be mean ever again - the last thing I want to be is like my father.”

“What? You never told me that your dad - ”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” he shook his head, “Can I kiss you? Please?” he gave you his best puppy eyes.

“Nope,” you pushed him away. You can’t be too easy. He had to pay. “I’m tired, I had a long day. Im'a just go to bed,” you gave an exaggerated yawn.

You headed off to your shared bedroom again, but then before you knew it - in the blink of an eye - he hauled you over his knee as he sat back on the couch.

“Not so fast,” he tutted, stroking your clothed buttcheek. “Let’s not forget you were at fault too. You had me worried sick. I was imagining the worst things about you and I couldn’t get a hold of you. I’m never letting you out my sight again.”

You rubbed your forehead, dizzy from being spun so fast. Looking at him over your shoulder, “But what you did... or said was deliberate.”

“Maybe so. But you could've called me and let me know. I would’ve come to you and picked you up.” He pinched your butt as you yelped.

“I don’t remember your number!” You heaved. What was he up to? Why were you over his lap?

He shook his head. “Even you have to agree that is irresponsible. You’re supposed to be good at numbers, baby. Aren’t you an accountant? Think you can count to seven? You need to be taught a lesson.” He pulled the helm of your dress, exposing your Powerpuff girls panties to him.

The smug asshole. “Excuse me! Who are you to teach me a lesson?”

He snapped the elastic band against your hip, “These are cute.”

Your cheeks heated up and you tried to tell him off, flustered and exhausted you just give up. Pushing your cheek against the cushion. “Whatever,” you grumble.

“You’re such a brat you know that? You love making me worry when all want to do is protect you and keep you safe,” he pulled your panties down till they were tangled in your ankles, warming you up by stroking your naked cheeks. “I’m getting you a new phone. And you don’t need to work for someone who doesn’t appreciate you - I can take care of now,” He had always had a bad feeling about your eccentric boss, sending you away on such a short notice - you absolutely did not deserve to be treated like that. “How many do you think you deserve?”

Steve never associated spanking with sexiness or as anything erotic. He was supposed to be a gentleman. He shouldn’t have such dirty kinks.

Sure he likes a nice plump ass. Your ass to be more specific. He loved seeing it in tight yoga pants, snug jeans. Hell he even liked seeing it in dresses that don’t necessarily flaunt it. When he is forced to use his imagination.

He also liked seeing it in your cute pastel cotton panties. With stars or heart patterns. Or better yet, no panties.

Just a few days ago, he saw your ass perched up in your cute pink panties, as you were scrolling on your phone, leaning on the kitchen counter, he couldn’t help it, his hand moved before he could even register what was happening. He slapped your ass, the smack echoing in the room, your ass jiggling, and your small yelp, made him harder than hed ever been.

You looked so adorable when you tried to act like you didn’t like it. Though the musky scent of your weeping sex clearly said otherwise. He bent you over the counter and fucked you then and there to prove you wrong.

He never spanked you again. He didn’t get a chance to, until now...

You were pretty out of it, sleep taking over your tired eyes, maybe that’s why it just slipped out - “Whatever you want, daddy.”

“What?” he instantly stopped his ministrations, staring at the back of your head.

“What?” you asked. Your eyes widening , “Oh dear god, did I say that out loud?” You shut your eyes so tightly, refusing to ever look at him again.

You had only ever read about it in erotica or used the term in jest. Maybe part of you did feel that way about Steve but there was absolutely no way you’d ever admit it. You joked with your friends about how Steve was a ‘big daddy’ when you had told them you were dating Captain America. Because of his height and build and nurturing nature. They dubbed him ‘America’s daddy’.

“Yes, you did,” you could feel him smirking through the smugness dripping in his voice, “It’s ok, doll. I don’t get why you’re embarrassed, I can be your daddy. I think you deserve seven? For every hour you were late. You promised to be home by five pm.”

You didn’t say a single word, not really trusting yourself to speak at all. He pinched your butt again, demanding an answer. “Yes! Fine! Seven is okay I guess.”

“You are to count them and then thank me for them. Understood?”

“Just get on with it,” you would feel yourself getting wetter with anticipation, you squirmed in his hold, rubbing your thighs together to create some friction.

“Keep up that attitude and I’ll spank you till you can’t see straight. And now, just because of that it’s ten.” He slipped his hand between your legs. Smearing your arousal around your lips. You probably didn’t know about his enhanced sense of smell, letting him know whenever you were aroused. “What do you want the safe word to be? When you say it - we stop.”

“How about buttercream?” you suggested.

“Buttercream it is. Now get ready. Remember to count and - ”

“And thank you, yes I remember,” you rolled your eyes. Wondering if he’s ever going to actually go through with it or if he was all talk.

You yelped as soon as he landing the first blow, the burning sting and the loud smack that following causing your cheeks to heat up.

“One. Thank you...” you tried to catch your breathe, “daddy.”

His cock stirred at your new petname for him. He could sink into you right then and there but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

He raised his hand again, delivering blow after blow to you, alternating between both your cheeks. Sneaking one small to your upper thigh as well - just because he could. He held back his strength, of course. He didn’t really want to hurt you, just teach you a lesson.

“Nine, holy fuck!” your nails dug into your palms as you clenched your fists tightly. Needing something to hold onto. “Th-thank you, daddy!” You added. Cursing yourself for almost forgetting.

He let his fingers wander down to your cunt again, dipping a finger in your heat, “You seemed to be enjoying this. Have you learned your lesson?”

You furiously nodded your head, “Yes! I’ll always tell you when I’m going to be late. I mean... as soon as I get a new phone.”

He snorted, “Don’t worry about that, princess,” Soothing a hand over your swollen skin, “Just one more. Think you can take it?” you nod again.

You whimpered and then moaned as he delivered the last slap to your right cheek. “Te - n,” you hiccupped, “Thank you...”

“You were so good, sweetheart,” he cooed. Setting you down on the couch, hovering over your back and peppering kisses to your ass, “but I’m far from done with you.”

You hummed as you heard the tell-tale sign of him unzipping his pants. “Gonna be a long night,” you giggled into the pillow.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated! ❤❤

#the donut series #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x reader

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starcrossedkaiju · 3 years

Text

Kingslayer AU: Chapter 12

I am so sorry for the radio silence! That shouldn’t happen anymore (key word: shouldn’t)

Not much in this chapter but it needs to happen so :b

Dying torchlight, the smell of blood, and ash permeated the linen closet Scott had been locked in.

A chest was pushed up against the door, but he didn’t care about getting out. He pressed his temple further into the old wallpaper of the abandoned cellar that Dogwarts has been built on. It’s faded floral pattern was stained with blood and tears where he’d curled up against the wall.

He had been stripped of his armor and tools. Even his pager was taken from his belt. Ripped jeans and an old T-shirt, clothes he didn’t mind getting ruined in battle, and his bloody bandages were all he was left with.

Scott sunk his eyes to his knees and squeezed them shut as he held down a sob. Too many images played behind his eyelids underneath the swimming colors. The wound across his forehead had coagulated now and matted his bangs to his skin.

His left arm hung limp at his side. A nasty bruise had appeared down his shoulder, along with a sore bump, and he couldn’t move it.

A feeling of disgust grew in his chest as he contemplated what had happened again. Staring at the wall, he wondered if he deserved this. To be locked in a room and kept away from the world, so he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Shuffling outside the door brought Scott out of his daze. Dim light came under the door as the chest was pushed away, and the doorknob made a metallic click when it was gently pulled open. Someone peeked inside, barely holding the entrance open.

The light contrast between the rooms made it hard to see who it was.

Then they quickly slipped inside. Shutting the door as fast as they opened it. It was Tango.

He was almost too tall to fit comfortably in the closet, so he knelt down instead.

“I told them I wanted to talk to you, they finally let me in here,” Tango said softly. He didn’t look angry, but Scott still flinched when he put a hand on his knee.

Scott shook in place, words were caught in his throat.

Ringing silence filled the air as he stared at his shoes.

“Are you okay?” Tango asked, and it surprised Scott.

He looked up quickly, “Me?” he questioned softly. Unsure if he heard the other correctly.

“Yeah, that was a nasty tumble,” Tango clarified. He gestured sympathetically to Scott’s shoulder, “pretty sure it’s broken,” he observed out loud.

Scott grimaced, “I’m pretty sure my ass is broken,” he said humorlessly.

Tango hummed, “I wouldn’t rule it out,” he motioned for Scott to sit against the same wall as him.

The other winced and shifted himself to his knees, then slid heavily to Tango’s side. Knees to their chests in the small space. Tango took Scott’s right hand, from the arm that wasn’t broken, and gave it a meaningful squeeze.

“Where’s Impulse?” Scott asked. He hadn’t seen him since Bdubs body slammed him during the battle.

“He’s been around. Anywhere but here; I went back to the cow farm hours after they brought you here and he was still there,” Tango explained.

Tango had told Impulse that his absence was suspicious, but Impulse didn’t care about what Dogwarts thought of him at the moment.

“I think he feels responsible for what happened, some way, he blames himself for you,” he sighed.

“It’s not true,” Scott shook his head.

“To him, yes, it is. He tried so hard to bring you around, I think he felt like it was going so well,” Tango replied, “it killed him inside to see this happen while he wasn’t there to help you.”

“He’s done so much for me already. This is my cross to bear not his,” Scott argued.

“I did this. I failed him. I failed everyone,” he said.

Tango leaned forwards and brought the other into a hug, carefully avoiding his broken shoulder.

Scott leaned on Tango’s shoulder, apprehension and shame kept his good arm from returning the embrace.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, I’m going to make sure you don’t get hurt,” Tango said.

Scott did not reply. He caught himself before he could say he deserved whatever was coming to him. There was no point in self loathing.

“Do you think they’ll actually give me a trial?” He asked instead.

“No,” Tango said. His face conveyed that he may have wanted to say more, but he decided against it.

“That’s reassuring,” Scott mumbled.

Tango held his gaze with an unreadable expression. The corners of his mouth were turned down, and his eyebrows were slightly worried.

Scott pulled away slowly and looked down.

“You should probably go before they get suspicious. Thanks for visiting me,” he said with no conviction.

“I’ll spend the night if you want… I feel weird just leaving you alone in here,” Tango replied.

Scott shook his head, he pushed himself away and back into the wall.

“No. You still have a bed in this place, you should make use of it,” he said.

#kingslayer au #3rd life #3rdlife smp #3rdlife #scott smajor #tangotek #uhhhh #cas types #that’s it!

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baby-bearie · 4 years

Text

this is love

jj maybank x reader

tags:@sunflowermotel @howdyherron @drew-starkey @yelyahryan @obxwriterfan @avashroom @rewindlr @raekenliar @imsad05 @ceruleanjj @dolanfivsosxox @maybe-maybanks @katie-avery @maraseavey @outerbanqs @heyhargrove

a/n: this is heavily inspired by the short story “The Way We Love Here” by Dhonielle Clayton from the book Meet-Cute (my favorite book ever you should read it). and definitely an odd choice for a jj fic but i kind of liked it! you know, believe in magic every once in a while!

warnings: mention of violence, a few swear words

You study the wavy line across your wrist. It’s still so bare. You’re not old enough for the thin tattoo to have developed, grown a pattern, vines, anything.

This is the way soulmates find each other.

Everybody is born with a tattoo across their wrist. A simplistic line. A variety of them. Dotted lines, wavy lines, straight lines, diagonals. All of your possible soulmates have the same type of design. And as you grow older, as you get closer to learning how to love someone and love yourself, the lines develop. Some grow a mixture of flowers and vines, some develop a stripey pattern or more lines. But once it’s done developing, the tattoo matches the one on the wrist of your one true love.

You’re young, too young for the tattoo to be developing. It’s okay.

You can wait.

You can wait, knowing he’s out there. He’s out there and one day he’ll be yours and you’ll be his.

Until then, you have no knowledge of love. To love, to be loved, it’s all so foreign. You’re sure you won’t even know love when it does finally hit you.

That is, to love someone new.

You love your family. You love your dog. You love the feel of the wind in your hair on evening bike rides. You love sitting on the steps of your house and watching the people pass by. And you love surfing.

More than anything, you love surfing.

You’ve paddled out onto the water a while ago. Your hair is dripping with saltwater, and you now straddle your board, legs dipped into the blue.

It’s so peaceful out here. The sun is setting now, dipping under the water, casting an array of pinks and oranges over the waves.

At times like this you wish he would hurry up and find you.

You wonder if he’s not ready and that’s why your line hasn’t developed.

You think you are.

“Hey!” You hear a deep voice yell out. You look up from your hand and see a boy on a board paddling towards you.

“Hey.” You call back. You don’t know him. He paddles closer and closer, and you see that his hair is blonde, and just as soaked as yours. Locks fall onto his forehead.

“I was watching you surf earlier. You’re, uh, you’re pretty good,” he smiles. It’s a pretty smile.

“Thanks. You too.” That’s a lie. You haven’t seen him surf.

“I’m JJ, by the way.”

“Y/n.”

“That’s a nice name.” “Is that all you came to ask me about?”

You don’t mean to snap at him, but your evening surf is usually to decompress. Take in the sunset and just think for a while. “I came to ask why you stopped.” “To watch the sunset.” “You weren’t really, though. You were watching your board, more like.”

Well, he’s a no bullshit type of guy, isn’t he.

You hold up your wrist. There’s no point in keeping anything from this stranger. You probably won’t see him again.

He smiles and holds up his wrist in return. So he is from here, if he has the tattoo.

As you lean forward to look at it, you’re surprised to see the same wavy line on your wrist.

This boy could possibly be your soulmate. He’s cute, you’ll give him that. He’s also annoying. You’ll give him that, too.

He uses his hand to push his hair back.

“I don’t meet many people with my mark.” You nod at his wrist.

“Yeah, me neither. Only like, 4 or 5.”

It’s quiet and you appreciate it, savor it before he starts talking again.

“You know, they say if you touch someone with the same mark, you can see your possible futures together.”

Oh, so he’s crazy too.

“Yeah, they also say that you could die if you do that.” He shrugs.

“Fuck it. What have you got to lose?” “This. Sunsets. My family. The water.”

“I think you got a hell of a lot more to gain.” He argues.

“Yeah? Like what?” You scoff.

“Me,” he smiles, a wide one. “No, I don’t know what your plan is here, but we are not doing this.” “Come on, it could be fun. How often do you get this chance?”

“How often do I get the chance to die? You’re right, not often. I like to avoid it when I do.” “You won’t die. I promise! I’m pretty sure they just made that up to scare little kids.” “Did anyone ever tell you you’re like really good at reassuring people?” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm. He laughs. “Oh, yeah, all the time.”

It’s silent for another second.

JJ’s proposition settles in and you realize you really don’t have anything to lose.

You’ve grown sick of waiting.

“I’ll do it.”

JJ’s eyes widen almost cartoonishly and his eyebrows jump a mile up.

“Really?”

You bite your lip. There’s no backing out from here.

“Yes.”

“Ok, ok, let’s do this.” JJ slips off his board and begins to tread water to stay floating. You follow suit, slipping into the water.

“3, 2, 1,” he counts before you dunk underwater.

Once the waves have enveloped you completely, you open your eyes.

JJ is looking at you, and you nearly laugh at how much he looks like a pufferfish with his cheeks puffed out. His hair is sticking up all around his head and yours floats around you.

He raises his eyebrows at you, and you can almost hear the “sure?” he would ask you if he could talk.

You nod and he puts his hand up.

You close your eyes for a second, remembering how the water feels around you, trying to sear it into your memory before you open your eyes. You press your hand up against JJ’s.

The lines connect.

Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, the deep, dark water around you begins to swirl. It begins to create a whirlpool around the two of you, and you turn to JJ with panicked eyes.

He seems completely calm, but you can’t breathe and you’re now sure that this is how you die.

What a way to die.

JJ grabs your other hand with his free one, squeezing it. It grounds you. The water is faster now, nearly cyclonic.

You close your eyes as JJ closes his, and you can’t remember if the water is spinning or you are.

Suddenly, you can no longer hear the rush of the water anymore. You open your eyes, and find you’re on dry land. You gasp for breath.

You swivel your eyes around, trying to spot something that will clue you into where you are.

JJ is nowhere in sight.

It’s cold out, and you’re wearing a huge sweater. It’s definitely not yours. You’re in the middle of the street. By the look of it, you’re still in the Cut.

A door swings open in a house near you. You turn to look at it and a familiar face runs out. “Y/n!” JJ yells.

“JJ!” You’re overcome with a sense of familiarity and comfort at the sight of him. He’s no longer in his swim trunks either. He wears a t-shirt and cargo shorts. You don’t know how you know, but you know the t-shirt smells like JJ. Saltwater, pine trees and freshly cut grass.

He rushes to meet you in the middle of the street.

His hands cup your cheeks, and his eyes are filled with concern.

It feels safe.

“Are you ok? Nothing hurts?” His eyes wash over you, and by the look in them you know he feels the weird sense of comfort too.

“I’m okay. Are you?”

JJ nods.

“Where the hell are we?” You look around you.

“My house.” He turns back and waves towards the small house.

“What are we doing here?”

“I don’t know. Is that my sweater?” JJ points to the comfy clothes you have on.

You’re about to tell him you don’t know when you realize you do, and it is his. You nod.

“What future is this?”

JJ’s face lights up as if he’s been reminded of who he is. “We’re in love.” “We’re in love?” You ask him apprehensively, but suddenly the memories rush back to you too.

Nights together on a couch you seem to know. Wearing his sweater everytime he tries to wear it out anywhere. His lips on your shoulder. A loud bonfire and an arm around your waist.

“We’re in love.” You’re dumbfounded this has worked.

“Can I try something, then?” He’s looking at your lips and you nod. If you’re going to have your first kiss, this is as good a time as any.

He could be your soulmate, right? He leans in and meets your lips and you can’t begin to explain the warmth that spreads over you.

It feels like you’ve felt it a million times before. But it still feels beautiful.

He pulls away and both of you are breathless.

“Woah,” he whispers, and you begin to notice that the water is rushing around your ears again.

You close your eyes and you’re underwater again. The water is still swirling and you don’t dare open your eyes.

You hold your breath, the pressure building on your chest until the rushing suddenly stops.

