#i know most people only like ny hair cause its unusual

[soaringsearingphoenix]

you wrote tags about someone saying you have piano playing hands and it's barely relevant but I have to add this -- when someone tells me I have piano playing hands and should learn piano, I dislocate my thumbs and tell them I tried but this keeps happening. It's surprisingly difficult to play when your thumbs dislocate every time you try to play an octave.... It has only just occurred to me that this would be vaguely terrifying for the other people involved.

This is so funny. I love the implication that this is something you do regularly. I do feel compelled to say something like "please keep your hands in place tho"

(We need a tag like /s or /j but for when I say something extremely hypocritical. I've got doublejointed thumbs, and i used to bend them backwards to freak out other kids on the playground. I remember I moved to a different elementary school for a while before we decided it wasn't a good fit for me and moved me back, and during that time I had a blast with my little flexibility party tricks because no one there had seen them before. I spent a whole lunch period lingering outside the bathrooms because it was a high traffic area, and any time someone came by I'd be like "hey, look at this". Don't get me wrong, I was fully aware that this was vaguely terrifying. I had about the wickedest grin an otherwise chipper 7-year-old can get, and i lived for the horrified expressions. The best, though, was when someone would shuddet and then immediately call all their friends over to see.

That said, my thumbs don't outright dislocate so I can actually play the piano, and did take lessons around that time as well, but I didn't really enjoy practicing - it felt like extra honework - and my parents didn't push it. I think I could learn now, with more of a sense of how to set milestones for myself, but the problem now is that I have too strong of a sense that I can learn something by muscle memory instead of going about it the hard way. I haven't practiced it for about a year now but there was a nore recent time when I could play Scott Joplin's The Entertainer through because my dad joked that I should learn it, and I found a video tutorial and sat down repeating it slowly 'til I could play it at full speed.

Anyways, my problem joints that did dislocate have been taken care of so now I'm just left with the slightly funky thumbs, plus my elbows and shoulders - I can touch my elbows together behind my back with fairly minimal effort)

#thanks for the story!! #i like my hands but i could not be a hand mpdel #im always getting them scratched up #and like i know that the habits that lead me to do so are not ones i would easily give up even for a career #can you imagine having to wear gloves all the time #anyways 'your hands look like you have the potential for a cool art skill' is the only acceptable comment about my body #like. a lot of people mention my hair #used to ask if i play basketball #or make some backhanded 'complement' about my lanky frame #i was so sick of that at the time #i know most people only like ny hair cause its unusual #and most people stereotype my body type #dont do that #tell me im dextrous #tell me i come across like someone with talent #tell me i carry myself like i could kick your butt #anyways i was lightweight sleep deprived through that whole thing so everything felt like. extra significant #i dont think they even used my data in the study. but it was cool #and i learned a lot about circadian rhythms

[starfleetbotanist]

Physician, Heal Thyself (But Not Always)

🌹

It had been stupid, even he would admit that. Academy students were typically supposed to avoid bar fights. But Cupcake had been talking smack, and he'd had a few too many, so he had allowed the inevitable to happen. What he hadn't expected was for six other cadets to decide to use him as a punching bag. More surprising, though, was Bones.

He'd vaguely heard Bones trying to reason with his assailants before the roar in his ears drowned him out, but a fist to the stomach is a much more pressing matter than a pacifist doctor trying to tell you logic you don't want to hear, so he'd more or less written him off. That is, until he saw a cadet fall at his feet and turned to see his friend wading- and punching- through the crowd towards him.

He leapt at one of Cupcakes cronies as he landed a solid punch to Bones' face, causing the man to stumble back, a protectiveness he hadn't felt since Tarsus rising in him. But Bones regained his footing and gave as good as he'd gotten, before finally reaching Jim. Then he grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and dragged him from the bar, much like a mama cat with her errant kitten.

He stared at him, stunned, the entire way back to their room, Bones loudly scolding him about safety and rules the whole way, wiping blood from his now evidently broken nose. A sick feeling overcame him. What happened now? Was Bones going to leave, like Sam had?

He found himself dumped on the couch in an ungraceful heap as Bones' angry footsteps carried him to the bathroom and back. He sat on the coffee table, and Jim was relieved to see his medkit resting on his knee. He was (mostly) a model patient as Bones scrubbed at his cuts with antiseptic before using the portable dermal regen.

"You've got too damn good a brain, Jim, to go and get it knocked around by fools like that, y'hear me?"

He blinked. No, he hadn't heard him. Upon realizing that, Bones rolled his eyes before reaching over and lightly slapping his head- a move too gentle to actually hurt, and which he immediately followed with an affectionate ruffle of Jim's hair.

"This, your brain. Use it."

With that, he got up and headed back to the bathroom. Jim followed on his heels.

"That's it? You're not... More angry?"

"Jim, I knew when I signed up to be your friend there'd be risks. If a bar fight's the most danger we get in together I'd be surprised."

"But you got hurt!"

"Yeah, and you owe me for that."

He stopped in front of the mirror, opening his case again and finding the regen and a hypo. He reached up and, with a grunt, popped his nose back into place. He swore as he turned the hypo on himself, eyes watering.

"Scratch that, you really owe me," he said through gritted teeth.

"Sorry," Jim replied. He meant it. He hated seeing Bones hurt.

"Just-- use your head next time. Okay?"

"Yeah-- yeah, okay, Bones. I promise."

"Good." He washed the blood on his face and hands before turning back to face him. "Then we can forget about it."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Okay. Thanks, Bones."

"Anytime, kid."

🌹

Nyota held her wrist to her chest, waiting in the academy clinic. She had hurt it in combat class that day, but thankfully not too badly. The clinic was understaffed that day, and she had told Christine she was fine waiting. It was just her and two other cadets in the waiting room, after all. Not everyone was quite so patient, though.

One of the others, a command cadet, was complaining loudly, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, and bouncing his leg in agitation.

"How much longer is this gonna take?" He asked when Christine opened the door to call another patient back.

