#GO GET HIM FLOSSY

[charliemwrites]

A reader x Simon commission piece I just recently finished for my sweet bean N.W. I had a lot of fun writing a little scenario I never would have thought up on my own!

(Reader is described with FAB anatomy, but no gendered pronouns are used. No sensitive content warnings, just spice.)

It’s a perfect day.

The sun is a bright golden marble in a perfect jewel sky, toasting the sand into a powdery bed. There are only wisps of flossy cloud to interrupt the light, a feathery salt-soaked breeze to soften the edge of heat. The water is nothing but lazy ripples, foamy waves crawling up the coastline before slithering back.

And your coworker is soaking wet.

When you first signed on as a lifeguard, you didn’t expect more than some extra pocket money. A little financial cushion while you finished working through your master’s program. A chance to get some sunshine instead of holing up in your room. Maybe the occasional bit of eye candy while you fished children out of the shallows and fussed at families for littering around the barbecue grills.

You didn’t expect Simon “Walking Wet Dream” Riley. (Okay, that’s not his actual nickname – apparently it’s “Ghost.” Because of course it is.) You didn’t expect his big, fuck-off muscles, or his perfect sun-bleached hair, or the dark ink of his tattoos, or…

Well.

You got more than just eye candy when Mister Price hired you. Simon is a whole damn feast. Especially when he’s fresh from a cool-down swim, red trunks weighed down by water and tides, revealing the tantalizing curves of his hips. Droplets skittering over the bulges and divots of his body, sparkling in the sun…

“Excuse me?”

You try not to jolt, head jerking to the guy that hopefully hasn’t been standing there too long. He looks about your age, maybe a bit older. Wavy, chin-length brown hair and eyes nearly as blue as the water. Pretty, in a young Instagram prince kind of way. Maybe your type in another time – the time Before Simon.

“Hi,” you say quickly, “did you need something?”

“Do you have any plasters?” he asks. “My little brother scraped his knee.”

You glance at the kid shuffling just behind him, his knees dirtied and one red with a bit of blood. Nothing serious, you determine, but could use some first aid.

“Oh, poor thing!” you say. “C’mon, we have some bandages in the shack.”

You wave to get Simon’s attention, make the quick hand-sign indicating you’ll be gone for a moment. He notices you, the two boys, then nods and makes his way back to his usual lookout spot.

The shack is a quiet, cool oasis away from the heat. You’ve dozed off next to the mist fan more times than you care to admit, only to be woken by Simon pressing a cold water bottle to your cheek. It used to annoy you, but now you appreciate the reminder to hydrate.

There’s a robust first aid kit in one of the cabinets, though you groan a bit when you see how high Simon’s stashed it this time. Damned tall man; you could swear he does it on purpose. You try to reach it on your toes, but when that doesn’t work, you jump a bit. Still no luck. You’re going to have to get the stepstool at this rate.

“Here, I’ve got it.”

You jump a bit as Insta-Prince comes up behind you, sliding in close before you can scoot out of the way. He stretches his arm over your head, tugging the kit down from the shelf. When you glance up – concerned about something falling on you – you find him smirking down at you.

“Thanks,” you say trying not to snatch it out of his hands.

“Seems like an… inconvenient place to put that,” he muses.

You sit the younger brother on a plastic chair near the door and kneel, kit open on the floor. “We usually keep it lower… I think Simon forgets I’m shorter than him.”

The kid winces a bit at the sting of wound wash but puts on a brave face when you smile at him.

“Seems pretty rude. Is he hard to work with?” Insta-Prince asks.

You hesitate, trying to think of how to respond. Simon was intimidating, at first. Dark eyes and stoic expression, he was difficult to read. Always within a stone’s throw, you used to feel like he was hovering. Like he didn’t think you could do your job right.

Over the months, though, that insecurity has bridged into a tentative friendship. Even if he’s not talkative himself, he lets you chat to your heart’s content. Keeps you hydrated, reminds you to eat snacks and apply sunscreen. Even handles the rowdier beachgoers when they break rules, his bigger stature and sharp glare enough to cow even the most entitled people.

“No, he’s—”

“What’s the hold up?”

You glance up at Simon’s broad form angled in the shack’s doorway. His eyes aren’t on you or the kid, though. They’re on Insta-Prince – standing a little close to you, now that you’re not focused on the younger brother.

“Just finishing up,” you answer, smoothing a waterproof bandage over the scrape. “You did great, buddy, high five!”

That earns you a little smile and the requested high-five as the kid hops out of the chair. When you stand, Simon’s eyes flick to you. Darker than deep water, something swimming within that you can discern from the surface. It makes you fidgety, like you’ve been caught out doing something you shouldn’t.

“Remember to log it,” he rumbles.

“On it!” You lean over the wooden counter to pluck the clipboard from the wall on the other side, relieved that someone put the pen back for once.

“So, you have to write down all the injuries people get?” Insta-Prince asks, trying for casual conversation. The air feels oddly stifling, and gets worse when he settles closer, peeking around to see the sheet.

“Just if we use medical supplies,” you answer, scribbling quickly.

“Lifeguards only in the shack, kid,” Simon interrupts. “Get moving.”

You try not to snort in amusement. While Simon might tolerate you, he’s got a general disdain for most beachgoers – ironic considering how adamant he is about safety. But he seems to find the average person a nuisance to be constantly monitored and herded away from trouble. Like a shepherd with a flock of particularly stupid sheep.

“My brother was hurt, man, give me a break,” Insta-Prince protests, annoyed.

“And now he’s not,” Simon replies. “You should catch up with him. Kids need to be watched, isn’t that right, sunshine?”

You hum absently in agreement, signing off on the injury log with your initials. There’s a beat of silence that itches at the back of your mind. When you look up, Simon’s arching an eyebrow at the guy, thick arms crossed across his barrel chest.

Sir, firearms are not allowed on the beach, you think, before wrenching your eyes from Simon’s biceps.

“Did you need anything else?” you ask Insta-Prince.

“Just what time you get off work,” he replies, giving you big, soft, hopeful eyes.

You blink, a bit shocked. Flirting happens rarely for you, except maybe platonically with Soap or Gaz. To be fair, you’re not exactly the female lifeguard idol that most people would fantasize about. Half the time you jog around in shorts and a rash-guard, more comfortable in unisex swimwear and keeping the worst of the sun off yourself. Helpful to avoid wardrobe malfunctions if a panicking swimmer grabs at you.

Besides, you’re not really looking to get hit on. Hard to keep an eye out for emergencies if someone’s chatting your ear off for a shag by the restrooms. (You didn’t think people really did that until Farah groaned about it at the bonfire when you first hired.) Still, now that it’s happening… you don’t hate it. This guy is objectively attractive, apparently cares about his younger sibling enough to get him first-aid, and is weathering Simon’s increasingly annoyed scowl.

You figure there’s no harm. Not like someone else is showing a similar interest.

“At sunset,” you answer. “So, uh…”

“6:30,” Simon offers.

You shoot him a grateful look as the kid begins scooting for the door, skirting around Simon’s wider, thicker frame. Christ, the difference is stark. You tug at the front of your rash-guard to relieve some of the sudden heat.

“Maybe I’ll see you then,” he says before disappearing around the corner.

You stare after him for a second. He didn’t even ask for your name. “Huh.”

“The hell was that, sunshine?” Simon grouses.

You turn to him and shrug. “No idea.”

“Really now?” he scoffs.

You shake your head, already agitated by the whole thing for no reason you can pinpoint. Lean over the counter again to hang up the clipboard. “Really.”

“This isn’t a place for your silly summer fantasies and little meet-cutes,” he growls. “This is a real job, with real lives on the line.”

You twist around, brows furrowed as your mouth drops open in offense. “I know that.”

“Do you? Then why the fuck were you in here flirting?”

“I was helping the kid,” you argue, “you saw him!”

“Real convenient, that. When the older one’s been eye-fucking you all damn day.”

Any snappy retorts drown in the shock of his crass language and the accusation. All day? That guy? And Simon noticed? Never mind all that – Simon would seriously think you’d use a kid’s injury as an excuse to… what? Get cozy with an attractive stranger while on duty?

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you huff, “but I need to get back out there.”

As you pass, a big, rough hand snaps out and catches your elbow. You come up short, half-turning towards him, face hot. Equal parts angry and ashamed for some reason. Summer romance your ass.

“Get it together,” he orders.

You click your tongue at him. “Same to you.”

You wrench your arm back and storm out onto the sand, snatching your floatie from the shack railing along the way. Don’t know what jellyfish stung his ass, but you hope he figures it out. Don’t think your self-esteem can take another round of… whatever that was.

The rest of the day passes tense and slow. Without Simon to talk to, and the beach relatively peaceful, you’re left to fixate on the incident in the shack. What was that about? You thought for sure you’d grown on Simon a bit. Sure, you’re one of the younger lifeguards, which is why Price assigned you to Simon’s post, but you’ve worked hard. You thought you’d proven yourself.

Checking your watch, you find that it’s nearly 6:30. The sun doesn’t seem that low yet, but the beach got empty while you were idly keeping watch. Might as well pack it in, you figure.

Not even thinking of Insta-Prince when you hop up the little wooden steps to the shack. Simon isn’t back from wherever he’s monitoring yet, and you’d like to be clear before that changes. Just in case he’s still in a bad mood.

You shed your blue swim-shorts and rash-guard on the counter, leaving you in the more standard one-piece. Roll your shoulders a bit uncomfortably, itching to squeeze into your binder after a day with tits-out. You’ve gotten accustomed to the sensation of leaving it off for the job, but you’d still prefer to wear it when safe.

You flop onto the counter, reaching over the side to fish your bag out from its cubby. Of course, that’s the exact moment that you hear Simon’s heavy step on that creaky board by the doorway.

“Bloody hell,” you think you hear him mutter.

“I’m just about to head out,” you assure him.

“Meeting up with that knob?”

Your temper flares. You abandon your bag and land on your feet, spinning around. Come up (very) short when Simon’s right there, not enough room to breathe without your chests brushing. But you don’t allow yourself to be deterred.

“So, what if I am?” you challenge.

His eyes darken, then narrow. “This isn’t a game you want to play, sunshine.”

“Maybe I do,” you insist, planting your hands on your hips.

He exhales slow and heavy, boxes you in against the counter with hands on either side of you. Your stupid, traitorous heart skips a beat, then trips into double time. Normally he wears a rash-guard too, but not today. No, today it’s swathes of tanned, scarred skin. And it’s so, so close to yours.

“You won’t win,” he warns.

Your tongue feels heavy and clumsy, maybe because your thoughts feel the same way. Now, you’re not always the most aware of “signals,” but there aren’t many other ways to interpret someone near-pinning you to a counter with smoldering eyes.

You scramble to review the earlier confrontation through a new lens. The way Simon glared at Insta-Prince, not you – until you seemed open to his interest. Oh. Ohhhh.

You wet your lips; the way his eyes lock onto the movement bolsters your courage.

“What if… I don’t want to win?” you ask.

His eyes dart up to yours, something a little sharper than longing when he whispers, “I’d make you a sore loser.”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of you; his teeth flash in a crooked smile as he scoops you up so easily. He sits you on edge of the counter and steps between your thighs, pelvis bumping against yours. You gasp, head dropping to stare wide-eyed at the frankly monstrous bulge in his trunks.

“W-wow,” you mumble faintly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

“C’mere, sunshine,” he growls, cupping your jaw.

You tilt your face up, sigh softly as his mouth slots over yours. He tastes like blue powerade and sea salt, tongue curling against yours when you grant him enthusiastic access.

Your hands make scattered, eager work of exploring him, unsure where you want to touch first, just that you have to. He’s as solid as you always expected, densely packed muscle under healthy, hydrated layers of fat. Sun-warm beneath your palms, shudders as your skim them dangerously close low on his twitching abdomen.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging gently at the shoulder strap of your swimsuit.

“Yeah,” you mumble, wriggling closer.

He huffs in amusement, peeling the elastic material over your arms and down your chest while you scatter kisses over his jaw and neck. You gasp into his peck when his calloused thumbs brush your hard nipples. Just a small touch, yet electricity is racing up and down your spine.

“This alright?” he checks.

You hum the affirmative, pressing into his touch as he pinches and rolls the sensitive peaks, slow searching. Reclaims your mouth to swallow each and every little mewl and moan that spills off your tongue. You can’t help rocking against him, hot and hard through the thin layers of swimwear.

“Simon,” you whine against his mouth, “c’mon.”

“Impatient,” he teases, nipping your bottom lip.

“You’ve kept me waiting long enough,” you complain, tugging at his trunks.

“I know, sunshine,” he coos, “just wait a bit longer.”

He takes the tiniest step back, fingers hooking in your swimsuit again to roll it the rest of the way off. You lift your hips to help, nearly squirming as strings of slick web between the fabric and your pussy. But Simon seems hypnotized, snapping the strands with his fingers and following them back to your swollen cunt.

“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” he rasps.

You make an embarrassed noise – which quickly graduates into an alarmed squeal when he drops to his knees.

“Simon, wait, I’ve been working all day and—”

“Don’ give a fuck,” he growls, “I’ve been dying to taste you for weeks.”

He yanks your thighs over his big, strong shoulders and dives in. It’s messy and obscenely loud, filling up the tiny shack and all the empty space in your head. Would be embarrassing if you had any room for something so frivolous. Instead, you’re gone on the way he sucks your clit and laps thirstily at your entrance. Utterly obsessed with the deep, throaty groans that leave you throbbing.

It's been a while, true, but you know he’d have you on edge so fast regardless. And he does, rushing up on it like a building, rolling wave. The devastating kind that’ll drown you in unyielding currents.

“Wait, wait,” you squeak, tugging at his coarse hair.

To his credit, he stops instantly, though he sounds absolutely gutted about it. Pulls back licking his lips like a cat with cream, chin practically dripping.

“Alright?” he asks, voice shredded to ribbons.

“I just,” you pant, “I just w-wasn’t ready to – to… I wanna cum on your cock. Please, Si?”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He surges up, pressing you down flat to kiss you stupid(er) and senseless. The taste of you isn’t as offensive as you expected, not coming from his tongue. “You’ll get anything you want if you keep talking like that.”

“Just want you.”

He helps you off the counter, drags you by the wrist to the plastic chair by the doorway. You’re about to protest – no way can that chair support someone his size, never mind both of you. But then he’s spinning you around, crushing you to his chest, and yanking you down into his lap. Any such nonsense as good sense dissolves like a sandcastle.

You can feel the length of him pressing hot and a little wet against your spine. (So, so high up your spine, good god). When he freed himself from his swim-trunks, you’re not sure, nor do you care at this moment. Your priorities narrow down to one absolute necessity: getting him inside you now, now, now.

“Easy now, baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he purrs in your ear. “Let me help.”

He curls big hands around your hips, tight enough that you relish the bruises that may bloom there later. Supports your weight as if it’s nothing to him, propping you over his lap as you line up his cock, dragging the flushed head through your pooling wetness. He curses low and rough, sinking you down until the tip catches on your entrance.

“There we are,” he grits, hands flexing in your soft flesh. “Nice and slow now, sunshine.”

If you had your way, he’d already be balls deep in your aching pussy. But his grip is firm and unrelenting, lowering you inch by thick inch down his shaft. You back and squeeze around him, encouraging him deeper, faster, helpless little noises escaping from your gaping mouth.

“That’s it, halfway there,” he breathes. “Doing so well.”

You choke. Halfway?! You already feel stuffed, walls gripping every contour of his cock like you were made for him.

He twitches inside you, bulbous, leaking head grinding deliciously, and your resolve cracks right down the middle. You dig your nails into his thighs and slam your hips down, crying out as he buries deep inside. Can feel him nudging your cervix, stretching your silky walls, all the way down to where your opening is sealed tight around the base of him.

“Fuck,” he snarls.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper, head falling forward as you clench around him.

Oh, you are definitely going to be so perfectly sore after this. You can’t fucking wait.

“If you’re that impatient to be ruined,” he chuckles breathlessly, “best brace yourself, lovie.”

You barely manage to get your feet planted before he’s fucking up into you, hard and mean. Just what you want, what you need. Your head falls back to cry your pleasure to the shack roof as you bounce. Rocking your hips each time he bottoms out, grinding him against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you. It’s mind-numbing; you’re leaking around him, know it must be dripping onto the floor at this point.

He snakes a hand around to your front. Brushes where the two of you are connected, the strange and dangerous sensation making tears prick at your eyes. Then his fingers skip up to your needy, oversensitive clit. You almost want to stop him, already so overwhelmed with pleasure. But again, anything like coherent thought is ripped away on a tide of ecstasy when he begins rubbing quick, tight circles.

Your rhythm faulters at the new stimulation, but Simon just widens his stance. It changes the angle, drags the head so perfectly against your g-spot. With the hand still on your hip, he starts jerking you down to meet each thrust. It’s slightly slower, but so much sweeter, combined with the rhythm he’s strumming on your clit.

