#too embarrassed to ask for one after giving such mediocre work! i left every assignment for the last minute and barely spoke in class.

[royasuka]

got my final grades for the fall semester. prof was kind enough to give me an A in the class (even though i probably should have gotten a B+?) but in the comments for the final essay, she said that it was ok but it felt like i just skimmed the readings/notes for basic concepts rather than any deeper thoughts and…… ugh she got me that’s exactly what i did. i did that essay in about 1 day and i’m not proud of it.

[barnesbabee]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ- ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ

WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

⇜ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ - ᴇɪɢʜᴛ-  ɴᴇxᴛ ⟿

CHARACTER LIST:

White Rabbit - Choi Jongho Absolem (Blue Catterpilar) - Kang Yeosang Cheshire Cat - Kim Hongjoong Mad Hatter - Choi San Haigha (March Hare) - Jung Wooyoung Tweedle Dee - Song Mingi Tweedle Dum - Jeong Yunho Bloody Red King - Park Seonghwa

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @myunvillage @mirror-juliet @jess-1404 @earth-to-leiki [Send me a DM, an ask or comment to be added to the tag list]

“The stars sure look beautiful today.”

From that night on you and Seonghwa continuously exchanged shy glances, and even the simplest touch would make you blush, as you both reminisced what had happened that night. You anxiously waited for the day you would finally belong to each other, and as the night approached, the both of you started feeling butterflies all over your body.

You had decided the wedding would be small. Not because you weren't extravagant, but because none of you had friends, so it wouldn't make sense to throw a big party. Although the King, without your knowledge, had ordered the most beautiful wedding dress, and he couldn't wait for you to see it.

One day, you decided to take a peek at the ballroom, where the wedding would be taking place. You could see he tried to minimize the red and black, but it was stronger than him. It did look beautiful though... The gold chandelier lit up the sparkly room, decorated with rose petals cut in the shape of a heart, and several portraits of you and the King beside each other. You wondered when those had been painted, but you were honoured. Your heart was clenching in adoration as you noticed the contrast between the portraits all around the castle compared to those. Every painting of the King you had seen so far was of him with a stone-cold expression, but in all of these you were both smiling, laughing, or looking at each other lovingly. The King make sure to capture his favourite moments in all of these paintings, from the day you met, to the picnic in the garden.

"Thank you, Miss."

You were startled to hear a voice behind you while you peeked through the barely opened door. You jumped slightly and turned around, but calmed down once you saw it was one of the maids. She was looking at you with her big, sparkly frog eyes. At some point, it freaked you out, but after seeing them every day you got used to the frog people.

"You're welcome ma'am, but what might you be thanking me for?" You asked, quite confused.

"You've made our lives infinitely better with your presence. Our King has really changed... He said 'thank you' the other day. I have worked for him for a decade and not once had I heard those words from him. He treats us like people, not like servants. You are a blessing, Miss."

You smiled at the maid, a sad yet sympathetic smile.

"I know it's a lot to ask, but I beg of you, give him another chance. Seonghwa is but a neglected, traumatized child in an adult man's body, and I'm trying to help him become a better person."

"I cannot promise anything Miss, but if he truly shows the people mercy and compensates them for all we've been through, the people might give him another chance."

You gave her a slight nod, and thanked the maid for her honesty.

"Hey!" A voice called from up the stairs.

The maid excused herself, and you looked at the staircase, to find a distressed Seonghwa running down towards you.

"Did you see the room?" He asked arms crossed over his chest.

You stayed quiet for a second and looked away from the man who stood apprehensively in front of you.

"No?" You lied.

"Aw come on! I wanted it to be a surprise! I knew I should've covered that paintings."

The image of a sulking Seonghwa was the most adorable thing you had ever seen. You wrapped your arms around his waist and laid your head on his chest.

"I'm sorry, but I was too curious..." You paused and looked up at the man "If it serves any consolation, I was very surprised, and I loved it."

"Really?" He happily asked, flashing you his pearly whites.

You hummed in agreement, earning a small kiss from the man.

"Well, the surprises aren't over. There's a couple more, starting with tonight's dinner."

Before you could ask what he meant, Seonghwa grabbed your hand and dragged you towards a small room in the attic. It took a while to go up all of the marble stairs, and you were out of breath once you reached the room, but it was worth it.

The King gripped the golden handle of the red, wooden door, while looking at you with a big grin. Once he pushed it open, the most beautiful sight was prepared for you. The roof of the small room had a beautiful glass skylight, and the stars looked down at you as you stepped inside. There were white rose petals scattered all over the dark wooden floor, and a small table with two chairs sat in the middle. On the wall right in front of you was a lit fireplace, and the table was set for two, with the most beautiful cutlery you had ever seen. You noticed a letter sitting on one of the dishes, that you assumed was directed at you.

"I, uh... I learned to like white roses." Seonghwa said, embarrassed.

You remember the first time you met when he freaked out over the white roses in the garden. He moved to stand behind one of the chairs, and pulled it back.

"Come, sit down."

You obliged and sat down on the chair he held out of you The male sat in front of you and motioned towards the letter.

"Tomorrow we get married, and there are many things I want to tell you, but I can't. So I wrote it down."

You grabbed the letter and opened it. The King's calligraphy was beautiful and easy to read, but it didn't surprise you: everything about him was very neat.

'Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you have to read this, instead of hearing me say it, but I know that if I were to tell you how I feel, half of my sentiments would be left unsaid. I have lived a short life that felt very, very long. These years have dragged on relentlessly, but ever since you arrived, time flies. I hate going to sleep and I can't wait to wake up, to be with you, to look at you, to kiss you... I have had many experiences that I thought were love, but the second I laid eyes on you, I knew all of those previous times were wrong, I finally knew what love was. And recently I've come to find that love isn't only one thing, because somehow my love for you grows in many ways every day I spend with you. You may call me crazy, but there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, and I will keep my promise of changing to be a better King. Even if you stop loving me, even if you leave me, I will hold up my promise as proof of my everlasting love for you. But I must confess, I've imagined us growing old together, and one day, when I pass the crown onto my future child, I hope it is your child as well.

Forever yours,

Seonghwa.'

Tears streamed down your cheeks like two rivers and your bottom lip trembled as you read the letter.

"Ah, those are happy tears! Correct?"

You set down the letter and wiped away said tears with your wrists.

"Yes, yes they are. This was beautiful, Seonghwa, thank you."

"I'm afraid that's as far as the surprises go today, because when it comes to dinner," Seonghwa paused, revealing two sandwiches that would be your meal "I'm afraid it's mediocre. I tried my best but everything I made came out raw or burned, I'm afraid this is as far as my cooking abilities go."

You were surprised and very touched that he had done it all by himself, even if it were just some lousy sandwiches.

"You made dinner by yourself? Well, my good Sir, they must be delicious." You joked as you took one of them.

They weren't good, but they weren't bad either, and you appreciated the effort that had gotten into them. You imagined what kind of King Seonghwa would have been if the previous King had chosen to raise Seonghwa instead of his sister... Surely a kind, caring King that everyone looked up to, one every eligible young woman (and man) would bad their eyelashes at. It was truly a shame... But it wasn't too late for a change, you were hopeful.

You spent that night together, cuddling and telling stories while looking at the starry sky, and you eventually fell asleep on the many pillows Seonghwa had sprawled on the floor.

The next day, you woke up with a smile, remembering that your wedding was in a few hours.

You laid on top of Seonghwa and kissed him.

"Wake up sleepy head."

Seonghwa smiled, wrapped his arms around you and flipped the two of you, so you'd be under him.

"Good morning princess."

You help his face in your hands and smiled.

"After today I'll be a Queen."

"My Queen."

Your sappy moment was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Sir, Miss, I'm afraid we must commence dressing you for the wedding."

The King peeled himself off of you with a groan (but not before kissing you). He helped you get up, and the two of you followed the maid that took you both to your assigned fitting rooms. Seonghwa had picked his own suit, but you had no idea what he had in store for you. The second you opened the door, you were met with the most beautiful dress you had ever even imagined. It was white, with a tight corset that expanded into a glamorous princess-like puffy tulle. The tulle had many layers, and its bottom was decorated with pearls. The corset, while sleeveless and heart-shaped, had lace appliques that covered your chest and arms, and the torso was decorated with many sparky stones. The veil was equally decorated with pearls and had a tiara attached to it.

Attached to the dress there was a letter.

'They say white symbolizes faith. I have faith in you and in our marriage. Much love, Seonghwa.'

The maids helped you dress, very carefully and with care. They truly seemed to like you. One of them even fixed your hair in a pretty bun and attached the veil to it.

They had spent around an hour fixing everything, and when you were almost done, the door opened.

"The King is waiting for Miss Y/N."

And that was your queue to leave the room. You carefully walked down the stairs and made your way to the big ballroom, once the doors opened, with the announcement of your name, your eyes fell on Seonghwa, who was staring at you happily, in his new look. His hair was slicked back, no longer covering his eye, displaying it proudly, no longer ashamed of his past. His suit matched your dress: it was white and fit him neatly, and it only served as proof that Seonghwa looked good in any colour.

You noticed the crowd in the room, but you weren't too surprised. Although you had decided to hold a small wedding and not invite anyone, you two knew the people would want to see who was brave enough to marry their King, so the man opened the castle doors for anyone who wanted to witness the wedding.

To say the people were surprised to see the King smile was an understatement, but the fact was that he was smiling, and the smile grew wider for every step you took towards him.

The ceremony went beautifully. There were tears in your eyes and in Seonghwa's eyes, and as you celebrated and sealed the marriage, everyone clapped (to you and Seonghwa's surprise).

Everything went perfectly, until the toast. Seonghwa suggested a toast in your behalf after the maids handed every citizen a glass, and when you took a sip, your body felt weird, and you started shrinking, and shrinking, and shrinking until you looked like Thumbelina.

"Y-Y/N!?" Seonghwa asked frantically, as he looked at tiny you standing on the table.

"Tweedles, now!" Someone roared from the crowd.

The Tweedles grabbed you and tossed you over to the Hatter, who had been concealed in the crowd this whole time. After hearing about the wedding, the Hatter decided he would use the certain crowd and commotion to blend in and enter the castle. Without anyone noticing, Cheshire sprinkled some of Absolem's shrinking cake into your drink.

The Hatter grabbed you gently and Bayard came running in. He placed you on the dog and reached for his pocket to retrieve some cake as well.

The King, noticing what was happening before his very eyes, panicked. Tears streamed down his eyes and his bottom lip quivered.

"No! Please don't steal her away! Please!" He begged, running towards the group with one hand stretched out, hoping he could get to the dog before they left but to no avail.

The Hatter just laughed and shrunk himself, giving Bayard the signal to leave. The card knights tried to follow the dog but he was too fast, and there was no time to get the horses before losing sight of the dog. You were gone.

The King fell to his knees, and cried, as he stopped seeing you from the distance.

"Please, don't take her away from me..."

[bailsscorner]

So Far

Yandere! Various! Haikyuu  x Black! Fem Reader

2-3-4 (coming soon)

TW//CW: reader smokes, possible trauma & ptsd, reader has a speech impediment, and usage of profanities. 

Description:

As you start out college, your aunt asks of you to start attending therapy sessions to alleviate your negative experiences of the past. However, you start to realize that sometimes the past can be inescapable.

1.0k words

Taglist: @xetou​

A/N: Hi! Please let me know if you’d like to be apart of the taglist. Thank you for reading ❤

"O--ONE PUMPKIN SPICE latte, p--please.” You felt your hands shake, you had a lecture in a few minutes and you were close to being late. The barista nodded, going off to the side to prepare your drink. You looked around the café, it was cozy and warm. You made a mind note to frequent here in the future.

The barista then handed you the drink, you giving her the right amount cash in return. You took a sip of it, taking in the bitter sweetness.

“(Y/n), how could you possibly drink this evil thing and not get sick?!”

You were walking with Aiko to lunch. You giggled, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know, I usually take it black but every once in a while I change it up.”

Aiko rolled her eyes at your playfulness. You were so busy paying attention to her that you didn’t realize that you bumped into a toned chest. Splash! Your sweet coffee spilt all over his shirt. Your eyes widened in realization, quickly grabbing some napkins from your backpack. You felt heat rush to your cheeks. “O--oh my gosh, I am so sorry--”

“It’s fine,” he grunted. You looked up at him for a second, he was tall and seemed to be one of those ‘no bullshit’ kind of guys. There was a noticeable red tint on his cheeks but his expression told a much different story. 

You heard a laugh from behind him. It was that boy you asked Aiko about yesterday. “Uh oh, looks like Iwa-chan got coffee all over his uniform.”

“Shut up Shittykawa.” 

Aiko grabbed your arm, giving you a ‘lets get out of here’ look and you anxiously nodded. The two boys watched you leave with curiosity, both of them were equally intrigued by you. "What the hell was that, (Y/n)?"

You frowned in embarrassment. "I--I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Well be careful next time, or you'll bump into one of those bastards again. They’re bad news.”

You chuckled, locking arms with her as the two of you continued to stroll through the hallway. “Oh come on Aiko, I think that Oikawa guy seems nice-ish. Do you have some sort of vendetta against the volleyball team?”

“Something like that,” The red-haired girl muttered. Your eyebrows raised, deciding to not tap into her conflict with them. 

“Who was the cutie?” Oikawa asked as he and a few other guys changed into their jerseys.

Iwaizumi pulled off his stained shirt and placed it in his duffle bag. He instantly knew who what his friend was referring to. “Some third year transfer. Judging by her slightly mediocre Japanese, she’s American.”

“Ah, she's definitely not like everyone else around here." Oikawa smirked at his the light-green eyed boy. "You know Iwa-chan? Something tells me we'll be seeing her a lot more often."

“Mhm.” 

And with that, they headed off to the gym for practice. 

You took a drag out of your cigarette. The lecture was quite succinct, only lasting about 30 minutes. Most lessons were straight-forward and to-the-point, which was one of the several perks that came with your college experience.

Sometimes you wondered how you managed to push through after what had happened. It seemed like a never-ending hell, maybe that's why the admission team felt bad for you when you wrote that heartfelt essay. Your phone vibrated, indicating someone was trying to call you. It was your aunt. You sighed, swiping left to hear what she had to say. "..H--hello?"

"(Y/n)? Hi sweetheart, how are you doing?"

"F--fine Auntie, I just c--came from a lecture."

"I see. You know your friend Aiko stopped by yesterday to see if you were still here. Poor thing misses you like hell."

You once again sighed. A part of you did miss your old friends from high school, but sometimes you've got to leave the past in the past. Hell, you moved out of Miyagi for a god-damned reason. Thinking of the past made you want to take another hit of your cigarette. So you did, savoring the ethereal feeling of nicotine entering your lungs.

"..(Y/n)?"

No answer, she instantly knew why. Aunt Em was now becoming irritated with you. "(Y/n), are you smoking again?"

You groaned, hanging up the phone on her. It's not like you were trying to be rude or anything. You hated when she tried to intrude on your bad habits, like a child. And you weren't a fucking child anymore.

You tossed the cigarette, pressing it into the ground. You looked at the time and internally cussed. It was almost 4:30. You had some stupid study session with one of your classmates, he was pretty nice but seemed to be reserved and a no-bullshit kind of guy as well. 

You walked to the library, which was like a common-place for the students to hang out it. You spotted him, you were only like 5 or six minutes late. But making an effort to be punctual would establish a better relationship between the two of you.

Your classmate had this studious dark academia-like nature to him, which you found to be pretty hot. It was also his familiarity, he reminded you of someone from the past. You also liked how he was patient with you, given your speech impediment and all. It was pretty rare especially since you hadn’t always been like that.

“(L/n), you’re late.” His non-chalant voice bringing a few shivers down your spine. Obviously, you had gotten over your boy-shyness but you sometimes felt like a part of it was still there. 

You quickly bowed your head and played it off with a giggle. “S--sorry Akaashi, I ran into a few things on the way here. It won’t happen again.” He nod

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” His gunmetal blue eyes boring into your (e/c) ones. He gestured for you to sit next to him to which you immediately followed. Both of you had aspirations within the world of humanities, especially you, who was looking to write a book someday. “So what have you worked on so far?”

You pulled up a word document on your laptop of some drafting ideas for a possible story. Your professor is has assigned each student to write a memoir of the past. “I--I decided to write about the more positive moments of my past, y’know?”

Akaashi just stared, once again showing no emotion. You hadn’t opened up to him at all really. But you knew he somehow suspected, with your aloof and timid nature, that something happened to you. 

“Honestly,” he said making eye-contact with the window behind you. 

“H--hm?” You internally panicked. Oh no, is my idea too dull-

He then smiled, making your eyes widen. “Honestly I think it’s a great idea, (L/n).”

[kiribaku-queen]

Unexpected [2/8]

Pairing: Dabi x reader, Hawks x reader, Touya x reader

Fluff, angst, AU

Tigger Warning: Alcohol consumption, 18+ scene (if you don’t want to read smut then read up to the line 😊)

Word count: 5.7K

A/N: So much love on the first chapter already???? I really don’t deserve it. Sorry for the late update! I was trying to work on the last scene and wanted to make it so good for you guys. Don’t come for me if its mediocre. I’m still learning on how to write those kinds of scenes! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist! 

