“You have to apologize to
Y/N.” Scott urged as he sat down beside Liam. Having Stiles sit down as well as
they exchanged serious looks, it’s been three days since you lounged towards him after accusing you for belonging in hell with your former friend Theo and you still haven’t spoke to any of them besides Scott about it.
The Fly (1986) David Cronenberg Rotten Tomatoes: 91% IMDb: A brilliant but eccentric scientist begins to transform into a giant man/fly hybrid after one of his experiments goes horribly wrong. Stars: Jeff Goldblum, Geena Davis, John Getz
NOTES: This chapter will be the beginning of a ton of P.O.V. switches (point of views), but it’s gonna be a little finicky. I’m not going to directly saywhen they’ll happen, but hopefully they’ll be noticeable enough. Thanks for your patience, and have a wonderful evening!
Papyrus let out an inhuman scream of frustration, and threw the pot of sauce up into the air. The metal hit the ceiling with an insane amount of force, and as you predicted, tomatoes went flying everywhere. Sans teleport right beside you under the table, and collapsed onto the floor with laughter. He began pounding the floor with a fist, and blue tears welled up in his eyes.
A dazzling teal color spread across his cheeks; since his chuckles were contagious, it caused you to fall back laughing as well. You lay side by side, howling and cackling, as Papyrus punched a wall and ran off to go fetch a mop. “I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS! SANS, WHY MUST YOU RUIN ALL THINGS INNOCENT AND PRECIOUS?!” His voice was raw, and his skull fumed with anger.
You wrapped your arms around your sides, and gasped for air. All over your body aches formed, but you eventually calmed down within a few more giggles. You heard a content sigh, and looked to your left to see Sans sprawled out beside you with his hood flipped over. He followed your motion of sitting up, when you bumped your head against the table above.
Thankfully, your good mood saved you from the unexpected pain. You just merely rubbed your head from surprise. “jeez, kid. that was beautiful. i didn’t think you had it in ya.” He smiled widely, and wiped his face. You grinned bashfully towards him, and saw how the blue in his cheekbones died down. You snickered when a final glimpse of his cerulean eye escaped his eye socket before he shut it completely and summoned the magic away.
“Thanks. To be totally honest, I have a huge love for puns. Maybe even more than Toriel.” You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly, and looked away from Sans. He raised a skeletal hand and pushed back his hood in awe. “really? like, an actual love for them? not just because they’re awful?” You nod happily, and chuckled.
He grinned, and realized he had a newfound respect for the human. Frisk always disliked his puns, and rarely played along. It was good that a human with a sense of humor fell into the Underground for once. “that’s cool. now we can be pun buddies.” He smirked, plastering a wide smile upon his face and winked. Jabbing an arm into your side, you giggled and gently hit him back.
“No need to elbow me, Sans. I get the point.” You did some jazz hands, and made a motion that was similar to hitting drums after a joke was made. Sans dropped his semi-fake smile for a second, staring at you in amazement. At first, he didn’t want to have anything to do with another human in the Underground. Especially one as complicated as (Y/N). Now…. he was having second thoughts. For the first time in a while, Sans lowered his guard and beamed a bright, genuine smile.
(Y/N) seemed to notice, because her face tinted a slight pink shade and looked away. Sans wondered why she did that, or why she seemed to always bring a hand back to brush some hair afterwards. He guessed it was just an odd habit, one that was just a nervous tick. It wasn’t a bad thing; he had plenty of his own. Like when he was flustered, he would raise his hood instinctively. But when was the last time he did that?
You shut your eyes, and brushed back some hair nervously. It was a bad habit, in your eyes; you were sure that Sans had probably picked up that you do it often around him. Oh well, you couldn’t help but be bashful around the skeleton who made you love Undertale in the first place. You remembered something that annoyed you a bit from earlier, and carefully proceeded to ask Sans about it.
“So, Sans… why do you keep calling me ‘kid’?” He raised a non-existent eyebrow, and leaned backwards casually. “whatcha’ mean?” He answered calmly, not knowing where this was going. You turned away, and rest your hands neatly on your lap. “Well… I’m not a kid. Frisk is, so you can them that, but I’d rather just stay (Y/N) or (Nickname) or whatever.” You laughed uncomfortably, which only made Sans more confused.
oh, right. this human knows everything there is to know about the underground, its history, and its future. just not this timeline. figures. i’m gonna have to get used to that. Sans yawned lazily, even though he wasn’t tired at all. Little did he know that (Y/N) was secretly bewildered by is ability to do this, even though he wasn’t supposed to be able to open his mouth at all. “you’re not a human child? i know that you’re a skele-ton bigger than the kid, but…?” His voice trailed off, and he blinked blankly.