"Doctor McCoy or Doctor M'Benga will be able to see you soon, sir," she answered. "We will get to you as soon as we can."

Nyota prided herself on her ability to read people, and what she saw from the other cadet was not encouraging. He jumped up to his feet, crossing over to Christine with surprising speed.

"You can't just come back here!" She said, positioning herself between the cadet and the door.

"Watch me!" He snapped, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her out of the way.

Nyota rose, but she didn't need to interfere. Just as he was stepping into the hallway, he ran face first into Doctor McCoy, summoned by Christine's shout.

"Didn't you hear the lady? She said you ain't gettin' in here!" He snapped, though Nyota could see him running a clinical eye over the cadet. "Easy now. Looks like you're in withdrawal. How many stims have you taken?"

"None of your business!" The man snapped, and before anyone could stop him, caught McCoy on the side of the head with a right cross.

Christine leapt in, then, getting him into a safe hold and grabbing his arm to pin behind him as McCoy called for M'Benga to bring a sedative.

"Dammit," he swore as the other doctor handed him the hypo. "Sucker punches harder than he looks."

Once he was sedated, security called, and a treatment plan discussed for the over-use of stims to get him through the command courses, the cadet was taken to Starfleet Medical for a proper detox.

"You okay, Chris?" McCoy asked. Nyota had come to Christine's side as the cadet was taken away. The two had been friends since their first year.

"Just fine," she promised. "Didn't even fall. What about you?"

"I'll be fine," he shrugged. "Happens sometimes. Nothin' the regen can't fix."

"You might want to get on that before it swells too much, Len" M'Benga said. "I can finish up here."

"It'll hold," McCoy insisted. "But you can take that patient we just called back. C'mon, Ny, I only need one eye to see the swelling in that wrist."

"Only if you fix your eye, too," she threatened, following him back to one of the rooms.

"Wrist first," he said, taking out his tricorder. She answered his questions, let him strap the regen unit to her, and stared him into submission until he began treating himself while they waited.

"Are you sure you're alright?" She asked once they had both finished.

"Ain't that my line? Any residual pain?"

"None, thank you. Now answer me."

"I'm okay," he promised. "Not my first rodeo with someone hyped up on stims, and it won't be my last."

"Can't say I envy you."

"Yeah, well, it happens. Now, you be careful in that combat class, okay? Stretch right, and be careful which moves you use on which partners."

"I will. Thanks, Len."

"Sure, Ny."

🌹

"Scotty."

He looked up from the manual he was reading at the sound from the bathroom door.

"Ah, Doc! What can I do for you?"

"You can take a break from straining your eyes and come have some coffee."

He laughed, lowering the PADD he was reading from.

"Aye, that sounds good. What're you doin' up so early?"

He followed him into his room, where he could smell fresh coffee brewing. Like many things, McCoy seemed to prefer real coffee, and while Scotty tended to be more of a tea man, he never turned down real foods or drinks.

"Haven't been to bed yet- don't tell Jim or Spock."

He poured them both a cup, handing Scotty one of them and motioning to the sugar and creamer he'd set out.

"Aren't you the one always telling the crew the importance of a good sleep schedule?"

"Yeah, and that's why I'm askin' you not to tell on me," he grinned.

"Can you not sleep?"

"No, not really. I've been goin' over that last accident in Engineering. I've written up a few training proposals, and wanted you to read through them and tell me which you think'll work best before I submit them."

"Have you been working on this all day?"

"Since my shift ended, yeah."

Scotty saw him take two tiny pills from a bottle on his desk and take them before rubbing his eyes.

"Sorry, headache. Ibuprofen. Been at this a little too long, I think."

"Why push yourself like this, then?"

He scanned the proposals, an interdisciplinary first aid course specific to Engineering and the various injuries and accidents that could happen, a triage proposal to better prepare medical staff for what to expect when an accident is called in, and new safety guidelines and equipment inspection schedules.

"Well, every second counts, you know that. The sooner we get this smoothed out, the better. It could be life or death, and I'm not about to play games there."

"You never do," Scotty grinned, picking up a stylus and making a few notes. "I like this so far. I hope you made a lot of coffee, because I have a few ideas, too."

"I hoped you would," McCoy grinned, and the two sat down to begin work.

🌹

"You called me, Doc?"

"Mr Sulu, perfect timing!"

Doctor McCoy was standing by a selection of plants, studying them intensely.

"The botany department sent these up. They're medicinal. But the labels got mixed up, and we don't really know what's what."

"That's unusual," Sulu grinned, looking down at the selection. "She's usually more organized when making deliveries."

He began to catalogue the plants, calling to mind their uses.

"Fever few, plantain... Several of these are for stopping bleeding."

"Yeah, that's what we're hoping for. We're training our medics to learn other ways to heal in the field."

"Good idea," Sulu nodded, fixing the lables.

"Thank you for the help," McCoy grinned. "Oh, Lieutenant Lyle brought another plant, but I'm not sure what it does. It was bigger than the others, so I set it in the office. Little bastard scratched me, too."

Sulu laughed, plucking a plantain leaf and handing it to him.

"Chew on that for a minute and put it on the cut, that will help."

He heard McCoy's thanks as he went into the office. He gasped. On the desk was a rare Andorian Passionflower- spiked where its Earth counterpart was not, and blue instead of purple. In place of a label there was a note, and he recognized the handwriting.

"Ben?"

"Surprise," McCoy said, stepping in. He had the chewed leaf against his finger. "We were asked not to tell you anything."

He opened the envelope. It was handwritten anniversary card. He smiled, warmth filling him.

"Happy anniversary, you two," McCoy said, patting him on the shoulder. "There's minutes on my computer for subspace communication. He's waiting for you to call."

"Thanks, Doc," he answered, wiping sudden tears from his eyes.

McCoy patted his back again before leaving him to his call.

🌹

"Doctor?"

"Mhm?"

"Why did you do it?"

McCoy looked at Chekov, who was eyeing wound on his arm with deep concern.

"Reflex," he lied, finishing ripping his uniform shirt into bandages. He turned his eyes away, focusing on tying off and tending the wound until the ion storm ended and they could contact the Enterprise.

