nail shades

The Power Rangers don’t even give a fuck

they wear their signature colours everywhere.

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.)

so anyway mikael is nonbinary

  • and the balloon squad has known for a bit now. 
  • 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
  • but in a good way.
Sirius Black and Lily Evans

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)
10

Rhett in tank tops

  1. How To Juggle Baseball Bats - AMAZING! 
  2. AMAZING NEW YOGA POSES! 
  3. The Making Of “Goth Boy”
  4. SLOW MO CHEESE HOSE (and How To)
  5. Slamazon: 7 Kitten T-Shirt
  6. Ever had a #VacayGoneCrayCray?
  7. I’m On Vacation (Song)
  8. Pop Rocks and Soda Experiment
  9. Can You Smell Fear? (EXPERIMENT)
  10. Backwards Talking (GAME)

Link’s version

Fanfiction - Scalpel & Needle

@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 pride.”

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!”

Mallaichte 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 colectomy.”

“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,

Scalpel”

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.

“Dear Scalpel,

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.

Cla Needle

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.”

And so 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.