if another kid tries to take the blue scissors Billy will ask them to come at him
don’t even make fun of a T-Rex Jason will fight you in his obnoxiously red jacket and shoes
Kimberly’s nails are always various shades of pink
Zack argues in art class that black is a colour not a shade don’t Pluto me
Trini’s first car is bright yellow she doesn’t care, driving around town in her sunny yellow car
goddamn they turn up to prom like Jason and Billy have sleek red and blue tuxes, Zack’s the only one with a traditional black tux and even then the entire thing is black from shirt to tie to jacket even his socks and underwear, Trini is in a bright yellow number and Kimberly arrives in a massive pink limo
they don’t give a fuck about your rules Zordon
you said don’t reveal your identities but is it revealing them if the town just guesses? the coins chose some pedantic motherfuckers and there’s many loopholes in your rules Wall Dad
they never say they’re the Power Rangers but they never say they’re not either
after they start dating otabek totally develops a fixation for yuris hands
he loves them. loves the way yuri’s long fingers feel whenever he cups otabeks face, loves the smooth way they feel against his own palm when their hands are interlaced, loves the way they look whether yuri’s wearing rings or bracelets or any shade of nail polish
he loves pressing his lips to yuri’s knuckles, or turning his head to kiss yuri’s palm whenever yuri holds his hand to his cheek, or spontaneously grabbing yuris wrist and kissing his pulse
and when he sees yuri with ice cream on the corner of his lips and grabs yuri’s hand and guides it so yuris thumb can swipe it away, and then guides his hand to his mouth and licks the ice cream off, well. he realizes that maybe he should get his fixation under control.
(or not, because yuri’s face is an adorable shade of red right now, and he would like to see it again.)
mikael was terrified when they first asked the squad to use they/them pronouns. they had a whole powerpoint ready on gender and social constructs and the grammatical validity of they/them used in the singular.
but in the end they didn’t need it. as soon as they said “nonbinary” the squad, after staring at them for three interminable seconds, broke into loud chatter
“no no bro it’s like how you feel inside or some shit” “yeah like Jorunn at school!” “what ‘bout Jorunn?” “sh-they like asked the teachers to call h-them they and shit” “oh yeah i remember!” “that was badass, man!” “yeah i heard they just straight up walked to every teacher they had in bakka and even the principal!” “no i heard they just asked their dad to write a letter or some shit” “yeah well…” “yeah can you imagine doing that, man?” “naaaah! i can’t even look at the teachers in the face i’m so fucking stressed all the time”
and that was kind of it? the conversation quickly sidetracked to the euro 2016 and what were norway’s chances to make it to the finals and mikael joined in without even realising
the weight in their stomach lifted and they could breathe again and that was the end of it.
one day, a few months after their coming out, mikael walks in the bakkoushs’ flat with their nails painted a deep shade of russet
they figured that a lot of rock’n’roll-type guys wear black nail polish and no one cares
and they like warm shades of brown. plus they kind of look black. from a distance.
the minute they walk in though, elias grabs their hand and sticks it so close to his face that mikael can feel their friend’s breath against their fingers
mikael feels the familiar twinge of anxiety in their guts and prays for a swift and merciful death
but elias releases mikael’s hand and asks “can you do mine?”
two hours later, sana bursts into elias’ room because she could smell a sickeningly potent chemical scent and she thought the squad had finally managed to create mustard gas by mistake and kill themselves
she stares at the mess of cotton swabs drenched in acetone, the floor stained in a rainbow of nail polishes, the entire balloon squad bent over each other’s hands, sitting on the floor, tongues sticking out with the effort, looking like three years old asked to try and colour inside the lines for once
“are those my nail polishes, elias?”
“faaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeennn” the squad cowers, nudging elias towards his sister, and mikael pales. they feel responsible.
sana pinches the space between her eyebrows and takes a deep breath in
“hand me the goods, elias” she says, waving the squad out of her way.
when she sits on her brother’s bed, it turns into a makeshift throne and the squad approaches her and offers her their hands for inspection
except for mikael who starts trying to clean the floor of the mess the squad made without damaging their painted fingernails
and they can’t contain the smile that pulls on their cheeks so hard it hurts
After Lily warms up to Sirius, these were some common sights…
Sirius Black and Lily Evans, sitting in the common room by the fire, braiding each others hair.