"Captain Kirk is right. You are a terrible liar, sir."

He snorted, tying off his makeshift sling. He'd taken a rather severe cut from a spear from one of the inhabitants of this supposedly uninhabited planet. The spear had been aimed at Chekov, but he had managed to push the kid out of the way just in time.

"Captain Kirk can mind his own business."

"Doctor..."

McCoy sighed, leaning back against the cave wall. Chekov joined him, still looking at him with wide-eyed worry.

"You remind me of Joanna."

"Huh?"

"I did it because you remind me of Joanna."

"Who is Joanna?"

"My daughter. My whole world. I don't get to see her often, but she's my pride and joy."

"And I remind you of her?"

"Yeah. Can't explain it. It's probably because you're so young, or some misplaced guilt about not being there to protect JoJo that makes me want to look out for you instead that the psychologist really doesn't wanna think too much about."

He shrugged, closing his eyes.

"That, and I'm a doctor, and your senior officer. Not gonna let you get hurt if I can help it."

Running for their lives had worn him out, it seems. Chekov studied him for a moment before placing his head on his shoulder.

"You are very much the papa I always wanted. My grandmother, she told me stories about him. He was a good man. If he was... If I had known him longer, I would have liked for him to be like you, Doctor."

He felt a strong hand ruffle his hair.

"Get some rest, kid. I'll keep watch."

Chekov smiled, allowing his own eyes to close. He fell asleep wondering if McCoy would laugh or be angry that he had become, as the captain said, a "mama bear."

🌹

Spock stood beside Captain Kirk's hospital bed, arms folded behind his back. He had come to check on the progress of McCoy's serum on their friend. But, also, he was here to check on McCoy. Nyota had expressed worry over him that morning after visiting.

"You want a seat, Spock?"

He turned as the doctor entered the room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a PADD in the other.

"No, thank you, Doctor."

McCoy set the coffee aside, moving to the bed to compare the data on the PADD to the biobed readings. As Spock watched him, he began to really notice the state the doctor was in. His eyes were bloodshot, ringed in dark circles, his hair sticking at odd angles, as though he had run his fingers through it many times. He hadn't shaved, and was looking rather gaunt.

"When did you last sleep, Leonard?"

"Does it matter, Spock?"

"I think it would matter to the captain. And... I admit to a concern, as well."

"May miracles never cease," McCoy muttered, and they both knew what miracle he was praying for.

"Doctor, you must rest. The captain's status is unlikely to change in the time it would take for you to eat and sleep."

"I can't, Spock. Not right now."

"Why?"

"Because he needs me."

"He needs all of you, Leonard. Not a shell of yourself."

McCoy's shoulders sagged at that.

"I don't want to leave him," he admitted. "I promised I wouldn't leave him."

"You do not have to leave him. You could bring a cot into this room, perhaps. Shower in the en suite, and eat the meals Nyota has been bringing you."

"When I try to sleep, Spock, all I can see is him in that chamber. In that damn body bag in my medbay. It... It hurts, Spock. In a very human way, it hurts. It- this grief, it's like a wound, Spock."

"As you so often tell me, Leonard, you are a doctor. You treat wounds, better than most. You are healing the captain. The best way to heal that grief is to continue to do so. But if you damage yourself with overwork, you will not be able to care for him to the best of your abilities."

McCoy was silent for a moment before nodding.

"You're right... Thank you, Spock."

"It is... My pleasure, Leonard."

When he visited again that night, he found McCoy asleep on a cot not far from Kirk's bed, PADD still in hand. He had showered and shaved. The plate Nyota had sent him was now empty, and someone, presumably nurse Chapel, had covered him with the knitted blanket that he usually kept on the couch in his office.

Spock allowed himself to feel relieved, and quietly retreated, turning down the lights as he did so. The next morning, Kirk woke up.

🌹

"He may be a little disoriented when he wakes up," M'Benga told the assembled officers. "It was touch and go there, and we nearly lost him a few times. But I do believe he will make a full recovery."

"You are sure?" Chekov asked, his face pale. Sulu had his hand on his back for support.

"Yes. He is stable. Now all he needs is rest."

"Thank you," Kirk spoke up, gripping one of McCoy's hands from his place beside his bed. "Bones couldn't have been in better hands."

"You remind him of that when he wakes up," M'Benga laughed quietly, his calm manner helping ease the tension in the crowd. "You can talk to him now, too. Even if he doesn't hear you, it'll help him to have friendly voices around."

Scotty coughed to hide a relieved sniffle, and patted Kirk's shoulder amiably.

"Why don't you start, Captain?"

Kirk nodded, thinking.

"Bones, you know we all love you, right? So you've gotta come back to us. It's not the same without you here yelling at me."

"Indeed, Doctor. Your colorful metaphors are... Missed." Spock looked down the line of visitors expectantly.

"Da, and you promised to let us talk to Joanna next time she called you!" Chekov watched the sleeping man eagerly.

"Yeah, she and Demora are going to space camp together," Sulu pitched in. "If you don't wake up soon, who's gonna tell them how dangerous it is?"

Nyota laughed at that, and everyone (save Spock) grinned.

"Aye, Len. And you're gonna have to be the one to tell Jaylah what happened, you know," Scotty said. "Otherwise the lassie's likely to steal a ship and come all the way from Earth to make sure you aren't still hurt."

"What about you, Uhura?" Kirk asked. "You know how he likes to hear you sing. Why don't you sing one of his favorites."

"Good idea," she nodded, thinking. "I know just the one."

Soon the medbay was filled with her soft, comforting voice.

"I'll keep you safe..."

🌹 This was a long one! Thank you for reading! This was based on a prompt by @hlabounty96 ! I hope you enjoyed! 🌹

#leonard mccoy #james t kirk #jim kirk #spock #nyota uhura #scotty star trek #pavel chekov #hikaru sulu #star trek aos #star trek #my writing

[cherry-holland]

Dmitri Island: ch 1

A/n: here’s the first chapter!!! Sorry it’s so long I wanted to get the reader and Tom’s back history started!! But I hope y’all enjoy it 🥰

Beep, beep, beep.

