vignettes

anonymous asked:

You brought a sleeping bag onto the roof of the music building, because there's a way to get there if you only look hard enough. Someone was playing a song inside, the most beautiful song you had ever heard. You haven't been back to your dorm room in days, and the thing that was left in place of your roommate is beginning to notice. Go back before you start a war, why don't you?

An old sketch that I cleaned up…

Robin frequently took the electric bus to get around in Goldenrod. One particular bus was staffed by a single Pikachu, an old and tattered individual placidly sitting on his shelf, hooked up to the rattling generator, hour after hour, day after day. Robin never saw any other Pokemon on duty on that bus, no matter how late it got. The Pikachu never said much, but that didn’t stop Robin from always picking the seat closest to him and excitedly narrating the day’s events. Robin became great friends with that Pokemon, even if the bond was one-sided, and vowed to one day train a Pikachu to be just as cool as he was.

anonymous asked:

That awkward moment at the party when you were too drunk and kissed a cute person but then you realize it was one of the gentry and they realize you're a human and you're both like oh no I'm sorry damn. Hate those moments. Too awkward. Do not recommend.

Later, telling their friend the story, wearing the harried expression of a survivor: “AND THEN I realized that their teeth were flat and my whole body just went ice-cold with the realization… All of a sudden I started noticing everything that was just off, you know? The shining strings of lanterns were buzzing and rose quartz around the room smelled like brine and everyone had ten fingers … and that’s when I realized that of my own accord I’d drunk their Franzia.”

Their friend gasps. The changeling shakes their head, eyes screwed tight, continues: “But the thing is - the thing is. I can’t stop thinking about their face. It was so alien! Eyes brown as a river in flood and the most delicate little arches of hair over each eye and the softest arms. I see them in my sleep. I’m going to pine to death for love of them,” it decides aloud.

Their friend tries to backtrack this conversation. It’s too late.

how many Walt Graces are out there thinking, thinking, observing…drawing blueprints and maps and charts, all towards the building of a submarine to submerge and drown the noise of the world? the constant throb–a longing to fly into water, that is, the mirror of heaven; the underside of a wing. do you understand this, this flight into the sky of an ocean where everything is soft, blunted? in a dream i have seen Heaven, and so Heaven has seen. hosanna, hosanna to our endurance.

I should already be asleep by now, but before I go:

“Fitz?”

She stumbles into the room, so panicked that she has to make herself take deep breaths just so she can see straight. When she scans the room, she finds them. 

She finds him.

She’ll get to the others, but she has to get to him first. It’s not a choice as much as a need, not a need so much as an inevitability. His lips are chapped and he looks half-starved, but he’s here. She cradles his head in her hands and places her forehead against his, just for a second, just to draw strength and prove to herself that it’s real. She relishes her moment and swallows when she has to let go. She only does it long enough to free him, because when he falls out of his restraints, she’s there. He’s half-starved, but he’s still heavy, and she has to guide him down to sit on the floor. He groans in discomfort, and she runs her hand through his hair, soothing him as best she can with half-formed words.

“Jemma,” he croaks, blinking up at her. “Jemma, wha—”

“Yes,” she says. Her heart stops when he frowns at her, furrowing his brow.

“Yes?”

Her hand moves to his cheek, and he leans into her touch. She fought a war to win him back, and this one gesture makes it worth it.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” she clarifies.

 He’s adorably groggy, and she can’t help but smile at his confusion.

“Did I ask you to marry me?’

“No,” she answers, her smile widening, “but if you ever did, that’d be my answer.”

He stares at her for a moment, like he doesn’t quite get what she’s saying, and Jemma wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. They’ve both been through a lot, and he has a right to be a little disoriented. Maybe that’s the only reason she has the courage to say it. Maybe not. Maybe it was the desperate fear that she’d never get a chance.

“Okay,” he says as his head bobs to the other side, then back, “good to know.”

She wants to laugh, or to sweep him up in her arms, or to kiss him all over. She can’t do any of that now, with a half-asleep engineer and four other people to save. She settles for one kiss, short and meaningful, that makes Fitz smile with closed eyes.

“Mmm,” he says, “also good.”

She nudges his playfully with her shoulder as she stands up.

“Well,” she says, “after all I went through to get you back, I would hope so.”

Vignette #5: Aspirations

Summary: childhood dreams.