You bit your lip, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t, and an awkward tension filled the air underneath the table. You’d completely forgotten about Papyrus, who was being unusually quiet cleaning up the living room and kitchen. “Heh, yeah. If you think about it, Frisk is about 6-7, right?” You asked the short skeleton, who’d gone back to laying down nonchalantly under the table. “i didn’t know that; but of course you did, huh brainiac?” He scoffed, and you would’ve taken it offensively it you were in a bad mood. But, alas, you were in the exact opposite.
You giggled softly from his weak insult, and continued. “Actually, no matter what way you do the math, I’m over two times their age.” You glanced around the living room, searching for the loud skeleton. Where the heck was he?! Sans chuckled something about you being old when you put it like that, then grumbled a deep “well then how old are you, human?”. You rolled your eyes, wanting him to call you by your actual name rather than just “human”. That was Papyrus’s pet name for you, and him only.
“I’m 16.” You state casually, not really caring. Sans did apparently, because he flinched and bolted upright immediately. “you’re 16?!” He asked, stunned for some unknown reason; you chuckled and replied an awkward “yeah?” Sans blinked, and stared ahead. His pink slippers were tucked in close to his chest, and his big blue jacket looked very comfortable on him. In fact, it looked like it was 3 sizes too big. Like his black basketball shorts.
He fiddled with his thumbs, thinking hard. He seemed to be concentrating on the staircase across the room. “Is there something wrong with that?” You sneered playfully, and he whipped his skull back to you. “no! not at all. i just figured….yah know…” He made a circular pattern in the air with his hands, trying to get you to finish the sentence. Remembering back to earlier in the conversation, you found a good response. “What? You thought I was around Frisk’s age?”
At that, you threw your head back and laughed. Sans was startled by this, and hit his head on the table too. He winced, and groaned with that deep voice of his, but got over it soon enough. “why’s that so funny?” He demanded, cheeks daring to turn a light blue from embarrassment to a supposedly silly question. “Why’d you think I was so little?” You asked right back, and he smirked. “don’t go answering my questions with your questions!” He laughed, but before either of you could answer each other, Papyrus yanked you out from under the table and held you both up in the air.
Disclaimer: Types are
based on pure speculation and the dubious celebritytypes.com *ducks from flying
tomatoes* Nevertheless, these are all women who achieved great feats in their
lifetime (whether you find moral fault with them is arbitrary)
In honour of Women’s Day
(not to isolate my male audience or anything…but if you must know, Men’s day is
on Nov. 19 – you learn something new every day!) here are 16 unique women who
have led extraordinary lives:
MALALA YOUSAFZAI – ENFJ – Activist for female education &
youngest Nobel Prize laureate
“One child, one teacher,
one pen and one book can change the world.”
He reaches out to test another
one, squeezing it gently to test for its ripeness, but once again it turns out
hard. He’s pretty sure he’s been through three fourths of the crate at this
point and all of them are too firm. Really, he should have bought some when he
last went shopping to give them time to ripen, but, then again, his cravings
can be unpredictable at times. And he really wants fresh guacamole, like, today.
Sighing, he considers
abandoning the farmers market and braving the local chain grocery store, but
just as he’s reaching out to try one last avocado, someone else’s hand darts
out to grab it.
“Hey!” Stiles yelps as his hand
is knocked out of the way. He turns his glare on the intruder, losing hold of
his anger for a moment as he takes in the man’s broad chest and perfectly
However, as soon as he sees the
avocado skin flex perfectly under the man’s fingers, he just about sees red.
“Oh my god,” he hisses, launching himself at the avocado. “Give me that!”
“What the hell?” the guy
replies, jerking his hands away and holding the avocado away from Stiles’
reach. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“I have spent the last hour searching the entire market for a
ripe avocado and you just waltz on in and find it on the first try,” Stiles growls,
glare still sharp.
“So?” Tall, Dark, and Stubbly
“So don’t you think it’s only
fair – ” Stiles starts, but Avocado Asshole cuts him off.
“No,” he snorts, placing the
avocado in a plastic bag and heading over to the stall owner to pay. “It’s not
my fault you suck at finding the best produce.”
“I’m clearly just unlucky!”
Stiles shouts at Avocado Asshole’s retreating back, hands curled up into fists
at his sides.
He finally finds ripe, but
badly bruised, avocados at a mega chain grocery store an hour and a half later.
However, it’s only once he gets home that he realizes he forgot to get
Every last bit of this could be traced back to him.
Lovino was nothing more than an innocent bystander who’d got caught up in the madness.
Or so he’d assert afterwards, without a single sliver of guilt at throwing Antonio under the metaphorical bus.
Feliciano had dragged them to stay at the potato bastard’s house for the weekend, blabbering on about how it would be ‘such a nice bonding time for all four of us!’ and his beloved idiot had agreed before Lovino could open up his mouth. So the four of them were stuck in the middle of the German countryside in a poky old house without internet or phone signal.
Apparently this lack of modern necessities was the only way to keep the potato bastard from overworking.
In Lovino’s opinion, all it did was make it that much harder not to wrap his hands around his neck. Especially when he knocked on his and Antonio’s bedroom door at four in the morning and demanded to know if either of them were interested in joining him in his morning run.
Even after three mornings in a row of something heavy thrown at the door accompanied by a grumpy “Fuck off!”, Ludwig still didn’t seem to get the hint.
This particular afternoon, Feliciano had dragged Ludwig off to see some crumbling Prussian castle or tourist trap site and he and Antonio had agreed to stay and make dinner.
Lovino had had enough of this shitty German nonsense.
They’d gone to the nearest town and loaded up with tomatoes that were far from the quality they were used to, as well as picking up a few other items that they needed for the recipe. Looking back on the sheer number of tomatoes that Antonio had insisted on buying, Lovi would come to the conclusion that he’d been planning this, and right from the start.
About half an hour before Ludwig and Feliciano were due back, the two who’d stayed behind began to cook. They intended to surprise them with dinner ready and on the table for their return. Lovi had just got out the tomatoes and a chopping board when Antonio tripped, sending the water he’d been carrying flying. Right onto Lovi’s head.
“What the fuck?!” He squealed, gasping in shock from how cold it was. Droplets caught in his hair dripped down the back of his neck and underneath his shirt collar.
“Ah! Lovi! I’m sorry!”
“Don’t you fucking ‘Lovi’ me…” He growled, hand closing around the closest weapon.
He landed a glancing blow to Antonio’s hairline and watched with satisfaction as the juices began to dribble down his face.
“Loviiii!” He swiped a seed out of his eyebrow. “That wasn’t very nice!”
“Maybe not, but now we’re even.”
A sly grin came to Antonio’s lips and he reached for the basket with the rest of the tomatoes in. “Even? All I dropped on you was water, and that was an accident!”
“Antonio, it was the fucking coldest thing I have ever had down th-” He was cut off by a direct hit to his chest.
It was on.
Lovino took possession of the kitchen sink, filling cups and bowls with cold water to throw, while Antonio piled up various kinds of soft, messy ammunition. Maybe the raspberries didn’t have the same kind of splatter as the tomatoes, but it was fun to try to pinpoint aim them.
Meanwhile, Lovino had grabbed a cheeseboard and was using it almost as a bat to fend off Antonio’s projectiles, sending raspberries and strawberries and tomatoes flying off in every direction. Water was puddled over the floor, and fruit stained almost every surface of the kitchen.
When Ludwig came in to investigate the strange sounds on his return, he was greeted with a tomato to the face before he could even begin to process what had been done to his nice, clean kitchen.
A mug of icy cold water quickly followed it and Antonio took advantage of Lovino’s distraction to launch a sneak attack; he managed to get over to where the Italian was standing and grabbed the huge plastic tub that had been filling up.
Lovino almost screamed when it was dumped over his head.
Antonio couldn’t stop laughing.
Lovino, cold and dripping wet, took his revenge.
He hugged him, holding Antonio close as the Spaniard squirmed and tried to get away. The fruit juices and cold water seeped through with the hug, and some of the smaller berries that had caught in the folds of his clothes burst.
Ludwig watched this scene, the conclusion that he would never understand Romantic countries sinking in deeper. He turned around and left, leaving the idiots to it.
“Ha! Got you!” Lovino hissed victoriously into his lover’s ear.
“If you say so.” A strong pair of arms returned the hug and Antonio kissed his cheek, licking up a trail of diluted tomato juice.
“That was gross.”
“Very tasty though~ My favourite flavour~”
“You’re a dick.” Lovino loosened his grip, making it less of an attempt to crush the life out of the other and more of tight hug.
“You know you love me.”
“Do I? Do I really?”
“…Yeah, I love you. Dickhead. Now let’s clean up before the German prick comes in and yells at us.”
Wing porn. No actual porn. I’ve been bummed out all weekend so instead of working on any of the things I’m supposed to be working on, I wrote this. Steve/Sam.
Steve’s known a lot of good flyers in his lifetime. Bucky was probably the first, what with the way he flew circles around the ladies to impress them. Back before the war, Buck used to drag him to open-air markets in sunny weather or multi-story lofts if it was rainy or dark out, and then he’d take the air, swooping and spinning and turning on a dime like he was a tornado awing.
Steve, with his gangly albatross wings that had never fit his skinny body, could hardly compete. He couldn’t even manage a good running speed to get aloft, so he’d end up stumbling and tripping over his own feet until he managed to drag himself into the air. Alan Robinson had once said Steve looked like one of those ground-bound deer with the spindly wobbly legs, about to be eaten by wolves. That had ended in a fist fight so bad that half of the flight feathers on Steve’s right wing had snapped and he’d been grounded for months.
The Fly (1986) Dir. David Cronenberg Rotten Tomatoes: 91% IMDb: A brilliant but eccentric scientist begins to transform into a giant man/fly hybrid after one of his experiments goes horribly wrong. Stars: Jeff Goldblum, Geena Davis, John Getz