[[MORE]]

The blaring sound of your alarm rang through your ears, waking you from your dreamless slumber. Groaning, you fiddled around in the darkness searching for your phone.

Where is this damn thing? And why is it so loud?

Once you found it, you brought it close to your face and stopped the obnoxious alarm from ringing anymore to give you a peace of mind. Your phone cleared the alarm away from the screen as you saw a row of messages from Tom, your best friend.

T: loooooooove, WAKE UP!!!!!!

T: (y/n/n), I need you!!!!!!! 😭

T: Come overrrrrr 🥺

T: this is verrrrry important (y/n/n), n I need ur help ASAP xxx

T: (Y/N)!!!! ANSWER ME THIS IS URGENT 😰😰😭😭🥺🥺

“Oh my gosh,” you let out a loud laugh as you scroll through the extensive, dramatic messages left by Tom.

Some say it was crazy how you met Tom. You had just moved to London after your job had you transfer to run their UK division from your cozy, well-known New York office. You were so excited for the opportunity for change, even though you loved your NY team. You were desperate for a change of pace, so it was only natural for you to say yes to the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Not too long after you moved, you were checking out the scene that engulfed your new apartment, and had stumbled on a cute & quaint coffee shop. You walked in, and was in the middle of picking up your coffee when you felt a stiff, dark figure bump into your left shoulder, causing the coffee to spill everywhere.

You let out a small gasp as the scalding cup of coffee landed on the sleeve of your grey sweater. How in the hell does this happen to me? You were about to curse out the person who bumped you when you looked up and saw what was the most beautiful boy you had ever seen.

He was dressed in all black, with the collar of his pea coat cuffed up to cover his neck from the London cold. He definitely looked to be about your age, maybe a bit younger if anything. He had the most gorgeous head of dark brown curls, and they looked so glossy and soft under the warm lights of the dim cafe. His dark brown eyes were wide with fear (probably because of the scowl you were sporting) and embarrassment, but still there was a glimmer of something else you couldn’t make out. His chiseled face was flushing a deep red, and his mouth was hung wide open.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry, love. I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t see you there and-“

“No, no, it’s okay,” you sighed, feeling the creases of your forehead lift at the sight of the boy in front of you. “It was an accident, it’s all good.”

“Oh, good,” the boy relaxed, “because I thought you were gonna full-on beat me up.”

Your ears perked at his charming British accent, something you still hadn’t gotten used to after being in the UK for about a week at that point. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry. It’s not usually a good thing when someone does what you did where I’m from, guess it was a quick reaction.”

“It’s okay, darling,” the boy smiled. “Where I’m from, it’s usually a cause for conversation with a pretty girl.”

“Hmm, is that so?” You felt your cheeks get hot at his comment and tried to flush it down by feigning confidence. “Well that’s a funny way to get someone’s attention. Guess that’s how it is over here, innit?”

“Yeah, it’s an unusual way, but it works quite often for me,” the boy winked at you as you felt the heat return to your face. “I’m Tom, by the way.”

“Hi Tom, I’m (y/n),” you replied, sticking out your hand to reach Tom’s already outstretched hand.

After that initial conversation, the two of you sat down in that coffee shop and talked for hours, getting to know one another. You found out he was an actor, and that he had just left New York after filming the new Spider-Man movie, and he found out you were from New York and the reason for your move.

Ever since that day, the two of you were inseparable. Even Tom’s friends and family would comment at how he always seemed to be by your side, but it never traveled over that line. That invisible line between friends and lovers, despite the fact that it felt like you two were always dancing around that line.

You were pulled out of your thoughts at your phone dinging, signaling another text coming through. However, it was not Tom that was ringing you this time, but Harrison, Tom’s best friend who was also yours.

Haz: dude, if you don’t get your 🍑 over here ASAP, tommo’s gonna combust 🙃

You: lmao, I’m coming!!!! Tell the div to chill and I’ll be by within the hour 💃🏽

You type away, and went to your contacts and searched for Tom’s number, hitting the call button as you peeled yourself out of bed to grab some caffeine.

“You know, a simple reply would have been really great, (y/n). Almost gave me a heart attack,” Tom’s dramatic voice filled your kitchen after not even one ring.

“Well good morning to you, too. Tommy, you know Saturday’s are my days to sleep in. Not everyone has the requirement to wake up at ungodly hours on weekends to exercise,” you chuckled. Sometimes, being friends with an actor can be so... dramatic.

“It’s a part of the job, darling. This is my line of work,” Tom replied, and you could hear the sarcasm dripping in his voice.

“Sorry your line of work sucks,” you snorted as the beeping of your coffee maker sounded, signaling the end of the brewing.

“(Y/n), are you seriously still drinking coffee? We have to change that - you’re a Londoner now!” Tom shouted.

“No way, Tommy. I’m a New Yorker through and through, and there is no way I’m gonna have tea before coffee. Once a New Yorker-“

“Always a New Yorker. I know,” Tom interrupted, causing both of you to laugh. “So, darling, when are you popping on over?”

“Soon. I still have to get presentable, you know. Can’t come over in my pj’s,” you speak while taking a big gulp of the sweet caffeine in your favorite mug. It was a mug Tom and Harrison had given you for Christmas, and it had a picture of the New York City skyline covering the entirety of the mug. They gave it to you because it was the first Christmas you were not able to go home, so the two of them, Tom’s brothers Sam & Harry, and you guys’ other best friend, Tuwaine, brought Christmas in New York to you. Tom had organized the whole thing, and it made your heart swell.

There were so many moments in you guys’ friendship that twisted your heart in ways that should have killed you in the best way. But that day was the day everything changed for you. The way the day was planned, down to the gift that he and Harrison (but mainly Tom, because Harrison sometimes has a tendency of forgetting things) had gotten you, made you realize you were falling for your best friend.