Summary: Being quirkless wasn’t so bad. Especially when you had two badass best friends that had amazing quriks to make up for it. That is until one of them breaks your heart by disappearing in thin air. And the other breaks your heart by wanting to focus on his hero work. After coming back to Japan after studying abroad for 5 years, you were in for a whirlwind of surprises.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

You stared up at the man that saved you. Takami Keigo.

He had set you down safely, away from the fight, but didn’t glance at you a single time. Once he set you down, he was already rescuing another victim. He was fast. Flying to move others out of the way from falling debris. He even utilized his feathers to separate from his wings to do the same. Wow, where did he learn to do that? You were mesmerized by how swift and powerful he had become. But now wasn’t the time to daydream. You had to go to work. And now you were late.

Cursing in your head, you got up, dusted yourself off and continued on your way to work. But then you halted. You looked back at Keigo, watching him fight that villain. Maybe you should wait and thank him for saving you. He didn’t know he was saving you though. He didn’t look at you. He was just saving anyone he could at the moment. It would probably just be an awkward encounter anyway. You decided against it, but you couldn’t help but think about him, your heart racing just a bit.

You arrived at the school just in time. And that was all because you started running. You entered the teacher’s lounge where a meeting was about to begin. You sat down and greeted the other teachers around you before the principal of the school went to the front to start the meeting.

“Thank you all for being here so early. Let’s discuss today’s meeting. As you all know, it’s the first day of the term. Not very exciting but let’s still follow protocol.” The principal announced. Nods were seen coming from everyone, understanding that nothing new is happening. “But this year we are going to do something a little different. Every year, we have heroes come in to give speeches about their hero life and what students without quirks can contribute to hero society. This year, we are going to have that speech on the first day to give students more motivation to start the year off.” He explained. You nodded your head as well, fascinated that this is what they do in schools now. You jotted down some notes to save for later. The principal continued on with the meeting. Instructions seemed basic enough. Nothing too outrageous or out there. You were nervous for you first day for nothing.

“Before you all leave to your homeroom classes, let me introduce you to the heroes,” the principal gave the final announcement. All eyes turned to the door as a flood of heroes walked in and stood in the front besides the principal. A chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ filled the room upon seeing how strong and intimidating they were. You also ogled at the pro-heroes in front of you. You could tell it was going to be an interesting first day. Before the principal could finish introducing all the heroes, the front door swung open, causing a loud noise to fill the room. Immediately, all eyes were back on the front door at whoever just barged in.

“Hawks, you’re late.” One of the other pro-heroes said in a disappointed, authoritative tone.

“Sorry captain. Villain fight, if you know what I mean,” he jokingly informed the other pro-hero in a sarcastic tone of voice. He laughed it off while the other heroes kind of just rolled their eyes. When he was finished with his little antics, Hawks looked at the audience and looked at each teacher in the eye.

“Hawks. Nice to meet everyone,” he introduced himself. When he got to you, his eyes froze. You refused to meet his eye and looked away for the rest of the meeting. But you could feel his stare on you.

“Alright, meeting dismissed. Teachers, you can go to your classrooms. I’ll send you your assigned heroes in a bit.” The principal gave the final word and dismissed everyone. You quickly gathered your materials and bolted out of there, actively avoiding a certain blonde hero.

You anxiously wait in your homeroom class. Not because you were nervous about meeting the kids for the first time, but because you were anxious about which hero was assigned to your class to guest speak. A knock could be heard on your door and you quickly open it. Blonde hair properly groomed to the side. His outfit was made out of jeans from hear to toe. With a sigh of relief, you let the hero in. It wasn’t Keigo. Now you could relax without all the nerves messing you up through the day.

 You rolled your head in circles and massaged you shoulders. Man, it was a long first day. Fun and exciting, but definitely long. After the heroes gave their speeches to the students, they immediately left to focus back on their hero work. Good, because that meant you didn’t have to run into Keigo accidentally. You sighed and packed up your bag, ready to relax back at your apartment. Before you could escape your workplace, a female coworker wrapped their arms around your shoulder.

“Hey newcomer. Leaving already?” she asks. You look behind your shoulder and gave a curt nod. She pouted at your lack of response. “Aw, too bad. Well, everyone’s going out for drinks and a bit of dancing. Wanna join?”

“Right now? It’s barely dark out,” you question their thought process and look outside the window. The sun was still bright in the sky. I guess the sun was about to set, but not for another hour or two. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.” You mumbled to yourself. But your coworker heard you loud and clear. She was already smiling from ear to ear.

“Great! Let’s go!” she grabbed you by the arm and dragged you out of there, right behind the rest of your coworkers.

“Ah, but, I’m still in my work clothes,” you stuttered and looked down at your outfit. You were dressed pretty nice for your first day, but still. Going out in your work clothes was just not it. You could already feel the stares of strangers looking at you weirdly.

“We all are! It’s a company dinner. No one’s going to say anything,” she reassured you. And she was right. Looks like this was a regular thing in Japan. There were several groups of people wearing business casual or business formal attire at the place you were drinking at. It was more like a club. There were private rooms for big crowds, as well as a bar, a dance floor and a DJ. An interesting setting but no one else seemed effected by the atmosphere. Everyone was taking shots or taking sips of their drinks, laughing and having a good time.

You got to play some drinking games with your coworkers and got to know them within a short period of time. Drinking, even just a little bit, just brings out the chatter box in you. You usually only drink enough to have fun, but you were having a great time. You forgot about today’s events and just started living in the moment. Some of the male coworkers sang their hearts out to karaoke. You were shocked and appalled that the principal was also joining in. But you were all having fun, where’s the harm in that?

At the bar, Hawks was ordering a whiskey on the rocks. He put his drink to his lips, slowly drinking it with his arms resting on the countertop looking over at the people on the dance floor. He doesn’t usually come out to the bars. It was once in a blue moon, maybe even rarer. He didn’t have time to mess around nor was he really interested in crowds like this. But he had to figure out how to get someone out of his head. You. He had to get you out of his head. Hawks was not prepared to see you today. He wasn’t expecting or anticipating it. Seeing you took him completely off guard. Hell, he didn’t even know you were back in Japan. Dammit. And if it wasn’t enough, you avoided him. You actively refused to look at him and fuck did that sting like a motherfucker. Ah well, at least you guys won’t be bumping into each other often. Or so he thought.

You were currently being dragged to the dance floor with a few of your female coworkers. All of you surrounded yourselves with each other and formed your own little circle. At first you were shy. You knew how to get down when you were overseas but you weren’t sure if Japan shared the same energy. When you felt comfortable and safe enough, you started swaying your hips to the music. Letting the music take over your body and let’s be honest, you also let the alcohol do the talking. Eventually, you were dancing like it was nobody’s business, dancing with all the ladies around you.

Hawks cocked an eyebrow as he saw you dancing. You looked different. You looked… more carefree. Independent. Confident. And he can safely say that you were very much attracting him. His eyes traveled your body as you swayed your hips to the beat and even swayed against the other women that were with you. You were teaching your coworkers a few moves you picked up at college in the States and god damn was it sexy to watch. The way your work skirt hugged your ass was already catching his eye. But he couldn’t look away when you started to move your ass up and down, twerking on one of your coworkers. That coworker was embarrassed but played along but you eventually laughed it off.

You were having so much fun letting loose. When you turned around with a wide smile on your lips, you spotted a winged blondie looking your way. Keigo. You couldn’t tell if your heart was racing from the alcohol or if it was from seeing your ex again. But a thought came to your mind. Maybe it was the alcohol. You smirked to yourself and started to dance sexier. Keigo broke your heart to become a hero and because you didn’t have a quirk. Well you were going to show Hawks what this quirkless teacher can do and what he’s been missing out on.

You made eye contact with said hero and moved your body in a way that would attract anyone’s attention. You moved your hands up and down your body as you rolled your hips, feeling yourself to the music. Hawks scoffed and admired the show you were giving him. In one shot, he down the whiskey in his cup and forcefully set it down on the counter behind him. His predatory eyes were on you and only you. Hawks made his way towards you but before he could get to you, another man was rubbing himself on you.

Amidst your dance, you felt a pair of rough hands grab your waist and tug you backwards so that your body was flushed against someone’s chest. A hot breath met your left ear, making you shudder in fear. You tried to push his hands off you but to no avail. That just made him tighten his grip.

“Come on, dance with my pretty lady,” he disgustingly whispered in your ear. Your coworkers didn’t notice anything yet since everyone was dancing in the moment. And it was hard to tell that someone was touching you since the dance floor was filled with people and flushed bodies were everywhere. You were in a predicament. You wanted to say something but before you could, his grip magically let go. Turning your head, you saw Hawks grabbing the stranger’s wrist in a death grip.

“This pretty lady doesn’t look like she wants to dance with you,” he commented, eyes looking unamused. The man groaned at how tight his grip was but tried to fight him back. By this time, Hawks was already squeezing his body between you two, so that the man couldn’t get to you.

“Fuck off man,” the stranger shouted, swinging his free hand to aim at Hawks’ face. But Hawks was already one step ahead of him. He easily caught the man’s fist. But it made Hawks more furious. He spread his wings wide as a warning, scaring you, the pervert and everyone around you. He was careful enough to not hit anyone but it was still intimidating. This scared the man and he finally fled, going straight to the exit. When he deemed it was safe enough, he let his wings go back to their resting position. Taking a big, deep breath out, he turned to face you. You, still shocked, looked up at him. You both just stared at each other and everyone around you continued doing them.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern written all over his face.

“Mm,” you hummed, looking down in embarrassment. “Thanks…” Your mood was ruined now. All because of some horny guy you couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“You don’t look it,” Hawks commented, sensing your change of mood. You were grateful for what he did, of course. But now was not the time. You felt upset and violated that you just wanted to go home now.

“Look, Kei- ah, Hawks. I’ll be fine. Excuse me,” you excused yourself from his presence and approached one of your coworkers.

“Hey, I’m gonna head home now!” you told her, yelling loud enough so that she could hear. You could see the disappointment in her face but didn’t stop you. She acknowledged you and then went back to having fun. Giving one last look of appreciation to the hero of the night, you made your way out the door and into the cool, night air.

 Chills ran down your spine. You were not expecting it to be this cold out. And what’s worse, your head was still foggy from drinking so much at the bar. A sigh left your lips as you tried to pay attention and just focus on getting home. Once you got home, then could you finally relax and re-energize for work. And you could do that once you got a little birdie off your shoulder. You stopped in your tracks and sighed.

“Are you really following me?” you asked aloud. If there were passersby, they would think you were crazy for talking to yourself. Hawks came down from a nearby building, landing right in front of you with a sheepish smile on his face.

“You knew?”

“It was hard not to when I could hear to flapping your wings this whole time,” you explained. You put your hands on your hips in a disapproving manner. “Go home. I can walk by myself.” Hawks cleared his throat and straightened up, his wings moving along with him. Wow, they were bigger than you remember.

“Heroes have to make sure that the citizens stay safe from danger. You drank. And you’re walking alone in the middle of the night. I was just making sure you got home safe. You know, cause that’s my job. As a hero.” God, he was so awkward.

“Got it. Well if you want to walk me home, you’re gonna have to exchange it for your jacket,” you said, pointing to the brown jacket that he was wearing. You already knew Hawks wasn’t going to leave you alone, no matter how many times you tell him that you’re okay. So you took advantage of this opportunity to at least get some warmth on the way. Hawks smirked and handed you his jacket with no hesitation. And so you began to walk back to your apartment together.

Silence. Dead silence between you two. It was so awkward. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything so that you could walk home in peace. But it was too late to think about that because now you were in this situation. Should you say something? What do you even say? What do you even talk about? Oh, how’s life after breaking my heart in high school? Please… that was 5 years ago. You couldn’t believe you were still salty about it. Believe it or not, Hawks was thinking the same thing. He didn’t know what to bring up. Does he bring up the past? Or does he bring up what he saw at the club? There was no point in asking ice breaker questions. Shit, so what does he bring up? And so you continued to walk in silence until you finally reached you apartment. You spun around and handed Hawks his jacket back.

“Thanks for the escort back. And… thanks for what happened back there,” you thanks him, embarrassed that that even happened.

“Always a pleasure,” he responded. Awkward silence. You bit the inside of your cheek. Man, this was really killing you.

“Well, good night,” you bid your farewell. Opening your door, you enter your apartment and was about to close the door when Hawks stuck his foot out to prevent you from closing it all the way. You open your door back up and look at him with a questioning look.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“Oh,” that took you by surprise. “About what?” Hawks was hesitant to say.

“Us?” he asks like even he is questioning his decision.

“What’s there to talk about? It was a while ago and-”

“I know. I know but… I feel like I should apologize and explain for um, what happened so,” he said. It took a lot for him to swallow his pride but he had to do this. He had to make this right. It took you a second to process his request because you were not expecting that at all. You had two choices: either leave it alone and let the past be the past or clear up the ‘misunderstandings’ between you two? Well, it couldn’t hurt to choose the latter. You moved your body to the side and opened the door wider.

“Come on in, it’s cold.” You offered and Hawks gladly accepted.

He sat on your couch while you quickly went to make him a hot cup of tea. You set the tea on the coffee table in front of him and sat next to him, putting a throw pillow on your lap. You looked at him, waiting for him to start first. Hawks took a deep breath and faced you.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he confessed, giving a small laugh. You shifted in your seat, hugging the pillow tighter.

“Mmm, I guess… why did you break up with me?” you asked, not having the confidence to look at him anymore. You were opening up old wounds and started to feel some type of way.

“I didn’t want to break up with you, y’know? But when I thought about the future and aspired to be this great hero, I knew that you were going to have a difficult time. You were going to be hurt either way, so I guess. I don’t know. Decided to end it early before it got to that point?”

“And so you decided to be an ass to me?” you looked at him annoyed now. No matter what his reasons were, valid or not, his behavior was inexcusable to you.

“I’m sorry. I thought that if I treated you that way then you’d have an easier time moving on.”

“That’s the most cliché thing ever,” you pouted angrily, playing with the ends of the pillow. If he would have talked to you, then maybe you guys could have come to a compromise or met in the middle. Only if he would have talked and listened to you then this probably wouldn’t have happened. Dumb Keigo. Always trying to think about others but hurting them in the process. You couldn’t help but feel angry at his explanation. So much to the point where you were blinking the tears away. Hawks was staring at you this whole time and noticed the tears in your eyes and how you were trying to hard for them not to fall. When a single tear did finally escape, he cupped your cheek, rubbing the tear away.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you,” he apologized, barely above a whisper. You put your hand over his and looked up into his eyes. He must have moved closer to you because his face was just inches from yours.

“I’m fine. I kinda got over it a while ago,” you said, matching how soft his voice was.

“Let me make it up to you.” He suggested.

“How are you going to do that?” you looked up at him. His eyes could be seen wandering down the features of your face, landing on your lips that were slightly parted. He chuckled and he continued to stare at your lips.

“I mean, I know one way.” Then he looked back at your eyes. “If you’d let me.” He was asking permission. His eyes were more seductive and his voice went an octave lower. And it was turning you on. Hawks saw in your eyes that you were feeling the same way yet you didn’t say anything. He took this opportunity to slowly lean into you, ready to back away if you gave a signal. But you didn’t move. The closer he got, the lowers your lids got. By the time your eyes were fully closer, his lips met yours in a soft kiss. Not too light but not too forceful either. It was nice. He pulled away just barely. You could feel his breath on yours still as he broke away from the kiss. There was a pause. He was waiting for you to maybe back away or smack him but it never came. Taking that as a good sign, he went back in for another kiss, you kissing him back just as hard.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kiss between you started out innocent and loving. But got hungrier and needier by the second. You attacked his lips like your life dependent on it. Hawks was leaning more into you, both arms on either side of you entrapping you between the couch and him. One hand gripped on his forearm and the other laid on top of his chest. Your nails softly and slowly raked his chest, causing a reaction out of him, nipping at your lower lip. Hawks was getting frustrated at the lack of contact because of the pillow that was still in your lap.

“Let’s get rid of this,” he quickly said, taking the pillow and throwing it aimlessly across the room. You giggled by how aggressive and eager he was to get it out of the way. But you couldn’t even bare to have his lips leave yours, even for that quick second. Your hands cupped his face, brining him closer, afraid that if you let go he could disappear, and kissed him again. Hawks smirked into the kiss, pressing his body on yours. The bulge in his pants prominent as his hips met yours. You moaned into the kiss when you felt his hard on press firmly onto your clit. Hawks took his opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth. His wet muscle fought yours for dominance and explored every part of your mouth. Sucking, licking, pulling. Hawks couldn’t get enough. And he wanted more.

He detached his mouth from yours, a trail of saliva still connecting your tongues together. And went straight to attacking your neck. He wasted no time in leaving marks all over you neck, shoulder and chest. He sucked on the sensitive skin, biting it from time to time. It was painful but fuck did it feel so good. When he was done with one hickey, he licked it to ease the pain a bit but then immediately went to make another one. You probably should have stopped him because you didn’t want your coworkers or your boss to see them. But you didn’t want him to stop.