You open your eyes and you’re standing outside a huge marble stone house front. There’s a small statue next to you and you know for sure you’re not in the Cut anymore.

You look at yourself in a window. You’re wearing a peach silk dress. The straps are thin, and your hair is immaculately curled. You look outside and recognize the function. Midsummers. You’ve never been a part of Midsummers.

You know this means change for you and JJ. You’re not sure what kind of change. You’re not sure who you are.

A man in a suit approaches you and offers you a glass of champagne. You accept it and before he can leave, you stop the man.

“Hey, what am I doing here?”

He laughs a little as if you’ve made a joke.

“It is your house, Mrs. Thornton.”

Mrs. Thornton?

You look down at your hand and a dazzling diamond ring graces your ring finger.

Mrs. Thornton.

The memories flood back into your head. Topper Thornton. Overseas vacations. Private planes. Designer dresses, personal servants, golfing.

“There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Another unfamiliar man approaches you, and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Topper.” The name comes to you.

“The party’s started, what’re you doing in here?”

“Just needed a couple seconds.”

He nods reluctantly but leaves you in the room, returning outside.

“Mrs. Thornton? Really? There’s a future where you pick this Kook over me?” You turn and JJ is standing there, smirking at you.

“Oh, thank god, I was so scared I wouldn’t find you.” You sigh in relief.

“Look at you, all dolled up.” He sticks his hands in his pockets.

You take in his neatly brushed hair, and the suit. It’s the same suit the man who offered you champagne wore.

“You’re not here for the party are you?” You give JJ a sad look. “No, actually, I think I’m here catering?” he laughs.

“JJ,” you begin. He shakes his head.

“No, it’s okay, I wouldn’t want to be a part of this life if I could.”

“Right,” you nod, but somewhere deep down you have the feeling that if you could, you would give him this life in a heartbeat.

Your eyebrows furrow. You still love JJ in this future.

“You feel it too?”

You nod.

“I guess it just,” he pauses to shrug, “didn’t work out in this timeline.”

You look out the window again and meet your husband's eyes. They’re angry and dark. Topper begins moving towards you.

A feeling of terror and anxiety settles in your stomach and you’ve felt it before. He’s going to come hurt JJ. You grab his hand.

“JJ, we gotta go, now.”

“I don’t know how to control this!” He cries out.

Topper has reached you now, and lands one blow on JJ before the water starts rushing again.

You’ve been dunked underwater again and you wait patiently before the rushing stops.

You open your eyes and this time you’re lying on a couch. There’s a huge weight on your chest and you quickly recognize the familiar blond head of hair. You run a hand through it and JJ picks up his head from your chest to look at you.

He smiles at you, a soft one. You stretch. It feels like you’ve laid here for your whole life.

“So, where are we now?” You ask. “This one I don’t know.”

JJ picks up your hand and places his against it.

There’s a simple gold band around his ring finger and yours.

“We got married.” He smiles at you. It’s pure bliss.

“We’re married and we got our own house?” You laugh.

“Hey, I didn’t think I could do it either,” he mimics your expression.

JJ tucks his head into your chest again. It feels right. As if it’s muscle memory, you run your hand up and down his back, and he sighs against your skin.

“You’re a big baby, you know that?”

“Shhh, let me enjoy this. I don’t know if I get to keep it.” His voice is muffled against you.

“JJ,” you look at the picture frame on the small table next to the couch.

He hums.

“JJ, we have a kid.”

His head shoots up, nearly knocking your chin.

He gives you a confused look, then you watch the realization pool in his eyes.

“John?”

“Yeah, John.”

A new set of memories floods your mind. The small wedding, your son, all the times JJ has laid on this couch with you.

You feel safe. You feel happy. This is love.

“If it’s worth anything,” you whisper, “this is my favorite one so far.”

“It’s not. Would you kiss me again if I asked?” “I think I have to in this future.”

JJ laughs and leans up to kiss you. He pulls away with his eyes still closed.

“I feel like I’ve done that a thousand times, and I still never get used to it. What if we just stayed here?”

“I don’t think it’s up to us.” You pat JJ’s back as the water rushes around you again.

You close your eyes and the rushing goes away. You’re still underwater.

You kick upwards and break the surface.

JJ whoops loudly near you.

He swims towards you, but is careful not to touch you again.

“We did it,” his smile is uncontrollable.

“There are future’s where we’re not together. And you get hurt.”

“There’s a future where we have a kid, Y/n.”

“You’re insane, man. We might not even be meant to be.” “I have a feeling that’s not true.

JJ gestures to your wrist and you mouth parts when you realize the wavy lines have grown peaks and dips. They’re turning into actual waves.

JJ holds up his wrist. The same pattern.

You laugh, loudly, slapping a hand over your mouth. Nothing you just felt beats the joy you feel right now.

“I’ll race you back to the beach,” JJ challenges you, smirking.

“We both know I’m faster than you.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

JJ takes off, paddling his board, and you follow him, yelling to him how big of a baby he is.

You’ve called him that before.

You know you’ll call him that again.

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nagisa-shiota-worthy-shit · 3 years

Text

Star Signs and Loving Gestures

Karmagisa week 2021 day 4 prompt: Stars AKA: stargazing date

wordcount: 1693 (may be posted to AO3 later)

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Karma had thought of pretty much everything. When he’d initially informed Nagisa of the stargazing date he’d planned, he figured it would be a mess like many of their dates ended up being. Something as simple and intimate as stargazing was something that didn’t come natural to Karma and Nagisa. Sure, they’d ended up cuddling together and watching the sky before, but it had been spontaneous, and not the entire date.

Yet, there they were, laying down on a blanket on a small grass field, bodies as close to each other as was possible while still remaining comfortable. Karma had remembered to bring food and drinks, even being so responsible as to make one of those options fruit. Nagisa appreciated that. As nice as unhealthy snacks were, he was the kind of person to eat a lot of fruit just because he enjoyed it. Karma had made fun of him for that before.

“Can you pass me a strawberry?” Karma asked, pointing towards a container just out of his reach.

Nagisa handed it to him with a smile, “Being healthy?”

“No,” Karma scoffed, “I brought nutella to dip it in. Literal heaven.”

Yeah, that was just about what Nagisa expected. It wasn’t like Karma never ate fruit, when it came to strawberries he almost seemed addicted at times, but this wasn’t the time of day for his boyfriend to pull up the healthy options. Nights to Karma Akabane menat snacking and gaming time, where convenience went above health.

It didn’t matter, just meant there was more fruit for Nagisa. And that’s what was most important. Karma had brought it for him. It was nice and considerate of him. He couldn’t help but feel just so happy in that moment, knowing how in love he was with his boyfriend and how much he loved him back, with a nice starry sky to decorate their evening.

“It’s so pretty,” Nagisa sighed, unsure if it was just a thought or something he wanted Karma to know, “yet so simple looking at the same time.”

It was a clear night, warm and comfortable, in the middle of the summer. The day had been terrible, but that was over now. The sun had taken the worst of the heat with it as it had gone down. Now, all was perfect. The star were visible, and Nagisa was comfortable in simple jeans and a t-shirt. He’d brought a jacket, still, just to be sure.

“How cute and romantic would it have been if I looked up romantic stories written in the stars beforehand?” Karma asked, “In the constellations, I mean.”

“But you didn’t?”

“Hell no.”

Nagisa shook his head, laughing ever so slightly. This was just about what he was used to from his boyfriend. Not that he minded, it was part of this very specific charm Nagisa had grown to love. Besides, he’d put in enough effort in planning the rest of the date. He could deal with no romantic stories in the stars.

“I can tell you about zodiac star signs though.” Karma added.

“What?” Nagisa looked confused, “Like when you’re born and stuff?”

“Yeah, well,” Karma shrugged, “I can point some of them out in the sky, if you want.”

It sounded interesting enough to Nagisa. He was a little surprised Karma had done enough stargazing to be able to find the zodiacs. Then again, he did say he could point out “some,” so perhaps he only knew a few. Nagisa wondered which ones he knew.

So, he let Karma talk, point at the sky, and explain which signs were where. It was a little confusing at times. Nagisa recognized a few of them, although he was unable to locate them in the sky himself, but sometimes seeing the patterns in them was a little hard. When Karma was pointing out capricorn, his own birth sign, Nagisa was just full on confused.

“Am I supposed to see a goat in that?” He asked.

“A sea goat, yes.” Karma nodded. The way he said it made it sound like he thought he’d said something logical.

To Nagisa, it had been the furthest off from that. In what universe did the words “sea goat” make sense colloquially? Last Nagisa checked, goats didn’t live in the sea.

“first of all, sea goats aren’t a thing,” Nagisa spoke matter of factly, “Second, that is a triangle.”

Now, Karma shook his head. He rolled his eyes, a gesture Nagisa didn’t appreciate, and then returned looking his boyfriend in the eyes. The look in his eyes was as stupid as his gesture had been. He looked like he was patronizing Nagisa. Nagisa made sure to glare at him in response. That toned down Karma’s expression a little.

“It’s a mythical thing, first of all,” Karma corrected him, “Secondly, it’s a little more abstract than that, wise guy.”

Nagisa still didn’t see it, but he accepted the explanation for now. He wanted to ask what a sea goat was, but he did not want to be patronized again. So, he kept quiet, and looked back up at the stars. All he saw when looking at the capricorn sign was just a triangle. He wondered who ever made up these so-called drawings in the sky. Mentally, he made a note to do some research on it later.

Because it was so late, he had gotten a little tired by that point. It wasn’t like he’d done too much during the day, but he still had been awake for a rather long time. The coziness of cuddling with Karma wasn’t helping that mood. Karma had such a nice and warm body temperature, like a large, personal heater for Nagisa.

He cuddled up a little closer to Karma, resting his head on his shoulders, and grabbed ahold of Karma’s hand with his own. For a moment, time passed in silence, the two of them connected just like that, the sky full of stars watching them. Then, Karma spoke up and ruined what was once a beautiful moment.

“ewl I just realized you’re a cancer.”

Nagisa couldn’t have moved away from Karma faster, moving back so he could look his boyfriend in the eyes. Genuine disgust, that’s what he saw. He hadn’t started laughing yet. He’d better start laughing soon. Even if Nagisa didn’t think this was remotely funny, he sure as hell hoped Karma had intended it that way.

“Excuse me?!” Nagisa looked appalled at his boyfriend.

“Your zodiac,” Karma responded, still not laughing, “You’re a cancer.”

The point was, Nagisa knew that. Of course he knew his own zodiac sign. And the problem… Well, the problem was that Karma was saying it like it was a bad thing. Nagisa didn’t think it was. He didn’t see how being a specific zodiac made him a better or a worse person. Karma, however, seemed very opinionated on it, and his opinion didn’t appear to be anything Nagisa would like.

So, he just stared at him for a moment again, unsure what to say about the matter. Then, he shook his head in an attempt to organize his thoughts. He had to ask for more information. There was always a chance he was misinterpreting this. He’d better be misinterpreting it.

“I know that,” Nagisa slowly said. “Now can you tell me why that would be disgusting?”

Karma blinked. He pursed his lips as he scanned Nagisa’s face. Nagisa was sure the annoyance was clearly portrayed there. Whatever Karma was about to say next, it better be thought through very well. Karma seemed to understand that sentiment very well, considering he actually took the time to think about his words before answering the question.

“Cancers are known for being moody and emotional,” Karma finally said, “You know, like, they take stuff very personal.”

“I don’t do that.”

“You’re… literally doing it right now.”

Now, Nagisa was silenced for a moment. Surely he wasn’t making this about himself, Karma was. Karma had started by calling him out for being a cancer. Well, Nagisa himself had been the one to take the comment seriously. And, he himself had been the one to take the description to himself rather than just a stereotype Karma was explaining.

No, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he wasn’t like that. Anyone could be emotional, given the right circumstances. Just because he reacted with a lot of passion, and the moment happened to already be about him personally, didn’t mean he was giving in to stereotypes. A zodiac didn’t define Nagisa.

“They’re also known for being gifted in understanding people’s feelings and thoughts, not too far off from your assassin skills.”

Shit, so maybe Nagisa was a little bit typical for a cancer.

“That stuff is nonsense,” Nagisa argued, “purely coincidental.”

There was a silence, followed by the sound of Karma’s laugh. Nagisa didn’t understand what was funny. What he said had been pretty logical. Whatever star sign you were born in didn’t influence who you were as a person. Nagisa would stand by that argument. Why Karma’s response to that idea was to laugh, was something only Karma could really explain.

“I never said I believed in it,” Karma simply said.

“You sure acted like it,” Nagisa pouted once more, “Your sense of humour is bad.”

Karma simply shrugged, and Nagisa figured he may as well drop the subject. At least now he knew Karma didn’t actually judge him for the day he was born. That would have been a weird argument to ruin a relationship with. He tried to release the issue with a deep sigh, and returned his eyes up to take in the wonders of the sky.

Eventually, Karma forced himself closer to him again, once again taking back the hand Nagisa had ripped away moments earlier. Nagisa let him. He, too, wanted to go back to the more romantic mood they’d been having. Soon enough, he felt like they had gone back to that, and the previous conversation was merely a past joke. The comfort of hugging his boyfriend as they looked at a pretty view made everything much better.

“For what it’s worth,” Karma whispered, “You’re my favourite cancer.”

#KarmagisaWeek21 #Karma Akabane #Nagisa Shiota #karmagisa #karunagi #assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #anime #fandom week #ship week #ship #stars

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

fashion major!kevin

ANYWAY THERE WAS LIKE ONE PERSON WHO CALLED FOR A FASHION MAJOR KEVIN SPINOFF OF THE COLLEGE MODEL JUYEON AU I JUST POSTED (linked below) anyway! hope you enjoy, please reblog if you did, and check out my other dumb overly long blurbs in the stream of idiocy tag on my blog <3

pairing: kevin x gender neutral!reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: fluff, university!au

triggers: cursing

college model!juyeon

TBZ Scenarios Masterlist | TBZ Drabbles Masterlist

kevin moon is known on campus for two things: 1. his bright personality literally everyone loves him and if you don’t you’re jealous of him like sorry not sorry i don’t make the rules you know i’m right and 2. his.... unorthodox fashion sense. like eric thought his snake patterned shit was weird as hell?? but there are weirder things in kevin’s closet i swear to you. anyway this unorthodox style is what got him accepted into the fashion program at the university and even though there are a few assholes who stick their noses up at kevin’s work the vast majority of people are cool w his outfits even if they personally wouldn’t wear them and kevin is v well-liked in his major and on campus in general bc he knows everyone and is nice and polite and really a v cool person to be around when he’s not being a fucking idiot

and on campus there are fashion shows a few times every semester to show off the fashion majors’ work, and let’s just say that this university if p well know for its fashion major so some famous people sometimes come along to these events so EVERY TIME a fashion show rolls around the fashion majors get nervous as FUCK and there’s a lot of speculation on who will get noticed and whatever and everyone is secretive about what they’re working on and just. everyone goes fucking haywire and kevin is always v happy when the stress winds down after a show

(no one knows it but kevin has gotten offers from several companies to work with them after he graduates. he hasn’t told anyone except a few friends like juyeon/jacob and his family)

anyway you are also a fashion major who secretly really admires kevin’s stuff?? like you just think he’s so daring and creative and all of his work is absolutely amazing even if it’s a little weird and honestly you don’t even feel overshadowed by his talent and hard work you just feel in awe that you can be in his presence at all. you’re p sure kevin has no idea who you are bc even though you have a lot of the same classes you’re always too shy to sit or work near him bc even though he seems so nice and approachable he’s also just.... god he’s so good

BUT THEN. one of your professors announces that for the next fashion show they’ll be modeling projects that he’s assigning right now. which is weird asf bc usually you’ll all take your best clothing and like fix it or tweak it for the next show, like sometimes people will make something completely from scratch but that’s nerve-wracking and not many people do it unless they’re in a real pinch but it gets even WEIRDER bc this is not a regularly scheduled fashion event?? it’s like a smaller event apparently that they’ve organized just for this project AND THE WEIRDNESS TAKES THE CAKE when your professor says that YOU ARE GOING TO BE THE MODELS. YOU ALL ARE GOING TO PICK SOMEONE IN THE CLASS TO MAKE CLOTHES FOR AND THEY WILL MODEL YOUR OUTFIT

and this SENDS EVERYONE FREAKING THE FUCK OUT??? bc oh god you can’t rely on the models you’ve been using all semester now??? and you have to make flattering clothes for someone you might not even know v well and it’s just. holy fuck holy fuck holy FUCK

meanwhile you already know who you want to create for (/ahem kevin moon/) but you’re also chicken so like??? you’re just sitting in your seat looking over at him but not saying anything until your friend chanhee just pushes you out of your seat in kevin’s direction and is like GO ASK HIM BEFORE YOU LOSE THIS CHANCE and you’re like JESUS FUCKING CHRIST CHANHEE but kevin’s noticed your movement and he’s looking over with a smile on his face and you’re like jfc i can’t do this but chanhee shoves you again and so you kinda smile (you really hope it looks like a smile) and your voice is LITERALLY shaking when you go over and ask if it would be ok to use him as a model for this assignment and he’s like.... oh my god yes

because what YOU don’t know is that kevin has been ogling your designs all year?? like he enjoys his own style and is comfortable in it but he loves your work as in LOVES IT. he thinks your designs are absolutely flawless and original and you combine styles so effortlessly that he just wants to look into your brain when you come up with ideas bc what the fuck?? you may have different styles but kevin knows how to admire art AND YOUR DESIGNS ARE ART.