It was hard not to - Tom is gorgeous. Like the kind of gorgeous that could take your breath away. And what made it even better is his sweet heart. He loved people with his whole heart, and he always made sure everyone who was around him was well taken care of. Despite his movie-star status, he still remained humble, which was so admirable to you.

“(Y/n/n), you could come over in a garbage bag and it would still be acceptable in my house,” Tom giggled, interrupting your thoughts.

“Oh hush, you. Okay, lemme get ready and I’ll be there in 30!”

“Okay, darling! See you soon!”

With that, you hung up and padded over to your room. You opened the sliding doors of your closet, sifting through the cozy linens and sweaters lined up in color order. London was a lot colder than New York during the fall, which you appreciated, but sometimes it got hard finding an outfit to fit this chilly weather. So you went with your go-to.

Working in the city taught you a lot about fashion, especially working with a fashion magazine. You were always up-to-date on trends because of it, and being editor-in-chief, it was necessary. Most people would go for a full-on sweatsuit with old sneakers, but your mind was trained to always look put-together, even when you were being “bummy”.

You pulled out your black jogger sweatpants and a long-sleeved, white, cropped graphic tee with an artsy-looking face on it, and your undergarments. You threw it on, and fast-walked to your bathroom, where you washed your face and brushed your teeth. Afterwards, you put on a little bit of concealer, blush, mascara, and eyebrows, and ruffled your hair out of its bun. You didn’t care to style it because it was your day off, and you were just going to hang out with your best friends, so it was highly unnecessary. Also, you were having a pretty decent hair day, so you just went with it.

Before leaving, you grabbed your black and white-speckled pea coat and slid on some pointed black flats. You took your keys and purse, and before opening the door, you grabbed your phone and headed out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, you pulled up to Tom and Harrison’s apartment and hit their buzzer four times. You hear the lock click, and you quickly walked into the warm building.

You could hear the chatter of multiple boys behind the door of their apartment before opening it. Tom and Harrison always knew to leave the door unlocked when you came over, mainly because of laziness, but it was definitely more of a comfortability, which you didn’t understand.

“You know, boys, having your door unlocked is super dangerous. I could’ve been a murderer for all you know,” you shouted as you stepped into the cozy modern apartment.

“(Y/n), we know it’s you. You have such a unique buzzer, so we always know,” Harrison rolled his eyes as he walked over to give you a hug.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Where’s the fussy boy at?” You replied as you were taking off your coat.

“Over here!” Tom perked up from behind the massive dark grey couch. His wet, post-shower curls bounced up from over the cushions, his face painted with a huge grin.

“What are y’all doing?” You asked as you made your way over to sit by Tom on the couch. While walking over, you saw the heads of more familiar sets of brown curly hair turn to face you.

“We’re looking to see where we all wanna go next on holiday, (y/n/n)!” Sam, one of the twins grinned.

“Yeah, we’re going on holidayyyyy!” Harry, the other twin, perked up, his grin reaching the freckles that lined his cheeks.

“No way! Is this what you were bugging me about, Holland?” You bump Tom in the shoulder as you sat down.

“Yes! I told you it was urgent! We need help finding a place,” Tom replied, tugging your arm in fake desperation.

“Okay, okay. Let’s look and see what we can find,” you sighed, eyes lighting up in playfulness at his response.

You took out your phone and began searching. It felt like forever, because there were so many different places you guys looked at. And it seemed like everyone was saying “no” to everyone’s ideas.

Twenty minutes later, your landed on a page talking about this island in the states that you had never heard of. The header of the article read, DMITRI ISLAND: THE BEST DESTINATION YOU NEVER HEARD OF. You figured, hmm, this could be worth a shot. You skimmed the article quickly, and as you were reading it, you knew in your heart this was it.

“Hey, have y’all heard about this? There’s this island that’s off the coastline where there’s only a population of 110 people, and there’s all this historic stuff about it and the only mode of transportation is golf carts,” you said, scrolling through the beautiful photos of the island you found on google.

“No I don’t think I have. What does it look like?” Tom asked, leaning over your shoulder as you scroll through. He rested his cheek on your shoulder while his curious brown eyes scanned the screen, causing a faint blush creep onto your face.

“Guys, we’re supposed to be looking for vacation spots, not desolate islands,” Harrison groaned into his phone, giving your right arm a little shove.

“Oh come on, Haz, this is a vacation spot! There’s multiple accesses to the beach, a live lounge where music plays all throughout the weekend, a tequila distillery, and a massive golf course in one of the hotels that are there,” you laugh, returning the shove into his left arm while wiggling your eyebrows.

“A golf course?! Mate, we’re definitely going. (Y/n), book the ferry tickets!” Harry perked up from his current binge of Stranger Things on the enormous SmartTV to jump out of his seat, shaking Harrison’s right shoulder in agreement.

You had to laugh to yourself at your friends. They were all so different, and such dorks, you just couldn’t help but admire their banter and energy. “Alright, y’all, the ferry tickets are booked. Vacation, here we come!”

A chorus of shouts and cheers erupted in the expansive living room of the boys’ apartment as the excitement and promise of a relaxing vacation starts to become a reality.

You know the boys needed this vacation, especially Tom. They all have been working so hard to get their careers on the path that they desire, and Tom has his fair share of craziness this past year. With Far From Home, Endgame, the press tours, and his other projects that were coming up, you knew he was exhausted beyond belief. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he desperately needed a break from reality. And that’s what you vowed you would do - get him and the boys a chance to breathe without people constantly bombarding them with questions, invading their personal life.

You were determined to make this vacation worthwhile, and as you looked down at Tom, you saw a new glow lit deep within him. His smile was practically taking up his entire face, he had a small flush of pink on the apples of his cheeks, and a glint of excitement in his deep brown eyes.

And it was a glow you wanted to continue seeing in him.

A glow you wanted to be the reason for.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb

[whispers-of-gallifrey]

As We Sit By the Fire

This is my @classicwhosecretsanta gift for @monsterfisken, who asked for Nyssa and Tegan hurt/comfort. I’m...not sure about this, but I really hope you like it! I’ve also done another fic that doesnt follow any of your prompts, but I got the idea from them so I’ll post that next. Happy Holidays!