Your hands got tangled within his blonde locks while Hawks was grabbing hold of your waist, his hands impressively untucking your shirt to show a little bit of skin. You moan which causes him to growl in satisfaction. Oh god that was so sexy. The growl in his voice sent shock waves straight to your pussy. You were getting wetter and wetter by the second. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing and that was soon to change. God, how you wanted more of him right now. Grabbing his face, you brough him in for another dominating kiss. Hawks removed his hands from your waist and moved it to your thighs. Your skirt riding up nice and easy for him. He grabbed your thigh, forcefully hooking your leg to wrap around his waist to get better access to your ass.

He’s squeezing your ass, definitely leaving bruises to be found the next morning. And as much as he loved the taste of your lips, right now, he wanted to go back to attacking your sensitive neck. And that’s what he did. Your breathing became uneasy and turned into deep pants. Was it getting hotter in here? Because your body was growing hotter by the second. Luckily, Hawks was always one step ahead. His hands started to unbutton your white blouse. When it got halfway, he just takes both sides of your blouse and rips it open impatiently. It was taking too long and he was too needy to wait.

“Keigo,” you whined, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“I’ll buy you another one,” he said in a rush. Because he wasted no time in cupping your breasts, admiring the black laced bra you wore. As if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, he devoured your breasts in his mouth. He buried his face, sucking and leaving marks on the mounds of your breasts. He could spend a good time there because fuck, your tits were so perfect. You moaned as you felt the bulge on his pants grow even bigger. That wasn’t helping the friction you needed oh so badly down there. You tried lifting your hips to make contact with his boner but he had to strapped down so you could barely move.

“Keigo,” you cooed his name. “I want more.” You pleaded. He let go of one of your breasts with a loud pop and shushes you.

“Patience little birdie. I promise I’ll make you feel good,” he promises. He continues to massage your breasts, peppering kisses all over your cleavage.

Finally giving you what you want, his hand reaches lower until its right above your clit. You moan in pleasure as he teases your clit with his middle finger. One long stride going from your clit all the way down to your dripping core.

“Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he says, moving your panties to the side to reveal your dripping pussy. Hawks uses his middle finger to gather your juices and gently enters it in you. “Shit, look at that. I didn’t even need to prep you. Your pussy just took in my finger so well.” His mouth was watering watching you completely take his fingers with ease. But it was only one finger. Slowly, he added another finger and then another. Hawks was careful to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you. So every time he entered another finger, he would glance up and see if your facial expression changed. When you had adjusted to all three fingers in you, Hawks moved his fingers slowly. Pumping his fingers in an agonizingly slow pace, making sure he felt every inch of your walls. It was driving you mad. His fingers were finally in you but you were still craving more.

In an attempt to make him go faster, you used your free hand to grab the bulge in his pants. In the same agonizing pace he was going, you stroked his cock up and down through his pants. Hawks bit his bottom lip to prevent himself from moaning from your touch, but you heard it. He groaned, his voice vibrating from deep within his throat. But that seemed to do the trick. The faster he fingered you, the faster you pumped his cock. Moans were coming out of your mouth nonstop. His fingers kept hitting the perfect spot. And it didn’t help that he curled his fingers to add to the effect. Your head was in a daze, feeling your first orgasm coming. Your grip on his cock was softening because you were in such a euphoric state to continue. The moans coming out of your mouth became silent as the orgasm washed over you, your legs trembling. Hawks could feel you clench hard around his fingers, but he wasn’t stopping. He was going to help you ride it out until you couldn’t handle it anymore.

You were coming down from you high and now you were craving one thing. You needed his dick in your mouth. This time, you took the initiative. You pushed his shoulders back so that he was comfortably sitting back on the couch. You kneeled in front of him, already unbuckling his belt. While you were busy taking his pants off, Hawks got rid of the rest of his clothing and threw it somewhere around the room.

You got his pants down to his ankles and revealed his thick, throbbing cock. Precum was already dribbling on the side. Gripping his cock with one hand, you teased him by leaving one long lick, collecting the precum on your tongue. Several curses were being thrown by the winged man but you wanted to keep teasing him. You licked the tip of his dick where more precum was oozing out. Then you wrapped your lips fully around the tip, but just the tip. You pulled up, kissing the tip which made Hawks go crazy. His head was thrown back and his hands were gripping his hair. Seeing that view, you think you did enough teasing to him. Liking your lips in anticipation, you sunk your mouth all the way down his length.

“(y/n)!!!” Hawks screamed your name. His hands instinctively went straight to your hair. You were expecting him to push down on you to take as much of him in your mouth as you can but it didn’t come. Instead, he gathered all your hair in one hand, holding it up for you. But his grip was strong enough to leave pleasure running down your spine. You looked up to see him already eyeing you and how full your mouth was with his dick and his dick alone. Drool was coming down the side of your mouth. At that sight, Hawks’ mouth was left agape.

“Look at that pretty mouth,” he complimented you. If you could smile, you would. But your mouth was already full, preventing you from doing so. So, you hummed in response. The vibrations of your mouth sent Hawks over the edge and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck, come here,” he takes you off his dick and before you know it, you were straddling his waist, being lifted into the air. “Where’s your room?” he breathed.

“Down the hall to the left,” you breathed back. Your lips connected to one another once again. He carries you down the hall, kicks open your door and throws you on the bed. Before you could process what was happening, Hawks was spreading your legs wide open. He completely removed your panties and your skirt so that your glistening pussy was open and ready for him. He pinned your legs down so you couldn’t squirm around or close your legs shut. Taking one big whiff of your essence, blush rushed to your cheeks. You couldn’t help but cover your face at such an embarrassing act.

“Come on little birdie. Why are you covering your face,” he teased, his lips lightly brushing against your folds.

“I’m embarrassed…”  you admitted. Hawks smirked and made you uncover your face.

“Don’t be. I wanna see your face scrunch up in pleasure when I eat you out,” he said. As soon as he finished that statement, he was devouring your pussy like there was no tomorrow. He slurped up all your flowing juices. Tongue exploring every part of you, leaving no place untouched. The noise that he was making was so sinful. But it turned you on even more. It wasn’t long before he could control himself. He gave you one last lick and then spit on your pussy as a parting gift.

He pumped his cock a few times before lining it in front of your entrance. Slowly, he sinks his cock into you, causing you both to moan in sync. Hawks takes is slow at first. Fully taking his cock out and filling you back up again. Then, out of nowhere, he’s ramming his cock in you, going at an impressive speed. Moans filled the room. They were so loud, you were certain that your neighbors could hear every tune coming out of your mouth.

“Fuck. So tight,” he grunts. Staying the same position, he puts your legs together and hugs them, gaining better access. His cock reaches deeper than before in this position. He hits that sweet spot that makes you roll your eyes back and made your back arch.

“Oh god, r-right there! Please fuck me right there!” you beg, already feeling another orgasm coming. He obeys, hitting the same spot over and over again until you’re seeing stars. Your pussy clenches so tight around his member that that was the last straw. He pulls out and is soon cumming all over your chest and stomach. Both of you are a panting, sweaty mess. While you were both coming down from your high, Hawks leans over and bumps your foreheads together. You take that moment to just be in each other’s presence.

“Um, Keigo?” you call out his name. He snaps his eyes to you. “I’m sticky.” You inform him. Immediately, he gets up from the bed in a panic.

“Oh shit shit shit shit,” he kept repeating and runs to find the bathroom. When he comes back, he has a wet towel in hand to clean up the mess he made on you. He throws the towel in the dirty laundry basket that was by your door and lays down next to you on the bed.

“That was-” he starts.

“yeah…” you finish. There was no deny that that quick sex session was absolutely amazing. And there were absolutely no words to describe how good it felt. You both looked at each other and laughed, cuddling closer together.

“Can I stay the night?” he asks. His hand moves the hair out of your face and then cups your cheek.

“Yes please.”

Tagged: @ditu-m9 @snuckerfrcnicken @flowersgirl02 @bestgirlkonan

[janelevy]

screaming at nothing

summary: med student elsa curry has yet to run into the infamous dr. ava bekker she has heard some things about, many of them questionable. then one day she’s confronted by a snappish surgeon with an accent smooth as silk. as if elsa wasn’t gay enough already, it seems the world wants to test her limits yet again.

this was inspired by @princessbekker ... i tried my best to do this idea justice because it just had to be written, sorry not sorry. 

When she was fourteen years old, Elsa Curry came to the conclusion that she was gay. For her, it had been far from a difficult realization - as early as seventh grade, she had hazy memories of blushing deeply while changing for gym class with the other girls in the locker room. She remembered her wandering eyes catching forbidden snippets of skin, watching sleek long hair being swept into ponytails, snagging on any bra straps that happened to peek out. At first she believed what she felt had to be wrong. After all, why was it so... easy for the other girls to just smile and talk to each other while half-naked? Elsa would gather her things and scamper off to a private stall with a beet-red face and sweat dripping down her spine.

But it didn’t take long for her to accept it. She was fourteen when she stood in front of the bathroom mirror and told herself, “I’m gay.” Her reflection didn’t argue, and that settled it.

Now, a little over a decade later, Elsa fully embraced it. She loved girls. Girls were amazing. Her car had a bumper sticker of the lesbian pride flag, her bag had several appropriate pins decorating it. When she wasn’t studying, she ran a Tumblr blog that featured various forms of lesbian representation in media. She didn’t give a shit what others thought; she knew what she knew about herself, and that made her happy.

The one thing that tended to get under her skin these days was the difficulty of her job. Elsa was insistent about doing the right thing for the patients she treated, and making a mistake just didn’t fit into her itinerary. If her disagreement with another doctor came to a head (which often resulted in it exploding in her face), she had to take a moment to herself. A corner of the doctors’ lounge, the second-to-last stall in the quiet third floor bathroom, the deserted staff parking lot in the middle of the day. She didn’t care where it happened; all she knew was that she needed to scream. One scream was usually enough to make her feel better, to make the stinging vines wrapping around her bones recede and slither away. Then, not even a minute later, Elsa would return to the E.D. with a level head, prepared to resume her work as if she hadn’t just screamed into her balled-up coat in the lounge.

Her little sessions were so brief, they were mere blips on her radar throughout the day. No one had ever caught her in the middle of one, and Elsa planned to keep it that way.

Enter Dr. Ava Bekker.

Elsa wasn’t very familiar with any of the surgeons since most of her assignments landed her in the heat of the action at the front doors of the emergency room. She was still new enough at Gaffney, in fact, that she really wasn’t sure where in the hospital she was when she jabbed a random button on the elevator, found a dead hallway, sank down to the floor against the wall, and shrieked into her thighs.

She also didn’t hear the clicking footsteps approaching her. Then an accented voice, tinged thoroughly with irritation, broke into her private space.

“Are you quite alright?”

Hot, seething embarrassment filled her stomach, and Elsa was almost positive she was going to vomit. Slowly she lifted her head and unfolded her limbs from the ball she’d scrunched her body into. Standing above her, arms crossed, was someone in black scrubs. She had striking eyes - hazel, Elsa thought, from her lowly position on the grimy floor.

It only hit her she still had yet to answer when the stranger snapped, “I suggest you get up. I know for a fact they don’t mop the floor up here as thoroughly as they should.”

Elsa stood on shaky knees and rose to her full height, which definitely lagged behind that of the glaring figure before her. Now that they were face to face, Elsa picked up on more details: the ghost of a smirk outlining a frown, the streaks of paler blonde peeking through caramel-colored waves. Elsa’s eyes fell on the white stitching on her scrubs; this woman was not just a nurse, she was a doctor who just happened to not have her white coat on. Elsa was too taken aback to read the name listed there, however. Instead she fixed her eyes back on the other doctor’s face and breathed out an apologetic, “Um, yeah, I’m... I’m fine. I was... I was just overwhelmed.”

The doctor nodded. “Sure seems that way.” She tilted her head, staring intensely at Elsa. “Do you always scream at every minor inconvenience? Because if you’re going that route, your throat will be raw before noon.” She paused then, eyes flashing to Elsa’s white coat. “You’re a med student, aren’t you? Oh, wow. You should know, once you’re a full-fledged doc you won’t even have time to blink in between patients, let alone scream at nothing for five minutes.”

Elsa wasn’t sure if she liked the way the woman laughed. She had a particular method to it; she wove laughs smoothly between her words, speaking almost as if they weren’t even there to disrupt what was supposed to be a stern reprimanding. Elsa felt her own annoyance simmer in her gut, and she couldn’t help but throw up the defenses. “I’m not screaming at nothing,” she said. “I have my reasons. It’s not really anyone else’s business.”

“Oh, is it really?” Her superior smiled then, and suddenly Elsa most definitely liked the way she laughed. “How about you make it my business, then. Care to get a coffee?” She had already turned around to go, but stopped and looked back when Elsa didn’t immediately follow.

Elsa’s jaw dropped, but she made sure to pick it back up quickly. “You’re joking, right?”

The doctor rolled her pretty eyes and Elsa’s knees started to tremble again, along with her fingers. She shoved her hands in her pockets but she couldn’t hide the blush creeping up her neck. “Once you get to know me, Doctor, you’ll realize I’m not someone who jokes with people I like. Now, if you had the time to come up to the surgery wing and scream at nothing, then you certainly have time to come to the cafeteria for ten minutes. You coming or not?”

She smiled again, and Elsa knew she was in deep. She also knew Dr. Halstead was going to chew her out for this later, but she couldn’t stop her feet from trailing this alluring stranger all the way downstairs.

Before long, they had filled a couple of paper cups with mediocre hospital coffee and were sitting facing each other at a flimsy metal table. It was close to lunchtime, so the cafeteria was bustling, but Elsa was immune to the noise. The coffee was really pretty gross, so she just cupped it in her hands to leech off its warmth.

“So, what brought you here?” her companion said around the rim of her cup. It felt like everything she did was calculated ahead of time, even down to simple questions she asked. Her questions sounded more like statements, like she was telling rather than asking.

Elsa shifted her glasses up her nose and shrugged. “I want to be a doctor,” she answered.

“Wow. Insightful.”

“I get straight to the point. What more do you want?” Elsa shrugged. She knew exactly what she was doing here; she had done it before. Throwing up the walls, acquiring a sharp, sour tongue. Over the years she had become skilled in pushing herself away from others. She skimmed her gaze over the unfamiliar surgeon again, and reaffirmed what she had already concluded in her mind. There was no way she had a chance with someone this attractive. She was already thinking about the rant she would share with her Tumblr followers later tonight, about the beautiful stranger who popped up out of nowhere at work and tormented Elsa with her beauty.

Fed up with the silence, Elsa spoke up again and interrupted the other’s incessant coffee guzzling. “Are you ever going to tell me your name?”

“Only if you tell me why you were screaming at nothing in my territory,” countered Hazel Eyes.

Elsa suppressed a groan. “I doubt you’re the one in charge of that wing, first of all. I would know who you are if you were. And again, I was not screaming at nothing!” She shook her head rapidly and forced herself to swallow a few gulps of watery, paper-thin coffee. “If you must know, I was upset because I got into an argument with another doctor over how to treat a patient’s high blood pressure. Then he called in someone else, and of course they agreed to go with his method because I’m just the inexperienced newbie med student.” She sat back in her chair and lifted her hands in surrender. “There. Now you have it. Now who are you and why do you like me?”

“Oh, you picked up on that. Observant, but not observant enough to just read my scrubs.” The woman smirked at her, and out of nowhere Elsa’s heart leaped into her throat. She tried to swallow it back down but couldn’t. “I’m Dr. Bekker,” she said, swirling the dregs of her coffee in the cheap little cup. “Ava, if you like.”

The name hit Elsa like a face plant into a brick wall. She had heard this name before. She vaguely remembered gossip from a few weeks back in the E.D., bits and pieces of conversation she overheard from the nurses’ station. Before her brain could process what she would say, Elsa was already saying it: “You’re the one who Dr. Rhodes freaked out on before he left. Aren’t you?”

Ava nodded, unfazed. “That news really did circulate to every corner of this place.” She met Elsa’s eyes again and grinned. “Yes, the bastard did accuse me of murder, as if every doctor isn’t equally capable of that.”

Elsa could’ve sworn she saw a wink flash on Ava’s face, but it was gone in an instant. “How did you deal with all that bullshit being thrown at you?” she asked. “It couldn’t have been easy.”

“No, that’s exactly what it was: easy,” Ava answered. “Elsa” - Ava must’ve read her name on her coat - “if there’s one insider tip to give about working here, it’s that you absolutely cannot put up with the shit men will give you. Male doctors have a way of thinking every single thing they say is correct, like they radiate intelligence from their crotch.”

For the first time, Elsa laughed. Her eyes flashed from the bad coffee to Ava’s eyes, which were the color of honey in the brighter light. “Well,” she said, “that’s why I’m only attracted to women. Enough said.”

Out of all the things that could’ve left this gorgeous person’s mouth, Elsa least expected what came next. She had heard the rumors about Dr. Bekker’s whirlwind romance with that Rhodes guy, which burned up in toxic flames. She wasn’t sure if it was true, though, especially now. And then Dr. Ava Bekker told her, “Seems we have more in common than you thought, Dr. Curry.”

