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riordanness · 4 months

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fictional — [p.jackson]

2.1K wordcount

warnings: none

requested: no

‘i put myself in another world, where i can be any other girl, cause i don’t really wanna face it. cause if it isn’t real you can pretend all you want…’

I sigh as the lyrics of ‘Fictional’ by Khloe Rose filter through my headphones. My head leans against the cool glass window of the bus, bumping my forehead every time the driver goes over a pothole.

Hey, call me crazy, but this is probably the most relatable song in existence. At least to me. Falling in love with boys from books and movies was basically my job at this point.

I had one, though, that meant more than all my other ‘fictional boyfriends’.

Percy Jackson.

I’d grown up with this character, laughed with him, cried with him, held fast and braved the storm with him. I’d adopted his personality, tried to be like his girlfriend, acted as if we were best friends, talked to him, dreamt about him, read and written fanfiction about him, anything you can think of. I am obsessed, and no, I’m not ashamed of that fact.

I’m five years running with this crush now, and it’s not going anytime soon. I let out another sigh as I realise, yet again, that this is impossible. He’s fictional, as much as it hurts to admit. He isn’t real, and I can’t live my whole life pretending to date and marry a fictional character. Life just doesn’t work like that. Sadly.

The bus pulls up at school, and I climb off, slipping my headphones into my pocket. I’ll probably get them back out during a boring lecture in one of my classes, but for now I’ll just keep the daydreaming at a minimum.

“Hey, girl.” Andie sidles up to me, nudging me with her shoulder. “What’s kicking?”

“Nothing,” I deadpan. “Unless you’re a goat, like Grover Underwood.”

Andie laughs, my sarcastic comment going right over her head. I love her to death, seriously, but the girl hasn’t got an ounce of sarcasm in her. She’s the most literal and honest person ever, but she’s also super sweet and sincere. So, sarcasm isn’t even a word she knows.

“I’m not a goat, silly,” she giggles. “But guess what?!”

“Yeah?” I am actually kind of interested. Andie usually has all the gossip (somehow), so her news tends to be pretty good.

“There’s a new guy in our class today,” she squeals. “Apparently he just moved here from New York.”

“New York is where Percy Jackson lives,” I say automatically. “I wanna visit there someday so bad.”

Andie rolls her pretty eyes. She likes Percy Jackson. I made her read the books, and she did, but just so that she knows what I’m talking about most of the time. “You and your fictional boys, I swear. This is a real boy, y/n! You need to get your head out of a book for once if you ever wanna meet somebody.”

I shrug. “Real boys suck though.”

And even Andie can’t argue with that.

I’m doodling in my notebook, half listening to Mr Mintar explain something about geometry. I’m not terrible at maths, so I figure I’ll just catch up if I need to. My brain doesn’t want to pay attention today.

I perk up, though, when I hear something new.

“Students,” Mrs May, our principal, announces. “We have a new student joining us today. Please be kind to Mr Jackson and show him around. Remember, you were once a new student yourself.”

Jackson? Like Percy Jackson? How cool is that, I thought to myself. I yank my headphones out of my ears and glance up.

A boy is talking quietly with Mr Mintar; who is probably explaining what we’re learning and where he’ll sit. We have assigned seats in basically every class, because a few boys in our grade are idiots, so I sit alone in every class. Apparently, other students are very likely to copy my work if they’re sitting with me, so the teachers decided to make me sit alone all the time. It’s kind of okay, though. Means I can do whatever I want with no one to tell on me for listening to music.

I watch as Mr Mintar talks with his hands, waving them a lot. The boy has his back to me. He has messy black hair, and he’s wearing jeans, converse and a blue hoodie.

Mr Mintar gestures at me, and I sit up straight. The boy glances quickly, nods at Mr Mintar, and I realise what’s happening. He’s being assigned to sit with me, which probably means I'll also be assigned his personal ‘welcome-to-our-school’ guide. Which means I’ll be forced to be this guy’s friend for the next few weeks. Yay.

The boy turns to face me, and I swear my heart literally skipped a beat. Now, this wasn’t like those dumb fanfics where a girl’s celebrity crush just so happens to turn up at her school for some stupid reason, and they fall in love blah blah blah.

This was an honest-to-goodness ‘what the hell is happening’ moment. The boy now walking towards me looks exactly how I’ve always pictured Percy Jackson in my mind. The same crazily messy black hair, loose and slightly curled at the edges, twisting around his ears and falling in his eyes a little bit. He has the same smattering of freckles on his nose, the same tan skin, troublemaker grin, the same glint of determination in his eyes.

And gosh, I’d know those sea-green eyes anywhere.

The boy slides into the seat beside me. “Hi,” he says softly. “You’re y/n?”

I can’t do anything but nod, and I try to not stare at him too hard.

“You’re supposed to be my guide, or something, I think.” The boy sounds apologetic, like he knows how annoying being forced to be a school guide is. “And I’m supposed to sit with you in all my classes.”

I nod again, a little dazed. Even his voice is Percy Jackson-coded. A slight rasp, a little accented, ugh.

I find my voice. “That’s cool. I’d be happy to show you around and get you into the groove of things here at East High.”

The boy smiles, and he has little crinkles at the side of his pretty eyes, as if he smiles a whole lot.

“Awesome. I’m Percy by the way.”

I blink at him, absolutely sure he’s pulling my leg somehow. “What do you mean?” I ask.

Percy frowns. “Like… my name? The thing that people call me? It’s Percy. Percy Jackson.”

I just stare at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“Your name is Percy Jackson?”

“Yeah?”

“Like the book character,” I add, surprising myself with the calm in my voice. Inside my head, though, I was screaming.

Percy’s brow furrows. “A book character? I dunno. Never heard of a book character called Percy, but there probably is. I don’t read that much. Dyslexia.”

I nod slowly. “Of course.”

Percy frowns again, then chuckles a little. “You’re weird. I like you.”

My tongue feels like someone’s deep fried it in the microwave. I try to swallow, and it’s nearly impossible. “So you’re not messing with me right now? You’re really called Percy Jackson, and you have dyslexia and probably ADHD, and sea-green eyes, and your hair isn’t dyed, and…”

Percy laughs again. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. What’s this about?”

I shake my head. “You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”

Percy raises his eyebrow. “Try me.”

It’s been a week since Percy’s arrival, and I’m still about 89% sure I’m dreaming. Not that I usually dream like this, but still.

I’ve spent basically all my school hours with Percy, as well as half my bus rides home, as his mum lives nearby to us.

The longer I know him, the more I’m sure that he’s real, that he’s actually here, and that he’s really, truly, Perseus Jackson, the not-so-fictional boy I’ve been in love with forever.

The weirdest thing, though, is the night after he arrived, I got home and all my Percy Jackson books and merch were gone. Mysteriously vanished. Even Andie doesn’t know what I’m talking about when I bring up PJO.

It’s like that movie, Yesterday, where everyone forgets about the Beatles. It’s like that, but with Percy Jackson. Oh, and obviously I have a real Percy to replace it; whereas Jack in that movie didn’t really have that.

Anyway, it’s crazy, it’s probably a hallucination, and it’s absolutely incredible. I’m spending every single day with my absolute favourite person in the universe, and he’s real.

The boy I’ve cried over, laughed over, loved for years… He’s here. He’s real. And he’s my friend.

“Marshmallows are not designed to be eaten alone,” I argue, pouting a french fry at Percy. “They aren’t even that nice anyway, but especially not when you eat them dry. All the powder, like, clogs up your throat and it’s disgusting. If you eat them on their own, you’re crazy.”

Percy laughs. “I hate them in my hot chocolates. They get all gooey and mushy, and… ugh.” He makes a face.

I roll my eyes. “You’re insane.”

Percy shrugs. “At least I don’t hate rice.”

“Hey!” I protest. “I have sensory issues! It’s not my fault the feeling of rice in my mouth makes me feel sick.”

“Hey, I know,” Percy says. “I was just kidding. I’m sorry.”

I relax. “It’s okay.”

I stare at him a moment, realising once again that this is really happening to me. That his pretty sea-green eyes are actually looking at me.

“What are you thinking about, love?”

“Huh?” I snap out of my trance, sitting up straighter. “What did you say?”

Percy smirks. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

To be honest, I barely remember. “Uh—nothing. Trying to think of what to do this afternoon after school.”

“You don’t have plans?” he asks.

I shake my head, and sip my chocolate milk. It tastes terrible.

“You’re going on a date with me, dummy,” Percy says, so casually I almost miss it. He leans his head back and throws a grape in the air, catching it in his mouth. It’s surprisingly attractive.

“Wait,” I say. “What?”

“You.” Percy points his finger at me, then himself. “Me.” He makes a swirling motion with his finger. “That new waterpark by the beach.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re asking me to go on a date with you?”

“You aren’t saying no.”

“No,” I reply, my voice soft, “I’m not.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s an epic waterpark.”

Percy grins down at me, his eyes looking extra pretty in the afternoon sunlight. “You wanna race to the gate?”

I pretend to think about it for a second, then begin sprinting as fast as I can. I hear Percy gasp in laughter, then start after me. He catches me easily, his legs much longer than mine, but as he does, he scoops me up into a hug.

“Hey!” I shriek. “Put me down!”

I can tell he isn’t taking me seriously though, because we’re both laughing too hard. Percy eventually drops me gently on the ground. I can’t help but suddenly miss the feeling of his bare chest against me. I blink, and instantly shake those thoughts away.

“Buy me an ice cream and I’ll let you win all our races from now on,” I tease.

Percy scoffs. “Darlin’, you couldn’t win if you had a jetpack on.”

I try to ignore the flutter in my chest and roll my eyes. “Could so, and I don’t need any old jetpack.” I flex my nonexistent muscles. “You see these? I’m perfectly fine on my own, thank you.”

“Oh, oh yeah of course. Sorry, your majesty.” Percy has a stupid grin on his face, and I have an urge to kiss him right then and there.

And so I do. I grab hold of his shoulders, pull myself up onto tiptoe, and press my mouth to his. “I love you, Seaweed Brain,” I whisper into his lips.

Percy wraps his arms around my waist, causing the flutter to return, more greatly this time. He deepens the kiss, his head tilting downwards to accommodate my shorter height. His lips taste of the jellybeans we were eating earlier together. He had insisted on eating only the blue ones, of course.

The world around me blurs, and fades, and I’m left with only him, only Percy Jackson. His fingers on my waist, his mouth on mine, my heart in his hands. I am completely and totally his, as I’ve been forever, but now? He’s completely and totally mine too. My not-so-fictional boy.

#percy jackson #pjo #fanfiction #fanfic #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x reader fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #walker scobell #percy jackson and the olympians #rick riordan #pjo series #pjo tv show #percy jackson x you #perseus jackson #fictional characters #fictional boys #fictional khloe rose

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magicfootballstuff · 6 months

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would you write some cute fluff of alexia being cute nervous to ask reader to move in with her, even though she has no need at all to worry?

“Is it just me or is Alexia acting weird today?” you ask Lucy, as the two of you stretch together in the gym before training.

“Dunno,” Lucy shrugs. “I haven’t noticed anything. But you know her better than I do.”

Alexia has been acting strangely around you for the last couple of days. You’ve managed to keep your romantic relationship and your professional lives pretty separate since you started dating a few months ago, but your teammates all know that you’re together and you never completely ignore each other at work. But Alexia has been weird the last couple of days, keeping more of a distance, being slightly jumpy around you, like she’s nervous by your presence. When you arrived at training this morning, she pretty much ran in the other direction when you tried to greet her with a kiss outside the dressing room, claiming that she had a meeting with Jonatan before training.

“There’s definitely something up,” you muse aloud, watching Alexia across the gym, where she’s loading plates onto the chest press machine with Mapi.

“Maybe she’s…” Lucy starts, but the cheeky grin slides off her face almost as quickly as it appears, and she adds, “Nah, I can’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“It’s nothing,” Lucy tries to dismiss it, folding her body almost in half against the yoga mat as she stretches.

“Lucy,” you warn her.

“Fine,” Lucy rolls her eyes as she sits upright again. “I was gonna make a joke that maybe she’s gonna break up with you, but then I realised that if she does break up with you it’s not a very funny joke.”

“She’s going to break up with me?” you ask, your eyes widening in panic. In all your consideration for the cause of Alexia’s weird behaviour over the last couple of days, you hadn’t paused to think that maybe it’s because she wants to end your relationship.

“No, I didn’t mean…” Lucy starts, in an attempt to fix what she’s said.

“But you said if she breaks up with me,” you point out. “Which means that you think there’s a chance she could.”

“Forget I said anything, it was just a silly joke. I don’t think she’s going to break up with you.”

But now that the idea is in your head, you can’t think of anything else. It all starts to make sense now, the distance, the jumpiness, the nerves. She wants to end the relationship, she’s just waiting for the right moment.

“Oh god, she is going to break up with me,” you say aloud, trying to do the maths in your head to work out when the last time one of you spent the night at the other’s apartment was. Four days, at least, maybe even five.

“I was just kidding,” Lucy tries to reason with you. “Alexia adores you.”

“Maybe not anymore. Not if she’s going to dump me.”

You glance over at Alexia again, only to find her eyes on you this time, and she quickly looks away, diving into a deep discussion with Mapi with their hands covering their mouths that can only be about you. Probably about wanting to break up with you.

“For fuck’s sake, she’s your girlfriend,” Lucy says, rolling her eyes. “Just go and talk to her.”

Lucy’s right, until Alexia actually tells you that she’s breaking up with you, she’s still your girlfriend and you have every right to want to talk to her in the gym. So you push yourself up to your feet and cross over, catching the end of Mapi’s sentence as you get close enough.

“… so talk to her and get it over with.”

“Yeah, Alexia,” you say, alerting your girlfriend to your presence behind her. “Get it over with. Break up with me, if that’s what you want.”

Alexia had seemed nervous when you arrived at her side, but when she hears what you have to say, the nerves disappear and her eyes almost bulge out of her skull in surprise.

“Break up with you?”

Mapi, you notice, is suddenly very interested in checking the weights on the nearby barbell, giving you and Alexia at least the pretence of some privacy.

“I don’t want to break up with you,” Alexia almost laughs.

“Wait, you don’t?”

“No!”

“But you …” you stammer, frowning as you try to remember why you thought she was about to end your relationship. “You’ve been weird the last couple of days. Distant. Nervous. Like you were trying to figure out the best time to end it.”

Alexia actually does laugh this time, tipping her head back, and you can’t help but feel like you’re missing the punchline of the joke.

“I haven’t been distant and nervous because I wanted to break up with you,” Alexia explains, taking your hand in hers and running her thumb over the back of your fingers. “It’s because I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you to move in with me.”

“Oh.” Your process Alexia’s words and it all starts to make sense. Relief floods through your body as you realise that your relationship isn’t coming to an end, but instead reaching an exciting new milestone. “You want me to live with you?”

“Yeah,” Alexia nods. “I know it’s soon. I know we’ve only been together for a few months, that you’ve been living in Barcelona for less than a year, but my life revolves around you. I want to go home with you. I want to wake up next to you every morning. And if you think we need more time then I’ll happily wait, but you’re it for me and I can’t imagine my life with anybody else.”

“Yes, I’ll move in with you,” you say, putting Alexia out of her misery as it’s her turn for relief to wash over her face.

“Thank god,” she says. “I was so worried you’d think I was moving too fast. But why did you think I was going to break up with you?”

“Well, I didn’t until Lucy said…”

As soon as you mention Lucy’s name, Alexia is looking around the gym for your English teammate.

“Lucia!” Alexia bellows across the gym.

You watch as Lucy scrambles to her feet, muttering something about hearing Jonatan calling her name as she practically sprints out of the gym to avoid facing the wrath of her captain.

“Note to self,” you say aloud, for your own amusement as much as Alexia’s. “Don’t take advice from Lucy.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Alexia hums in agreement.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #ficlet requests #alexia putellas x reader

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seongclb · 5 months

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BIRTHDAY CALL ! park sunghoon

PAIRING. classmate!hoon x classmate!reader

WARNINGS. none that i’m aware of :)

WORD COUNT. 1117

N. happy birthday to the loml, my handsome boy with the prettiest dimples ever! idk what this is btw i wanted to make it an smau??? we shall see

“hello?” as soon as the almost melodic sound of sunghoons voice echoed through your bedroom from your phone on speaker, you began to deeply regret letting your friends convince you to prank call sunghoon.

to be fair, at the time their words of convincing seemed extremely plausible; there was a slim chance of sunghoon realising that it was you speaking, since you were on no caller id and the times that he’d actually held a conversation with you was little.

it wasn’t that you didn’t want to, it was just far too nerve wracking. who wouldn’t be nervous to talk to a man with a face like that?

sure, you had loads of mutual friends and there were many opportunities to speak to him but the fear of blabbering like a buffoon in front of sunghoon was scarier than anything you’d imagine. so, this was your only chance of having some fun with the guy. it was harmless, and a great way to end your night with a smile on your face after hearing his voice.

that being said, you should have just stopped after hearing him say “hello?”

but, nope. that definitely was not what happened following.

shakily, you scramble to unmute the call and frantically look at your friends sitting around you, “i heard you’re good at math!”

your friends furrow their eyebrows at you, mouthing words of a frenzy since this was far from what was rehearsed. originally, the plan was to say a silly joke about his football jersey and tell him how good looking he was. but, clearly your mind had ideas of their own.

sunghoon chuckles into the phone, and the noise of him closing a door is evident, “yeah, i’d say i am. why?”

there wasn’t a single thought behind your next actions, “oh, well this might be easy to understand then! are you math? because i can’t understand my feelings around you.”

your friends facepalm, throwing their heads into your nearby pillows to muffle their sounds of dismay upon quite possibly the cheesiest thing they’ve ever heard.

sunghoon booms with laughter, almost in disbelief, and you can hear the smile plastered on his lips as he says, “i’m pretty sure anyone would understand that pick up line, even if they weren’t good at math.”

“you’re right,” you bite your lip, feeling your stomach churn as the call goes silent for a moment.

“i have to say,” sunghoon exhales, “i expected better from you, y/n.”

“huh?” you gasp, your breathing rates growing faster with each passing second.

again, the sounds of sunghoon rummaging around in his room are coursing through your ears; if the sounds of his movements weren’t clear enough before, they certainly were right now due to your immense fear upon him realising it was you who had decided to call him the evening before a lesson with him. the room suddenly reeked of your desperation to hear his voice, which was the mere reason for you calling him in the first place.

“i’m pretty sure this is you, y/n,” sunghoon lightly laughs into the phone. “make sure you do your biology notes for tomorrows lesson.”

and with that, the phone call cuts. the phone slips out of your hand as all colour in your skin seeps out of your body.

—

fingers white and slippery from how hard you’re clutching your books that sweat begins to form, making your hands clammy. your eyes clamp shut as you step into the biology classroom, looking down at the floor in order to not make eye contact with the oh, so beautiful boy who sits on the desk a mere five feet away from you.

although you focus on everything else in the room, his eyes boring into you is the only thing you can notice and feel. clearing your throat, you slip into your seat and frantically open your textbooks, reciting a silent prayer begging for the lesson to go by faster than ever. as you focus on the suddenly jumbled words on your textbook, you can hear people greeting sunghoon and wishing him a happy birthday.

“thanks, man,” sunghoon smiles up at one of his friends.

“are you doing anything for your birthday?” his friend asks, also taking a seat since class was about to start.

sunghoon takes a breath, and you can feel his eyes on you once again, “maybe? we’ll see.”

the bell chimes beautifully, announcing that it was okay to run out of the classroom. victory could only last so long with the sweet taste of it being ripped away from you seconds after escaping the suffocating class room, you felt a hand on your backpack pull you to another direction.

looking over your shoulder, you saw a smirking sunghoon standing over you with a hand tightly grasped around the strap of your backpack.

“aren’t you going to wish me a happy birthday?” sunghoon smiles warmly, towering over you as he stands with his hands in his pockets.

“oh, happy birthday,” you say, swiftly despite my throat feeling dry from the anxiety of having him standing so close, knowing what you had done the previous evening.

sunghoon laughs, just like he had done the night before. you watch his dimples appear in his cheeks as his nose scrunches up and his eyes curl into the cutest crescents you’ve ever seen.

“what’s so funny?” you gulp, adjusting your backpack.

“you. you’re funny,” sunghoon breathes out. “was my phone call your birthday gift to me?”

after the phone call, your friends had decided that feigning innocence was the best option, “i’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

sunghoon rolls his eyes, “don’t try it. i know how your voice sounds. i’ve been in your class for three years.”

you frown, “was it that obvious?”

sunghoon chuckles, “yes! just because we don’t talk that often doesn’t mean i wouldn’t know! i’m not that slow.”

“but, still,” you mutter, somewhat disappointed. yet, there was something so heartwarming about knowing how sunghoon recognised your voice. perhaps all that participating in schools and presentations had been worth the embarrassment, since sunghoon could now easily distinguish your voice.

sunghoons still staring at you with a kind smile, “you know what would make my birthday even better that it already has been?”

you shake your head as sunghoon takes a step closer.

“go out with me,” sunghoon asks, raising one of his perfectly carved eyebrows.

“as if i’d say no,” you reciprocate his the wide grin across his cheeks. “only because it’s a birthday gift.”

with a bite of your lip, hoping he realises your attempt at making a smooth joke. by the amused expression painted over his face, sunghoon definitely has.

“that’s the only reason?” he ponders, acting disappointed. “what a shame. i thought you were interested in me.”

you straighten up, “what would happen if i was?”

“then, i’d ask you for your number. so you don’t get any more random ideas to prank call me instead of asking me out like a normal person,” sunghoon looks down at you with twinkling eyes.

you roll your eyes, “give me your phone.”

“gladly,” sunghoon beams.

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keldabekush · 2 months

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do u have any specifics in mind for how boba 1) met the meat droids and 2) how he ended up on the cover of their second album? also, just realized that certified meat droids fan din djarin could totally recognize boba at some point as “that one guy on that one meat droids album cover.” just imagining him as the math equation woman, seeing boba’s face at just the right angle and moment to make that connection, after having already known him for a little while lol

HAHA yes this is actually part of the meat droids lore - they meet Boba when he's skulking around on Coruscant and he essentially blackmails them into running errands for his little baby syndicate. They are going along with this partly because of the blackmail but also partly because they're sooo sure they can convince Boba to just come with them and learn to play the space kazoo or something if they just spend a little more tiiiime together - Boba exploits this thoroughly. They take the picture of him sitting on some steps looking extremely grumpy and use it as an album cover a few years later - this is the album that Din manages to get a hardcopy of at a flea market years in the future, and listens to over and over again until the data chip gets corrupted. It wasn't a super popular album because it was before they managed to make it big thanks to their Nuclear Crotch Floss collabs, and it was more industrial noise than the synth metal / electric psychedelic stuff they got popular for. I have an unfiinished comic WIP from a couple of years ago about Din finally realising why Boba looks so familiar to him, and Boba bracing himself for the "my dad had an army of clones" conversation, and then Din hitting him with "you're the angry kid on the cover of that meat droids album" and he unlocks five new stages of grief lmao.

#the meat droids #ask #answer #boba fett #din djarin

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fallenstarzz · 6 months

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The Kayleigh Lives AU - Part Two

And now for our check in with the World's Most Normalest Exy teams

Do you know who is 100% no exception capital T Thriving in this AU? Danielle Wilds.

I mean, she's still the first female captain in the NCAA, but in this universe she has actual support from inside the ERC board due to Kayleigh's insistance through the years

It has to do something for your ego when the creator of your sport namedrops you in multiple international interviews and also sends you a gift basket when you get nominated captain.

So yeah, even though the Foxes are still a mess and didn't pass the fourth game, Dan's having the time of her life. Good for her, honestly.

Kayleigh always attends the NCAA banquets because it's an easy excuse to be close to Kevin. Also the team spirit award isn't named after her, but she is the one to announce the winner every year. The Trojans have a running gag of the captain always making the exact same silly pose so they have a wall filled with basically the same picture a dozen times with minor differences – the main one being the five stages of grief on Kayleigh's face as she realises what's going on

Kayleigh's been avoiding Wymack at these things for ages because, look, when you decide you're gonna keep your baby a secret from your ex it's not a general expectation the two of you are going to meet face-to face regurlaly and be expected to make stilted small talk where he's very likely to ask about your son. And she doesn't need any rumors about them rising up again after all her efforts to kill the Baby Daddy speculation stories. If they come back, eventually someone is going to do the math right.

Also Kayleigh's pretty sure that after enough glasses of wine she'd hit on him again and even she's self aware enough to know that would be kind of a dick move

But she has always kept an eye on the Foxes, not only because she still has a little soft spot for Wymack, but also because his ideals of giving troubled kids a second chance trough Exy aligns itself a lot more with her ideals than wathever the hell the Ravens are doing now

(she would however like them a lot more if they were actually good at the sport)

So on these things she usually alternates between schmoozing with the ERC and being plastered by Kevin's side. She never wears red or black just to mess with the color scheme but claims it's not to show favoritism. She takes blatant advantage of the fact that Kevin never had an "embaressed of your mom" phase and frequently sits herself between Kevin and Riko.

Most of the Ravens don't complain because they are taught not to question authority but most importantly because Kevin's mom is hot. So she can disturbe the vibes a little, as a treat

Kayleigh is a frequent point of tension between Riko and Tetsuji, because she is of an almost equal standing to him in hierarchy (in that weird grey area where they both are important assets to the side branch with some autonomy but, ultimately, their leash is only as slack as Tetsuji decides to allow), so he's supposed to owe her some respect, but she is also his only competition for Tetsuji's affection and Kevin's obedience. The only reason he hasn't acted out against her yet is that Riko's waiting for Kayleigh and Tetsuji to fight so he can be sure his is the side his uncle will pick.

Jean is also not her greatest fan. Mostly because he sees Kayleigh as someone who willingly put herself and her son in a position Jean would do anything to get out of, but also because she's the safest person for him to hate. Jean learned the hard way not get in the Master or Riko's bad side, and Kevin is his only support inside the Nest. But she has very little direct impact on his life besides protecting him by proxy when she watches over Kevin, just because Riko's generally not allowed to hurt ANYONE during those times. It always gets a bit worse when she leaves, however, and Riko has pent-up frustation to take off. Jean hates her a little bit for that, too.

Neither of them could get Kevin to think badly of his mother, though. His faith in Kayleigh is one of the only things the Nest never managres to beat out of him.

At the Winter Banquet, the only time she leaves the Raven table is to approach Dan. She wants to congratulate her personally on the efforts this season and maybe offer some words of encouragement and advice.

Despite her many efforts to avoid the coaches' table like the plague, however, she ends up going up to the Foxes' table right when Wymack was coming to check that they hadn't set anything on fire.

It's an extremely awkward interaction. She calls him by his first name but looks like she's swallowed a lemon the entire time. He feels like there is no safe place on her person to look and so stares slightly over her shoulder into the distance. They can't decide wether to hug or politely shake hands and end up with stilted nods. They HAVE talked before, but it always feels like it's the first time they are seeing each other since the break up. It's been twenty years and at this point both of them have given up expecting things to get lighter. It's just that it's kind of hard to get over the multiple elephants in the room.

The Foxes eat it the FUCK up.

Allison could smell the divorce like a bloodhound. Seth however doesn't believe Coach could actually pull Kayleigh Day.

The SECOND Kayleigh and Wymack awkardly turn away and flee in opposite directions, the betting pool starts

The score is as follows: Coach hit on her when they were younger and got rejected (Seth, Fifth Year Seniors) / They had a one night stand a long time ago and it was Very Bad (Nicky) / They had a one night stand a long time ago and it was Very Good (Renée, Matt) / They dated but Kayleigh ended it (Allison) / They dated but Wymack ended it (Dan)

Andrew refuses to bet. When Nicky presses the twins a bit too much, Aaron gets annoyed and decides to bet that Wymack is actually Kevin Day's biological father. No one takes him seriously.

The team sat across them tries to pretend nothing happened

Some time between the reunion and her 100th check up on Kevin, Kayleigh ends up missing a very important discussion between the ERC and Tetsuji

19 notes · View notes

letsgolando-4 · 7 months

Text

Formula 1 explained (I think)

Here is a not-so-brief explanation of some of the important things in formula 1. Enjoy!

Free Practice

Free practice is drivers remembering how to not suck before they have to go and not suck in front of a lot of people with a lot more cameras. Whoever goes fastest gets people to momentarily hope (on the rare occasion that it is not Verstappen) that someone other then Verstappen will win a race. To put things into perspective, this never happens. Takes place on a Friday.

Qualifying

Qualifying is like a race but not a race. It’s short and if you suck in qualifying, unless you’re god (or again, Verstappen) you’re gonna suck in the race as well because however you finish is however you start in the actual race. If you manage to finish first in qualifying your on pole. Unfortunately, it no longer matters if anyone other than Verstappen is one pole because the guy somehow manages to clinch a race win anyway. Takes place on a Saturday.

Grand Prix (the actual race)

Finally, we have reached the actual race. There’s a lot of panic and stress for nothing and they make a big show of five lights going out and then people race. A lot of people go out in turn 1 so try to keep your head screwed on for the first few laps. If Williams are higher than P20 and P19, look outside because the world may be ending. Alfa Romeo disappear out of the points and tend to just suck in general. McLaren will either do really shit or really good but they can never actually WIN a race, just get onto the podium. Ferrari will occasionally let their fans sniff the air in P1 before either crashing or getting taken out by Verstappen. One of the two. The Mercedes will probably be nice and comfy having not moved from their cemented P4 and P5, and the Redbulls? Well, Checo doesn’t really get a lot of limelight but the aforementioned Verstappen will be winning. Not a negotiable fact. The other teams will be somewhere in between. Takes place on a Sunday.

Sprint Races

Occasionally the FIA are feeling quirky and they decide to have a sprint race which is like a race but not a race. It’s short so you don’t need to pit. Sometimes when they decide they don’t want blood on their hands they’ll stop a race halfway through if the conditions are dangerous and then resume it when the weather dies down. These are also technically little sprint races. They do regular qualifying on a Friday and then on Saturday they have what the FIA like to call a ✨sprint shootout✨ which is qualifying for a sprint race. Same rules apply. Then they have some fun with a sprint race and when they’ve calmed down a bit, have a normal race on Sunday.

Teams And Drivers

The current formula 1 grid has 20 drivers, two drivers per team, and in case you suck at maths, that makes 10 teams. Teams have first and second driver. This is a way of saying who is shit and who is not without hurting their feelings. These teams and their drivers are as follows:

Redbull: Max Verstappen (first driver) and Sergio “Checo” Perez (second driver)

Ferrari: Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz. No first driver because the team principal likes Leclerc more but Sainz’s father realised this.

Mercedes: Lewis Hamilton (first driver) and George Russell (second driver)

McLaren: Lando Norris (first drivers) and Oscar Piastri (second driver)

Alpine: Esteban Ocon and Pierre Gasly. Again, no first driver because the French civil war is too intense. At least I think.

Alfa Romeo: Valtteri Bottas (first driver) and Zhou Guyanu (second driver)

Alpha Tauri: Yuki Tsunoda (first driver) and Daniel Ricciardo (second driver) although Ricciardo had a bad crash and broke his arm so as of October 2023 Liam Lawson from F2 is stepping in.

Aston Martin: Fernando Alonso (first driver) and Lance Stroll (second driver)

Haas: Kevin Magnussen (first driver) and Nico Hulkenberg (second driver)

Williams: Alexander Albon (first driver) and Logan Sargeant (second driver)

So that’s the low-down on the bare bones of an F1 race. Tell me if I’ve missed anything or got anything wrong!

Danny out.

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randombush3 · 2 years

Text

Bad Habit.

florence pugh x reader

summary: words that should’ve been said never were.

words: 4209

warnings: drinking, suicidal themes, major breakdown, disturbing topics

notes: OKAY. it was originally supposed to follow the song, but now it doesn’t. look out for the lyrics though. also this got really out of hand imo, it’s one of those fics where i never actually saw the end when i began it and therefore takes lots of twists and turns and may not make sense. you might have read it like twenty times. who knows!

based on steve lacy’s song Bad Habit

p.s. fuck tumblr’s editing interface.

“That will be my cab, Flo.” You swirl the dregs of your whiskey, noticing that though the bar is cold, the ice has melted. Have you really been here this long? You would never have realised if you hadn’t remembered to order a ride to the airport while washing your hands twenty minutes ago. Time is irrelevant with her.

She places a hand on your arm, wishing you’d meld together and stay forever. In this bar, forever. In her life, forever. If she were to truly believe that she’d be naive and stupid. You met filming, and, yeah, maybe you did become friendly but you’re always going to view her as a work friend; nothing more, nothing less. “Okay,” she says, voice deep and low and undeniably sexy to have directed at you. It isn’t fair. “This is it, right?”

You smile, lips pressed together and hiding the slight ache of your heart. “Right.” Work friend. Your characters were dating, not you two. You tilt your glass, toasting with what’s left of your diluted drink, “until we meet again.”

She laughs, but it rings out more melancholic than intended, hanging heavy in the air between two people who will most likely not end the night the way they’d both like to.

“Yeah.” She smiles. “Until we meet again.”

Standing up to see you out, Flo envies the bartender because the smile you give him is more genuine than any you’ve given her. “Thank you,” you tell him. He fights a blush, finds your softness beautiful, charming. Flo would better describe you as the magnet that attracts every ounce of adoration in her body and takes it unknowingly and unwillingly. “Have a nice evening.”

“You too,” he replies, seemingly ignoring the five other customers — all old men with cash only and wives on the brink of divorcing them. Florence thinks he is about to hop over the green leather of the bartop and kiss you, because he certainly looks as if he will, but you’re lacing your fingers with hers and taking her with you outside before he can move an inch.

She feels special in that moment. More than she has ever felt.

“How come you’ve dragged me into the freezing air of wintertime Helsinki at one in the morning?” You giggle, pure tipsiness making your decisions for you. The woman in front of you recognises the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other, leaving her hand dead by her side in order to wrap your arms around your front. “I’m going to miss watching an underdressed Y/n L/n die a long, cold death while begging me for my jacket.”

“I haven’t asked for it yet.” She grins, taking it off anyway. “And I don’t want to take it, because I’m going to stop by my friend’s to grab my suitcases and then I’m off. Back home until the next adventure.” This jacket is old, it must be from skiing a few years ago, but her body has warmed it and it’s cosily swallowing you whole.

“Or the next torture. At least being forced to be near me is coming to an end,” she jokes, self-deprecating. You hate it when she says things like that, mainly because you’d watch her in awe whether she delivered an Oscar-worthy monologue or figured out a simple maths equation. Either would be something you’re convinced you’d never do, anyway. Wrapping the movie hit you both like a brick, because the sudden realisation that, if neither of you had the balls to say something tonight, nothing would ever come of the three months you spent frolicking in the snow, pretending to be in love with someone who made you feel an affection you were supposed to not feel in real life, pinches your cheeks and reddens them. Flo chalks it up to the snowflakes falling on your eyelashes, your collarbones, touching parts of you she can only dream about.

“No, c’mon. Nothing’s ever torture with you. I’ll love this film even if it turns out to be a disaster because we made it together and I could never hate something you put your heart and soul into.” You’re essentially saying you’d like to kiss her and fuck her and preferably marry her, but Florence has failed every subtext social test ever presented to her. It’s brave of you to reach out and grab her hand again once you’ve said that. She’s blushing and not hiding it, your heart is pounding. If you could visit the Wizard of Oz, you’d beg for courage and step closer, tell her how you really feel. “I—”

Whatever magical emotion revealed itself to you is instantly scared off by the harsh beeping of a fat old man’s horn. “Are you getting in?” The taxi driver rolls his window down, face sour and bored and sick of stupid people having stupid rom-com moments. “I’m allowed to leave if you’re not going to.”

After a pause, you let go of her hand. Of her. “Okay. Goodbye. Good luck for Oppenheimer, yeah? I’ll see you when I see you.” If Flo’s voice hadn’t slipped out of her and ran away to the circus, she’d have stopped you in your tracks and told you that goodbyes needn’t be said so soon because she’s convinced that she loves you (and she’s right to believe so).

She should kiss you: it’s her final chance and chances shouldn’t be wasted on people who are too scared to say something in case the other doesn’t feel the same. You wish you knew if she felt the same, but you haven’t got time to rebuild your earlier fortitude as the driver is threatening to creep away by slowly leaving the side of the pavement. She waves goodbye awkwardly, trying to seem funny at the very least, and turns her back once you’ve surpassed the ten metre mark.

Not kissing you has to be the biggest mistake she has ever made.

You’re at the airport, sitting in the business lounge alone because you can’t cry in front of all those people. The waitress asks if you’d like anything to drink, nervous, not wanting to startle her client. “Do you have whiskey?” You decided that the tears need wiping if you are to carry on with your life like she never happened.

Once you are comfortably in the air, the plane’s window becomes more interesting than any of the movies offered in Finnair’s business class. While it proves as little distraction from the events of seven hours ago, you ask yourself two million questions, most of them beginning with ‘why didn’t you’ and ending with internal outbursts of frustration. Being alone, your head quite literally in the clouds, is what you need to recover from three months of nights where neither of you wanted to go back to their own bed. Three months of giggling endlessly though the director has reminded you how easily replaced you are. Three months down the drain.

God, you miss her, but you’ll have to go on missing her. You’ve kid yourself she could ever reciprocate selfish desires.

—-

Seven months later, you feel as if you’ve only just landed from your flight home. (Not that LA is quite your home.) Summer is supposedly fun, or it appears so on your Instagram that is monitored closely by an old costar. While your mind can, at times, be distracted for a day or so, hers is constantly split in two. Like every other thing in her life is fighting for her attention but being battered down by the thought of a lost girl in a jacket that swallows her, waiting for words that will never come.

Occasionally, under the influence of too much tequila, you text her, shit like what you ate for dinner, how your parents’ dog is doing. Empty words from an empty brain. She ignores them because it doesn’t sound like you, not because she wants to (she would like to screenshot each one, frame it, and worship her shrine for the rest of her life, but that’s deranged — you make her feel deranged). Though most of your friends think you’re overreacting to delete her contact and unfollow her on everything, it’s somewhat therapeutic to return her radio silence. If the mighty Florence Pugh won’t give you time of day, why should you remain?

“I’m not doing it,” you tell them — your friends — when she’s brought up. “I’m not going to wait for someone I’m not good enough for. Why can’t that be okay?” Secretly, you fall asleep every night lost in a tornado of moments that could have been; everything that could have happened but didn’t still happens in your mind, filling in gaps where the cupping of your cheek led to kissing you, where the parts left unsaid were spoken and heard and listened to. Listened to by the right person, not a friend, not an unbothered sibling, not a stranger sitting next to you at the dentist with too much time before their appointment. Sometimes the tornado begins to materialise and you spend the night with trapped sobs finally tasting the air beyond your lungs. As the sobs rise up in your throat, you can feel the snow land on your nose, the bleak taste of Helsinki resting on the tip of your tongue, nothing but a vivid memory that disappears when you gasp to check if you’re really there. You never are. You seem to snap in half every time.

Every fucking time.

“It’s just press.” Your publicist doesn’t accept your statement as smoothly. “If you don’t do it, you’ll be blacklisted and I’ll be underpaid. You’re an actress, Y/n. Act.”

She keeps three books on her desk, each the size and shape of one Hunger Games book. You’ve always wanted to ask what they mean to her; does she thumb through them between meetings? “I want to hit you very hard with the largest of your Hunger Games books. The second one, right?” She nods. “Yeah. I’d use the second book.” Under her desk, she has her palm flat against the wood, searching for the emergency button desks in movies have. She’s never had to even think about using it before. “I’m not going to, of course. That would be preposterous.” You get up, smiling at her. “I’m not going to do that, just like I’m not going to do that stupid press tour, understand? Because if I do that press tour, hitting you with a book won’t seem ridiculous to me. She will drive me insane. She already is.”

Reluctantly, the executives allow you to skip the cast briefings on the basis that you do more interviews than you’d initially agreed to, overlooking the breach of contract. Considering Florence and you were in love for the whole movie, the original interview schedule had twenty interviews with her and your other cast members and four with her alone. Now you have fourteen with the woman your publicist went back to counselling for.

You realise you’ve been massively fucked over, because not only are you doing the press tour, you are doing majority of it with Flo.

“I’m going to slit my wrists in the bathtub if one more Marvel actor tries to talk to me.” Your friends have started to look increasingly more alarmed every time you open your mouth, but it’s their fault that they got you drunk. “Do you know that they’re like some,” you spill your beer from your gestures, “cult? If you hurt one of them, you hurt them all. I didn’t even fucking hurt one of them. I fucking… fucking loved one of them. Fuck, I love her now. You know? Love? Fuck that.”

A particularly kind-hearted member of your friend group removes your drink from your hand and pats your shoulder. But you continue, unwillingly to hold it in any longer. “I have a confession,” you slur, eyelids closing heavily before you force them open again. “I have a… I have a confession to make to you all.” The group are drunk, some as far gone as you. You’re not the favourite member, not the one everything is planned around. They’re your friends from an early movie you once played a supporting role in. Most of them are jealous of your success, most want to leech off it. All of them are tired of your bullshit. “I’m kinda mad I didn’t take a stab at it. We’d have had great sex.”

- - -

She wakes up alone again.

She’s not used to that just yet.

Not physically.

Going back to a man she once thought she loved was comforting for a while. A good six months. It was a good, long slap in the face too, like being in a car crash with your favourite person in the world; she was reminded that she didn’t say anything every time he kissed her, attempting to kiss the hesitation out of his girlfriend, and felt like the crash was beginning to drag. Sparingly, she waited for him to state the obvious (“this isn’t working out”), collect his shit, and leave.

And so, one month later, she still pats the unused side of her double bed to check if it’s cold. It’s not that she misses him. Florence Pugh dreams about being with you every time her eyes close, and has done so for ten months. From the minute she met you.

“Mama has interviews today,” she tells her Billie. She seems to be the only proper listener nowadays. Humans can talk back, voice their unwanted opinion, and recommend therapists who really helped them. Dogs can’t. “They’ve told me I’m with Y/n for one of them. Do you think she’s changed?”

If dogs could text, Flo would’ve texted Billie to say you haven’t. You look sadder, but so does she, and you look ever so slightly older. Your eyes don’t light up quite the way they used to.

Flo moves her hand away from yours when you get too close to her on the sofa they’ve had you sit on. You didn’t mean to inch towards the ruffles of her dress but if your home is sixty centimetres away, you wouldn’t run in the opposite direction. (You did once, remember how that made you feel?) “Our characters are beautifully in love,” you answer, smiling at the interviewer behind exhausted eyes. “The kind that is excruciatingly wonderful to witness, and even better to create. Falling in love with Florence was the best thing I have ever had to do.”

She wishes you meant it.

“Have you ever been in love like your characters? Was there something real woven into your portrayal?” For a moment, you think she’s caught onto the fact you did actually fall in love with Flo. It takes a second for your mind to repeat her words in different tones, deciphering what she meant by ‘something real’.

You pause. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“I think that, in every movie ever created, there is a piece of reality, a base to build on, because stories are a way to explore what didn’t happen. For me, the love we filmed came before my experience of it. There’s something real in there, but it was the kind of seed that only gets planted in a script and made into a blockbuster. The way I love her is unrealistic.” The interviewer nods, smiling at the material you’ve given them. That’s the perfect quote for the headline.

It breaks Flo in a way that no one can describe.

“Unrealistic?” she quietly repeats once the interview is finished. It’s the last of the day. “Who?” You stay silent, though in your head you’ve professed your undying love to her five times over. “You weren’t with anyone when we filmed.”

You’re called away — thank god — because your car is here.

Flo wonders who stole your affection from beneath her feet, pulling out the rug and letting her fall on harsh reality. She decides she hates that person wholeheartedly. Maybe she even loathes them — they’ve taken her world from her.

“It was okay, I promise,” she later says to her stylist, Rebecca. Press junkets for Rebecca are like advent calendars for Flo. She is a stylist, and so Flo doesn’t blame her excitement, having become used to it over the last few years. Rebecca’s mission is to make Flo look irresistible to you (set by Flo’s unspoken desire that floats around the very much spoken angst-filled pining). “Apparently she was in love with someone, but it was ‘unrealistic’. She phrases things so…”

“Cryptically,” Rebecca offers, mundanely recycling that word from the last time her client (and friend) brought this up. “Ever thought it was you she meant?”

Jerking upright at the thought, Flo shakes her head; “there’s no way. Y/n doesn’t beat around the bush. She would’ve made a move ten months ago!”

“I think she was talking about you, maybe she was trying to tell you how she felt.”

“It doesn’t matter. It has to be too late to pursue her.”

You wouldn’t care if Flo and you started dating in fifty years. It would just be another fifty years of feeling lost in an expansive desert where love is like water.

“Why don’t you respond to the many willing women then? Just for sex. I’m sure they wouldn’t care.” Your friends don’t quite understand that you can’t do anything with anyone who isn’t her. You’d say her name, think of her face, her hair.

“Did you know she cut her hair?” You like it. She once told you that she’d chop it off after filming ended, and that she’d like you to cut it for her because she’s sure you’re a talented hairdresser. “She has that septum piercing you told me about, and she has a new tattoo. She’s changed so much since last year, and I feel like I’ve been frozen in time instead. That’s not fair… I feel like that’s not fair. That she gets to be so…” You recount previous conversations, “you guys think she loved me, don’t you? I think that, if she did love me — which she didn’t — then she’d have said something. She’s honest and blunt and not the kind of person to harbour feelings for someone and do nothing about them. Especially when it comes to love.”

“Y/n, you always act like you have one chance to do something.” Trying again and again doesn’t work for someone who exclusively does things she’s good at, and loses her passion at most setbacks. Resilience never seemed to find you when you were in need of it the most.

“I feel like, my whole life, I’ve been missing the boat,” you concede.

“Just get the next one.”

- - -

Like you warned your publicist, you are losing it. Things don’t seem to matter as much anymore, and if they do it’s because it has to do with her. Brushing your teeth is easier, actually, because what if she got close enough to smell your breath?

You feel taller, shorter, wider, narrower. You’re being stretched in every direction at every moment of the day, only contracting to your most painless self when Flo is beside you on a chair or a sofa, hand close to yours but not enough to touch it.

Most wonder if you actually eat, having not seen you holding any form of edible object during the whole three weeks. You can’t eat, you can’t sleep. At night you forgo convincing yourself to wait for a break that will never come, so you spend them staring at a working TV, not interested enough to turn it on.

By the time your last interview is finished, you haven’t slept in four days. Everyone is worried.

Flo corners you when you stumble away. She forgets her anxieties, her doubts, she doesn’t care if you hate her. “You’re not going back somewhere where you are alone.” She leaves you no other option, grabbing your wrist, pulling you to her car. You’d fight back if you weren’t feeling like every breath is your last. It feels nice to be defeated.

She drives you to a house you’ve never been to, telling you to get out of the car. Her fingers fumble for the keys in her pocket as she unlocks the door, pressing her hand on your back to get you inside.

“You’re a mess,” she murmurs, guiding you to her kitchen, sitting you down on one of the cream leather stools tucked under her island. You smile.

“I’ve been worse.”

She hates the way you say it. As if she doesn’t care about you. As if you think she despises you.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” You shrug. “I’m making you food.” She fills a glass with water from the filter in the fridge, placing it in front of you. A drop spills over the edge, rolls down towards the granite surface. You swipe your finger against the glass’s edge before the drop can touch it, drying it off on the fabric of your unreasonably expensive Versace suit. It fits looser than when you tried it on, but your stylist doesn’t like you enough to care.

The clang of her pans mocks the silence between the two of you. Her kitchen communicates more than you can, and it’s only when the smell of something good seeps through your barriers of believing you aren’t in need of sustenance that you speak again.

“I love you.”

Flo glances at you, breaking her concentration. “What?”

You rock back on the stool, enjoying the thrill of almost falling over but never quite hitting the floor. “I know you heard what I said. I love you.”

“No,” she mutters. “No, you don’t.” You scoff and she looks alarmed. Upset.

“I may not be in the best state of mind, Flo, but I’m pretty certain that I love you,” you tell her again, nodding your head. “I can even tell you the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

She fights back tears, because this is not how any of it was supposed to be. “You haven’t slept. You haven’t eaten. You don’t talk to people — you don’t talk to your friends. You have no right to sit there and tell me you love me when I know you don’t mean it. It’s mean.”

“I’m not being mean.” Your defence is penetrated by her eyes: mistrustful. She doesn’t trust you anymore, she doesn’t know what to believe and what to blame on your current insanity. “I’m telling you the truth, because I thought you would want to hear it. I thought you’d listen.” You stop before you tell her she is just like everyone else.

“That’s unfair.” You drink the water. “I’m not going to let you manipulate me like you’ve manipulated everyone else.”

“Why?” you ask, curious. “Do you think you’re different? You’ve rejected the idea that I am able to love you, clearly. That puts you on the same level as the rest of them, doesn’t it?”

To be honest, you weren’t expecting her to take you with her, after all that wasn’t said or done. When you said it, you didn’t want her to necessarily push you against the worktop and kiss you hard, but you’d assumed she would at least believe you. You’d rather shock her than make her sad.

But you’re making her cry.

You hate watching her cry. You want to swipe away the tears just as you cleared the droplet from the glass of water, but you find yourself stuck to the cream leather stool, only able to watch her. She wipes her face with the back of her palm, knuckles running over her soft skin, reddening it.

“You can’t love me, because I love you, and we’d destroy each other. It’s already destroying you.”

“Not being with you is destroying me.”

“I heard what you said to the woman who does your makeup. I’m destroying you, Y/n. This,” she gestures between you and her, voice breaking, “is destroying you.”

You shake your head. “I think about you all the time. I live for you,” you state firmly, standing up. As you move towards her she backs away. “Don’t you get it? You are my everything.”

Flo can’t be your everything, because she is one person and you need at least four. She knows you better than you think, she knows that you’re an addict, that you don’t like living with the feeling of not having anything. If you weren’t addicted to her, it would be alcohol or drugs or a simple thing like crocheting. You chase that intensity, bleeding it dry until it can give you nothing more.

“I don’t want to be your everything, Y/n.” It’s a lie. You can hear her regret, it drips off her words. “The food is ready. Eat it, and then leave.” She almost smashes the plate, but holds her anger in until she leaves the room.

Your, “I’m sorry. Wait a second,” gets stuck at the roof of your mouth, refusing to come down its hiding place. You find other words to say, but you don’t say them.

You bite your tongue, it’s your worst habit.

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

#florence pugh fanfiction #black widow #florence pugh x reader #fanfiction #florence pugh #marvel #mcu #florence pugh x you #yelena belova #florence pugh one shot #florence pugh angst #florence pugh smut #florence pugh fluff #songfic #steve lacy #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh imagine #florence x reader

198 notes · View notes

hannahssimblr · 5 months

Text

Chapter Eight (Part 2)

The thing I simultaneously love and hate about St. Stephen’s night is that you get to see everyone you’ve ever known on the streets of your hometown. There’s the kids you knew in primary school, the girls from your swimming club, your 5th year maths teacher, everyone and anyone you’ve encountered in your life is somewhere among the heaving crowds of one hopping pub or the other, and if everyone has had enough to drink they might even feel moved to speak to each other.

Claire and I squeeze into a pub that we frequented a lot during 6th year and the moment we’re inside I know that finding a seat will be a rare chance. People are everywhere and the sound is utterly cacophonous. She reaches for my hand and together we wrestle through the crowd and eventually find ourselves spit out into the smoking area where there’s a tiny corner of space just enough for us to squeeze into. Claire takes out her phone and immediately starts tapping out a message.

“For Shane.” She explains. “He’s already here… somewhere.” Sure enough within moments he appears holding three pints in his hands with the skill and precision of an Oktoberfest beer maid. He holds his laden hands out to me and when I hesitate unsure what to do he says “The middle one there, grab the middle one off me.” I gingerly slip it out of his hands and then he gives the other one to Claire along with a kiss on the forehead.

“Heineken?” I whine when I realise what he’s given me. “I hate Heineken.”

“Don’t drink it then.” He rolls his eyes. “Here, give it back, I’ll have it.”

“No.” I say, holding it out of his reach, because far be it from me to deny free beer. “It’s fine, I’ll suffer through it.”

“You’re such a baby.”

I give him the finger as I take a drink from my pint, not enjoying one moment of it and Claire sighs impatiently. “You two.” she says. “You act like children, did you know that?”

“No, Evie does.” Shane rebuttals, which makes me snort.

“You’re way worse.”

“Nah.”

“Yes! I’ll never forgive you for pelting me with stones in your driveway. You were such a bold child.”

“Ah yeah, like ten years ago.”

“You wish you still could sometimes.” I say gleefully. “You get the same look on your face whenever I’m annoying you. Like right now! I know you would if you could. Go on, grab a handful of gravel, there.”

“You’d swear you were actual siblings.” Claire drawls, and Shane pulls a horrible face at me that makes me want to burst out laughing. He really has been the closest thing to a brother that I’ve ever had, just like Kelly used to feel like a sister to me sometimes, but if someone had told me just two years ago that I’d be closer to him than I was to her I wouldn’t have believed them. When I remember Kelly I get a terrible, sick feeling inside and I wonder to myself whether she’s here tonight. I find myself scanning quickly over the crowd for a sign of her, but there isn’t one. Feeling more subdued all of a sudden, I go back to drinking my pint.

I’m only an hour into the night when I realise I am not there to actually enjoy myself and catch up with old acquaintances. At one moment as I tussle into the bar for the fourth time I realise that I am there to get drunk, extremely, mind altering drunk so that I can forget about the shambles of my Christmas and get to a point that I’m too incoherent to keep repeating the same lie to people about how I had a nice time with my family, and pretend that I didn’t spend it sulking in bed while the rest of them played awkward scrabble downstairs next to my dad who was passed out in an armchair by five o’clock.

Uncle Sean gave me a hundred euro for Christmas, but after about an hour I’ve whittled it down by half, and I’m sure by the end of the night the rest of it will be spent too. At a certain point I give up on pints, which are just making me need to pee every fifteen minutes, and make the switch to spirits. I order another two whiskeys and fill them up with ginger ale and then I go and stand with a group of people who I knew in school so that I don’t appear to be drinking alone. They’re talking about something that I find boring. Every conversation I’ve dipped into tonight has been boring and I wonder if it really is true what people in Dublin say about those from the country, that it’s all shallow, dull conversation that either centres around sports or their family’s farm. A girl next to me is recycling some gossipy story about someone from school that I heard two years ago and at that point I can’t stand it anymore. I down both whiskies one after another and slink off to find something else to do.

“Woah, slow down there Evie.” I hear one of them say as I turn away and they all laugh. I’m already reaching that dizzy, double vision stage of drunkenness and I welcome it openly, allowing the numbing drowsiness to envelop me wholly and feel my coordination lapse. I don’t want to think anymore.

At some point I find myself back at the bar, and I stand and wait for what feels like eternity as the barmen ignore me continuously. I reach out my hand as one of them comes close “Sorry there, can I get-” He serves the person behind me instead. I find the barstool behind my legs and slump into it hoping that it might anchor me a bit as the room starts to tilt.

“Gin and tonic, please.” There is a familiar voice beside me and I turn my head to see a fuzzy version of Kelly standing nearby. I wonder if she’s seen me yet. Her features are moving around her face in front of my eyes, but I know it’s her. She looks different with her hair straightened and I kind of want to tell her that. I also don’t want her to be angry with me anymore, and I see this as a good moment to start that conversation.

“Kelly.” I say, and she snaps around to look at me. It must be the first time we’ve made eye contact in a year. “Hi.” I say, and I can see her mouth tighten into a thin line as she hands her debit card to the barman. She says nothing to me.

I try again and I reach out to touch her arm and am aware of how sweaty my hand is against her smooth skin. She flinches away immediately, eyes blazing. “What do you want?” I drop my hand onto my lap pathetically. “I wanted to say hello.”

“The state of you.” She retorts. “I wouldn’t be seen in public hanging over a bar pissed drunk like that.” I can tell she wants to leave but the bartender is still making her drink so she can’t. She starts looking at the exit, over my shoulder for someone else to talk to, anything to get away from this conversation I’ve roped her into. It makes me feel unbearably sad.

“Why do you always run away from me?” I say miserably. “You never want to talk about why we aren’t friends.”

“There isn’t anything to say.”

“It’s not fair, you can’t just walk away from it all. I didn’t do anything wrong-”

“You were an awful friend.” She cuts in. “Hanging out with you was fucking shit, alright?”

“Not always.” I say, offended, and then she ignores me and takes out her phone to scroll through it as a last resort. I feel like I’m going to start crying as the gravity of it all comes crashing over me. How we were so close for so many years, we shared everything with each other, I know everything about this girl and yet we’re strangers now. It makes my heart feel like it’s breaking.

With a last ditch effort, I attempt to compliment her. “Your hair is nice like that.” I say, and I reach out to touch it, only she doesn’t hear me, and as she flinches away from me in alarm some of it gets tangled in my rings and I end up yanking it.

She makes a horrified, furious face. “Ouch!” She exclaims, and I see her eyes blaze, wide with disbelief as she holds onto the part of her scalp that I wrenched. “Did you just pull my hair?”

“No!” I start to protest, but there are murmurs in the crowd around us. I look over my shoulder and two girls are whispering about me while someone else is shaking their head. Kelly steps in closer to me, leaning over a barstool so that we’re almost nose to nose. “You’re a bitch.” She hisses. “Go fucking die.” She takes someone’s warm, discarded pint off the bar and throws it over my top and I cry out in shock. Everyone is looking, everyone is laughing, and then something terrible happens to me.

I start to get angry. Really angry.

I lash out at her before I can stop myself, and my hands shove her arms away from me, sending the pint glass straight to the floor where it shatters into smithereens, then I lunge towards her and shove her into the crowd of men behind her. “You’re a bitch!” I shriek. She looks like she’s going to murder me then, and comes, coming at me with her hands clawing at the air and her face contorted like a wild animal. As time slows down I ask myself, am I really about to get into a fist fight with Kelly? I’m bracing myself for her nails on me when I am yanked from the scene with violent speed, and all of a sudden Shane is in my face instead.

“What is wrong with you?” He’s shouting, and the ferocity in his voice brings startled tears to my eyes. I don’t know what to say. He’s holding me by my upper arms and squeezing me and it hurts but I don’t dare say anything about it. “Get outside.” He kicks open a side door and throws me outside into an alley filled with used beer kegs and plastic crates. My legs almost give out underneath me and I stumble backwards into the wall.

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#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #writing #fiction #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 2

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my-johnlockficrecs · 2 years

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because of course, the end of june is the best time for a may wrap up 🥴 LMAO i absolutely lost track of time and procrastinated my may reading list a whole entire month. ahem. however! i seem to have read an awful lot during may, so there will be two parts to the list. hopefully that makes up for the tardiness. i hope y’all had a fun, relaxing may. times are weird and stressful and scary as of right now, especially for our friends in america. i’m thinking of all of you who are having a tough time, america and beyond 💖 all i can offer you is an open inbox and an empathetic ear. and, of course, fic recs. it’s not much, but maybe something on here could provide an escape, even if for a moment.

key: blue: reread • 💌 majorly or in part epistolary • 📚 unilock

spotlight rec

✰ Let's Make a Bed Out in the Rain by Anonymous (17k, M)

John is devastated after his long-term girlfriend leaves him. Sherlock helps him through it.

this fic takes an approach to the john/mary relationship and how it came about in a way that was absolutely novel to me. instead of the dramatics of canon, this fic boils the john-mary-sherlock situation down to its basics. john enters a long term relationship with mary while sherlock pines in silence. Let’s Make a Bed starts out with john and mary’s breakup, and tells us the heartwarming, utterly sweet story of how sherlock takes care of john in the aftermath of it all. one of the things that i sincerely appreciated about this fic is how sherlock’s care towards john was never wholly motivated by his own romantic attachment to john, but also because of the friendship they shared. sherlock loves john here immensely, but he’s also his best friend. there are some moments of hilarity that will make you laugh in delight (the way sherlock got his back on mary!😂) and heart-touching moments of tenderness too. the moment of realisation is just the sweetest thing ever and absolutely made me melt. the angst and pining here is the kind that makes your heart ache, but not in an entirely bad way.

✰ Mathematical Proof series by Bitenomnom (108k, 50 works, complete)

i’m also going to spotlight Bitenomnom’s delightfully diverse series, Mathematical Proof. (haven’t added a link here because i can’t add more links to this post and i absolutely refuse to reformat the whole thing. Bitenomnom has been linked in the list below, right next to the fics i’ve read from the Mathematical Proof series). it mostly consists of one-shots, although some are connected to each other, and every story is based on some mathematical principle or the other that the author found intriguing at the time. i just thought that the idea of applying mathematical theories to johnlock was (a) incredibly inventive and unique and (b) very impressive. also, just generally, it’s clear from the stories and the author’s notes that the author has a genuine passion for math and i love to see how they use johnlock as an interpretive medium. for anyone who (like me) is not a mathematician of any order; worry not! you don’t actually need to have a thorough understanding of advanced math to enjoy these fics. and for those who are curious to learn more, the author explains the mathematical principle being used in great detail before the start of every fic.

bite sized (5k and less)

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands by miss_frankenstein (3k, teen)

“Will you need fresh socks?”

Sherlock’s voice immediately brings John back to the present. “What?”

Sherlock gestures irritably to the wet socks clutched in John’s hand. “Socks,” he says again sharply because he hates repeating himself, “Will you need fresh socks?”

A post-S3 piece in which John and Sherlock finally confront their feelings for each other - as only they would do - in the pouring rain.

softly, softly by threadoflife (1k, G)

They were back to grinning at each other, embarrassingly enough: a whole five seconds of terrifying delight. John wanted to reach out and smooth his thumb over the screen, behind which Sherlock’s face was locked. It was a bit pixelled, now, the connection likely slowing down. Christ, John wanted to be there with him; or he wanted Sherlock here; it didn’t really matter. He just wanted Sherlock, location be damned.

Fuck. Fuck, he had it bad.

Don’t Cry Sweet Honeybee by Musings_o (4k, unrated)

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson go through years of love, separation, and heartache.

Though the pain is worth it, worth being reunited once more.

EMERGENCY CONTACT: Sherlock Holmes, RELATIONSHIP: n/a by @blueink3 (5k,M)

The first time John Watson’s emergency contact is called is the first time Sherlock Holmes finds out that he has the job.

and as the seasons change, i love you more by teatrolley (3k, unrated)

“I love you,” John murmurs when he pulls back, panting and with pink cheeks.

“Mm,” Sherlock says, because after four years of being together they can joke about it. “Why?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” John says, but he kisses Sherlock again, softly this time.

Later, when Sherlock goes to the bathroom, he finds a sticky note on the mirror saying “Because you make my chest feel like it’s on fire, but in the good way.”

_________________

A year in the lives of John and Sherlock, essentially

Let Go by thisisforyou (2k, G)

In the end, separating John's things from Sherlock's in the chaos of their sitting room is like pulling a limpet from a wet rock. Especially when the rock is clinging on for dear life, because Sherlock doesn't want to let go. Short, fluffy h/c Johnlock oneshot.

Improbable Remains by tamed_untranslatable (3k, teen)

“So we, um.” His left hand clenched at his side underneath the table. "We probably shouldn’t bring this back to London, then."

"No, quite right.” Sherlock nodded.

“I mean, I don’t want to ruin…” The uncertainty had returned to John’s eyes as he looked back at Sherlock.

“No, absolutely not,” Sherlock agreed, and now he was beginning to feel some of that relief, too. Wherever he may have imagined this would lead, he knew that he couldn’t bear to lose John’s friendship. “It can just be something for Dartmoor, then."

"Right, yeah. Just a Dartmoor thing.” John nodded.

Two Words by stopthat (1k, teen)

I reach out and let my palm fall to his shoulder. I think, finally, the time for this has come.

Of Velvet and Silk, Cotton and Cashmere by cwb (2k, E)

Vignettes of Sherlock at different ages, what he loved, what he lost, and how John gave it back.

Still, With Hearts Beating by @finamour (2k, E)

John already knows the sound of Sherlock’s heartbeat. He’s become familiar with his breathing patterns, the way they grow quicker and more shallow as the two of them run through the streets of London. He has, in a passing manner, come to know Sherlock’s scent; the colour of his skin in the dim light of the alleyway; the way his hair grows matted and sweaty against the nape of his neck on a warm July night.

But he has never been pressed up against Sherlock like this, the rise and fall of his breath pushing into his own body through their thin summer clothes. Until now, he has never been fully immersed in his scent, felt his hair softly brushing his face, the thrumming of Sherlock’s heart against his own chest.

Too Much by belovedmuerto (567, teen)

Sometimes, it's too much for John.

Tangential by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

“You know, for being married, you and your Work seem to have a pretty on-again, off-again relationship."

"Yes. I’d say it’s grounds for divorce, wouldn’t you?”

“If it’d mean less collateral damage to the flat, I’m all for it.” He pulled up the newspaper and had a glance over it. “But you do strike me as a bit of a kept man. Hope you’ve got a secret lover ready to snatch you up and take care of you.”

Sherlock could have said, “I might, if you’d like to keep me.” But instead, he asked, “Do you have any opinions on bees?”

...In which John stitches up Sherlock's head (but not really), Sherlock comes into John's room at night to take his laptop (but not really), Sherlock is married to his Work (but not really), and John is more than proficient at keeping Sherlock (really, definitely).

Latent Variable by Bitenomnom (3k, unrated)

“John,” he pulled himself into a sitting position to face John. “How many times have you seen me eat outside this flat?”

John leaned back thoughtfully. “Well, I…” He tilted his head. “Huh.” John scooted forward in his chair, leaning over his knees to look Sherlock in the eye. “Why?”

“It’s more comfortable.”

“Is that it? You starved yourself of a nice hot dinner at Angelo’s so that you could sit on the sofa while you eat?”

“That’s not it.”

Sherlock never eats at restaurants when he and John go out -- not even when he's not on a case.

Nested Dichotomy by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

Water dripped from the ceiling.

Water dripped from the ceiling insofar as that water dripped from the ceiling tiles, which were located in pieces on the floor.

Sherlock stood, brushing dust from himself, brushing the ceiling from himself, and looked beneath him and saw his own unconscious—no, dead—body, on the ceiling.

Rewind.

The ceiling gathered back together, coagulated thirty feet above him, spat water back out into the pool as it gathered up tendrils of itself back into the depths.

John supposed this wasn’t a surprising night for Sherlock’s mind to conjure up something horrific. John hadn’t gone to sleep, for similar reasons—had just laid in bed, reading, until Sherlock barged in.

Remodeling by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

“There’s no way you tapped my arm.” “Why wouldn’t there be?” “Because you’ve never touched me.” Sherlock studied him for a moment more before gasping in an, “Oh.” “What?” “While you were deleting some contents of your brain, you were also deleting any sensory input associated with the process.” “Meaning…” “Meaning that according to your brain, we have never made physical contact.”

Paired Comparison Experiment Notes, Trials 1-24 by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

Trial 4: Subject extremely confused by sudden commencement of dirty talk after innocent game of footsie at breakfast, splashes tea on experimenter, refuses to specify preference.

Trial 14: Subject prefers handshake to pinching of arse, does not applaud experimenter’s creativity in utilizing organic situations to their fullest potential by coordinating handshaking procedure for magazine photograph with opportunity to test against buttocks-pinching variable. Quote, “Stop pinching my arse, Sherlock!” followed by, quote, “Please don’t print that in the interview.”

The Paired Comparison Model by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

Today, a mysterious chart appeared on the refrigerator of 221B. John is reasonably certain that Sherlock is not planning on calling for volunteers to come knocking at 221B for some variety of sexual experimentation, although that is very much what the chart on the refrigerator seems to suggest. He is also reasonably certain, however, that whatever it is, it must not involve Sherlock, because the chart on the refrigerator lists quite a few things that John doesn’t imagine Sherlock would ever do of his own free will. The real question, then—which John poses to Sherlock after several moments’ silence—is, “When’s the orgy?”

Successive Over-Relaxation by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

“Oh, give them here, you git,” is what John says to Sherlock as Sherlock rubs at his feet in the most histrionic fashion possible. Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at John. “Yes, right, you heard me, put your feet up here and let me rub them; you’re doing a bloody awful job of it.”

Visual Verification by Bitenomnom (2k, E)

John pulled Sherlock’s face down and leaned heavier against him to whisper in his ear. “I said scientific rigor,” John told him. “I meant a demonstration, not a discussion over whether bloody Scotland Yard was going to figure out the meaning of your convoluted description.”

The Postal Problem by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated) 💌

On Sherlock's nineteenth consecutive day of temporarily being a postman, John finally sends his letter to his girlfriend. Well, not quite the letter he originally intended to send.

The Cost of Decreased Variance by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

Sherlock had awoken wondering whose things were in 221B; clearly, they were John Watson’s. Clearly, John Watson was his flatmate. And clearly, for some reason, every single night, Sherlock deleted him.

The Genetic Algorithm by Bitenomnom (3k, unrated)

Some problems defy the usage of cold, clean-cut linear logic. It is impossible to devise a way to take steps that ultimately lead exactly to an optimal answer. Sherlock believes John Watson is one of those problems.

Fuzzy Measures by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

“Honestly, John? ‘The Navel Treatment'?” “You can call it whatever you want on your blog,” John glanced up from his laptop to Sherlock, who was watching him type about the case over his shoulder. “I didn’t think you were really going to give it that title.” “You knew I was going to, Sherlock. You know how I run my blog.” “Yes: stupidly.” “And,” John pointedly ignored this comment, “it’s not my fault you found the crucial evidence in the victim’s belly button. It was lint, Sherlock. I don’t exactly have a lot to work with.” “You could try not titling your entries with terrible puns.”

The Transposable Choquet Integral by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

“Oh,” Sherlock said, tracing his fingers over John’s stomach. “Nothing at all like the data I had been testing.” John rolled his eyes. “You know, Sherlock, I seriously doubt my body hair is terribly different from any other bloke’s.” “Wouldn’t know,” Sherlock said.

Fixed Points by Bitenomnom (532, unrated)

The Fixed Point Method of estimating roots involves employing an algorithm until the input is roughly equal to the output. Sherlock and John's arguments work in much the same way.

A Penalty for Profusion by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

"Did you really think I was born knowing how to identify a zoologist by her fingernails and cutlery?" "No, of course not." John considered turning away for the imminent lecture. "I practiced," Sherlock reiterated instead. "Of course I didn’t always immediately know what to look for."

Variance by Bitenomnom (797, unrated)

“It’s actually two point nine.” “What?” “Meters. That you stay from me, all the time. Well—since you punched me, anyway.” “Oh. I hadn’t really put that much thought into it.” “How very homoscedastic of you.”

Type III by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

It had been, by Sherlock’s estimate (he could not tell precisely—shades drawn, so amount of light outside and therefore time of day unknown, extended amounts of sleep disorienting) sixteen days since John had returned. Seventeen was also a distinct possibility. His mobile was nowhere to be found. John was asleep beside him: that was exactly where John was supposed to be. John had returned and everything was right again.

Parallel by Bitenomnom (3k, unrated)

While John and Sherlock were apart (apart for years, this time, years and years and years even with both in London, apart but for the occasional visits, ever less personal) they were not so different. Sherlock still solved crimes. He pretended to shoot holes in the wall. It was better this way. \\ John pretended to shoot holes in the wall. Things hadn’t changed so much. He still solved cases with Sherlock, sometimes. He pretended to shoot holes in the wall. It was better this way.

Interaction by Bitenomnom (4k, unrated)

The last time he had seen Sherlock was three years ago—completely by accident. Sherlock hadn’t come to Mary’s funeral, but that was no surprise; John had seen him a few days afterward, but not since then, not until this time. John, fourteen years after leaving Baker Street, looks back on his relationship with Sherlock, on his marriage, and on his unshakable loneliness. Goes with Touching.

Touching by Bitenomnom (3k, unrated)

He and John fell in love eighteen years ago. It fell apart quickly. It fell apart suddenly. It fell apart sixteen years ago. But they were still flatmates, and they still solved crimes, and nothing changed. Nothing changed sixteen years ago, just the details, just the important little details. Sherlock was no longer allowed to sleep in bed with John, or run his fingers through John’s hair or breathe on his collarbone or nip at his nose or sleep with his face buried in a discarded jumper or lay his head in John’s lap while they watched John’s action and sci-fi movies. Everything changed fourteen years ago, though. Everything.

Fifteen Years by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

A lot changes in fifteen years -- and a lot doesn't. Fifteen years before Baskerville, John wanted a dog. Fifteen years before Sherlock was in court, Sherlock was in court. Fifteen years before John met Sherlock, John wasn't interested in the violin. Fifteen years before he met Irene Adler, someone asked Sherlock out for dinner. Fifteen years before Sherlock kissed John, Sherlock kissed John.

Five Times Sherlock gave John a Pebble and One Time John Returned the Gesture by grimmfairy (1k, unrated)

Written for a prompt by navydream on tumblr: So penguins bring rocks to their mates and Sherlock somehow fond out about this… and suddenly, John starts finding all sorts of pebbles, starting from the ordinary to a rare moon stone. Sherlock isn't good with words, so he decides to tell John his feelings the way penguins do, by bringing him pebbles with different meanings. John catches on.

God's Own Country by halloa_what_is_this (4k, teen)

Road trip through nowhere, everywhere, anywhere.

Bitter Nights Turned Sweet by Hyliare (4k, teen)

“Christ, Sherlock, what’s happened?” The detective’s eyes are red-rimmed, blown wide to combat the urge to squint (a measure to preserve Sherlock’s dignity, John is certain—at least what dignity is left). His hair is more than messy, it’s littered with tiny knots all along the lines of his temples. He’s clean, at least, so he must have showered, but the hem on the bottom of his vest is partially unravelled. “Sherlock—” “Nothing’s happened. I’m just tired.” Sherlock has always had trouble sleeping; he hasn't always had someone in his life willing to help.

Two To Tango (The Cold Hands, Warm Heart Remix) by igrockspock (1k, teen)

When John is wounded while pursuing a suspect, Sherlock refuses to leave his side.

When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart (4k, teen)

The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.

short fics (5k-15k)

holding steady by @watsonshoneybee (12k, E)

Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing.

John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

EMERGENCY CONTACT: John Watson, RELATIONSHIP: Saint by @blueink3 (6k, M)

The first time Sherlock Holmes realizes he needs an emergency contact is the first time he mentally appoints John Watson with the job.

John, of course, does not know this and neither does the local hospital.

Their Great Reward by @the-pen-pot (10k, teen)

Boxing day, in John's opinions, is the worst day of the year. Christmas is over, the tree is wilting and stripped of gifts, and there's a week of dead-time until the clean slate of the new year. However the combination of a blizzard, a power-cut and Sherlock might just make it a day to remember. (John and Sherlock pre-slash to slash fluff)

The Newlywed Game: Johnlock Edition by patternofdefiance (9k, E)

What it says on the tin: John and Sherlock pretend to be married in order to be contestants in a Newlywed Game.

Of course it's for a case.

Of course it doesn't stay that way.

The Fundamental Things Apply by @raina-at (6k, M)

"Kisses that are easily obtained are easily forgotten." - Proverb

Nestled between head and heart by @blogstandbygo (8k, teen)

A series of vignettes about Sherlock Holmes's lifelong relationship with his violin.

Strong at the Broken Places by @blueink3 (10k, M)

They dated for ten months during Sherlock's first year of uni and John's last before the latter went off to fight someone else's war. When they meet again two-and-a-half years later, John's gained a scar in his shoulder and a limp he can't seem to shake. Sherlock's gained a new boyfriend and bruises he can't seem to explain away.

I Need You To See Me by Mssmithlove (12k, E)

After going back to war, John is yet again invalided home, this time with a broken ankle and a chunk of his memory missing, unable to recall the last five years he's spent being Sherlock Holmes' partner and husband.

The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows by @raina-at (7k, E)

Sherlock is back from the dead. Now all he has to do is get back his Blogger.

A Bump in the Road by BakerTumblings (10k, teen)

Now and again, something will happen that rocks their collective world. Sometimes it concerns about healthy living, a wise behaviour choice, their London community, body parts in the fridge, a career path, an event in the life of one of their friends.

And sometimes it's more personal, and the bump in the road can be not only a surprise, but possibly serious.

I'm Pretty Sure This Changes Shit by cwb (7k, E)

Back at the flat Sherlock threw himself down on the couch, limbs akimbo, throat bared, one wrist placed strategically over his furrowed brow. He moaned, but not too loudly, just under the threshold of noticeably dramatic. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt with his other hand, making sure that John had plenty of chest to explore. Exploration was good. Exploration was highly encouraged.

mid length (16k-50k)

The Way to a Man’s Heart by @swissmissing (21k, teen)

When Greg asks Sherlock to be his best man, the past returns in an unexpected way, confronting Sherlock and John with the need to define what they are to each other. Set about a year after series 3.

Letters From Sussex by @sussexbound (32k, E) 💌

In the wake of the Mary/Moriarty affair, John and Sherlock have fallen out, and are living apart. But Sherlock isn't content with this state of affairs--not one bit. He's tired of dancing around the obvious. The wooing of John Watson starts now!

Hitting the Water at Sixty Miles an Hour by what_alchemy (30k, E)

“You love your mother, Sherlock?”

John watched the muscles in Sherlock’s jaw jump. He nodded in one sharp jerk.

“Then we’re going to her party and making her happy.” John let out a resigned sigh. “As a ruddy couple, you bastard.”

The Wisteria Tree by @silentauroriamthereal (29k, E)

Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

Just a Touch of Lips by Salambo06 (21k, E) 📚

Two weeks ago, Sherlock kissed a blindfolded John Watson, captain of the Rugby Team, during an university event and left before he could see his face. Neither have been able to think about anything else since. When Mike mentions a certain student in his Chemistry class who could help John find his mysterious kisser, they both find themselves in a situation they hadn't expected.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (24k, E)

Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning. ---- Sherlock’s head snapped to the right, where he fixed his gaze upon the rather unexpected development that was a man standing in their kitchen wearing nothing but his pants and a t-shirt. …Unexpected…was this unexpected? Shortly after meeting him, Sherlock had easily deduced that John was not uninterested in men sexually. This was something that John was at least mildly conflicted about and overcompensated for constantly. It was likely that he’d experimented with this interest at least once in the not too distant past, although this was one point on which Sherlock was chronically uncertain. And Sherlock hated being uncertain.

long fics (50k and above)

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (56k, E)

The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed.

#whew #faced many technical difficulties AGAIN #it’s like the more i do this the more technical difficulties arise #shouldn’t it be the other way around??#tumblr smh #anyway #my johnlock fic recs #johnlock #johnlock fics #johnlock fic recs #my johnlock fic recs: may 2022 part 1

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asterkiss · 11 months

Note

Could you do number 120 from the sarcasm prompts if ur still taking requests? it fits mabel and bill too well!!

(( btw sorry for liking a bunch of ur posts at once, It's easier to save them to read later that way 😭))

Never apologise for binge liking my stuff, seeing it all gives me happy feelings inside! <3

-DEAD WEIGHT

'Hnnnnghhhh!'

'Gross, gross, get off me!' Mabel yelled, batting the zombie off her as the decomposed corpse tried to grab her head. She saw a flash of teeth as it tried to chomp on her arm like a chew toy before a baseball bat swung down upon its skull.

She winced at the crunching noise, scrambling up to her feet as she regarded her saviour with a smile.

Then she realised who it was.

'Oh, it's you.'

Bill smiled. 'Wow, I save your stupid life and that's what I get? You got a stone cold heart there.'

She frowned with concern. 'I thought Dipper was with you.' The two had been together when she'd left them behing bickering to go ahead. Bill hadn't offed him, had he?

'Eh, he's fine. Last I saw him, he was rolling down some hill screaming like a girl.'

Oh, is that what she heard? She thought that was another woman in trouble.

'So,' Bill began, regarding her as the zombie made guttural noises beneath his foot.

Mabel smile back innocently. 'Soooo... what?

They both stared at one another without flinching.

'Shooting Star.'

'Yes?'

His eyes narrowed. 'Y'know, last I checked, there weren't any undead zombies roaming in these woods.'

'Oh, well you see, that's actually a really funny story.'

'Uh huh.'

'See, part of the reason I wanted to check the caves out is because I heard there was this wizard who used to live here and he could answer any five questions you had in exchange for shiny stuff! So, I brought some blank CDs and went to where he was supposed to be but there was nothing there!'

'Nothing?'

'Well, there was this weird stone that now I'm thinking about, was kinda shaped like a coffin? And it had some weird writing on it that I decided to read and.... well, tah dah?' She offered a sheepish smile, holding out her hands towards the thing beneath his feet. Usually it was Dipper who raised the dead by accident and she scolded him. Urgh, he was gonna have a field day having the shoe on the other foot, wasn't he? Noooooo.

'Please don't tell Dipper,' she said quickly.

Before he could reply, the zombie beneath him groaned again. Bill growled, looking down in annoyance. 'Will you shut up!?'

'No.'

They both froze.

'Whoah, did you just talk?' Mabel asked, eyes wide.

The zombie continuned to struggle but a clear voice came from beneath Bill's boot. 'Yes.'

'Ah, it worked!' Mabel gave a jump of delight. 'See, he's answering questions!'

'Yeah, and now you have three left.'

'I- huh?' She paused, thinking over the last few lines of dialogue before she frowned. 'Oh, urgh. Gotta make this one count then.'

'Why did you need a dead wizard to answer your questions? Maths too hard?'

'Yes,' the zombie groaned. Mabel kicked the wizard in the gut before giving Bill a glare.

'You're wasting my questions! And besides, I wouldn't disrespect him like that!' A pause. 'I was gonna ask him if there were any boys who liked me...' The ones in her school so far were being very wary, and she'd been shot down three times already. If she knew where to start with a positive frame to work with, it might be better.

'I can tell ya now there is.'

She blinked, tilting her head. 'Really?'

'Yeah, Gideon Gleeful. Go get him, tiger.'

'Bleh.' She made a face to his amusement.

'Anyway, I'm betting you cast some form of Speak to the Dead spell,' Bill drawled. 'We ask him two more questions, and he'll go back to being dead.'

'Is it really that easy?' Mabel realised her error a second too late as the zombie released a hissed "yes". She groaned in agrravation. Okay, one more question. Gotta make it count!

But before she could ask question both of the duo caught sight of flashing blue lights in the distnace through the treeline. Mabel froze. Cops? Had someone heard their screaming?

'Oooh, that's bad.'

'Oi, grab his legs. Now.'

Mabel took hold of the wizard by his lower half, grimacing when she felt some bare decomposed skin under her fingertips. The guy looked very much like a wizard with a long beard and robes adorning his corpse which has mostly decayed by this point. Gross.

Bill grabbed under his arms, and the two of them began shuffling away from the police lights. Talk about your Monday night.

The demon grinned. 'This is fun.'

'Seriously? We're trying to hide a body!'

'Hey, it's not like we killed him. Heck, you un-killed him technically. Ain't no laws against that. Well, not human ones anyway.'

The sound of movement in the bushes made them both freeze, heads snapping around as the leaves began to move. Mabel felt her heart leap into her throat as a figure stepped out from the overgrowth to reveal-

'Oh, it's just Dipper,' she said, sighing in relief as her body relaxed.

'Sup, Pine Tree.'

'Hnnnghghh,' the zombie groaned.

Dipper stared at them all with wide eyes, gaze dropping down to the zombie in their arms.

'What the hell are you doing?'

But before either of them could respond, a raspy voice cut them to the chase:-

'Flirting.'

'Huh!?'

'What!?'

Three pairs of heads snapped down to watch as the zombie made a peace sign with its fingers and dropped dead for good. Mabel and Bill both exchanged quick glances before grimacing and hastily dropping the wizard on the floor in favour of stepping away from one another.

Dipper continuned to stare on. 'Seriously, what the hell is going on here?

#prompt meme #jinxthelesbian #drabble

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themculibrary · 7 months

Text

Maria/Steve Masterlist

Adjectives Assemble (ao3) - SugarFey M, 26k

Summary: Natasha wants to find that rare edition of The Master and Margarita before her rival at the Russian language bookstore does. Kate is distracted by the cute barista next door. Carol and Jessica dance around each other. Maria just wants to keep her business afloat without being bothered by pesky police officers or high school art teachers, no matter how polite they may be.

Another average day at Adjectives Assemble.

As Safe as Houses (ao3) - DizzyDrea T, 25k

Summary: Senator Steve Rogers (R, NY) is a decorated war hero who has a deep and abiding desire to serve his country, which may or may not include someday running for President. Maria Hill is a veteran Air Force pilot working in the private sector and bored out of her mind. When Steve finds himself needing a private security detail for a trip to France, he hires Shield Security and Maria becomes his constant companion. They grow closer as the trip progresses, but can they survive what's coming to find out if their Paris sojourn could turn into something real?

A Woman Of Edges (ao3) - tielan G, 12k

Summary: "I’m beginning to think you’re the most terrifying woman I’ve met." Learning to like, live with, and love Maria Hill.

can't carve a whistle (ao3) - irnan G, 3k

Summary: Maria Hill's never found it easy to explain why she became a SHIELD agent, but she knows why she stays one.

chiseled out of brick (ao3) - Anonymous T, 23k

Summary: He was a grown man, hell, he was a superhero. Asking a girl out for a drink wasn't that hard. It wasn't rocket science or espionage or math or divine intervention - it was just asking a girl a question. Out loud.

conversations with other women (ao3) - zauberer_sirin G, 9k

Summary: Steve still believes that someday someone is going to teach him how to dance.

Counterfeit and Counterpart (ao3) - Frea_O T, 28k

Summary: Five times Maria Hill doesn’t understand Natasha Romanoff, and why she might be better off that way.

Dinner In Other Languages (ao3) - tielan G, 3k

Summary: Maria can manage professional colleagues with Rogers, but she values her place in S.H.I.E.L.D more.

From A Certain Point Of View (ao3) - tielan G, 9k

Summary: Of friendship, love, and best-laid plans; small gestures and public displays of possessiveness; enlightenment, advice to young padawans, and the loyalty routines of JARVIS.

Gone But Not Forgotten (ao3) - Shorti G, 4k

Summary: They say that history is written by the victors of war, but a war fought amongst brothers has no winners. That's when you need a woman like Maria Hill to step in.

The one in which Maria and Steve are actually on the same side.

Holding Out For A Hero (Or Maybe Not) (ao3) - tielan G, 7k

Summary: The first time Steve Rogers notices Maria Hill is when she steps into the discussion about Loki's capture, and he realises nobody questions her right to be there. And that's just the start.

if time is all I have (ao3) - tielan G, 4k

Summary: Maria knows what that look means. She knows the mindset behind it. She's seen it in the resolve of agents who knew the odds of going in, heard it in field operatives calling for an exit in impossible situations, witnessed it in extraction targets who didn't believe that they'd actually make it out. And sometimes the odds were defied, the impossible happened, and everyone made it out in one piece. Sometimes.

To see that expression in the man they call the Winter Soldier....

I'll be There (ao3) - Lokisarmy0602 T, 2k

Summary: After DC Maria felt she needed to go see Steve in hospital. After dealing with the congress and Stark, she knew she could deal with an injured Super Soldier. Sam called to ask her to do the same thing as she had done in DC... press the button to send the missiles.

Look Clear and Calm (ao3) - Beatrice_Otter T, 13k

Summary: The Avengers need oversight, but Ross's plan is dangerous and unjust. Maria will have her work cut out for her, if she wants to stop it. Meanwhile, Steve has a question for her.

Maria Hill's Late Lunch (ao3) - tisfan E, 2k

Summary: Maria is cranky. Her lunch is late, her boyfriend is a jerk, and she has to deal with Secretary Ross. Could this day get any more torturous?

Yes, yes it could.

Radio Silent (ao3) - hecklesyeah M, 77k

Summary: "I shouldn't be doing this."

"What, stuff yourself with breakfast food for dinner?"

"I haven't even decided which pie to have for dessert. No, this," she says and gestures between them. "I shouldn't be doing this. And yet here I am."

- - -

Alternately: the one where Maria and Steve navigate a relationship and where Tony and Bucky figure out how to move forward from a murderous elephant in the room.

The Odd Couple (ao3) - tielan T, 8k

Summary: He's fast and she's weird.

Twice the Joy (ao3) - sbarmarj G, 3k

Summary: Maria spoke again after a moment. “There is a Swedish saying that shared joy is twice the joy, shared sorrow is half the sorrow. Maybe you felt normal because you could finally share your sorrow.”

At Tony's memorial service, Maria and Steve discuss the last five years, his impending time travel, grief and finding joy before he leaves once more.

Two Lies and A Bit of Truth (ao3) - igrockspock T, 3k

Summary: Maria Hill has a lot of back stories. One of them is even true.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #captainhill #captainhill masterlist #steve rogers #maria hill #masterlists #f/m

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harrison-abbott · 11 months

Text

There was this other time in high school.

A weekday morning. It would’ve been about 9 a.m. and I had to head to maths class. And the corridors in our school were incredibly claustrophobic. Each time there was a movement of the pupils there was always a traffic jam in the hallways.

And on this particular morning it was worse than usual. On the way to the maths room there was a geography teacher – trying to order the kids about and disorder the clutter of them in an irritable, yelling manner. His name was Mike Creamer. I was right behind him. And a group of other kids, coming in the other direction, darted towards me. So I moved out of their way: and by accident I bumped into Mr Creamer’s shoulder.

He turned and glared at me. I was intimidated by the glare … and the whole corridor went silent.

“Which classroom are you going to?” he demanded of me.

I pointed to the maths corridor to the left. And then he said “Wait in there.” And told me to go inside. I didn’t really know what he was going to do. But I obeyed him and went inside the room. Again – everybody else in the maths class were chilly and quiet and nervous about what he would do. And Creamer stayed in the doorway and I was looking up at him – and he scowled at me with this deep disgust. And it scared me oblivious.

Then he demanded me to come out of the room. And he led me into a small side-corridor down the hall.

And from there he just blared and screamed at me for minutes. He was twice the size of me, a bit bald, with the remaining hair white, totally raging, ranging over me as if he wished to smack me. He used the words instead. “YOU JUST THINK YOU CAN WALK PAST EVERYBODY ELSE!” And so on, so forth.

Honestly. The above incident I described, where I knocked into his shoulder lightly. This was all that had happened. And I had no clue what it is that I’d done wrong or why I had misbehaved.

But when you are so young, you don’t have the verve to overpower adults when they are trying to do that to you. It was hard to maintain eye contact with him (as an autistic person, this is something I already find tricky) and yet I felt I had to, whilst he just hollered and shouted. All I could think of to do was say “I’m sorry.”

And he sent me back to the classroom, shivering.

Then I had to sit through an hour of mathematics, trying to do the sums with trembling fingers.

A few days later I saw him again. Mr Creamer. In the same hallway, actually. He recognised me from the last time; and his face just blackened with rage. As if he was still offended. He looked away and cut past me, fresh and wrathful.

And for a long time afterward I still didn’t understand why he would go to such an extend to berate a young boy like that. I had literally never met him before.

Now that I’m older, I realise it in different ways. I despised that high school. It was a gory, squalid place, a backward, sad, depressed building in a provincial town. It wasn’t even in the town: it was halfway down a raging motorway. Nobody wanted to be there.

I went there for five years and detested every second of it. My eldest brother, who is ten years older, attended there, too, and he said that Mr Creamer was there when he was a pupil. And I have a family-friend who is six years older than me. I told family-friend about this story once, and he said that he had a similar incident with Creamer as well. That he got harangued, too.

So, Mike Creamer had already been in this horrible place for over a decade. And he dealt with his anger by exploding at children. Basically?

Is it as simple as that? To go out of your way to pinpoint a boy and explode at him. I was 14. Couldn’t defend myself.

It’s very hard to forgive incidents like this. I think about this one quite a lot; or, have thought about it continuously since it happened, around sixteen years ago.

The great irony of the whole story is in relation to what another of my brothers had said to me. Before it happened. My big brother Louis, the second-eldest.

Louis used to say that, of all his favourite teachers, it was Mr Creamer. Because they were both fans of The Smiths, and they used to talk about how much they loved Morrisey. Louis remarked that he and Creamer were pally and liked to talk about music in between Geography lessons.

Would Creamer, therefore, have blared at me like that if he’d known that I was Louis’ little brother? Or, afterward, if he’d learned that fact, been ashamed about what he’d done?

I get that we’re not all ‘morning people’. (As for me – I tend to write most in the nocturnal hours, the a.m. period, when the world is most silent; but that’s not technically morning.) And that we can be in bad moods. We are tired and hate our jobs and don’t wish to be here, hate where our life has taken us.

But I don’t think there is anything excusable about what than man did to me that day.

To use your small role of power as a high school teacher to do that. That is not cool. That’s plain abusive, a loss of control, sadistic.

And, so, what is the conclusion? Well … I will never do a similar thing to a younger person. When we are in our teens we are at our most vulnerable. Social interaction is just excruciating. We can’t handle things like irate, bitter, spent, desperate, unhappy adults: we just don’t understand where the wrath comes from.

I couldn’t be mean to a kid, like that. That’s the positive angle to take from this tale.

#writeblr #personal essay #diary #memoir

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suzuka-akira · 2 years

Text

Chance

(click here to read on ao3)

The first time they communicate, it’s on paper that they do.

If you’re planning on cheating in this exam, I’d suggest you refrain from going along with your plan, because I saw what you brought into the exam hall and I think I know what you’re about to do.

- From the student who sits in front of you

That day, Kurusu doesn’t manage to submit what she’d planned to write on the exam paper.

The second time they communicate, a fire almost breaks out between them.

“Thank you so much, you damned son of a bitch.”

Kurusu sticks her leg out in front of her to stop him in his tracks, and the boy in glasses almost trips. She doesn’t care - it’s her final year, and he was the one who, of all things, just had to trip her up on her chances of graduating.

“Did you know that you just cost me my grades?” Kurusu doesn’t even try to conceal the anger in her voice.

“I don’t know about that, but I do know that you almost cost yourself your continued enrolment in the university,” is all he responds. He looks her straight in the eye without so much as a strand of sympathy, and her rage threatens to spill over into her words.

She opens her mouth and it almost does, but he beats her to speaking first.

“I can help you study, though.” He smiles, and Kurusu almost can’t tell if he’s joking. “It’ll cost you nothing.”

A fire had almost broken out between them, but the only fire remaining at this point, is the flush on Kurusu’s face.

The third time they communicate, Kurusu asks a question amidst the math questions on paper they’ve been attempting to solve together for the past hour.

“If you saw me bring in the handwritten notes into the exam hall, why didn’t you tell on me straightaway?” The curiosity spills over from Kurusu’s lips onto her words. “Why did you give me a chance?”

He smiles, and Kurusu can tell he isn’t joking.

“Because I’m a pretty good judge of character, and you don’t look like one to do things without reason.”

A brief silence; eventually, “Thank you so much,” is all Kurusu manages to utter, really meaning it this time.

The fourth time they communicate, no words are needed.

Something green and small is taped to Kurusu’s exam paper; on closer inspection, Kurusu realises it’s a four-leaf clover.

No words are needed, but Kurusu hears his well-wishes loud and clear.

Five minutes till the exam ends, and Kurusu thinks a miracle has occurred.

First of all, she’d actually finished her exam paper ahead of time. That hasn’t even happened on the days she’d cheated.

Secondly, she’d actually knew how to do the questions. Without cheating.

Thirdly, if she hadn’t been designated to sit in this seat, they’d never have met. Maybe she would have been caught cheating the previous round, and expelled immediately. She wouldn’t have found a great study partner (though he really was more a tutor to her than her study partner).

She wouldn't have found the kindest person to ever exist, and she knows she'd be a fool to let him go.

They’d never have met, and the seeds would never have sprouted in Kurusu’s heart.

Thank you so much, are Kurusu’s only thoughts, and they’re her silent words of gratitude to whatever higher being exists - to Fate, to Providence, to the Universe, to Chance, for having let her have the miracle of such a chance encounter; for giving her a chance, as he had, just one semester ago.

They'd met, by a random stroke of chance, and Kurusu almost can’t believe her luck.

Five minutes after the exam ends, a slight commotion seems to be going on behind her.

She thinks it’s just the noise of post-exam discussion, but before she can get up from her seat (eager to thank her Well-Wisher in person), the chief invigilator, an old and high-ranking professor, seems to be…

…walking up to her?

Beside the invigilator is a girl she recognises, and not in the best of ways, because all it does is bring the worst of memories to her recollection.

They’d been in high school when it occurred.

Minami was her best friend - or rather, Kurusu had thought Minami was her best friend, so she trusted her, and told her about her plans to bring her notes into the examination hall. “Maybe I wouldn’t even need to use it, and it’ll just be a good luck charm,” Kurusu had joked.

Turns out, Minami was not her best friend after all, and although Kurusu ended up not using her cheat sheet, her grades were halved thanks to Minami’s report, which is why Kurusu is in a university far from the university of her dreams, in a course far from the course of her dreams.

Of course she’d struggle in university - mathematics was never what she wanted to do. She'd even had to resort to cheating, for real, and, well, joke's on Minami, the perpetrator of her self-fulfilling prophecy. Three years in, and Kurusu is struggling to graduate.

More precisely, Kurusu was struggling to graduate, but a miracle had occurred, allowing her to meet Kurata Takezou, her benefactor-turned study partner and tutor, who’d given her a chance; who’d allowed her to give herself a chance.

And before she knew it, she was no longer struggling, and Kurusu almost can’t believe her luck.

She was thriving, and so were the flowers that had started to bloom in her heart.

And no way is she intending to give up this chance…

…but a dark shadow now looms over her and her future, in the form of a girl she recognises from high school, in the worst of ways.

Kurusu can’t believe her luck.

The chief invigilator, accompanied by a girl she wishes she doesn’t know, is walking up to her.

“This student claims she caught you bringing your notes into the exam hall, but dropped in on the ground right before it started.” He brandishes a stack of paper in front of her. Her full name, Kurusu Hiro, is written on it in black pen, and she doesn’t even recognise the handwriting.

“Those aren’t my notes-” she tries, but before she can continue, the professor stops her, not even giving her a chance.

“She said you’d cheated before in your high school final examination. This gives us reason to suspect that you’d do the same, in your university examination-”

A hand smaller and slimmer than his suddenly takes the papers from his hands, and he recoils in shock.

“What are you doing-”

“Those aren’t her notes,” Kurata repeats Kurusu’s words for her, not even giving him a chance to continue speaking. “This is not her handwriting. Also, she doesn’t use black pens. And she’d never write her full name on any paper that isn’t an exam paper.”

Kurusu doesn’t know what to say; not even she had noticed those things about herself.

“She isn’t lying,” comes a voice from behind them - it’s another invigilator, a young professor that Kurusu recognises from one of her Psychology electives. “And neither is he.”

And the chief invigilator argues no further, even if the one who had just spoken is a junior professor, because even he knows better than to go against the better judgment of Takinami Suzuka, aspiring star in the field of criminal psychology and body language, lovingly nicknamed “Prof Lie Detector” by his students.

The fifth time they communicate, it’s after the graduation ceremony that they do.

It’s spring and the cherry blossom trees have bloomed, and so have the flowers in Kurusu’s heart.

But if there is anything more fleeting than cherry blossom flowers, Kurusu doesn’t know what it is. A thin, pink piece falls from above her, landing beside her foot. She fears her chance may suffer the same fate.

There’s a lot she means to tell him - more than thank you and how can I ever repay you and can you continue to spend time with me and I don't think my life will be the same without you and I don't think I will be the same without you and I don't think I can do without you and I want to do something for you and I want to do many things for you, and -

“Will we ever meet again,” is the only thing that escapes her mouth, but her hands speak for her, because she grabs him by the wrist, lest her chance disappears like cherry blossom petals from a tree branch.

(The fifth time they communicate, Kurusu is determined to not let it be their last.)

“Of course,” He smiles, and Kurusu can tell he isn’t joking this time either. He interlaces their fingers together, and Kurusu can’t believe her luck.

“Because I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I'd be a fool to let you go.”

(The fifth time they communicate, is far from their last.)

#kot #kono oto tomare!#kono oto tomare #kono oto tomare fanfiction #kurata takezou #hiro kurusu #takezou x hiro #kurata takezo #takezo x hiro #takezo x hiro fanfiction #takezo x hiro fanfic #kot fanfic #kot fanfiction #この音とまれ!#��の音とまれ #takehiro

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marvelwitchergilmore · 2 years

Text

Talking About It 2/?

Summary: Part Two of "Talking About It"

Warning: None - just friendships, hint at romance, pure fluff!!! Think I will do a part three...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As it began to approach 2 in the morning, Steve reached for the remote, switching the TV leaving the pair in complete darkness save for the lights streaming in from the street lamps outside.

The pair were now situated next to one another, Connie with her feet on the table, both slouched down.

Connie knew she wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon and Steve felt the same. His body clock had been off for a while.

So there they sat, in silence and darkness.

Until Connie finally spoke.

"He admires you, you know?"

"Who?"

"Dustin." Connie told him. "Yeah. He's completely infatuated with you...in a non-creepy way."

"Thank you...?"

"I guess I was jealous for a while. Dustin kinda saw you as the sibling he never had, and I guess, I don't know. I freaked."

Steve turned his head to look at the elder Henderson. "So that's why you always gave me the cold shoulder?"

Connie shrugged.

"You have no idea how jealous I was of you. Whenever I saw Dustin, your name would always creep up."

"Let me guess, he said I was an annoying prig who wouldn't leave him alone?"

"The complete opposite actually. Well, sometimes that but that was only when you wouldn't listen to him." Connie chuckled slightly. "No, he - he spoke highly of you. And I've seen why."

"Shut up."

Steve let out a small laugh. "I'm being serious. When we had that Mindflayer douche, I realised why. Dustin always said you were the bravest person he knew. Mostly because you've never cried at a math problem."

"It is my hidden superpower."

Steve gave a little smile again before continuing. "Well, I realised why that night."

Steve then went on to recount what had happened that night.

Dustin hadn't come home and something in Connie was beginning to panic. Especially after the small earthquakes every five mintues. So, she went out looking for him.

Of course, when she arrived at the mall everything was explained to her. She was more angry as to why he hadn't called her sooner and told her what was going on. But she jumped into action.

"How big are we talking here?"

"Really freaking huge!" Steve and Robin yelled in a panic.

"Alright! Don't get your panties in a twist."

Something that always confused Dustin was how calm his sister could be about situations like this but when it came to a pop quiz she wasn't prepared for, it was like it was the end of the world.

"Look, if it comes here...what are we going to do?"

"We've got El." Steve told Dustin.

"Yes, but what about back-up?"

Connie thought on her feet. "When you were with the Russians, did you see any chemicals. Anything reactive?"

"R-Reactive?" Robin asked.

"As in- As in a bomb?! What? Are you insane? You're gonna blow us all up! We might aswell wait for the moster to kill us!"

"Hey! Didn't I already tell you to calm down! Relax, I know what I'm doing. Dustin?"

"Er...A couple of things."

"Okay. Take me to them. Harrington - go to the others, help them find anything they can. It's the 4th of July, there's got to be some kind of explosives around here."

"Fireworks!"

Turning around, Connie spotted Max and Lucas.

"Yes! Yes! That's good. Go. Go and get them. As many as you can."

"I'm sorry I didn't call you-"

"No time for apologies. Just...next time you are running from some big underworld monster, call me first."

Dustin smiled. "Okay. And, it's the upside-down. Not, underworld."

Connie just gave him a look. "Okay, okay. No, underworld works, too."

"Okay, lets go."

Not a quarter of an hour later, the Mind Flayer had dropped through the ceiling and was now trying to attack and kill everyone.

Thankfully, after screaming out for them for a good five mintues, Dustin and Connie re-emerged and came sliding around the corner.

"Water!"

Dustin chucked his sister a bottle before throwing a needle.

"Get down!"

Shoving the specially cased Robidium inside the bottle, Connie was quick to throw it towards the creature before it landed on one of its tenticals and exploded ripping off half of it's flesh to which it screamed out.

"I didn't think it liked that!"

"Please tell me there is more to this plan!"

"Dustin!"

Dustin continued with Connie's orders before they were all out, having run around the top deck, hitting the creature as best as they could.

"Keep it busy!" Dustin shouted. "I've got an idea."

"Okay, but you better be quick. This is the last one."

"I will."

"And Dustin!"

"I know. I know. I'll be okay."

Connie nodded before placing the small tube inside the water bottle and throwing it as far as she could.

She managed to capture the Flayer's attention for a split second in which it tried to attack her, following her around the top deck before it crashed down and hit her causing Connie to fall to the ground with a thud and slide across the floor, before nearly falling off the edge.

"Connie!"

Steve and Max ran over, helping her off the edge as she hung on with one hand.

"Are you okay?" Max asked her but Connie didn't reply with the answer she wanted.

"Max, your head."

"It's only a small scratch. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine where's-"

But that was when they noticed El being flung over Billy's shoulder.

"Shit."

Scrambling to her feet with the others, they both began to find a way to get down without jumping.

"This way!" Robin shouted.

By the end of Steve's story, Connie had a relaxed smile on her face. It wasn't big. Hell, it wasn't even that noticeable but it was enough for Connie to know she was okay. For now, at least.

"He's lucky to have you. I'd kill to have a family like yours. A little doofus brother. Or even a sister. Just to have a family really."

"Only child?"

Steve nodded.

Now, Connie's legs lay over Steve's his hand on her knee. But neither noticed.

"Dad's an ass-hole. Mom's...mom. To be honest, I'm shocked they even had me. I use to ask why some kids have a sibling and why I didn't have one. They'd either go quiet or shut the topic down all together. Eventually, I just stopped asking."

"Did you not have, like, a childhood best-friend?"

"Not really. Not one that stuck anyway."

Connie fell silent for a few moments, studying Steve's features.

"Well, you've always got a family with us. And with the kids. You are their mom after all."

"I'm what?"

"You haven't heard this?!" Connie asked, sitting up unable to control her smile.

"No. Should I?"

"It's all across town. Best babysitter turned mom. You know, hand on hips, tea-towel on your shoulder."

"I've never done that."

Connie chuckled and nodded her head. "Oh, yes you have. I think I even have a polaroid of it somewhere. I had Dustin take it for me as proof. Wait here."

Steve lifted his hand whilst Connie ran into her room to find the picture. Only, she had been gone for a while so standing up, Steve followed her where he found her stood infront of a push-pin board where multiple photos lay of herself, Dustin, a few friends, the kids on their first day of school each year.

"When was this?" Steve asked, pointing to a photo of herself and Dustin.

"The fireworks, with Dustin as a baby."

That was when Steve realised it was the same memory her terrors started off with.

"Where is it? Ah! Ah-ha! Look."

Picking the photo from the wall Connie handed it to Steve.

"When was this?"

"Two months ago. Err...the 26th to be exact." Connie said, looking to the back of the photo.

"We've never talked and yet you have a picture of me on your wall."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself Harrington. I have this as proof and only as proof that you, buddy, are the kids mom."

"I would have thought dad."

"Nope. Mom. All the way. But, you would be a good dad someday."

"You really think so?"

Steve had never had this conversation with anyone. Sure, he'd thought about it, once, when he was with Nancy but...

"Yeah. Dustin told me all about how you helped him out for the dance. Look."

Pinning the picture back up, Connie pointed to another one where it was Dustin in his formal outfit.

Steve smiled as he looked closer.

"Would you ever want kids?"

Steve hadn't expect this question to come from his mouth. But it was out in the open now.

"Maybe. One day."

At this answer, the pair seemed to lock eyes for a few seconds too long before finally, trying to hide the embarrassment rising, they both turned back to the picture board.

"Do you take a picture every day or something?"

"Kinda." Connie answered. "There's more in those boxes."

"May I?"

"Sure. Go for it."

Slowly, Connie walked over to her bed, sitting down with her legs underneath her body as she lay against the wall where her headboard should be.

Her walls were teal and soft pink. Her bed lay in the left hand corner, cutting off just under the window-cill. A wardrobe lay at the bottom of the bed, its back against the wall just like the side of her bed. She had a couple of lights strung around and the picture wall lay oppoiste to her so she could see it just before she fell asleep.

That was where Steve currently stood, pulling the teal box away from the desk, walking over to her and sitting on the edge of the bed as he flicked through the photos.

They weren't professional or anything but, in some aspect, they captured everything that was happening in the moment.

"When was this?"

Gently, she took the photo from Steve's grasp and looked at it.

"I've not labelled this one. I label all my photos. Why didn't I label this one?"

"Don't ask me. They're your photos."

Connie studied it for a little while longer before it hit her.

"Oh, this was when the boys had their first horror movie night. I scared them so bad that night. I still don't think they've forgiven me for it."

Standing up, Connie took a marker, labelling the back on it before pinning it onto the photo wall in the very middle.

The pair went through the photo's for hours, not that they noticed before they finally fell asleep next to one another, Connie's top blanket covering the pair of them.

And it was the first time in months Connie slept without fear. Of anything.

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annegraves · 1 year

Text

S2E4 “the majestic 12”Anne Graves version.

The Umbrella Academy☂

A.N. Hi guys! I hope you’ll like this. I know it took quite long, but I hope this was worth the wait. S2E5 is coming soon. This is a self-insert I hope you all are fine with that. I modeled Anne after myself. Should I make a x reader version of this? Let me know. Ok enjoy.

^^^ʕु•̫͡•ʔु☂^^^

A.N. but with spoiler:

I decided to put Anne with a loving version of Reginald because I think it would make a more interesting story line. This is also a Five x Anne kinda thing. I know what you’re thinking like “ew he’s 58” but I promise it’ll make sense.

1776 words

｀、ヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽ(ノ＞＜)ノ｀、ヽ｀☂ヽ｀、ヽ

Diego walks up to Grace with an open mouth, “Mom?”

“Now the only one that calls me that is my daughter.” Grace says amused with a Texan accent. “Everything all right, hon?”

“You’re real.” Grace chuckle at that sentence, “If this is your idea of a come-on, it’s not goin’ well.”

Diego shakes the smile of his face, “No. Actu… Uh… Uh, do…do you know a man named Sir Reginald Hargreeves?”

Grace became a little confused, “Reggie? He’s my date this evenin’.” Diego’s eyes fell out of his sockets.

“Your date?” Diego, looking like a kid who just saw his parents kiss, “Ugh.”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Grave said sounding very much offended.

“No. No, no, it’s… it’s just, uh…” he started stuttering realising he’s about to blow his cover, “It’s just a lot to process. The…”

Grace was still very confused, her face looked like if she just witness an alien abduction. “The thought of the two of you, I… I can’t picture that in my head. That is…”

“That’s nasty.” Diego said with the sass of Cardi B.

“Uh…” Grace said then she sighed. “You’re a little odd, aren’t you?”

Diego said “Yeah.” Like she just taught him the world’s hardest maths problem.

Grace laughed softly. “I mean, no.” Diego stopped himself realising he just called himself odd.

“Uh… Do you know where he is?”

“He said somethin’ about a quick meetin’, and he’d be right back. That was 20 minutes ago.”

“Never good to keep a lady waiting.”

“Tell him that if you find him.” With that and a sip of her drink she walked away.

“Wait.” Said Diego. “Didn’t you say you have a daughter?” Diego ask genuinely curious.

“Yep. She my little ball of sunshine.” Grace saying with a little sigh and laughter. “Actually she’s not really mine but,” Grace moved back to their original speaking position, “She’s Reggie’s kin.” She said that kind of space out and sort of sad. “But she accepted me from day one, calling me ‘Ma’, giving me mother’s day presents-“ while saying that she change her demeanour to a happy one. “She actually gave me this for my birthday.” Grace said that while holding her necklace, smiling brightly.

“Ma!” an East Asian girl ran over to Grace. She looked to be in her early teens, she was one the bigger side but she wasn’t fat, she had short black bob hair with it curling at the end there was also a hairband on it, she was wearing a nice A-lined dress that was teal in colour. “They’re going to be playing your favourite song! You gotta come see!”

“Annie. That was rude you didn’t even greet this kind-“She looked Diego up and down, and went ‘well… close enough?’, “gentleman.”

“Oh. Sorry, Ma.” Then she looked at Diego. “Good evening, Sir.” Anne said giving a bow, then her hand. “My name’s Anne.” Anne said in a calm demeanour.

Diego took her hand to shake it. “Diego. Diego Hagreeves. ” Diego suddenly realise what he was saying mid-sentence, but it was like his mouth and his brain were 2 different people.

“Huh. You the same last name as my father.” Diego wanted to dig a hole and die, because you know Five and/or Lila would have done it themselves. Thank god what followed was…

“Must be a very common last name.” Diego let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “Yeah, must be.”

“Now if you would excuse me, I need to take my Ma to the dance floor.” Grace laughed. “Of Couse, don’t let me stop you.” Diego moved his arm in the direction of the dance floor.

Anne turned around excitedly, “Ma. We gotta go fast if not you’re goin’ miss it.” The young girl held her mum’s hand and pull her to the dance floor.

“Sorry I couldn’t talk more.” With that Grace’s daughter, now established as ‘Anne’ pulled her away.

“Hey, uh, Grace?”

“It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

Diego watched as his (mum?) walked away with his (sister?), and sighed, “Poor kid.”

“Lila.”

…☁-*✧..☂˚. .˚☂..✧*-☁…

Anne brought her mum to the dance floor, where Grace proceeded to say “Oh, this is my song!” Grace put her belongings with Anne to go dancing. While dancing a random guy asked her if he could buy her a drink and she accepted.

Anne watched all from afar, she couldn’t dance due to her being a kid. (there was a strict no kids allowed party, but when you’re Reginal Hagreeves’s daughter you are allowed into the party)

While watching she decided to go find her father maybe she’ll be more of a helping hand there. As she was walking she got lost every staircase looked the same, every part of the wall was covered with the same colour or the same wallpaper, every window the same. (I mean the view was different but, it wasn’t helping)

All of a sudden, she heard noises that sounded like fighting? She followed the sound. (what did she have to lose?) She got up just in time, to see five yeet someone out the window! She looked around to see the man she met not 30 minutes ago getting choke to his death by 2 white-haired men.

She ran to his aid. Firstly, Anne grabbed a knife that Lila was previously using to save five and used it to stab into (the white haired-man that was using a piece of (cloth?) to choke Diego)’s thigh. (We’re going to call this one A, the other Mofo and Yeeted one, Yeet. Okay?)

He stopped choking Diego due to the pain on his leg, and fell to the ground. Next was Mofo and Diego, They had a battle like they we’re in street fighter 2. Highlights included: Diego yeeting Mofo’s head out of the window, Diego smashing a glass bottle on Mofo’s head and Diego high kicking Mofo. Anne watch in awe as this all happened.

When Diego finally knocked out Mofo, he looked out the window and said “Dad.” Without acknowledging Anne he ran down the stairs.

Anne wanted to following him but her curiosity got the best of her, and she went looked out the window. She saw her parents that seem to be talking to the police, “Oh, shoot.”

She quickly ran down the stairs.

She ran as fast as her leg would take her, because she was scared that her father might punish her. Don’t get me wrong her father might be much more loving than how he treated the Umbrella Academy but, she was still Reginald Hagreeves’s daughter and he was still Reginald Hagreeves.

Anne ran to her parents and acted normal. (maybe if she acted like nothing happened they’ll act the same way)

“Annie! Darling! Where were you? I turned my head and you were gone! We we’re about to report a missing case to the police!” Grace said frantically.

“Anne Gables Hagreeves! Where were you?”

“I’m sorry daddy. I saw Ma having fun, and I wasn’t of much help. So I wanted to find you. I thought maybe I could help out, but I got lost.” She ended it a bit softly.

Reginald face soften. “Okay. At least you’re back in one piece.” This might be very out of character for the Umbrella Academy’s Reginald, but this is Anne Hagreeves’s Reginald. “Let’s get you in the car and back home. That’s enough playing for you.”

Without a word Anne walked to the car. Reginald open the car for his girlfriend and daughter to get in. First was Grace, then Anne but before she could step in, there was a boy about her age who started shouting something that she could not understand. While she was yelling her father looked locked in, like he was in some sort of spell.

Anne asked her father, “Daddy, what is that boy saying?” Reginald seem to snap out of it and said, “Nothing that you need to know, Sweetie.”

“Reggie. What are you waiting for? We need to go.” Her mother said firmly. So, she stepped in the car, followed by her father. Confused her mother asked “Who was that?”

“No one important.” Reginald said nonchalantly.

“Was that him?” Diego asked.

“Yeah.” Five replied.

Grace turned her attention to the young girl sitting in front of her, “And you. Never run away like that again. Okay?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“You gave me a heart attack.” Saying that Grace cupped her daughter’s face.

…☁-*✧..☂˚. .˚☂..✧*-☁…

Anne lied in her bed, she was so confused her dad always told her everything, she even knew about the Kennedy assassination and how her father was against it. He denying her information to her was weird to say the least. She was also thinking about the fight that Mr Diego was having. She didn’t know that he was a fighter. He even used the same techniques that she was used to, the same ones her father taught her. She was also thinking about Diego calling (her dad maybe?) dad. It all didn’t make sense to her. When she was done stressing about that she was wondering about who was that crazy boy that was yelling at her and her father. She’d met crazy people and people that liked yelling at her father but she couldn’t stop thinking about this boy-

“Annie are you asleep?” Reginald said in an assertive manner.

Anne sat straight up like a spring that had just been bend. “Why do you ask Daddy?” Anne said excitedly, “Are we going out?”

“Sadly no, my child. Your mother and I are going out.”

“But Daddy… why can’t I go?”

“It’s about a serious matter-“

“Like JFK?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then I’ll stay home alone.” Anne said sadly. “But you won’t be alone.” The father said to his daughter. Before Anne could question it, Reginald said “I want you to meet Pogo.”

A small young baby monkey walked out from the darkness of her room. “You may treat him as a brother, or a servant, either way he’ll listen to your every word.” While he was saying that the young Pogo jumped on the bed next to Anne.

She was a bit scared. “Don’t be scared darling.” She did not move. “Come on touch him.”

She reluctantly did, and Pogo snuggled against her hand. She was happy at this.

“Okay. Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He walked out but before he completely step out the door, he said “I love you.” He said without looking back. “I love you too.” Reginald smiled at that and closed the door.

#five hargreeves #aidengallagher #the umbrella academy

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