so you’re reeling a day later bc now you have kevin moon’s number and he has yours and he’s now texting you on when you think you’ll have the first preliminary designs ready and when you can meet up so you can get each other’s measurements and all that and when you eventually meet up your hands are shaking so much that you can barely take his measurements and kevin is screeching in his mind as well bc oh my god you’re going to model his clothes YOU’RE GOING TO MODEL HIS CLOTHES

most people are again being secretive about their designs and even though someone in their class is modeling for them this time so there’s a bit less secrecy they’re still working alone so you get a shock when kevin asks if you want to coordinate your outfits. like work on designs together and maybe make something that matches a little though ofc retaining your own styles and you just shriek when you get the text and poor childhood best friend younghoon spills his coffee (you have been friends since basically birth and there are no romantic feelings whatsoever ok it’s strictly platonic like you watched younghoon vomit after eating too much bread when you were like 10 and he watched you get tangled up in a soccer net when you were 13 there are no romantic feelings stemming from any of that)

needless to say you reply yes yes ye sYES and kevin is grinning so wide on the other end that juyeon wonders if he’s gone slightly insane (which he has but we’re not gonna dwell on that) and both of you show up to the work rooms nervous as all hell (i’m not a fashion major i have no fashion sense i still think t-shirts/leggings are the way to go so idk how any of this works do not sue me) but kevin has a natural ability to defuse any tension in the room so within minutes you’re comfortable and laughing with him and wondering why you were so scared to approach him before and THEN YOU’RE REMINDED WHY when he shows you his design for you because... oh god.... it’s unbelievable. like it has a distinctly kevin feel to it but he’s clearly been paying attention to what you wear and what you design because it’s something you would like to wear and something you even think you could look good in. holy shit

and you just blurt out like kevin what the fuck this is so good did you like stalk my designs or some shit?? and you mean it as a joke ofc but kevin just goes beet red and mumbles something about how he really likes your work and how it’s so sharply elegant but also insanely creative and you’re just. open-mouthed like. dude i’m in love with your work too oh my god i’m gonna cry my fashion idol just said he likes my designs i’m gonna screaM

kevin stops you from screaming though even though he also feels like he’s gonna scream and this is the start of a very productive partnership between the two of you like most of the fashion majors are friendly despite the competition but you and kevin are on a whole other level?? and you start hanging out more and more often even when you’ve finished designing and are actually sewing (you ask him if this part can be secret bc you want to add a few things as a surprise - he ofc says yes and winks and tells you he has things he wants to add too which just makes you want to scream out of excitement)

and it’s a week before fashion show day and you and kevin are finished with putting together the designs and you’re excited as all hell and kevin is literally about to burst from his own skin and you insist that he goes first and when he pulls the outfit from the bag you’re just. in absolute awe. the colors match the design you made, it looks like it’ll fit, and even though it screams kevin moon it also has a distinct vibe from your own fashion style and you just yell KEVIN MOON YOU GENIUS as you snatch it from him and go change

(you don’t know obviously but kevin is blushing like a tomato while waiting for you to finish changing)

it fits almost perfectly, kevin marks a few places to fix and is debating whether or not to compliment you bc??? that sounds like he’s complimenting his own work and that’s egocentric as hell but then you say something like does it look fine and he just blurts out more than fine. you look great

AND YOU’RE SO FLUSTERED THAT YOU ALL BUT THROW YOUR OWN BAG AT KEVIN and are like GO CHANGE

so he takes out the clothes and goes silent and you’re like.... oh my god does he hate it i mean we worked on the designs together and he said he liked it then but what if he changed his mind but then he looks at you and his eyes are sparkling and he’s like y/n this is perfect. literally perfect and he rushes to go get changed and when he comes out your eyes are bugging out of your head bc holy hell you pictured kevin in these clothes obviously since they were made for him but he looks so much better than you ever imagined

and then you blurt out something like holy shit you look beautiful

and kevin blushes again

anyway you both take your measurements and run out and then the day of the fashion show rolls around and both of you are freaking out backstage but the instant you two go on it’s like you both are literal gods bc you feel so confident in each other’s clothing and the crowd can feel it THEY CAN FUCKING FEEL IT and they go nuts when you two walk out!!! and even though it isn’t like a huge major fashion show, it’s just for this one project that your professors cooked up, you and kevin are both beaming like the sun when it’s over despite the fact that it wasn’t an important event bc holy shit you two had fun and everyone’s complimenting your clothing and it’s great it’s just great

finally all the chaos is over and the clothes have been put away and the makeup removed and you and kevin are now standing outside the venue in a kind of stunned silence that all of it’s over. it’s all over. and then you suddenly thrust out the clothes you made that kevin wore and tell him to keep it. it’s a present. and kevin takes it but he also forces you to take the outfit he made for you. and then there’s silence again

but if there’s anything you’ve gained over the past few weeks it’s a bit of courage. courage that let you talk to kevin, courage that let you design clothes for him, courage that let you become friends (and maybe something more) with him. you’ve also learned that kevin is a massive dork and a lovely human being and you’d really love to at least stay in contact so in that the moment you smile and say ‘if i asked you on a date, would you wear that outfit?’

poor kevin looks like he’s about to have a fucking aneurysm and you start to lose confidence but then he’s nodding like there’s no tomorrow like yes ye sYE S OH MY GOD YE S and omg you now have a boyfriend whom you like very very much and kevin has a partner whom he likes very very much

you two may not be a pda couple but you ARE that couple that matches every outfit they wear, you make jewelry and accessories for each other and also make each other clothes every so often. everyone is jealous of your combined fashion sense bc even though the outfits might look outrageous, you two both manage to pull them off and look fabulous at it, but also they can’t even be that jealous bc you two are the sweetest couple and are absolutely lovely

both of you do wear the outfits you made for that show on your first date which is to like a musical or smth bc theatre kid kevin is something you can pry out of my cold dead hands and everyone’s staring but you two are in your own little world and it’s amazing

kevin admits at one point that he was afraid to ask you out bc he thought younghoon was your boyfriend and you just snort and tell him everything stupid younghoon’s done and by the end younghoon is done with you, kevin is about to vomit he’s laughing so hard, and you are smirking like no tomorrow

for the end of year fashion show you and kevin fix up and accessorize the outfits you two made for the show that brought you two together and there is absolutely no surprise that several different fashion companies scout both of you (and a couple modeling agencies too since you and kevin decided to model your own clothing again - younghoon whines that you’ve replaced him but you shut him up with chocolate bread)

kevin’s a sucker for romance (you CANNOT tell me this isn't true) so your first kiss is on the roof of the fashion building at sunset when kevin does the cheesy thing where he says you look more beautiful the view and you almost slap him but you’re laughing so hard and kevin’s cackling and somehow it turns into a kiss

you are a dork and kevin is even more of a dork and it just works out beautifully bc you’re so absolutely in love that it makes people fake vomit from the sides (looking at chanhee right here) but it’s also really sweet in that you two trust each other completely and would do absolutely anything for the other except murder. kevin made that v clear but really only bc blood would stain his clothing and he doesn’t need that. you agree wholeheartedly (younghoon/juyeon are looking from the sides like what the fuck is this couple do they need help and you two are like just go away and let us be the weird couple we are ok). the conversation ends in a v soft v sweet kiss and just. ik i said it with juyeon but kevin moon is also best bf ever ok you cannot convince me otherwise.

and that’s how it goes :)

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for this weird-ass couple)

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troubatrain · 3 years

Text

wildfire - b. boeser

a/n: this a repost from my old blog - so for a second time i hope you enjoy!

Summers in Minnesota were your favorite, there was no doubt about it. You could travel around the world three times over and you were positive the lake in your hometown was more important to you than any other wonder of the world. Summer was about lazy days on the water, and this summer, actively avoiding the post graduation real life job search you were going to be on come September. It was late night house parties with the people you’d missed throughout the year, and seeing the one person who made your heart flutter in your chest like no other.

You grip your drink tighter, watching Brock while he works the room. You weren’t surprised when your phone lit up with a text from him about throwing the first party of the summer, it came at the same time every year. He didn’t look much different than he had when you saw him last, his hair a bit longer, his shoulders just a bit broader, but he was still the same. He was walking around his house, greeting guests with his million dollar smile.

“You’re going to do this to yourself again?” Your thoughts are broken by your best friend, Parker, the brunette shaking her head at you, “It’s the same story every year Y/N, you have this romantic summer and come September you both chicken out on letting it last.”

You sigh, knowing your friend was right. It wasn’t that it was Brock’s fault and you could fall under this narrative that he was a player, because it just wasn’t true. Brock was really good to you, and sometimes you thought maybe it could work. But distance was a bitch, and you couldn’t just give your heart to him to have when he’s a million miles away with a schedule that’s as crazy as his.

“I’m not doing it this year,” You say, and even you knew you were lying through your teeth, “It’s not happening.”

You slip out of the room, heading up the stairs to find somewhere quiet to collect your thoughts. You knew you were going to cave the second Brock spoke to you, you always did. He was intoxicating, and he was always there, the same song and dance every summer since you’d been nineteen. It's gotten to the point where you once dumped the guy you’d been seeing because you knew Brock was going to be back home waiting for you. You walk past the bathroom, hearing the sounds of someone hooking up on the other side, and you keep walking into a room you knew all too well.

You slip into Brock’s room, Coolie immediately hopping off the bed and greeting you, his new brother following him to smell you. You sit on the floor, petting both of the dogs until you can hear the door click open.

“I knew I’d find you in here,” Brock chuckles, it wasn’t the first time you’d slipped out of a party to see his dog who’d been finding refuge in his owner's bedroom. Milo trotted over to Brock, his tail wagging in the air with excitement while Coolie remained at your feet, “I think he missed you.”

“I don’t blame him, who’s going to give him treats without telling his dad,” You muse, remembering how many times Brock caught you spoiling his dog, it wasn’t your fault he was cute and you were a sucker. Brock walks over to you, his hand out for you to grab. Your fingers locked with his while he pulled you off the ground, pulling you close enough to feel his breath on you.

“You want to stay tonight?” Brock asks, a smirk gracing his face. It was the way he asked, every summer, and if your answer was yes you knew what else you were agreeing to. Another few months of bliss, followed by a month of heartbreak and tears before you picked yourself up again. You’d mend your own back together only for it to be broken again. Brock nudges you with his nose, his lips ghosting yours, waiting for his answer before he could finally kiss you.

“I’ll stay.”

With your declaration of staying that night, you’d fallen into the same pattern you always have. You stayed at Brock’s more than your own house, and you’d been with him almost everyday since that night, much to Parker’s dismay. You were laying out on Brock’s boat, the dogs at your feet while you watched Brock fish on the other side. The view was something else, aside from the beauty of the lake that you were sitting on, you were getting a full view of the muscles on Brock’s back, his summer tan on full display.

“Stop staring at me,” Brock calls out, turning around and smirking at you, “I can feel your eyes boring into me.”

“It’s a good view,” You joke.

“Is that all I’m good for?” Brock jokes back, “I’m just pretty.”

“The prettiest,” You snap back, tucking your nose back into the book you were reading.

“That’s actually you,” Brock says, walking over to you and placing both of his hands on either side of you, leaning over and planting a sweet kiss on your lips, “You’re beautiful.”

Brock’s compliments were cut short by Milo hopping onto your lap and lightly nibbling his owner’s nose for bothering you. While Coolie had always followed you around Brock’s house, Milo had taken a few more days to warm up to you. But, he was on your side now and that meant Brock was public enemy number one.

“I think they’d choose you if they had the chance,” Brock teases, but a part believed it might actually have been true.

You watched Brock walk back over to his fishing pole, and you could have sworn you heard the sound a camera click but you decided to ignore it. That was until there was notification on your phone that Brock had tagged you in his Instagram story. You open it, it was a photo of you with the dogs at your feet, and you turn to Brock who’d been minding his own business. You weren’t mad, it was just that although every one of your friends, and you were pretty sure your families, knew about you and Brock’s weird summer arrangement because it had gotten past the point of trying to hide it, there was never any evidence of it. Aside from the occasional chirp on one of your Instagram posts, it was like you and Brock didn’t even know each other.

“Brock…” You say, dragging out his name and walking over to him, your arms snaking around his waist. You press a light kiss to his back, “Did you really have to do that?”

“Can’t show off my girl and my dogs?” Brock asks, turning back to you and kissing your lips.

“Your girl?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, my girl.”

The problem with your arrangement with Brock was that he was actually a decent temporary boyfriend. He kept your favorite flavor of ice cream in his house, he gave you endless hoodies when the temperatures would start to drop, and he held your hand when you were out in public. He never hid whatever was going on between the two of you like it was some shameful secret, and you’re pretty sure that’s why you keep coming back. It just feels so real when you’re together you’d never been able to pull yourself away from him. But then you’d remind yourself that this is temporary, and nothing this perfect could last anyways.

“-I heard that he’s got like three girls in Vancouver,” You hear someone at the table next to your say, and you can feel Parker’s foot kick you under the table to get your attention. They were talking about Brock, and you tried to tune them out but you couldn’t. It ate you up at night, when you’d start to think about what Brock’s life in Vancouver was like. He was young, successful, and the team was playing well. You knew he had girls lined up waiting for their chance with him. You didn’t expect him not to give anyone the time of day, he didn’t belong to you. But the words from the girls next to you had your stomach churning, and you wanted nothing more than to walk over to Brock on the other side of the bar to stake your claim. You weren’t possessive or jealous, well you were, but you didn’t need him to know that. So you stayed in your seat, sipping your drink and eavesdropping about whatever rumor was circling about Brock.

“You’re not going to do anything about that?” Parker asks, her eyebrows raising at you.

“He doesn’t belong to me,” You say, your temper rising by the second, “I’m just going to go.”

You stomp out of the bar with your feet moving as fast as they could. You walked in what you assumed was the direction of your house, but after a few blocks, you’d realized you’d been so upset you didn’t know where you were going. You finally stop hearing a huff behind you.

“I’ve been walking behind you this entire time, how did you not notice me?” Brock breathes out, shaking his head at you, “I could’ve been a murderer.”

You close your eyes, turning away from Brock and continuing on your directionless walk, “Not the time Brock.”

You can feel his large hand wrap around your elbow gently, pulling you closer to him, “What’s up?”

“It’s not important,” You whisper, putting your hand on Brock’s chest to push him away, but your hand just tangles itself into the chain on his neck when his arms tighten around you to keep you in his arms, “Brock…”

“Let’s go home,” Brock says, realizing he isn’t going to get you to budge on opening up to him in the middle of the sidewalk, “Please.”

You nod, and you follow him to his truck that had been parked by the bar. You hop in and ride back to his house in silence. You knew you owed him an explanation as to why you rushed out of the bar with the intent of walking home and crying alone, but you couldn’t tell him without admitting that you were jealous.

The sounds of the dogs barking at the truck pulling into the driveway was the only thing that broke you out of your thoughts. You smile, slipping inside to see the two best boys in your life at the current moment. You watch as they both follow you into Brock’s room, and you grab one of his t-shirts, the Canucks logo on your chest and his number on your shoulder.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong now?” Brock asks, sitting at the edge of his bed, his eyes wandering your body in his clothes. You shake your head no, walking over to him and wrapping your legs around his waist, tucking your head into his neck, “C’mon, Y/N.”

“Just something I heard from the girls that were sitting next to us,” You mutter out, feeling Brock’s hand weaving your hair in an attempt to comfort you, and it was working, “About you, and girls, and your life in Vancouver.”

You can hear Brock sigh, and you didn’t know what you were expecting to hear, “You know, one time when I played the Wild, Parker told me you were at a wedding with some guy you were seeing and that’s why you weren’t in town that day. I couldn’t shake the idea of you with someone else from my brain, and I broke three sticks that game.”

“You were jealous?” You ask, finally picking your head up and looking at him.

“So jealous,” Brock mutters, pecking at your lips, “But then you came home for the summer and so did I and it seemed to work itself out.”

“You’re a good guy Brock,” You say, kissing him slowly, “It’s actually almost a little annoying.”

“You keep coming back though,” Brock chuckles, pulling you closer and flopping back onto his bed.

“I always do.”

The Fourth of July was admittedly, Brock’s all time favorite holiday. Every year his annual barbeque seemed to just get bigger, and crazier. This year was no different, you were watching someone set up a giant inflatable water slide that led right into the lake, and in another corner of the yard was a couple of your friends setting up the drinks. The house was decorated elaborately with red white and blue decorations.

“Hey can you put these on the dogs?” Brock asks, chucking two bandanas at you.

You catch the bandanas, laughing to yourself about how they matched the red, white and blue shirt Brock was sporting, the buttons in the front completely undone, “I’m making you take a picture after this.”

“Only if you’re in it too,” Brock says, kissing the side of your head, “A family photo.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and can feel a blush creep onto your cheeks. This summer was different than the ones from the past, Brock was unapologetic about the way he felt about you. He was so much more vocal about it than he used to be.

You didn’t see much of Brock that day, mainly because you sure he invited every person he’s ever met to his party. But you spent most of the day mingling with friends, falling into a lengthy conversation with Brock’s sister who’d been trying to pry into what the nature of your relationship was for years. You always gave her the same answer, a small shrug and telling her that you were just friends even though she’d call you out on lie. By the time the sun went down, you were tipsy and you hadn’t seen Brock once all day. Your phone vibrates next to you, pulling you out of your conversation with Parker about the job she’d just interviewed for.

meet me on my balcony in 5

You smile, excusing yourself from the conversation and making your way upstairs to Brock’s bedroom. You slip in, smiling when you see Brock sitting on the edge of his bed, tossing his phone in the air

“C’mon,” Brock smiles, standing up and grabbing your hand and opening the door to the balcony, you both step out and you turn to him with a confused look on your face.

“Why’d you call me up here?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at him.

“It’s the best view for this,” Brock says, pointing to the lake where fireworks had started going off. You weren’t even surprised by the final grand idea Brock had for the Fourth of July. You smile, wrapping your arms around his waist while you watched the colors burst in the sky in front of you, “Too much?”

“No, it’s perfect.”

Elias Pettersson was a bit of an odd guy, but he’d been nothing but kind to you since the moment his plane landed down in Minnesota, a break from his summer in Sweden. Now he was sitting at the large island in Brock’s house, who’d stepped out to head to the store, while you continued with the dinner you were cooking for the three of you.

“So, this actually happens every summer?” Elias asks, grabbing your attention, “I thought Brock was just bullshitting us.”

“Brock talks about me?” You ask, trying to get a grip on exactly how much about your relationship Elias actually knew.

“He does, not to everyone, but when I ask him about his summer he always raves about this girl who he spends it with,” Elias starts, gesturing to you, “I assume that’s you.”

“Is that all he says?” You ask, trying to pry into what Brock was saying about you. You can admit, you wanted to hear every detail so you could overthink it forever. You could torture yourself with knowing whether or not his feelings for you were real or not.