Your orgasm rises like a tsunami, higher and higher, a devastating force building up inside.

“Simon,” you keen, “Simon, I’m gonna – right there…”

“That’s it, sunshine. Get me nice and wet with your cum.”

That voice, saying such filth in your ear, sends you over the edge. You nearly convulse, eyes rolling back in your head as you scream. Back arching, writhing and gripping crescents into his thighs. And you can feel yourself gushing all over him, onto the floor.

“Yes, yes, fuck, just like that.”

You’re near limp as he keeps hammering into you, practically using you like a toy to get himself off. The thought alone makes you squeeze around him again, a powerful aftershock bringing another flood of wetness. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, crying into his ear, begging him to cum inside you, fill you up…

He crashes his mouth into yours as he cums, groaning into your lax mouth, jerking violently into your overstimulated pussy. You swear you can feel him spurting inside you, thick and white-hot. It feels… it feels…

You break the kiss to suck in a deep breath, lightheaded and still squeaky with pleasure. Simon trails soothing kisses over your shoulder, grip easing up to caress over the forming finger marks. You hum softly, voice husky. Flutter your eyes open and blink at the pink sky out the window.

“Is it… is it just now sunset?” you ask.

Simon chuckles against your ear. “Looks like I was about thirty minutes off. Whoops.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #commissioned work #ko fi commissions #simon x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #lifeguard au #beach au #simon ghost riley

[littlexscarletxwitch]

Hi I would like to request Florence Pugh X reader where reader is Florence's brothers best friend and is secretly sneaking around with her. They fall in love and then someone catches them making out or something. Toby finds out about them and he's pissed at reader but she tells him how much she loves Flo and they end up together. Happy ending pleaseee

Love your work <3

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘆 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲

paring: florence pugh x fem!reader

tag(s): best friend's sister trope, fluff with a tiny bit of angst, secret relationship, toby and r are besties, raffie is just there for the drama lol

warning(s): allusion of sex, lying, grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 2.0k

note: YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS TROPE (like ASKJSHDKSKERJAKJDLADJ). Thank you for this request, you lovely person, I hope you like it! I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Hope you all enjoy. Lots of love, M <3

requests are open! + check my rules + masterlist <3

You were currently laying on her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat, as she traced small circles on your naked back. 

"This is nice," you hummed. Eyes closed, enjoying every second of it. 

"Yes, it is," Florence agreed, smiling to herself as she watched you drifting off to sleep. 

But suddenly a loud knocking, startled the both of you, breaking the bubble the two of you were wrapped in. 

"Hey, Flossie. Have you seen my yellow shirt? The one that Arabella got me," Toby said as he opened the door, your heart skipping a beat at the realisation: your best friend was about to walk in to you and Florence, his sister. "I can't find it—." 

Florence's hand was fast enough to cover up your mouth before a sound came out of it. 

"Toby, no! I'm naked!" Florence yelled, which was true. But she was more concerned about Toby finding you there, in her room, more than seeing her naked. 

Actually, it was a double concern since you were also naked and laying next to her. With just one look at the two of you, Toby would figure out everything the both of you had tried really hard to hide from him these past 3 months. 

"Oh, Jesus," said Toby, quickly covering his eyes, luckily without noticing you were also there. "I'm sorry, but have you seen it?" he tried again. 

"Get out of here!" 

"Alright, fine," his eyes were covered, but you were pretty sure he had just rolled his eyes at his sister. "Just let me know if you see it," he said before closing the door. 

The two of you stayed in silence for a few minutes, waiting for him to be really gone. The breath you had been holding finally escaped past your lips once you didn't hear Toby's footsteps anymore. 

“Is he gone?” you asked in a whisper. 

“I think he is gone.”

“I don’t hear him anymore.”

“Yeah, I think we are good.”

“You think so?”

“I think so.”

Once the two of you were sure Toby was long gone, you felt your body finally relaxed into Florence’s arms. 

“That was a close one,” she whispered, afraid that Toby would hear the both of you somehow.

“Yeah, I think we should tell him,” you turned to her. “Don’t you think?”

“I, um, I don’t know, Y/n. It’s kinda complicated,” she said, scratching the back of her neck.

“I know, but he’s only going to get angrier if we let more time pass by.”

“I just I don’t think we should tell him if we aren’t really sure that this is not just us hooking up, you know?” she regretted ever saying that as soon as the last word left her lips.

“You think we are just hooking up?” disbelief filled your tone. 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I just—.”

“Jesus, Florence!” you scoffed.  “You could have told me that I was just your ‘fuck buddy’,” you said getting up from the bed and putting your clothes on. 

“No, Y/n! I swear I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, standing up and putting on an oversized t-shirt as quickly as she could. “I just– I don’t know how you feel about me, about us,” she gestured to the two of you, desperate to explain herself before you walk out the door. “I just got insecure and over-thought things for a second. Just let me rephrase it, okay?” she said, reaching out for you.

You just let her take your hand, leading the both of you to sit on the unmade bed, and you waited in silence for her explanation.

She took a deep breath and finally let out the words she had been holding back these past months: “I really like you, okay?” she chuckled, but there was no trace of fun. “No, that’s not it. I think I might be in love with you,” she confessed her heart out to you.

“Really?” 

“Yes, really!” a thin smile formed on her perfect soft lips. “I didn't want to tell Toby because I thought that if he were to find out about this… about us, then you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. I didn’t want to lose you,” she licked her lips. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Your lips opened and closed, unsure of what to say next, but wanting nothing else but to comfort her.

“I think I might be in love with you too,” you said once you found the words, biting your bottom lip, in a failed attempt to stop you from smiling. 

“You think?” she asked hopefully.

“Oh, no. I don't think so. I am sure of it,” you giggled, a soft red hue creeping over your cheeks. “I've had the biggest crush on you for years now. So yeah… there's that,” you looked down at your feet, unable to meet her eyes.

It took Florence a full second to jump on top of you, causing the both of you to fall on the mattress. She, somehow, wrapped her arms around your body, holding you tightly against her and started to leave soft wet kisses all over your face.

“Okay then, we tell him alright?” she said once she was done kissing you.

You nodded, a smile forming on your lips, “We tell him,” you said before taking her lips in between yours.

[...]

The both of you lied, unintentionally that is. Too caught up in your own little world, neither of you realised that two weeks had passed since your agreement and Toby was still clueless about you, his best friend, dating his sister. But lies have short legs.

“You’re so pretty,” you mumbled on Florence's lips in between kisses. 

“You're prettier,”  she whispered. 

“Flo, anyone could walk in any second,” but still your lips wouldn’t dare to leave hers.

“Just five more minutes,” she said, as her hand slipped under your shirt. 

Your back arched like a cat against the couch. It was comfortable really, the two of you, pretty much dry humping, on the tiny couch. But she somehow made it work, all because she wanted some time along for the two of you. 

“So this is what you two are up to,” you heard someone say. 

“Shit.”

“Fuck.”

“I knew it,” Raffie smiled to herself. “I fucking knew it!” She was now clapping and laughing, as if she had been told the funniest joke ever.

“Raffie, not too loud,” you said, trying to keep her quiet. 

“Shut it!” Florence said, annoyed at her little sister.

“Raffie?” but it was too late. “What are you laughing at?” you heard Toby said before walking into the living room. You watched his smile drop once he had a full picture of the three of you. 

“Toby, I…” you tried, but the words wouldn’t come out. 

“Why are you on top of her?” he asked Florence. Toby knew the reason why, but he had to ask. “Y/n, why is my sister on top of you?”

“Tobes, I swear it’s not that big of a deal, okay?” Florence jumped in. 

“My sister and my best friend…” you prepared yourself for the worst. “...had been lying to me,” and then you realised that nothing could have prepared you for that. Because Toby didn’t look angry, or resentful, or furious. He looked hurt, disappointed, confused and heartbroken.

“Toby, please just—,” his sister tried to speak.

“I don’t care that you two have been fucking around, that’s your bussines,” he said bitterly. “I care that you two lied, and only God knows for how long,” he muttered, storming off. 

“Oh, shit,” Raffie couldn’t help herself, getting a glare from her sister. “Right, sorry.”

“No, fuck that,” you run after him. “Toby! Toby, wait up.”

“Y/n, wait” Florence said, now running after the two of you. 

“Okay, I won’t miss this,” Raffie said, quickly following her sister.

“Just hear me out, okay?” you said, once you got ahead of him, making it impossible for him to leave. Actually, he could leave if he wanted to, he was stronger than you, all the times the two of you would play ‘fight’ when kids had proven it to you. But he stayed. 

“Okay,” you said, swallowing the lump that had formed on your throat. “Remember all the teasing, the jokes, the comments about me liking Florence?” you waited for him to answer but he only nodded. “Well, it was all true, Tobes. I really like her, I have for a while now,” you smiled. “No, fuck that, I love her, okay?”

Florence felt her tummy sink, she had to get used to hearing you say that you loved her. 

“Yes!” Raffie cheered to herself. 

“I didn’t tell you about us, because I didn’t want you to be upset. But now I realise that lying to you was a shitty thing to do. 

“Really shitty,” he nodded. 

“I’m really sorry that I lied to you. You are my best friend, I shouldn't be keeping secrets from you. I don’t want to lose you, Tobes,” you huffed, tears burning your eyes. “I really am sorry.”

After what felt like an eternity of silence, he spoke up. “You won’t lose me, Y/n,” he breathed out. “I get it, you like her,” he huffed. “Of all the people you could have had, you chose her,” he said, rolling his eyes, but there was a tint of mischief in his voice. 

“Hey! I’m here,” Florence pretended to sound hurt, but she was glad Toby was giving in.

He glared at her, before counting. “Still, it doesn't make up for the lying.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Just promise me you won’t lie to me ever again, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise,” you quickly nodded. “I pinky promise,” you said, raising your finger.

He looked down at your finger while a smile was forming on his lips, he remembered the first the two of you made that kind of promise: he was 6 and you were about 5, at first he had laughed at you; but then he realised how much it meant to you, and then he understood that you would always keep to your promises. It became your thing. The small gesture warmed his heart because he knew that this time it wouldn’t be any different than before. 

He looked back up at you, and after he playfully rolled his eyes at you, he hooked his finger with yours. Once the pact was sealed, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly against your body. 

“I love you, Tobes. I’m really sorry that I lied to you,” you whispered into his shirt. 

“Love you too, Y/n,” he said, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Now, get out of here,” he said, carefully pushing you away and toward Florence. “I need a drink, you guys want a drink?” he said, making his way inside the house, not really expecting an answer. 

“Well…” Florence said, wrapping her arms around your waist, as you placed yours on her shoulders. “That wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” she chuckled. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” you smiled at her before connecting your lips to hers, but stopped once you heard some clearing their throat. 

The both of you looked at the source of the noise, “Too soon?” Florence joked. 

“Oh, shit, sorry,” you quickly mumbled. 

“No, it’s okay. I will have to get used to this eventually,” Toby said, gesturing to the two of you. Before taking his final step inside the house, he looked at you with a stern look. “She’s my sister, if you hurt her I’ll deal with you” he then looked at Florence. “She’s my best friend, same thing goes for you.”

You, kind of, expected that ultimate at some point, but not for Florence to receive the same one.

“What?” he said as he realised how confused the two of you looked. “I care about the two of you, okay? Don’t fuck it up,” he, sarcastically, smiled and finally left your sight. 

“Well, that was… interesting. But now it’s over so I’m bored again,” Raffie said. “You guys want to watch a movie?”

The both of you looked at her and burst into laughter, relief washing over the two of you.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x fem reader #florence pugh x you #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh imagine #best friend's sister trope ft toby lol #littlexscarletxwitch's fic #requests by lovely anons ‘๑’

[yusakiiiii]

New group nicknames!!!

I’m making a little fanfic when the Hermits (bar Xisuma for reasons) end up in the Life Series. I’ve tried to make new groups mostly to test out new dynamics and I’ve tried to give those groups names either made by other members or what fans would call them. Here you go:

Iskall, Stress and Etho — The Vaulters — Because having Iskall and Stress taught Etho Vault Hunters before, Etho is now teaching Iskall and Stress the Life Series.

Zed and Tango — A.S.S — Because the gimmick of the season they’re in in the fanfic is that each member has a power given to them, which is easier to do in a fanfic than in actual Minecraft. And I of course gave Zedaph the ability to make sheep levitate. Tango is along for the ride, trying to land in rivers after he hits build height on Flossy the third.

Beef and Skizz — Big Salmon — Because they moved over from Hermitcraft in the fanfic, they’re keeping the rivalries from the server and Beef wants to use the chance of a Life Series to mess with Doc.

Jevin and Gem — Slimestone — This name was coined by Skizz. He calls Gem, Gemstone. With that it’s just a simple portmanteau.

BDubs and Joel — BDubs and the Beanstalk — Joel’s power is that he’s 11ft tall. This name was also coined by Skizz and subsequently adopted by fans.

Ren, False, Hypno and Grian — Hearts, Arts, Smarts and… Farts. Or “HAS Farts” for short — Coined by Skizz, Ren said they were a pretty ragtag group and Skizz said, “You’ve got Heart” looking at Ren, “Martial Arts” looking at False, “Smarts” looking at Hypno, “and… Farts.” looking at Grian. Fans took that moment at they became “HAS Farts”.

Wels, Joe and Cleo — Soldier, Poet, King — The fans made this one up entirely. Joe and Cleo understand the reference and Wels is a bit confused by it.

XB, Keralis, Scar and Impulse — The Farmers — Definitely my least imaginative name, but three of them have powers related to farming in some way and Impulse is a Farmer type hermit in the HCTCG.

Doc and Mumbo — Shrek and Fiona — Doc just wants to work in his swamp and Mumbo goes to live with him. They get into nitty gritty Redstone together whilst trying to ignore Beef and Skizz.

Pearl and Cub — The Powvestigators — They go around trying to help people who haven’t figured out their powers yet, figure out what powers they have. Investigating powers, thus, Powvestigators. In doing so they also try to find out people’s weaknesses for their own gain under the guise of trying to help.

What do you think of these groupings and team names? Do you have any better suggestions? I’m all ears, the only one I will not budge on is HAS Farts. That group name is comedy gold.

#hermitcraft #life series #fanfic #nicknames #impulsesv #skizzleman #grian #joel smallishbeans #pearlescentmoon #iskall85 #stressmonster101 #etho #zedaph #tangotek #vintagebeef #hermitcraft jevin #geminitay #bdubs #rendog #falsesymmetry #hypnotizd #welsknight #Joe hills #zombie cleo #xbcrafted #keralis #goodtimeswithscar #docm77 #mumbo jumbo #cubfan135

[marvelous-harry]

pls pls pls write more harry/florence/reader IM BEGGING. i love it so much

A short little sweet something to kick off my return! x

--

"You know, staring out the window won't make Florence come home any faster," Harry said from behind as he came into the living room.

I was currently standing by one of the windows facing the street and was scouting for any sign of Florence coming home from her Christmas break. "You don't know that. Maybe the driver can sense it and go a little faster," I told him simply as I kept staring out the window.

Harry chuckled and came over, wrapping his hands around my waist. "Come here, let's go upstairs and finish unpacking," he pulled on me slightly.

"Noo, Harry! Have to stay here and see when Flossie comes home! I haven't been this long away from here since... last time we were apart," I told him as I looked at him. He simply had to understand that it was very important to be here when she came home.

"Baby, I promise as soon as she walks through that door you can hurry on down to see her but until then you're coming upstairs with me alright?" Harry gripped my face gently and gave me a little smile.

I let out a little whine and glanced out the window. "Okay but no takebacks! As soon as she's here I'm leaving," I told him sternly.

Harry held out his hand for mine as he smiled. "No take backs I promise,"

Taking his hand I followed him upstairs and groaned as I took in the state of my suitcase and bags. I'd gotten as far as to open everything and dig around slightly after we'd gotten home late last night. Taking a seat down on the floor next to the bags, I started to slowly sort my clean clothes from my dirty clothes.

Harry was pretty much done already, I mean he did have some serious experience with traveling and unpacking.

"Harry," I whined as I looked at him. "Want Flossie," I pouted.

He sighed and took a seat on the bed before patting his lap.

I hurried over and sat down, wrapping my arms around him. "She's coming, right? She did text you she was coming home?" I asked as I looked at him.

"Florence is coming home, she did text me when she left her parents' house. But there's a lot of other people coming home from holidays as well so there's bound to be a lot of traffic," Harry stroked my cheek and gave me a little kiss.

"Okay," I said quietly.

Harry fell back against the bed causing me to let out a little shriek. His fingers found my sides and he started to tickle away.

"Nooo, Harry! No tickling!" I laughed as I wriggled around and tried to get away. "Daddy!" I giggled.

Harry grinned and stopped as he heard a noise downstairs. "Go on, think that's her," he said and let me go.

Jumping up, I hurried down the stairs. "Flossie!" I shouted as I ran over and quickly gave her a tight hug. "Missed you so much!" I gushed as I felt her arms wrap around me too.