Elsa’s heart climbed higher up her throat, and it definitely wasn’t coming back down for a while.

[fallling-skys-blog]

47 49 and 74 with murdoc, i love your work btw

“You’re angry with me, I know.”

(Thank you, I’m so happy that you like what I write! 49 and 74 are under the cut!)

“I can’t believe him! The nerve!” You said, fully aware of how overdramatic you sounded and not caring in the slightest.

“Yes, Murdoc is not very dating savvy. Actually that is probably because you are the only one who has put up with him for this long. To be fair, you are his first date since,” Noodle struggles to think of someone who had dated Murdoc since she’d been at Kong and fails, “many one night stands.”

“You have a point but still! It’s infuriating,” You say, pacing back and forth while Noodle sips on her milkshake.

It’d started off innocent enough. You’d been assigned to help out the band with whatever they needed as a kind of intern, which was even worse since they were on tour at the moment, and right away you’d established that you’d listen to what they needed but you wouldn’t take any shit from Murdoc or the others, especially Murdoc since he’d  made an unsavory joke in your direction within seconds of meeting you.

As soon as you’d set clear boundaries, you’d grown extremely close to the band, becoming best of friends with the teenage guitarist Noodle. You listened to what every single person in the band had to say, making you a favourite amongst them all. Eventually, Murdoc took to you and your listening skills and would tell you things that nobody in the band had even ever heard of and you’d found yourself slowly falling for the mess of a man that played bass in this odd band.

Which had lead to you, Murdoc, 2D, Russel, and Noodle all being stuck inside a small, weirdly scented taxi headed to a small diner in New York. It certainly wasn’t the night you’d imagined but it was interesting and not horrible in the least. You’d ended up having to sit on Murdoc’s lap in the back since Noodle refused to give up the passenger seat to Russel so that you could all squish together in the back and he would have room to breathe, especially since he wasn’t fond of being forced into small places with people, even the ones that he knew. She was being extremely ornery tonight for some reason and nobody really felt like arguing with her anyways so you all had come up with the seating arrangement of Russel on the left, 2D in the middle, and you on Murdoc’s lap on the right.

When you’d arrived and were free of the small car space, 2D and Russel sat themselves at booth across from each other, talking excitedly about something or another while you sat across from Murdoc, Noodle sliding in next to you.

“C’mon Noodle, why don’t you go by Russ and 2D? Sure, they’re not as entertaining as me but I’m sure they’ll get the job done,” Murdoc said and was met with Noodle rolling her eyes.

“I want a milkshake, 2D always forgets his wallet, and Russel needs a break from me today anyways. Besides, I want to watch you embarrass yourself on your date!” Noodle replied, with a devilish grin.

“Alright, alright, do what you want. It’s not like anyone in this bloody house can stop you,” He’d replied.

“And do you know why? It is because I am the greatest fighter and guitarist the world has ever seen! One day I will be even better than you Murdoc,” She said and you couldn’t help but laugh at her excitement.

“Guess she takes after you when it comes to confidence,” You joked and Murdoc had chuckled.

“Greatest role model to take after when it comes to that, not so much the other stuff,” He answers honestly and you nod.

“You’re getting better,” You say.

“You really think so love? Don’t flatter me too much or I’ll have to buy you every mediocre food item they have on the menu and I’ll be added to the list of idiot tourist names these lot pass around every night. Can you imagine? The Murdoc Niccals written off as a sap and forced to start collecting snow globes?” Murdoc says.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. Snow globes might be the next baseball cards. In 2040 you might even be able to sell them for millions, you never know,” You reply.

“Or beanie babies, those are popular as well,” Noodle adds, looking up briefly from reading the menu.

“Moral of the story really’s to hoard things then isn’t it?” Murdoc asks and you smirk.

“Guess so, someone should really start writing a children’s book teaching kids about this,” You reply.

“Well it sure as hell can’t be me, I can barely talk to Noodle,” Murdoc says and Noodle laughs.

“That’s not your fault, only trained professionals and cats can talk to me and you are neither,” Noodle answers.

“I’ll have you know that many have said hearing my voice is like the sound of angel whispering the answers to all their problems and when it’s combined with my bass, it can cure them of anything,” Murdoc says and Noodle snorts.

“So the sound of dying crows mixed with your terrible playing cured them?” Noodle says.

“Can you believe this?” Murdoc asks you and you shrug.

“Your singing is objectively horrible” You reply.

“Sounds somethin’ like a dying seagull!” 2D pipes up from the seat behind you, ducking when Murdoc throws a stray fork at him and smiling triumphantly at Russel when he misses being hit.

The waitress comes at what seemed like just the right time since Noodle was practically jumping out of her skin in her seat and you were running out of quippy remarks to Murdoc and were devolving into awkwardly complimenting each other, which as adorable as it was embarrassing for the both of you.

“Can I take your order?” She asks directly to Murdoc and you can’t help but roll your eyes at her directness.

“Yes, I would like a strawberry milkshake and for you to stop lusting after my father,” Noodle says, making a gagging sign in your direction.

You learned that she only calls Murdoc her father when defending him to others or when she was trying to thwart people’s efforts to hit on him or his efforts to hit on someone else when she wanted to have a nice night without being haunted by images of Murdoc sticking his tongue down someone random person’s throat. Other than that he was just “Murdoc” or “Mr. Niccals” if she was making fun of him, usually in a voice mocking an interviewer.

Brother was reserved for 2D when she felt loving and if she was building him up to someone and she’d tell people that he was like a pet if she was annoyed with him that day. Russel was always called her uncle no matter what because he was almost always her favourite and deserved the title.

“Oh, that’s so nice to see that you take your daughter out to dinners for bonding time!” The waitress said, ignoring Noodle much to both your and Noodle’s irritation.

“It’s not that hard being a father really, just takes the right kind of time and dedication. Lots of that kind of thing, mmm,” He’d replied.

Noodle didn’t end up getting her milkshake and glared at Murdoc, purposefully only talking to you until 2D brang her one, saying that he’d heard her try and order it. She’d thanked him with a hug and smile, telling him that she wished she was at his table right now because watching Murdoc flirt with a waitress was boring and she definitely preferred talking to Russel and him much more. 

Finally, when the server had written her number on his napkin and her address with a heart you’d gotten off in a huff, Noodle following close behind saying that you two had to go to the bathroom which had led you to right now. Ranting to Noodle in the back of the restaurant about the irritating night.

“Who even writes their adress on a napkin? He could be a serial killer for all she knows. You know what, want to ride home with me? We can take our own taxi,” You offer, not feeling like dealing with anymore terrible flirting tonight.

“Yes! Our taxi will be so much better anyways, trust me, I am much more fun than the rest of the band!” She reassures you and you can’t help but smile at her confidence.

To her credit, it was an extremely fun car ride especially since the taxi driver allowed her to blast music and roll down the windows all of the way. It was the most fun car ride that you’d probably experienced so far but as soon as you got back into the house your mood soured again.

You managed to walk straight into Murdoc after Noodle had ran off to say goodnight to the band.

“I would say sorry but I think that’s your job,” You’d told him and he’d sighed.

“You’re angry with me, I know, but it wasn’t anything. I don’t know why you’re so mad, I can’t help it if the bird was all over me,” He starts and you stare back at him with an expression of disbelief.

“I’m pretty sure you were flirting back with her on what you said was supposed to be a date for the two of us,” You answer.

“What?” He laughs, “I’m guilty of leading her on a bit but the entire time you were gone I was telling her about you. She even took back her number that she gave me, never had that happen unless I was pissed drunk but that’s not the point, love. The point’s that I’m horrible at this and the next time I’ll do this sort of thing right, yeah? Anything you want and we’ll go do it.”

“Fine but if you blow your shot next time, I’ll move onto the next Satanist with a weirdly charming yet horrible personality,” You tell him and he laughs, jokingly assuring you that if he manages to ruin his chances next time that he’ll send the next sleazy bassist he sees your way.

“I don’t think I can forgive you.”

“We can start over. I’ll do anything, everything can be perfect. Just please don’t leave me.”

The band had been your kind of escape from everything in your hectic life and you’d stuck with them through everything, which was impressive considering the kinds of enemies the band managed to make thanks to Murdoc’s point blankness when it came to everything.

You’d been there when he’d slammed a door in Jimmy Manson’s face and when Murdoc had not too sneakily made out with 2D’s girlfriend in the bathroom of Kong Studios. Originally you’d met them when they’d needed a babysitter for Noodle because Russel refused to allow Noodle to follow Murdoc and Noodle to a strip joint and he needed to go on a trip to visit someone, who you’d later found out was his girlfriend that he was secretly seeing.

He didn’t want her to be involved with the band since that usually meant unfortunate accidents so Russel had been more than willing to drive out to her instead of her coming over to Kong. You’d needed a job and it seemed easy enough to take care of a eight year old for a few hours for some money that weekend, especially since Russel had asked you so kindly and you probably owed him a few favours yourself.

“Interesting place,” You commented when you’d arrived, looking around at the mansion that was likely to be a tourist destination to look for ghosts considering the shape it was in and the vibe it gave off.

“Not exactly paradise but when you’re playing in a band with Muds, you take what you can get,” Russel had shrugged as you closed the door behind you.

“Fair enough,” You responded, having no idea who he was talking about.

“Who in the hell’s this?” Murdoc has said, throwing an arm with a beer bottle over the couch so that he could turn his head to look at you.

“I’m here to take care of your kid problem and unless you know anyone else who’s dying to take the position, I’d be a little nicer,” You’d responded and Murdoc had chuckled in response.

“I like your style, don’t let old Murdoc over here order you around. Don’t worry I’ll have you begging for that later,” He’d said.

“In your dreams and my nightmares,” You’d replied before turning to Russel.

“Do I get to meet Noodle now? You said you had to get going soon and I don’t want you to have to wait longer than you have to especially with such a mysterious journey awaiting,” You teased.

“You’re right, don’t wanna delay leaving longer than I have to. Trouble is finding where she’s hiding,” Russel replied and you’d began your search for Noodle, meeting the lead singer along the way.

He seemed nice enough, a little spacey but he was definitely interesting and had plenty of weird stories and a pretty pleasant attitude which made you like him almost immediately. You’d asked him about Noodle and he told that she’d ran off with one of keyboards so she probably couldn’t have gone that far unless she dropped it along the way and in that case, could you please bring it back to him because it was one of his favourites.

You eventually found Noodle and ushered Russel out of the house since he was still nervous about leaving her alone, even if you’d be there. You couldn’t really blame him since the guy you’d met who’d been lounging on the couch, Murdoc you recalled, didn’t seem to be much of a parental figure and 2D had the personality of a little kid combined with being extremely spacey.

At first when Russel had left you alone with Noodle, you’d had some difficulty getting along, mostly due to the language barrier but after chasing her around the house for almost two hours she eventually calmed down and you two got along alright. You focused on activities that didn’t need verbal communication like games, video or board, and whatever you could think up.

Eventually she’d passed out on the table when you left to get her some water and food so you’d carried her to her room, which you silently thanked Russel for showing you earlier on when you’d been trying to find her. You’d laid her down on the bed gently and covered her up with a blanket, leaving quietly and shutting the door behind you.

The fun part was trying to find your way around the mansion to somewhere that was potentially a good place to wait for Russel to come home and where Noodle could find you if she woke up.

You found your way back to living room after a lot of trial and error of searching around the house and sat down on the couch with a sigh, tired from a night of not sleeping the day before and taking care of an overexcited eight year old.

You heard rummaging and someone yell from in the kitchen and groaned, forcing yourself to get up and go check if they were okay. You supposed that 2D and Murdoc could be back from their night out since you’d been away from the door with Noodle and the house was like a maze so it wouldn’t be too out of this world to assume that they’d come home while you were hanging out with Noodle.

“Rough night?” You asked, making your way into the kitchen when you saw Murdoc struggling to pop the cap of an alcohol bottle.

“Any night with that blubbering idiot’s a rough one. Be a good boy/girl, love and open this for me, will you?” He asked, handing you the bottle.

“Hmmm, not really sure I should do that. You seem to be a little, what’s the word, addicted to this stuff,” You replied, knowing someone codependent on drugs when you saw them.

“Well if you’re not going to help, go take care of Noodle or whatever Russel decided to pay you for. Noodle would have been fine on her own if you ask me, it’s good for the kid to learn to take care of herself,” He said, trying to grab the bottle from you.

“She’s eight,” You answered.

“Knew how to take care of myself at seven, not all that hard is it? Besides,” He finally succeeds in grabbing the bottle out of your hands, “She’s loads smarter than I was back then.”

“Fair enough but you’re not exactly the pinnacle of glowing health, are you?” You replied.

“Well you’ve got me there, haven’t you?” He chuckled, taking a swig from the bottle that he’d been struggled to open just a minute ago.

It probably would have been smarter to leave him to what you expected he did on a regular basis on his own but leaving someone alone and inebriated in this house rubbed your conscience the wrong way so you walked with him around the house. He refused your request that he should drink some water to make sure his hangover wouldn’t be as bad in the morning saying that he probably deserved the punishment of that anyways.

To be fair, once he’d dranken out of the bottle he seemed to be only slightly tipsy so he was probably a pro when it came to drinking, not that that eased your mind about the situation in the slightest. When he’d drank the entirety was really when he stopped his incessant flirting and bragging and become like any normal person with problems and in desperate need of a friend or someone they could talk to.

You learned a little bit about his rocky past, things he felt guilty about, and his terrifying childhood. You felt bad for him and couldn’t help but try and comfort him which was hard when he was slurring his words and occasionally leaning on you for support.

Eventually, you gave up on walking around the house with him and moved to sit down, Murdoc practically crumbling to the ground. Before you knew it, he was sobbing into your shoulder while you held his hand. Moving so that you could run a hand through his hair with your other hand, doing your best to comfort this mess of a man in front of you.

After some time, he ended up passed with his head in your lap and you absentmindedly played with his hair having a feeling the little bit about his past that he’d told you wasn’t anywhere near everything he’d been through.

It definitely wasn’t the night you’d expected and when Russel eventually found you, he’d apologized that you had to deal with Murdoc when he was drunk and that he’d hoped to be home before 2D and Murdoc were.

He lifted Murdoc easily off your lap and thanked you for taking care of Noodle and actually managing to get her to go to sleep which was apparently a harder task then it seemed.

After that night, a mix of curiosity and the urge to help someone you didn’t even know got the best of you and you’d found yourself offering to take care of Noodle frequently. You ignored Murdoc’s flirting and bragging when you got the chance to talk to him and when that didn’t work you countered with smart responses, enjoying your banter and after a while you’d ended making friends with him.

Friends turned to something more and before you knew it, the two of you had begun dating and gone on a plethora of adventures with one another. It wasn’t exactly a healthy relationship but it was close and he promised you that he was working to getting better and you made yourself believe him. In a way, he was but at the same time he was exactly the same as before. Nights numbing his pain in alcohol and drugs. At least he’d stopped the drugs when you’d threatened to leave if he didn’t start treating himself better.

Which ended up in you here, chatting with Noodle while walking around the set to film the El Manana video. Murdoc whispering to the people filming and whoever was in charge of the shoot, you didn’t really pay too much attention to that type of thing, you really only cared about the band members and didn’t give in to the “rock star” persona they carried with them everywhere that they’d go.

Eventually Noodle shooed you away with a hug telling you that she had to get filmed now. You’d bugged her for a few more minutes and then left to sit in between Murdoc and Russel, watching as the camera’s started rolling and Noodle swung her feet over the ledge of the floating island.

Before you knew it, anarchy had ensued and you found yourself numb, staring at the ground back in your own room weeks later and questioning if you could have fixed what had happened. You knew your boyfriend has issues and was sometimes full of cruelty but nothing of this level. Letting Noodle die? Maybe it was an accident but his shout of, “Keep filming! Make you sure you get all of this mate!” echoed in your head, making you unsure of everything.

He’d assured you that it wasn’t like that and he hadn’t gotten Noodle killed, she was fine, she had a parachute, and they’d talked about this before but it’d sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you.

Suddenly, you shot up from the ground where you’d been sitting with your back against the wall and started packing the things that you absolutely needed into a small suitcase, making your way down the stairs. It wasn’t running away from your problems as it was getting away from what was making you miserable, you told yourself as you ran into Russ and he gave you a head nod, his tired way of saying goodbye with the small amount of energy he had.

You’d forced yourself to give him a broken hearted smile and passed 2D’s room, his sobbing hitting you in your heart and you closed his cracked open door gently so that you wouldn’t bother his mourning process.

It was your luck that you found Murdoc drinking from a bottle, empty glasses surrounding him as he looked up at you with bloodshot eyes not comprehending what was happening at first, the chemicals affecting him slowing his brain’s processing.

“Sorry,” You deadpanned, taking a step to the door before he jumped up, nearly falling in the process.

“Don’t go love, I told you, it was an accident. She’s fine, I’m telling you, Noodle’s grand. She’s out there having the time of her life, she survived! I’m sure of it, have you ever seen her? She’s was a bloody assassin for God’s sake! A little explosion wouldn’t have-” He choked on his words, stopping before trying to regain his composure again.