“Is that all who says?” Brock asks, stepping back into the house, dropping the bags on the counter and placing a kiss on your lips.

“Nothing, we were just talking about how much a loser you are,” Elias says, giving you a wink, a secret acknowledgement that your desperate plea for information would be kept between the two of you.

Long after dinner, and a two movies, Elias had headed into the guest room he was staying in and you were sitting on the couch, sipping some tea before bed and reading the rest of the book you’d intended on finishing weeks ago.

“I’m surprised you’re still up,” Brock says, closing the sliding door to the backyard behind him, “You want to tell me what embarrassing things Petey told you before or am I going to have to pry it out of him tomorrow?”

“Nothing embarrassing, he was just asking about us,” You say, smiling at him, “Everyone does Brock.”

“I know,” Brock nods, grabbing the mug out of your hands and sitting next to you on the couch, pulling you into his chest, “Does it bother you? That you don’t have an answer.”

Yes it does. It drives me absolutely insane that I’ve been in love with you for years of my life but I never feel like you’re actually mine.

“No, it doesn’t”

The moment Elias left to head back to Europe for the rest of his summer, Brock had been giving you the silent treatment. You’d gone to the airport with them, and with Elias’s last words about how he better see you in Vancouver at least once this fall, Brock had gone mute. He didn’t look at you once on the entire ride back to his house, and now he was moving around his kitchen, moving things that didn’t need to be moved while he continued to ignore you.

“Brock, what the fuck is your problem?” You finally call out, breaking the silence. In all of the years you’d been together, if that’s what you could even call it, you never actually had gotten into more than a small argument. Even then, Brock never gave you the cold shoulder.

“I don’t have a problem,” Brock defends, when there clearly was a problem.

“Is this about what Elias said?” You ask, waiting for an answer but you see how silent Brock had gotten, you knew the answer was yes, “Is the idea of being with me that bad? You can’t even fathom the idea of seeing me when we’re not home? Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“Have you ever thought about how I feel?” Brock shouts back, “Like I have to hear everyone in my life there tell me how fucking wonderful you are and then I have to admit to them that I’m too scared to tell you how I feel? That I love you, so much, but I don’t think I’m enough for you, or that I think you deserve someone who can give you the world but I can’t promise that so I just keep trying to hold onto you the best I can.”

This time, you fell silent. The look on Brock’s face went from tense to the realization of what he actually just said to you. You walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I love you too.”

“If you came to Vancouver, I don’t want you to leave,” Brock says, looking at you, his eyes flicking down to your lips while he waits for your answer.

Your futures always seemed like they’d been heading in the same direction. That Brock was your right person, wrong time relationship. But one day, you always imagined things would work out, and you’d finally have a light at the end of the tunnel. Moving to a new city could be a risk, but Brock had been the biggest constant in your life, and there wasn’t a doubt that if you left with him - he’d never let you go.

“I’ll go.”

#my writing #brock boeser #brock boeser imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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etoileholland · 4 years

Text

lead me to your door

@mayberosey asked: The Tom and reader are neighbors (apartment setting) and every time he passes by her apartment, she plays different types of genres. She would play classical to jazz to rock to indie and so on. Tom finds it endearing that she has such wide range of music taste, but one day it just stops. And it lasts for maybe a week or two. So he’s worried but doesn’t do anything. When he finally hears music playing, the sounds are more mellow and it doesn’t change for a few days. That’s when Tom decided to knock on her door...

Pairing: Tom x female reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: none

A/N: so I've been on a lil hiatus from writing but I finally finished this so I wanted to share it. Requests are open and I’m personally out of ideas, so please don’t hesitate to send something in. Although please don’t send in any requests about drama revolving around Tom’s girlfriend, I’ve already received a few and I won’t write those xx also the gif isn’t mine, all credit goes to its respective owner

“L, is for the way you look at me. ‘O’ is for the only one I see, ‘V’ is very very, extraordinary…”

Tom smiled to himself when he heard the faint music from the other side of the wall. It was 8am and his neighbour was already playing music. It was something that he had to grow accustomed to when he moved in about a month ago. At first it was a bit annoying to always hear some form of music from the apartment right next to his, but now, he welcomed it.

He was eating breakfast in the kitchen, and the music accompaniment was a nice way to start the day. He mouthed along to the familiar words, a smile erupted on his face as he enjoyed his scone.

Tom had grown to find there was a schedule with the music that he heard from next door. Since today was Monday, it was usually old jazz tunes, like Sinatra, Benny Goodman or Louis Armstrong. Tuesday’s were a mix of contemporary pop music, Wednesday’s were nothing but music from The Beatles, Thursday and Friday were dedicated to Harry Styles, Saturday’s was an array of songs and genres from the ‘60s to about the 80’s, and Sunday's were nothing but sad songs, the theme usually revolving around unrequited love.

He often wondered why there was such a distinct schedule, and why you only listened to sad songs on Sunday’s. It had become a bit of a game for him to try to figure out why, but so far he’s settled on the idea that maybe you had your heart broken on a Sunday, and therefore, dedicated sad songs to that day only.

On the weekdays, the music would stop around 10am, and would pick back up again around 6pm, and would cease around 9pm. It was rare to hear music past that point, which made him think that you went to bed extremely early. And on the weekends, the music would go from noon to midnight, which suggested you stayed up later.

He loved building a fantasy around the person he deduced based on your patterns and music choice, but the truth is that he had never met you. He had no idea who his neighbour was, and he didn’t want to knock on your door in case you were a creep or something.

He figured his neighbour was a female, since he often heard a light airy laugh from the other side of the wall, but it could be a man with a really high pitched laugh. Or you could be married, or old, but he had no idea, and frankly he had no intention of finding out.

Until one day, the music stopped.

It happened abruptly, he awoke one day on a Tuesday morning and realised that there wasn’t any music coming from your apartment. But he didn’t worry since he figured you were either sleeping in, or you had left early for work or something. He was gone the whole day at a rehearsal for the show he was in, so he didn’t think twice about the silence.

The next day, Wednesday around noon, he was hoping to hear the melodic voices of Lennon and McCartney from the other side of the wall, but once again it was silent. Usually at this point in the day, you had already finished the first two Beatles albums, and were quick to put on ‘A Hard Day’s Night’. He began to wonder if maybe you were out of town, but the nagging thought in the back of his head wondered if something bad had happened.

I’ll give it a few more days, and then if I still hear silence, I’ll check up on them, he thought to himself.

—

A week had gone past, and still radio silence. It was beginning to worry Tom, and he knew that he would have to go check on you, but every time he tried, he couldn’t.

He would head out to go to the gym, and would walk past your door, hesitating to see if he should knock. His hand would hover over the doorbell, but always stopped a centimetre away from pushing it.

Maybe they moved, or maybe something really bad happened, he thought, or maybe they’re out of town?

The thoughts swirled around his head, making him anxious and flustered until he decided that he shouldn’t bother you. And besides, how would he even start the conversation?

He backed away from your door, but then swiftly took a step forward and nearly knocked on the dark wood grained door.

What am I thinking? He thought, before beginning to pace the hallway while he thought of the best way to handle this. Don’t be dumb, there’s no good way to start a conversation with them. Would I really be stupid enough to say, “‘Hey, not to sound like a creep but I noticed I don’t hear you playing music anymore?’ or ‘hey, so I’ve never once spoken to you before but I can always hear you from my apartment and I find pleasure in knowing you’re alive but now I hear nothing and I’m assuming the worst?’” They’ll call the cops on me for sure.

He paced around in front of your door for about a minute, until walking back in the direction of his apartment, surrendering to his ever-so-increasingly intrusive thoughts.

—

Today had marked two weeks without hearing music from your apartment, and Tom had grown increasingly worried. If it’s still silent by this time tomorrow, I’ll confront my fear and knock on the door.

Miraculously, he didn’t need to knock on your door at all. When he awoke at 9am on a Tuesday, he almost didn’t hear the faint music playing from the room on the other side of his bedroom wall.

He pressed his ear to the wall and could hear a somber song playing. His eyes nearly welled up with tears when he realised that you were okay. But as the day went on, he grew worried. Tuesday’s were your ‘pop music’ days, but he only heard sad Taylor Swift songs.

Well that’s odd, they only play those on Sunday, he pondered.

The next four days were filled with heart wrenching ballads, somber piano music floating through the air. The nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach never went away, and he knew that he would have no choice but to knock on your door.

He figured the best way to go about it was to inquire about the music, and say that as a caring neighbour, he wanted to make sure all was well.

Standing in front of the mirror, wearing his favourite pair of jeans and t-shirt, he left his apartment and walked over to your front door.

You can do it Tom, just say you’re concerned about their health and well-being.

As he lifted his arm to knock on your door, you had just opened your door and were startled to see someone standing in front of your door.

“Holy shit!” You exclaimed as you closed your door, but Tom put his hand out to keep your door open.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to startle you.” He exhaled, stepping back into the hallway.

“I figured, I’m sorry for that, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing on the other side of my door.”

“Me either.” He breathed, holding an arm out and propping himself up against the wall. “Were you about to head out?”

“I was just going to go down to pick up a package from the front desk, but it can definitely wait.”

He nodded his head and unsuccessfully pushed a stray curl away from his face, it falling right back near his eye in a matter of seconds. You stood there admiring the man in front of you, making a mental note of the loose curl in front of his face, and his slightly awkward demeanour. He was handsome, and you found it cute how he was speechless.

“Well, do you mind telling me why you were just about to knock on my door?” You inquired while Tom let out a small laugh.

“Right.” He placed his hand on the back of his neck and took a deep breath in. “I don’t want to overstep, but I was wondering if everything was alright with you?”

He saw a distinct shift in your facial expressions, but he continued to ramble on. “It’s just that I can always hear you playing music from my apartment right next door, and I love hearing it, but I noticed that it stopped for about two weeks. And then when it started again, it was only sad songs and you only usually play those on Sunday’s. Oh gosh, now I sound like a creep for observing that and I promise I’m not, I just thought it was odd and I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He took a deep breath out and paused before saying, “I hope that wasn’t too weird.”

You laughed lightly, before saying, “I’ve experienced weirder. But thank you for checking up on me…” you trailed off, realising that you don’t actually know your neighbours name.

“I-I’m Tom.” He stated, and you told him your name as well.

“It’s nice to meet you Tom, and once again thank you. I just went through a hard patch in my life, and listening to sad music made me feel better, in a way. But it’s nice to know you care, so thank you again.” You smiled, and Tom smiled back.

“Right, well I probably should get going since I know I’ve already made the weirdest first impression,” you both laughed, “but I’m glad to know you’re alright. But if you’re not, my apartment is 2B so you’re more than welcome to come over.” He blushed, gaze fixed on the carpeted floor.

“It was a perfectly fine first impression, but if you don’t mind me asking, do you like my music choice?” You laughed, and Tom’s face broke out into a smile, brown eyes piercing through yours.

“I wasn’t expecting that question, but yes, absolutely. I’ve found a lot of good songs and artists because of you. I’ve been loving FINNEAS’ album, and ELO, so I can thank you for that.” He grinned, the crinkles by his eyes becoming prominent.

“You’re welcome.” You had your door open all the way now, and you could smell that your pizza in the oven was nearly ready.

“Mm, that smells good.” Tom commented, and you looked into your apartment to make sure the oven wasn’t on fire.

“It does, I made some pizza and I think it’s nearly done.”

“I think so as well.” He added, the both of you sharing a comfortable silence. “I’ll let you eat though, but I’m glad to know you’re alright.” He smiled and began to take a step back when you lightly grabbed his arm, surprising you both.

“Wait, would you want to come inside? I made enough pizza for at least two people, and I also have a bottle of wine if you’d want some.” You asked, hoping that your very attractive neighbour would say…

“Yes, I’d love that. Only if it’s okay with you, of course.”

“It is okay, I asked you.” You smiled, and Tom laughed nervously.

“Right.” He half smiled.

“Well, come on in.” You motioned for him to step in, “let’s eat and listen to some music, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

————

mes anges (taglist): @scarletxwidow @sunflowerhollands @fangirlwithasweettooth @taciturnspidey @musicalkeys @harrysleftchelseaboot @quaksonhehe @halfblood-princess-505

#tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x female reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland and you #tom holland and reader #tom holland and y/n #tom holland fluff #tom holland one shot #tom holland one shots #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #tom holland #tom holland writing #mine #text

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heartbreakgrill · 4 years

Text

Anyone Else; Calum Hood

You leaned down over Calum’s shoulder, blocking out the bright sunset behind the two of you. He inhaled, reveling in the coconut scent of your shampoo, fused with sunscreen and chlorine-d pool water. He shook his head lightly, reminding himself to open his eyes and focus on the phone in his hand. You lifted your free hand, that wasn’t cradling a White Claw, and pointed at a profile.

“She’s super cute! I feel like she’s your type,” you commented at the picture of a taller girl, sporting fishnets and a Led Zeppelin.

“You think I’m only into girls who like rock?” Calum chuckled a little.

You shrugged, moving away to tug over a free camping chair. You leaned back in, giving Calum the view of your neck as your hair fell away from it. He licked his lips as you spoke again, “I mean, I think you look good next to someone like that based on how you dress and shit. If you’re not into that, dont let me pressure you.”

You giggled and twisted around to look at him. His eyes focused in on yours, “Uh, yeah. Or, no, youre good. Youre not pressuring me. Just helping, right?”

“Right,” you scrunched your eyes in a beat, to show you were somewhat confused by his confusion. “Anyways, swipe right or left and lets move along.”

“Okay.” Cal did as you said, allowing the screen to switch to another girl.

“Oh, no, no, she looks too much like Crystal,” you giggled lightly. “Love Crystal, but that’d be creepy.”

“So I can’t like anyone who looks like anybody in our friend group?” Calum remarked, his heart hoping you wouldn’t break it by what you would reply with.

You wriggled in your seat, “I dont know. I feel like its weird. If they look like Luke, Ill allow it.”

His lips fumbled before his brain could reach out and grasp the words and shuffle them back into a drawer, “What if they look like you?”

“Yeah, right,” you looked back at him, “I’m unique. One of a kind, baby.”

Calum flushed as you spoke. He fumbled again, about to spill again, when Sierra called your name from the pool. “Show me that boy from last weekend?”

You quickly got up, excusing yourself from Calum, and pranced across the concrete patio to the fire pit, where Luke and Sierra were cuddled up, talking to another one of your friends. Calum tried not to break his neck and watch you animatedly talk about your Tinder date last Saturday. Yet he knew it was noticeable he was trying to pry.

He felt a hand slap down on his shoulder and Calum jumped in his seat. Michael took your seat, Crystal trailing along behind and slinking into his lap. “You got it bad, mate.”

Crystal grinned at him, “You really do.”

Calum shook his head, “Dont know what youre talking about.”

“Oh, my God,” Michael pressed his fingers to his forehead, eyes cartwheeling in their sockets. “Seriously, I never understand situations like this. I dont think it’d ruin your friendship if you asked to kiss her and she rejected you.”

“It wouldn’t,” Calum remarked, speaking the honest truth. He shifted in his seat, glancing at you before meeting Michael’s eyes. “But it would ruin me. And I dont really want a broken heart right now.”

Crystal’s eyes widened and she leaned forward. “Cal, is it worse than we thought?”

“Worse?” Michael furrowed his brows, looking between the two before realization hit him like chance. “Oh, shit. Dude?”

Calum stood suddenly, tossing his empty beer can in the garbage. “I’m going home. See ya later.”

He didn’t give them the chance to say anything else as he gathered his damp towel, shoes, and bag from around him. He passed through the kitchen, waving lazily to Ashton and Kay, who were preparing the food for s’mores.

“Not staying?” Ashton called after him.

He heard Kay mutter something else to him and Ashton shocked a small, “Oh.”

You finished telling the story of Matt, who you had gone on a date with last week as Calum was pulling out of the driveway. “Yeah, but I don’t know if I’m going see him again.”

“Why?” Luke asked, puzzled by the fact that you sounded like you were really interested in him for the past five minutes, but didn’t wanna go on another date.

“I dont know,” you crossed your arms. “He’s just not my type. He’s kinda, like, stern. He’s funny, but funny in an unconventional way. He doesnt seem like he’d, I dont know, be playful in a relationship. Does that make sense? i want a guy who can be playful, but who’s mature.”

Sierra grinned to herself, nudging Luke with her elbow. “Yeah, that makes sense. Hey, ya know, Y/N?”

“Hm?” You looked to her.

Luke took over, “We know someone who’s like that.”

“Oh!” You smiled wider, “Who?”

You felt Michael slink an arm over your shoulder, whisper in your ear, “Calum.”

You moved from under him, his weight overbearing to you. “Yeah, okay.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Crystal sat on the couch across from Sierra.

“Nothings wrong. Hes just super out of my league. Plus, I’m not his type. I’m all, strawberries and picnics and, like, Hozier. He listens to Nickelback and he’d rather go to a club than kayak. I dont know, I feel like he wouldn’t like me because of my interests.”

“Cal’s a softer, you know that, right?” Luke replied. “Hes a big rockstar, yeah, but he loves hiking and nature, too.“

“He loves y- ow!” Michael groaned out, Crystal interrupting him with a shove to the ribs.

You gave him a strange look before looking back to Luke, “I know, but still. He’s still out of my league.”

The weeks passed, more pool parties and barbecues filling your lengthened free summer days that you weren’t working or going on sporadic Tinder dates. You’d been on five total, with four different guys. Each party brought more stories, more tall tales of Derek, the free lance artist who wore a scarf and ordered you red wine, Gideon, the police officer who hadn’t put his career in his bio, and got slightly upset when you talked about your advocacy for human rights. Spencer was just weird, with piles of facts, criticizing your jokes for being politically incorrect or scientifically impossible. However, Aaron was nearly perfect. He was super sweet, dressed like a normal person, and laughed at your jokes, agreed passionately with your advocacy.

Each time you retold a story, Calum would slide down in his seat, frown at the world around him, excuse himself from the party too soon. You were catching on slightly, smelling the jealousy seeping from his pores, though it was masked by chlorine. You figured he was just jealous because he couldn’t manage to match with a good enough woman on Tinder. So, tonight- though you had to leave early for a date with Aaron- you would most definitely find him a match.