"Oh darling, I missed you too! Give me a kiss," Florence grinned as she pulled back.

I eagerly planted my lips on hers and hugged her again. "Mmmm, my Flossie," I mumbled into her coat as I closed my eyes.

#harry styles fan fics #harry styles imagines #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles fanfic #harry/florence/reader

[bradandchris]

Brad knew there was no more clear or better place to be free to express yourself, to be who you are without judgement, and to promote positive self image of men who like men, than a fiercely competitive nationally televised drag competition that culminated in a paraded showdown of its self-proclaimed losers deemed so via unquestioned, ambiguous, and unwritten rules.

Did you get all of that? Read it again if you need to. The library will be open for a minute.

It was true. Just in the last ten minutes of that show viewers were forced to jump through more flossy hoops than in Fergie’s earring collection just to justify their own sanity and get hooked for another episode. It was hardly surprising straight women could relate. When it came to meeting the many sets of expectations and double standards put forth by society, were we not all consumed in various orders of intricate dance?

Brad knew he could make anything WERK in part because as a gay man he had to from the get go. He could make whatever was thrown at him WERK in the very same sense slapping the word irony on anything instantly made it ironic. The difference of course being irony didn’t actually take any work. What presented itself on the show was WERK, a hole different level (yes, hole is spelled correctly), and according to gay legend that made drag OK.

Anyone could make something ironic, and it’s usually by accident. Where it gets tricky is doing it with any thread of intention. You sure better make like Madonna and make it an art or you are that person wearing the printed t-shirt and the embroidered hat that does speak truth as proclaimed but don’t realize it’s actually about them.

Eeek. That’s always painful to come across for many reasons. For one, it’s a good guess the poorly threaded failed to friend any gay men or black women because neither have the time for something like that. Each would save the other a step at the register and likely ask for the money since they’re just throwing it away anyway.

Slap a WERK on instead, and what you already knew to be nothing is suddenly something because the gays navigate more than a google of hoops just to walk out that front door. Yes. That was worth repeating.

That’s right. No need to ask ladies, the ‘Amens!’ are are all up in here already. It is just how it is right now. At least that’s what it felt like to Brad.

As many in the erotic dancer and male model industries, Brad held no doubt that show went mainstream via the same well mirrored thread as the flick Pretty Woman just with the reverse set of players. Not everyone was on board, but it was enough sassy razzle dazzle in the right place at the right time with just enough tattered frames of attention to get through.

Both earned enough money to let ruffled feathers go, and it remain tolerated by the others as it’s understood as a one time deal. Once deemed ironic something can’t be made more ironic. The same notion apparently applied here.

Brad also knew if you make the impossible WERK the first time, you’re not going to go through it again. It’s far too exhausting and who wants to live by the skin of their teeth where they already do? You’ve been there. You are there. You made it happen, and any decent queen knows how to make her peace…

‘Did everyone not see the mf rain just now?!? Sky. Water. Fell. You’re welcome. Ok then. I gots to go!’

The door slams and that’s what happened.

WERK!

The show goes on because it must.

It was here Brad heard the snap of his own finger.

Pulled out of his own thoughts and still leaning against the palm tree in his shiny new speedo, Brad realized he was really gay. Like really really REALLY gay.

Brad let out a sigh and took note of his bulge.

Well, that certainly explained having a boyfriend.

It explained quite a bit actually.

Looking at things a little closer, Brad could say this much as to his newly realized gayness…

As long as he put out, Brad felt confident his boyfriend Chris would be ok with everything.

And that he was.

#bradandchris #queer life #gay life #queer fashion #just gay things #speedo #ironic #werk #reason #queer stuff #being yourself #free expression #don't judge me #do but don’t #men in speedos #gay culture #gay comedy #higher thinking #oh the irony #really gay #model behavior #hunky men #speedo boy #gay stories

[marcmarcmomarc]

Kingdom Hearts IV predictions

Radiator Springs/Dinoco Rust-eze Racing Center/Fireball Beach/Thunder Hollow/Thomasville/Florida International Speedway (Cars)

Takes place after Cars 3.

Is visited by Sora.

It isn’t combat based. Missions include keeping up with McQueen’s top speed by racing down Radiator Springs’ main street, learning how to turn right to go left at Willy’s Butte, driving backwards with Mater, keeping up with Cruz’s top speed on Fireball Beach, avoiding pushy competitors with the Thunder Hollow challengers, and practicing with Cruz at Thomasville, culminating in the Piston Cup race at Florida International Speedway, where the objective is to win against Jackson Storm.

Sora enters the world as a custom-made car mixing a few real-life sports car models before visits to Luigi’s Casa Della Tires and Ramone’s House of Body Art end with him modified into a next-gen race car sponsored by Dinoco (with Tex’s blessing) and with Cruz’s number.

It’s set during Cruz’s first Piston Cup racing season, so McQueen still has Doc’s colors and spends the Florida race as Sora’s crew chief. Also, Ramone wears his “Saludos Amigos” body paint from the epilogue of Cars 3.

As Sora finishes his story, Mater is certainly unhappy with Xehanort’s actions forcing Sora’s hand. “That dad-gum Xehanort”, he says angrily. Extra points if Sora doesn’t get to the part where Xehanort is dead, then Sarge gets in his face and demands him to teach Xehanort a lesson when he gets back in a militaristic manner. “Is that understood,” Sarge yells. Then Sora tries to correct him, but gets cut off and asked again, “Is that understood,” and has to respond, “Sir, yes, sir!”

Of course, during the top speed races, Luigi is the one to signal the race to begin.

In the Radiator Springs race, Sora’s top speed is tracked by Sheriff’s speed radar, and on Fireball Beach, it’s via Cruz’s personal assistant, Hamilton.

If you fail the “Turn Right to go Left” mission, Sora goes flying into the bed of cacti, and Mater fishes him out.

“I don’t like to toot my own horn, but…” (HONKS TWICE) “Toot my own horn. That’s funny right there.” - Sir Tow Mater, beginning his backwards driving lesson, 2017

I know I’ll get hate for this, but Cars 2 elements are here. Heck, maybe Mater can’t be present most for the training because he’s busy with Finn and Holley. After all, does he still owe Holley a first date?

I wanted the player character in this world to be Kairi just so Storm can feel the embarrassment of losing to not one, but two “costume girls”.

The Piston Cup race is announced as a 500-lap race, but no game developer is that malicious to force the player to race 500 laps around an oval, so they’d take after the first Cars game and make it twelve laps with the sun slowly lowering throughout the race.

Starring the voices of:

Lori Alan as Millie

Carlos Alazraqui as Ronald

Cristela Alonzo as Cruz Ramirez

Eric Baudour as Noah Gocek

Brendan Blaber as Pileup

Ryan Blaney as Ryan “Inside” Laney

Jen Brown as Jambalaya Chimichanga

Burnie Burns as Herb Curbler

Corey Burton as Doc Hudson

Tiana Camacho as Airborne

Clifford Chapin as Dan Carcia

Tyler Coe as Bill

Will Collyer as Brick Yardley & Roscoe

Chris Cooper as Smokey

Bob Costas as Bob Cutlass

Django Craig as Superfly & Kurt

Andra Day as Sweet Tea

Robbie Daymond as Ernesto

Lea DeLaria as Miss Fritter

Aaron Dismuke as Will Rusch & Sudeep

Paul Dooley as Sarge

Jason Douglas as Junior “Midnight” Moon

Barbara Dunkelman as Cigalert

Kara Eberle as Laura Spinwell

Chase Elliott as Chase Racelott

Adam Ellis as Ed Truncan

Ray Evernham as Ray Reverham

Keith Ferguson as Lightning McQueen

Nathan Fillion as Sterling

Flynt Flossy as Paul Conrev

Gavin Free as Sheldon Shifter

Scott Frerichs as Jonas Carvers

Teresa Gallagher as Mater’s Computer

Grant George as Krzysztof

Blaine Gibson as Steve LaPage

Jessie James Grelle as APB

Christopher Guerrero as Run

Harvey Guillén as Gabriel

Todd Haberkorn as Junyi

A.J. Hamilton as Jackson Storm

Lewis Hamilton as Hamilton

Anna Hullum as Melissa Bernabrake

Bonnie Hunt as Sally Carrera

Garrett Hunter as Harvey Rodcap

Samantha Ireland as Liability

Jason Isaacs as Siddeley

Martin Jarvis as Finn McMissile

Lindsay Jones as High Impact

Michael Jones as J.D. McPillar

Corey Krueger as Rich Mixon

Nick Landis as Eric Braker

Larry the Cable Guy as Sir Tow Mater

Mick Lauer as Nick Shift

Jenifer Lewis as Flo

Yuri Lowenthal as Flip Dover

Miles Luna as Aaron Clocker

Joe MacDonald as Stephenson

Alex Mai as Todd

Michael Malconian as Jae

Wendie Malick as Louise “Barnstormer” Nash

Cheech Marin as Ramone

Aaron Marquis as Conrad Camber

Dustin Matthews as Fishtail & George New-Win

Jeremy Maxwell as Arvy Motorhome

Madeleine McGraw as Maddy McGear

Michel Michelis as Tomber

Emily Mortimer as Holley Shiftwell

Laraine Newman as Lizzie

Paul Newman as Doc Hudson

Jessica Nigri as Blind Spot

Richard Norman as J.P. Drive

Angel Oquendo as Bobby Swift & Aiden

Neath Oum as Spikey Fillups

Jason Pace as Faregame

Bryce Papenbrook as Shriram

Bob Peterson as Chick Hicks & Dr. Damage

Kyle Petty as Cal Weathers

Richard Petty as Strip “The King” Weathers

Kyle Phillips as Broadside

Connor Pickens as Chris Roamin’

Steve Purcell as Tractors

Guido Quaroni as Guido

Anairis Quiñones as Gale Beaufort

Jerome Ranft as Red

John Ratzenberger as Mack

Vanessa Redgrave as The Queen

Kevin Michael Richardson as River Scott

A.J. Riebli III as McQueen’s Biggest Fan

Zeno Robinson as Cam Spinner

Patrick Rodriguez as Taco

Jason Rose as Pat Traxson

Alejandro Saab as H.J. Hollis

Christopher Sabat as Prince Wheeliam

Anthony Sardinha as Jimbo

Ben Schwartz as Richie Gunzit

Tony Shalhoub as Luigi

Kerry Shawcross as Tim Treadless

Lloyd Sherr as Fillmore

Peter Sohn as Mr. Drippy

Gus Sorola as Hit

Shannon Spake as Shannon Spokes

Andrew Stanton as T-Bone

Daniel Suárez as Danny Swervez

Kaiji Tang as Pushover

Jen Taylor as Tailgate

Kyle Taylor as Barry DePedal

Maggie Tominey as Patty

Bubba Wallace as Bubba Wheelhouse

Michael Wallis as Sheriff

Darrell Waltrip as Darrell Cartrip

Howard Wang as Jim Reverick

Kerry Washington as Natalie Certain

Christopher Wehkamp as Tom W.

Humpy Wheeler as Tex Dinoco

Travis Willingham as Michael Rotor

Todd Womack as M Fast Fong

Back to index

#kingdom hearts iv #cars #radiator springs #rust-eze racing center #fireball beach #thunder hollow #thomasville #florida international speedway #lightning mcqueen #cruz ramirez #sir tow mater #cars smokey #team mcqueen #jackson storm #natalie certain #finn mcmissile #holley shiftwell #salqueen #mater x holley

[kattahj]

A tip to fans of the "Ghosts" TV show, whether the UK or US version: if you haven't already read the children's books by Eva Ibbotson, you should! They have a very similar vibe, with quirky ghosts making friends with humans. I am thinking in particular of The Beasts of Clawstone Castle, The Great Ghost Rescue, The Haunting of Hiram, and Dial-a-Ghost. (She has also written books about witches, adventure stories, and romances, if you feel like branching out.)

More info below!

The Beasts of Clawstone Castle is the one I remember best. In it, some children are trying to keep their relatives' castle from going bankrupt by hiring some ghosts and making it a tourist attraction. The first ghost they meet is Cousin Howard, who was a meek, shy man who has become a meek, shy ghost. Clearly no good for haunting! But they then encounter the following:

Brenda, a bride who was murdered on her wedding day and has been bleeding ever since.

Sunita, a magician's assistant who was cut in half for real.

Ranoulf, a former prisoner who looks like a romantic pirate but has a ghost rat gnawing on his ghost heart.

Mr. Smith, a former taxi driver who took dieting too seriously and is now a skeleton.

And a pair of big smelly feet that were cut off... somebody.

The Haunting of Hiram / The Haunting of Granite Falls is about a castle that gets sold to an American who doesn't want any ghosts in it, which leaves the already present ghosts homeless. They are:

Krok Fulbelly, a Viking warrior.

Miss Spinks, who is always throwing herself into water.

Stanislaus, "Uncle Louse", who used to be a vampire in his youth but then grew into a very old man in a wheelchair and eventually killed himself in his nineties.

Flossie, an angry poltergeist child.

And a ghost dog called Cyril.

The Great Ghost Rescue is also about a family of ghosts who are in danger of becoming homeless when their castle is made into a holiday resort. An added complication is that one of the sons, Humphrey the Horrible, is not at all horrible and in fact quite sweet, which is embarrassing for a ghost.

The other ghosts are:

The mom, a Hag.

The dad, a Scottish warrior who got his legs cut off in battle.

The brother, a screaming skull named George.

The sister, a wailing, bloodstained ghost named Winifred.

Aunt Hortensia and her disembodied head.

A big black dog.

Dial-a-Ghost is about ghosts being hired to haunt different places. One set are a nice family called Wilkinson. The others are a pair of terrors called the Shriekers. The agency hires the Wilkinsons to haunt a convent, and the Shriekers to haunt a castle, but accidentally gets the locations mixed up. The Wilkinsons arrive at the castle, where they find a boy called Oliver, whose evil relatives were hoping to scare him to death and inherit his money.

The Wilkinson family consists of grandma, aunt Maud, uncle Henry, the teenage ghost Eric (who is a boy scout), and the adopted daughter Addie (short for Adopta), who has a mysterious past: she was so traumatized by dying that she got amnesia, and nobody knows where she comes from.

All the books are cute and funny, and the ghosts are not necessarily always NICE, but always nice to get to know!

#bbc ghosts #cbs ghosts #ghosts uk #ghosts us #eva ibbotson #dial a ghost #the great ghost rescue #the beasts of clawstone castle #the haunting of hiram

[tallulah-caseys-misadventures]

I got impatient and I'm probably going to regret it tomorrow, but I ended up finishing this.

Tallulah and Finn are sort of cousins here, but like, not legally or biologically, purely through vibes and a broody grandfather. Finn thinks of her as the most normal member of the family, but sometimes she reminds him she's just weird in a different way.

Finn's 16, and I wanted to keep the two year age gap Tallulah had with Georgia, so she's 18 here and almost as tall as Will Nekton because I think it's funny. It would have been easy to connect Tallulah to the Nektons through her father and his interest in nature, but again, I thought this would be funnier.

She refuses to have anything to do with Hammerhead's feud with the Nektons, and advocated for both Finn and Maddy to get online schooling so they have options later in life. She's also doing a few online classes of her own, focusing on history and folklore with the intention of becoming a writer.

The all black outfit is partially because it makes laundry easier and doesn't show oil stains as easy, and partially because Tallulah has a couple personas she leans into as a pirate. She took inspiration from Flossie's Southern Belle affectation and has two main acts - Brooklynite businesswoman and Yorkshire cad. Brooklynite businesswoman comes out for hawking things on the floating market, Yorkshire cad comes out when people need to be intimidated. The Yorkshire cad persona may or may not have convinced someone (Alpheus) that she's a cannibal, but hey, it happens sometimes.

#Tallulah Casey #Smiling Finn #the deep cartoon #the deep 2015 #the misadventures of tallulah casey #my art #my comics #I have plans for some Tallulah-Alpheus interactions #and yeah Yorkshire Cad takes a lot of inspiration from Cain #but also Ramsay Bolton and the like #and when I say broody grandfather I'm only partially referring to the goth thing #he's more like a broody chicken who collects kids #including Alpheus's mother before Proteus got her out of the way #ignore whatever's going on with their faces in the second panel #I tried new angles and it did not work out

[tortoisesshells]

ooooh I wanna see a snippet of “abide Each by the rules that bind” 👀👀👀

this is the "Collinsport gradually realizes that Liz is actually never going to leave Collinwood again, and things will never be the same in this town" fic that I technically oughtn't to be writing until I get to the next arc about what actually happened to Paul, but hey. I know in my heart of hearts that man is buried in the basement, and it's more about Collinsport looking in than Liz looking out, anyway.