Set after Emerald Tiger, but before Prisoners of Fate

There are approximately 17 sitting rooms in the TARDIS, all located somewhere within the vast confines of the Gallifreyan ship. Approximately because the TARDIS likes to change things up every so often and the Doctor is never entirely sure whether it’s a new room he’s stepped into or if it’s Room 3 but with a different carpet, or is it just Room 1 every time?

Anyway, this story takes place in what is probably Sitting Room 12, but it might be 18. In any case, it’s a room with sofas and armchairs and a fire.

The atmosphere of this room was warm and welcoming. The aforementioned fire crackled and flickered, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The scent of pine needles hung in the air- the source of which was a large tree in the corner. Despite its positioning, this was the centre piece of the room, adorned with sparkly tinsel and ornate baubles (in his 3rd regeneration, the Doctor tried to claim these had been given to him by a God-like creature in the Mutara Nebula, but Jo said they looked exactly like the ones she’d seen in the antiques shop last week.)

It was positively cosy, and should have been a room entirely at peace.

So naturally, an argument was taking place.

“I don’t understand, Doctor,” Turlough complained, “Why are we celebrating Christmas?”

“Because, Turlough, it’s been roughly a year- relatively speaking of course- since we last celebrated it. Besides it’s rather good fun!”

“It also means we get cake and presents!” Tegan chipped in helpfully

Turlough looked at her.

“Oh come on, Turlough! Don’t be such a Scrooge!”

“Doctor! Tegan’s using Earth culture references again!”

“Well, you should know that one- you went to school!”

“Yes, and I do not need to be reminded of the time spent listening to my English teacher droning on and on about how this guy was dead to begin with!”

The Doctor stepped between them, arms raised in defence. “Alright, alright you two. Tegan, stop winding him up- don’t argue- Turlough, we are celebrating Christmas as a group and that means getting on, okay? I’m not putting up with you two squabbling any more till this holiday is over.”

The two exchanged sullen glances (although both were on the verge of bursting into laughter at the other’s expression.)

“Right! Good that’s sorted. Now, I am going to see if there’s anywhere or time on Earth we could visit that you would enjoy.”

“Good luck actually arriving there,” Tegan muttered.

The Doctor gave her a look that told her he wasn’t even going to dignify that response with an answer, then left the room.

—

“All I wanted to know was why we only seem to celebrate Earth holidays- holidays from merely one religion at that! Why do we never do one of mine – or Nyssa’s?”

Tegan had been about to reply with ‘you barely talk about your home- it took an entire kidnapping for us to even know something!’, but the mention of Nyssa silenced her. Their companion was in the room, yet hadn’t spoken at all- which wasn’t unusual in itself- but she hadn’t even attempted to stop their bickering, which was unusual.

Glancing towards their peacemaker, they saw she sat in the armchair, gazing deeply into the fire. The soft glow reflected of something on her cheeks. Tear tracks.

Tegan and Turlough turned to face each other and, in the silence of their stare, they came to an understanding. Turlough mumbled a non-specific excuse and dashed out the door. Tegan made her way carefully over to Nyssa.

“Did Turlough really just mumble “a non-specific excuse”?” She joked.

Nyssa made no indication of having heard the quip and continued to observe the fire, as if it held all the answers.

Tegan’s demeanour changed in an instant, from sarcastic Australian, to concerned friend. She stepped closer, making to perch on the arm of the chair; slowly she reached her arm out to place it round the Trakenite’s shoulders.

At the contact, Nyssa glanced up, eyes glistening with untold sadness.

“Oh…Tegan, sorry I didn’t notice…” she trailed off, eyes returning to the fire.

“Hey, hey it’s alright,” Tegan’s usually abrasive voice was soft and soothing, “What’s the matter?”

“It’s n-nothing Tegan. I’m fine.” Nyssa dabbed at her eyes with the cuff of her jacket, carefully ignoring Tegan’s stare. It wasn’t a very convincing lie.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll be forced to guess and you know what my guesses are like!”

Nyssa let out a shaky laugh at this, hopefully remembering the last Christmas the TARDIS team celebrated together, where they’d played charades and Tegan spent 10 minutes trying to guess what Adric was acting. Suddenly that moment felt, to her, like an eternity ago, and it must have felt even longer for Nyssa. When she’d left she’d been younger than Tegan, and now she was many years older.

And we’ve swapped one annoying brat for another, Tegan thought, trying to ignore the pang of grief tugging at her memories.

Her happy memories of all the banter, the frustration of all the arguments, the calm of the private moments she shared with Nyssa. Their family had changed so much-

That’s when it clicked.

Family.

“You- you miss your family don’t you?” she asked, emotions suddenly threatening to overwhelm her.

Nyssa nodded, then whispered, her voice catching slightly, “All of them.”

Tegan wasn’t certain on how to respond, so she asked: “Do you want to talk about it?”

–

Nyssa’s first instinct was to shake her head, but she knew bottling it up would only cause it to overflow at a later date- better get it done now, then she’d be better prepared to help others later.

Taking a deep breath (and a moment to consider her words) she began:

“All this talk of mentioning Christmas, it makes me think of all the other festivals and holidays in my life- making me realise all I’ve lost. I miss everything. I miss my family. My father, my mother, Kassia.

“On Traken we had this festival of light. It would be celebrated at the completion of every orbit our planet made of the sun, to remind us…”

The sun was beginning to set for the final time in that rotation. Dying rays of dazzling orange cast dark shadows across the land. It was not a scary sight; these shadows were dancing along with their owners, to the soft melodies that hung in the air. In a few moments, the lanterns would be lit, holding the light until it was the sun’s turn to lift it again. The festival would continue until the rays began to peak above the horizon, signifying the new beginnings for the Traken Union. Despite the advancing darkness, the atmosphere was light, laughter intertwined with the music and love was at the very core. The laughter and love were at their strongest between a group of three people. A man, a woman, and a young girl. The girl was wearing a brand-new dress; flowers adorned her chestnut hair. The other two were her parents, laughing at her joy as she swayed to the music, loving with all their hearts as she came back to them for hugs. They say Utopia cannot theoretically exist, but this must be the closest ever achieved.