“We can start over. I’ll do anything, everything can be perfect. Just please don’t leave me,” He finally says, holding onto your shoulders and looking you dead in the eyes.

“I don’t think I can forgive you and, this time, I don’t know if I want to,” You tell him and he lets go of you, knowing anyone caring for him was too good to be true in the first place and that he was always going to ruin it somehow but god, he never imagined it would be because of something like this.

[allonsysilvertongue]

Living Just For Kicks

Three times Peter felt Tony was embarrassing him and the one time Peter turned the table. (part i)

ii.         

Putting on his sunglasses, Tony stepped out of his car and made his way up the steps into the main hallway. This might only be his second visit to Midtown Science but he had hacked into the school’s system enough time – once when he suspected that there was more to the story when Peter turned up at his workshop with the front of his shirt soaking wet than the kid wanted to let on – that Tony could actually easily find his way to the hall.

The place was buzzing with activities, students milling about and teachers making cursory fleeting visits from one exhibition to the next. A huge banner had been hung, proudly proclaiming the school’s annual science fair.

He scanned the room before he finally found the boys he was looking for at the very back of the hall.

“Not a very strategic place if you want to be noticed,” Tony remarked once he was near enough for the boys to hear.

Ned’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice before his expression turned miserable.

“Flash was part of the organizing team and he assigned us this booth,” the boy complained. “May wasn’t very thrilled when she dropped by earlier either.”

“Want me to talk to someone? Get you moved?”

“It’s fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter shook his head. “People’s been coming and word’s got around that our exhibition is here so I think we’re alright.”

Tony peered at the kid, eyebrow raised.

“Really, it’s fine. Nothing to be concerned about,” Peter stressed and promptly changed the subject. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here. I – I know you’re busy so May said I shouldn’t get my hopes up and yeah, so I wasn’t really sure if you were coming but – “

“Kid, when you told me about it, I made Pepper clear my schedule,” Tony told him. “I wouldn’t miss this, okay? Mistakes have been made and you’ve learnt from them – you know what happens when you don’t tell me things and I show up unannounced. So this is good. This is great – you tell me about school events and I turn up because you want me to be here.”

Tony watched the kid chuckle nervously, the memory of his previous visit to the school still etched on Peter’s mind. Peter had told him how his teammates had wanted to know everything – from where they had ice cream to the flavor of ice cream Tony Stark had or if Peter had really gotten into trouble for missing his ‘internship’. Tony found it a little creepy but he was used to having people wanting to know every single detail from his life.

“Show me your project,” Tony gestured.

Peter had told him bits and pieces, something about clean water, whenever he dropped by the apartment to work at the workshop but he had never shown Tony the final product or go into specific details, and frankly, Tony found himself rather intrigued. He knew the boy was smart, smarter than most kids he had ever come across, not that there had been many, and Tony was curious to know what the kid’s mind came up with for the science fair.

“Show him, Peter,” Ned bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet.

Tony followed the kid, listening as Peter finally explained to him. His gaze flitted occasionally from the tech on the table to the kid talking a mile a minute, sometimes stumbling over his word in his excitement to show off his work to his mentor.

“This is impressive,” Tony commented.

He went round the booth, inspecting the boys’ science project, taking his time to read labels all around the table that they had put up to make their work easier to understand.

Ned gaped at the compliment.

“Oh my god,” Ned let out a breath. “Tony Stark likes our project.”

“Breathe,” Tony chuckled.

Honestly, the boy had met him several times after the decathlon championship and yet, he still acted as if he was in awe of every word that left Tony’s mouth. In a way, he reminded Tony a little of Peter, wide-eye and full of wonderment. The two best friends were made for each – there was a bit of Ned in Peter and a little of Peter in Ned – and they kept each other in check. They reminded Tony of his friendship with Rhodey sometimes.

“So this robot,” Tony touched the top of its square head, “will assess the purity of any body of water and – “

“Clean any impurities, Mr. Stark, making it safe for drinking,” Peter said, watching Tony closely. “We – We had you as an inspiration.”

Ned nodded.

“You inspired us with your – your investment for clean energy. But I – I don’t want you to think we stole your idea, Mr. Stark. So we thought that we’d focus on just water specifically, you know? For – For countries where clean drink water is not accessible…”

“Calm down, underoos,” Tony chuckled. “No such thoughts crossed my mind.”

Peter nodded, relief flooding his face as the tension left his body.

“This tech of yours has to remain affordable,” Tony raised his head to look at his young protégé. “If those people can’t afford clean drinking water, then it follows that they can’t afford this tech which would make it pointless. Unless it’s marketed to their government organisations,” Tony said out loud. “That’s something you got to think about.”

Tony saw the look Ned and Peter gave each other, the slight crease on Peter’s eyebrow.

“We haven’t really – We haven’t thought that far yet, Mr. Stark. We just wanted to make this work first.”

“Understandable and you did which is good because here he comes -” Tony grinned.

He waved to someone behind him, someone the boys had not spotted yet because they didn’t know to expect or look out for him.

The man weaved through the crowd to get to Tony. His hair was greying on the edges, his glasses sat perched on top of his head and there was a lanyard hanging from his neck that he had forgotten to remove.

“Thanks for coming, Erik,” Tony greeted, shaking the man’s hand. “This is the kid I was telling you about – Peter Parker, nerd.”

Peter’s eyes widened when he heard Tony referred to him as such to a man he didn’t even know. A blush tinged his cheeks, the embarrassment winning over the annoyance simmering below.

“Take a look at what he’s got,” Tony gestured towards the table.

“Mr. Parker, pleasure to meet you at last,” the man extended his hand. Peter stared, a little confused before a subtle nudge from Tony had him move automatically and he shook the proffered hand. “Erik Shine.”

“Mr. Shine, hi,” Peter replied. “Mr. Stark didn’t mention that anyone was coming and I – uh – I don’t mean to be rude or anything, sir, but I – we don’t know who you are.”

Behind the kid, his best friend nodded.

The man laughed, saying, “I’m not surprised Tony failed to mention anything. That’s his style, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side, kid,” Tony pretended to be offended. “This is Erik Shine, senior lecturer and senior research engineer at the Civil and Environment Engineering Department of MIT,” Tony said, looking rather proud. “It just so happened that the topic of clean water came up and I invited him to come take a look – Erik’s very invested in the environment and how to improve it. You don’t mind, do you?”

The moment Peter had mentioned clean water, Tony had thought of Erik and his work with the environment. So Tony had personally placed the call to school. He wanted to give the kid as much exposure as he could and if that exposure led him to a spot in MIT, then why the hell not?

“Oh my god, dude,” Ned gasped. “Wow.”

Peter sputtered once he processed who the man was. “Wha – That’s insane. I mean, that’s super cool. M – MIT, Mr. Stark? Did you say that? The MIT?”

“I believe there’s only one.”

Tony rolled his eyes but his hand found the back of the kid’s neck, squeezing it gently. He was fond of this kid and all of his nervous rambling.

“But Mr. Stark,” he turned his body slightly away from Erik so he could look at Tony. There was real concern in his brown eyes and for a wild moment, Tony thought the excitement and the surprise was going to be too much for the kid to handle. He should have listened when Peter said he didn’t like surprises. “Oh my god. I – I don’t get me wrong, Mr. Stark, this is really cool what you did for us but this is just a science fair,” Peter whispered, frantic. Beads of perspiration had begun to form. “A high school science fair in Queens. It’s not like Stark Expo or anything big like that, our science fair is so -.”

“Never too early to start planning, Pete,” Tony clasped his shoulder before the kid could put himself down even further. “Called a favour in when you came to me asking for spare parts. They might offer you a scholarship when the time comes – this is good, okay? This is good, Peter.”

It was the rare use of Peter’s name that made the kid’s gaze shot up to Tony and for him to try and get himself under control.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “Yeah. It’s just …What if he thinks it’s a dumb idea?”

“I wouldn’t have called him in if I didn’t think yours and Ned’s idea and project was worth –“

“It’s going to be so embarrassing. My presentation is so mediocre. If – If I knew you were going to ask someone to come and see it, I’d… Ned and I would have done a better presentation or something, you know,” he rubbed his hands anxiously, and then with a nervous laugh, he said, “And I’m just a kid from Queens who build that with spare parts I got from you and the dumpster on the streets. It’s not high tech and – and it’s gonna be embarrassing for you too, cause like you called him here and all. You’ve got a reputation. I – I don’t get why’d you do this, Mr. Stark.”

Tony wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose because he was exasperated. When will this kid realise? Instead, he reigned in his impatience. He wouldn’t behave the way Howard did with him.

“Because I can and I want to, and because I believe in you,” Tony had both hands on Peter’s arms, shaking him a little. “You need to understand that. Alright, kid? I believe in you and your work, and I didn’t ask Erik to come in to embarrass you. That’s the last thing I want. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“If you feel embarrassed – “

“No, no,” Peter shook his head hurriedly. “That’s just me. It’s nothing to do with you. Sometimes I – “

Tony watched the kid gestured helplessly, trying to put his self-doubt into words.

“I understand. But you need to believe in yourself, kid, ‘cause you’re smart and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

“I’ll try.”

“And hey, never worry about me or my reputation. Reputation come and go, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Tony said. “He’s here now so what are you going to do about it, Pete? Let it pass or seize the day?”

“Seize the day,” Peter answered with a determination that made Tony stand up a little straighter.

“Then quit standing here and talking to me,” Tony said in exasperation. He gave the kid a gentle push, “talk to them man. Explain your ideas, present your project and answer any questions he might have cause there will be questions.”

“Okay, Mr. Stark,” he nodded, trotting off before dashing back. “Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. Thank you!”

thank you for all your responses in the previous chapter! I hope you’ll like this just as much :) 

[someonetheelusivefangirl]

Pre-Klance (or is it?)- First Impressions

Here’s a headcanon I’ve been really keen to post for a while. Why? Coz the amazing @edelwary has gifted me with fantastic fanart for it! 

This headcanon came about as I was just thinking about Voltron, as I usually do (far FAR too often), and I was once again considering just how Lance and Keith interacted (if ever). I have had many ideas about this in the past, but I suddenly thought of another, and the following is the result.

Apologies for any mistakes (I literally found three before I posted this)!

Before the cadets were put into certain courses, all of them must have trained for at least several months. Lance was just above average, since although he WAS a good pilot for the majority of the time, his streak of crashing brought down his grade a lot. His teachers had tried to advise him on how to improve, but it was just too technical for Lance to truly understand what he should be changing, whilst they couldn’t afford to allow Lance to monopolise their attention.

At this point, Lance had started to worry about his assignment. No matter how hard he tried, it never seemed to make a difference. He just couldn’t see what was going wrong.

One day, his class’ instructor was on sick leave, so the Garrison decided to merge two classes for the day, thinking that the change might actually be beneficial for the trainees as they could watch others’ mistakes and successes. When Lance discovered it was Keith’s class, he felt equally optimistic. Boy, was he mistaken!

Despite being in completely separate classes, Lance had heard of Keith. Of course he had, he was the shining prodigy of the Garrison. Lance had even managed to occasionally see Keith, though always at a distance, yet his aura had always felt so serious and unapproachable. Lance shook the thought from his head as he caught the end of the instructor’s usual lecture in flying procedures.

Lance had felt an odd mixture of dread and gratitude when it was announced that they would be doing flight simulations. Now was his chance to watch Keith first-hand. He didn’t have to wait long, as after a few mediocre performances from his classmates, the instructor called for Keith to show them what they should be “aiming towards”.

Lance had expected him to be good, but he had also expected the rumours about him to be exaggerated slightly, as rumours often were. They weren’t. Lance wasn’t sure if the praise did him justice. He handled the simulator as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Keith piloted as if the ship was a part of himself, effortlessly pulling off quick, smooth manoeuvres, barely batting an eye at the readings his craft relayed to him. In fact, he barely glanced down at the controls at all, obviously having memorised the entire layout of the simulator. Instead his gaze remained almost entirely locked on the view in front of the ship, eyes darting quickly as he assessed possible dangers. Lance realised with a shock that Keith had to be working out all of the distances in his head since he seemed to barely peek at his sensors.

A gentle elbow in his side caught his attention and he tore his gaze from the monitor to find Hunk, a classmate whom he’d bonded with quickly over the year, attempting to hide a smile.

“You might wanna close your mouth, Lance.” Feeling his cheeks burn, Lance snapped his mouth shut, turning away with absolutely no trace of a pout on his face. None.

The sound of the simulator door opening drew his attention and he watched as Keith waltzed out as if he hadn’t, no doubt, outperformed some of their seniors. Whilst the next cadet was called up, Lance sidled up to Keith, clearing his throat a couple of times to get his attention.

“Can I…help you?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, could you watch my flight and give me some feedback?”

“Um, I don’t know if I can say anything to hel-“

“No, don’t worry! You obviously know your stuff, so this will be a piece of cake!” Lance didn’t notice Keith’s concerned look, nor the uncertain scowl that came across his face as Lance returned to Hunk.

Keith was in an odd position. He’d never been asked to assess someone’s flying before, and was wondering how to go about it when the cadet in question was called up. Before he headed inside the simulator, he turned his head to send Keith a smile. Why had he asked Keith? He was aware that he was top of their year, but he had no experience in advising others, nevermind critiquing them. Yet Keith did watch. He paid more attention than he normally did when he observed his classmates.

At first, Keith was a little confused. The cadet was obviously a competent trainee pilot. His reaction times were good, the time he took to read his sensors and equipment was actually quite a bit less than others in their year. Even his manoeuvring was pretty good, only a couple of close calls and small adjustments needed from time to time. His flying was certainly not textbook, but Keith didn’t think this was much of a problem, seeing as it still produced the same results. Then the last part of the simulation started.

The Garrison put a lot of effort into making sure their simulations weren’t monotonous or predictable. After all, how could cadets improve if they were only learning to fly one course? Until a few years back, the simulation had been changed for every class, but due to Matt Holt’s work on the system, the simulation was now comprised of randomised components of flight courses, which would change for every simulation. Now the cadets that flew last had no advantage from watching their peers’ performances.

Personally, Keith thought that the course was pretty decent this time, that maybe there would be nothing to critique as the course wouldn’t challenge him enough. Apparently it was challenging enough for the cadet, “Lance” the display read, and honestly Keith was lost as to why. Upon starting the final stage, Lance’s control had suddenly become jerky, and Keith watched as Lance focused solely on the screen, not glancing down at all as he had been during the rest of the flight. The most likely reason was so that Lance could judge the distances and dimensions himself, yet his gaze would only focus on the obstacle he was immediately facing. With each obstacle, the time in which he had to react to the next hazard diminished steadily, until at last, the inevitable happened.

Lance clipped a wing on an outcrop, sending his craft in a vicious downward spiral. Keith winced as he watched the short descent. He had only been a few hundred metres in the air. He had been so close.

Keith went over the flight in his head as Lance trudged out of the simulator. Keith hadn’t seen a crash in a long time. Everyone had managed to learn to avoid full collisions after half a year of training. He watched Lance’s shoulders rise up to his ears as he slumped under the assault of the instructor’s criticism. He noted that they didn’t even mention his commendable flying up until the descent. They seemed too distracted by the crash and the awkward movements to mention anything else.

When, with a long-suffering sigh, the instructor dismissed him, Lance nodded politely before quickly merging with the crowd of students. Keith’s attention left the simulator as the next cadet stepped up. What advice could he give Lance? Keith knew what he’d have done differently whilst Lance had been flying; turn slightly sharper in places, decelerate more before doing certain moves. However, when it came down to what Lance had struggled with, the descent for landing, Keith was lost. He had no idea what was running through Lance’s head as he had gradually lost control. Was it panic? Overconfidence? Keith just didn’t know.

Thankfully, Lance didn’t approach him during the rest of the training, giving Keith more time to think over what to say. However, when they were dismissed, he was no closer to an answer than before. Maybe Lance had forgotten. Maybe Keith could get away without embarrassing himself with his inability to help. He knew he should’ve argued more against it.

To Keith’s dismay, as he left the room his gaze found Lance’s as he leant against the wall. His smile was not as bright as it had been earlier, though, given his scolding, that was understandable.

“So,” Lance started, “what do you think?” Keith wished he knew, he really did.

“What happened?” Keith watched as Lance’s brows drew together at his confused tone. Keith hadn’t expected to say it, but honestly, he didn’t know what else he /could/ say. How was he supposed to give advice, when he didn’t understand what went wrong.

“W-What do you mean “what happened”?! Weren’t you watching?”

“Of course I did. I just don’t get why your flying got so bad at the end.” Lance’s eye twitched at Keith’s words.

“If I knew why, I wouldn’t be asking for your help!” Lance retorted before taking a breath. “Look, if you don’t want to help, just say so.”

“It’s not that-“

“Then what is it? Could you see what I’m doing wrong.”

“Well, yes, but-“

“So why won't you tell me how to fix it?”