Violet

By her first month of middle school, she learns to stop telling the other kids that she moved here from Earth. It’s just too many questions, too much disappointment in their faces when she has to admit that, no, she’s never seen the Pyramids or Mecca or that floating continent made of trash. She can’t put into words what it was like living there, anyway. It was a different planet. Either you understand or you don’t.

Her new school is better than the old one. There are two auditoriums and a state-of-the-art computer lab and even a quantum microscope, although you can’t use it without teacher supervision. Every lunchtime, a small group of kids skip the cafeteria for a chance to peer through those high-power lenses. They talk as they wait their turn, and nobody makes fun of her for caring about science. Some of them only want to show off how smart they are, but a few are nice. One even offered to lend her a documentary about xenoflora. In another couple of months, she might have friends again.

At night, the sky here is clean enough that you can see the stars without any equipment at all, although of course none of the constellations line up with the ones she read about back home. In the olden days, people used to say We’re all under the same sky, but that’s not really true anymore.

Violet watches the cosmos unobstructed for the first time from her window and tries not to miss the moon.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Science isn't magic we've figured out, science is magic we've tamed. We caught it and broke it to harness, trained it to do our bidding. We think we understand how and why it does what it does. But sometimes even the most understood science just... goes strange. We can point to one of a thousand variables that maybe changed, or a one-in-a-million circumstance, but the truth is is that science, for a brief moment, remembered what it was like to be wild and became magic once again.

anonymous asked:

Are you still doing the prompt thing? If so, fs + 82, please? :)

Hey there, anon! “I was in the neighborhood,” coming right up! 

Academy AU. Based on true events.

“FITZ!”

Jemma jumps up from the table and comes at him so fast that Fitz freezes, even as she flings her arms around him. He’s afraid that the ice cream parlor door will swing closed and bang right into him, but it’s a near miss.

“Fitz, imagine meeting you here!”

Fitz shrugs. “I was … in the neighborhood?”

Jemma only grins at him. “I was just about to tell Stewart all about the project we’re working on! Come and sit with us!”

Fitz’s eyes dart from Jemma to the man who must be Stewart. The two exchange an awkward wave as Jemma all but pulls him into an empty seat.

“This is my best friend, Fitz,” she says, “and I haven’t seen him in ages. How are you doing these days, Fitz?”

He pauses, about to tell her that he saw her this morning and he’s not sure which project she’s referring to, or how they could be working on one if they haven’t seen each other, but Stewart cuts him off.

“You know, I bet Fitz came here to get some ice cream,” Stewart says. “And as it happens, I’m something of a culinary expert.” Stewart throws him a smug, flashy smile, and Fitz tries his best to not raise an eyebrow at him.

“Oh you are? That’s … interesting.”

“Stewart has been telling me all about his vast knowledge of food,” Jemma deadpans. “The onion soup at The Outback, for example.”

Stewart winks at him. “Impeccable.”

“And,” continues Jemma, “he has a very discerning palette. He tried every single ice cream flavor, then several combinations of flavors, before making his choice.”

Fitz looks over at the barrels of ice cream, knowing that there’s well over thirty-one flavors there. When he turns back to Jemma, he sees that her bowl of ice cream has already melted. It’s not until he sees the desperation in Jemma’s eyes that it all clicks:

Jemma and Stewart are on a date. And it is going badly.

“Here,” says Stewart, getting up, “let me show you.” Before Fitz or Jemma can stop him (Jemma actually makes an attempt at grabbing Stewart’s arm), he’s gone. 

“I thought you had dinner plans,” Fitz whispers, watching an oblivious Stewart receive death glares from every employee behind the counter.

Jemma clenches both fists. “So did I!”

“So, what,” asks Fitz, “he said he’d take you out to dinner and didn’t feed you?”

“And then he spent the entire night talking about food,” she confirms.

Fitz facepalms, “Goodness gracious.” 

Jemma’s not only on a bad date with a socially-inept narcissist—she’s starving.

“Here you go,” says Stewart, “it’s pistachio and—get this—bubble gum.”

Fitz takes the proffered spoonful of ice cream and doesn’t dare to look at Jemma before putting it in his mouth.

“Amazing isn’t it?” asks Stewart. Fitz swallows.

“It’s definitely something.”

“Come on,” says Stewart, “let me treat you to something. I still have a little bit left on my gift card.”

It’s then that Fitz can’t stop himself from looking over at Jemma, who casually motions towards the tip jar, which stands empty. He shudders.

“Actually,” Fitz says, “actually, I, um I came here to get Jemma. Her lab cultures are …” “He grapples for a word, but three semesters of biology fail him. “Sick.”