–

Tegan’s own eyes were glistening with tears after listening to Nyssa recount the beauty that was Traken in the twilight.

“Wow…that sounds so…perfect…”

“It was. Back then, those nights felt like they would never end. But now-” She took a shaky breath. “But now they’ll never start again.”

Tegan gazed into Nyssa’s eyes. Eyes full of so much sorry and tragedy, but Tegan knew they could shine bright with hope and intelligence, and she’d do all she could to bring that back.

—

It was a few moments before either of them spoke, and when they did, they began discussing Nyssa’s children

“They’re the most wonderful children anyone could ever ask for. Neeka is strong and brave- she’s like you Tegan. A bit sarcastic and argumentative but she always knows what’s right. Adric is intelligent like his namesake – though he definitely eats less!” The two laughed gently at that.

“And Lasarti- he’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. He’s kind and…I love him”

Tegan tried to ignore the jealousy twisting at her heart. This was about Nyssa, not her feelings.

“Tell me more about them. What holidays do you celebrate on Terminus then?”

“The last thing we celebrated together was Lasarti’s birthday…"

The girl had spent hours trying to perfect the cake. It was slightly more difficult that synthesising an enzyme, but it was manageable. It had to be perfect. Her brother was creating a distraction to prevent their father from discovering the surprise, asking him hundreds of questions about his work- a topic the boy usually showed no interest in. When the cake was finally complete, the girl presented it with a flourish. Their father laughed in delight and declared it a masterpiece, although it was a little burned in places and she'd accidentally used salt instead of sugar in the top layer. Their mother looked on, smiling softly. Her son made the cake for her birthday and it had been an interesting mess of colour. They spent the evening playing games and the boy repeatedly refused to admit he was in the least bit tired because he's a teenager now and doesn't need to be told what to do. He fell asleep curled up to his sister, who fell asleep on top of him. The parents shared an adoring glace and decided to sleep in there with them.

 "...And, despite all the horrors in the outside world, it was so cosy and peaceful…” Nyssa trailed off, the warm atmosphere fading like the embers in the fire “…t-that was the last time we ever spent together as a family”

“Nys…” Tegan replied softly, her heart breaking.

Nyssa brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Tears ran anew down her cheeks.

“I lost my parents, Adric, my family. I lose everyone. I’m- I’m cursed! Don’t you see, Tegan, it’s only a matter of time till I lose you too!”

“You won’t lose me. I won’t leave you”

“You left before”

“No. You left me at Heathrow. And besides, you left too. But we both came back and that’s what matters.”

“You’ll get back to them, Nys. You’ll deliver the cure for Richters and save millions- billions of lives! You’ll become a universal hero and your children will love you more than ever!”

Nyssa lifted her head and gave a tearful smile. “I appreciate the sentiment Tegan, I wish I had your optimism.”

Tegan hugged her tightly, impulsively, “You will see your children again Nyssa. You will. They’ll be overjoyed to see you and you’ll celebrate so many holidays together” She paused, “…but at least make the most of these ones too”

Nyssa gazed up at Tegan, and returned the hug, “I will.” She pressed a kiss gently to her cheek and whispered

“Thank you”

—

“Ah, there you are,” the Doctor stepped into the room, “You know, I could have sworn this room was closer to the console room. Anyway, we’ve managed to land at a Frost Fair in London so if you…”

He trailed off as he noticed his two companions. They were curled up together like kittens in the armchair, fast asleep, expressions of peace and contentment on both of their faces.

#classicwhosecretsanta #monsterfisken #doctor who #Nyssa of Traken #tegan jovanka

[nofomoartworld]

Thinks: Fulla Abdul-Jabbar

Hello, and welcome back to thinks you can think. 

This week we welcome a text by Fulla Abdul-Jabbar, titled Exquisite Dog.  This piece has me re-thinking my relationship to my phone, to television, and to the devices (now, open platforms) that circulate images. Seemingly innocuous things like pics of cute dogs can circulate as something far weightier…raw data…that newest instrument for generating wealth. Before I threw out my old phone I was careful to download the last few pics I took with my childhood dog, Po:

Po loved every human he ever met, chased nerf balls with gusto, and slowly went deaf in his old age.  We bonded over the dirty, band-aid festooned beaches of Lake Erie, where we would go for long runs.  Po would bark at dogs of far too great a size and I would get angry because he refused to pee outdoors. Today I’ll think of the data that remains as a trace of Po, circulating online like a virtual exquisite corpse.

Yours, Meg

_______________________________________________________

Exquisite Dog

by Fulla Abdul-Jabbar

ONE

A large shaggy black dog with a tiny blue bow waits for her owner to finish at the ATM.

*

A dog sticks his tongue out while he and his owner wait for a table for brunch.

*

A dog outside of a grocery store watches shoppers go through the silver and glass revolving door. Her ears wiggle in a horizontal motion as she readjusts herself to get a better view.

*

A leashless service dog slowly trots around a college campus. Many strangers pet this chubby corgi.

*

A dog yawns at Starbucks, stretching in way that the hood from her striped reindeer hoodie flops over and covers her eyes.

*

A dog on the beach looks nervously at his owner who is waiting for him in the water. After a couple of false starts, the dog joins him.

TWO 

For some time, I have been taking pictures of strangers’ dogs. People ask me if the strangers whose dogs I photograph mind that I’m doing it. I try to be discreet because I suspect that they would mind. Although I have never had a confrontation with an owner, I often feel guilt when I am reminded that my actions are observable.

*

I was inside of a shop and there was a small dog outside of the glass window where I sat. I leaned backwards in my chair, balancing on its hind legs, to snap a photo without the lines from the metal bars obscuring my image. I crashed back into my normal seated position when a barista behind me noticed what I was up to and shouted, That is such a cute dog! My picture became a white dog blur over a gray concrete blur. I have many blurs in my collection.