Lily testing a new shade of nail polish on Sirius, slapping his hand away every time he went to touch his nail before it had dried
Lily and Sirius both talking about the cute people that walked past them while they did their homework(re: Lily did her work, Sirius doodled)
Sirius and Lily exchanging crop tops and baggy sweaters because “Oh my god Sirius this sweater would work great with your hair”
Sirius helping James with his new attempt to ask out Lily, only to listen to her rave on and on for hours about how “dreadful that James Potter was”, wondering when exactly she would admit she liked him
Sirius and Lily making sure Remus had his work done, and always offering him blankets and water and chocolate
Lily practically having to slap Sirius in the face to tell him “Yes you idiot Remus likes you ask him out” because Sirius couldn’t believe anyone would actually really like him romantically past his looks
Sirius and Lily being best friends forever(although forever was a little shorter for one)
@mary-waitforit-lou: Maybe a From Hate to Love au, at first they can’t stand each other and then…
I asked for prompts a few days back and immediately felt the need to write this one. It’s a classical trope that I feel can be quite interesting. I received a couple of other ideas, that are already in store - some are meant to go later into my existing works. Thank you for inspiring me!
Scalpel & Needle (Part I)
“I’d be bloody thankful if you didn’t come into
my OR like some kind of unwanted saviour and start to order me around!” Claire
snarled, ripping off her surgical cap, her curls exploding in the air after
sudden liberation, her hair bobble tearing with an audible “pop!”. “I didn’t ask for your help!”
“The patient was crashing.” Jamie tried to
explain, remaining eerily calm in spite of the angry woman facing him, looking
like a rattlesnake ready to pounce. “Ye couldna possibly deal with all those
bleeders. I thought a second pair of hands…”
“I already had a second surgeon!” She hissed,
pointing at the frightened young resident who had sought refuge against the
wall, clearly wishing to be swallowed by it – and away from the two galvanized
surgeons. “I was in control, using the technique I prefer! But you decided to
come and show off, like some goddam star!”
“I was only trying to help, lass.” He grunted,
gripping his fists. His blue eyes were dark and dangerous, tumultuous seas
waiting for ships to wreck on their waves. “It seems to me ye have a bit of a
problem admitting when ye need help and it’s perfectly…”
“Oh, you bastard!” Claire roared, advancing to
face him – even though he had the clear advantage of his imposing height.
“Don’t you dare call me “lass”, as
you do to the young nurses, melting them away to do your biding. Stop pretending
you know the first thing about me! You just want to please the board, so
they’ll give you the most challenging cases!”
“I couldna care less about the board, Doctor Beauchamp.” Jamie said through
clenched teeth. “Ye should be thanking me that the patient isna heading to the
morgue - instead ye’re yelling at me like a mad banshee, because I wounded yer
Claire’s cheeks were throbbing with heat, her
chest constricted with a fury she couldn’t even begin to understand. She raised
her index finger and poked him on the chest, wielding it like a dangerous
dagger. “Stay the hell away from me and my OR, Fraser. I mean it!”
bas! Fine!” He roared, raising his hands in exasperation. “I won’t meddle
again, as much as I think ye might need it. Ye blind woman, stubborn as a
mule…” And he reverted to clipped Gaidhlig,
grumbling in a low voice as he strode down the hallway.
“Claire!” She heard the voice of her friend, Geillis
Duncan, gaping at her with her mouth noticeably ajar. Claire was panting, her
vision almost blurred from anger, as she contemplated James Fraser retreating
with a cold satisfaction. “What’s this ruckus all about? Is something amiss?”
“Just my esteemed
colleague, James Fraser, being an insufferable prick.” She glared at the other
people surrounding her, frozen in contemplation of the spectacle, silently warning
them to return to their own business. “I really don’t know how someone can be
as egocentric, misogynistic, smug…”
“Well, don’t hold anything back, darling.”
Geillis laughed, gently pushing her by the arm to a nearby resting room. “Yer
feud with the man is becoming legendary. There’s probably people placing money
to bet on yer next fight.”
“Someone has to show him he’s not even half as
impressive as he fancies himself to be.” Claire puffed, filling a glass with
cold water from the machine in the corner and drinking it down.
“Most people think him charming, Claire.” The
nurse pointed, sitting on the small couch – a myriad of unidentifiable stains
garnishing the old fabric. “A verra capable surgeon, kind and concerned with
his patients, humble but with a sharp mind, and a brilliant sense of humour.”
“Damn Geillis, don’t you hold anything back either.” She rolled her eyes in disbelief.
“One would think you very enthralled by the man.”
“Everyone – well, every lass and probably John
Grey too – kind of is.” The redheaded girl gave her a mischievous smile. “That
is one hell of a ginger fox, Claire. How can ye not want to ride that…”
“That’s quite enough, thank you!” Claire hawked
and tried to tame down her revolting hair with her fingertips. “I happen to be
immune to whatever spell he has been casting around here.”
