“I don’t drink coffee — how do you not know I don’t drink coffee — and the painkillers aren’t /working/. If I throw myself from the top of the Tower, do you think it will hurt less?”
“Miss Summer, half of my life consists of making Mr. Stark coffee. As far as I’m concerned, it could be a plausible solution to any issue. And no. Besides, do you really want to leave your cats in Mr. Stark’s care?”
“Ugh, god, no. You’re right, Tony would use them for experiments probably. Buttered toast and cat monorails. Ngh. I’m hydrated, the painkillers are worthless, I didn’t hit my head on anything that I know of — did someone come in and mug me in my sleep?”
[text: summer] as in it is literally a convertible or as in that’s an estimation of your trunk space?
[text to: Stiles] both
[text to: Stiles] if it worries you I’ll just come over to your place and we’ll take your car
[text: Summer] i’m not worry about a convertable [text: Summer] but i can just pick you up with roscoe if you want [text: Summer] seems pretty silly to have you come over if we’re just gonna take the jeep anyway
[text to: Stiles] you live closer
[text to: Stiles] trying to save you gas it’s expensive
[text to: Stiles] I’ll be over there in ten minutes
That did it. She sat up a little bit, just enough to go looking for the ticklish spots. “Can’t help it,” she shot back, in between return prodding. “You lie like a rug.”
“That was the worst pun,” he said, trying his damnedest not to sound amused, as he retaliated in kind and tried to deflect her hands. “Ever.”
“Best I could do,” she claimed, giggling and pushing his hands away. It was hard to do both, but she managed a few telling shots. “I hate puns, but sometimes … ” A shrug turned into a squirm away as he found one of her weak points, and then she couldn’t talk for laughing.
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Careful, don’t pull please,” she breathed, caught between half-pleasurable pain on the one hand and half-painful pleasure on the other. “You,” she went on, babbling, “you aren’t fair, saying that, you have me, you could do anything you wanted with me. Oh, god.” The last words slid out of her mouth on a long moan.
Murmuring a soft apology, Isaac tilted his head to the side and tenderly continued to gently squeeze and massage her breasts. “I want all of you, Summer. I want…I want to learn what makes you feel good, and do it to you over and over and over again…” He hummed and then swallowed up her cries by pressing his lips to hers in a needy, passionate kiss.
In her mind, she carried on begging, hands braced against his chest, even as he kissed her breathless. Desire pushed their earlier claims, to wait, that they weren’t ready, out of her head, and she bit at his lip gently. She could feel his erection pressed against her where she straddled him, and squirmed against it, instinctively seeking pressure, friction.
This is definitely awesome, but I sometimes worry about these arguments that we should fund NASA because the science they do has other applications. We should fund NASA because science, and the pursuit of knowledge of our universe, are important. Science doesn’t need immediate practical applications to be worthwhile – because a) we don’t know what practical applications will come out of it and that’s why we do the science, and b) even if it has no immediate practical applications, the pursuit of knowledge is a worthwhile and important goal for any society.
I worry that if “but practical applications!” is our argument for science, the people allocating funds will say, quite reasonably, “but aren’t there other, cheaper ways to get there?” To which the answer is yes – we could have developed image sharpening software for other purposes. We probably even would have eventually. But we never would have learned the millions of things Hubble has taught us about the universe. And that’s a sad thing to contemplate.
Don’t get me wrong, I am all for finding practical applications for things, but when you wonder if NASA should receive 1% of the federal budget -which, BTW, is actually about twice what NASA is currently funded for – don’t forget the primary purpose.