*

On my morning walk to work, I saw a dog alone tied to a streetlight—an unusual sight in a residential neighborhood. The dog had curly brown hair and was sitting facing towards me. I took a photo on my phone as I walked towards it. Coming closer, I noticed no discernible human and decided to take another, more detailed, photo. The dog barked twice. The first time a dog had acknowledged my action.

THREE

Many say that they find humans disappointing, so they prefer to turn to the animal world for companionship. J.R. Ackerely was a known curmudgeon who gave up on people and was devoted in his life only to his German shepherd, Tulip. To understanding her through intimate observation. His book-length essay, My Dog Tulip chronicles with a searing focus the mundane details of her life. Tulip’s name, in fact, was not Tulip but Queenie. Most often, this name change was attributed to Ackerely and his publishers’ fear of ridicule since Ackerely was a gay man in 1950s Britain. But Lucas Mann, in an essay about the book, suggests that the name Tulip was the result of another cause—to preserve Tulip’s privacy.

*

I was on the phone with my sister who was telling me a long story. Hold on, I told her, and I continued walking silently for a few moments with the phone to my ear. What happened? she said. There were three Pomeranians in a stroller, I told her. And I had to look at them.

*

My main problem with interaction with dogs is that I conflate them with people and particularly with babies. I am not close enough with anyone with a child to discuss the matter thoroughly in a way that is inoffensive to the parent. (I am not sure that there is any of level of closeness that would achieve that.) But a part of me does believe that I don’t know how to interact with dogs because I don’t know how to interact with babies. I understand this is wrong. My questions as I formulate them in my mind not only seem to miss the point but also seem to me to be morally reprehensible. I imagine the face of the poor parent who might receive these questions. How do you talk to a baby (or dog) who doesn’t understand you? What do you say? Is it not rude to pet dog you don’t know in the same way that it would be rude to hold a baby you don’t know? If a child (dog), in addition to being her own individual, can in some ways be thought of as an extension of the parent (owner), is it not invasive to document the dog’s (baby’s) beauty?

FOUR

Reality television star and restaurateur Lisa Vanderpump also claims to respect the animal—and specifically, the canine—world more than the human one. Often a central figure in the human conflicts on the Bravo series The Real Housewives of Beverley Hills, her Season 6 series tagline was, “I’m passionate about dogs, just not crazy about bitches.” She is a strong advocate against animal abuse, and she is also the owner of large number of pets including “seven turtles, eight swans, two ponies, and eight dogs,” as she once catalogued.

In the other Bravo network show she is part of, Vanderpump Rules, Lisa is less of a dramatic figure and more of a structural guiding principle. The show centers around the servers of her restaurant SUR (an acronym for Sexy Unique Restaurant) and the dramas associated with being 20- or 30-somethings looking to make it in LA. Although the casts’ personal lives on Vanderpump Rules are not less successful than those of the women on the Real Housewives franchise, they are younger and certainly enjoy considerably less financial success. So they often turn to Lisa for advice and often while visiting her beautiful home, Villa Rosa. When she sits with a young, hapless server in her home, she often has one of her many dogs in her lap showering them with kisses. True to her style, her animals are often dressed in pinks and silks and glitter and feathers. In the marketing for the show, Lisa always sits at the center—a queen overlooking her empire. In her lap sits Giggy, (arguably) her favorite dog. When watching the shows that Lisa is part of, I often wonder: Is a dog in a mansion a happier dog? I think probably yes.

FIVE

On the phone, my sister is telling me about a game of exquisite corpse her friends had played. I had never heard of the game. She described folding a piece of paper into sections and then each person drawing a body part from an animal in their portion, concealing it from the rest of the players. This usually results in an entertaining mixture of drawing styles and absurd anatomies—probably especially entertaining if all the friends you play with are artists, which was true in this case.

It was sad then for her friend George, who informed the group that he couldn’t draw. Or rather, he could only make technical drawings of iPhones. So that’s what George did. Every time someone passed him a blank section of a page to fill.

Head of an owl—arms of an octopus—a human torso—iPhone.

Head of a dog—bat’s wings—iPhone—crocodile tail.

iPhone—snake neck—elephant trunk—chicken legs.

And so on.

*

On April 2nd, The Chicago Real Estate Wealth Expo took place. “One Day Can Make You A Millionaire!” the subway advertisement claimed. The ad also featured a long line of TV personalities posing next to each other. At the center, with his winning grin and carefree stubble, was Tony Robbins promising a three-hour Sales & Motivational Training session. Underneath the other speakers was a short description of their job title or affiliated TV program. Suze Orman was a “Personal Finance Guru”; Christina El Moussa was a “TV Flip Star”; Ryan Serhant was from “Million Dollar Listing NY”; an editorial oversight named a man Shark Tank and described him as a “Daymond John.” In this lineup, I was confused to see standing among them, in a conspicuous bow tie, Pitbull who was throwing off the unity of real estate and motivation. The surprise presence of Pitbull reminded me of another phone conversation with my sister.

“Is Pitbull a rapper?” I asked her. “Is what he does called rap?”

“Did you know that Pitbull has diehard fans?”

I tried to imagine an adolescent’s room lined with photos of Pitbull.

“Well he’s like Flo Rida.”

“Is Flo Rida a rapper?”

“…Yes?”

I think the event organizers may have had similar confusion because underneath Pitbull’s name was not “Rapper”—was not even “Musician”—but, underneath “Pitbull,” appeared the words “Special Guest.”

I wondered what makes Pitbull special. Special because he is an entertainer? Special because he is unlike the rest in the chain of celebrities? Special because he is impossible to categorize? Special because he is Pitbull? But Pitbull, I think is not so different from the others at the Real Estate Wealth Expo. I’m sure he’s wealthy and has real estate. I’m sure he likes living in a mansion.

*

Fulla Abdul-Jabbar is a writer and artist living in Chicago. She teaches at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and is the Assistant Editor at the Green Lantern Press. 

Sunday, September 22nd Edition of The EXPO Register

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