Calum had arrived early to Luke’s house to get the meat started on the grill. He was flipping a few burgers, sipping at his first beer with absentminded concentration. His mind wandered as Luke rambled off his ear about something he saw on Twitter. Luke laughed at a joke he made, while Calum’s eyes lost focus and went blurry. His thoughts swirled with you- your shampoo, and its coconut scent that reminded him of his first crush in middle school. Your eyes were seen in so many, so similar, yet freckled with so much heartbreak and kindness that emitted from your soft spoken lips and light hands that had contact with the stars.

He didn’t care if he would look better next to a girl with jet black hair and a perfect body. He didn’t care if they played bass, too, or if they were famous and loved The Rolling Stones. He didn’t care if she was hard headed and loud. He liked that you were soft and quiet- he was, too. He loved that you dressed so different; your floral patterns went well with his dark jeans t-shirt combos. He didnt care about things looked, just how they felt. And things with you...Hell, you felt good.

Calum jumped as Luke shouted, “Youre burning the burger- Cal!”

Calum dropped his beer can, spilling the liquid all over his bare feet as he grasped for the spatula. He tossed a burnt burger into the trash with a huff, scooping the others onto a tray. “Sorry.”

Luke shook his head, sitting down beside Calum, who was dipping his feet into the water to clean them off. “What’s your problem, mate? You’ve gotten so quiet lately. Especially when Y/N’s around.”

“Part of me is hoping I’ll be able to fight the urge to kiss her if I just stop talking to her. But, then she comes around and i cant stop talking to her. We get on so well,” Calum murmured, though Luke could hear.

“Yeah?” Luke urged him, feeling proud he could get Cal to say so much. He was a quiet person, a loud jokester in social situations, but so soft and enclosed about himself.

Calum shook his head, huffed, “I cant settle for somebody else. I know that sounds selfish and stupid, but she’s all I want. She’s all I’ve wanted since i met her. She’s so perfect and good and...she makes me feel good. I dont know. Its not impossible for her to like me back, but she’s so obsessed with the idea of someone being her type. Its like she’s afraid to just take a chance and love someone who she doesnt have figured out. She wants it all to be certain and specific and exactly the way she expects it to be.”

Luke sighed, creating small ripples with his feet in the pool, “Cal, Y/N is like a literal angel. She’s gentle and quiet and contained and confirmed. She’s perfect, like you said. But, Sierra knows her so well. She keeps herself like that because she’s been heartbroken before. So many times before. She’s scared, yes. But I think shed be willing to give you a chance if you just tell her...tell her exactly what it is.”

“What do you mean?” Calum already knew everything about Y/N. But, he didnt want Luke to think he was obsessive even though she knew everything about Cal, too.

Luke shrugged, both of their head’s turning to the patio door as it opened. “I dont know. But, you do. Just tell her.”

“How will I know if I’m saying the right things?”

“You just will.”

Sierra led you over to a lounge chair, sitting beside you as you slipped out of your sandals and tugged off your shirt. You were left in your bikini top and shorts, a combination that made Calum’s heart palpitate. He took the courage from Luke’s words and stood, walking over to you.

“Yeah, so if he ever wants to...” Sierra trailed off as Calum’s shadow fell over the two of you.

He gave you a shy smile as Sierra grinned and excused herself.

“Hey, Cal,” your lips lifted, eyes following him as he sat next to you. “How’ve ya been?”

“Good, you?” He was shy. He knew you could tell, too. His eyes kept switching between yours and his hands, your lips and...

“I’m okay. A little burnt out. Work has been busy because its summertime. High fashion and stuff, ya know?” You laughed, jabbing at a joke. Your eyes glinted when Calum tossed his head back and laughed.

“Yeah, I know, dont you see my high-end swim shorts?” He made a motion to show off his pants, and you admired him.

“Cute,” you replied. A beat of silence passed before your phone made a noise. You didnt touch it, knowing it was rude to do so, but your brows flicked up. “Oh! Have you matched with any other girls on Tinder? If you haven’t, I’m making it my mission to find you someone else.”

“How am I supposed to think about anyone else?” He blurted out suddenly.

You stopped smiling, blood freezing and your body turning stiffly. “What?”

“Uh,” Calum thought, wondering how he should go about this. “Theres a million little things I haven’t told you. I cant go on keeping them to myself. And pretending I want anyone else.”

You met his eyes and Calum felt the world melt away. Like a focused lens on a camera, he only saw you, your golden little halo. Your shocked expression.

“Cal,” you hesitated, “Aaron.”

“Is he the guy you want to hold you?” Calum whispered.

You visibly shivered, your heart beating out of your chest.

“It kills me thinking of you with him,” he paused, “you and i could have it good. I dont know him, but I know myself, and I know that I can love you so much better than he could.”

You shook your head, sweat pooling on your hands and the back of your neck. “No, Cal. Please. Dont make it hard.”

“It’s not hard unless you make it hard,” Calum spoke as soon as you began to stand.

“No, its not supposed to be hard. I want it to be easy for once,” you said.

Calum grabbed your hand, turning you back around, “It is. I know were so different, and I’m on the road all the time, and I’m fucked up because of people from my past. I know I smoke, and you help clean up cigarette butts in the park and I’m silent when I shouldn’t speak, but if you jump, Ill jump, too. C’mon, please?”

You finally met his eyes, feeling the rhythm of your heart steady. “I know its dramatic, but I’m just so afraid. So many guys have hurt me and made me feel ugly. I carry myself in a way that allows protection and routine. I hate the idea of some disturbance because disturbance has always meant hurt. Cal...i could love you. I think I’m very close to loving you, but i dont know if i can let myself.”

“I do love you, and I’m letting myself,” Calum stepped closer, tugging you to close the distance more. “Just let go.”

With silent permission, his hands slipped around your waist and your clutched his t-shirt. Your fists were tight, your lips stoic. Until you felt a lock pick inside your soul and you relaxed.

TAG LIST: @mantlereid @boxofteenageideas

, @dinosaursandsocks , @ashhdaniellee95 @zhangyixingxing1

#5sos fanfic #5sos fluff #calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood x reader #calum hood x y/n #calum hood x you #calum hood fanfiction #5 seconds of summer #calum blurb #calum hood fluff #calum x reader

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bitchapalooza · 3 years

Text

More hetalia highschool AU, 🌟magic team🌟 edition :)

Under the cut bc it is long ❤️

Vladimir is that one kid obsessed with Twilight but only for the vampires; it was his first ever exposure to vampires thanks to his dad thinking Twilight was an appropriate book for a 11 year old. Team Edward going strong for five years, he'd proudly declare like it actually mattered. He tries his best to dress goth at school even though his uniform gets in the way. Fake ear piercings(his parents won't let him pierce them yet), over the top makeup, he's dyed the top half of his shoes black because his parents were concerned about his obsession with black and wouldn't buy him the black tennies he wanted— "mom look, these are marked down for back to school! Can I pleeeease get them???" "....may I know why the black ones specifically?" "They match the ever nothingness of my soul." "Yep! The white ones it is then!" "Mooooooooooom!"— Vladimir has been dubbed the cringy vampire kid of course.

Lukas is into pretty much anything concerning cryptids and magical creatures because they can't be proven to be fake or real, which intrigues him. He carries a book about mushrooms at all times and info dumps on pretty much anyone about identifying poisonous mushrooms and which mushrooms are safe to eat. His backpack is covered in buttons and pins to show off his interests. He keeps an amethyst in the front pocket of his backpack, reason unknown other than to just randomly pull it out and let Mikkel look at it. He's that kid that always wears his hoodie no matter the season, he never takes it off. Under his hoodie is always a crude worded t-shirt that the school would not approve of, much less his parents. He's relatively quiet and because he's quiet he's considered a weird kid.

Arthur can't decide if punk is his style or if goth is. Either way, his way of self expression at school in addition to the uniform is horrible. Checkered black/red shoes his grandma got him with his older brother's hand me down worn out greying socks—"can I PLEASE just have my own clothes???" "we have perfectly good clothes for you in the garage! I can fix them up to fit you better and everything!" "but I want cool NEW clothes!" "those are cool clothes and as far as the other kids know, they're also new. Now get your transformer backpack and get to the car. I put a new patch on it last night so that should hold it for the rest of the year."— Old Pierce the veil shirt, with holes chewed into the collar from his older brother Dillan, peeking out from under his white polo. A black and red choker to match his black and red slowly tearing apart too big flannel on top of a black pull over. A deep blue beanie, the hoodie of his pull over almost constantly on top when outside the school. He dyes a part of his hair a different color every month. He spikes his hair using too much gel and is convinced he looks good. He talks too much about bands and always gets Vlad and Lukas going on and on about fictional creatures he does not FULLY believe in himself. He does, however, believe in magic and loves Harry Potter, more specifically the Weaselys, to bits.

Natalya is a sophomore, a year behind the boys, and she just kinda pushed her way into the friend group until they eventually accepted her into it. They were the only three she knew who liked occult related topics. She's on the baseball team because she wanted an excuse to hit things with another thing and NOT get detention because of it. She wears the khaki uniform skirt and takes full advantage over being able to wear any kind of tights underneath; skull pattern, plain black, blood splatter pattern, fire pattern. Anything that makes her feel like a badass. She's always talking about antiques and forging weapons, more specifically knives. She has a whole collection of fidget toys but her favorite is this pea pod keychain her father gave her. She's always talking about how she'd like to be a medical examiner and to just prove that she's serious, she'll bring up a picture of a human model and point out the difference between a self inflicted fatal wound and a homicide. She puts up a charade of being able to see and talk to ghosts to freak out Alfred, her extended friend first met through Tolys.

They collectively believe they're cool and that other people know this. They're genuinely blind to the obvious snickers sent their way, being called losers and nerds. They're really knowm for like really pathetic things like; Natalya is Ivan's, tallest and most intimidating member of the wrestling team, weird younger sister by a year. Lukas is just the weird quiet kid that reads by the courtyard garden during lunch. Vladimir is not only the vampire goth kid but the kid who's parents believe the teachers are giving his son low grades on purpose and will yell at them for it. And Arthur is just. He's another Kirkland, immediately assumed to be a massive trouble maker because of his now graduated brother Alistair and one grade above him brother Dillan. Everyone loved his eldest brother Darick and sometimes compare him to Darick.

Compared to what others THINK they do, such as witch craft for some odd reason, the four of them do pretty typical teen activities. Like hang out at the mall. Do their honework together. Play video games and D&D when they have the chance. The boys do have sleepovers still as they have since meeting each other in middle school, Nat not really being a fan of sleeping where she doesn't live but comfortable enough to go to their houses and just chill for the day. They have become friends because of their related interests but thats not what they're ALL ABOUT.

Fun facts/stories about these losers I thought about while bored as fuck:

• Lukas, in his freshman year, went on a nature hike field trip with his lit class after reading Into The Wild. And he brought his mushroom book of course. They walked around, looking at the sights, talked about the book. Lukas just stops at one point, falling behind the class. He picks up a mushroom, goes to the teacher and is like "You see this? Its not poisonous." And straight up fucking eats it without warning. The teacher called an ambulance even though Lukas kept telling him he was fine and that that mushroom was 100% okay to eat raw, but for sure better off cooked. Lukas calmly shows the paramedics his book and they're like "yeah that actually was safe to eat, we don't need the book to confirm that, but um. Please don't ever pick something off the ground and eat it again. Just. Please don't do that, son." .....he did it again before leaving to go back to school but this time he didn't tell anyone.

• In elementary school, Natalya brought in a model of the human brain she asked her dad to borrow. He had to say yes because she was his only child genuinely interested, not bored of, his medical profession and he found it very cute and honoring. So she's at show and tell, its her turn right, and she silently goes up to the front of the class and pulls out the model brain. Teacher tries to step in because, hey, these are 6 year olds—AND WHY DOES THIS 6 YEAR OLD HAVE A PLASTIC BRAIN??? But Nat just shooshes her. In surprised shock, the teacher is just quiet as Nat begins to explain parts of the brain and their function— which was all wrong actually. She knew the words and everything but she didn't get the locations right. She sounded confident and smart and she was telling this to a bunch of 6 year olds so they believed her of course. End of the school day, her dad is having a hilarious conference with his youngest's teacher about the brain incident.

• Vladimir loves reading. He's loved it since he began to learn how, even if his dyslexia gives him grief along the way. So since he loves to read he'll always get excited and read ahead in class or in the public library reading club. One summer, the reading club was reading The Giver and it was getting really good. Vlad was loving the story, so much so that Vlad began to read ahead in his own time when he really wasn't supposed to be, the club was reading it together out loud and discussing it. Now he's read enough and worked hard enough to figure out how to help himself focus better and understand each word and sentence without having to reread it all multiple times over or get stuck. But sometimes the meaning and context to what he's reading doesn't ALWAYS process with the words as he's too focused on reading the words right and it passes right over his head. So Vlad is reading ahead and he's getting to the part where The Giver has given Jonas the memory of the sled again. And Vlad just sits there after reading that paragraph. He rereads it. And rereads it again. And then he leaves his book on his bed, goes to the the hall closet and takes out the ironing board. He grabs a plastic container to use as an ill attempt of a helmet and he just. Rockets down the staircase and hits the wall. He screams and cries and his parents rush in from the livingroom. When asked what happened he just says "I wanted to understand the sled scene better! Now I do and I feel really bad for Jonas!" He just couldn't quite grasp WHY the sled accident hurt, never had a broken bone nor sled afterall, and needed to find out. And that's how Vlad got his first broken arm at the age of 12.

• When Alfred and Matthew moved in with Arthur's family, Arthur didn't like it. He was a moody young teen but he was also just tired of the full house. His cousins were loud and nosey. He had to share a room with his four older brothers already and now with Matthew while Kathleen and Alfred got a room to themselves. Arthur thought this was so unfair. So his solution was to run away. He was 13, he needed a place to have some peace and quiet for once. So he texts Francis and Lukas, the only two of his friends living in his neighnorhood. Francis is not on board with helping him run away at first but then Lukas brings literally all his camping gear for Arthur's use and then Francis is on board because he had the feeling Arthur was going to get himself killed somehow. So as the elder one of the group he accompanied Arthur and Lukas out to the short stretch of woods behind the last street of their neighborhood, intending to go to the big clearing before hitting the roads leading to the airport and whatever else buildings. They're out there setting everything up together and they're done by like 4 pm. They sit down and talk, munch on oreos and other snacks Arthur deemed as essential survival foods. Then Francis looks at his cell and remarks "wow its already 6! Ah, Lukas, we should get home. Afterall, neither of us ran away so we still have supper to eat. Come on Lukas, let's go before our parents come looking for us." They exchange goodbyes, Francis trying his best to hide his cocky smirk. So Lukas and Francis start walking off, Arthur crawls into the tent and eats half a cookie before frowning and feeling too alone. He didn't expect to feel alone because all he wanted was to BE ALONE. Before he knows it, he's running out of the tent yelling after his friends to stop and wait up. "Oh whats wrong, Arthur? I thought you wanted to run away." "I— I forgot I hadn't fed my rabbit is all! I'll run away tomorrow! I'm not... Feeling lonely if.. If that's what you think...." Arthur did not run away the next day. Buuuuuut the three plus Vlad made a tree house together in the Kirkland backyard that they still use today!

#if you thought these four would be cool kids in this au then you thought wrong #hetalia #hetalia au #hetalia england #hetalia belarus #hetalia norway #hetalia romania #hetalia magic team #there should be more content of the magic losers + belarus tbh magic team is a bad group name but so fits their collective vibes so well

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per-ineptia-ad-astra · 3 years

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Star Trek Episode 1.24: This Side of Paradise

AKA Yet Another Creepy Utopia Planet

Our episode begins with the Enterprise heading in to orbit around an Earthy-looking planet named Omicron Ceti 3. Omicon Ceti is a real star, by the way—also known as Mira or Mira A, it’s a red giant and part of a binary star system with its sister Mira B. It’s not a real likely place to go looking for such a nice homey sort of planet, though, because Mira is a pulsating variable star, which means its size and brightness is constantly fluctuating, and it’s hard to evolve life when your sun keeps flickering like a neon sign in a noir movie all the time.

Uhura reports to Kirk that she’s been transmitting a contact signal every five minutes just as he ordered, but she’s only getting dead air in response. Kirk tells her to keep it up until they get into orbit, then moves on to talk to Spock. “There were one hundred fifty men, women and children in that colony,” he says. “What are the chances of survivors?”

Looks like the chances are, uh...not great. And by ‘not great’ I mean ‘nonexistent’. Spock explains that ‘Bertold rays’ are a recent enough discovery that there’s still a lot not known about them, but one thing that is for sure known is that exposure to these rays causes living animal tissue to disintegrate. Nasty. Evidently this planet is heavily exposed to these rays, because a group of colonists-- “Sandoval’s group”-- came here only three years ago and Spock says there’s no possibility they could have survived. Well why the heck would anyone build a colony in such a place? All Spock can say is “They knew there was a risk.”

Kirk questions whether they can risk sending a landing party down under such conditions, but Spock says the disintegration doesn’t start immediately, so they’ll be alright if they don’t stick around too long. The helmsman reports that they’ve successfully established orbit, and he’s found a settlement—or at least, something that was a settlement at one point. Kirk tells Spock to equip a landing party of five to accompany him down there, including a biologist and McCoy. That’s gonna be a fun mission briefing. “Yes, we're beaming down to a planet bombarded with deadly radiation, but no need to worry, crew, your tissues will probably only disintegrate a little bit."

Sometime later, the landing party—Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Sulu, a blueshirt and a goldshirt—materialize into a meadow near a dirt path and a picket fence. They’ve thoughtfully arranged themselves into a nice alternating pattern.

[ID: A shot of a sunny meadow with a dirt road, a few trees and a white picket fence in the background. Newly beamed down are six Enterprise crewmembers standing in two rows: in the front are Kirk and Spock, in the back are McCoy, a goldshirt, a blueshirt, and Sulu.]