“I just don’t understand why ye hate him so
much.” The nurse looked at her with studying eyes, slightly biting her index
finger, her nails a gaudy shade of pink. “Are you trying to conceal the fact
that ye actually find him attractive?” She said in a soft voice. “I know that
after Frank it’s hard for ye to…”
“Don’t.” Claire said in a serious voice, the
shadow of a smile gone from her face. “Don’t say that. This has nothing to do
with Frank. I just don’t see what you see, that’s all.”
“Alright, I’ll let the subject go – for now.”
Geillis stretched herself like a cat and grinned, preparing to resume her work.
“Drinks tonight at Leoch’s?”
“Sure.” Claire nodded absentmindedly, already
studying her next patient’s chart. “I’ll meet you there after I finish my
“Behave until then, ye hear me!” She warned
Claire, leaving her alone to face another surgery.
Claire opened her locker, blood pulsing rapid
inside her vessels, so much so she felt the tidal waves of blood on her
temples. Like she had foresaw, a lonely envelope was there, a bit crumpled
after being pushed through the small gap. With shaking hands and a smile of
anticipation, she opened it.
“It has come to my
attention that you had a rough day. I’m sorry to hear it. I thought I would
make it a little better – but this time I’m borrowing the words of a wiser man.
«My struggle is harsh
and I come back with eyes tired at times from having seen the unchanging earth,
But when your laughter
enters it rises to the sky seeking me
And it opens for me
all the doors of life.»
I hope to see it again
soon. I shall miss your laughter every second you hide it away.
With l Yours,
It had started six months before. On a day when
night had forgotten to go away, leaving everything immersed in shadows, rain
pounding over the roof like a furious fist banging.
She had lost a patient that day. She recalled
it vividly, because it had been the first since she had moved to Edinburgh. Not
only that – it had been a young woman, with the same hopes and dreams that she
had, heart broken into a million pieces but still hopeful. Losing her had been
like losing a piece of herself, an entire world shattered away under the lights
of the OR.
Claire accepted the sympathetic words of her
colleagues, the gentle hands that touched her back, assuring her that not every
battle was meant to be won. But she had lost – so brutally, so completely, so painfully. She walked to the locker room and
bolted the door, allowed herself to cry on the floor, to sob until her heart
had melted and gone away.
When she opened her locker to retrieve her
things at the end of her shift, she had found a sketch there, pencil on paper
like the tears on her cheeks. Someone drew a hand – elegant fingers with a thin
wrist, which eerily reminded her of her own – holding a scalpel. And touching
her palm underneath it, as if the fragile scalpel had been too heavy to hold on
her own, a second hand helped her to hold it. The touching image – it had
brought tears to Claire’s eyes – had been signed in a crooked handwriting. “Scalpel”.
The drawing had been on her nightstand since
that day, a reminder that someone out there truly understood – knew – the loneliness of her work, the
hardships she endured and how much she needed a presence to hold her when her
strength failed her.
The second gift came a week after that – a pressed
blue flower, perfectly preserved, clearly saved for quite some time between the
pages of a book. Claire inhaled it, hungry for the perfume and words still
trapped in it. A short note came with it – “Will
you make a home for it with you? Scalpel”.
After a few weeks – time in which she had
received poems, caricatures and photos of landscapes – she decided that her
secret friend – for the mysterious person clearly meant to forge a relationship
with her through those small tokens – deserved an answer.
She had scribbled it at home, sitting at her
desk – the pressed flower next to her, on top of an organized pile of paper –
and left it lodged on the door of her locker, where he’d certainly find it.
I’m not sure why you
think me deserving of such kind attentions, but I have to say you seem to read
my mind! Not only I find everything you give me fascinating, but you seem to
guess when I’ll need it the most. If someone ever told me I’d have a secret
correspondent, I’d laugh and swear them insane. But in truth I find great
solace in you and cherish every thought you spare me. Thank you for being a true
friend – the more selfless kind.
P.S. – Of course you
know my real name, but it seems only fair that the both of us would have secret
code names. I’ve been told to be sharp as one - and equally resourceful.”
their correspondence became two-sided. A week hadn’t gone by without a sign
from him and Claire realized they were incredibly close – intimate, even. She
had tried to suggest for them to meet and talk in the cafeteria – at least for
him to reveal his name, so she could put a face on the person that meant so
much to her. His answer had been concise and clear: “One day I’ll tell you everything. But not yet.”
Claire placed the note on her pocket, where her
fingers could brush it – touching it, savouring it through the next hours. She
headed for the pub to meet Geillis – blissfully unaware of Scalpel’s existence - wondering how one could be enamoured with a man
made only of words on paper.