“What?”

Jemma stands up so quickly that she tips over her chair, then sets it right, then straightens and grabs her purse. “I’m sorry, Stewart, but those cultures are worth half my grade. If there’s anything wrong with them, I’m done for!” She reaches her hand out, and Stewart shakes it reluctantly. “Have a lovely evening.”

Fitz has just enough time to retrieve a handful of bills from his wallet and toss them in the tip jar on their way out.

“Ugh, Fitz!” She puts her head in her hands and groans. “That is the last time I let any anyone set me up on a date. Maybe it’s the last time I’ll go on a date at all.” 

When he opens the car door for her, she sits down about as crossly as anyone is capable of sitting, and he smiles to himself as he shuts the door and walks around the car.

“Fitz,” she says when takes his seat, “do you know precisely how many words came out of my mouth before your miraculous arrival?”

Fitz furrows his brow and sneaks a glance at her as he puts the car in gear. “How many?”

“One,” she says. “‘Hello.’”

“No,” he says, gaping. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She folds her arms, still stewing. “Not that I didn’t have anything to say, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But he insisted on telling me the most boring stories without letting me get a word in edgewise! I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up. I thought he’d be interesting to talk to, seeing as he picks up dead bodies and brings them to the Academy morgue.”

Fitz grimaces. “He … what?”

“I thought he’d have fascinating stories about dead powered people,” she says with a shrug. “And he had plenty of stories, alright—all simultaneously boring and inappropriate. I’m not exactly sure how he did it. Ugh,” she says again. “I swear, the only good man left in this world is you, and you’re not interested.”

Fitz almost stops the car, feeling that the air has been sucked out of the room. “What?”

“What?” Jemma asks in return, bewildered, until she sees his expression and all the color drains from her face. “I didn’t—I just meant hypothetically that—I mean, it’s not like I’ve met every man in the world, so that was an obvious generalization.” 

The car comes to a red light and he stops, clutching tighter at the steering wheel as his hands become slick with sweat.

“Did you—are you interested?”

Jemma becomes suddenly enthralled with the hands clasped together in her lap, and he has his answer in her blushing cheeks. He stares at her so long that he doesn’t notice the light has turned green until the person behind him honks.

“I, um.” He clears his throat, grateful he has an excuse to watch the road. “I mean, if I did ask you on a date,” he says, “you’d go with me?”

She looks over at him briefly, then picks at the lint on her dress. “If you asked,” she says.

“Well, I … what if we go right now?”

That gets her to look at him again with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, look, you’re already starving; we might as well get something to eat.” He swallows, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “You can get as much food as you like, because you know I won’t judge you, even if you order half the menu.”

“Go on,” she says.

“And, um, and you can talk my ear off about cellular biology, and I’ll thank you for it, since I need to study anyway. And if it ends up not working out, we pretend nothing happened and go right back to being friends.”

“Fitz,” she says, and he’s sure that he wants the street to open up and swallow him whole, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He’s never been more relieved in his life. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirms. “I only have one condition.”

He looks over at her, and this time, he knows exactly what she’s thinking.

“The Outback,” they say in unison.

———————

“Fitz,” she says as they leave the restaurant, “why haven’t we done this already?”

To be honest, he’d been asking himself the same question. This dinner has been just as wonderful as all the dinners they’ve shared, except there was a twinkle in her eyes as she talked and a playfulness in her words.

Except, he notes with pride, this time they left the restaurant arm in arm, with her head on his shoulder.

“Oh look, Fitz, the stars!”

He stops at her command and follows her gaze, agreeing that they are indeed magnificent. But as he turns back to ask her a question and finds himself a breath away from her, all thoughts leave him. He bends down to her as her lips meet him halfway, and surely, this is the most magnificent thing in the universe.

When he pulls back to look at her, she smiles.

“And to think,” she says, “a few hours ago, I was having the worst date of my life.”

He smiles back at her, suddenly bold. “How is this one going?”

She answers by grabbing him by the collar and kissing him again.

Everyone has heard the phrase “a murder of crows” to describe a large group of the birds. On the other hand, few know the other important phrases, born of the 1486 Book of Saint Albans. (Specifically, its list on the Compaynys of Beestys and Fowlys.) Magpies come in tidings. Owls in parliaments. Grackles in plagues. Lapwings in deceits. And the ravens come in an unkindness, or a conspiracy. Be kind to those who wear feathers and call the air home, be respectful. But do not forget the distant wisdom in how they were named.

[TornThorn]