“It’s not that simple! Like I was saying, I can see what you’re doing wrong, but I don’t know /why/! You started off so well, but suddenly-”

“-What do you mean I “started off well”? Didn’t you hear the instructor?! They said that I couldn’t fly like that!” What? It had looked fine to Keith. Then Keith remembered his thought on how the style of flying was a bit unorthodox. Were the Garrison that strict? Well, when he considered their drills, he mentally scolded himself for ever wondering. Of course they were.

How could he help, then, if the part which he had thought to be good wasn’t right?! Keith had always flown as was taught. After a few months, the movements had become instinctual and now he barely had to think to perform most manoeuvres. He tried to recall how it felt in those first few months, yet he could think of only one way in which he had improved.

“Practice.” He started as he realised he’d spoken out loud again. A jaded laugh brought his attention to Lance’s face. The twisted grimace on his face sent a pain through Keith’s chest, and then Lance was walking away, long legs quickly carrying him down the corridor. “Where are you going?!”

“I’m sorry for wasting your time!” Lance’s tone was devoid of its previous friendliness. What? “Obviously I just haven’t been trying hard enough if practice is all I need to get better,” Lance turned his head, not enough to make eye contact, but enough for Keith to watch his mouth as he continued. “Thanks, Kogane.”

“Listen to the teachers! They know how to help you!” Better than Keith did, anyhow. Again, another laugh sounded as Lance approached the corner.

“Another novel idea! Why did I never think of this myself?!” Then he was gone.

Keith stood there for a few more moments, his surprise and frustration with Lance shocking him into freezing. Then he turned and stalked off to his quarters, feeling bizarrely exhausted despite having done nothing strenuous. Why wouldn’t Lance just /listen/ to him?! He was just trying to help. He had warned him he didn’t know how.

Keith shook his head. At this rate, he’d never be able to rest. He firmly shoved all thoughts of Lance and his flying to the back of his mind. He had other things to worry about than a cadet he had only just met. As Keith found out over the following months, this was easier said than done.

At first, Keith thought he was doing a good job of forgetting his encounter with Lance, except, every time he thought as such, he’d groan as his thoughts circled back to him. Occasionally, he swore he heard his classmates mention Lance, which wouldn’t surprise him as crashes had been so rare since the aspiring engineers and technicians had stopped their pilot training.

There was nothing wrong with Keith thinking about Lance. Nothing, but he still wished he could stop. Eventually, through stubborn determination, Keith managed to put the encounter out of his mind, and his life carried on in the Garrison as it had before.

However, when his instructors started commenting on a change in his flying, Keith became concerned. They assured him it was fine, that is was a sign of his natural affinity for flying. Yet, when he watched his simulation back, the style of his flying was noticeably different, yet strangely familiar. He knew that flying, and yet it wasn’t his style. He had never attempted something so different from what he was taught. Turns out that the Garrison really didn’t know best. Still, Keith felt restless with the knowledge that he had /seen/ that pattern of flight before, but he was unable to recall to whom it belonged.

He started watching his classmates, and yet none showed any signs of the new style he’d adopted, but if it hadn’t been anyone in his class… Keith’s eyes widened as the memory of the joint training came back. He struggled to recall the cadet, but his features remained stubbornly blurry in Keith’s mind. Damn his bad memory!

As he was walking, he heard a commotion ahead and he looked to discover a crowd gathered around the notice board. Someone near the back took pity on Keith and explained that the results for the pilot assignments were announced that day. Keith turned to walk away, having been informed of his new fighter pilot status by his instructor that day, when he stopped. Striding back he struggled to the front, ignoring the complaints as he squeezed through. He traced his eyes over the list of fighter pilot names. Although he didn’t know the name he was looking for, he was certain he’d be able to recognise it.

Just as he was giving up hope, someone shoved him from behind. He fell against the board, catching himself on his arms and was just about to glare at whoever had pushed him, when his gaze locked onto a name beside him. Lance McClain. He straightened up and looked to find that it was on the list of cargo pilots. He grimaced in sympathy as his memory of Lance’s desire to improve came back. He wished he could’ve helped somehow.

Now that his irritation had worn off, he only felt annoyed with his incompetency. He should’ve tried to word his thoughts better, but…maybe…. If he could help Lance now, he might stand a chance of moving up to fighter class training. Maybe then Lance wouldn’t have to face him with such a cold attitude. Thus, whenever he had a few hours to spare, Keith would go to the records room to request to watch the footage of Lance’s simulations. He was eternally grateful for the officer not asking him any questions about his odd choice of footage.

At first, it seemed like Keith might be wasting his time, as he continued to puzzle over Lance’s odd behaviour. Then, slowly, it started to come together. He originally had thought it might have to do with Lance’s perception of the depths shown in the display, because no matter how brilliant the simulation was, it still didn’t feel quite real. After all, they were trying to create an illusion of distance on a flat monitor.

Then, as he noticed the timing of Lance’s reactions, he realised that was not the case. Instead he finally thought he recognised the problem. Now he just wanted to know for certain, so he held back from approaching Lance until he watched more footage.

In the end, however, Keith never went to him. For a week later, the Garrison officially declared the failure of the Kerberos mission, and Lance was swept from his mind under the maelstrom of emotions the news churned up. In the end, he couldn’t cope.

Keith started rebelling, since the Garrison /had/ to be lying. There was no way Shiro would just disappear from Keith’s life like that. Despite his constant demands to see evidence that the passengers were no longer out there, they had refused to release any further information. So Keith had to make them admit the truth. Except, in his volatile state, Keith failed to recognise the consequences his actions would have. He paid for his lack of insight with his place in the Garrison.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t want anything more to do with the Garrison. He completely forgot about the cadet he had wanted to help. The cadet whom he had believed had potential to be a great pilot. He forgot until, almost two years later, someone barged in on his rescue mission.

He held back his exclamation of “Lance!”, realising that he had no idea that Keith had actually paid him any attention after their first, and only, encounter. Instead he played dumb, only acknowledging his cargo pilot status. He felt awful for forgetting about Lance, especially after finally working out how to help solve his problem. However, as Lance corrected Keith, informing him that he was in fact a fighter pilot because of Keith’s expulsion, he found himself sagging slightly in relief. At least he had still been able to make it. Obviously Lance /had/ trained hard over the past two years to become good enough for him to be the pilot to move up in class.

“So, wait a sec. You’ve remembered our first meeting this whole time?! Why did you never say?! I just thought you'd forgotten about that day.” Keith cleared his throat, feeling extremely awkward after the confession.

“I didn’t think we got off to a good start, so I was hoping that by acting ignorant we would be able to start over.”

“Only for me to hold a grudge… I mean I /would/ apologise, except you hadn’t really given me a reason to believe you had actually cared about me. Ah! Not /cared/, just… at least regret what you'd said,” Lance quickly muttered.

“Yeah, sorry about that, but I really wasn’t used to social interactions,” Keith admitted with a quiet laugh.

“No kidding!” Lance’s smirk forced the corner of Keith’s annoyed pout to twitch upwards. Damn his infectious smiles. “Hey, wait! You mentioned that you actually worked out why I kept crashing. What was it? You never said.”

“Oh, you just couldn’t visualise the craft.” At Lance’s blank look, Keith rushed to elaborate. “I noticed that you wouldn’t rely on your equipment to figure out distances, instead relying on your sight. Then I realised that most of the crashes were caused by you clipping one or more of the wings. I wondered whether, despite the fact we learnt the dimensions of the craft the simulator was imitating, you didn’t actually realise how big it was. For example, if I said to point out the length of twelve metres along that wall, would you be able to do it?” Slowly Lance shook his head, and his eyes widened as he started to catch on what Keith was saying.

“So, what you’re saying is…”

“Because you had never /seen/ how big the craft was, you couldn’t actually work out how much space it would need inside the simulation.”

“I can't believe it was something so simple. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now that we’re flying for real! Which reminds me…” The glint in Lance’s eyes felt incredibly foreboding. “I’m never gonna let you forget that I was a better pilot than you!”

“…what? You barely ever got through a simulation without crashing!”

“But, like you said, that wasn’t because I didn’t have skills. No, you definitely admitted that when you copied my flying, the instructor complimented your technique, or rather /my/ technique! They thought /my/ technique was better! Oh, this is just great!”

“Wait a second! I never said I copied you! I just adapted my own sty-“

“Nope! You cannot deny it! I am the better pilot!”

“Oh? Wanna bet?” The two had now stood up, Keith’s arms crossed over his chest whilst Lance leaned into his space, his hands resting on his hips.

From the other side of the room, the green and yellow paladins watched with varying degrees of exasperation.

“Weren’t they supposed to be bonding?” Pidge asked as she looked up at Hunk.

“What do you mean? This /is/ how they bond.” Pidge opened her mouth to state just how bizarre that sounded when she stopped to think for a second. She sighed as she realised the truth behind Hunk’s words.

“I’m not sure if they can ever have a conversation without it ended up with them arguing.” Hunk nodded solemnly in agreement, and with one last look at the two who had begun to arm wrestle, for whatever reason, as they argued on, the two of them left the red and blue paladins to their antics.

Fin.

Aaaaaand there you go! I hope you enjoyed it! Please check out @edelwary‘s art (for this headcanon, and just their art in general) because I really love it and think more people should get to see their work!

If you’d like to read more of my headcanons, please check out my headcanon masterpost!

[cartoonmouse]

ANON SAID:  6 for merry and owen maybe?? Totally fine if you don't want to do it, I just think they'd be an interesting pairing

hey anon this is probably not what you were expecting but i have a habit of writing the dumbest plots for these prompts. also according to familyecho, glenmores and whitehills are distantly related, but at this point everyone in the AU is related in some way, so i don’t really give a shit *sunglasses emoji* ALSO i tried to keep owen in character, but i’m unable to do this and he might be OOC so ;-;... 

Here they come.

Merry Whitehill peeked over her laptop screen, eyes narrowing as she spotted the group of rowdy boys entering the coffee shop. They pushed and shoved at each other, trading barbs and insults back and forth. Loud, invasive, cocky boys.

Merry huffed and returned to her work. Graphic design was kicking her ass this semester. The professor graded too hard, found her work twee and therefore mediocre. Her latest assignment was returned with a harsh, red “C”-- the plus only serving to taunt her. Merry had never gotten a C on anything let alone an art assignment. Art was her thing. The one thing she had that set her apart from her other towheaded siblings.

“Rowing team,” Boremund Moss said, looking over his shoulder at the boys. They leaned against the cafe counter, some of the them to flirt with the red-faced barista clumsily taking their orders. “They love to walk around like they own the whole place, don’t they?”

“You sound jealous,” Tabby Lake teased. She was bent over a notebook full of scribbles--poetry, she called it. “Didn’t you try out for the team earlier this year?”

“No,” Mund replied, sharply. “I wouldn’t join up with those idiots if you paid me.”

Merry rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You’d kill to be one of those dick-swinging jackasses.”

“They throw all the best parties.” Tabby thoughtfully tapped her pen against her lips. “Get all the best girls.”

“Grades are shit,” Merry said. She tilted her head in the direction of one of the taller boys. His hair was a deep russet color, grin bright and troublesome. The sort of grin you stayed far away from if you knew any better. “That one’s in my geology class. Even dumber than the rocks.”

Tabby snorted into her tea. Mund reclined in his chair, hands behind his head, amused.

“Merry, you’re something else.”

“Good to know.”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm--residual annoyance from the C+. She felt it burning a hole in her backpack. Elyse and Karl wouldn’t have gotten a C+, she thought as she ripped up her napkin into jagged strips. Tabby gave her a concerned look which she ignored. Usually being around good friends and good coffee (with doughnuts) would cheer her up. The smell of hot chocolate, cinnamon, and vanilla wafting through the air only stung her nose and gave her a massive headache. Or maybe it was the douche canoes causing a ruckus only a few feet away. This was her space dammit. A pack of wild bros weren’t allowed to invade her space.

“I’m going to kill every last one of them,” she growled. “Put holes in the bottoms of their boats so they all sink to the bottom.”

“They’re not being too bad today.” Sometimes Tabby reminded her of her mother with the sweet, placating tone of her voice, the way she tried in vain to give everyone a fair shot. Merry, meanwhile, carried the Whitehill temper like a curse, and no one was safe.

“I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. For you.”

The words had not left her mouth before the entire rowing team decided to take over the table right behind Merry and her friends. Her shoulders hunched, wincing at the increase in noise levels. The boys yammered and guffawed at each other’s stupid jokes. One directly behind Merry “whispered” to the boy in her geology class, loud enough for the entire cafe to hear him.

“Nice ass on that one, right?” He was talking about the barista, Merry assumed. She gritted her teeth. She recalled nights out with Tabby where men had attempted to grope them and get their numbers afterwards. She would’ve kicked their asses if her friend hadn’t talked her off the ledge.

“Eh,” Dumber Than Rocks said. He took a long sip of his drink. “I’ve seen better.”

“Who?”

“Your sister’s.”

The table erupted as if Dumber Than Rocks had said the funniest thing they’d ever heard. One of them was due to keel over and die from laughter at any moment.

Across from Merry, Mund made a face, but kept doodling in the margins of his psych textbook. Tabby played with the string of her tea bag. She looked nervous. Like she knew…

“Hey--excuse me.” Merry had turned and tapped Dumber Than Rocks on the shoulder. She wore a sweet, artless expression--a look she had perfected over the years thanks to watching Karl and Roslin always get their ways with it. Thanks to Merry’s doe-eyed Bole features this came almost too easily.

Dumber Than Rocks eyed her with interest, his attention fully captured like a fish on a hook. Time to reel his ass in.

“You’re being a bit loud,” Merry said. ‘My friends and I are trying to study.”

“There’s a library on campus,” one of the row bros said, smugly. “You could maybe go there?”

Merry smiled thinly. “Wow… did you come up with that idea all on your own? I didn’t know a guy like you could think.”

The row bros let out a chorus of low oohs and jostled their friend. He soured and went to reply, but Dumber Than Rocks put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, she’s just playin around,” he said. He directed his smile at her like a floodlight. “Right?”

“I’m actually being really serious.” Merry’s smile didn’t waver. She felt Tabby beside her take a deep breath and hold it. “And if you shits don’t keep your voices down I’m going to use this…” She held up the plastic knife she’d been given with her bagel. “To castrate each and every one of you.”

The row bros blinked, all taken aback by her threat. It was an empty threat, of course--she wouldn’t touch any of them with a ten foot pole--but saying it still felt satisfying. And the looks on their faces… you couldn’t buy that kind of gratification.

The only row bro who didn’t look put off was Dumber Than Rocks. He put a hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh, until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. When he laughed he showed all his teeth. Merry blushed and hated herself for it.

“You look like someone I know,” he said as his friends turned away to talk amongst themselves--quieter this time, Merry noted. “Do I know you?”

“Geology with Professor Skinner,” Merry said. “You sit all the way in the back and come in late every day.”

“So you’ve been paying attention to me.” He seemed pleased by this.

“Only because you’re a disruption.” Merry didn’t like where this conversation was going. She shifted awkwardly in her chair. Confidence only took her so far. She didn’t have Elyse’s breeziness when it came to dealing with others. She could deliver a verbal kick to the groin, but had trouble following it up after her temper had cooled. “Maybe think about coming to lecture on time for once.”

“Maybe we can sit together,” he said, hopefully. He smiled again, making her think of a puppy.

Not a puppy. A wolf.

“Maybe.”

“My name’s Owen.” He held out his hand, and she stared at it. Did he expect her to shake it? What was this? A business meeting?

“Meredyth.” She let most people use her nickname--most friends. Owen wasn’t a friend. He was more of a nuisance and therefore didn’t get the privilege.

Behind her, Mund made a show out of closing his textbook and rustling his papers. Even Tabby fidgeted a bit too noisily with her backpack (why did she need so many keychains anyway?). Merry turned to glance at her friends and they both gestured to the door of the cafe with their eyes, desperate to leave.

“We have an exam next Friday, right?” Owen asked. If he noticed Mund and Tabby getting up to leave then he showed no sign of it. He kept his eyes trained on her, following the movement of her hands as she unzipped her own backpack.

“Thursday,” she replied. “This Thursday. Tomorrow.”

Owen face dropped. “Ah, shit.”

Merry couldn’t help but feel bad for him. A little bad. She’d done her share of forgetting exam dates in the past. Mother would advise her to be kind, to offer sympathy to those who were in need of it. Maybe just this once she could.

“If you need help I have the notes,” Merry said. “You can borrow them, but you have to promise to give them back. Or…”

“Or the castration, yeah.”

Merry flushed and began rifling through her bag for her geology notebook.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you and I meet up later and you can tutor me?”

“That doesn’t sound like a better idea. That just sounds like you taking advantage of my good will.”

The corners of Owen’s mouth twitched. He found her funny. “Look, you’re probably way smarter at this stuff than I am. I mean, who cares about… rocks?”

“The exam isn’t on rocks,” Merry said. “It’s on minerals.”

“Those are rocks.”

“Rocks are made of minerals.”

Owen waved a hand at her. “See you’re proving my point. I can’t wrap my head around it. I’d be way better off if you taught me.”

“Merry…” Tabby said. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, impatient.

“Wait for me outside. I’ll be right there.”