There wasn’t any mystery about grieving; it was the oldest story in Collinsport. Grief had made his mother careless. Burned on the iron. Clumsy with the knife. Tired, always yawning, never sleeping. Bill was youngest, and it had fallen to him to mind her – or maybe remind her, while Jack was at sea and Flossie was at Collinwood – until the tide of the year turned, and bent them all back towards warmth. Then she had sang. Picked up her beaten paperbacks again, of the evenings. Put little daisies in her hat on the way to the whitewashed church on the green. Liz, he reasoned, smarting, was in the irritable stages of it. He let the tongue-lashing pass over him, tapping on the table while he pieced out his words. “You’ve still got friends in Collinsport,” he said, finally. It didn’t halfway make sense, but it would have to do.  

what do you know. it's my guy being miserable.

WIP Folder Meme

#context? uh. idk. liz snaps. i'm working on it. #i'm just making shit up about the characters' backstories at this point. what's dan curtis gonna do. #polkaknox talks #tag meme #wip meme #fic #my fic #... sorta

[randombush3]

Floss Got Hot IV

florence pugh x reader

[series masterlist]

summary: exes and ‘oh’s…

words: 9216

warnings: smut, drinking, brief panic attack

notes: IM SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT MY LOVES

“As in your ex-boyfriend Zach?”

Flo looks horrified. And mortified. She feels sick.

“The actor Zach?” You keep going every second she’s quiet; “the old one? The one you lived with? The one that looks like—”

“Stop fucking holding that against me! I’m genuinely upset, Y/n.” You love her, but you’ve got to laugh.

“I don’t mind meeting him.” Maybe this is the side of you that needs to be humbled, Flo wonders. Your ego has got to be big if you’re not annoyed. “But why?”

She shifts her weight on her feet, uncomfortable. It’s a stupid reason. It’s such an LA reason. “We’ve got to do the dog handoff.” There’s no way you can’t laugh at that. She finds a cushion quick enough to hit you when you’re vulnerable. “I’m stressed about it.” Your girlfriend climbs over the back of the sofa onto your lap. You groan. You get hit by a cushion again. “You’re a terrible girlfriend.”

“Never sleep with your heroes.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m not scared of your ex, Flo. Is he coming to Budapest?” He better not be staying with you. You wouldn’t appreciate that at all. She nods fretfully.

“Staying for a night and then flying out to London. He hasn’t asked to stay with us but…”

“I have a whole hotel!”

“It feels rude. He’s bringing my baby, and he’s agreed that she can live with me most of the time.” Toby would crucify his sister for sharing custody over a dog, so Flo then asks you to keep it quiet. She won’t live it down at family dinners. They’ll be ruthless. “Can he… Can he stay?”

“Can we have really, really loud sex when he does?”

That’s your third strike. Next time she’ll hit you without a cushion.

“I agreed so you can’t be cross with me.” She can and she will. “Was that why you broke down multiple times today?”

“I’m nearly on my period.”

“You overthink.”

“Not all of us are perfect.”

Flo has noticed that nothing fazes you. You work and keep her feeling loved, you can drink too much and carry on like it never happened the next day, and she feels a little insecure. She feels that way because you’re intimidating. Someone that put together is intimidating.

“Flossie, how can I be perfect?” You sigh as she adjusts how she’s sitting, now with her legs either side of you and her forehead pressed against yours. “You haven’t seen me have a bad day yet. When I have them, everything goes to shit. Trust me.”

“I don’t believe you,” she mumbles, snaking her hands around your neck.

“One time I lost it and cried in a board meeting.” It was embarrassing. You had needed them to take you seriously but your emotions thought the opposite.

“I bet you were a baby.”

“It was six months ago,” you correct, smiling when she giggles. “And once I tried to talk to a Japanese investor in Japanese — we needed a lot of money from him and he needed more convincing. I thought I had told him his office was lovely, I said that I was horny by accident. They don’t even sound similar.”

She laughs outwardly. No longer trying to miserable, grinning. “That’s awkward.”

“Worst part was that he’d already tried to get in my pants the previous evening at dinner.” You swear you hear her say who wouldn’t try that, and find a way to fight off your blush and take the piss simultaneously. “You’re so in love with me.”

“Am not,” she declares. A futile denial but a funny one.

Bemused, you counter, “Has it been decades?”

“Decade,” replies Flo, rolling her eyes. “I’m not the one building a hotel for my girlfriend.”

“I hate the term girlfriend,” you groan, smirking. “I don’t want Zach to think you’re my girlfriend.”

“I’m not getting engaged to you.” Worth a shot. “You can’t ask me like this. That’s not romantic, you need to be romantic.”

“I’m not a romantic person, Florence.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t I know that.” Flo sinks into your lap now, getting comfortable. You know she’s aware of how tense you become, how your body temperature lurches up a few degrees, how if she grinds down ever so slightly you’d probably moan. In fact, she actively decides to be super still, no matter how uncomfortable it becomes, until you initiate something. You don’t like begging, but she loves being irritating.

After a minute, she breaks the silence. “Babe” — she never calls you babe — “can you turn on the TV?”

You’re drawn out of your fantasy in which this situation is a lot more favourable, forced to reach for the remote and carry out her wish. “Any channel?” A Hungarian news network suffices, lunchtime news won’t be aggressive.

“Y/n,” Flo says, voice low, “I’m giving you the most perfect opportunity to take my clothes off.”

You manoeuvre your head around her body, shrugging her arms off your neck. “I want to watch the news,” you dismiss. Through the reflection in the TV, you watch Flo remove her t-shirt (your t-shirt). She isn’t wearing anything underneath.

“No, you don’t.” You can feel her pressing into you, her bare skin against your organically-sourced, overly-expensive navy sweatshirt.

“You’re right,” you quickly amend, grabbing her hips and using them to recentre your view to her. ‘My eyes are up here’ would be a very appropriate statement right about now. “I don’t,” you breathe, “I really, really don’t.”

“Hm.” It’s a triumphant little sound. Definitely Flo one, you zero. “What do you suggest we do?”

“…Each other?” That’s one way to put it.

She pauses, as if debating whether you should be allowed near her after saying that, but concedes with a sigh, dipping her head down slightly to reach your lips. You smile into the kiss, only because you’ve managed to annoy her and frustrate her very successfully – not because being kissed by your girlfriend makes your brain go fuzzy and send you up to heaven. It could never be that.

Your hands were once modestly on her waist, but that is forgotten the moment you bring them to palm her breasts, teeth clashing against each other as you both realise how long it has actually been. Today, neither is too exhausted to tap out early or succumb to the other’s ‘let me take care of you’. It’s now a competition.

Flo has always put up a fight; right now it’s to stay on top. To make it so that your shorts are coming off first, not hers. She needs it, probably, to quell the insecurity that secretly nibbles at her, but you conclude that if you are going to truly make her feel better, you will need to be a challenge worth doing. Not that you’re ever not worth doing in her eyes.

Her lips, her tongue, her teeth become your everything, everywhere, all over you, biting down, sucking, running her tongue over your skin. You are consumed by her well-conveyed desire, all the while still kneading at her chest. She sits up on her knees as you lean into the plush back of the sofa, moaning softly at the sight of you. This is not a side of you many get to see, because not many have actually made you feel the way she does. Unrestrained, wild. Alive.

Panting and then catching your breath, you pull her into you, not caring if her elbow jabs your ribs. With, “we need to get away from these windows,” and a chaste kiss to her collarbone, you stand up with her legs locked around you, enjoying the display of strength. She waits only a second – the time it takes for you to pass the offending glass and reach the more private corridor – to continue her assault on every inch of your exposed body, and when you get to the master bedroom she is halfway through the removal of your sweatshirt. It’s disappointing to find that you’re wearing a bra, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a swift motion of her fingers. Flo has always been way better at taking bras off than putting them on, a fact she discovered when she first wrestled on Womanhood.

You grunt softly as your back hits the firm mattress, feeling the coolness of the sheets rush over the heat of your body until it is beaten the moment she’s on top of you again, this time with nothing else on. Willingly, you relinquish all control of your body to the woman kissing her way down your sternum, paying no heed to any neighbours as moans fall through your lips into the otherwise silent apartment. Well, silent save the murmur of Hungarian news. Her fingers dance their way up your inner thighs, but when your hips rise in pursuit of what should be there, they meet only emptiness and a throaty laugh from Florence.

“Don’t be mean,” you find yourself snapping at her. She draws her wandering hands back, and you feel a sudden shiver of coldness.

Though it does take a moment to see past your sexual frustration, you recognise the expression sweeping her features as one that you often catch in photos of you together. She has stopped to admire you. You want nothing more than to break the bed if she is going to keep looking at you like that.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispers, quiet because it doesn’t feel right to be loud and abrasive near you.

“Would I look more beautiful between your legs?”

And it hits you that this might be the first time you have sex and not need to be touched to gain anything.

Oh, and Flo almost dies.

By the time she has recovered from the life-threateningly intense emotions she just felt, you’re no longer underneath her. Nimble and experienced, you have rolled her onto her back, but she has to crane her neck downwards to find your body and face. You are patiently waiting for your girlfriend to come back to Earth, using the time to gather your stamina and regain control of your breathing.

“Y/n?” Flo asks weakly. You hum in response, and she feels your exhale wash over her entire body. “Please fuck me.” That does the trick.

Your arms hook around her thighs, both of you burning hot, pulling her closer into you. Her hands slide out, anchoring her by bunching up the bed sheets and holding on for dear life. The TV’s soft hum is interrupted by your phone ringing, but you ignore it without hesitation. Whatever it is, it can wait.

Finally, Flo’s head lulls back as your tongue slips over her, a soft moan escaping from her lips. You chuckle to yourself, very aware of the vibrations that slice straight through your girlfriend. Your tongue is steady and assured until you skim her clit, changing from heavy to light with a simple movement. She gasps and almost gives into the urge to push your head down but has no time to when you slide your hands up her thighs and pull her even tighter into you. With frightening ferocity your tongue falls again onto her clit, swirling, sucking, adding to the wetness that is beginning to drip down the insides of her thighs.

She twists and writhes and arches her back as your attack on her begins to become too much, your magical mouth doing things it hasn’t done to her before. A sharp whine surpasses her lips as they fall open, and they don’t stop until she physically has to breathe. Even then, her breathing is ragged and heavy, as if she can’t function with you between her legs.

She can’t function with you between her legs.

A hand tentatively lets go of the sheets, but suddenly your tongue is inside of her and she needs something to hold onto. It’s an accident when she pulls your hair so hard that you whimper, though your eyes immediately look up into hers and dare her to do it again. She can’t carry out your request, because all the tension builds to a point where a graze of any part of her body would have her crying out. Her hips buck into your mouth as you move your lips back to her clit and replace your tongue with your fingers. You’re no longer holding her down, meaning she can grind into you, chasing her orgasm as if you hadn’t been getting her there all this time. Flo hears herself just before she comes, the moans, the whimpers.

You think you’re going to suffocate when she comes. Her thighs clench around you, freezing in position save the shudder that runs through her. White heat explodes in Flo, setting every inch of her body on fire, and her breath catches painfully in her throat, eventually released when she reminds herself she hasn’t yet ascended to heaven (it sure felt like it).

“You’re good at that,” she pants. She then realises you’re trapped.

When you can breathe again, you kiss her fiercely. She can taste herself all over you, on your neck, your jaw, your tongue. You break only to ask if she’d like some water, both of you downing a glass each, and spend the next few hours tallying orgasms and attempting to beat the record of fourteen for her and twelve for you. It isn’t hard when you’re driven by the fact her ex-boyfriend will be staying over in two days.

- - -

In the early hours of the morning, you both wake up, having fallen into appropriately deep sleeps around dinner time. She claims neither of you will go back to sleep considering 4am is too close to six for proper rest, and then threatens to smother you with a pillow if you try to convince her that that is not your stomach rumbling.

You pull on a hoodie and joggers when she forces you out of bed, letting her do her morning routine while you pick the clothes up from the bedroom and living room floors, turning the Hungarian news off. Your phone has vibrated its way onto the hardwood, lying face up with four missed calls from her mum.

“Mum hasn’t called me in a week,” Flo mutters behind you, shaking her head. “That woman has favourites, I’m telling you.” You laugh, setting a reminder to call Deb back at a more reasonable time. She wraps her arms around you, burying her face into the black fabric of Toby’s merch. “He charged me for my sweatshirt so I refused to buy it. I’m in the fucking song, but that’s not enough clearly.” He had been such a dick about giving you his hoodie for free, so you told him not to get you a birthday present. You gave him a slap around the head for his birthday that year.

“I’m going to lie on the sofa and pretend I’m not awake.” She calls you dramatic. “I can’t believe you think this is logical. Millie is going to think my laptop has been stolen if I log on this early.” You’re a late-night workaholic by choice. The only acceptable business that you’ll wake up for is travel, and that’s because you were banned from the private jet when you used it to fly five alpacas from Southern Peru into Luton airport to keep as pets. What your parents should have taken away from that incident was that they shouldn’t instruct staff not to question their children, but you don’t mind being distanced from the beastly metal bird seeing as it has been renamed after your step-mother. So much for it being called Y/n.

“Let me have my tea and then I’ll make us coffee and breakfast.” You nod sluggishly, climbing onto the sofa and closing your eyes. “Did you charge the speaker?”

You groan. “I think I might give you back to Zach.” The music’s good, but it’s fucking loud, and you’re aching. “I’ll find another woman who sleeps well into the afternoon. You’re going to make our children morning people if I don’t get rid of you now.”

“Oh yeah?” Flo doesn’t want to admit how much your throw-away sentence means to her, instead trying to focus on successfully pouring the boiling water into a mug. “How many kids are we having?” she calls from the kitchen, looking over at you from behind the island in the open-plan apartment.

“Two!” you shout back, smiling at the thought. “Toby wants two as well and I want to have the better pair of your parents’ grandkids.” So far the best is Bella’s baby because it’s the only one they have.

“With the better Pugh!”

She doesn’t like the sound of your grunt. It’s akin to a scoff. “The best Pugh is Raff!” You’ve known Raffie pretty much her whole life now that you think about it. Flo sits on one of the dining table chairs as she drinks her tea. “Oh, what are we getting her for her birthday? Millie says she’d like that Vivienne Westood necklace that everyone apparently has, but I got her a necklace for her eighteenth.”

“I was just going to get Saoirse to send her a text,” Flo says casually. “Y/n, darling, you need to be a proper billionaire and get your assistant to sort it out. She’ll be too drunk to care on her birthday.”

“I’m not going to Venice. Your publicist told Millie, and Millie’s already scheduled my meetings.” Flo’s publicist is a formidable woman who is going to call you at seven in the evening today to discuss this further.

You carry on explaining your gift dilemma as she finishes her tea and starts on coffee. She needs lots of coffee to comprehend all the information you’re giving her, because once you get started on something, you won’t stop. Flo much prefers your quiet moaning and groaning to this newfound early-morning chattiness.

“What time are you going to set?” you ask after she kisses you to shut you up. “I’ve got a meeting at one, and I want to see what all this fuss about your acting is about. I don’t believe you’re that good,” you tease her. She is not impressed. “I won’t slag you off to Toby, I swear.” Flo raises her eyebrows. “I won’t!”

“Timmy has been pestering me to introduce him to you. He’s convinced he could steal you from me.” You clear your throat. “Sorry. Not from me, but… You know?”

“But Timmy is a man,” you state plainly. “There has to be a lot of stuff in my system for me to do men.”

That reminds Flo of a burning question. Your answer might really ruin her mood. “Have you slept with Toby?” She has had guy friends, and some of her friends from her teenage years were definitely more than that. Your face is a relief, thank god, because the sheer disgust in your eyes and the fact that you don’t even try to hold back your gag indicates strongly towards the negative. “Good.”

You debate telling her, and then it slips out, “I’ve slept with Scarlett.” Flo looks intrigued. “Not when they were together, before that. And, you know what, I think I might have made out with Hailee Steinfeld at one point. We were so drunk, and Toby and Sophie completely egged us on. She’s a really good kisser.”

“She’s…?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, shrugging, “anything goes after shots. Hence why I try to avoid shots.” That and gin. Bad things happen after you’ve had a few gin and tonics. “Since we’re on this topic, did you lose your virginity to the boy you met on the beach that one time in Greece? Toby and I have long wondered whether it was him or the girl you were kissing the year before at one of those entertainment team discos.”

Flo blushes as she’s yet again reminded that you were there for all her bad holiday mistakes.

“Um,” she falters, almost spilling hot coffee on herself. “The girl, but she ignored me afterward. I think her family was really religious, because she ran away muttering something under her breath.” Flo remembers hearing the beginning of a prayer and almost dies inside.

“Did you not recognise her in Paris?” you question. Flo is glad that all hot drinks have now been consumed, seeing as you down your coffee because you don’t like the taste and she downs it because she needs more caffeine to have this conversation.

“No,” she groans with a frown. “She was there? Did she recognise me?”

“Yeah, but she didn’t want to say anything. They all know we’re together.” You are talking about the social circles your family are in, of course, not the general public.

“How do you suggest everyone else finds out?” she asks, seeing as it’s easy to bring it up in the conversation. You should be on the same page if you’re going to call her publicist, to be fair.

“We film a sextape and put it on Twitter. Simple.”

“I see why she asked you not to go to Venice.”

“We should still film a sextape.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“If it gets leaked they’ll know Harry Styles has nothing on you. The world’s not ready for your talents.” She rethinks her statement, correcting it. “Bar the hundred people you’ve had sex with.”

“Can’t believe the whole world got to see your boobs,” you complain. “It makes me feel very unspecial.” She rolls her eyes. You’ve made this point before. “I buy you a five thousand pound necklace and you–”

“Oh, be quiet. I love you. You’re a billionaire and you’re going to freeload in my flat.”

“I’m building you a fucking hotel!”

“Don’t you dare get down on one knee right now.” You smirk. Maybe… Just to spite her… “No, Y/n, because I’ll say yes. And I’m not ready to say yes, but you make me incapable of saying anything else and I’ve held out long enough.”

“I’m going to propose after we have really, really loud sex when Zach’s here.”

“Never meet your heroes is such a fucking true statement.” By ‘meet’ she means ‘sleep with and date and marry and have babies with’. Not that the latter have happened yet. “And we’re not doing that when Zach’s here because Billie is used to sleeping beside me so you’re on the sofa.”

“Why isn’t Zach on the sofa?”

“He’s our guest so he gets the spare room.” That makes you feel fucking fantastic! “It’s one night. You’ll be fine and I’ll go out and buy some Hungarian lingerie the minute he leaves.”

“Fuck that,” you declare much to her surprise. She thought you’d be easily compensated with the prospect of ruining more of her underwear. “If I’m on the sofa then I’m going to my hotel. Budapest is the only city hotel with a spa. I’ll ask for their prettiest masseuse.”

“You’re so petty.”

“You’re such an actor! You’ve got shared custody of a dog.” She laughs. “I might have to buy a Union Jack dildo to fuck the Brit back into you, because Billie is a dog.”

“Where are you going to find a—”

“You’d be surprised, Floss.” She shakes her head, not wanting to know anymore. You look down at the sizzling of the pan, smiling. “I wanted my eggs sunny-side up, not burnt. Looks like we’ll have to feast on those granola bars in your trailer.”

She frowns and raises the spatula to your face threateningly, swatting the air when you clear out of her way. “Text my assistant to tell him you’re coming. Is your meeting in person?” You say no, because it’s Aunt Board Member who’s calling from Surrey. “Fancy working in my trailer then? I won’t disturb you.”

“Sure,” you answer, both agreeing to her request and disagreeing with her statement. “Millie and I are having a late lunch at Onyx as my apology for blowing off yesterday, so I’ll leave then. I should probably buy some wine for when Zach comes? And a bed for Billie?” Flo doesn’t have the heart to remind you Billie’s sleeping in your bed.

- - -

Regrettably, the day of Zach’s visit pounces on you. Flo has an early morning shoot, but around lunchtime she calls to tell you it’s morphed into the whole day. The cast, who you met the day before, pick up on who she’s talking to and deafen you by screaming down the phone about drinks and dinner and various well-wishes as if they didn’t see you yesterday, though you remind everyone of how busy you will be this evening. You tried to escape it with no success.

Because you love your girlfriend, you agree to take over the task of picking your guests up from the airport. Millie laughs as you explain the situation, setting up a driver who she knows plays music seeing as there most definitely will not be much conversation. Flo instructs you to take lots of pictures of Billie and to be polite to Zach. You’re always polite. Etiquette classes cost hundreds of pounds, and your parents were prepared to pay that.

She gives you his number and forces you to send him a text so he knows it’s you. The same number tells you his plane has landed, so you set off in the car with an extremely scary scowl (the driver almost retracts his hand from the door when you look at him) and tell him you’ll be there in twenty minutes.

The first thing you notice about Zach is the dog beside him.

Billie is excited, tail wagging, mouth open and panting. She bounces at your feet, ignoring Zach’s command to calm down, unrelenting in her attempt to tackle you to the floor. You suppose you stink of her mum.

Zach inwardly cringes as he takes in your outfit when Billie’s paws begin to crease your clothes. Most days you opt for business-casual, but today happens to also be the day you met with the hotel management for Budapest, and you’re not complaining about completely outdressing him. While he is in tired jeans and a t-shirt, you are in a very expensive suit and stilettos. So what if it’s a little childish?

“I’m Y/n.” You smile. He can tell it’s phony.

“Zach, and,” he nods to Billie, who has finished her assault and is now rubbing against you, “this is Billie.”

You gesture to the driver, who is by your side at once, taking Zach’s bags from him. The two of you follow him to the car, Billie pulling hard on her leash in excitement. “Floss is still filming,” you explain because his disappointment that it’s you who’s picked him up is very evident. “We’ll go to the flat and hang there until she’s done.”

“Is there a place I can get something to eat?” His accent amuses you, but you keep a straight face.

You glance at Billie settled in the boot, before getting into the car. Zach sits, and you leave the airport.

“There’s a café next door?” You and Flo often pop into it to get coffee when neither of you can be bothered to make it.

He nods, “sounds good.”

When you get to the apartment, Zach lets Billie off her leash with your approval. She sniffs around, tail thumping against walls and cabinets and doors as she sweeps the place thoroughly. Zach, on the other hand, is very contained in the square metre of space he takes up, standing still. You remove your heels, shrinking a few inches, and Zach follows suit, sliding off his trainers and placing them neatly beside the door. The driver (whose name you didn’t catch) doesn’t ask where he should put the bags, instead using his initiative and scary knowledge of the floor plan to drop them in the guest room and slip out unnoticed.

Zach is unnerved by how used to staff you are. He won’t yet admit he’s intimidated, but the emotion is creeping up on him.

“So we’re sort of in the heart of Budapest, which is really good,” you begin, talking to him because you’ll have to eventually. Billie trots back to you having completed her independent tour. You pat her bum, and ask if Zach would like a tour. He says yes. You smile at him.

You take him round the rooms. It’s nothing special, really; two bedrooms, a bathroom and an en-suite, the living area. You like repeating ‘our bedroom’ to see him tense, and he likes how non-threatening the place is. He expected, when his ex-girlfriend insisted he stay with her, to be housed in your hotel in the basement somewhere.

After an excruciating few hours, Billie alerts you of Flo’s arrival, scratching at that door and barking loudly. Zach holds in the urge to down the beer he’s been nursing, and so do you. You found common ground in not wanting to talk to each other, instead staring at the football match on TV.

Flo’s too focused on Billie to notice how far apart you’re sitting, but when she does she laughs. Zach gets up to greet her, and to everyone’s surprise she pulls him into a hug. “Thank you for bringing my baby,” she says. “Did Y/n show you everything? Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, yeah, she did,” Zach replies. Flo looks surprised and very pleased. You’re slightly offended that she doubted your maturity that much.

“I thought we could eat at my hotel tonight,” you tell them. “We can bring Billie to the apartments and I’ll get one of the chefs to make something. It would save the hassle of going to get ingredients.”

It’s a power play. Your hotel.

Your girlfriend isn’t too ecstatic, but there’s a price to pay for the situation she has put you in and she knows that.

Before she can reply, Zach asks, “so are they actually your hotels?” And you smirk.

“They are. Hence why Billie can come. She could even get a spa treatment if I asked.”

“Don’t brag,” Flo warns, only half serious.

“I’m joking! I’d let Billie stay even if I wasn’t sleeping with her mum.” Billie sits at your feet to prove your point. Your phone rings, and you find yourself disappointed that this conversation has to end. “Shit, I can’t ignore this,” you apologise, excusing yourself and shutting the door to your bedroom behind you.

“Have you heard from Mummy?” your brother’s worried voice sounds out, uncharacteristically caring.

“No, why would I have—”

“Dad’s done it.” There are millions of things he could have done, but the tone narrows it down to two. He’s either gotten your stepmother pregnant or killed your mother. The former is the worst case scenario.

- - -

“I think he’s terrified of you.” Flo climbs into your bed, instinctively cuddling you when she feels your warmth. You’ve been answering emails for a while, letting her and Zach have a private conversation. Somehow, she thinks through bribery, Billie is adamant to sleep near you, meaning if you’re not in her bed neither is Billie. She can’t sleep without at least one of the things she loves most in the world.

“Mission successful,” you whisper, turning onto your side to face her. She frowns. “He’s nice. I don’t hate him.”

“You’re very mature,” she teases. “What was that super important call about? It didn’t seem very professional.”

God.

“Unnecessary family drama. I’m going to be an older sister.” Your girlfriend gasps, amused and shocked and every other emotion she can think of.

“Really?!” Billie raises her head at the noise.

“Shh,” you scold. “Yes, really. It’s awful news; the only baby I want in my life is my nephew.”

“Our nephew.”

“He likes me way more than he likes you!”

“Shh,” Flo copies. Billie growls half-heartedly, her collar jangling as she adjusts her position. “What has your stepmother said?” You laugh. As if she or your father were going to tell you until the thing popped out and in the crib. “Wait, so how did you find out…?”

“Mum’s gone astray because of the news, my brother called me asking if I knew where she was and had to provide me with some context.” He says he thought something was up at his gala, because he swears he never saw your stepmother drink a drop of alcohol. “I spoke to her when she finally picked up. She finds it hilarious, says she feels sorry for me for being related to her ‘goat of an ex-husband’.” Your mother has no intention of being near this baby. “I might swoop in and save the poor kid when it’s older, but I’m too busy for a baby that’s not my own.”

“What about Bella’s?”

“I’m not her go-to babysitter,” you dismiss quickly. “Our schedules are packed, Flossie. It’s a wonder we make time for each other.” Flo’s work is intense and short-term considering she isn’t on a series like Grey’s Anatomy, but yours is constant; a low hum that never leaves the background noise. You have the power to postpone to your heart’s content, but that catches up to you, so no matter how many times you tell them you’re following your girlfriend across the globe and can’t possibly be there in person, they capture you eventually. And when they do they’ll tie you down with something unbreakable, like a little sister whose favourite is you.

Flo feels selfish for forgetting your job. Surprisingly, it’s not the third member of your relationship down to the fact that you are one and the same with being CEO. You don’t usually tell her that you’ve left a meeting early to catch her before she sleeps in her time zone, or taken the day off to visit her on set, but sometimes she goes on your phone to change the song or take a picture and is hit full-force by your notifications. “You can go back to—”

“I own hotels, Flo. It’s not law, I’m not fixed in place.” You’ve never been like that. Holidays when you were little, boarding school, travelling, work; nothing was ever holding you down.

“What about our flat?”

“Your flat.”

“No, I want it to be ours,” she corrects your correction. “I want to set up a joint account just for bills, and I want you to pay some of them — an equal share. I want you to have a say on what bedding we have, or what colour our rug is, and for you to have your own pictures in our picture frames. And, one day, I want to lug everything out of the flat to a house we’ve bought to have those two babies in.”

“Preferably near family,” you add, playing along with her fantasy. “In Oxford, but if Toby’s moved somewhere snazzy then we’re following him. No way am I going to be the one with a boring address.”

“In Florence?”

You smirk. “I do love being in Florence.” She rolls her eyes and shuffles threateningly, as if she’ll turn over and face the wall instead of your beautiful, beautiful face. “You walked right into that one,” you defend, giggling. “This dream might take a while to materialise, Floss. I can’t give you most of it.”

“Y/n, I thought I was going to marry Zach.” The sudden change of tone draws your eyes right to hers, showing her you’re listening. “I loved him.” Her face begins to flush. A tear falls onto the pillow, colouring the sheets a darker shade of itself. “I… I was so angry at myself for ruining everything, because, you know, I thought he was it for me. And then,” she laughs, “and then you were at Toby’s stupid after party. No one had fucking told me you’d be there, but Mum knew Zach and I were fighting. They all knew.” You were there and she had said she wasn’t sure if she was single. “Zach had told me he couldn’t do it anymore. He’d spat it like it was sour milk in his mouth, like the thought of being near me was so despicable, so disgusting that he couldn’t bear it. But when you left the next day, I called him and I… I agreed. We talked it over, decided we wanted it quiet and private and, obviously, we talked about Billie.

“I had a dream that Zach and I would have a big wedding with all of our friends, and that the press would fawn over every detail. I had a dream that I’d marry him and it would be like marrying Leonardo DiCaprio. Y/n, I don’t care if you think you can’t have anything nice for yourself and have it be permanent at the same time. I’ve changed my dream before, okay? And if you… If you can’t give me all of it, I’ll change my dream again. This,” she brings her hand up between the two of you, “is enough for me.” You offer her a fleeting smile, and then your expression changes. Her brows furrow, and she mutters, “don’t.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Don’t propose.” You so were. “You can’t do it again, I mean, that much rejection can’t be good for the soul.”

“No, it’s not,” you gripe, teasing her. “Women throw themselves at me but you won’t say yes.” She wipes the rest of the tears that pooled during her monologue.

“I did say yes.”

You shake your head. “You said, essentially, ‘in a bit’.” It’s not the same. You pause. The apartment is quiet; Zach must be asleep, Billie’s snoring is muffled by her nose buried in the blanket you used to keep her warm. “Do you want to have—” Billie whines in her sleep, waking up. She stands, back arching, until she eventually leaps off the bed with a soft thud. The dog settles in the dog bed you bought earlier, yawning with a high-pitched howl before grunting and falling back asleep. “Hey, Billie’s basically just given us her blessing.”

Flo chuckles, her displeased frown not staying for long, replaced by a smile as you crawl on top of her. “Once. And quietly.” Her instruction goes right over your head as you brush your lips against her neck. It’s a startled noise, the one that she lets out, but you raise your eyebrows all the same. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

She’s about to disagree, but you lean down to kiss her before she can. Billie pretends not to hear her mum and this strange new woman (whom she actually likes very much, to Zach’s disappointment and Flo’s surprise), and Zach decides not to ask what you were doing in the morning.

His ephemeral visit comes and goes, and soon you are attempting to soothe your girlfriend as she frets about her impending movie premiere, for while she’s unbothered to the public, she’s quite worried in front of you.

Flo doesn’t care to recognise that the movie is what has her on edge, instead focusing on the small triggers of each burst of anger or sadness or any other emotion really. Three hours before her flight, she is leaning over her suitcase, wheezing, in the midst of an increasingly common panic attack. If Billie were here, she’d immediately alert you of your girlfriend’s state, but both Billie and you are strolling around the local park on a dog walk (though neither of you are walking; you’re on an important call with an investor, and Billie is chasing ducks). Seeing as she is very alone at the moment, she has no choice but to resort to deep breaths and get on with her last minute packing.

You come home to the apartment being overturned: Flo is trying to find her favourite pair of sunglasses. She won’t need them, you assume, because her stylist will have meticulously chosen each and every accessory, but you say nothing more than a tip-off that they might be on the dresser.

“Do you think I haven’t looked there?” she snaps, and Billie thinks she’s just been barked at and begins to respond. You stand still, taken aback. Flo would like to apologise, but you’ve walked away before she can, leaving her just as confused as you were moments before.

Not a second later, you return to your girlfriend, holding the sunglasses out to her. “I think you should get some alcohol in you.” It’s not responsible advice at all, but it’s good. She needs to hear honesty, not kind words or reassurance that everything will be fine. It probably won’t be fine, and there’s nothing you can really do about that.

You never fail to stun her, Flo thinks, blinking at your command dressed in an opinion’s clothes. “We have beer left over from when Zach was here.” She begins to make her way to the fridge, but you stop her with two hands on her arms. “Got something else in mind?”

“Want a shot of tequila? Sit.” Flo laughs. You’re such a bad influence. A couple of months ago, she wouldn’t believe her childhood idol would be getting her drunk instead of asking her to talk her feelings out, nor would she believe that said idol confessed to spiking board members’ coffees with rum at big board meetings. In your defence, how else is work supposed to be fun?

As instructed, Flo takes a seat at the dining table, absently running her hand up and down Billie’s back as the dog waits for scraps of food. You’ve got to hand it to Billie, she does have Flo wrapped around her paw.

“Two shots of tequila coming right up.” You grin as you set them down on the table, forgoing the use of the mandatory coaster just this once. Flo raises the shot glass to toast, then wonders why you’re not doing the same. “Both are yours, I’m working.” She smiles, toasts to you and Billie, and knocks back both shots with ease. It would have been an insult to set out salt and a wedge of lime for her.

“What have you got planned while I’m suffering in Venice?” Flo asks once you’ve taken the shot glasses back to the kitchen and put the bottle of tequila away.

You shrug and look at Billie. “We’re probably going to sit in the park again tomorrow. My friends asked if I’d like to join them on their holiday, but I don’t think Billie would appreciate being on a yacht for three days.”

“I’m sorry that I’m making you babysit.” You don’t mind dogs. You had two cocker spaniels growing up, and, of course, your mum has Rupert. “You’re the best step-mum a dog could ask for. Even if you convinced me to have sex while the dog was present.”

“Billie was asleep,” you defend, fighting to keep the (little) dignity you have left. Dogs don’t care, surely. “You’re hardly gone for long. Not much will change. Maybe you’ll sleep on the sofa because Billie’s taken your spot, but that’s all I can think of.” Flo scoffs and says you need to let that go. “I shall take no other to my bed aside from Billie and you.”

“Unless Hailee Steinfeld pops round. I give you permission to finish what you started centuries ago.”

“I’m not that old!” You think about what she’s said. “And you’ve just reminded me to text her about who I’m dating.”

Flo raises her eyebrows. “Who are you dating?”

“This really, really annoying sister of a friend.” She grabs your t-shirt and pulls you into her, ignoring your groan about stretching the fabric. “I never thought I’d like her, but I made a bad decision after too many drinks and slept with her in her childhood bed.”

Her lips taste of tequila, but they’re comfortingly soft (how are they soft, she complains they’re chapped all the time?!) and you’ve got to hand it to her that she’s good at kissing. “Bad decision, huh?”

You shrug, “bad decision that led to many very satisfactory orgasms.”

“You’re so lucky I love you, because I’m sure all eight million of my fans would jump at the chance to date this bad decision.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I fucking will!”

While you laugh at the determination in her voice, she finally notices the buzzing of her phone. There have been a lot of texts she’s missed for your short-lived bartender career, stuff like flight details and the fact that there’s a car waiting outside for her this very minute.

Knowing her well, you recognise the regretful smile. “I’ve got another call in half an hour. I’m sorry I can’t see you off.” Flo nods, she understands. “Bye, Flossie.”

“See you later,” she replies, because she will, won’t she? It’s two nights at most. “I’ll be sure to send you lots of pictures, and it’s not like the family group chat will be quiet.” The family group chat has most of the Pughs you can think of, you, and Scarlett. “I packed Raffie’s present from you, so don’t worry about it, and there’s lots of food in the fridge so you’re not going to starve. I turned the place into ready-meal central for you.”

“You stress-cooked,” you state.

“Doesn’t matter. You know how to feed Billie, and she’ll be—”

“I know, I love you, get your bum to Venice.”

- - -

Billie grunts when your phone buzzes in the late afternoon.

It has finally stopped being used seeing as you’ve crept onto the sofa and are half-watching reruns of Friends, but you wonder whose contact has surpassed your Do Not Disturb.

“It’s probably Mama,” you tell your girlfriend’s dog, questioning your life decisions when you hear your own tone and phrasing.

Reni: Date cancelled and now I have a spare ticket for tonight’s opera. Best seats in the house. Come?

Well, that can’t be good.

Irén (you desperately need to change her name in your phone) is your ex-girlfriend. Things crashed and burnt, but you were twenty-one; young and stupid. You’re both so much more mature than you were then.

Billie tilts her head to the side, puzzled as to why you suddenly reek of fear.

You: Be prepared for how sexy I will look.

She’s still a friend, she has to be. A year together shouldn’t be worth throwing away memories with a girl you’ve known since you were eleven. Boarding school is supposed to make friends for life, not exes who hold grudges.

“I’m not trying to convince myself of anything,” you respond to Billie’s silent criticism. “The opera is fun, I have nothing to do, and she’ll have spent hundreds on the tickets knowing what she’s like.” Her father owns an oil company. Like you, she attended your school because it was known to house heiresses like the London underground houses rats, and, like you, she will one day fully inherit the family business. Though she’s never had to compete with a sibling for that.

Reni: Come to mine in two hours. Chef is here, I shall dine you privately where you will not be papped.

So she knows about Flo. That’s good. That means she’s not allowed to wine and dine you properly, nor turn on her almost irresistible charm and convince you to sleep with her. Which you wouldn’t do. Because you love Flo.

Reni: Can’t wait to see if you’ve aged nicely.

She’s funny. Irén has always been funny.

“Bills, you’ll be fine here on your own?” You ask her as if she can respond. “Flo would be okay with that,” you state, unsure but assuming she would be.

You proceed to walk Billie for half an hour, spend another hour getting ready, and the remaining time in a car to her flat in the heart of Old Town. It’s small and cramped, but Irén likes it that way.

She greets you with a hug, to your surprise, but when she pulls away it becomes clear that she didn’t expect herself to do that. You hold up the bottle of champagne you decided to bring her, and she grins. “You haven’t changed,” says Irén, with a glint in her eye.

It isn’t long before you take in the details of her apartment. It’s messy and unorganised, with cupboards that groan at the chaos inside of them and side tables stacked with Vogues. Every month, Irén gets all of them —from every corner of the world, you’re not joking — and she has always sprawled out on the floor to thumb through the pages. Ever since you were eleven.

“Neither have you,” you reply, sitting down on her velvet sofa. The apartment looks shoddy, but the furniture is ornately carved or stitched, not matching each other but never clashing. “Antique sales?” She nods. “You’re a collector.” It’s not thrown out as an insult, but she jokingly takes it as one.

“I’m going to go into fashion, finally,” Irén squeaks. “He’s fucking let me! I told him I’d sell the oil for a penny and run away if he made me be… Sorry, Y/n. Hotels are cooler. It’s different.”

“I had a choice, you didn’t.” Your consolation is received curiously. “I like where I am in my life, Irén.”

You like that you have a girlfriend, and a best friend, and a job. What more could a person ask for?

“Bleh,” Irén says loudly, above the buzzing of a light that is in need of fixing. “Irén is so formal, babe. You never used to call me Irén.”

“Ten years ago.”

“Things change, but you can still call me Reni.” She’s being nice. “Baby, you can’t be so uptight.”

“No, no, no, I’m not uptight. Flo left for Venice today, and I’ve been swamped with work. Drinks?” Irén nods with a smile, and you expertly open the bottle. She sets down two crystal champagne flutes. “What time are we going? I’ve left the dog alone.”

“There is no way you have a fucking dog,” she snorts. Before you dated, you lived together, sharing a house with a few other girls at university. Irén spearheaded the movement for a dog, but you, the one paying the most rent (they all went to your school, you all knew whose parents were paying and whose weren’t), vetoed her motion every time they so much as tried to bring it up.

You like dogs. You don’t want one.

“Flo’s dog.”

“Ah, I see.” What does that mean? “You really love her enough to house her dog?”

It isn’t possible for her to miss the way your eyes shine. “She’s… incredible,” you answer, “and I think it’s worth it. The dog’s not too bad.”

Irén pauses, trying the champagne in her glass. “We leave in an hour. I’d drive us but…” She finishes her drink and you smile proudly, glad that she likes your choice. “Let’s just get a taxi. Keep your driver posted because there are unlimited drinks from the bar, and I don’t like throwing up in taxis.” You shudder at the memory of too-many-shots Irén in a black cab, keeling over and ruining your shoes.

After a bit of a catch up, she excuses herself to finish getting ready, claiming she has to now match your level of attractiveness, if not beat it. You smirk at her before she leaves, and when she’s gone you settle on her sofa to read the hundred-and-one messages from the Pughs’ group chat.

It mostly consists of Raffie asking where they all are, and Flo sending little videos of her getting ready.

Privately, she sends you a video of her dress. A first look. A secret one, just for you.

You tell her that she should wear ball gowns more. And that you are really skilled at taking them off. And a few other borderline dirty sentences. Your texts eventually cease, and she responds only with a picture of her on a boat. Her looking divine on a boat. Never have you wanted to be a boat before.

“It’s beyond me how Flossie is her.” Irén makes you jump, almost so that your phone clatters onto the floor, but it lands on a pile of August Vogues which cushion the fall. “How is Toby taking it?”

“Better than expected.” Much better.

You’re proud of him.

- - -

The opera is almost too casual when you get there, but someone guides both you and Irén to a cordoned off area that is clearly something to do with the amount Irén paid for the tickets. You haven’t yet asked about the date that cancelled, but if she wants to talk she will.

You sit in your seats while the house lights are still on, enjoying the view of everybody filtering in. “This reminds me of when we’d sit on the main stairs and watch people run to their lessons,” Irén says quietly, not disturbing the tranquility of being lost in a sea of other people. You wonder what they’re talking about.

“I missed you,” you confess. “We need to do this more.” A waiter clears his throat and hands you the glass of prosecco you requested earlier. Flo said she was having the same one, you thought it would be nice to drink somewhat together in celebration of her getting through Venice.

“It’s hard to track you down, you know. I was tapping through fucking DeuxMoi and you popped up. You little celebrity.”

“They scrolled to the bottom of my instagram, what can I say.” She chuckles. She’s in a lot of those posts. “Why aren’t you staying with your parents?”

“Why weren’t you at your father’s wedding?” You were inconspicuous. No one should have noticed. “We all have family problems, baby, but why should we dwell?”

“No, I’m not dwelling, I—” but before you can finish, the lights leave you in darkness and applause ripples through the building.

Irén leans her head on your shoulder. “You were right. We should do this more.”

She takes your hand in hers, and keeps it like that until the interval, only letting go to use the bathroom and then order some more drinks. Irén knows you well, so she orders some salted pretzels too, which are promptly delivered by a waiter who eyes the two of you suspiciously. The staff have been weary of your private booth.

When it finally finishes, you find that you’re almost asleep in her lap. She giggles quietly, not wanting to attract attention now that everybody can see you. “Are you going to use me as your bed while your girlfriend’s away?” You let out a drowsy groan, not quite hearing her as your head is nestled into the jumper she took off half an hour in. A hand cups your cheek, turns it so that you’re looking up at her. She lowers her head, lips hovering above yours, and you’re certain she isn’t going to do it. There’s no way. She’s your friend, and she knows it didn’t work out, and she knows you don’t want her. Irén isn’t stupid, but Irén is kissing you.

In front of lots of people.

You shake your head and tell her to stop. “Reni, we’re not… We don’t…”

“I regret making you choose. They’re your family, in a way, aren’t they? Flossie must be like a younger sister.”

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @sophie-xox @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz

#florence pugh fanfiction #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh #floss got hot #florence pugh x you #florence pugh one shot #black widow #fanfiction #florence pugh imagine #marvel #mcu #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh fluff #florence pugh smut #florence pugh angst

[marvelous-harry]

Snapshots from The Grammys 2023

Harry/Florence/Reader

"You're so pretty!" I gushed as I reached out and stroked the crystal-covered jumpsuit. "I want one. It can be my birthday present," I grinned.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, you're not getting a Swarovski crystal jumpsuit for your birthday," he said and took my hand.

I hummed and looked through the car window. We were in line and we were slowly getting closer to the red carpet. "Can I hold the Grammys after you've finished with the press and stuff? I want a picture with them," I asked and looked back at Harry.

"I'm probably not going to win any. The people I'm nominated with... yeah, there's no way," Harry replied and smiled.

"Don't say that, you have just as good of a chance at winning. You've done so many good things in the last year and I know that people will see that," Florence said and looked at him pointedly.

"I'm just grateful that I was even nominated. That itself is such a huge honour," he said, looking over at Florence.

"It is but I have a very good feeling that there will be more than one Grammy on that shelf when we get back home," she smiled and gave him a kiss on the lips.

"And then I can hold them all. Right?" I asked with a grin. "They're so cute and tiny,"

Harry and Flossie laughed. "Yeah, you can take a picture with them if you want, babe," Harry agreed and smiled.

Harry/Ben/Oliver

"Oh gosh, here we go," Ben said as he looked up at the TV in the green room Harry's team and he and Oliver were in. It was time for Harry to perform and they were all super excited. Poor Harry had been so nervous before going on but everyone reassured him he would do great.

Oliver took Ben's hand and squeezed it. "They've been practicing all week, they got this," He told him and smiled at him.

The music started and everyone was glued to the TV as the camera zoomed in on Harry and the dancers.

Oliver frowned slightly as he looked at it. "Isn't it supposed to go the other way?" he asked as he watched Harry on the turntable.

Ben squeezed his hand tightly. "Oh no," he whispered. He couldn't look away.

They were managing it very well considering they had to do everything in reverse of what they had practiced. Harry only had a small hiccup as he tripped slightly but quickly found his balance again.

Everyone in the room clapped and cheered as Harry took his bow. It had gone well.

Ben and Oliver stood up and waited for Harry to return, both wondering how he was feeling after that knowing that he was a perfectionist when it came to his work.

Not too long after Harry and Jeff came into the room and everyone clapped and cheered again.

Harry waved his hand at them before he started taking off his mic pack.

Oliver put his hand on Ben's lower back and walked towards Harry. "You did so good, love," he told him as they got close to him.

Harry shook his head and kept trying to get the in ears wire out from his outfit, getting more and more frustrated.

"Let's go into your dressing room," Ben said and accepted the hanger with Harry's suit on it before they ushered Harry into the dressing room.

"It went the wrong way! And it was awful. I just embarrassed myself in front of god knows how many people," Harry bit down on his lip hard and tried to undo the zipper on his back.

"Hey, it's okay. That's not true. You did so amazing, I'm sure no one watching would even know it went the wrong way. You all handled it like it was no big deal and it was supposed to go that way," Oliver told him as he cupped Harry's face in his hands and made him look up at him.

"I want to watch it," Harry whispered.

Ben started unzipping the jumpsuit. "Of course we can watch it but not right now. You need to get out of this, eat something, and then get back into your suit,"

Oliver smiled and nodded, holding Harry's hand so he was steady while Ben undressed him.

"Not hungry," Harry replied, his tone short and sharp.

Oliver leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You're eating,"

Erica/Harry

All eyes were on Trevor as the video ended and he started speaking. Erica was clutching her hands tightly together.

"And the Grammy goes to.." she glanced over at Harry and saw that he was just staring straight ahead. She reached out and put a hand on his thigh and gave it a little squeeze.

Trevor looked around before walking over to the older woman. "You can read it," he tells her and shows her the envelope, and holds the mic to her mouth.

Erica gasped and turned to look over at Harry as she listened to her announce the winner. "Ha-Ha-Harry Styles!"

Erica's eyes filled with tears as she stood up and started clapping, watching as Harry put his head in his hands in shock. Everyone around stood up as well and started cheering.

Harry stood up as well and received hugs from the others around their table before he looked at Erica.

Erica brought him in for a tight hug. "I'm so fucking proud of you, love you," she told him before giving him a kiss. Harry had yet to say anything but the look in his eyes was more than enough to tell her how he was feeling. "Go get your Grammy, mister album of the year," Erica grinned and cupped his face - giving him yet another kiss.

Harry cleared his throat and did his best to blink away the tears before he started making his way up to the stage.

Erica let out a long breath and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.

It was quite easy to see that Harry was very overwhelmed as he accepted his award and walked over to the mic. "Shit," he said as he looked down at the Grammy.

Erica grinned and put her hands on her chest as she looked at him, almost feeling like her heart was about to burst through her chest with pride and love. She could not wait till they finally had a private moment so she could really congratulate him.

#harry/florence/reader #harry/ben/oliver #harry/oc!erica #harry/erica #oc!erica

[moshi-roulette]

Flosspin

Name:

Flosspin

Nicknames:

Flossy, Spinny, Cotton Candy

Gender:

Male

Pronouns:

He/Him

Sexuality:

Bisexual

Alternative Mode:

Cotton Candy Machine

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Personal Facts

Personality:

He is known to be anxious and is very cautious of anything new to him, not being the type to take any risks. He constantly fears that something might go wrong. He has a very cowardly personality and is often afraid of everything and everyone remotely scary. He gets scared easily and will hide behind his friends a lot if something horribly frightens him. Some might find him to be a bit of a wallflower, being too jumpy to do anything he would consider dangerous. He’s actually quite polite and does try to stay on a person’s good side, not wanting to start any form of a fight.

Likes:

Cats

Dislikes:

Scary Things

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Relationships

* Marigo (Friend)

* Cetru (Friend)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Other

Fun Facts:

* He does kind of want to try out the cotton candy he can produce from his head (But sadly he can’t eat human food)

Theme:

“Able” by Jack Stauber

#transformers #transformers oc #tf #tf oc #cotton candy machine

[pierswife]

🌱 🎉 🛀 ~ rebeccaselfships

Thanks so much for the ask Rebecca! I've been in a Fire Emblem mood so these will probably have a Fire Emblem focus to theeeeem

🌱 Who was your first F/O?

Surprise surprise, it's Lyon. I didn't join the community/knew what self shipping was until 2019, but Lyon has had my heart in a death grip for as long as I can remember. I still very fondly remember finding out he got into Heroes when I was still in high school and getting so loud and excited in the cafeteria that I was asked to quiet down. He's always had a very special place in my heart and I will never let him go.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

🎉 Tell us some fun facts about your newest selfship!

I wanna stick to the Fire Emblem focus, but I haven't gotten far enough in Engage to talk about it soooooo, Star Rail time I guess-- While I don't have a lot for it either, Flossie and March are practically attached at the hip. If you need to find one of them, just look for the other one. Flossie loves to call March by a bunch of nicknames, her favorite one to call her being "Marchie", especially since it matches her name a little. And March always has to take a daily picture or selfie with Flossie and will keep a separate photo album for these photos.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

🛀 What’s your favorite mundane thing to do with your F/O?

Mmmmmmm more Lyon time. Amanda enjoys brushing Lyon's hair no matter what he's doing. He could be reading or doing paperwork and Amanda will being standing behind him, idly brushing the knots out of his hair for him.

#thank yooooou #ship: of saints and demons #my demon king #tbd march 7th tag #friendo rebecca! #pikes don't look

[kraykrayhandicrafts]

A few toys I've made.

I started with a flamingo because it's our office mascot of sorts. He turned out adorable and I wanted to keep him, so I made another. The second one, however, turned out kinda ugly, but my boyfriend loved him so he got that one. So I made a third one to bring to the office 😅

Flossie the Flamingo pattern by Theresa's Crochet Shop.

BB-8 is free-handed. The body is just a sphere and the head is half a sphere with a flat circle as a bottom. The details on the head are embroidered. The circles on the body are based on the patches of this pattern by Casey Barnes but since I used a thicker yarn, I had to do fewer rounds.

The duck is totally improvised and free-handed, and is a gift for a colleague at whose place we're having an office Christmas dinner. It's pink because of the general flamingo theme we have going on, and it will get a little necktie when I get around to it.

#crochet #crochetblr #handicraft #handmade #amigurumi #toys #flamingo #duck #bb8

[alilweirddragon]

Here’s another (kinda) original chapter from my Amphibia Au that i wanted to share! It’s set in “The Shut-In!” chapter. (Please don’t let the start of it put you off-) Characters: Jean- the human who was transported to Amphibia Flossie- an albino axolotl who befriended Jean (also main character) Pebbs- Flossie’s mother Warning, it does have horror concepts, just in case anyone don’t like that

“Happy Shut-In!”

“Thank you.” Fall was upon Wartwood. Giant pumpkins the size of houses were decorated around the town, and right now many frogs were walking around Wartwood, going from house to house in costumes. Jean smiles, as she, Anne, Flossie and the Plantars were approaching Mrs. Sundew’s home, each carrying a sack. As the door opened, the older teen watches as all the kids begin to chant. “Stay inside, hide your eyes, give us practical supplies!” “Oh, you’re just in time. I’ve got one last box of nails. And they’re rusty!” Mrs Sundew smiles, pouring the nails into the bags. The kids think her, and head off. Anne readjusts the sack over her shoulder. “Ooh, man, this is a workout! Explain this holiday to me again.”

Sprig deadpans as he turns to her. “It’s not a holiday, Anne.” He states. Flossie jumps onto Jean’s back, and the older teen stumbled to catch herself. “It’s the annual Blue Moon Shut-In, Anne!” The axolotl says, as Polly nods, hopping onto the younger girls shoulder. “We need the supplies to survive through the night.” Anne tilts her head. “Huh. Well, you know, we have a similar thing in my world called Halloween. We say “Trick or treat”, and people give you free candy.” Polly gasps. “Free candy! What’s the catch?” She asks suspiciously. Jean grins. “If they don’t give you any, you get to prank them!” She explains. Polly gasps once more, crying cartoonishly. “That is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” She sniffs. “Hey, kids!” The kids look up to see Hop Pop approaching with Bessie. He pulls her reins as he reaches them. “What’d ya’ll get for tonight’s Shut-In? Show me the goods!” Polly pulls out a weapon from her sack. “I got a hatchet!” “I got a first aid kit!” Sprig adds. Anne reaches into her sack, pulling out a large bug of some kind. “I got a flamethrower!” She exclaims. She demonstrates, activating the flamethrower bug. Surprised and jealous, Polly throws her hatchet to the ground with a pout. “Alright then kids, hop on! We’re going home.” Hop Pop declares. Anne and the Plantars hop up on the wagon. As they do, Hop Pop looks down to Jean and Flossie. “Will you girls be alright? Do you need me to give ya’ll a ride?” He asks, concerned. Jean waves him off. “Nah, Pebbs should be here any minute now. You guys just head home.”

Hop Pop sighs. “Okay, then. Be safe out there. And Happy Shut-In!” He calls out as he gets Bessie moving. Flossie waves to him. “Bye Hop Pop! Happy Shut-In!” “Catch ya later, HP!” Now that they were by themselves, Jean carries Flossie around Wartwood on her back. The weight was a little heavier than usual with the added sacks, but the older teen didn’t mind.

Reaching the water fountain, Jean sets Flossie down so they could both sit. “So, what do you do during Shut-In?” The older teen asks. Flossie scours through her sack, checking out what she’d retrieved on her little outing. “Oh! Mum and I lock all the windows and doors, sit around the fire and tell spooky stories!” She explains. Jean nods, smiling. “Okay, I like the sound of spooky stories.” She chuckles. Hearing a toot, the two girls look up to see Pebbs driving her wagon with Boris their slug. The newt waves to the two girls. “Hey, girls! How was your evening?” She asks as the two climb up on the wagon. Flossie sits right next to her mother, giving her a quick hug. “It was great! We got lots of things! Like an axe, some nails, a couple of bandages…”

Flossie continues listing off random items as Pebbs gets Boris moving. Jean leans back in her seat, looking out at the frogs boarding up their homes and the giant pumpkins currently being carved. She found it strange how they look very similar to the ones back on Earth. Maybe Earths Halloween and Amphibia’s Shut-In are somehow connected. Jean chuckles. That’s silly. There’s no WAY that they’re connected. Just another weird coincidence. ——

Arriving home, Pebbs and Flossie head quickly inside. Jean looks up at the barricaded house. “Whoa, they’re taking this VERY seriously.” As they sit inside, waiting for it to get dark, Jean clears her throat. “So….what exactly happens if you go outside?” She questions. Pebbs, who’d sat down in her chair with a book and her cane beside her, turned to face the older teen. “Short answer: If you look at the blue moon, you turn into a terrifying beast.” She explains. Jean chuckles. “How do you know this? What if it’s an urban legend or something?” She asks, skeptical. Pebbs doesn’t laugh though, as she stares deep into Jean’s soul. “Why don’t you fuck around and find out for us.” Jean stares at her as the newt returns to her reading. Flossie’s thudding footsteps running down the stairs startles the older teen, and she looks up to see the axolotl holding a book as she jumps down the last step, holding it above her head. “Scary story time! I’ve been waiting all YEAR to share the stories I wrote to scare you mum! I’m gonna get you good this year!” She boasts. Pebbs chuckles, placing her own book down. “Alright then. Would you like to go first then?” She asks. Flossie nods excitedly, sitting down in front of the fire next to Jean. The older teen tilts her head. “What’s this about scaring Pebbs?” “Ooh! Mum and I do a competition every year on the night of the Shut-In!” She explains. “Who ever tells the scariest story wins. And every year mum wins. She always has the scariest stories. They’re so terrifying, I have nightmares about them for weeks!” “What makes them so terrifying?” Jean asks. Flossie turns to her. “I never know which one’s are real and which one’s aren’t.” Jean grins. “Aight. Mind if I join?” She asks. Pebbs shrugs. “I don’t see why not.” She answers. Flossie squeals. “This is gonna be the best scary story competition EVER!”

Standing up, Flossie clears her throat, opening her book. “Tonight, I’m gonna be telling the story of…The Skinwalker!” She says in a spooky voice. Lightning crackled outside at the perfect time, illuminating her pale face. Jean looks around. “Where did the lightning come from?” “Don’t question it!” — “There once was a frog named Willow. She lived with her father, a lonely wood cutter, in the middle of the woods.” A small, green frog hops down the pathway of her house, passing by her father who was busy cutting wood. She carried an empty basket.

“I’m going out to look for berries, papa!” Willow calls out. The lime-green frog waves her off with a smile. “Be safe out there! There’s been talk of a strange creature that’s been spotted.” He informs her, raising the axe above his head and bringing it down on the stump of wood. Willow smiles reassuringly, clutching her basket close. “I will!” With that, she was off, hopping through the forest as she approaches her favourite spot to pick berries.

Reaching the clearing, she sets to work, hopping from bush to bush to collect as many berries as she could. That’s when she heard it. A low, guttural groan coming from somewhere in the woods nearby. Willow tilts her head, listening. It came again, and Willow puts her basket down. “That’s weird, what could that be?” She wonders. Maybe it was an animal in distress? She heads towards the sound, determined to help whatever creature was injured. The sound was coming from just behind the tree now. Peeking around the tree, she sees a strange, skinny, grey-skinned creature. Its back was to her, hunched over something. The groan sounded out again, and Willow realised that it was coming from this creature. Willow tilts her head. “H-hello?” She asks. The creature turns to her, wide, black eyes staring deep into her soul. It opens it jaw wide, unlike any animal the young frog had ever seen. In its clawed hands was a bloody piece of flesh, the stench of dead animal filling the air around them. It let out an awful, otherworldly scream, frightening Willow as she screamed too. The frog stumbles back, running in the other direction back home. She didn’t even stop to pick up her basket, wanting to put as much distance as she could between herself and the terrifying creature.

She just ran. As the frog ran, she thought she could hear something chasing after her, but after taking a quick look over her shoulder, she couldn’t see anything. But she still couldn’t shake the feeling of something watching her as she stumbled on, weak and defenceless like a caterpillar kitten.

The trees around her felt like they were trying to grab her, their branches clawing at her from all directions, tearing her dress and pulling her hair as she rushes by. Finally. FINALLY. She made it home. It had gotten dark out now, making everything 100 times more terrifying. As she ran up the familiar pathway, she realised her father was no where in sight. That must mean that he was inside, then. Yanking the door open Willow bolts inside, snapping the locks into place. It was only then that she let herself calm down. Her legs were shaky from the scare and the running, and she felt so, so tired. Maybe she should just go straight to bed tonight…yeah, yeah that’s what she’ll do. She can tell her papa about the creature tomorrow. Double checking to make sure the door WAS locked, she heads upstairs to bed, switching off the lights as she went.

Reaching her room, she flops onto her bed, worn out. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out like a light. She didn’t even hear the tapping at her window. - Willow wakes up to a loud clutter of pots falling to the ground, followed by a loud scream coming from the kitchen downstairs. She jolts up in bed, listening to her father screaming for a few seconds. Her fathers screams die down, and a loud thud sounds out. Getting up from her bed, Willow waddles over to her door. “Papa? Are you okay?” She asks, voice full of fear. There was silence for several seconds. “Come here.” Her father’s voice calls out faintly. Letting out a sigh of relief, Willow heads down to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking as she walks.

Rounding the corner, she spots her father standing in the kitchen, his back to her. “Papa? What happened?” She asks. He doesn’t reply to her question. Instead, her repeated the phrase “Come here.” In a monotone, almost robotic voice. As she stepped closer, Willow notices something. In front of her father, lay a body. It was a lime green frog, and was wearing her fathers clothes. It lay in a pool of its own blood, which was quickly spreading, covering the floor. It was her papa. Frightened, Willow looks up at the imposter that looked identical to her father. “W-who are you?” She asks in a shaky voice. The copy turns to her, its eyes pitch black and its jaw unhinged. It let out a guttural, otherworldly scream, and Willow screams back, running from the room. As she ran, she could hear it chasing after her. Glancing over her shoulder briefly, she saw the way it crawled after her. It moved in a bizarre, horrifying way. Its movements were jerky and unnatural, as it chased after her. Its ghoulish face screamed at her again.

She ran for the front door. Reaching it, she tried to open it. Yanking on the handle, she started panicking. It was locked. Willow screams and cries, yanking harder on the handle and fumbling with the lock, watching in horror as the creature came closer and closer, its pitch black eyes on her papa’s face the only thing she could see. She finally managed to open the door, stumbling out and shutting it behind her. The creature ran head-first into the wooden door, shrieking and screeching at her as she bolted into the wood. It smashed right through the door, the splintering of the wood urging Willow to run faster.

Once she was far enough out of view, Willow climbs up a tree, panting heavily as she clambers into the foliage, hiding herself in the leaves.

She holds her breath, hearing the approaching creature. It’s rapid, unnatural breathing was all she could hear from the darkness. She covers her mouth to muffle any whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut, and praying it will go away. A few seconds of the creatures unnatural filling the silence passes. Then, the rustling of the creature fades into the distance, disappearing into the night. Willow listens closely. But she was surrounded by silence. Letting out a sigh of relief, she climbs down the tree, leaning against its trunk to take a moment. She was safe for now. Now she needed to get to the nearest town and return with others to retrieve her father’s body. With a heavy heart at that realisation, she let out a quiet sob. No, she couldn’t do that here. She had to get out of here first. Turning to leave, she froze in terror. The creature was standing right in front of her, its maw open wide. It let out a shriek, as it lunged toward the defenceless frog.

—— “Neither of them were ever seen again….the end!” Flossie finishes, sitting back down with a proud smile on her face as she closes her book. Jean and Pebbs clap for the small axolotl. “Whoa! That was amazing! I got goosebumps!” Jean admits, rubbing her arms. “I got some serious competition.” Pebbs nods, agreeing to her statement. “That definitely had me on the edge of my seat.” Pebbs adds. Flossie grins, pumping her fist. “Yes!” “So, who’s going next?” Pebbs asks. She looks over to Jean expectantly, who in turn shrugs her shoulders. “Alright, if you insist.” She chuckles. Flossie scoots closer, ears perked. “This is a story I like to call, Mother Mary.” — A woman kneels in front of a statue of Mother Mary. Her hands are clasped together in prayer, eyes downcast. Her blue robes seemed to flow, even though they were etched in stone, while her foot was stomped on the head of a snake. Fresh flowers of all kinds sat around her, an offering of respect for the Holy Mother of God.

The woman kneeling in front of her clasps a pair of rosary beads, in deep prayer. She has her eyes closed, mumbling under her breathe fearfully. “Oh holy Mary, please give me strength and save me from this evil….” She whispers. That’s when it begins. Something is thrown across the room, whizzing pass the woman’s head and crashing against the wall. The woman flinches, but keeps praying. Never moving from her place. It only got worse from there. With each passing second, more things were thrown around the room. The woman begins weeping, rushing and stumbling over her words as portraits and plates smashed and broke, leaving a mess of shattered glass on the floor. Cupboards and doors banged open and closed repeatedly, and the sounds of running footsteps ran through the hallways. The woman cowers, falling face first to the ground. “Holy Mary Mother of God, please spare me from this evil.” She sobs. She can hear something approaching. The clacking sound of hooves walks up behind her. She doesn’t dare move, as heavy breathing falls on the back of her neck, making her shiver. Everything comes to a stop. The house is filled with a deafening silence, and the woman slowly gets up, looking around.

The plates she heard smashed were no where to be seen, and everything was in it’s place. No objects were lying on the floor, not even the one that had flown by her head mere minutes ago. The woman lets out a sigh of relief, turning back to the statue of Mary with a smile. Her smile falls, and her eyes widen in horror. The fresh flowers the woman had picked that morning were wilted and dead, their colours turn to ash. The once blue robes of the statue had turned blood red, and the snake under her foot was gone. As the woman eyes trailed up the statue, her breathing hitched at the terrifying sight. The hands that were once clasped in a prayer, were now wrapped around the statues neck. Blood dribbled from the mouth, nose and eyes of the statue. The eyes. The eyes that were downcast and kind, had now turned to glare at the woman, eyes red and demonic as she grinned evilly down at her. “God can’t save you now.” She hisses, giggling maniacally.

Before the woman could scream, something invisible grabs her throat, lifting her up from the ground. She claws at whatever held her in place, gasping for air. In the blink of an eye, a demonic, red man appears, clutching at her throat with sharp fingernails. Curved horns grew from his skull, and shaggy, goat fur covered his arms and legs. He grins a crooked, sharp grin, squeezing her throat harder. The woman lets out a strangled scream, but it was hard for her to use her voice. The red man opens his mouth, and out crawls a large snake, climbing up his arms slowly as it approached the woman. It hovers in front of her for a moment, watching the life leaving the woman’s eyes. Her arms became limp, and she stares into the distance, mouth hanging open from a silent scream. Her breathing became shallow, her pulse barely noticeable. The snake lunges, plunging its fangs into the woman’s eyes. — Flossie and Pebbs look at each, confused. “How large is a snake in your world? How can it crawl out of the mans mouth?” Flossie asks. Pebbs nods. “Yes, and who is this “Mother Mary” you speak of?” She added. Jean groans. “Dang it, I got to Amphibia-fy it.” “Amphibi-what?” “Never mind.” Jean waves off their questions, turning to Pebbs. “Now, it’s your turn, Pebbs. What’s your scary story?” Flossie gasps, shaking her mother’s arm. “Yes! Yes! Tell us your scary story, mum!” She begs. Pebbs smiles, pretending to give in to her child’s cries. “Alright, alright. I guess I do have one or two up my sleeve.” She chuckles. As Pebbs starts her story, the two youngsters scoot closer. The newt rests her chin on her palms, as she looks down at the children. The fire crackles as it’s light falls on her face, casting her in an eerie glow. “Now, the story I’m about to tell you two, no one else knows the truth of. This is the story of: Puddle’s Doll.”

— Two amphibians, a frog and a newt, run together down to the lake, each carrying a large sack. Two best friends, who spent their every day by the shore-side of the lake, each carrying a sack to search for and collect treasures.

It was surprising how much junk showed up on the lake’s shores. Pebbs turns to frog friend. “Hey, Puddle! Race you to the lake!” She taunts. Puddle chuckles, hopping ahead of the newt child. “Oh, it is ON!” “Hey! No fair!”

The two giggle as they rush to the lake, diving head first into its waters. They splash around for a bit, then got out to look for treasures.

Puddle carries his sack a distance away from Pebbs, picking up a few shells, a chipped sun-dial, and a soaked book.

Waddling along, he comes across an object he’d never seen before. He picks it up.

It looked like some kind of glass doll, a frog dressed in a frilly dress, and a mass of hair on her head. One eye was missing, and the other stares up at Puddle. Without taking his eyes off of it, he calls out to Pebbs. “Hey Pebbs, take a look at this!” Pebbs comes over, spotting the doll in Puddle’s hands. “Mother of Olms, what is that?” She asks curiously. She reaches out to grab it and take a closer look, but Puddle snatches it away. “Hey! Finders keepers!” Pebbs holds up her hands in surrender. “I was just going to have a look, frog’s sake. You can keep that thing. I definitely don’t want it.” She scoffs, looking down at it. Puddle follows her gaze, turning it around in his hands. “I do have to say, it is freaky looking.” He admits. A wide grin crosses his features as he shoves it into his sack. “I’m gonna scare my sisters with it.” He chuckles darkly. Pebbs giggles, and the two resume their treasure hunting.

Neither of them had seen a tall, lanky, shadowy figure watching from the bushes nearby. They grin, fangs bared before disappearing into the thicket.

-

A few days had passed since Pebbs and Puddle found the doll. But every time the two hung out, Pebbs would notice the bags under Puddle’s eyes, how jumpy he’d get whenever someone so much as touched.

And the way he’d snap out at any one for minor things. This was so unlike Puddle, and Pebbs was getting worried.

One day, they were out by the lake again. They were just chatting, when Pebbs had just gently brushed against Puddle’s arm. It set him off, and he turns to her with wide, terrified eyes. “Don’t touch me!” He hisses. Pebbs reels back, shocked. “I barely touched you!” She shoots back. Puddle takes in heavy breaths, looking around for something. He looked terrified.

The newt takes a step in front of her friend, making sure she was in his view. “Puddle, are you okay? Did something happen?” She asks worriedly.

His expression, which was contorted into rage moments before, melted away into one of shock and regret. He looks around, shoulders hunched. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He replies quietly, sitting down on the ground.

Pebbs sits down with him. “Is everything okay, Puddle?” Puddle looks out at the lake. “I-I….if I tell you, do you promise not to call me crazy?” He asks in a hushed whisper. Pebbs smiles, placing her hand on her heart. “I swear upon King Andrias Leviathon. Now, what’s wrong?” She asks. Puddle draws his knees to his chest, swallowing nervously. “Do you…remember that weird doll we found?” Pebbs nods, urging him to continue. Puddle rubs his arm. “W-well, I think…I think there’s something seriously wrong with it.” He admits. Pebbs tilts her head. “How so?” “It moves.” Pebbs squints at the frog, more confused than ever. “It…what?” “It moves.” Puddle repeats. “By itself. When it first did it, I thought it was my sisters. But they had no way of knowing I had the doll.” He explains. Pebbs stares at him. “I don’t think I quite understand-“ “A-and each night, it gets worse. I-I hear tapping on my window, and little footsteps running around my room. I woke up this morning with it sitting right next to my head, even though I threw it into the cupboard last night.” His voice starts quivering, and he begins to cry. “I-I don’t know what to do. I’ve locked it up, I’ve tried throwing it away, but it keeps coming back. “And tonight, my folks and little sisters are leaving the house and staying somewhere overnight. I’m not allowed to go because I’m grounded!” He starts shaking as he’s crying, and he cuddles up into his newt friend. “I-I’m scared, Pebbs. I’m not allowed to leave the house.” Pebbs gently rubs his back, deep in thought. Finally, she stands up with a grin. “Hey, it’ll be fine! I’ll just stay the night at yours! I’m sure your parents won’t mind: It’s me!” She laughs, gesturing to herself. “I’ll figure out your problem, and by tomorrow morning, you’re problem will be fixed! You have my word.” She explains. Holding onto Puddle’s hands, she helps him to his feet. “Ol’ Pebbs ain’t scared of no doll.” Puddle seems unsure, but nods his head, relaxing at the thought of having his best friend staying the night. None of them knew what they were getting themselves into.

-

Pebbs arrives at the doorstep of Puddle’s house, carrying a bag with all her belongings and her favourite cane. Knocking on the door, she waited, taking note that the family wagon was no where to be seen. Puddle’s family must’ve left already. The door opens, revealing a relieved Puddle. He lets the newt in. “Thank you so much for staying with me tonight, Pebbs.” He says. Pebbs grins, waving him off. “It’s no problem! Anything for a friend.” She winks, elbowing him. Puddle guides her to his room, where the doll sat on the bed. Puddle shivers, staring at the doll fearfully. “I didn’t put that there…” he whispers. Pebbs bends down to take a closer look at the doll. It sat stock still, frozen. Like it hadn’t moved at all. The young newt hums, removing her bag from her shoulder and placing it on the ground next to her cane, rummaging through it. Puddle tilts his head. “What are you doing? What did you bring?” He asks. Pebbs finally pulls out a jar of powder. “You said it moves, right? If we put flour all over the floor, we’ll see if it really is moving by itself, or if something else is doing it. There’s got to be an explanation for this.” She informs. Puddle nods his head, finally understanding. “That’s smart.” With Puddle’s permission, the newt covers the frogs room and the hallway floor in flour. By the time they were done spreading out the flour and were careful not to step in it on the way to the room, it was dark outside. So, the two children light up the house with glowing mushrooms, lighting the fireplace to keep the house warm. Sitting down on the floor of Puddle’s room, the doll between them, Pebbs brings out a book with a maroon cover, a golden, 6 fingered webbed hand on the cover. She opens it to a bookmarked page. “Okay. So according to this book by Professor Pond, what you might be experiencing is something called “paranormal activity”. To put it short for you: something to do with angry deceased spirits.” Pebbs explains. “This one is called “doll haunting”, and after some researching on it, I think I’ve figured out what to do!” She claims. Pulling out another piece of paper with “yes” and “no” written on it. She balances two pencils on it. “What we do, is we ask it questions that it can answer in “yes” or “no”. To answer it simply pushes the pencil in the direction of its answer,” Puddle looks down at the confusing stuff in front of him. “Whoa, this is a lot.” He comments. “How’d you find the book?” “Sorry, you may be may best friend, but I can’t tell you that.” The newt explains mysterious, putting it in front of her face to hide a smirk. She did so to lighten the mood, and thankfully it worked, since Puddle giggles. “Fine then. Keep your secrets. But you better tell me when all this is over.” “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” The two giggle, returning to their activity. Clearing her throat, Pebbs looks around the darkened room. “Okay, first question: Is there anything with us tonight?” She asks aloud. There’s silence for a while, as the two amphibians look around at there surroundings. Something moving catches Puddle’s attention, and he gasps. “P-Pebbs. Look.” He whispers, pointing at the piece of paper and pencil. The pencil was now pointing at “yes”. He looks up at her. “P-please tell me that w-was you.” He asks. Pebbs shakes her head, and Puddle whimpers. “Uh, question two: are you connected to the doll?” Again, there was no answer. The paper doesn’t move for a while. The newt decides to watch the doll, seeing if it would move like Puddle’s said. It was facing away from her, it’s one eye staring at the walk-in cupboard. Pebbs squints, leaning closer to the doll. That’s when it’s glass eye moved to stare at her, startling her. She screams, reeling back and scooting away. Puddle copies her, frightened. “What?! What happened?!” He yells. Pebbs stares at the doll, panting. “It’s eye moved! “ Something gets thrown across the room, scaring the two kids and they both scream once more. They both look in the direction of the sound, seeing that one of Puddle’s figures had been flung to the other side of the room. Puddle turns to his friend. “I-I wanna go. Let’s l-leave.” He begged. Pebbs shook her head. “N-no! Please, let’s just stay a little longer. I want to finish this investigation!” She insists. Puddle looks at the doll fearfully, doubtful and unsure. Pebbs crawls back to the doll, picking up her book. “One more question, then we can go. Okay?” She offers, holding out her hand. Not wanting to leave the house by himself, Puddle gives in, sitting down with the newt and holding her hand tightly. Pebbs picks up her book in one hand, clearing her throat. “Last question….are you…are you here to hurt us?” The two fixate their gaze onto the pencil on the paper. It moves slightly, before it starts spinning. It spins around and around, looking like it wasn’t intending to stop to answer. Pebbs and Puddle share a scared look. That wasn’t a good sign. Finally, it lands on its answer: yes.

At that, Puddle’s stands up, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no. We’re leaving. Right now.” He informs. Pebbs nods, gathering her stuff and harshly stuffing it into her bag. “Agreed.” They hurriedly got to their feet, Pebbs holding her half-open bag as objects spill out of it, accidentally leaving her cane behind.

As the two amphibians got up to go, already halfway out the door, they hear a giggle. A little girls giggle, that echoed around the room, making a shiver crawl up their spines. Pebbs and Puddle turn around to stare at the doll. The doll that was once sitting on the floor, was now standing all by itself. Pebbs was fascinated. She cautiously approaches the doll, as Puddle shakes his head, begging her to leave. But the newt ignores him. Standing right beside the doll, she moves her hand above it, making sure that there were no strings connected. Her hand was met with thin air. She was in disbelief. “This is…” The bed is lifted off the ground by an invisible force, thrown in Pebbs direction. The newt screams, jumping out of the way and dropping her bag. She gasps for air as Puddle pulls her to her feet. “LET’S GO! LET’S GO! LET’S GO!” The two children scramble out of the room, their footfalls and heavy breaths filling the deafening silence. Pebbs stops, turning back to the room. Puddle halts in his running when he realised the newt wasn’t following. “Pebbs! What are you doing?! We have to get out of here!” He hisses. Pebbs shakes her head. “M-my stuff- my book! I can’t leave it- my book can help you get rid of this ghost!” She exclaims. Puddle jumps on the spot, thinking of a solution. The newt obviously wasn’t going to leave without her stupid book. He groans, grabbing her arm and leading her to the kitchen. “Come on!” He hisses, moving as quietly as he could. They reach the kitchen, and Puddle grabs a knife. “Okay, h-here’s the plan. I’ll go get the book, while you stay here.” He orders. Pebbs shakes her head furiously. “No way! I’m not gonna make you stay here OR get my book. You can wait outside the house, and I’LL go get my book.” She claims. Puddle scowls. “No, I’m not leaving you in here with that thing!” “And I’m not going to make you get my book!” As they argued, a loud creak startles them. They turn to the doorway to see….the doll. The doll stood there, staring at them with its one eye. Its arm was raised toward them, reaching for them. The light in the hallway behind her flickered on and off, making everything even more terrifying for the two kids.

The kids stare, frozen. Pebbs finally takes in a shaky breath. “I-I’ll go get my book. You stay here, and tell me if it moves. When I get back, we’ll leave and come up with a plan.” She whispers. Puddle nods, staring quietly at the doll. Moving around the doll slowly, Pebbs holds her breath. But it doesn’t move. It keeps staring right at Puddle. She makes a run for it, bolting into Puddle’s room to grab her book. As she enters the room, she noticed it had become a mess while they were gone. Cupboards were open, with clothes and other objects covering the floor. Her book wasn’t anywhere in sight.

She begins searching, throwing stuff out of her way as she looked frantically for the book. “Come on, come on! It was just here! Where could it-" “Pebbs!” Puddle’s voice screams out from the kitchen. “Hurry up! Please!” “I’m trying!” Pebbs scuffled around, heart-rate rising in a panic. Her book was missing, the only thing that could help them get rid of this thing, it was missing. “PEBBS! IT MOVED! I ONLY BLINKED AND IT MOVED!” Puddle’s high-pitched voice screams. Pebbs stomach sunk. “Get out! I’ll meet you outside!” She urged. Puddle’s angry, and terrified reply came back. “I’m not leaving you! I-I just won’t blink! Just please, hurry!” He urged. Pebbs threw stuff against the wall. “Come on! Where- FOUND OUT!” She laughs out, relieved, as she picks it up. “I’m coming Puddle!” There was no reply as Pebbs ran out the room, book clasped tightly in her hands. “I got it! Let’s go!” Reaching the kitchen, Pebbs wide, delighted grin fell. Puddle wasn’t there, and neither was the doll. The newt gulps. Maybe he went outside? Like she told him to? Running out the door, she looks around. But her little frog friend was no where in sight. “Puddle! Where are you?!" No response. Pebbs felt like throwing up, as she clutches her book tightly. “Puddle, this isn’t funny! Please, come out! We can leave now!” Still, Puddle did not come out. Pebbs begins tearing up, turning in circles. The woods around her whispered, voices unrecognisable. Shadowy figures loomed in the corner of her eyes, but were never there when she turned to look. Freaking out, Pebbs looks back at the house. What she saw, made her blood run cold. There, in the window of Puddle’s room, was a tall, lanky figure. It waves at her, its features invisible. At that, Pebbs ran. Her instincts told her to run, and so she did. Any thought left her mind except for one: Run and look for help. The only thing grounding her as she ran back to Wartwood, was the heavy book in her arms, reminding her of what she’d done. ——

“When the adults returned to the house the next morning, they found nothing out of the ordinary. Puddle’s room was neat and tidy, just like they’d left it. There was no one inside the house waiting for them. The only one missing, was Puddle.”

The kids stare up at Pebbs, pale faced as they listened to her story. Pebbs held her cane tightly, as she stares down at the children, expression unreadable.

“Puddle’s body was found by the lake a few days later, his limbs torn off and placed in a circle.” Flossie gulps, holding onto Jean tightly. Jean pats her head, clearly frightened by the story as well. Pebbs smirks at their reactions. “Some say in the dead of night, if you go down by the lake, you can hear Puddle’s lost spirit crying, begging for help." Flossie shivers, and Jean looks around, clearing her throat. “What-uh-happened to the doll?” She asks quietly. Pebbs leans back into her chair. “No one knows. But I suspect it’s searching for its next victim, tapping at the windows of unsuspecting children, waiting to see which one will let them in. ”

They sit in silence for a few seconds, the only sound coming from the crackling of the fire. The older teen claps her hands together.

“So, who’s the winner tonight?” she asks. Flossie points to her mother. “Mum again.” She says, defeatedly. Pebbs shrugs. “I don’t know, you told a pretty scary story tonight.” She points out. “Well, someone has to be the winner. Unless we’re calling it a draw?” “No draws! Draws are for the weak!” Flossie exclaims. Pebbs turns to the readers. “Who do you think won the competition?” Jean follows her gaze, seeing nothing. “What are you looking at?” As they chatted, a small sound disturbs them. A tapping at the window nearest to them. Pebbs turns to the children, expression dark. “Don’t open that.” “Don’t have to ask me twice!”

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m opening it after that.”

——

A/N: For someone who watches a lot of horror stories on yt, you’d think I’d come up with scarier stuff aksjhcjch

Side note: this is my first time writing horror ajhfcj so here you go either way. Think of it as a late halloween special/early christmas present!

#freshie writes #writing #horror #amphibia #amphibia au #soul sisters au #amphibia soul sisters #flossie harveston #jean goodeman #pebbs harveston #polly plantar #hopediah plantar #anne boonchuy #sprig plantar #amphibia ocs #and of course #this series was inspired by shy-anon-writes #ngl had fun with this chapter

[dysnomiias]

❣️simon & flossie.

ship meme : accepting.

Who is the little spoon? - flossie, unless simon breaks his leg. then flossie's gonna have to spoon him.

Who sings in the shower? - both, people in the army have complained about simon's singing though.

Who plays pranks on the other? - flossie has been deemed the prankster between them since long ago.

Who is the one who listens to pop music? - simon. i imagine flossie to be more of an indie listener... simon's less picky

Who brings the other a random cup of joe? - flossie.

Who picks the cheesy movies for date night? - simon.

Who is more likely to feed the other in public? - simon.

Who gives the other random little compliments? - simon.

Who is always stealing food from the other’s plate? - flossie. gremlin.

Who is more likely to let the other borrow their car?  - simon.

Who makes the list before they go grocery shopping? - flossie.

Who makes sure the other takes their meds when sick? - flossie.

Who watches sports and has to teach the other the rules? - simon.

Who pulls the other to their feet for a dance in the living room? - simon.

Who has to keep reminding the other to hurry or they’ll be late? - simon. flossie can't stay in bed the whole day. not allowed.

Who is the one most likely to get a tattoo with the other’s name? - simon.

#bond › simon and flossie. #lilacwiine