The goldshirt, incidentally, is DeSalle, who we last saw back in The Squire of Gothos. The character was originally written for this story as Lt. Timothy Fletcher, but was changed to DeSalle after the production crew realized they’d cast an actor who had already appeared in the series. Yes, really. AGAIN. The blueshirt is Kelowitz, who showed up briefly in The Galileo Seven and Arena, and likewise started out as another character but was renamed after being cast. I don’t know how this situation managed to happen so often on TOS, but apparently it did. At least they both seem to have managed to hold onto more or less the same positions that they had the last time we saw them, a rare feat for any minor TOS crewmember.

The group walks forward towards some nearby farm buildings arranged around a dirt yard, with a horse-drawn cart sitting out in front of one of them. But there’s no horse to be seen, and no people either. They wander through the yard and over toward what looks like a paddock, but without any animals in it. Everything seems quite thoroughly deserted.

Kirk leans on the paddock fence and glumly muses, “Another dream that failed. There’s nothing sadder. It took these people a year to make the trip from Earth. They came all that way...and died.” Hold on, it took them a year? What, do they not give colony ships warp drives? Did they have to hitchhike here?

“Hardly that, sir,” someone says, and suddenly we see three men in green jumpsuits standing at the edge of the yard, looking very relaxed and also very not dead.

As the landing party all turn around to stare in shock the man in front strides forward and says, “Welcome to Omicron Ceti 3. I’m Elias Sandoval.” McCoy looks like he’s getting ready to spray the dude with holy water.

After the titles, we get a brief captain’s log to sum things up, just in case everyone forgot what happened during the commercial break:

“Captain’s Log, Stardate 3417.3. We thought our mission to Omicron Ceti 3 would be an unhappy one. We had expected to find no survivors of the agricultural colony there. Apparently, our information was incorrect.”

The colonists start happily shaking hands with the landing party—but happily as in “oh, it’s so nice to meet you” not “oh thank god you came to rescue us we’re all on the brink of death”. Sandoval says they haven’t seen anyone outside the colony since they left Earth four years ago, although they’ve been expecting someone to come by for a while. Apparently their subspace radio didn’t work right and they don’t have anyone who could “master its intricacies”. Now, I’m no expert on establishing colonies on alien planets, but ‘person who can work our only communication device’ does rather seem like a position you would want to make sure was filled before you left.

Kirk has to explain that they haven’t come to visit because of the dead radio. He does not explain why they did decide to come when they did. Spock’s comment about the colonists knowing there was a risk indicates that whether or not Bertold rays specifically were known about before the colonists left, they at least had reason to believe there was something dangerous about the planet. So why’d the Federation let them go and then wait another three years before sending anyone to check up on them? Eh, probably just another failing of twenty-third century space bureaucracy.

Sandoval’s not bothered about it, though. He tells Kirk that it doesn’t make much difference—the important thing is the party is here now and the colonists are happy to see them. Then he invites them on a tour of the settlement and casually strolls off, leaving the landing party to stand there and try to process what the hell they just witnessed.

“Pure speculation, just an educated guess...I’d say that man is alive,” McCoy says. Thanks Bones.

Spock says that his scans show that the planet is getting ray’d just as their reports indicated, so that’s not the issue. Under this intensity, the landing party could safely hang out here for a week if necessary, as per the usual Star Trek rule that you can be exposed to a deadly thing and be just fine up until the exact moment it kills you, but there’s a mighty big difference between a week and three years. Or as Kirk succinctly puts it, “These people shouldn’t be alive.”

“Is it possible they’re not?” Sulu asks. Great out of the box thinking there Sulu, love it.

Kirk takes a moment to consider that, which is fair—compared to the kind of weird shit they’ve encountered so far, the walking dead wouldn’t even stand out that much. But McCoy points out that when they shook hands with Sandoval, “His flesh was warm. He’s alive. There’s no doubt about that.” Spock fires back with a reminder that, “There’s no miracle connected with [Bertold rays], doctor, you know that. No cures, no serums, no antidotes. If a man is exposed long enough, he dies.” Okay dude, calm down, all McCoy said was “he’s alive” not “my god! Bertold rays have been fake all along! wake up sheeple!"

As Kirk points out, this whole debate is pretty pointless anyway for the moment—they’re arguing in a vacuum, and they’ll need more answers if they want to get anywhere. So they go to follow Sandoval, who leads them towards a nearby farm house, while a few colonists do various farm chores nearby. Sandoval explains that the colonists split into three groups, with forty-five people at this settlement and two more settlements elsewhere on the planet. Apparently they thought that arrangement would give each group a better chance for growth, since if some disaster struck one group the other two would probably still be alright.

“Omicron is an ideal agricultural planet,” he says. “We determined not to suffer the fate of the expeditions that went before us.” It’s rather vague what expeditions he’s referring to here, since at no other point in the episode are any previous attempts at settling Omicron Ceti 3 mentioned. But given that Sandoval specifically mentions the possibility of disease afflicting one group as a reason to split up, and Spock earlier said that Bertold rays were a recent discovery—and that the colonists knew coming to Omicron Ceti 3 was risky-- it seems possible that previous groups tried to settle the planet and, without knowing about the Bertold rays, mistook their effects for some kind of disease native to the planet. Of course that doesn’t explain why this group of colonists decided it would be a good idea to try to settle here again anyway, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few months, it’s that not everyone sees the possibility of dying to a terrible disease as a compelling reason to change their plans in any way.

As they stand in the farmhouse talking about this, a woman steps forward from another room in the house. She’s in soft focus, just in case we might forget she’s a woman, and instead of the green jumpsuit all the male colonists are wearing, she’s wearing green overalls over a lavender shirt, a combination that somehow manages to be an even worse fashion disaster than the jumpsuits themselves. She starts to say something to Sandoval, then stops in surprise as she sees the landing party. But for once the romance-o-vision isn’t for Kirk—it’s Spock that the camera zooms in on as the woman stares at him.

“Layla, come meet our guests,” Sandoval says cheerfully, oblivious to the wistfully romantic background music. He introduces her as Layla Colomi, their botanist. Layla says that she and Spock have met before, but “It’s been a long time.” Kirk gives Spock a bit of a side-eye for that, but Spock offers no details.

Well, all romantic tension aside, they do still have a mission to attend to here, as Kirk reminds Sandoval. Sandoval tells them to go ahead with any examinations or tests they want. “I think you’ll find our settlement an interesting one. Our philosophy is a simple one: that men should return to a less complicated life. We have few mechanical things here, no vehicles, no weapons. We have harmony here. Complete peace.” Oh yeah, that bodes well. Remember the last place we saw complete harmony and peace? At least that explains why everyone on this farm is using equipment straight out of Stardew Valley, which is presumably not the most advanced agricultural technology available by the twenty-third century. I’m not sure why Sandoval’s idea of a simpler lifestyle excludes vehicles, though. They’re not exactly the most recent thing on the timeline of human technological advancements.

Sandoval tells the landing party to make themselves at home, and they all head off. All except for Spock, who lingers just a few seconds more to give Layla a completely neutral look before walking away as well.

Everyone goes off to conduct their respective investigations. Sulu and Kelowitz wander through a yard over towards another farm building. Kelowitz isn’t sure what exactly they should be looking for, though. “Whatever doesn’t look right—whatever that is,” Sulu replies, climbing up to sit on a railing on the building’s porch. “When it comes to farms, I wouldn’t know what looked right or wrong if it were two feet from me.” I hope you enjoyed that line, because “didn’t grow up on a farm” is about all the backstory TOS is going to give us for Sulu until the movies.

[ID: Three screenshots showing Sulu pulling himself up to sit on the railing of an old-fashioned farmhouse as he says, "When it comes to farms, I wouldn't know what looked right or wrong if it were two feet from me." Growing up from the ground nearby are two large plants with thick brownish-purple stems and large pink flowers on top.]

Hey Sulu, what's that about two feet from you? Oh well, I'm sure it's not important.

Kelowitz opens up a nearby barn and notes that there’s no cows there—in fact, the barn isn’t even built for cows, just for storage, and indeed it only looks big enough to be useful for holding cow, singular. Having a storage barn isn’t itself that weird, although the fact that there is nothing currently stored in the storage barn is a bit strange. But also, as Sulu points out, come to think of it, they haven’t seen any animals here, native or imported. No cows, no horses, no pigs, not even a dog. Which is a bit odd for an agricultural colony. They must have had or expected to have animals at some point—otherwise what was pulling that cart?

Back in the house, Sandoval is asking Layla about Spock (once again referred to as a ‘Vulcanian’). She says that she knew Spock on Earth, six years ago. Sandoval, apparently having noticed the dreamy background music by now, asks if Layla loved Spock. She says that if she did, “it was important only to myself...Mr. Spock’s feelings were never expressed to me. It is said he has none to give.”

“Would you like him to stay with us now? To be one of us?” Sandoval asks. Layla smiles at him. “There is no choice, Elias,” she says. “He will stay.”

Elsewhere in the house, McCoy is scanning a colonist. He doesn’t look exactly happy with the tricorder result he gets, but all he says is, “That’ll be all, thank you very much,” and the colonist leaves, passing Kirk coming in. Incidentally, I can’t help but note that this room contains two paintings on the wall and what appears to be a cabinet full of china. I suppose the paintings could have been done by a colonist, but the china could surely only have been brought there. Who decided to pack fancy china on a year-long space voyage to an agricultural colony?

[ID: A shot of the interior of a farmhouse with blue walls, with a large wooden table in the middle of the room, a cabinet with china and glassware in the corner, a wooden desk with a copper tea kettle and some other kitchen items on it against the back wall, and a painting hanging on the wall showing some blurry trees. Sandoval, a middle-aged white man with short brown hair wearing a green jumpsuit, walks past the camera as he says, "Oh, captain, I've been looking for you."]

Kirk asks if McCoy’s found anything yet. McCoy replies that he’s surveyed nine men so far, ranging in age from twenty-three to fifty-nine. And they’re all in perfect condition. Not just healthy—perfect. Textbook responses across the board, from all of them. “If there are many more of them,” McCoy muses, “I can throw away my shingle.”

At that point Kirk’s communicator goes off. It’s Spock, calling in from one of the crop fields. He’s made the same observation as Sulu—there’s no life on the planet aside from the colonists and the plants. No animals, no insects. Spock doesn’t have any explanation yet, so Kirk tells him to carry on with his investigation and hangs up.

McCoy notes the absence of animals as peculiar, and Kirk says it’s especially so because the expedition records show that they did bring animals with them to raise for food. And pull their carts, presumably. But it seems none of them are still around. McCoy says he’d like to see the expedition’s medical records, a request Kirk has apparently anticipated because he’s got the floppy disc on hand with him.

Sandoval comes in and says that he’d like to take the two of them on a tour of the fields, to show off what the colony’s accomplished. McCoy says he’ll have to bow out, since he’s still working on the medical examinations. “However, if I find everyone else’s health to be as perfect as yours...”

“You’ll find no weaklings here,” Sandoval says, which uh, sure is a hell of a way to phrase that. “No weaklings! None of those miserable, pathetic sods with imperfect health! Only the strong survive! THE SLIGHTEST BLEMISH SHALL BE CAUSE FOR EXILE!”

Leaving McCoy behind, Kirk and Sandoval head out to the fields, where Sandoval gushes to Kirk about how great this place is: they’ve got moderate climate, moderate rains all year round, and the soil will grow anything they stick in it. Which is pretty miraculous, considering there’s no such thing as growing conditions that are perfect for every plant. But as we’re about to see, that’s not the only weird thing going on with their farming practices.

The conversation is interrupted by DeSalle arriving to give Kirk the biology report. Sandoval excuses himself to attend to work elsewhere, leaving Kirk and DeSalle alone to discuss the report. At first, it seems to be just as Sandoval said: they’ve got a variety of crops growing here successfully. The weird thing is that they don’t actually have very many of those crops. There’s enough to keep the colony going at the size it currently is, but barely more than that. Which tracks with what we’ve seen of the place so far: a couple of tiny fields that look more about the size for someone’s backyard garden than for a prosperous farm, tended by the occasional person idly scratching at the ground with a hoe. For a supposedly bounteous agricultural colony, that’s pretty weird. What have they been doing all this time?

“It’s like a jigsaw puzzle all one color,” Kirk muses, taking a moment to stroll a few steps away so he can say this dramatically in the distance instead of actually talking to DeSalle. “No key to where the pieces fit in. Why?”

Kirk’s communicator goes off. It’s McCoy, saying Kirk had better get back over there. “Trouble?” “No, but I’d like you to see this for yourself.” Of course. No one can ever just explain something over the phone, can they.

So Kirk heads back to the house, where the thing that Kirk just absolutely has to see for himself turns out to be McCoy just telling him what he’s found out, but he definitely couldn't do that over the communicator for, uh, reasons. What he’s found out is pretty interesting, though: McCoy checked up on Sandoval’s medical records from right before the colonists had left, which said that Sandoval had had an appendectomy, and had scar tissue on his lungs from childhood pneumonia (the weakling!). Yet when McCoy scanned Sandoval himself today, the results came back just as perfect as all the other colonists’. Kirk’s first thought is instrument failure, but McCoy says no, he thought of that and tested it by scanning himself, and it recorded him just fine, down to “those two broken ribs I had once.” Which sounds like an interesting story. But Sandoval’s scan? No scar tissue, and one healthy appendix. That’s right, Sandoval’s apparently managed to regrow an entire organ. Do you think you would notice that happening? Like, would it itch?

While Kirk and McCoy try to figure that out, Spock is hanging out in a field scanning with his own tricorder, while Layla stands nearby smiling ominously at him. Spock muses that there’s “Nothing. Not even insects. Yet your plants grow, and you’ve survived exposure to Bertold rays.” Yeah, how are those plants growing without insects? Presumably the native plants have evolved some way around that, but the ones the colonists have brought from Earth would need some help. Are the colonists just manually pollinating everything? Maybe that’s why they haven’t grown very much.

Layla says this can be explained, but when asked to do so, she just says, “Later.” Spock looks annoyed and remarks, “I have never understood the female capacity to avoid a direct answer to any question.” Hey! Cut that bullshit out. No one on this colony has directly answered a question since you got here, there’s no call to go ragging on a whole gender for it. Besides, just saying “Later,” is hardly a stunningly deft diversion, it’s not like she threw a smoke bomb down and disappeared.

“And I never understood you,” Layla says, walking over and placing a hand on his chest. “Until now. There was always a place in here where no one could come. There was only the face you allow people to see. Only one side you’d allow them to know.”

[ID: Three screenshots of Spock and Layla, a white woman with a lot of long blonde hair wearing a lilac shirt and green overalls, standing outside in a field with a large tree in the background. Layla, seen from behind, is pressing her hand to Spock's upper chest and saying, "There was always a place in here where no one could come." Spock replies "you know that's not where my heart is right".]

If Layla was hoping this little speech would prompt Spock to cry out that yes, she’s figured him out, he does love her but has never been able to show it! she’s disappointed, because he just looks uncomfortable and steps away. He tries to steer the conversation back onto the mystery of the colonists. “If I tell you how we survive,” she asks, “will you try to understand how we feel about our life here? About each other?”

That’s a pretty vague thing to make a promise about, so Spock deflects by saying that emotions are alien to him; he’s a SCIENTIST. “Someone else might believe that—your shipmates, your captain—but not me,” Layla says. Oh sure! Obviously none of the people who have lived, worked, and risked death alongside Spock can be expected to know anything about Spock. Only you are the Spock Expert, gifted with incredible insight by virtue of having a crush on him.

“Come,” she says, sauntering off through the field with her hand outstretched to him. Spock rather pointedly folds his hands behind his back instead and follows her.

Back in the house, Kirk and McCoy are struggling to have a conversation with Sandoval. Kirk tells Sandoval that he’s received orders from Starfleet Command to evacuate everyone on the colony, since, y’know, deadly rays and all that. He expects Sandoval to start making preparations. But Sandoval, calmly, casually, says, “No.” It’s not necessary, he insists—they’re in no danger.

But...but the Bertold rays. Sandoval is unmoved, pointing out that as McCoy’s own instruments show, the colonists are in perfect health and there have been no deaths. Okay, what about all those animals? What happened to them? “We’re vegetarians,” Sandoval says blithely. Which, as Kirk points out, does absolutely nothing to answer the question. Actually it raises further questions.

Sandoval remains thoroughly unbothered and thoroughly unhelpful. “Captain, you stress very unimportant matters. We will not leave,” he says, and goes back to gazing out the window, evidently considering the conversation over.

Elsewhere, Spock and Layla are still walking, and Spock is getting annoyed that Layla still hasn’t explained just what it is they’re going to see. “Its basic properties and elements are not important,” Layla says helpfully. “What is important is that it gives life, peace, love.” Oh boy.

Spock is dubious, but Layla pulls him forward, over towards another one of those large pink flowers. “I was one of the first to find them,” Layla says. “The spores.”

[ID: A gif of Spock approaching a large pinkish-purple flower and saying, "Spores?" The flower then sprays a cloud of white spores all over his face and torso while Spock recoils.]

For a moment Spock just looks startled, but then he starts clutching his head and falling onto his knees in the grass, dropping his tricorder and gasping, “No--” For the first time all episode, Layla’s absolute serenity starts to fracture slightly. Over Spock’s agonized protests, she insists that it shouldn’t hurt—it didn’t hurt any of them. But, as Spock gasps out, he’s not like them. Whoops, did the biologist forget to account for biological differences before handing out a facefull of spores? I bet you didn’t even check if he had any allergies first, did you?

Just as it’s looking like this might put actually put a crack in Layla’s blissed-out impassivity, Spock stops thrashing about and starts seeming less anguished and more confused. Layla’s concern vanishes once again, and she goes back to smiling happily while stroking his face. “Now...now you belong to all of us...and we to you. There’s no need to hide your inner face any longer. We understand.”

Spock still seems unsure, but then he takes Layla’s hand in his and smiles. Not the slight hint of a smile or sardonic quirk of the lips you’d expect to see from Spock, but a huge, broad grin from ear to ear. “I love you...I can love you,” he says, and then he kisses her.

Hoo boy.

After the break, we get a quick Captain’s Log to recap:

“Captain’s Log, supplemental. We have been ordered by Starfleet Command to evacuate the colony on Omicron 3. However, the colony leader, Elias Sandoval, has refused all cooperation and will not listen to any arguments.”

Sure enough, we see Sandoval exiting the farmhouse, followed by McCoy and an extremely frustrated Kirk. “Captain, your arguments are very valid, but do they not apply to us,” Sandoval says, as calm as ever. He tries to walk off, but Kirk grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“My orders are to remove all the colonists,” he says, “and that’s exactly what I intend to do with or without your help.”

“Without, I should think,” Sandoval says, and strolls off, leaving Kirk standing there fuming.

Sulu and Kelowitz come walking up to report that they’ve checked out everything and it all seems normal, except for the missing animals. Of course, they also both said they had no idea what to look for in the first place, so maybe take that with a grain of salt. Kirk tells them about the evacuation orders, and says he wants landing parties to start gathering the colonists and preparing them to leave. And by the way, where did Spock and DeSalle go? Sulu says they haven’t seen either one in some time, but McCoy says DeSalle was going to examine some native plants he found. Native plants, huh? I think we can guess what happened to DeSalle.

Since Spock still hasn’t reported in, Kirk gives him a call. Or tries to, at least—Spock doesn’t pick up. On the other end of the line, we see why that is: Spock's communicator is laying abandoned on the ground, while Spock himself, now dressed in the same horrible green jumpsuit as the colonists, is stretched out on the grass with Layla, watching clouds. The communicator beeps away while Spock happily describes how one of the clouds looks like a dragon. "I've never seen a dragon," Layla says. BEEP BEEP. "I have." BEEP BEEP. "On Barengarius 7." BEEP BEEP. "But I've never stopped to look at clouds before." BEEP BEEP. "Or rainbows." BEEP BEEP. "You know, I can tell you exactly why one appears in the sky, but considering its beauty has always been out of the question." BEEP BEEP.

"Not here," Layla says (beep beep), and they smile dreamily at each other before going into another makeout session. Meanwhile, Kirk is still on the line, and not getting any happier about it. Layla finally picks up the communicator and holds it up for Spock, who takes a break from kissin' to say, "Yes, what did you want?"

Naturally, this throws both Kirk and McCoy for a loop. While McCoy stands there with a "what the fuck" look on his face, Kirk takes a moment to recover and then demands, "Spock, is that you?"

"Yes, captain, what did you want?"

"Where are you?"

"...I don't believe I want to tell you."

[ID: Three shots of Kirk and McCoy standing in front of the farmhouse, Kirk holding his communicator while McCoy looks on. Kirk has a stunned expression on his face and looks around with his mouth open, trying to figure out what to say.]

Kirk plows on ahead, telling Spock that, whatever the hell he thinks he's doing, he's got orders: they're getting the colonists out, and Spock is to meet back at the settlement in ten minutes.

"No, I don't think so," Spock says casually. "You don't think so, what?" "I don't think so, sir."

Kirk has to take a moment after that one. It's rather amazing that McCoy's made it this far into the conversation without saying anything himself. Presumably he's just in shock. Eventually Kirk tells Spock to report in immediately, but by now Spock and Layla have gone back to kissing, leaving the communicator open but abandoned in the grass once more.

"That didn't sound at all like Spock, Jim," McCoy says, putting in his bid for the Enterprise’s bi-weekly Massive Understatement contest.

"No, it--I thought you said you might like him if he mellowed a little."

"I didn't say that!"

"You said that."

"Not exactly,” McCoy protests, and then somewhat grudgingly adds, “He might be in trouble.”

I'm sure McCoy did say that, or something like it, but "I hope Spock has his brain taken over by alien spores" was presumably not where he was going with it. He obviously sees this sudden change of behavior as something to be concerned about--even moreso than Kirk, who seems more irritated than anything. But then, it's only been a couple episodes since McCoy had his own run-in with an alien influence making people act a lot more mellow than usual, and he didn't enjoy that experience at all, so it's not surprising that "trouble" is his first thought here.

Kirk tells McCoy to take over the landing party detail and start getting the colonists up to the ship, and to make sure the party works in teams of two, with nobody being left alone. Meanwhile, Kirk himself takes Sulu and Kelowitz and heads off to find Spock, using the open frequency from Spock's communicator as a homing signal. They follow a dirt path out of the main settlement and soon find said communicator, laying open and abandoned in the grass just off the path. As Kirk picks it up, they hear laughter nearby, and Sulu points in astonishment further down the path, where Layla is watching Spock dangle upside-down from a tree branch like a kid on a jungle gym.

[ID: A shot of Spock and Layla among some trees at the end of a dirt path. Layla is standing on the ground and holding hands with Spock, who is hanging upside-down by his knees from a large tree branch, laughing.]

For a moment all Kirk can do is stare weakly at this weird spectacle. Then he collects himself with a stern AHEM and marches over like a principal about to deliver some very serious detention.

Meanwhile, back at the main hub of the colony, the landing party seems to have gotten well underway with preparations for departure, with several colonists and crewmen piling up luggage and equipment in the middle of a field while McCoy stands nearby overseeing everything, a job I’m sure he’s enjoying since we all know administrative work is McCoy’s favorite thing. Then DeSalle arrives, carrying a couple of the spore flowers and tells McCoy to take “a good, close look” at them, because they’re very interesting. McCoy steps forward to check them out right before the scene cuts away again, leaving us with little doubt as to what’s about to happen next.

During that little interim, Kirk and his crew have made it over to where Spock and Layla are cavorting. Spock just grins happily at Kirk, clearly not bothered one bit, even as Kirk asks if Spock’s out of his mind. He didn’t report to Kirk, he says, because...he didn’t want to.

Kirk glances back and forth between Spock and Layla, who’s standing there smiling rather smugly, and tells Layla that she’ll need to come get ready to evacuate with the rest of the colonists. Spock cheerfully says that there’s not going to be any evacuation. “But perhaps,” he adds, “we should go and get you straightened out.”

That really doesn’t bode well, but rather than ask just what Spock means by that, Kirk tells Sulu that Spock is under arrest in Sulu’s custody until they get back to the ship. Which will certainly work out well because it’s not like Spock is strong enough to chuck Sulu all the way across the field barehanded or anything. Not that Spock seems especially perturbed about being under arrest; instead he just shrugs, drops down from the tree, and says, “Very well. Come with me,” before heading off across the field, leaving else to follow in confusion. That’s how you arrest someone, right?

Of course, Spock leads them right to another group of spore flowers, which the group stops and stares at obligingly for a moment. Then the flowers explode a bunch of spores at them. Somehow, even though he’s standing right next to Sulu and Kelowitz, Kirk manages to totally avoid getting any spores up his sinuses, while the other two are immediately affected. “Yes...I see now,” Sulu says blissfully, with that trademark Very High grin that George Takei does so well. “Of course we can’t remove the colony. It’d be wrong.”

Kirk grabs him by the shoulders—Kirk’s go-to method for snapping people out of it--but when this somehow fails to bring Sulu back to his right mind, all Kirk can do is say that he doesn’t know what these plants are or how they work, but “you’re all going back to the settlement with me, and those colonists are going aboard the ship.” This stern proclamation has absolutely no effect on anyone. The whole group just stands there happily watching Kirk stomp back toward the colony. “I can see the captain is going to be difficult,” Spock remarks.

Kirk’s day isn’t about to get any better, because upon making it back to the colony he’s greeted by McCoy, who we can immediately tell is under the influence as well because his accent is absolutely out of control. It’s so thick even the subtitles pick up on it.

[ID: A screenshot of McCoy walking through a meadow with his communicator out, saying, "Sho’nuf."]

“Hiya, Jimmy boy!” McCoy very happily says to a very unhappy Kirk. “Hey, I’ve taken care of everything. Now all y’all gotta do is just relax. Doctor’s orders!” With a very resigned look, Kirk asks how many plants McCoy’s beamed up to the ship, and McCoy says it must be going on a hundred by now.

So Kirk beams up to the ship and heads right to the bridge, where he tells Uhura to put him through to Admiral Komak at Starfleet, though what he expects Komak to do about all this I don't know. But it’s too late. Uhura turns around to show that she’s smiling as happily as everyone else, and says, “Oh, I’m sorry Dave, I mean, captain. I can’t do that.” She’s short-circuited all the ship’s communications, except for ship-to-surface, since they’ll need that for a little while yet. Then she leaves, pausing in the door of the lift to tell Kirk that it’s really all for the best.

Kirk stands there seething for a moment, then stomps over to grab a plant that’s been left in Spock’s chair. He throws it across the bridge, and the camera lingers ominously on it as Kirk heads back into the lift.

Things aren’t any better on the rest of the ship. Kirk soon finds a long line of crewmembers of all different shirt colors, patiently waiting to transport down to join the colony. Out of what I can only assume is some desperate futile hope that someone will follow his orders if he just keeps trying, Kirk orders them all to go back to their stations at once. Unsurprisingly, they all ignore him. Kirk points out to one of the redshirts that this is MUTINY! but it doesn't get him very far.

[ID: A gif showing a young white man with brown hair wearing a redshirt as he says, "Yes, sir, it is." The camera then zooms in very dramatically on Kirk's stunned face.]

So...they’re all going down to join the colony? All four hundred thirty of them? Or four hundred twenty-nine, I guess, if Kirk refuses to join the fun. That’s almost ten times the amount of people the colony currently has in it. That seems like it could present a bit of a problem, because if you’ll recall DeSalle told Kirk earlier that right now the colony’s growing enough food to feed their current population, with little left over. How are they going to handle such a large and sudden influx into their population? Do they have housing for all these people? Or are they just all going to eat dirt and sleep on the ground because they’re all too high to notice anyway?

After we’ve had a commercial break to contemplate this shocking turn of events, Kirk takes some time out to give vent to his feelings in a captain’s log:

"Captain's Log, Stardate 3417.5. The pod plants have spread spores throughout the ship, carried by the ventilation system. Under their influence, my crew is deserting to join the Omicron colony, and I can't stop them. I don't know why I have not been infected, nor can I get Doctor McCoy to explain the physical, psychological aspects of the infection."

And indeed, just in case we had any doubt, we then see McCoy strolling through the field and happily telling Kirk, “I’m not interested in any physical, psychological aspects, Jim-boy. We all perfectly healthy down here.” Kirk grumbles about how much he’s been hearing about things being perfect lately. “I bet you’ve even grown your tonsils back.” “Sho’nuf!”

Kirk tries desperately to get McCoy to do something to figure these spores out—run a blood test, take a scan, type the symptoms into WebMD, something, anything—but McCoy is more interested in rambling on about mint juleps. Meanwhile, back in the farmhouse, Sandoval’s having tea with Spock while they talk about how nearly everyone’s beamed down from the ship and things are “proceeding quite well.” Kirk storms in and demands to know where McCoy’s gotten to, and Spock says he went off to make that mint julep. Which could prove quite difficult unless this tiny half-assed farm colony has somehow managed to set up a working distillery around here somewhere, but Kirk’s got bigger concerns right now than where McCoy’s going to get his bourbon.

Sandoval wants to know why Kirk won’t join them in their private, spore-sponsored paradise. Kirk asks where these spores came from, anyway, and Spock exposits that there’s no way to know—they just drifted through space until they arrived at this planet, which is perfect for them because it turns out they actually thrive on Bertold rays. The plants act as a repository for the spores until they can find a human—or half-Vulcan—body to inhabit. No explanation is forthcoming as to how Spock knows any of this.

Spock and Sandoval insist that the planet is “a true Eden” with belonging and love and no needs or wants for anyone, but Kirk is skeptical. “No wants, no needs. We weren’t meant for that. None of us. Man stagnates if he has no ambition, no desire to be more than he is.” Of all the things wrong with this situation I’m not sure “BEING TOO HAPPY IS BAD FOR YOU” is the take I would go with, but okay. Spock says that Kirk doesn’t understand, but he’ll come around...sooner or later.

Kirk, disgusted with this whole conversation, goes back to the ship. The bridge is dark, silent, and utterly empty. We get a slow pan of the blinking lights and displays of the consoles, with no one left to man them. Kirk walks over to his chair, hits the intercom, and starts calling one part of the ship after another, with no response from any of them. With nothing else left to do, he sits down in his chair and starts glumly recording a captain’s log so angsty it could be a LiveJournal entry:

"Captain's Log, Stardate 3417.7. Except for myself, all crew personnel have transported to the surface of the planet. Mutinied. Lieutenant Uhura has effectively sabotaged the communications station. I can only contact the surface of the planet. The ship...can be maintained in orbit for several months, but even with automatic controls, I cannot pilot her alone. In effect, I am marooned here. I'm beginning to realize...just how big this ship really is, how quiet. I don't know how to get my crew back, how to counteract the effect of the spores. I don't know what I can offer against...paradise."

Hold on hold on HOLD ON what do you MEAN the ship can be maintained in orbit for several months? Every time someone takes their hands off the controls for five seconds we get told that the orbit is decaying and they’re gonna plummet into some hapless planet within a few hours at most but now all of a sudden it’s fine to hang out up there for several months? MAKE UP YOUR MIND.

Kirk gets up to go sit at the helm, just to get a change of scenery mid-mope, and as he finishes his log/rant the camera slowly pans down to reveal the spore flower that he chucked across the bridge earlier. Which is weird because we just got a wide shot of the bridge and that flower definitely wasn’t there then.

[ID: Two shots. The first is a wide shot showing Kirk alone on the empty, darkened bridge, preparing to sit down at the helm. There is nothing in on the floor in front of the helm. The second shot is a closer shot of Kirk sitting at the helm with his chin in one hand, now with a large spore flower poking up in the front of shot.]

The flower promptly shoots Kirk in the face, and for a moment he just continues to sit there with spores in his hair and a “yeah, this might as well happen” expression. But then he slowly starts to smile, suddenly as happy as everyone else. Exactly why Kirk’s been unaffected by the spores up until now, even after hanging out for quite a while on a ship that’s supposedly been thoroughly contaminated by them, is never really explained. Maybe he's just on a lot of Zyrtec. But it seems even Kirk’s determination to not be happy can’t hold out against a point-blank spray in the face. He calls Spock to say that he finally understands now, which Spock is happy to hear. Kirk says he’ll be down just as soon as he packs up a few things, so Spock says he and Layla will wait for him at the beamdown point.

So Kirk goes off to his quarters to pack up a suitcase, the contents of which seem to mostly consist of uniform shirts. Apparently paradise for Kirk does not include one of those green jumpsuits, which, really, who can blame him. He opens a small vault by his bed and pulls out a couple of black cases, one of which he opens to reveal a medal. This seems to stir some sense of conflict because he sits down and stares at it for a long moment, but then puts it aside and heads to the transporter room, where he puts the suitcase on the platform and then prepares to set the controls.

But then Kirk hesitates, and stands there for a moment looking conflicted. Possibly he’s still having feelings about those medals, or maybe he’s having second thoughts about whether he packed enough shirts. In any case, he eventually exclaims, “No...No! I...can’t...LEAVE!” Then he punches the console for good measure.

Apparently this little emotional outburst is all it takes to cure the spores, because Kirk gasps a little, looks momentarily confused, and then seems to be back to his old self. “Emotions...violent emotions. Needs...anger,” he tells the empty room. “Captain’s log, supplemental. I think I’ve discovered the answer...but to carry out my plan entails considerable risk. Mr. Spock is much stronger than the ordinary human being.” Then he treats us to this remarkable line:

[ID: A shot of Kirk in profile at the transporter controls as he says, "Aroused, his great physical strength could kill."]

Down on the planet, Spock and Layla are still waiting at the beamdown point when Kirk calls Spock up and says he’s realized there’s some equipment on the ship that they’ll need for the colony, and he needs Spock’s help to get it all beamed down. Really, you’d think there’d be quite a lot of equipment on the Enterprise that a farming colony could make good use of, but I guess they’re really determined to stick to the whole no-technology approach. Despite this, Spock cheerfully accepts the explanation, gives Layla a quick smooch, and beams up.

But upon materializing, Spock is greeted not with a smiling Kirk ready to go move some equipment with his bro, but Kirk standing there holding some nonspecific heavy metal rod thing that he’s smacking threatening against his hand. “All right, you mutinous, disloyal, computerized half-breed,” he says, “we’ll see about you deserting my ship.”

Spock reacts to this bar-brawl-starter with nothing more than a nonplussed expression and polite correcting Kirk on his syntax. Kirk, determination unshaken, continues laying into him with a stream of insults that would have made that fucker from Balance of Terror go, “Whoa, hold on there a minute.” Undeterred by not being able to use any actual expletives, he compares Spock both to a machine and to various fairy-tale creatures, makes fun of his ears, and rounds it all off by having a go at the entire Vulcan race. He even insults Spock’s parents.

[ID: 1. A shot of Spock standing in the transporter room looking perplexed as Kirk, off-camera, says, "Whose father was a computer and his mother an encyclopedia?" 2. A gif from Monty Python and the Holy Grail of John Cleese as the French knight on the battlements yelling, "Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!"]

Spock stands there taking it all stoically for quite a while, even as the background music gets increasingly tense. He finally starts to crack when Kirk goes after Spock’s relationship with Layla, and when Kirk keeps going despite Spock angrily telling him, “That’s enough,” Spock finally flips out big time. You know what that means, it’s time for a STAR TREK FIGHT SCENE! This one’s got it all: close-up shots of the actors intercut with long shots of very obvious stunt doubles; cardboard props getting punched; even people picking up random unidentifiable bits of starship equipment that may or may not have ever been there before to use as weapons. The only thing we’re missing is Kirk doing some kind of weird wrestling move.

[ID: Three gifs showing a fight scene between Kirk and Spock. First we see a long shot where Kirk and Spock are clearly being played by stunt doubles, as Spock punches a metal rod Kirk is holding, bending it in half. He then punches Kirk in the jaw, sending him careening into the wall. Then a close-up of Nimoy and Shatner as Spock advances on Kirk and throws a punch but misses, denting the control panel in the wall behind Kirk. Kirk dodges out of the way towards the console, and Spock throws another punch that hits the side of the console. Then back to a long view with the stunt doubles as Spock throws Kirk into the opposite wall, which Kirk careens off of, falling on his back on the floor, while Spock picks up something resembling a square metal stool or stepladder and raises it over his head. Finally, we see Nimoy and Shatner again as Kirk lays on the floor looking up at Spock, raising the thing he's carrying over his head.]

We dramatically cut to black as Spock stands poised above Kirk, raising whatever-the-hell-that-thing-is over his head threateningly. Apparently the ad break gives him enough time to cool down, though, because instead of bringing the thing down on Kirk’s skull, he hesitates.

“Had enough?” Kirk asks. “I didn’t realize what it took to get under that thick hide of yours.”

Spock slowly lowers the thing, looking a bit regretful about having to do so. Kirk says he doesn’t know what Spock’s so mad about, anyway. “It isn’t every first officer who gets to belt his captain...several times.” Dude, you just stood there and unleashed a screed of personal and racial insults at your best friend here. A “sorry” probably wouldn’t go amiss here.

“You did that to me deliberately,” Spock realizes, and then realizes that the spores are gone. “I don’t belong anymore.” Kirk explains that since the spores are “benevolent and peaceful,” violent emotions overwhelm and destroy them—that’s the answer. Which...definitely makes sense, chemically speaking. Sure.

Spock, still looking pretty glum about all this, points out that Kirk’s method might have worked out alright for curing one person, but they’ve got over five hundred infected people down there, and trying to pick a fight with all of them probably isn’t going to go so well. But no worries, Kirk’s got another plan. He wants Spock to rig up a subsonic transmitter that they can hook up to the ship’s communications system and then broadcast to all the communicators. Spock says he can do that, but hesitates as Kirk turns to leave. “Captain. Striking a fellow officer is a court martial offense,” he points out.

Kirk mulls over that one for a moment. “We-ll...if we’re both in the brig, who’s gonna build the subsonic transmitter?” he says, and Spock concedes the point. Besides, it’s a bit late to be worrying about striking fellow officers now.

[ID: A gif from The Naked Time of Kirk and Spock standing in an Enterprise conference room. Kirk slaps Spock across the face, and Spock retaliates by backhanding Kirk so hard he is thrown across the table in the center of the room and falls onto the floor on the other side.]

But what with the insults and the punching and de-sporing and everything, it seems that something has clean slipped Spock’s mind: Layla’s still down there waiting for him to come back. As she stands around the field, McCoy wanders over and asks what’s up. When she tells him that she’s been out here for some time now waiting for Spock and Kirk to come back, he gentlemanly offers to fix that for her and calls the ship. Spock picks up, and Layla asks if everything’s okay up there.

With obvious discomfort, Spock tells her that yes, he’s...quite well. Layla, oblivious to anything being wrong, asks if she can come up there, because she wants to talk to him, and besides, “I’ve never seen a starship before.” Wait a minute, never seen a starship before? You’re on a planetary colony! What, did you drive here?

Spock asks if she’s still at the beamdown point, and if McCoy’s there. Layla says yes to both, so Spock tells her to give the communicator back to McCoy, since she won’t need it to transport, and he’ll have her beamed up in a few minutes. One might think that at this point they might take this easy opportunity to also beam up McCoy and get him cured (it shouldn’t be hard, McCoy is already 85% comprised of negative emotions to begin with), so he can start investigating these spores, just in case Operation Go For the Eardrums doesn’t work. But they don’t. Kirk awkwardly asks Spock if he’s sure about talking to Layla while she’s still spore’d, but Spock just nods and heads to the transporter room.

He beams Layla up, and she happily runs over to give him a hug—they’ve been parted ever so long, after all—but when he just stands there stiffly, not reacting at all, she slowly pulls back and says, “You’re no longer with us, are you?”

Spock says it was necessary. Layla begs him to come back to the planet and belong again, but he says he can’t. She starts crying and saying she loves him. "I said that six years ago, and I can't seem to stop repeating myself. On Earth, you couldn't give anything of yourself. You couldn't even put your arms around me. We couldn't have anything together there. We couldn't have anything together anyplace else. But we're happy here. I can't lose you now, Mr. Spock, I can't." Look, if the only time the relationship you want can possibly work out is when the other person is being mind-controlled by alien spores, I think it may be time to consider whether this is really a relationship you should be pursuing in the first place.

“I have a responsibility to this ship...to that man on the bridge,” Spock gently tells her. “I am what I am, Layla. And if there are self-made purgatories, then we all have to live in them. Mine can be no worse than someone else’s.”

Layla soon realizes that all this anguish has resulted in her getting de-spore’d as well, and she’s not happy about it. “And this is for my own good?” she demands angrily. Well...yes, I mean, it is, but Spock doesn’t say that. Nor does he respond when she asks, “Do you mind if I say I still love you?” but she hugs him again anyway.

[ID: Layla tearfully embraces Spock and says, "You never told me if you had another name, Mr. Spock." Spock replies, "You couldn't pronounce it."]

ROMANCE

We’re obviously supposed to read this little story arc as the tragic tale of true love destined never to be, because Spock is only able to express his feelings for Layla under the influence of the spores. He has experienced paradise, but alas, he cannot linger there, and so on. It’s never set all that well with me, though. The problem is we never really get Spock’s side of the story and so it leaves open the question of how much he actually did want this relationship in the first place. Layla said earlier that “Mr. Spock’s feelings were never expressed to me” so evidently he never outright said “I love you but I can’t be with you” or anything of that sort to her. When they’re alone in the field before Spock gets spore’d he seems stiff, standoffish, awkward, and deflects all of her overtures with what appears to be discomfort, even annoyance. He clearly has no interest in talking about whatever history they had together, even when they’re all alone. For all that Layla goes on about how she can see a side of Spock that his crewmates don’t, we see interactions with those crewmates multiple times throughout the show that prove that Spock is perfectly capable of showing people that he cares about them, even if the ways he does it are usually a bit atypical. We don’t see any of that in his initial interactions with Layla.

If we accept the premise that the spores only make people act as they would if they had no inhibitions or fears holding them back, then yes, Spock saying he loves Layla after he’s been spore’d would indicate that he did secretly love her all along. The problem is that we know the spores make people do things that they would not ordinarily want to do. You think all of those four hundred thirty people on the Enterprise secretly longed for a quiet life among the soil but all chose to instead join the space navy for some reason? Should we believe Scotty is actually deep down perfectly okay with abandoning his beloved ship to a slowly decaying orbit? I doubt that Kirk has always harbored a subconscious desire to give up exploring the final frontier to pursue a peaceful agrarian lifestyle, but he very nearly does do just that. So the question of how much a relationship with Layla is what Spock “really” wanted seems to be a bit hazy.

Mind, I’m not saying this makes Layla an evil person who deliberately drugged Spock so she could have a relationship with him or anything like that. It’s clear throughout the episode that the spores induce those who are infected by them to spread them around to anyone nearby who’s not in the spore fandom yet, so there’s no reason to believe Layla would act as she did if she wasn’t under the influence herself. I just personally find it hard to buy into the tragic romance of a star-crossed relationship when the thing crossing the stars is that one of the participants is only enthusiastic about the whole thing when they’re not fully sober. It makes me question how much of their previous relationship really was Spock having feelings for Layla but being unable to express them, versus Layla projecting a lot of feelings onto him and writing off his disinterest or discomfort as denial.

Kirk and Spock go back to working on the signal, while Layla deals with her heartbreak by disappearing into thin air for the rest of the episode. Spock says that the sound they’re going to send out is on a frequency that won’t be heard so much as felt, but apparently it will be felt quite emphatically. Kirk compares it to putting itching powder on someone. Which may seem like another silly technobabble deus ex machina, but speaking from personal experience, driving someone into a frantic frustrated fit by playing an obnoxious noise just on the edge of hearing sounds totally legit. All they need to complete the sensory overload meltdown experience is find a way to simulate some flickering florescent lights and put tags on the backs of the uniform shirts.

And indeed, as the device starts to work, we see Sulu and DeSalle working in one of the fields—for a certain value of ‘working,’ anyway, they’re kind of just digging around aimlessly—when Sulu accidentally elbows DeSalle in the back. He apologizes, but DeSalle shoves him back, and before long they’re having a full-on brawl right there in the field, which can't be good for the crops. As the device on the ship hums away, two more crewmembers start their own fight over by the farmhouse, and when a third tries to break them up he promptly gets dragged into it as well.

The effects haven’t quite reached everyone just yet, though, as we see McCoy chillaxing under a tree with some unspecified concoction. Sandoval strolls up and says that he’s been thinking about what sort of work he could assign McCoy to. When McCoy protests that he does one kind of work and that’s doctorin’, Sandoval says that he’s not a doctor anymore—they don’t need any doctors here.

This does not go over well.

[ID: A gif showing McCoy reclining against a tree in a grassy meadow, a stalk of grass in one hand and a grass of something brown with several leafy stalks in it. Sandoval is standing over him. McCoy says, "Oh, no?" and then slowly stands up, tosses his grass stalk aside, looks Sandoval in the eye and says, "Would you like to see just how fast I can put you in a hospital?"]

Undeterred, Sandoval says that he’s the leader and he’ll be assigning McCoy whatever work he wants to, but when he tries to walk away McCoy pulls him back and snarls, “You’d better make me a mechanic. Then I can treat little tin gods like you.” Sandoval throws a punch at him, but McCoy dodges and whacks Sandoval in the stomach, putting him out flat on the ground. See, I told you it wouldn’t be hard to cure McCoy. Everyone else on the Enterprise was perfectly happy to give up their careers to go do a bit of light farming, but tell McCoy he can’t be a doctor anymore and no amount of spores are going to save you.

While Sandoval is busy rolling around on the ground, McCoy stands there looking confused for a moment, then—presumably having only just now noticed that instead of a mint julep he’s actually been drinking a coke with a bunch of cilantro in it—throws his drink aside and admits that he’s not sure why he just clobbered Sandoval. But Sandoval has other concerns for the moment. With a look of dawning horror familiar to all us chronic procrastinators, he abruptly realizes that they haven’t actually been doing anything all this time. “No accomplishments, no progress. Three years wasted. We wanted to make this planet a garden...”

McCoy points out that the colonists really will have to leave—they can’t survive here without the spores handling all that radiation for them. But the dream’s not over; the colonists could be relocated to start again somewhere a bit less deadly, if that’s what they want.

“I think I’d...I think we’d like to get some work done,” Sandoval muses. “The work we set out to do.”

McCoy calls Spock and says that Sandoval wants to talk to Kirk. Spock notes to Kirk that the crew are all starting to rather sheepishly call in by now. Sandoval tells Kirk that the colonists will fully cooperate with the evacuation now, and Kirk tells him to start making the preparations. Real ones, this time.

Sometime later, everyone’s back on the bridge getting ready to head out. McCoy reports that he’s examined all the colonists and they all remain in perfect health. “A fringe benefit left over by the spores.”

One would think that this would have been quite the eventful afternoon for the medical sciences, given that they just discovered spores with such incredible healing powers that they can make people regrow organs, and McCoy just confirmed that anything healed by the spores stays healed after the spores are gone. Sure, they’ve got some side effects, but Kirk’s already discovered a simple way to get rid of the things once they’re no longer needed. Strap someone to a bed, give em a facemask full of spores, let them lay there for a while having a nice buzz while they heal their cancer or whatever, then play an irritating noise at them until they sneeze the spores back out again. Boom. Done. You’ve solved medicine. Or, y’know, we could vacate the planet and never speak of it ever again, that works too.

Notably unmentioned by anybody during this little denouement is the fate of the other two settlements on the planet that Sandoval mentioned back near the beginning of the episode. The length of the timeskip isn’t specified, so it’s possible that the crew went and collected them as well in the interim, but we never get any details as to how that little adventure went, assuming that it did happen and that the Enterprise isn’t about to get halfway to the next starbase before Kirk realizes he forgot something.

As they watch the planet diminish behind them on the viewscreen, McCoy muses that this was “the second time man’s been thrown out of paradise.” Kirk disagrees. "No, no, Bones, this time we walked out on our own. Maybe we weren't meant for paradise. Maybe we were meant to fight our way through--struggle, claw our way up, scratch for every inch of the way. Maybe we can't stroll to the music of the lute. We must march to the sound of drums."

Spock remains unimpressed by this bit of philosophizing. “Poetry, Captain. Nonregulation.” Kirk notes that they haven’t heard anything from Spock about this whole ordeal, since, y’know, that definitely seems like something Spock would want to talk about. He says he’s got little to say about Omicron Ceti 3.

[ID: A close-up of Spock on the bridge as he says, "Except that for the first time in my life...I was happy."]

oh my god someone needs therapy

On that INCREDIBLY CHEERFUL note, the Enterprise flies away and the episode ends.

It’s somewhat baffling to me that of all the quite reasonable objections available to the whole situation with the spores, the main problem that Kirk—and by extension, the episode—seems to have is that “the spores make things too EASY and mankind was meant to STRUGGLE!!!” I mean, effectively what we had going on here was people being drugged without their consent into a state that overwrote their own desires, ambitions, emotions and much of their individual personalities and replaced them with bland, happy conformity to a goal and lifestyle none of them actually chose. That seems a bit worse to me than “people weren’t working hard enough.” Kirk goes on and on about how the spores made things too easy, but what they really did was make people apathetic to whether they succeeded at anything or not. Sandoval’s horrified when he’s cured of the spores because the colonists had much different plans for their colony; far from making those plans easier, the spores made them impossible. The dreams and desires of the Enterprise crew for a life of exploration among the stars would have been forever unmet if they had permanently joined the colony, they just wouldn’t have been able to care. Kirk seems to believe that the ultimate evil of the spores is that they deprive people of ambition; to me it seems that the worse evil is that they deprive people of their individuality and their autonomy.

Then there’s the fact that while the spores make people happy and friendly, they also make them remarkably blasé about the well-being of anyone who isn’t part of their collective. They have to be—caring about whether someone else is upset or hurt would make them unhappy, after all. Spock and McCoy are completely unconcerned with the mounting distress of their best friend, and beyond peer pressuring him to get with the program and take the spores like everyone else, they don’t seem to much care if he remains the only unhappy person on the planet. The colonists seem completely unbothered by the fact that all the animals they brought with them died a rather grueling death by radiation poisoning. Everyone on the Enterprise is happy to abandon the ship and join the colony with no message left behind for Starfleet, with apparently not a thought to spare for any friends and family back home, who would only ever know that their loved ones disappeared into space never to be seen again.

Or at least, they would if things actually went according to plan, which they probably wouldn’t, because the spores also made everyone cheerfully oblivious to the idea that anything could potentially cause a problem or pose a threat to them. After all, if Kirk hadn’t had a recovery at the last minute, the Enterprise would have been left unmanned in orbit around the planet, with no way for anyone in the colony to get back onboard. Uhura also goes out of her way to make sure that they no longer have any off-planet communication. So it’s probably not going to be long before Starfleet notices that one of their prize starships has abruptly gone incommunicado, and I’m willing to bet they’d be a bit quicker on that investigation than they were about checking on a tiny backwater colony (although it is Starfleet, so who knows, really). And since they know exactly where the ship was headed on its last recorded mission, it probably won’t take them long to find it. If Starfleet sends another ship along to investigate quickly enough, they’ll find the abandoned Enterprise hanging out in orbit around the planet, and Kirk’s log clearly lays out what happened, so all the other ship has to do is figure out how to neutralize the spores and everyone’s going to get rescued from Omicron Ceti 3 pretty quickly whether they want to be or not.

If Starfleet doesn’t show up in time...Kirk says the ship can be “maintained in orbit” for several months, but then what? It can’t stay up there forever. Sooner or later, the orbit will decay and the ship’s going to crash into the planet, and if it crashes anywhere near one of the colonies, their magic healing powers are going to be put to the test. Also their magic agriculture powers--rich soil and mild weather is all well and good, but is that going to be enough to carry all those crops through the ensuing environmental effects of an impact that big? Especially since, as already mentioned, the colony has enough to feed them and that’s about it—so they really can’t afford to lose any crops for very long.

Sure, maybe the Enterprise wouldn’t crash close enough to any of the colonies to ruin them, but why take the risk? All they had to do was have a helmsman set it on a course out of orbit, then take a shuttlecraft back to the planet. Doesn’t occur to anyone, evidently. Nor do we see anyone bothering to bring any supplies or equipment from the ship to the colony, even though there’s gotta be lots of stuff up there that would be useful. All in all, it seems quite likely that Paradise would have eventually collapsed in on itself simply because the spores make people unable to pay attention to any potential threats or obstacles long enough to do anything about them.

So what’s the moral here? ‘Society can’t survive if everyone is stoned all of the time’? I mean, okay? Sure? Cool? Glad we sorted all that out.

That said, despite having ranted for the past nine hundred words about the weird moral, I’m not saying this episode is bad. As a serious point about human nature I don’t find it especially compelling—YMMV, but I just personally tend to side-eye stories that center around the idea of “wouldn’t it be awful if we all had it too easy??”--but as fifty minutes of extremely Star Trek-y silliness it’s glorious. We’ve got Spock hanging from a tree and talking about dragons while making out in the grass, McCoy going full Georgia and wandering about with something he thinks is a mint julep, Kirk stomping around in increasing agitation as he tries to get some sense out of somebody and then making emo log entries while he sits on the bridge alone...it’s great.

The original draft of this episode apparently had the romantic subplot be for Sulu, who would have been motivated to stay with Layla after having been diagnosed with a serious medical condition that was cured by the spores, kind of like the eventual plot with McCoy in For the World Is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky. D.C. Fontana rewrote the story to focus on Spock, since if you have an episode about something that causes a strong emotional reaction, throwing Spock and his ever-present internal conflict into the mix is kind of the most immediately obvious way to generate some pathos and drama. The spores originally granted those affected with them telepathic abilities, enabling them to link with everyone else who’d been spore’d and form a hivemind. There are some traces of this in the final episode with spore’d people talking about “joining us” and “being one of us” and so on, but without the telepathy part it just kind of makes it sound like they’re in a cult. Also, the cure for the spores would have been consuming alcohol, so presumably in that draft McCoy never got infected.

For the purposes of the Trek Tally I’m going to count the spores as a Space Disease, which might be broadening the umbrella of that term a bit but hey, close enough. Next time we’ll be looking for life, Jim, but not as we know it, in The Devil in the Dark.

#star trek #star trek TOS #star trek TOS season one #recap tag #star trek TOS recaps #1.24 This Side of Paradise #1.24 This Side of Paradise recap

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