Tabby sighed and followed Mund out the door. Merry turned to shut off her laptop. Before she could, she heard the sound of a chair scraping against the cafe floor. Owen had positioned his seat next to hers.

“Did you make that?” He was staring at her laptop screen. The Photoshop window with her graphic design homework was still up. Merry quickly went to close the screen, but he shooed her hands out of the way. “It’s cool. The bugs.”

“It’s not done yet,” Merry said, her face beat red. “I don’t even like it. It’s not good.”

“Did you draw them?”

“Yes.”

“They look realistic.”

Merry stewed in her own embarrassment as Owen continued to study her drawings. She’d sketched them a while ago on a family vacation down south. She’d sat for hours in the field around their summer house waiting for dragonflies. They were messy, sketched fast since the dragonflies wouldn’t stick around too long. She had to copy the details out of books.

“You can draw me sometime, if you want.” Owen said. She couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“I don’t draw people.”

Merry snapped her laptop closed and started collecting the rest of her things. Owen watched her, grinning to himself.

“So what about the tutoring?” he asked. ‘It’d really suck if I failed.”

Merry considered him a moment. His messy hair, his teeth, the sturdy muscles of his arms. She looked away, hoping he couldn’t see her red face. Just as bad as the barista. Maybe worse.

“If you show up at the library tonight--8 o’clock--I might be there.”

Owen grinned. “It’s a date.”

“Not a date.” Merry picked up her backpack and slung it over one shoulder. “It’s charity.”

And with that she walked out of the cafe, leaving Owen and the row bros behind, wondering what the hell she was getting herself into.

[flauntpage]

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits

What is the experience of waiting like for you? Standing in a line at the store, feeling person after person walk up to the counter and walk away, stepping forward, just sort of sitting there as time ticks by. Some people are driven nuts by this. Some people accept it as a fundamental fact of modern life and can distract themselves from the monotony by scanning magazines, thinking about candy, whatever.

Some people even manage to go a step farther and free themselves from the craving of the wait altogether. They stand still and observe their inner light, totally at peace with the line and its existence, allowing people to go without having the sensation of one’s life draining away bring them any stress at all. Certainly, I am waiting, they think, but I am also living, and this is a part of life that one accepts as one does all other parts of life.

This is a blog post about a Kendrick Perkins, who is standing in line, waiting. Perk is currently playing on the Canton Charge of the NBA G League (formerly the NBA Development League), averaging 12.8 points on 50 percent shooting, 8.6 boards, 2.8 assists, and 1.8 turnovers in 28.6 minutes a game, waiting for someone to ask him to play in the NBA.

Perk isn’t injured, or bad, or insanely old, or anything like that. He’s just Kendrick Perkins. For a hot second, in the wake of Tyson Chandler being the missing piece to a Dallas Mavericks championship, a sort of theoretical construct was assigned to Perkins: that of a defensive center who was older and tough, the piece a team needed to take the next step in the NBA. He appeared to be the defensive presence of the Oklahoma City Thunder’s dreams.

Unfortunately, Kendrick had a fucked-up ankle, was too slow to cover pick-and-rolls, and was an offensive liability who still somehow managed to manipulate Scott Brooks into giving him at least one post-up touch a game. He spent several years subtly ballasting the Thunder while the organization disappointed season after season, in ways small and large, until Kevin Durant left the squad to Russell Westbrook and his maniacal cult.

But Perk kept on working, the frame that people put on him, veteran, reliable, etc., etc., just barely waving around his large, angry face. LeBron James, who loves dudes like Kendrick—bad players with marginal utility who are willing to get into fights—got him on the Cavs after he finally washed out of OKC. Then the Pelicans, an organization built around the singular idea that being large and muscular makes you good at basketball, took a flier, and even managed to get him some minutes on a team that was comically shallow.

Perk never really got unplayably injured or any shit like that. He’s just… substandard. He’s big, but he is insanely slow, not that tall, his hands are no good, he misses foul shots. Kind of bad. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have mattered all that much. There was a time when all kinds of big, plodding dudes commandeered NBA minutes because conventional wisdom was that you needed a center. Perk’s career started in that world, he signed a contract right as it ended, and then he played out the string in a world where that construct became more and more embarrassing by the day.

There’s a wonderful David Grann story about a 46-year-old Rickey Henderson playing for the San Diego Surf Dawgs, hoping that a major league scout would take a look and see that, hey, he’s still got something in the tank. Rickey comes off as delusional but heroic, a lone warrior fighting against time and the decomposition of the body and a judgmental world that was all too willing to call him an old man. A baseball Don Quixote, in short, a wonderful avatar for a human's ability to never stop striving, to never give up on their dreams, even if they've already lived them out as much as a human possibly could.

Perk slogging away on Canton contains, truly, none of that beauty. It is a tenure lined deep with cynicism and none of the madness or joy that Rickey had. His team sucks in the G League, a league that is named after Gatorade. The G League is probably comfortably the fourth or fifth best league in the world, behind a handful of European leagues that employ weird auteurist coaches and the bloated, completely insane Chinese Basketball Association. It's here that Perk, playing against the kind of reedy little shooter who benefits most from being under the constant scope of modern NBA scouts, finally gets to live out the post-up dreams he’s lusted after his whole career, his heft easily plowing the small bodies of guys who are designed more for spotting up as deep as possible, which only impresses the most retrograded basketball consumer.

But it’s also the quickest way to get into the NBA, and that’s what Perk wants: for some team on the fringes, frustrated with its young players and haunted by its God-awful defense, to decide, beyond all evidence and reason, that the only solution to its weird, terrible problems is to sign a hulking mediocrity who won a Finals because he played with Kevin Garnett, teaching everyone that if you fly straight and, uh, play basketball horribly, you too can make way too much money while sinking every squad to sign you after the age of 25. It is the basketball they play in hell.

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits

What is the experience of waiting like for you? Standing in a line at the store, feeling person after person walk up to the counter and walk away, stepping forward, just sort of sitting there as time ticks by. Some people are driven nuts by this. Some people accept it as a fundamental fact of modern life and can distract themselves from the monotony by scanning magazines, thinking about candy, whatever.

Some people even manage to go a step farther and free themselves from the craving of the wait altogether. They stand still and observe their inner light, totally at peace with the line and its existence, allowing people to go without having the sensation of one’s life draining away bring them any stress at all. Certainly, I am waiting, they think, but I am also living, and this is a part of life that one accepts as one does all other parts of life.

This is a blog post about a Kendrick Perkins, who is standing in line, waiting. Perk is currently playing on the Canton Charge of the NBA G League (formerly the NBA Development League), averaging 12.8 points on 50 percent shooting, 8.6 boards, 2.8 assists, and 1.8 turnovers in 28.6 minutes a game, waiting for someone to ask him to play in the NBA.

Perk isn’t injured, or bad, or insanely old, or anything like that. He’s just Kendrick Perkins. For a hot second, in the wake of Tyson Chandler being the missing piece to a Dallas Mavericks championship, a sort of theoretical construct was assigned to Perkins: that of a defensive center who was older and tough, the piece a team needed to take the next step in the NBA. He appeared to be the defensive presence of the Oklahoma City Thunder’s dreams.

Unfortunately, Kendrick had a fucked-up ankle, was too slow to cover pick-and-rolls, and was an offensive liability who still somehow managed to manipulate Scott Brooks into giving him at least one post-up touch a game. He spent several years subtly ballasting the Thunder while the organization disappointed season after season, in ways small and large, until Kevin Durant left the squad to Russell Westbrook and his maniacal cult.

But Perk kept on working, the frame that people put on him, veteran, reliable, etc., etc., just barely waving around his large, angry face. LeBron James, who loves dudes like Kendrick—bad players with marginal utility who are willing to get into fights—got him on the Cavs after he finally washed out of OKC. Then the Pelicans, an organization built around the singular idea that being large and muscular makes you good at basketball, took a flier, and even managed to get him some minutes on a team that was comically shallow.

Perk never really got unplayably injured or any shit like that. He’s just… substandard. He’s big, but he is insanely slow, not that tall, his hands are no good, he misses foul shots. Kind of bad. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have mattered all that much. There was a time when all kinds of big, plodding dudes commandeered NBA minutes because conventional wisdom was that you needed a center. Perk’s career started in that world, he signed a contract right as it ended, and then he played out the string in a world where that construct became more and more embarrassing by the day.

There’s a wonderful David Grann story about a 46-year-old Rickey Henderson playing for the San Diego Surf Dawgs, hoping that a major league scout would take a look and see that, hey, he’s still got something in the tank. Rickey comes off as delusional but heroic, a lone warrior fighting against time and the decomposition of the body and a judgmental world that was all too willing to call him an old man. A baseball Don Quixote, in short, a wonderful avatar for a human’s ability to never stop striving, to never give up on their dreams, even if they’ve already lived them out as much as a human possibly could.

Perk slogging away on Canton contains, truly, none of that beauty. It is a tenure lined deep with cynicism and none of the madness or joy that Rickey had. His team sucks in the G League, a league that is named after Gatorade. The G League is probably comfortably the fourth or fifth best league in the world, behind a handful of European leagues that employ weird auteurist coaches and the bloated, completely insane Chinese Basketball Association. It’s here that Perk, playing against the kind of reedy little shooter who benefits most from being under the constant scope of modern NBA scouts, finally gets to live out the post-up dreams he’s lusted after his whole career, his heft easily plowing the small bodies of guys who are designed more for spotting up as deep as possible, which only impresses the most retrograded basketball consumer.

But it’s also the quickest way to get into the NBA, and that’s what Perk wants: for some team on the fringes, frustrated with its young players and haunted by its God-awful defense, to decide, beyond all evidence and reason, that the only solution to its weird, terrible problems is to sign a hulking mediocrity who won a Finals because he played with Kevin Garnett, teaching everyone that if you fly straight and, uh, play basketball horribly, you too can make way too much money while sinking every squad to sign you after the age of 25. It is the basketball they play in hell.

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

[oceanicplanets]

It took me a long time to realize that included me. When I was younger, I could go hungry at a restaurant because I was scared to give the cashier my order, and then a few hours later, I would be on stage at my weekly drama class, strutting my stuff with my performing arts pals. My hand would often be the first to shoot up in the classroom, but I once burst into tears when I had to read an essay of mine aloud. I baffled my parents and my friends—the drama kids couldn’t figure out why I turned into a wallflower offstage, and everyone else in my life didn’t know what to make of me when I wasn’tacting shy.To put it simply, I was TERRIFIED of negative attention. I’d rather freeze up and not do anything at all than say the wrong thing and be criticized for it. At the same time, I was hungry for praise, and I structured my life around getting a lot of it. I was good in school, so I spoke up in class and took every extracurricular that I had room for. Teachers loved me and I won academic awards left and right. Drama allowed me to express myself without having to come up with my own words, and as long as I worked really hard to please the director, I couldn’t go wrong—at least not until I left school. My community-theater dreams were shattered by three failed auditions, and afterwards I stuck to classes and clubs, where I was always guaranteed parts.This anxiety didn’t end in the classroom. I’m a naturally shy person, and I used to want all my interactions to go perfectly, so I practically wrote them out in advance, always terrified that the other person would go off-script and force me to think on my feet. If I was ordering food, for example, I’d expect the waitress to ask what I wanted, I’d tell her, then she would leave. If she unexpectedly asked me what toppings or sides I wanted with my burger, I was rattled and took WAY too long to decide. Or, worse, she might be chatty and ask a completely unrelated question about my day, and now my whole narrative was off and I wouldn’t know how to answer. Do I just say “good” or do I give a full rundown, and then how do I segue back to my order, and oh no, I’m taking too long to answer and I look like an idiot, WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN TO ME? Basically, even the prospect of feeling awkward counted as negative attention, which made me more awkward, because now I was this creepy quiet girl who would turn into stone when asked to do ordinary things like order a hamburger.I can’t tell you how many times my parents cajoled me into doing something I didn’t want to do, like cash a check at the bank, and then I’d make a tiny little mistake, like writing down my routing number instead of my account number, and I’d stutter a little bit but pretend to laugh it off even though I was dying inside, because I’d made a stupid mistake and now that teller was thinking that I was a dumb teenager who didn’t know how banking works. I’d get outside and yell at my parents “DID YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENED? You made me do this and it all went wrong and don’t you feel terrible?” And they’d just shake their heads wondering where they went wrong raising me.In those cases, my social anxiety was extreme and noticeable, but I think the more damaging stress I dealt with is something that many, many people experience: I was working so hard to be perfect that I took any sort of reprimand or critique or social misstep as a judgment on my character.As you can imagine, school was a minefield. When I was six or seven, I once got caught climbing a tree on the playground, and I’ll never forget how sick I felt after my teacher yelled at me to get down. It was like I’d done something very, very wrong and it could never be rectified. I couldn’t understand why all my friends, who’d also gotten scolded, were able to happily play somewhere else—it took me all day to get over it.In high school, I wanted to get good marks on all my assignments, because being an honors student earned me the praise I desired, but also because when I didn’t live up to my high standards, I’d be crushed. Math was my weak point, and the few Cs that made it onto my report cards stood out as black marks that would forever paint me as a failure. Even constructive criticism could shake me up, like the note I once got on a creative writing assignment to come up with a “punchier ending.” The teacher loved the piece, but the ending was mediocre and now that I was aware of it, I felt terrible for turning in that piece of crap.That same sick feeling I got as a kid after climbing that tree was triggered any time I did something wrong, like accidently hurt someone’s feelings or make a mistake at work. A gentle reprimand—“you did this incorrectly, please fix it, and don’t do it again”—sounded to me like someone screaming at me. I once forgot to return a book I’d borrowed from school before summer break, and I’m not exaggerating at all when I say it took me about EIGHT YEARS to be able to hear the name Nancy Drew without feeling shame. I was certain that the teacher who lost it harbored a grudge against me, so I hid the book in my room and spent the next decade or so fighting random spikes of anxiety whenever I thought about it.After high school, criticism becomes even more common, while praise is harder to come by. College professors don’t get excited just because you understand the coursework, and your manager at the big box store you’re working at on weekends probably won’t even notice you unless you screw up. It was a big change, and it forced me to make an important adjustment: I had to start looking to myself for encouragement. Was this essay/poster/poem something I could be proud of? Did I do the best I could? Did I have fun doing it? I started doing photography as a hobby, just so I could look at all my pretty pictures, and spent ridiculous amounts of time on projects that had no purpose except for the fun of creating them, like the time I started making wall art out of old sticky notes. And this was surprisingly easy—it turned out that pride in yourself for hard work feels just as good as praise from another person.Learning to deal with criticism, on the other hand, was much harder. My constant fear of failure was starting to interfere with my schoolwork, because I’d procrastinate to stave off the possibility of not excelling, and then I’d turn in less-than-stellar work anyway, because I didn’t give myself enough time to complete it. So my freshman year of college, I made the big decision to see a school counselor. And, man, I wish I’d done it a lot earlier.One of the very first things my counselor did was ship me off to a doctor for anti-anxiety medication. Once I was on the right cocktail of pills, I felt like a new person. Suddenly, talking was a little less scary, and the shame of failure was much more fleeting. (Not everyone who has anxiety needs drugs to cope, but if you feel it’s interfering with everyday life, I do recommend at least talking to your doctor.) I also started therapy, and my counselor really helped change my outlook on the world. In some cases, I just needed practice. She’d give me assignments to do things I found terrifying, like asking for a job application at a local fast-food restaurant, and I slowly gained more confidence in my ability to handle these kinds of interactions. Most of my fears of rejection were in my head���no one ever told me, “Wow, you really effed up that conversation!”I also talked about other things that were bothering me, and I got some clarity. Everyday schoolwork just wasn’t important enough for me to feel so stressed about it, and furthermore, it was OK to fail. I took this message in, and when I started to crash and burn in college biology, I didn’t force myself to stick it out. I accepted that biology and I were just never going to get along, and I dropped the course. Just a year before, I would have berated myself for weeks this for doing this, but now I only felt relief.A year or two after I graduated high school, I had a conversation with my old algebra teacher. I said something about being bad at math, and he told me that I was never bad at math—my other classes just came so easily to me that I didn’t know what it was like to struggle to learn something. He pointed out that many of my classmates celebrated when they got a C. My perspective had been so skewed that I assumed I had really embarrassed myself by not being the best, and that others thought less of me as a result.I realize now no one is thinking as hard about me as I am. That teacher on the playground was just worried that I’d fall, and she probably forgot about the incident five minutes later, while I’m still thinking about it 15 years later. My creative writing teacher just wanted to help me improve my story. Waitresses and bank tellers have dealt with literally thousands of small mistakes and awkward moments over the years.Earlier today, I made a rather large mistake at my day job, resulting in my having to send a correction email to several thousand people. It was really, really embarrassing. But instead of retreating in panic and begging my boss not to fire me, I calmly apologized and then wrote a self-deprecating Facebook post so that EVERYONE had an opportunity to laugh at me. It felt a lot better than mentally beating myself up.On the flip side, with the understanding that my failures were not permanent came the knowledge that most of my accomplishments have been similarly fleeting. My academic awards have done absolutely nothing for me apart from a few moments of pride and fodder for scholarship applications. Most of the compliments I got from my drama teacher are just fuzzy memories today.I’m not saying that any of this was worthless. Being a good student served me well, but not because my teachers loved me—rather because it gave me skills and opportunities to move on in life. It’s important to work hard and nurture ambition, but for the right reasons—not to escape criticism, but because it makes you happy. It’s better to learn from your mistakes than not to make them at all. ♦

[flauntpage]

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits

What is the experience of waiting like for you? Standing in a line at the store, feeling person after person walk up to the counter and walk away, stepping forward, just sort of sitting there as time ticks by. Some people are driven nuts by this. Some people accept it as a fundamental fact of modern life and can distract themselves from the monotony by scanning magazines, thinking about candy, whatever.

