#and i was so proud it is now taped together and stuck above my desk at my parents house

[katsukisprincess-archive]

kinktober day one: dry humping with bakugou

a/n: AHHH IT’S HERE! this is my second year doing kinktober and i am so fucking incredibly excited for it. this was the month that brought me so many new friends and caused me to read SO many amazing fics and i can only imagine how well this year will go. i’m a wee bit nervous as it’s my first time writing in a long while and definitely my first time writing bakugou in months- let me know what you think! <3 

warnings: dry humping, dirty talk, spitting, hair pulling, choking

tags: @nobody0805​ @dabilove27 @bakugotrashpanda @tomurasprincess @fae-father @xeina @shigarakiisking @engel-hageshii @luxivii @bnhathirstreblogs @babayaga67 @tigerseye375 @kingtamakimurder @keopiis @iambashfulperson @buttressflybarnes @sunsetchan @thehalfdemonicangel @raekah @aupheliathedk @pozhdukem @rinsbigcock @jungkookcankickme @endeavorsimpstuff @irvingka @trafalgar-temptress @keilemlucent​ @imbearlythere @qtgothics @leeswritingworld @briswriting​ @lilacgrave​ @txmxkis​ 

Working alongside Bakugou Katsuki was… manageable. 

Most days, it was fine. You were an adult with your own life, your own career, even your own set of ear plugs for those days when the wall separating your offices was just not thick enough. You were both hired in at the same time, so unfortunately for you, you spent plenty of time alongside the blonde doing paperwork, training exercises, even first missions. While his quirk was strong, yours was just as. 

Since there was no difference of power in the slightest, there was plenty of competition. Small training gigs, time in the gym, even things like who was carrying the most debris after a wreck became extravagant deals that neither of you would ease up on. 

At first, everything about him annoyed you. You didn’t go to school with Bakugou, so you didn’t grow up with a tolerance to him unlike the redhead that visited the agency once in a while. Your first impression was disgust, and while that still stuck, you found yourself eerily fond of the attention. 

“Keep your eyes to yourself, firecracker.” You would tell him as you sauntered down the hallway, making a show of the simple task of walking into the conference room. He would grunt, still not taking his eyes off of you, until the name registered in his head. His yells and approaching footsteps were drowned out well enough as you shut the heavy wooden door and paid attention to the task in front of you. 

Press conferences were not your thing. Even worse, they weren’t Bakugou’s thing, meaning you stood huddled together in front of a microphone while the more extroverted members of your agency filled the reporters in on what was happening with the latest mission and things of the sort. Eyes on the crowd, straight face for the cameras. That was all that mattered. 

Bakugou normally stood on the opposite side of you, not making eye contact with you once. It was so straightforward that you wondered if he watched back on the tapes and counted to see who blinks more in the time span of the conversation. Just the thought made you snort.

“What’s so funny, huh?” 

The gruff voice behind you nearly made you jump out of your skin. You were so focused on the reporters setting up their cameras that you failed to notice the fact that Bakugou was right behind you. 

“Need to be so close?” You muttered over your shoulder, hoping he didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you momentarily spooked. When you cast your eyes to the right, near the podium, you were reminded of just how many heroes were working this last mission with you. Bakugou had no choice but to stand right behind you. Before you could complain further, the conference started.

You weren’t sure whether it was because of the man behind you or the blinding lights in front of you, but as soon as the voices rose, you found it hard to breathe. The lights were so warm, immediately washing over you like a tide and causing you to fight to keep your eyes open. The thoughts you were trying so hard to keep buried in your head, the ones that usually began with Bakugou so close to you like this, were reaching dangerous shallows with every hot breath down the back of your neck. 

“Do I make you nervous?” 

If you weren’t zoned out from the event, you wouldn’t have heard it. Gruff, low as ever, but still laced with enough interest to raise goosebumps to your skin. You froze, just for a moment, before shaking your head. You were lying.

He could tell.

One step in front of him had Bakugou’s entire body aligned with the back of yours. He was considerably taller than you, wider also, causing you to wonder what it would feel like if he put his large arms around you. From the crowd this didn’t look out of the ordinary at all- he was just standing behind you like he was thirty seconds prior. 

Prior, though, you weren’t feeling the way you were feeling now. Your breath staggered out of your mouth as you remembered your need for oxygen, and at your nervous movement, you felt Bakugou’s chest swell against the top of your shoulder blades. Whether this made him proud or nervous in return, you’d never know. 

The thought of pride racing through him had you feeling weak. With your mind flipping through the ridiculously thick stack of memories where you two would attempt to one-up each other, you knew you couldn’t let this moment slip you by either. If he was going to play, you weren’t going to sit on the sidelines. 

Thankful for the heels you were wearing, one push to your tiptoes gave you the perfect height to brush your ass up and against him. It just looked like you were adjusting your stance to the crowd, but it was so much worse to the blonde who sucked in his breath sharply in response. The fact that he was already hard, and so fucking massive against you, had your head spinning and knees weak. If you were questioning before how he felt, his racing heart against your back had the facts clear. 

Lowering yourself down onto your heels, you tried to move back to your original position in case anyone around you was catching on. You didn’t get far, though, as one large hand found its way to your hip and pulled you back to where he was needing you most. Ensuring he didn’t move too quickly just in case, Bakugou began rocking his body forward, little digs against your ass filling the time for the rest of the conference.

“My office.” 

***

The contents of Bakugou’s desk were on the floor before the door was even closed behind you. He looked good in a suit, you were finally able to see, but you had to admit that the straining bulge in his pants was your favorite part. 

With the door locked and your ears ringing, you didn’t have a chance to open your mouth before Bakugou was turning you around and shoving you so you were bent over his desk. 

The air in his office was much cooler than the heat of the lights, so when he pulled your dress above your ass and laid a sharp slap to your cheek, it rang through your body like ice. You were finally able to call out in pleasure now that you were alone, and the sound went straight to Bakugou’s cock. 

You didn’t dare lift your body off the desk, instead you laid there and listened to the sound of his belt unbuckling and his pants falling to the floor. When his body collided with yours again, his clothed cock lined up along your panties, which were thoroughly soaked from the antics in the conference room. His length stretched from your clit to the top of the line of your ass, and it was so hard you were convinced you would be able to cum just from the little humps he began doing against your center. 

“Feel how fucking hard you made me in there?” Bakugou growled in your ear, one hand tangling through your hair to get a grip as he yanked your head back and off of the desk. “Is that what you wanted? All you fucking do--” He paused to let out a grunt as he rolled his hips especially hard against you. “--Is try to be better than me.” 

“Maybe I am.” 

Your words, although breathy and higher pitched than normal, were enough to make him flip you over onto your back, slide your legs onto his shoulders, and push you down against the cold wood surface. His cock lined with your center again as his hand found home wrapped around your neck. “Like fucking hell, princess.” 

His boxers were stained by your wetness, and with every thrust forward his rock hard tip pulled against your clit. It was hot again, your breath mingling with his and sweat droplets forming on your bodies. He was moving so intensely, you were unable to peel your eyes away from where he was grinding down against you. When he was sick of not having eye contact, Bakugou growled, releasing your neck to grab at your cheeks with one hand and force you to look at him. Your mouth fell open into a pretty O, and he took the opportunity to spit into it.

“So damn wet.” He grunted, his cock twitching against you as he watched you attempt to swallow with your mouth still held open. “I should have fucked you into this desk a long fucking time ago.” 

“Then fuck me, please~” Your whines rang off the walls like a melody, everything he had been dreaming about as he would fist his cock under his desk. All it took was one look, one glance from you during the day and he was dreaming about tearing you apart with your hero costume. You wanted him to fuck you, moreso than you had ever wanted anyone, but your cunt deceived you as it tossed you into the heaviest orgasm you had experienced in years. 

The sight in front of Bakugou was art. Your mouth widening, drool dripping down your cheek; your hair was tangled from his pulling and your eyes were rolling back into your head as he felt your pussy convulse against his throbbing cock. He barely had time to hold on himself, but he waited until you were falling down from your cloud before dropping your legs and gripping your hair by your scalp, his other hand freeing his member so he could jack off onto your face. 

A mixture of pain from his grip and pleasure from your orgasm had tears running down your cheeks, but it soon decreased as his hold moved from your head to the edge of his desk. He was leaning over you completely at this point, your continuous whimpers, moans, and whined encouragement helping him to release his load all over your face, into your hair, against your tongue. You heard a loud snap, but you weren’t able to open your eyes and see what it was. 

When Bakugou crashed onto the desk next to you, you wondered silently if your head was ever going to come back down to earth. Everything you had experienced, even if it was all maybe less than an hour, had made for the start of what you hoped was a very interesting relationship. 

Finally peeling yourself off of the desk, you gasped when you turned around to see a large chunk of wood missing from the surface. Your bewildered eyes made contact with the blonde next to you, who held your gaze for a moment before letting out one loud bark of a laugh.

That laugh was enough to fuel you for days.  

[yan-purgatory]

Mementos

Pairing: Yandere!San x f!reader

Warning: Mature content

Word count: 1.5k

Admin ❦ &  ღ

note: this was written in collaboration before admin ❦ left the blog. i picked it up again recently and finished it - I hope you enjoy!

“Look at your little grin!” (Y/N) squealed, holding up the photo to his face whilst refusing to sit up. San chuckled before finding his own contribution.

Pulling out his wallet, he plucked out a small square from one of the compartments. A miniature photo, which he subsequently showed to (Y/N).

“How old were we?” She gasped, taking in the sight of the two children with their arms wrapped around each other with cheeky grins.

“Seven. Our parents gave us a copy of this photo for us each to keep remember?” San smiled, but (Y/N) only gasped, placing a hand on his thigh to lift herself off her back into a sitting position.

“I must have lost mine within weeks! How is yours still in perfect condition?” She asked, admiring how despite the film having yellowed slightly there was no damage, no tears or folds at all.

“It’s one of my prized possessions,” San replied, easing it out of her grip before placing it safely back into its home.

The sound of some cheesy slasher had been long been tuned out by (Y/N). All she could sense was the feeling of San’s hand on her thigh, drawing small circles on the supple skin. She tried to ignore it, reminding herself that they were just friends. They’d know each other since the age of one, there was no room for any sexual feelings in their relationship. Still, she couldn’t deny how amazing his touch was.

Disregarding her thoughts she turned her attention back to the screen for a second, only to have it snatched away yet again as San’s fingers started to trail up her inner thighs. (Y/N) gave him a confused look, only to be met with his eyes meeting hers. His lips quirked into a smirk before he turned his attention away again, watching as the teen couple of the movie connect their lips passionately before starting to remove their clothes with haste.

(Y/N) stood up, letting his hand fall away as she mumbled something about needing to use the toilet, avoiding look at him. The arrogant smile was still stuck on his face as he nodded, watching her leave the room until the door was shut behind her.

Having been left with blue-balls, San found himself thanking every divinity for his ability to persuade (Y/N) to watch the movie in her room. Now, he had an endless supply of ‘goodies’.

The first thing that caught his attention was a pile of undergarments dumped by the bed, evidently still fresh from the previous night. With delight he fished out the bralette and underwear, letting his fantasy of seeing (Y/N) dressed amorously in these for him taking over for a second. Yet he couldn’t resist the deep desire he had for getting something more out of his newfound treasure.

Disregarding all risks and forgetting where he was for a moment, he buried his nose into the baby pink lace, taking a deep breath in and breathing out shakily. The smell of (Y/N) that hung on the set was something of an aphrodisiac, as he felt himself become instantly aroused, luckily hidden under one of the blankets they had been snuggled in.

San simply couldn’t stop himself from taking another sniff, letting out a moan as he breathed out. He let himself lean back against the headboard, eyes closed in a euphoria like no other.

However, his moment of bliss was interrupted as the door creaked open again with the woman of the hour returning from her bathroom trip with calmer breathing and a settled smile. That was, until she saw her best friend grasping her underwear in his hand with some sort of sick smile on his face.

The only natural reaction was for her to let out a small gasp and grab the nearest thing which happened to be another picture of the both of them no older than ten. (Y/N) threw the framed treasure with all her strength towards his relaxed body.

If only San didn’t dodge it, his head turned ever so slowly towards her. The sick grin stayed put on his lips as his eyes twitched staring deeply into hers with an emotion that could only be read as obsessive lust.

“It’ll take more than that to kill me, princess.” (Y/N) was trapped like a deer in headlights as he stalked towards her. However, rather than attacking her as she feared, he reached past her to find the coil of tape on her desk, lying innocently next to her scrapbook.

San had less innocent ideas than sticking down photographs, as he unwound it and marvelled at how she flinched at the sound. (Y/N) didn’t even budge as he took hold of her wrist and swaddled them in the tape. His hot breath fanned her neck, almost lulling her into an opiated state. She forgot that he was her childhood best friend, she forgot that moments ago he was sniffing her panties. All she could think about was him fucking her.

“You’re such a good girl right now, princess.” He whispered, pushing her gently back onto the bed.

Her thighs naturally clenched together as the indecent thoughts crept into her head of her own best friend above her; the feeling of herself becoming wet for him was bad enough as she watched him bit his own lip looking down on her.

(Y/N) didn’t even last a second in her once matching sleepwear set, feeling San’s hand make its way back onto her exposed leg. His palm rested on her knee as his thumb stroked back and forth, his eyes never once leaving her’s.

His cold finger danced along her leg, higher and higher. (Y/N) squirmed, still not used to getting this sexual with her best friend.

His veiny hands grabbed her thighs, hands tapping her inner thighs and forcing them open. She let out the quicked moan to only be stopped by her own force.

San’s eyes finally left her’s to only divert to her clothed core. The shorts blocked his vision and he practically growled in frustration, his hands having no mercy as they grabbed the fabric from the top and pulled them down in an instant. 

(Y/N) could feel herself becoming hot in the face as San basically shredded the fabric of her shorts. They hadn’t been expensive, in fact she was sure he’d insisted on paying for them, but that was irrelevant right now. All that mattered was San.

“I can basically see how wet you are, all for me,” The bold sentence left his lips without a single care but his next action was even more bold.

His hand cupped her core, middle finger rubbing her slit ever so slightly through the thin excuse of panties she wore.

“San..nie?” She moaned at the feeling of the fabric pressing against her core. His middle finger pushed the fabric even tighter, only encouraged.

The sound of her voice echoing throughout his head was too much for him to contain himself as he practically became lost in the sound of her voice, like a man at sea he was lost.

“Who said you could talk princess? I need you to be silent for me,” San’s calm voice whispered back into her ear, giving a slight peck to the skin under her ear.

All she could do was merely nod, her breathing uneven and her stomach filled with both excitement and fear.

San’s warm hand slowly made its way higher and higher, his middle finger stopped its assault on her core, to be replaced with the settlement on her stomach.

She let out a sigh at the friction, wanting to beg for more but suppressing it when she made eye contact with him. She had to do what San asked of her, and simply closed her eyes as she felt his bulge right next to her thigh.

He finally slipped the lace away and tucked it in his pocket, clearly intended for later use.

“That’s it, princess. You’re so pretty.” San whispered as she unconsciously ground into the space where his hand had been lingering, wanting more.

She felt his hands gripping her thighs, and the softness of his hair tickling the insides of her legs.

Suddenly his tongue was inside her, and she was trembling as the pleasure built up inside her. 

“Oh fuck, oh yes.” (Y/N) breathed out. Her fingers twitched to bury themselves in his hair, longing to hold him and never let go. The knot inside her was almost too much, and with a loud moan she let go.

San was in ecstasy as he lapped at the juices, proud of himself. He was the only one for her: he just knew it.

“Sannie...” (Y/N) groaned, moving her body slightly in the effort to make more contact with him. He just gave her a grin, his eyes swirling with that dark obsession.

“Don’t worry, my princess. By the end of tonight, you’ll know just how much I love you.”

[gwoongi]

(abandoned) all i want for christmas is woohoo

kim seokjin / kim namjoon genre: uni au, fluff, crack rating: general words: 4.9k warnings: clownery, i knew nothing about uni, character dynamics based off a fic none of u have read a/n: incomplete prequel to the yoonmin fanfic i wrote three thousand years ago. i will never finish this so here’s what i started and left behind for the dogs to have at

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

September 8th.

One thing they never tell you before going to Uni, is that it’s fucking mental on Move In Day.

Obviously, he had some idea that the student digs would be fairly busy with students moving in, but he never expected to be waiting in a thick line of tired and excited first years for around fifteen minutes, only to then wait another twenty just for the student- who, by the way, was way too busy picking at her purple nail varnish to give two damns about Namjoon’s clearly very important moving in schedule- to find his key on the board barely 50 centimetres away from where she was sitting.

So, yeah- when his sister comes to Uni after him, he’s definitely going to warn her about the madness that is Move In Day, because clearly nobody else had cared if Namjoon was stuck waiting like a doormat for one student who thinks she’s something to hand him a key. I mean, how hard can it be? He doesn’t get it.

“Sorry about the wait,” another male student, who noticed the lack of enthusiasm from second year student apparently named Jisoo, says as he moves from behind the desk to give Namjoon a silver key on a chain, with two other keys present. “Here are your keys- one’s for the front door of your flat, second is for the main building in-case you’re late after hours and the third is for your pigeon box.” He pauses: “no help from your parents?”

Namjoon shrugs politely, “Just me. My parents are back in Ilsang, couldn’t make it.”

“Bummer,” the student replies. Along with the keys, he shoves a brown paper bag into Namjoon’s hands with a toothy smile. “Your complimentary moving in gifts, from the students who moved out! Thanks for picking Blossom Island as your student accomodation!”

Although Namjoon wants to tell him that Blossom Island was the only cheap option out of three absurdly priced accomodations for first years, he doesn’t; instead, he smiles, lips closed and dimples on display, nodding his head and turning all within the same second. The student moves away after, so he doesn’t feel bad about ending the conversation so abruptly.

Blossom Island is located smack bang outside of campus, across a small stream that Namjoon thought would be filled with blossom, but instead is littered with algae and tinfoil. It’s large, tall like a regular apartment complex, with a courtyard out the front with a bouncy castle that Namjoon can already see some people jumping on with what he assumes is their new roommates.

Namjoon leaves the lobby- should he call it a lobby? It was more of a downstairs kitchen and living room, with two small sofas and a mounted flat-screen, a pool table pushed weirdly in the middle of the colourful boxed room and a door near the back wandering into the community study area, another door for what he guesses is for laundry. Hauling his suitcase and big, cardboard box in his arms across the courtyard, he follows the number on the key- number 8, floor 6, Kyoto Building and barely makes it five steps without almost dropping the box entirely, all thanks to some jerk wearing Thrasher and a beanie.

“That’s what you get for not tying your shoelaces.”

Mid-crouch, Namjoon looks over his shoulder and spots Min Yoongi stepping out of the building, followed by a rather proud looking set of parents, preening at the fact that their son is going into Nursing. Due to that, he bites back a curse word he figures would be impolite for the elders, and manages a smile in the sun.

“What? He clearly pushed into me,” Namjoon reasons, standing upright and saying a hasty hello to Yoongi’s parents, who, in all honesty, have never really liked him much. He laughs breathily, waiting for a few seconds before asking, “where are you?”

Yoongi checks his key. “Number 13, Floor 0, Juko Building. What kind of name is Juko, anyway?”

“Beats me,” Namjoon scoffs. “I think Juko’s close to Kyoto. I’ll come visit when you’re all settled and moved in, yeah?”

Yoongi nods, already beginning to walk away. “Yeah, I’ll get your mug out ready.”

That’s the thing with Yoongi, Namjoon thinks as he walks away; he’s always been about the little things in life. In the many, many years that Namjoon has known Yoongi, he’s never really changed- Yoongi has always been compassionate and cutely caring, buying two mugs instead of one and making pasta for two when he knew Namjoon was due to visit on days his parents were working late. And he feels bad, because Yoongi is a giving guy, not a receiving one.

He watches as Yoongi leaves with his parents, and he feels weirdly sad. It’s none of his business, too, as he watches the three Min’s enter the Juko Building, painted a pastel pink with mint compliments, swirling patterns dancing as the leaves on the trees move in the whisper of wind.

Namjoon now has the urge to paint.

In Number 8, Floor 6, Kyoto Building, Kim Seokjin finally sets down the last potted plant on the sparse looking shelf above his desk, and he steps back with his hands on his hips to admire the minimal effort. Although it definitely took some struggle, what with his Dad accidentally dropping his bag with his Nintendo inside and his Mother judging his absurd amount of pink bath-towels, Seokjin has a feeling in his stomach- the feeling where you know that everything is going perfectly.

There’s a smell in the air; blossom from the large tree outside his window, propped open on the hatch to allow a breeze air out the room. Since his roomie hasn’t arrived yet, the least he can do is get rid of the stuffy smell, something strangely similar to pool chlorine. He inhales it deeply, a smile tugging at his lips. Seoul weather amazes him- even though Gwacheon is a blink away, Seokjin is already starting to feel like a new person.

Maybe it’s just University excitement. Maybe it’s University nerves. But, maybe it’s also because he really needs a wee and can’t think properly.

He waits nicely for his parents to finish up straightening every single crease in his bedsheets before saying goodbye. Although he might tease to their faces that he won’t miss them, and they won’t miss him, Seokjin knows from the minute they open the door to head back out to the corridor that it’s going to take a while to adjust to life without the nagging, but endearing, guidance of his family.

Because Seokjin has always sort of been the baby boy of the Kim’s from Gwacheon- his older brother inherited a type of broodiness that Seokjin is thankful he hasn’t got yet, and so Seokjin’s always been the favourite. The favourite crawler, the favourite footballer, the favourite baker and painter- in honesty, Seokjung never wanted any of that. Seokjin’s proud of who he is- he’s so fucking proud of his family. So he sort of takes pride in being the baby boy of the Kim family. He wears it like armour, glistening armour that represents him in front of a whole army of potential threats and friends.

Jinyoung, an old friend, used to say it was embarrassing- as if Jinyoung doesn’t have a comfortable enough life with parents who would murder for him, but Seokjin doesn’t care. Why should he be ashamed of being loved? Most families aren’t as close as the Kim’s, so he takes extra care in making sure his family know that he loves them. That’s the sort of guy he is- giving, occasionally receiving, but giving, giving his whole heart and soul to everybody else in order to make others happy.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose as the door closes with a sickening click, the noise muting around the faint buzz of traffic across campus and the baby birds in the nest a few floors down on a branch, fluttering in the wind like wings. He’s so lost in the way the small twigs are woven together, like the way a spider builds a web, or an ant a colony, that he doesn’t realise three minutes have passed.

Now he really needs a wee.

When Namjoon opens the door to room 8, he’s surprised.

Not shocked, but surprised. Because there’s a difference between shock and surprise- shock is entering a room and finding a serial killer, but surprise is walking into a room and finding a party. The difference is in the level of reaction, and Namjoon hadn’t walked in and been completely thrown off by a wall of cute posters and the obvious collection of DS games and a cool looking computer. If anything, he’s intrigued. Surprised. Pleasantly surprised, perhaps.

To the right, Namjoon hears the toilet flush and he knows that he has a couple seconds to look around the room and plonk his bags and box on the plain bed before his roommate emerges from the bathroom. As he sets them down, he casts a gaze towards the right side of the room where his roomie has claimed a bed, a desk and a small looking wardrobe near the door. On the wall next to his bed, a collection of posters have been washi taped to the boring blank canvas- although, as an artist, Namjoon considers anything blank and white to be inviting and anything but boring, because a canvas holds endless opportunities- and his bed covers are a washed out blue, a colour that now, actually, as he’s looking at it, is becoming more chiffon coloured.

It’s evident his roommate likes video games- half the posters on the wall are related to games he knows that they must like; Animal Crossing, a small Stardew Valley postcard and a commissioned drawing of Jinx from LoL, taped next to a large artwork of Mario Kart and more postcard art of games Namjoon thinks he’s heard of but isn’t sure- The Last of Us, Tekken, Zelda. He pretends not to notice the small Minecraft postcard in the corner of the mural but weirdly enough, he finds it endearing knowing that someone at University still plays Minecraft. 

Most of all, Namjoon notices the strange obsession with The Sims, as seen through multiple artworks and the fantastic collection of Sims3 Expansion packs sitting on the shelf above his bed, next to pop figures and a photo frame of a group of friends.

He wonders if his roommate will let him use the expansion packs when he’s bored.

“Oh, hey.”

Clearly having not heard the bathroom door open, Namjoon spins on the spot to look back at the bathroom, where his roommate stands with his hand animatedly raised in a wave, a smile lifting his cheekbones. They look pale, almost watery, but Namjoon doesn’t say anything. He knows why.

“Hey. Namjoon,” he says, leaning forward to shake his hand. For a moment, his roommate stares at the hand, as if wondering what to do with it. “What?”

His roomie shakes his head, moving to shake his hand once, up and down, before letting it drop. “Nothing. It’s just, well, how many people give handshakes nowadays?”

Namjoon thinks it over in his head. “Well, a lot of people. Useful in business, and stuff. A manager might want to shake your hand at a job interview.”

As he says the words, Namjoon can tell by the passing look on his roommates face that he wasn’t expected to give an answer. He stops talking after that, looking back to his bed with a feeling similar to embarrassment, while his roommate moves towards the window and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Seokjin.” He finally introduces himself. Seokjin- it has a ring to it. Namjoon says it over in his head, growing familiar with it. Now that he’s mentioned it, Namjoon looks back over his shoulder and realises that he looks like a Seokjin. The name suits him. “What’re you studying here?”

“Art and Design,” Namjoon replies with a brief smile over his shoulder. Seokjin isn’t looking, anyway. “Nothing too crazy.” He looks at the wall of posters- “Are you studying graphics?”

“Yeah. I’m studying Digital Art,” Seokjin replies, and it’s clear in the way his whole body moves as he says it that he’s passionate about his subject. He laughs shortly, “Isn’t it funny how we’re both doing art and we got pushed together? Do you think that’s intentional?”

Namjoon shrugs, taking out his clothes first from one of his suitcases. “Maybe. I’m glad you’re Digital Art and not Performing Arts. One, this room is not big enough to dance and sing and two, I don’t want to be woken up by a classical alarm clock. You know?”

Seokjin laughs and it suffices as a reply.

As Namjoon sifts around his bag and pulls out the remainder of his clothes, Seokjin turns around and watches for a swift three seconds, and then moves back towards his desk and absent-mindedly moves around his keyboard, straightening it up.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, and as Namjoon turns to catch his eye, he notices he means it genuinely.

“Uh, I’m alright,” Namjoon replies, and even though Seokjin can clearly see the amount of work he has left to do to his half of the bedroom, he doesn’t pry and decidedly drops it. He shrugs.

“Alright then. I’m gonna head out,” Seokjin says. He gestures with his head to the hallway. “Out on campus, they’re doing that thing. What do they call it- Wildflower? I think I just wanna go meet some people. I can wait for you, and we can go together, if you want?”

Namjoon does want. He really wants to. But he takes several glances back at his boxes and frowns deeply. And anyways, he’ll have plenty of time to hang out with Seokjin later, won’t he?

“I’ll pass,” Namjoon rejects him softly, a smile on his lips as if to say, I do want to come but I’m way too busy. Seokjin’s lips twitch into a pursed mouth and he nods. “I’ve just got a lot to do. We could hang out later, if you want?”

“Sure,” Seokjin replies, already inching towards the door. “Yeah, alright. If you need help, just text me. I’ve got my number on the pinboard above my desk- just incase, you know?”

Namjoon glances over; surely enough, on a corkboard pinned to the wall above his desk and beneath the shelf, he can see the sleek black letters printed with “emergency number” written next to it in messy handwriting. He smiles, mostly because he’s never seen someone have their own phone number hung up in their room before, and nods without looking in Seokjin’s direction. “Okay, thanks, Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin makes a sound similar to a laugh, air through his nose, a small intake of high pitched breath afterwards. Out the corner of his eye, Namjoon can see him hovering his hand over the handle and to be polite, he finally looks over. Something tells him he was waiting for that.

“Seokjin should be fine,” Seokjin replies with a smile.

By the time Namjoon finishes sorting out his things (and by sorting out, he means that he’s hung up his clothes and kicked the cardboard box towards his desk out of the way), Seokjin’s still not back from Wildflower, and quite frankly, he’s bored.

As if by a magnetic pull, he finds himself leaving Kyoto building to trudge in the mid-move-in-manic, across the small courtyard where the bouncy-castle has deflated thanks to someone jumping on it wearing shoes, and towards Juko building, a big clump of pastel next to the white blossom tree that Namjoon is jealous of. Yoongi’s room, even back at his home in Daegu- where Namjoon had lived throughout his entire high-school life before his parents moved back to Ilsang during his final year-, was somewhere Namjoon had felt completely and utterly accepted. At home.

He always found it funny how Yoongi said the same thing for him- his bedroom back home was small, smaller than the dorm room he has now. It was an average room, with small bold letters spelling out his name on the front of his door, and his walls were painted a navy blue with dark wood floors that went through the entire house, with thrown around covers and three pillows to sleep with and furniture which didn’t match the colours. But Yoongi’s room was different. Yoongi’s room was Yoongi.

Slanted ceilings and an off-white coloured paint-job on the walls, with grey curtains and white sheets and an electric piano pushed up against the window-wall, overlooking a small line of houses out the front of the street Yoongi lived on, a tree that turned orange in October. On his walls, Yoongi liked to keep it minimal, minus the posters of his favourite artists and a little area above his desk for pictures of him and Namjoon, his first family pet, a ticket to his first family vacation when he was thirteen, dried flowers from a tiny bundle he was given on a Valentine’s Day. His first Valentine’s gift. A memory. A wall of memories, stuck with shimmery tape and dried blue-tac on the white, unremovable, stuck like glue. It was everything Namjoon wanted in a room. It was everything Namjoon needed in a place to feel completely and utterly safe.

Namjoon wasn’t surprised that Yoongi had stuck with the bland style of dorm room, compared to the bed next to him which his roommate- a kid studying Music with an incredible obsession with BoA and Michael Jackson- who, even though he was an amazing artist, Namjoon always felt weirded out by.

He stands by the doorframe as Yoongi shuffles to straighten his blanket at the end of his bed, simply looking at the decor, taking it all in with a deep breath. His roommate stared at Namjoon waiting in the doorway and pulled his lips to a frown, excusing himself, “...heading to Wildflower, bye,” being the only words he ever said to Namjoon.

“Namjoon, I hate it.”

“You’ve been here for two hours,” Namjoon frowns, sitting on his roommate’s bed. He won’t mind (only he does, and he notices the imprint of Namjoon’s arse left behind which he thought would disappear after five minutes.) “It’s not that bad, surely?”

Yoongi shakes his head adamantly. “I wanna go home, Joon. I don’t wanna do nursing.”

“You might really like it, though,” Namjoon sighs. “You never know!”

“I don’t want to study nursing,” Yoongi repeats himself through pouted lips that Namjoon can hear. “I wanted to do art, or music like my stupid roommate. I don’t know why I’m here, Namjoon, I really don’t know why I’m doing this to myself.”

Namjoon knows it’s hard for Yoongi. His family expect too much- like most parents, actually, Yoongi knows they want the best for him. But, the best isn’t forcing him into a nursing degree.

Toying with the frays on Yoongi’s roommate’s blanket, Namjoon says, “hey, hey, calm down. It’s fine- if you don’t like the first three classes, you can’t be expected to stay. You’ve got to do what you want to do.”

Yoongi bites his lip before replying. “I have nowhere to go if I drop out. I’ll do a year, maybe. Maybe half a year. Oh, I don’t fucking know. I don’t wanna give up and let down my family, you know?”

Namjoon does know. His parents had wanted him to be a lawyer. His sister, Kyungmin, wanted Namjoon to do something with his music. But, like the delinquent he is, Namjoon always knew he had a passion for art. Drawing made him happiest- letting his thoughts draw something on a blank canvas was the closest thing to real magic. Singing your feelings is one pleasure, but capturing the colours and movements onto paper was something Namjoon found absolutely rewarding. Thankfully, his parents knew there was no point in forcing him into doing something he wouldn’t enjoy. He was lucky.

“Yeah, I know.”

Yoongi knows Namjoon knows, and he also knows Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. He pulls at the bridge of his nose and lets out a low grunt. “Anyway. How’s your roomie? A weirdo?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, he’s really into video games but it’s not overbearing. Kinda endearing. He’s fun. Seokjin.”

“Oh, cool,” Yoongi replies, nodding slowly. “You get all the good stuff, you know that?”

“What’s mine is yours,” Namjoon says with a frown.

At that, Yoongi smiles. “Yeah. I know, Joon.”

Wildflower lives up to the frantic Google search that Seokjin did moments before heading down to check it out. Even before arriving, he could smell the variety of foods on rickety stalls, and hear the experimental strum of a live band getting ready to play near the main building to the University campus.

Ducking his head underneath the waving arm of another female first-year, Seokjin took a stroll around the small section of Wildflower, politely looking at the bits and bobs he could purchase, like complimentary University flags and tapestries for walls, or a coffee where the change went to a local suicide-prevention charity. He bought one, a tea that was too milky for his taste, and continued walking.

He hadn’t bought much change with him. After the rather awkward first meeting with Namjoon, Seokjin had let it slip his mind. Regardless, he wasn’t willing to let the lack of coins and a credit card spoil his First Day mood. Inhaling the smell of a nearby Jjinmandu stand, he let his stomach steer him towards it, collecting the spare change in his pocket- luckily for him, he had around 4,000 in his jacket pocket which more than comfortably paid for a portion of Mandu.

“Here you go,” the server hands Seokjin his small paper dish of Jjinmandu with a smile, a smile that reminded Seokjin of his third-year teacher back when he was a child. Warm, inviting, kind, a mother’s smile. She smiled toothily when Seokjin handed her more than he was being charged, saying it was a tip, first day luck, or something. She bowed her head meekly.

Without wanting to hold up the slightly growing line, Seokjin moves out of the way and towards a small cluster of metal tables and chairs, shivering as the umbrellas moved in the wind, passing the sauces with a thoughtful pause. He has time to kill; he puts his dish on the small counter and puts a tiny blob of sauce in the corner, and he dips his finger in to taste it. He recoils visibly, finding the taste too bitter.

From somewhere behind him, Seokjin hears what sounds like laughter and he turns, surprised, and finds another student with a bright orange lanyard hung around his neck. He’s a total stranger, with hair pushed into a black beanie and a denim jacket covering a brown shirt, with some black jeans with the knees cut out. On his feet, worn out Converse. Seokjin does a double take.

“You know that’s spicy BBQ, right?”

Weirdly enough, Seokjin finds that he sounds exactly like what he thought he would. He stares at his glasses, first, and the way they slide down his nose, slightly oily because of the heat.

“Don’t you usually have teriyaki with Mandu?” he continues, wandering over to glance at the bottles of sauce, before pushing a slightly stained bottle towards Seokjin with a smile. “There. Honestly, scrape off the BBQ, this will taste so much better.”

Seokjin feels dumb. “I only usually have the tomato chilli. “

“Yeah, and BBQ?”

“No,” he replies, and then he laughs quietly, “no, never BBQ. Let’s call that...first day experimenting.”

The stranger nods along, shoving a mouthful of his own Mandu. Seokjin wants to point out that he has sauce on the corner of his mouth, but it feels rude. He barely knows him.

Glancing at the lanyard around his neck, Seokjin finishes his mouthful- “Are you staff?”

“What?” the stranger asks, caught off guard. Then, he looks down at the lanyard and smiles, politely, not in mockery, and shakes his head, disturbing feathery hairs that were once tucked up into the beanie. “Oh, no. No, I’m a first year.” He chortles at Seokjin’s stunned expression. “What, do I look really old?”

“No,” Seokjin replies. “I was just...surprised. I don’t know- today’s been weird for me. I’m all over the place.”

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

They stand in silence for a couple moments after that, eating, staring off at the little stream that ran around the perimeter of the small square, listening to the sound of the live band kicking off their setlist with a slow song appropriate for the weather.

The stranger swallows his Mandu, pointing at Seokjin with his spork without really realising, “oh, I’m Hoseok by the way.”

Hoseok. A name to the face.

“Seokjin,” he replies. Now he’s finished his Jjinmandu. “Digital Art.”

Hoseok makes a noise. “Woah, no way.” Gesturing to himself, “Art and Music.”

Seokjin wants to laugh. “That’s so weird. My roomie also does art. It’s like I’ve been thrown into a pool full of art students.”

“Yeah. Well, we are in the Arts Square. Wouldn’t it be weird if I was doing Chinese studies and I hung around in the Arts Square on my first day?”

“True,” Seokjin nods.

Talking to Hoseok is easy. It’s so fucking easy- it’s as if Hoseok has been a friend for years. They walk together, along the small path that barely fits them both, weaving around the stream. Seokjin learns that Hoseok is from Gwangju, and has a sister who designs clothing in the city. Hoseok, in return, learns that Seokjin barely escaped being a lawyer and comes from a family inheriting endless zeros. It doesn’t bother him. It usually bothers people.

“It’s cool that you got to do what you wanted to,” Hoseok says as they walk further along campus. Now, they’ve reach the on-campus convenience store, the artificial lighting making Hoseok squint, even though daylight still pushed on. “Most kids don’t when they’re in your kind of position.”

Hoseok quickly looks over, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, I only-”

“No,” Seokjin agrees, nodding and thrusting his hands into his pockets. He dips his head upwards, inhaling the smell of the sunshine, before looking at Hoseok with a friendly smile. “No, you’re right. Most kids don’t. I’m lucky.”

Hoseok’s grateful Seokjin didn’t misunderstand. “Hm, maybe we’ll be in each-other’s classes.”

He says it with a hopeful tone, lightly nudging Seokjin’s shoulder with a small smile, that caused dimples to spread across his lower cheeks.

“I hope so,” Seokjin replies, but the sound of the stream covers it. Hoseok keeps walking, not making it known if he heard. He probably hadn’t.

Namjoon rolls over the next morning, not quite remembering how he got home and when, and squints at the Sepia screen of his phone. It reads 6:45am, too fucking early to be awake on a Saturday.

did you get home ok yoongi

dont think i care about you or anything yoongi

Namjoon snorts quietly, wincing when he thinks he’s woken up Seokjin across the room. But, when he looks over towards Seokjin’s side of the dorm, he notices that he’s not even in bed. His sheets are tucked in tightly, and his jacket is absent on the coat hangers on the back of the door.

Holy shit, Seokjin gets up early.

yeah. hows minjoon, the name robber joonie

seriously fuck off he’s playing fred videos yoongi

it’s fucking 7am yoongi

Namjoon scoffs, mostly to himself- because who else is he going to scoff too?-, and rolls over flatly to press his feet onto the flattened out carpet of his room. The sun barely peeks through the shitty curtains, and he yawns loudly, feeling the euphoria of a morning stretch. Namjoon sighs with pleasure at the feeling of his body stretching out, letting his arms drop and grabbing his phone to reply to Yoongi, who Namjoon’s surprised is awake, even when Fred is involved.

i thought fred had died, fr joonie

bitch me too but here we have his channel, still screeching away about rubber sharks in his tiny swimming pool yoongi

im really not joking joon. i wanna quit so bad i’ve been here less than 24 hours and i’m already fantasising about drinking the bathroom bleach yoongi

He’s about to reply when the door to their dormitory room swings open, and the hostility of the swing almost makes him drop his phone on the floor. Namjoon scrambles to catch it, staring up with surprise at the sight of Seokjin carrying two mugs of what appears to be tea. Namjoon smells the cranberry as Seokjin comes closer with a sheepish, yet almost smug, smile. Bare in mind, Namjoon hates cranberry tea; at the smell he smiles and fakes joy.

“Saw your post-it saying you had to set an alarm for seven,” Seokjin said casually. “Figured you’d be up by the time I came back with this...hope you like cranberry.”

[missusrogerswrites]

@captainstevenrogerswrites

Her cheeks were flushed, hair tossed over his desk and she was grinning like a schoolgirl as he described just what had happened "all of the above." She whispered onto his neck as she curled her fingers into his hair which was now damp too from the heat they had created, nothing could bring her down from this high but as the phone rang out and he cussed she groaned softly. She knew he had to answer it, he could hardly explain away a missed call and they were after all keeping this a secret, she nuzzled into his beard as he took the call, her fingers stroking the back of his neck she just didn't want today to ever end.

His voice picked up as he spoke, glancing at her she knew right away this was either really good news or really bad. Oh god, what if his son had woken up while she was riding him. She felt a small pang of guilt, they really couldnh be that unlucky to have the best time of her life turned into his worst. As he sat up and pulled her with him she settled into his lap, he was still buried deep inside of her but this was no time to move. "Andy?"

He began to relay the news to her, she sat there at first looking like she wasn't understanding but in reality it was sinking in fast and she was just so overwhelmed, no trial, no having to sit up there and recount her worst days or have the tapes shown to the court and it would be all over the news. "Seriously?" She even sounded scared to let the words slip from her lips as she saw the smile edge onto his lips and just keep growing, they had a chance. A big chance now of beating this and having the life together they so badly wanted now.

"Oh my god." She flung her arms fully around him as she hugged him tight, yes she could feel the tears building up but this wasn't tears of fear, it was the longing now to not have to be stuck in jail when they could be together and have a life they would both be proud of. "I..." she pulled back and looked at him now, intently. "I love you." Bringing her hands to the side of his face she stroked his beard with both hands "and I'm not just saying that because we just had sex, or because I'm caught up in the moment and hoping this is true. I really am in love with you." Presding her forehead onto his she wrapped her arms around him. "I love you."

Morals of a case.

Andy Barber x Natasha Romanoff crossover.

@missusrogerswrites

An entire year of their town wondering whether their son was a murderer or not, an entire year of strain on their marriage, an entire year of Andy unwilling to give up on their son's innocence but his wife doubting it. He could handle that and he did, he could even handle the fact the town swept it under the rug as soon as the real killer was found but what Andy had real issues with dealing were two things and both of them concerned Laurie; her giving up on their marriage so easily and trying to kill their son. The only reason he stayed married to her was because of their son, for when he woke up from his coma , they'd be at least some normality for him instead of the train wreck of guilt he would feel if they divorced. Laurie tried to get Andy back, but in his heart he couldnt convince himself she didnt mean to hurt their son, he just couldnt shake it off. Laurie would pounce on him, trying to get him into having sex with her, hoping that would spark them again, even with the lights off, Andy struggled and it became a chore, he just felt disgusted to be close to her , let alone touching her. It had been three months since they had sex and two months Andy started working late in hopes when he got home she would be asleep and he was exhausted of trying to do the right thing when he wanted to rip her throat out instead.

He sighed hearing the new case that his firm were trying to throw on him. It was clear no one else wanted it and he could understand why, it sounded like a mind field. "No offence Lynn but why are we trying to defend a Russian?" "That's a complicated matter, Andy" "No shit" he leaned back into his chair as he looked over the large file. The person in question was a former Russian spy who had been granted an American Visa to help the government but was now in trail for....he flicked through ten pages of convictions....shit.

"Andy, you dont have to take this case, it's long hours and you're already pulling in so many hours. Besides isnt it your wedding anniversary tomorrow?" Andy perked his brow up, he would normally already be planning an amazing day but he couldnt think of a worse thing to fake, a celebration of a marriage that was all lies according to his wife months ago. The same wife that wanted him for sex and his forgiveness.

He sighed and nodded, running his hands through his hair "yeah, yeah it is but Lynn I could do with the distraction. Let me take this case, what's the worse that could happen?" He offered her a small cheeky smile of his and she gave in and nodded "okay, but were all here for you and please...." she looked him over like a worried mother would do their son "..Andy look after yourself". "I promise" he smiled and soon enough he was back in his office, going over the file. "Jesus, you really couldnt make this shit up" he muttered to himself just as his door opened to see an officer, guiding in a redhead with handcuffs. Her perked his brow, his eyes falling on her bouncy red locks that caressed around her face. Forcing himself to look at the officer "Sorry Mr Barber, she insisted on seeing her new lawyer urgently"

Andy straightened up in his chair, she really wasnt the image he had in his mind of her. "Have a seat, Miss Romanoff and I think you can lose the handcuffs" the officer opened his mouth to object but andy looked at him "look if I'm going to defend her she'll be pretty stupid to attack me and she looks to be a smart one. Also this is a confidential meeting between attorney and client so please shut the door on the way out". He knew the officer wasnt displeased and gave him a 'your funeral' look. As soon as he was gone, he turned his attention fully on his client "I'm Andy Barber, everything you tell me is in confidence, so let's get to work on defending you against..." he picked up the file "all this" he smiled slightly. "Anything you want to say first? You did visit me before I could"

[biofunmy]

India’s Going to the Moon, and the Country Is Pumped

NEW DELHI — It’s 10 a.m. on a muggy Delhi day, and it’s time for space class.

Like so many other middle schoolers, Veronica Sodhi, a 12-year-old with big dreams, says space class is her favorite subject, but on Friday there was something even more special.

India is all set to send a robotic rover to rumble around the south pole of the moon, a huge leap forward for its space program. The rocket launches at 2:51 a.m. Monday and the anticipation is stoking national pride.

Indian children are sending good luck YouTube messages to the national space agency; V.I.P.’s are converging on the launch site in a remote coastal area near Chennai; the little six-wheeled rover is crawling across the front pages of all the newspapers; and telecasters are tapping the patriotism with special broadcasts on “India’s Greatest Space Adventure.”

At the K.R. Mangalam World School near New Delhi, a place for the children of the upper middle class — there’s a roller rink on the ground floor — Veronica and her classmates were pumped.

“Children,” asked Harjeet Kaur, the space class teacher, “why did we name this mission ‘Chandrayaan’?”

Veronica shot up from her desk so fast she nearly knocked over the chair behind her.

“Because-it-means-moon-and-vehicle,” she said in one breath.

“Everybody clap for her,” the teacher said. “Is there another country that has sent a mission to the moon’s south pole?”

“No!” the students shouted back.

“We are all proud Indians, right, students?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Really? I can’t hear you.”

“YES, MA’AM!”

“It would be really cool to walk on the moon,” Veronica whispered a little while later. “I mean, kind of like hiking but really cool.”

A moon mission is a bold move for any country, but especially for one that has hundreds of millions of people still stuck in poverty.

But this is the puzzle of India. It is also a hotbed of modernity, a fount of scientific and engineering prowess. Its software developers are known as some of the world’s greatest, and each year its universities pump out thousands of highly talented scientists and engineers, experts in the most cutting-edge technologies.

Space suits it.

A big reason Prime Minister Narendra Modi, who won a thumping re-election in May, is so popular is that he has been pushing a brawnier, more assertive India, hungry to claim its place as a superpower.

Just weeks before the election began— and commentators found the timing a little suspicious — Mr. Modi announced that India had just shot down a satellite whizzing 17,000 miles per hour 150 miles above Earth. Few countries can do that.

This isn’t even India’s first moon mission. In 2008, the lunar probe Chandrayaan I didn’t land, but discovered water molecules on the moon.

The moon is definitely enjoying a bit of a renaissance on Earth. China is working on its own mission to the moon’s south pole. Scientists believe there might be a lot of water ice down there as well as Helium-3, a future energy source thought to be abundant on our little neighbor.

Many Indians feel this mission, which will unfold more than 200,000 miles away, is a turning point in their country’s history. They use almost the exact same words to describe Chandrayaan’s importance: “We will now be the fourth space power!” They follow after the United States, Russia and China.

“India would like their little space in space,” said Sunita Nagpal, the principal of the K.R. Mangalam school.

To help raise the next generation of astronauts, and go beyond the standard government science curriculum (which one private school principal snobbily dismissed as written for a rickshaw puller’s son), many private schools have looked for new ways to teach space.

Enter Space India. Formed in 2001, it is a for-profit education company that runs workshops, field trips and regular classes on astronomy, rocketry and space exploration, in both public schools and fancy private ones.

Many schools do not have their own space teachers and hire instructors from Space India, which even runs overnight space camp at several locations far from any cities.

This week, its lessons revolved around the moon and the Chandrayaan II mission.

The entire mission costs less than $150 million. The orbiter will conserve fuel by making ever-widening orbits around the Earth before being captured by the moon’s gravity and pulled into lunar orbit.

This takes much longer than the straight shot made by the Apollo missions, which cost billions (the fact that humans were along for the ride wasn’t cheap either). Chandrayaan’s rover won’t be rumbling across the moon’s surface until September.

It’s hard to overlook the synergy with the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 mission this month.

“But this is just a coincidence,” said Vivek Singh, a spokesman for the Indian Space Research Organization, India’s version of NASA. “We were late.”

The Indians wanted to launch two or three years ago, with a Russian rover, but when the Russians backed out they decided to build their own, which took some time.

The hardest part, everyone agrees, will be the soft landing. The plan is for a landing craft to lower itself from the orbiter and gently plop itself down on the powdery moon surface. Then the little six-wheel rover (which weighs about 60 pounds) will pop out.

When the Israelis tried to pull off a similar moon mission in April, it didn’t go so well. Communications sizzled out, leaving people gathered outside the control room with tears in their eyes. The lander had crashed.

To appreciate these difficulties, the students in space class at K.R. Mangalam school were asked to make lunar landers out of Styrofoam bowls, with folded paper taped to the side to act as a shock absorber. The trick was to drop the bowls from their desks and have them land without the astronaut — a pen cap — falling out.

At space class at another Delhi-area school, students built rockets out of plastic soda bottles. The style of teaching was the same, a very cheerful Socratic method, with another Space India instructor, Heena Bhatia, standing in front of the class shouting out questions and waiting for a rapid delivery of facts.

“You know the basic parts of the rocket? Who will tell me?”

One boy stood up and blurted out the answers like verbal bullets.

“Nose cone. Body. Fins.”

“Everyone clap for Akshay,’’ the teacher beamed. “Now do you want to make your own rockets?”

“Yes!” the class screamed.

“Sir will be giving you materials to make your own rocket,” the teacher said, gesturing to a man with tattooed forearms deep in concentration in taping together little fins — he was a Space India assistant.

All children dream of the stars. But in New Delhi, it’s often hard to see any.

That’s because the air pollution is so bad and the city lights are so bright. The result is a smudgy, opaque night sky.

“But up on the moon, it will be so beautiful,” Veronica said, her eyes glowing with that special 12-year-old light. “It will be so dark and quiet. There will be so many stars.”

“I don’t know why I’ve always had this interest in the moon,” she said. “But I do. I want to be close to it, not on YouTube, not on the internet. I’ve always dreamed of being an astronaut. I want to make my India proud of me.”

Sahred From Source link Science

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[kittykat-creations]

R.I.P- Grief

Previous Chapter --- Next Chapter

Trigger warning for suicide.

-----

DENIAL

"No no no no! Sixer? Ford! Wake up! Come on!"

"I'm sorry about your brother."

"Thanks," Stan repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.

He wished people would stop bringing it up sometimes. That way he could act like it didn't happen. Like his twin brother was just home sick with some sort of bug. Like he would go home and fall on top of his brother, who would be laying on his bed, and recount the school day like it was the worst thing ever. Like he would then give Ford the homework and then voice how if he was the one who was sick, he would refuse to do any work until the next day.

"Hey, Stan," a girl greeted him at lunch, about to sit beside him. "I'm sorry about-"

"You can't sit there," he blurted out before he could stop himself. The girl raised an eyebrow and stood back up. "That's Ford's seat."

"Oh... ok..." the girl stood awkwardly. "Sorry."

And she left to go sit with her friends.

The next day-  you wouldn't believe it, the timing of the thing- a new kid began going to the school. Stan entered the classroom and saw the kid sitting at Ford's desk.

"Hey," Stan said shortly. "That's my brother's desk."

"Oh," the boy picked up his stuff. "Sorry. Where is he?"

"He's..." Stan felt his throat tighten, and he shook his head. "It's not important. That's his desk. Move."

"Alright," the boy looked at him weirdly before moving to a different seat.

"His twin just committed suicide a few days ago," another student murmured to the new kid. "He used to sit there."

"Oh gosh..."

No, Stan thought. No. Ford's just at home. He's fine. He's just sick.

Stan looked at the homework board and wrote down what was written. Just like he always did when Ford was sick.

Stan laid down that night, staring across the room at Ford's bed. He hadn't let his mom remove the blankets and sheets. It was just as messy as always.

"Night, Sixer," Stan spoke, staring at the pillow.

Night, Lee, he could hear him reply. Just as always.

ANGER

"No! You don't get it! Just leave me alone!"

Stan stood in front of it, his hands deep in the pockets of the stupid dress pants. Tears filled his eyes as his mouth formed an angry frown. He growled and kicked at the dirt.

"Come on, Sixer," he grumbled angrily. "Really. What'd you go and do this for? We were supposed to go together. On the Stan O' War. You promised."

He stared at the grave for a few more seconds before giving a short yell and stopping off.

"And you broke that promise."

The funeral was almost over.

"Sweetie, it's time to go home," Ma spoke softly, reaching to rub Stan's shoulder.

"Don't touch me," he grumbled, shrugging her hand off. He stomped towards the car, waiting outside of it when he found out it was locked.

"Hey, Stan," Bella murmured, walking over with Fiddleford. They were matching. Typical. "...you good?"

"What the hell do you think?" Stan snapped. "I just had to bury my brother. Of course I'm not good!"

Bella blinked and frowned.

"Hey!" Fiddleford frowned as well. "What was tha' abou'? She was only tryin' ta comfort ya, Stanley."

Stan scoffed.

"Not very well, huh?" He grumbled.

"Now really!" Fiddleford folded his arms. "What's brought this on? We're upset about losin' Stanferd too, ya know!"

Stan growled and was about to shout back when he noticed Bella standing timidly behind her best friend, drying another wave of tears. He sighed and looked down at his feet, kicking the pavement sadly.

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. "Sorry. I just... Ford promised we'd go together. And then he went and did this, and-"

Bella hugged him around the chest, tears leaking onto his shirt. He hugged her back.

School hadn't been much better.

"Hey loser! Shouldn't you be gone by now?" Crampelter laughed. "I would think the teachers would have given up on ya without your freakish twin-"

"Shut up, Crampelter!" Stan shouted. "Just shut up! It's your fault! You pushed him! If it weren't for you I'd still have my FUCKING BROTHER!"

"Woah!" Crampelter just dodged the fist thrown his way. "Hey! Watch it!"

"YOU WATCH IT!" Stan screamed, aiming to punch the bully's face. He succeeded, and Crampelter fell against the lockers.

"Pines! Stan, stop it!" A teacher came running over, holding Stan back. "What on Earth are you doing?!"

"He was talking shit about Ford!" Stan cried, tears of anger forming. "Sixer ain't freakish!"

"Alright, alright," the teacher said. "Go take out your anger on one of the punching bags. I'll write you a note."

Stan huffed and stomped down the hall.

"You, Crampelter, are to go down to the nurse," the teacher scolded. "And then you're to come to me to receive your detention slips. I think two weeks should do it."

Stan smirked triumphantly.

BARGAINING

"Do y'think that if I had noticed, Ford would still be alive...?"

"Very impressive, Stanley!" The teacher smiled as she handed back Stan's test with a bright red 'B' in the corner. "Your grades have really picked up! I'm very proud."

"Thanks, Ms," Stan smiled lightly. That smile fell once the teacher moved on. A B wasn't enough. Ford always got A's. So, if Stan got an A, maybe something would happen. He wasn't sure what, though. Maybe it would be revealed that Ford really was alive?

"Wow Stan, yer grades are gettin' good," Fiddleford smiled encouragingly. "Any reason why?"

"I dunno... it's what Ford would have wanted," Stan shrugged and shoved his test in his folder. "Maybe I can, I don't know, make him proud or something?"

"Aww..." Bella frowned.

"Yeah, I knew it was dumb," Stan mumbled.

"That's not dumb!" Bella assured. "That's nice. I get it."

"Thanks. I just... ugh, I want him back so much!" Stan replied, laying on his desk. "I'd do anything to see him again..." He noticed Bella's scared look. "Besides that! I promise. I won't leave you guys."

"Whew," Bella sighed in relief. "Good."

When Stan got home, he took the test from his backpack and taped it to the wall above Ford's bed. The B looked rather out of place among Ford's other A-covered papers, but it fit better than a C.

"We're gettin' there," Stan murmured, his eyes sweeping over all the papers, tests, and assignments. He then turned to look at the map taped above his own bed. It had been Ford's favorite. It was only a basic map of the world, but it was covered in red dots, each one representing a strange anomaly or going-ons somewhere. Ford had been documenting every one. They were where they were going to go on the Stan O' War.

Stan remembered something strange he had seen on the news that morning. Some sort of weird creature spotted in Oregon. He couldn't remember the name of the town, so he stuck a red dot in the center of the state.

DEPRESSION

"No Ma, I'm not hungry... I'm sure. I'll just have some milk."

Stan woke up, but he didn't get out of bed. And when Bella woke up, she stayed with him. Fiddleford was the only one up and moving.

"Mornin', y'all," he spoke, sitting across the room on the floor and eating a waffle. "Ya gonna get up?"

Bella shook her head.

"Yeah, me neither," Stan agreed.

"Alright," Fiddleford sighed. "Y'all at least want some breakfast?"

"I'm alright," Stan mumbled. Bella shrugged slightly.

"Some milk?" Fiddleford asked her. She slowly nodded. "Sippy cup?" She nodded again. "Alright, Ah'll get it fer ya."

Fiddleford left the room and was heard walking downstairs. Stan pulled Bella closer to him, closing his eyes and keeping his arm around her. He breathed in and kissed her forehead, rubbing up and down her back.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I've just been up and down these past couple weeks. I haven't spent a lot of time with you."

"It's alright," Bella mumbled. "I get it. I miss him, too. ...And I really don't wanna lose you, too..."

"You won't," Stan promised. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here."

"Good..."

He stood in front of the grave again. But this time he was there with both Bella and Fiddleford. He hadn't been back since the funeral about two weeks ago. He still didn't want to see it. He wished it would go away and be replaced by his brother, alive and well.

-Stanford Pines- A beloved brother and son.

That barely covered it. Stan could think of a million more things Ford was, but they wouldn't have fit on the headstone. Stanford was the best student, the best friend Stan could have ever asked for, the best twin to have ever existed. He was a nerd, a dork, awkward beyond belief, and so so so much more.

Bella stepped forward to lay the bouquet of flowers at the base of the headstone. Without the plastic, they looked perfect against the fresh grass that had began to grow in over the disturbed dirt.

The three friends stood for awhile before turning and walking back home.

ACCEPTANCE

"That was my brother's desk. No one really uses it anymore. It's closer to the front, if you need it."

Cleaning day. Or, sort of. Stan tried to distract his mind as he stripped the sheets off of Ford's old bed. Bella and Fiddleford had already taken the blankets and pillow case and put them in the hamper. The pillow was placed back in the cabinet. All of Ford's old clothes were gathered off the floor and tossed in the hamper as well. After they were cleaned, they would be donated.

All except the jacket.

Stanford's brown jacket had been hung in Stan's closet, the day they took it off to dress Ford for the funeral. Stan had refused to let anyone touch or clean it. Today, he had taken it out and worn it while cleaning.

Ok, maybe it should be washed after today. Ford had never used deodorant.

"Almost done, guys," he spoke when Bella and Fiddleford returned. "Just gotta clean up the tent and clear off the bookshelf. You guys wanna pick out some of them now?"

"Sure," Fiddleford nodded. Him and Bella sat in front of the shelf, beginning to go through the books. Bella got most of the fictional ones, and Fiddleford got the science and non-fiction books. He also took a few science-fiction books. By the time they divided the contents of the shelf up, everything was done.

It was almost like Ford hadn't lived there for the past fourteen years.

Almost.

One entire wall was dedicated to all of Ford's projects and aced tests, along with a few group photos of him with Stan, Bella, and Fiddleford. And of course, the barrel Stan and Ford had found on the Stan O' War sat at the foot of Stan's bed, filled with the maps Ford had left for his twin.

It had been a long few weeks, and Stan had never felt worse during them. And of course, he was still upset and devastated about losing his brother. He wasn't convinced at all that he had cried for the last time about Ford. But hey, at least he had the courage to finally clean his stuff out of their room, and he had stopped using present-tense when referring to him.

That was a start, wasn't it?