Some people even manage to go a step farther and free themselves from the craving of the wait altogether. They stand still and observe their inner light, totally at peace with the line and its existence, allowing people to go without having the sensation of one’s life draining away bring them any stress at all. Certainly, I am waiting, they think, but I am also living, and this is a part of life that one accepts as one does all other parts of life.

This is a blog post about a Kendrick Perkins, who is standing in line, waiting. Perk is currently playing on the Canton Charge of the NBA G League (formerly the NBA Development League), averaging 12.8 points on 50 percent shooting, 8.6 boards, 2.8 assists, and 1.8 turnovers in 28.6 minutes a game, waiting for someone to ask him to play in the NBA.

Perk isn’t injured, or bad, or insanely old, or anything like that. He’s just Kendrick Perkins. For a hot second, in the wake of Tyson Chandler being the missing piece to a Dallas Mavericks championship, a sort of theoretical construct was assigned to Perkins: that of a defensive center who was older and tough, the piece a team needed to take the next step in the NBA. He appeared to be the defensive presence of the Oklahoma City Thunder’s dreams.

Unfortunately, Kendrick had a fucked-up ankle, was too slow to cover pick-and-rolls, and was an offensive liability who still somehow managed to manipulate Scott Brooks into giving him at least one post-up touch a game. He spent several years subtly ballasting the Thunder while the organization disappointed season after season, in ways small and large, until Kevin Durant left the squad to Russell Westbrook and his maniacal cult.

But Perk kept on working, the frame that people put on him, veteran, reliable, etc., etc., just barely waving around his large, angry face. LeBron James, who loves dudes like Kendrick—bad players with marginal utility who are willing to get into fights—got him on the Cavs after he finally washed out of OKC. Then the Pelicans, an organization built around the singular idea that being large and muscular makes you good at basketball, took a flier, and even managed to get him some minutes on a team that was comically shallow.

Perk never really got unplayably injured or any shit like that. He’s just… substandard. He’s big, but he is insanely slow, not that tall, his hands are no good, he misses foul shots. Kind of bad. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have mattered all that much. There was a time when all kinds of big, plodding dudes commandeered NBA minutes because conventional wisdom was that you needed a center. Perk’s career started in that world, he signed a contract right as it ended, and then he played out the string in a world where that construct became more and more embarrassing by the day.

There’s a wonderful David Grann story about a 46-year-old Rickey Henderson playing for the San Diego Surf Dawgs, hoping that a major league scout would take a look and see that, hey, he’s still got something in the tank. Rickey comes off as delusional but heroic, a lone warrior fighting against time and the decomposition of the body and a judgmental world that was all too willing to call him an old man. A baseball Don Quixote, in short, a wonderful avatar for a human's ability to never stop striving, to never give up on their dreams, even if they've already lived them out as much as a human possibly could.

Perk slogging away on Canton contains, truly, none of that beauty. It is a tenure lined deep with cynicism and none of the madness or joy that Rickey had. His team sucks in the G League, a league that is named after Gatorade. The G League is probably comfortably the fourth or fifth best league in the world, behind a handful of European leagues that employ weird auteurist coaches and the bloated, completely insane Chinese Basketball Association. It's here that Perk, playing against the kind of reedy little shooter who benefits most from being under the constant scope of modern NBA scouts, finally gets to live out the post-up dreams he’s lusted after his whole career, his heft easily plowing the small bodies of guys who are designed more for spotting up as deep as possible, which only impresses the most retrograded basketball consumer.

But it’s also the quickest way to get into the NBA, and that’s what Perk wants: for some team on the fringes, frustrated with its young players and haunted by its God-awful defense, to decide, beyond all evidence and reason, that the only solution to its weird, terrible problems is to sign a hulking mediocrity who won a Finals because he played with Kevin Garnett, teaching everyone that if you fly straight and, uh, play basketball horribly, you too can make way too much money while sinking every squad to sign you after the age of 25. It is the basketball they play in hell.

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[flauntpage]

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits

What is the experience of waiting like for you? Standing in a line at the store, feeling person after person walk up to the counter and walk away, stepping forward, just sort of sitting there as time ticks by. Some people are driven nuts by this. Some people accept it as a fundamental fact of modern life and can distract themselves from the monotony by scanning magazines, thinking about candy, whatever.

Some people even manage to go a step farther and free themselves from the craving of the wait altogether. They stand still and observe their inner light, totally at peace with the line and its existence, allowing people to go without having the sensation of one’s life draining away bring them any stress at all. Certainly, I am waiting, they think, but I am also living, and this is a part of life that one accepts as one does all other parts of life.

This is a blog post about a Kendrick Perkins, who is standing in line, waiting. Perk is currently playing on the Canton Charge of the NBA G League (formerly the NBA Development League), averaging 12.8 points on 50 percent shooting, 8.6 boards, 2.8 assists, and 1.8 turnovers in 28.6 minutes a game, waiting for someone to ask him to play in the NBA.

Perk isn’t injured, or bad, or insanely old, or anything like that. He’s just Kendrick Perkins. For a hot second, in the wake of Tyson Chandler being the missing piece to a Dallas Mavericks championship, a sort of theoretical construct was assigned to Perkins: that of a defensive center who was older and tough, the piece a team needed to take the next step in the NBA. He appeared to be the defensive presence of the Oklahoma City Thunder’s dreams.

Unfortunately, Kendrick had a fucked-up ankle, was too slow to cover pick-and-rolls, and was an offensive liability who still somehow managed to manipulate Scott Brooks into giving him at least one post-up touch a game. He spent several years subtly ballasting the Thunder while the organization disappointed season after season, in ways small and large, until Kevin Durant left the squad to Russell Westbrook and his maniacal cult.

But Perk kept on working, the frame that people put on him, veteran, reliable, etc., etc., just barely waving around his large, angry face. LeBron James, who loves dudes like Kendrick—bad players with marginal utility who are willing to get into fights—got him on the Cavs after he finally washed out of OKC. Then the Pelicans, an organization built around the singular idea that being large and muscular makes you good at basketball, took a flier, and even managed to get him some minutes on a team that was comically shallow.

Perk never really got unplayably injured or any shit like that. He’s just… substandard. He’s big, but he is insanely slow, not that tall, his hands are no good, he misses foul shots. Kind of bad. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have mattered all that much. There was a time when all kinds of big, plodding dudes commandeered NBA minutes because conventional wisdom was that you needed a center. Perk’s career started in that world, he signed a contract right as it ended, and then he played out the string in a world where that construct became more and more embarrassing by the day.

There’s a wonderful David Grann story about a 46-year-old Rickey Henderson playing for the San Diego Surf Dawgs, hoping that a major league scout would take a look and see that, hey, he’s still got something in the tank. Rickey comes off as delusional but heroic, a lone warrior fighting against time and the decomposition of the body and a judgmental world that was all too willing to call him an old man. A baseball Don Quixote, in short, a wonderful avatar for a human's ability to never stop striving, to never give up on their dreams, even if they've already lived them out as much as a human possibly could.

Perk slogging away on Canton contains, truly, none of that beauty. It is a tenure lined deep with cynicism and none of the madness or joy that Rickey had. His team sucks in the G League, a league that is named after Gatorade. The G League is probably comfortably the fourth or fifth best league in the world, behind a handful of European leagues that employ weird auteurist coaches and the bloated, completely insane Chinese Basketball Association. It's here that Perk, playing against the kind of reedy little shooter who benefits most from being under the constant scope of modern NBA scouts, finally gets to live out the post-up dreams he’s lusted after his whole career, his heft easily plowing the small bodies of guys who are designed more for spotting up as deep as possible, which only impresses the most retrograded basketball consumer.

But it’s also the quickest way to get into the NBA, and that’s what Perk wants: for some team on the fringes, frustrated with its young players and haunted by its God-awful defense, to decide, beyond all evidence and reason, that the only solution to its weird, terrible problems is to sign a hulking mediocrity who won a Finals because he played with Kevin Garnett, teaching everyone that if you fly straight and, uh, play basketball horribly, you too can make way too much money while sinking every squad to sign you after the age of 25. It is the basketball they play in hell.

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[flauntpage]

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits

What is the experience of waiting like for you? Standing in a line at the store, feeling person after person walk up to the counter and walk away, stepping forward, just sort of sitting there as time ticks by. Some people are driven nuts by this. Some people accept it as a fundamental fact of modern life and can distract themselves from the monotony by scanning magazines, thinking about candy, whatever.

Some people even manage to go a step farther and free themselves from the craving of the wait altogether. They stand still and observe their inner light, totally at peace with the line and its existence, allowing people to go without having the sensation of one’s life draining away bring them any stress at all. Certainly, I am waiting, they think, but I am also living, and this is a part of life that one accepts as one does all other parts of life.

This is a blog post about a Kendrick Perkins, who is standing in line, waiting. Perk is currently playing on the Canton Charge of the NBA G League (formerly the NBA Development League), averaging 12.8 points on 50 percent shooting, 8.6 boards, 2.8 assists, and 1.8 turnovers in 28.6 minutes a game, waiting for someone to ask him to play in the NBA.

Perk isn’t injured, or bad, or insanely old, or anything like that. He’s just Kendrick Perkins. For a hot second, in the wake of Tyson Chandler being the missing piece to a Dallas Mavericks championship, a sort of theoretical construct was assigned to Perkins: that of a defensive center who was older and tough, the piece a team needed to take the next step in the NBA. He appeared to be the defensive presence of the Oklahoma City Thunder’s dreams.

Unfortunately, Kendrick had a fucked-up ankle, was too slow to cover pick-and-rolls, and was an offensive liability who still somehow managed to manipulate Scott Brooks into giving him at least one post-up touch a game. He spent several years subtly ballasting the Thunder while the organization disappointed season after season, in ways small and large, until Kevin Durant left the squad to Russell Westbrook and his maniacal cult.

But Perk kept on working, the frame that people put on him, veteran, reliable, etc., etc., just barely waving around his large, angry face. LeBron James, who loves dudes like Kendrick—bad players with marginal utility who are willing to get into fights—got him on the Cavs after he finally washed out of OKC. Then the Pelicans, an organization built around the singular idea that being large and muscular makes you good at basketball, took a flier, and even managed to get him some minutes on a team that was comically shallow.

Perk never really got unplayably injured or any shit like that. He’s just… substandard. He’s big, but he is insanely slow, not that tall, his hands are no good, he misses foul shots. Kind of bad. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have mattered all that much. There was a time when all kinds of big, plodding dudes commandeered NBA minutes because conventional wisdom was that you needed a center. Perk’s career started in that world, he signed a contract right as it ended, and then he played out the string in a world where that construct became more and more embarrassing by the day.

There’s a wonderful David Grann story about a 46-year-old Rickey Henderson playing for the San Diego Surf Dawgs, hoping that a major league scout would take a look and see that, hey, he’s still got something in the tank. Rickey comes off as delusional but heroic, a lone warrior fighting against time and the decomposition of the body and a judgmental world that was all too willing to call him an old man. A baseball Don Quixote, in short, a wonderful avatar for a human's ability to never stop striving, to never give up on their dreams, even if they've already lived them out as much as a human possibly could.

Perk slogging away on Canton contains, truly, none of that beauty. It is a tenure lined deep with cynicism and none of the madness or joy that Rickey had. His team sucks in the G League, a league that is named after Gatorade. The G League is probably comfortably the fourth or fifth best league in the world, behind a handful of European leagues that employ weird auteurist coaches and the bloated, completely insane Chinese Basketball Association. It's here that Perk, playing against the kind of reedy little shooter who benefits most from being under the constant scope of modern NBA scouts, finally gets to live out the post-up dreams he’s lusted after his whole career, his heft easily plowing the small bodies of guys who are designed more for spotting up as deep as possible, which only impresses the most retrograded basketball consumer.

But it’s also the quickest way to get into the NBA, and that’s what Perk wants: for some team on the fringes, frustrated with its young players and haunted by its God-awful defense, to decide, beyond all evidence and reason, that the only solution to its weird, terrible problems is to sign a hulking mediocrity who won a Finals because he played with Kevin Garnett, teaching everyone that if you fly straight and, uh, play basketball horribly, you too can make way too much money while sinking every squad to sign you after the age of 25. It is the basketball they play in hell.

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits

What is the experience of waiting like for you? Standing in a line at the store, feeling person after person walk up to the counter and walk away, stepping forward, just sort of sitting there as time ticks by. Some people are driven nuts by this. Some people accept it as a fundamental fact of modern life and can distract themselves from the monotony by scanning magazines, thinking about candy, whatever.

Some people even manage to go a step farther and free themselves from the craving of the wait altogether. They stand still and observe their inner light, totally at peace with the line and its existence, allowing people to go without having the sensation of one’s life draining away bring them any stress at all. Certainly, I am waiting, they think, but I am also living, and this is a part of life that one accepts as one does all other parts of life.

This is a blog post about a Kendrick Perkins, who is standing in line, waiting. Perk is currently playing on the Canton Charge of the NBA G League (formerly the NBA Development League), averaging 12.8 points on 50 percent shooting, 8.6 boards, 2.8 assists, and 1.8 turnovers in 28.6 minutes a game, waiting for someone to ask him to play in the NBA.

Perk isn’t injured, or bad, or insanely old, or anything like that. He’s just Kendrick Perkins. For a hot second, in the wake of Tyson Chandler being the missing piece to a Dallas Mavericks championship, a sort of theoretical construct was assigned to Perkins: that of a defensive center who was older and tough, the piece a team needed to take the next step in the NBA. He appeared to be the defensive presence of the Oklahoma City Thunder’s dreams.

Unfortunately, Kendrick had a fucked-up ankle, was too slow to cover pick-and-rolls, and was an offensive liability who still somehow managed to manipulate Scott Brooks into giving him at least one post-up touch a game. He spent several years subtly ballasting the Thunder while the organization disappointed season after season, in ways small and large, until Kevin Durant left the squad to Russell Westbrook and his maniacal cult.

But Perk kept on working, the frame that people put on him, veteran, reliable, etc., etc., just barely waving around his large, angry face. LeBron James, who loves dudes like Kendrick—bad players with marginal utility who are willing to get into fights—got him on the Cavs after he finally washed out of OKC. Then the Pelicans, an organization built around the singular idea that being large and muscular makes you good at basketball, took a flier, and even managed to get him some minutes on a team that was comically shallow.

Perk never really got unplayably injured or any shit like that. He’s just… substandard. He’s big, but he is insanely slow, not that tall, his hands are no good, he misses foul shots. Kind of bad. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have mattered all that much. There was a time when all kinds of big, plodding dudes commandeered NBA minutes because conventional wisdom was that you needed a center. Perk’s career started in that world, he signed a contract right as it ended, and then he played out the string in a world where that construct became more and more embarrassing by the day.

There’s a wonderful David Grann story about a 46-year-old Rickey Henderson playing for the San Diego Surf Dawgs, hoping that a major league scout would take a look and see that, hey, he’s still got something in the tank. Rickey comes off as delusional but heroic, a lone warrior fighting against time and the decomposition of the body and a judgmental world that was all too willing to call him an old man. A baseball Don Quixote, in short, a wonderful avatar for a human's ability to never stop striving, to never give up on their dreams, even if they've already lived them out as much as a human possibly could.

Perk slogging away on Canton contains, truly, none of that beauty. It is a tenure lined deep with cynicism and none of the madness or joy that Rickey had. His team sucks in the G League, a league that is named after Gatorade. The G League is probably comfortably the fourth or fifth best league in the world, behind a handful of European leagues that employ weird auteurist coaches and the bloated, completely insane Chinese Basketball Association. It's here that Perk, playing against the kind of reedy little shooter who benefits most from being under the constant scope of modern NBA scouts, finally gets to live out the post-up dreams he’s lusted after his whole career, his heft easily plowing the small bodies of guys who are designed more for spotting up as deep as possible, which only impresses the most retrograded basketball consumer.

But it’s also the quickest way to get into the NBA, and that’s what Perk wants: for some team on the fringes, frustrated with its young players and haunted by its God-awful defense, to decide, beyond all evidence and reason, that the only solution to its weird, terrible problems is to sign a hulking mediocrity who won a Finals because he played with Kevin Garnett, teaching everyone that if you fly straight and, uh, play basketball horribly, you too can make way too much money while sinking every squad to sign you after the age of 25. It is the basketball they play in hell.

Kendrick Perkins Is Trying to Get Back into an NBA He No Longer Fits published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv