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girl-next-door-writes · 1 year

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There You Are: Papercuts

Characters: George Weasley x reader

Summary: After the genius plan to find his soulmate falls through perhaps George just needs to be patient and let the universe reveal the truth when it’s ready.

Word Count: 1585 words

A/N: I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has reblogged and shared this little mini-series. I’ve really enjoyed writing it.

Despite the warm weather, George resolutely kept his shirt sleeves down, desperate to hide the fading message scratched onto his arm from everyone around him. Whoever you were, he had hurt you so much that you’d felt the need to injure yourself just to ask him to stop. Did that mean you didn’t know who he was? Surely if you knew he was your soulmate then you would have just asked him face to face, or even sent a note. That was, unless, you were disappointed that he was your soulmate. That thought stung and dug deep under his skin, soaking into his heart and leaving him feeling self-conscious.

“Come on George, one last try.” Fred pleaded as they made their way to charms.

“Don’t you bloody well dare! I’m not a pincushion or a punching bag, and my soulmate definitely isn’t.”

“Maybe they’ve got a high pain threshold, so every time we’ve punched him, they don’t even flinch.” Lee offered, not sure how their genius plan had failed.

“Yeah, that would be the only explanation.” Fred nodded, his brow furrowing a little as he thought. “We just need a new plan.”

“NO! No more plans. My soulmate will show up when they want to. Just leave it.” George stormed off towards the classroom leaving his brother and friend looking after him in confusion.

“Someone needs a wank.” Lee muttered causing Fred to scoff as they followed George into Charms.

You quickly walked into Charms class, your robe flowing behind you as you hugged your books to your chest. Finding your seat towards the front, you slipped onto your stool and tugged at the ends of your sleeves, ensuring you exposed as little skin as you could. The small crescent scar on the inside of your arm popped into your mind and you barely stopped yourself from tracing your finger over it. There was something comforting about knowing it was there, even if you knew that would be the only connection you shared with George Weasley.

Katie plonked her things down next to you and sat down with a grin. “I love this class.”

“That’s because you think it’s full of eye candy.” You chuckled as you made room for your friend.

“And you don’t? We’ve got Wood over there up front, Weasley squared just behind us and to the left, and Jordan right behind them. Come on, you’ve got to admit, that’s a lot of hotties in one room.” Katie glanced over at the twins, quickly looking away when she saw Fred glance in her direction.

“You once said that Snape looked dishy, so I’m not sure I trust your taste.” You hummed, trying to ignore the goosebumps that were erupting over your arms knowing you were sitting this close to George.

“Hey, he’d made an effort that day. I swear he’d curled his hair, maybe got a blow dry.”

“Katie, there’s no excuse.” You gave your friend a lopsided smile before Professor Flitwick called the class to order.

George was definitely not concentrating on the lesson, his thoughts drifting to his soulmate. He couldn’t help but keep picturing them sitting on a bathroom floor, carving the words into their arm, tears probably streaming down their cheeks as they silently begged for the pain to stop. It caused his heart to twist and he just wanted to wrap them up in his arms, whisper soothing words and soft apologies. It was never his intention to hurt you, and now you probably would never want to speak to him, even if you did know who he was.

He was so caught up in his own mind that he almost missed the final piece of the puzzle falling into place.

“Please take a piece of parchment and pass the rest on. I need everyone to have a fresh sheet.” Professor Flitwick announced, handing a pile of parchment to Oliver Wood, who was sat at the front.

Slowly, the pile made it’s way around the class and you took your sheet then you turned to hand the rest to Angelina, who was sat behind you. As she took them from you, a parchment edge sliced through the soft skin of your right index finger, causing you to wince and bring the digit to your mouth.

“You okay?” Katie asked.

“Papercut.” You shrugged, turning back to the front as you fumbled in your pocket for a tissue to wrap around your finger.

George saw you wince out of the corner of his eye as he flinched at the pain suddenly coming from his finger. He looked at the thin cut, his eyes widening. His head whipped up, and he observed you wrapping up your finger, and suddenly every fiber of his being cried out to rush to you, to check you were okay.

It was as if everything had clicked into place. Of course it was you! Who else would his soulmate be? It was so obvious and he didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before.

The rest of the class was now spent staring at you, taking in each and every detail he could. The way your lips curved, the way your hair fell, the way you tugged at your sleeves to prevent them raising up over your arms. Every thing you did was enchanting, and George was not even aware the lesson had finished until Fred punched his arm.

“What?”

“Where’s your head, George? Seriously.” Fred sighed, shoving his stuff in his bag.

“I just…” George’s gaze fell back onto you, and he realised you had already packed up and were leaving. In a sudden rush, he shoved all his things into his bag and hurried after you, calling your name as he entered the corridor, eyes scanning the crowd for you.

Hearing someone calling your name, you stopped and turned around with a small frown. As soon as your eyes met George’s, you knew that he knew what you knew. It was as if your feet were frozen to the stone beneath, a cold paralysis creeping up your legs keeping you trapped as he came closer.

George ran a hand through his hair and gave you an awkward, hopeful smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” The two of you just stood looking at each other as the corridor of bustling students carried on, as if the world hadn’t suddenly come to a standstill.

“I’m sorry.” George said softly, his fingers itching to reach for you but unsure how you would react.

“Sorry?”

“Fred had this stupid idea of injuring me until we found my soulmate and I didn’t mean for you to get hurt but I so desperately wanted to find you and I didn’t think. So… sorry, for the bruises and stuff, and sorry your soulmate’s a bit of a prat.” He flashed you a tight smile as he realised just how badly he probably screwed this up.

“You’ve been really careful since…”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“That rash kind of sucked.”

“Well, that wasn’t really my fault.”

“I get the feeling you’d say that about most of these.” You smirked, rolling up your sleeve and revealing the remnants of previous shared injuries.

George reached out and took your hand in one of his, the other tracing his finger over the small crescent scar from the firework burn. His touch sent a pleasant shiver through your body and his shy smile turned into a grin when he noticed.

“I promise I will be more careful, and if I do get hurt then I will come find you and kiss it better.”

“Really? I’m going to hold you to that.” Your smile matched his and George interlaced his fingers with your own, tugging you closer.

“So, how long have you known?” He asked softly, not caring that you both had other places to be.

“A while.” You tilted your head slightly, giving him a sad smile. “I was going to tell you, but then you were snogging someone else so I thought-“

“Oh shit! I was so drunk, I thought I’d found my soulmate, thought I’d found you. I saw a scar and went for it. Like I said, your soulmate’s a bit of a prat.” He winced, realising he’d probably caused you more than physical pain.

“I wouldn’t say he’s a prat. Sometimes he might act a little like one, but I happen to think he’s bloody brilliant, if a little clumsy.”

“Bloody brilliant? Well, I think I’m the lucky one because my soulmate is gorgeous and caring and so much more than anything I have ever hoped for, and I can’t wait to kiss them.”

“So, what are you waiting for?” Both of you slowly leaned into each other, feeling warm breath against your skin, your lips almost meeting.

“You are late for class. Stop loitering in the hallways and get to where you are supposed to be.” Professor Snapes voice cut through the moment, causing both of you to jump.

“I will meet you on the quad after class.” George flashed you a dashing smile before placing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand and then walking backwards away from you.

“Mr Weasley, watch where you are going, you do not want to cause your soulmate any further discomfort.” Snape chastised.

“Never, professor.” He winked at you then turned and hurried to class.

“You too.” Snape fixed you with a no nonsense look and you headed off to transfigurations, knowing full well that you wouldn’t take in a single thing Professor McGonagall said.

#George Weasley #George Weasley x reader #gndw mini series

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sorencd · 10 months

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IF I FELL

pairing: neil perry x reader

word count: 0.7k

a/n: a small something i wanted to do with neil! have i ever mentioned i lovrhfed himdahsd asdh

masterlist

sitting at a table with your friends surrounding you trying to pretend that you weren’t looking at the person across from where you were wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do, especially when most of them can’t keep their mouth shut. you could feel the subtle jab to your side one of your friends, danielle, was giving you when she noticed you were staring beyond the table and wasn’t listening to a thing she was saying.

“stop- stop that.” you dismissively waved your hand to try and stop her from elbowing your side.

emily, another friend of yours, started making jokes about how you’ve got your eyes set on someone and pointed a finger at where you were previously looking. you denied her accusations before cautiously turning your head to the direction she was indicating, acting as if you weren’t staring there a moment ago. to no surprise, it was him, the boy you’ve been fawning over like a little girl who’s had her first crush. this little fixation of yours has been going on for months but you never found it in yourself to act upon it since you knew little about him. all you knew of was that he attended the academy nearby and you’ve never seen him alone or without any of his friends. you wanted to change that. you’ve also come to find out a few weeks back that his name was neil, a name that made you perk your head up whenever anyone mentions it, no matter if it was related to him or not. it was love at first sight, your friends would say, and they’ve never seen you as smitten as you are now.

you rested your chin on your palm to better concentrate at his face, or smile, rather. you concluded that he had the best smile in town, brighter than any other you’ve seen. you bet that if he were to smile at you directly, your heart wouldn’t handle any of it and stop beating right then and there. you can only dream about that happening.

“he’s a proper dishy lad, isn’t he?”

you scrunched your nose at danielle who was trying her best british impression, she’s been reading too much books from that tolkien guy. you really should take those books away from her. you continued your faux act of not knowing anything, avoiding her teasing gaze with a shrug to your shoulders.

“what? i have no idea who you’re talking about. i was just-” it was hard to get out words that would help you defend yourself when your head was busy being occupied by him. you felt that no adjective could perfectly express what you thought of him and if you opened your mouth, you’d accidentally slip and say something about neil instead.

"i-i don’t know.”

they all shared a knowing look while you continued staring at him as he leaned onto a tree he was at. he had his mouth closed and was seemingly listening intently to what one of the boys was saying. what a perfect set up, you thought. he could just continue what he was doing, and you would just admire him from afar. unfortunately, your daydreaming was cut short when unexpectedly, neil turned his attention to where you sat and for a brief moment, you two made eye contact. you felt the air in your lungs get ripped away from you and your heart thump faster. he gave you a smile that you thought only came in your dreams accompanied by a wink before diverting his gaze and pitched into the conversation they were having, leaving you red and blushing with a thousand questions running in your mind. why would he look at you? did he know the whole time? your friends started giggling amongst themselves as they saw the whole thing unfold.

“looks like that boy you like fancies you back~.” danielle resumed elbowing your arm and wiggled her eyebrows, “i think he likes you too.”

“don’t- no, he doesn’t. something just got caught in his eye, that’s all.” you reasoned, also half lying to yourself to try and stop you from leading yourself on. you didn’t want to expect from someone who probably doesn’t even know who you are, probably already liked another person, and most likely would never talk to you.

on the other side of the park though, unbeknownst to you, neil was watching you try to explain yourself to your group with a smile. he should ask you on a date soon, he contemplated to himself, before someone else beats him to it.

#neil perry x reader #neil perry #dead poets society #dead poets society x reader

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sandcobangevent · 1 month

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Life on the Line

by Mush_Pit and @4thelneyj0nes

Read the fic or view the art on AO3!

John's heart races, his palms sweat, and his breath hitches as he sees that little notification flashing in front of Archie's photo.

He's screwed.

He is beyond screwed.

“You know just staring at your phone won’t solve anything,” Mariana comments watching John panic from the comfort of the living room couch.

“I know it doesn't! But reading it just…makes it real, you know?” John sighs.

Mariana shrugs, “Well, what if you aren't getting fired?”

“Oh yeah, I'm sure that after breaking a massive pile of plates they'll great me with open arms! Hell, they'll probably give me a promotion for that!” John snaps with sarcasm dripping through each syllable.

Mariana struggles to stifle her laughter hearing about the infamous plate incident that happened the day before.

“Stop it! It's not funny!” John pouts as his cheeks burn bright.

“Sorry, sorry. I just…what did you trip over again?”

John hesitates and turns away in embarrassment, “A b-banana peel…”

“Just like in a cartoon?” Mariana teases as another chuckle threatens to leave her mouth.

“This is serious! What am I going to do!? This is the third job I lost in the last six months! How am I going to pay rent or get Archie his food?”

Mariana's eyes soften as she walks over and rubs his back, “Hey, it'll be okay. If push comes to shove I can help with bills.”

John sighs, “You're my roommate not some hero. It's not your job to clean up my messes.”

“Alright. Then stop staring at your phone and face the consequences.”

John let's out a shaky sigh. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself. He picked up the phone and read the text.

As expected, it was from the owner, but the text was more spine chilling than expected.

“Come meet me in my office.”

The walk to the restaurant was torturous. John couldn't help but feel like a cow being sent to the slaughter.

Stepping through the restaurant's dining room, John's legs started to feel weak. Just a few steps ahead of him was the owner's office.

Behind that chestnut door was the man that was going to fire him. John wanted to run away, and yet he found himself closing that gap and knocking on the door right under the golden name plate with the name “Mycroft” engraved.

A few tense moments pass before the word “Enter” is spoken from the inside. With one deep breath, John enters the belly of the beast.

The office was more cozy than expected. It was spacious with dim lighting, a red carpet, and mahogany walls. One could confuse it with a lawyer's office or some politician's.

“Please sit.”

Like a soldier, John follows the orders without complaint. He knew better than to try to make excuses. Not that he could, his mouth was too dry and the thought of speaking made feel nauseous.

He's watched many employees before him enter this office all in either tears or fuming with anger. He wonders which he would be.

Mycroft leans back in his chair and stares at John like a shrike eying the next mouse to impale.

After a few tense moments, Mycroft speaks, “Each of those plates cost £50 a piece and you managed to break 186 of them.”

“Y-yes and I'm so sorry. I will never-”

“I'm not finished.”

Immediately John shuts his mouth feeling the pit of his stomach grow deeper and heavier.

Mycroft notices how pale the other man had become and couldn't help but pity him, “I should fire you. Fire you and charge you for all those plates.”

John sinks into his seat waiting for the hammer to come down.

Mycroft sighs and leans back on his seat, “However, it seems like you have a guardian angel. Sherlock vouched for you. Claims that it was a complete accident and you slipped on a banana peel so you may go.”

John could've sworn that he had misheard. He wasn't going to be fired? Even more unbelievable…

…Sherlock vouched for him

Sherlock Holmes, the five star Michelin star chef. That chef vouching for some dishie!? Impossible! Ridiculous even!

“Well are you going to just sit there? Get to work.” Mycroft orders.

John immediately nods and eagerly reaches out to shake his hand, “Thank you! Thank you so much! I promise you I'll never break a plate ever again!”

Mycroft pulls his hand away before waving him off, “Yes, yes, now just get to work.”

Without another word John leaves the room fearing that if he stayed any longer the walls themselves would crush him.

Once safe in his station in the dish pit he lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding. He never felt so happy to see the pile of filthy plates waiting for him.

With a gentle touch he reaches to take one of the plates only to jolt up as someone taps his shoulder.

The soapy plate slips through his fingers. Scrambling, John tries to save the plate from crashing onto the floor but before he could do so someone else grabs the plate.

“You should really be more careful, Watson. We need these plates.” The voice behind him says.

John's heart leaps hearing that. He recognizes this voice. It is the voice he had heard many times before across the room calling out orders during dinner rushes.

Sherlock

“Could you help me?” Sherlock asks as dishie finally turns to him.

“H-help? F-from…from me?” John asks, shocked.

“Yes. One of my prep cooks called out today and I have potatoes to peel. May you help me?” Sherlock asks again.

John gulps as the taller man's looks at him so intently, “Umm…well, I haven't really ever peeled potatoes…other back home with my mum when I lived with her, but not much anymore!”

“That’s alright. I'll show you. Now come on.” Sherlock insists on tugging the shorter man towards one of the prep tables.

A box full of potatoes awaited them. Sherlock seemed unfazed by the mass of potatoes as he took one potato in his right hand and picked up his paring knife with his left.

John couldn't help but look at the young chef's hands. He never expected Sherlock to be left handed nor did he expect how delicate he was as he peeled off the tuber.

It was memorable to watch Sherlock work. If only Sherlock wasn't so reserved he could be bigger and better than Gordan Ramsey or any other chef.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” Sherlock questions.

John feels his cheeks heat up as he shakes his head and picks up a potato and a knife.

For a few moments, they worked in silence. Sherlock peeled his potatoes so effortlessly with skill just pouring out of him. That couldn't be said the same for John who was still working on his first potato.

“How's your head?” Sherlock suddenly asks.

John blinks, “M-my head?”

“Yes. Yesterday you hit your head when you slipped on the banana peel. I hope you are alright?” Sherlock asks.

John could feel his heart pounding as his cheeks became a dark shade of red, “Oh that! No, yeah I’m fine! Just a little bump in the head, nothing serious!”

Sherlock nods, satisfied with the answer, “That is good to hear. I like you all in one piece, Watson.”

This is the second time this day here John could've sworn that his heart has stopped. Has Sherlock always been like this?

Most importantly, why would he care for him of all people?

Before John could answer Sous Chef Lestrade entered the room, “Chef you have a call from one of the suppliers. Something about having problems with delivering the rack of lamb for tonight.”

Sherlock’s face seems to drop and his shoulders seem to tense as he sets down his knife and potatoes.

“Finish these,” he orders before disappearing around the corner.

John’s gaze followed Sherlock the best he could but it was as if the chef was never there in the first place.

The dinner rush in the Diogenes Club on Saturday nights are always the worst ones. Every table is booked, very demanding customers seated at every one, and not to mention the few fools who try to get in without a reservation.

Sure you might get lucky in getting an open spot on a Monday or Tuesday but it is impossible to do so on Saturday, and yet crowds of hungry people still line up around the whole building hoping the couple that reserved their seats months in advance wouldn't make it.

The tension in the kitchen is palpable. From the looks of all the cooks' faces you would guess that they were doing some major heart surgery not frying some foie gras. However, the cooks were less worried about feeding the customers and more concerned with being able to satisfy Sherlock.

Sherlock was a notorious perfectionist. If a bit of steak is a little too rare or too well done he would have the rotisseur refire another one and another until the steak is perfect.

At the moment, it was line cook Oliver who has become Sherlock's latest victim being stationed on garnishes for the night.

He was a young kid no older than twenty. Graduated from the Dudwell Cooking School. Graduated on top of his class too which is something John only knew because he always finds a way to bring it up.

Oliver was a good cook, a great cook even but his explosive temper always outshines his culinary skills.

“What!? Again!?” John hears Oliver shout.

As calm as ever Sherlock answers with, “Yes again. The mashed potatoes you gave me are pasty. I need you to refire.”

Oliver scoffs and rolls his eyes, “This is the fourth refire you told me to do! It's just some mash! Everything else is ready! If I do another refire it'll kill the whole table!”

“Yes it will, but if you've done it correctly in the first place we wouldn't have this situation.”

For a moment there was silence. A wrong kind of silence that has everyone at the edge of their seats.

Even John couldn't help but watch the whole thing unfold with the pile of dirty plates disappearing from his mind.

“You’re utterly insane, you know that!? Completely insane! You want your perfect damn potatoes!? Go on then! Do it yourself! I quit!” Oliver shouts, tossing his apron at Sherlock before storming out of the kitchen.

As Oliver walked past, John could swear that there was steam coming out of the boy's ears.

“Sherlock, what are we supposed to do now!? We need everyone here!” Lestrade questions already feeling a headache forming.

Sherlock doesn't answer and instead turns to the dishpit. John feels his heart leap from his chest as his eyes meet the Chef's sharp gaze.

Quickly he turns away and tries to go back to washing dishes but is soon interrupted.

“Watson?” Sherlock calls out.

John gulps, “Y-yes?”

“Do you know how to make mashed potatoes?”

John blinks, “M-me? Umm…well yeah I guess so…why?”

In that one moment Sherlock tosses Oliver's apron, “Put that on and cook then.”

John was too stunned to speak. Sure he has cooked at home mostly with his mum, but cooking here? In a professional kitchen alongside cooks with ten times the experience of him. It was ridiculous and yet he found himself putting on the apron.

John always watched the cooks from afar from the dishpit but had never imagined himself to be standing there in front of a stove other than a sink.

“Are you ready, Watson?” Sherlock asks.

Not trusting his voice, John nods.

“Good,” Sherlock smiles before addressing the kitchen, “Refire on table 47! One steak medium-rare, two sea bass, and one lobster risotto! Understood?”

“Yes chef!” Everyone calls back in unison before getting right to work.

Following the herd John scrambles to start on his dish but his hands are trembling. If from far the action in the kitchen felt intense, being here in the kitchen felt like war.

Two hands close around his shaky hands.

John jumps with the contact and looks up to see that the one holding his hands was Sherlock, “Relax. Panicking will only cause mistakes.”

For a moment the rest of the kitchen disappears with only Sherlock and himself being present, “Y-yeah…I'll…I'll do that.”

Sherlock chuckles, “Good now just focus on cooking.”

John feels a blush creep onto his cheeks as he nods and finally gets to cooking.

After the first moments of shock he finds his own rhythm. His first portion of mash was complete and he quickly placed it on the hot plate.

Sherlock takes the pot and examines the dish carefully before taking a spoonful from the top. John wasn't sure if he was terrified or excited watching Sherlock eat his food. All he knew was that he wanted to throw up.

After a few tense moments Sherlock turns to John and nods, “Keep it up, Watson.” He says as he places the mash on the plate.

John’s heart flutters as he rushes back to the station.

Due to the adrenaline, the night blew pass and the next thing John knew it was over.

“We lost Oliver but it seems like we gained John! In my opinion, thank God! That kid was driving me mad!” Lestrade laughs, patting John's back as the other cooks laugh and agree.

“I don't know about that. It was just for tonight, you know?” John nervously chuckles.

“Oh come on! Don't be such a downer! You were A rubbish dishie anyway!” Gregson jokes causing the rest of the group to burst into laughter.

The lightened mood lasts as they clean the kitchen. Laughter and banter is heard in between scrubbing down the stove top and mopping the floor.

It wasn't until hours later did John step out of the kitchen and into the chilly night air. He shivers for a moment before pressing his back against the wall as he takes out his phone.

“Got a light?” A voice suddenly asks, causing John to jolt up, “Jesus Christ! Are you trying to scare me to death!?” He snaps turning towards the voice only to come face to face with Sherlock.

His chef coat was gone instead replaced with a baggy black sweatshirt and sweatpants. John almost couldn't believe it, if he didn't see Sherlock in the kitchen himself it would've been impossible to believe that the man in front of him was the best chef in London and possibly the world.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Do you have a light?” Sherlock asks again, holding up his cigarette.

“Oh umm…no…sorry.” John mutters, “You know those things will kill you.”

Sherlock rolls his head, “So I'm told.” He says stuffing the cigarette back into the half empty cigarette box, “You held up pretty well tonight.” He comments.

“Oh y-yeah…umm…thanks Sherlock.” John says quickly, scrambling, “I mean chef!”

Sherlock laughs, “Sherlock is fine. To be honest I prefer it. Chef sounds too…formal.”

“And you don't like formal?” John questions.

“No, not at all. Unlike Mycroft I find formality unbearably boring. I prefer something more exciting. Maybe that is why I enjoy your company.” Sherlock smiles.

John's heart flutters as a blush creeps upon his cheeks, “Y-you do?”

“Of course, there's never a dull moment when you're around.” He affirms as he starts to walk towards the parking lot.

Before John could find his ability to breathe again the chef stops and turns back to him, “Lestrade is right. You are a lousy dishie, but you are a decent cook. We should cook together sometime.” he says before turning back and walking towards his car.

And for the hundredth time that day, John could've sworn that his heart had stopped.

#submission #sherlock & co #sherlock and co #event #fanart #fanfiction #flash bang #creative collaboration #sherlock holmes #john watson

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tomatoluvr69 · 4 months

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Sure I’m glad (mostly) that YA is the booming juggernaut it is today because it’s cool that 14 year olds can have stories for them. Sure. More books is always better. That’s fun— thoughts on book influencer culture and grown-ups and literature as soulless and ever-churning product aside. It’s cool to walk into any tiny neighborhood library branch and see a dedicated space for teenagers. When I was a young teenager there were a couple of small shelves in between adult audiobooks and the biographical section where you walked in and your choices were either Twilight, Eragon, or some candy-pink Sex And The City-lite dishy little book like the one that has got some reason come rushing unbidden to the forefront of my memory this morning called “Vegan Virgin Valentine” which I never wound up reading but was always compelled by through a mixture of intrigue and condescension. The YA landscape pre-Hunger Games mania was like…here’s a super scandalous book about anorexia or teen pregnancy written in verse. Or a pandering Book For Boys about combat or fart humor. Or a twilight knock-off about a girl who has sex with a ghost. So while any glimpse of the bloated realm of teen publishing makes me feel exhausted on account of the feverish adult fans who populate it it’s probably full of important stories for teenagers. But like truly Kids These Days have no idea what it’s like to have your only option be called “The Earth, My Butt, And Other Big Round Things” (real) or “Everlost: Soulfyre Book 3” (fabricated poorly for effect)

#and I was not allowed internet access so I couldn’t order in requests from other branches #it was me and the tiny little shelves at the s******* h*** branch against the world #and none of that cool teen centered seating area with magazines and board games and video games or whatever #and the fucking late fees #I paid SO much to the fucking CLP it was ridiculous #grrrrrr both ways uphill etc #and truly no shade if you’re reading like Sarah J Maas genuinely if it brings you joy then I’m glad you have joy in your life!#im just a bit more like McCarthypilled you know #i really liked a series that was set in an elite boarding school and there was lots of murder and like stealing someone’s identity for #a whole year kind of thing. can’t remember what it was called #but they called the main girl Windowlicker #wait is that aphex twin #maybe it was Glasslicker

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dishywishy · 8 months

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Boutta go to the campus library and read War and Peace in one 6 hour sitting just so I can talk to the singular homie about it :]

#thoughts with dishy #war and peace #don’t neglect the homies #get excited about their stuff!

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mizjoely · 11 months

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Maybe the start of something, maybe this is all there will be

Inspired by this post. (First two lines come from that post.)

A faerie introduces himself. Then, holding out a hand, asks, “And your name, please?”

And, like a fool, you give it to him.

(You didn’t know he was a faerie at the time, how could you have? And even if you did, it’s likely you’d still have given him your name. How could you not? The rock solid fact that by doing so you have given him the same power over your soul as if you'd made a deal with the devil is almost immaterial.)

“Molly,” she says, holding out her hand and smiling awkwardly.

He cocks an eyebrow, tilts his head in a questioning manner. “Just…Molly?”

You blush. “N-no, of course not!” you titter, even more awkwardly. “Molly Hoo - Molly Anne Hooper.”

You wonder why you felt so compelled to give him your middle name as well, but as he takes your hand and murmurs, “Molly Anne Hooper,” as if your name has given him some clue to a mystery that intrigues him (oh how apt THAT metaphor will turn out to be!), your mind sort of…blanks out. Because his hand is cool but the feel of those long, elegant fingers clasping yours is like an instant immolation, a chemical reaction going from cold to hot in a split second.

The heat is in more than your hand, but you sternly tell both your fluttering heart and nether parts to calm down.

(They never really do.)

“Sherlock Holmes,” he replies, his lips quirking in a slight smile, as if sensing your reaction (or, you’ll muse once you know him a little better, as if deducing you to the very core).

You smile back. He retrieves his hand, smoothly turning as he removes it from your grasp, and a slight frown furrows your brow as you watch that smile vanish as quickly as it had appeared. As if he’s only put it on for politeness’ sake, and you give yourself a mental shake and tell yourself of course that’s all it was.

Why would someone as devastatingly handsome, as charismatic, as this man take more than a polite interest in you?

(Once you realize that intelligence - genius - is actually his most devastating characteristic, you berate yourself for your foolishness even more. You’re ordinary, why would someone like Sherlock Holmes take ANY notice of you?)

Mike Stamford is nattering cheerfully about his new - protege? Friend? Oh, neither, you realize as his words start to penetrate the mental fog into which you’ve fallen. A new colleague of sorts, some kind of consultant working with NSY and that dishy silver fox of a detective, Greg Lestrade. The one you crushed on right up to the very moment you looked into Sherlock Holmes’ gorgeous, blue-green eyes with those mysterious flashes of silver you later decide you must have imagined at that first introduction.

(The curls, the cheekbones, the perfect Cupid’s bow lips, at least you know all of THOSE are real. Sorry, Greg, that perfect smile and short crop of silver hair simply can’t compete.)

That never goes away, that first breathless feeling of ‘Ohhh’ when you first looked into Sherlock Holmes’ eyes, even after he opens his mouth and proves just what a snotty, self-centered, cold-hearted git he can be.

(Then again, once you know the real truth about him, the truth buried so far beneath his conscious mind that even he’d forgotten it, you realize he never really was as good at imitating humanity as he so vainly thought he was.)

#sherlolly #mizjoely writes #mizjoely's fics #we'll see if i go anywhere with this or not

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asherloki · 11 months

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Hi, I saw your requests are open and I have an idea...

Maybe a Sherlock coffeeshop fic where you are his favourite barista or smt?

Only if you want to ofc! Thanks!

Coffee shop romance

BBC Sherlock

A/n :- well I just turned the barista thingy to a university student! Hope you still like it.

My Sunday mornings spent peacefully at my favourite coffee shop here in Baker Street. I moved to London to do master's in English literature. So each Sunday I come here with a notebook, writing notes. And it's a wonderful time here with the delicious food, very friendly stuffs. Last Sunday was the same, I sat on my favourite table and started my work with a cup of hot coffee and a few cookies. The bell rang sweetly as it does when someone enters the cafeteria. I didn't bother much until that man who entered, sat beside my table. I stole a glance at him, he was quite tall, wore a black coat, a blue scarf, he was pale and his cheekbones, rather sharp. Well he looked dishy but anyway I resumed my work. Until I heard him speak as he said to the waitress, "don't you have tea?" My goodness, his voice is as attractive as his looks.

"Sir, we have tea latte". Replied the waitress politely.

"That's not tea, fine just a coffee then". He said. And the waitress went to fetch him some. Then he was glued to his phone as I saw him tweeting 'beautiful Sunday morning.'

I quickly looked away from him to my notebook as I found myself staring, I don't like invading into anyone's privacy.

I kept on writing and searching, also texting my friends. Until the same heavy voice spoke, I turned to confirm he spoke to me.

"jane Austen" he said as his eyes were fixed on my notebook. I turned my head towards him and said, "yes, just a note on her".

"Hello, it's Sherlock Holmes." He said , streching out his hand towards me for a handshake.

"Hi, you're Sherlock Holmes? Wow! The detective?" I asked in surprise as I've always heard of him. Also knew he and I both live in Baker Street. But this is the first time we met and he seemed less cold, compared to what people say.

"Yes" he said with a soft laugh, oh gosh did he really blush? "Literature student?" He asked me.

"Yes" I answered as I smiled at him.

"Aren't you all too obsessed with her?" He enquired turning in my way.

"Obsessed would be an overstatement ". He seemed a little doubtful of this answer.

"Yet I see that you're writing a note on her, also I saw as your pages flipped by air you wrote about John Donne too."

'what a quick observer' I thought to myself.

"Yes I did, they're in my syllabus so I have to, yet my favourite is something else".

"Ah! What's that?" He asked he seemed rather interested in this conversation now.

"Though popular but our professors once said to me that it's an odd choice indeed." Which is true, guess everyone has their own opinion on things and especially on novels.

" I insist, do tell me" He said and then he asked, "may I shift to your table please?"

"Sure" I mean we are talking anyway so why not. He took his chair and sat at my table infront of me. "So?"

"It's um, Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens." I replied.

"Oh, Ebenezer Scrooge innit?."

"I'm a little unlike other people." I replied nervously.

"Same" he said. As he was looked at to be an odd person, unlike the normal people around us. Then after a moment of quietness and smiles he said, making his voice heavier "Christmas is a humbug".

"Right". I replied giggling, "you did a good Scrooge you know".

"Well, I've heard many times from John, 'oh don't be such a Scrooge." He said a bit annoyed. But in fun way

"John?" I asked.

"My friend... Actually my best friend".

"Ah I see, so... You mind being called Scrooge?" Even though anyone would but I was enjoying this conversation so I couldn't help but ask.

"Mmm... Debatable but people doesn't seem to be fond of him, and.... Perhaps they're not fond of me too."

"I like Scrooge, I mean not the cold and distant and cruel one, but his transformation, ah how incredible."

To this reply he gave me a doubtful look.

"Yes I do, Honestly, perhaps I'm the only one who found him a little less annoying." I replied with a little laughter. I saw his eyes becoming soft again, he lowered his gaze and looked up again.

"You think there's anything good in me?" His question made me wonder, why? Doesn't people see him the way I do? Is he really cold and rude? He didn't seem so, he's rather nice, does people's comments effects him?

"Yes ofcourse, look at you, you're popular for your intelligence and you're not rude or cold. Perhaps when you work you don't behave in the best way but now, all you did was being kind to me, and I know what having different opinions than the rest feels like, if you see we're both"

"Odd" he completed my sentence with a smile.

"Yes"I replied. We sat again quietly for a minute or so and then he asked hesitating,

"Actually where are you staying if I may ask?"

"Here in Baker Street".

"Ah well actually..." He was quite nervous before completing his question.

"Yes?" I urged him to enquire.

"If you want to continue this conversation then... My flat has a spare room for you." And a beautiful smile lit up his face.

"I think I'd like that very much, Mr Holmes." Obviously, I'd love to have him around and his adventures.

"Sherlock please." He insisted.

"Ok, Sherlock." I said and then a question popped into my head, "tell me something, is literature, poems, novel really your cup of tea? I believe, you're a man of logical reasoning and science, so ..."

He got I was meaning to ask so he replied,

"True that, maybe the young lady who's fond of Christmas Carol, would be nice to have around me". He said with a wink. And that's where I knew, now my address is too 221b Baker Street.

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock fanart #i am sherlocked

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taakosleftshoe · 7 months

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10-13 oksamber take your pic :)

From this ask game

i pick all of them.

10. How do they deal with the other’s family?

I... don't think they have much family left. Amber's are out of the picture as far as we know, and Kodira never seemed to have anyone. I.. .oh... they have both lost so much. I wonder if Oksana had parents on the Einarr Plateau... siblings... Did Amber's brother make it down to founders wake? Did her father? I think they have these griefs at staggering times that just hurt and they connect a lot on it.

Aside from that, in Founders Wake I think it comes in the form of Kodira checkin in with Joshy whenever she's around and sharing jokes with him. And of course there's the crew, who she finds quite annoying but tries her best. He's just a kid after all. And Amber, well. She doesn't take much a liking to Kodira's little red friend. By which I mean Koda not her period. She's always got some duty to tend to and it's frankly annoying. If they could have just one nice evening without him rudely interrupting.. and then she tricks him and it kills him and it's just her and Oksana again and it is so nice.

11. What is their love language?

I think Amber is a more physical person, it just sort of make sense with the way her combat works and what we see of her in the season. Like she just steps around Kodira and holds her from behind when Kodas trying to fight her, and she just holds her there. I think she has a hard time putting her feelings into words so she shows it with friendly punches and "noogies" and hugs and squeezes and kisses and bites. Maybe friendly fighting or wrestling.

Kodira is definitely an acts of service person. Her whole thing is making an effort, acting, taking charge. I see this as her love language from the very start, when she asks Amber to help her get her kaiser blade from the trash hole. It's a moment of vulnerability that she chooses to share with Amber and kind of uses it as an opportunity to get closer with her. While it's not Oksana doing the action here, I think this is a two way street where that's something that would get to her heart. And Amber does it, begrudgingly, giving her dishie for a month. And it's such a rudimentary thing but it's a thing of trust. Then in founder's wake, Kodira wants a Danish and teases Amber for it, and again it's just a vulnerability thing. A lot of things she does in the season come out of her role as Ballaster, but I think she sees her job as a way to do right by her community. And she has her go-arounds, too, doing what she thinks is right. And this is getting off course because I could write a whole essay on Kodira but. She likes the little things, the ones that matter.

I think it is safe to say that quality time is not high on their list. I mean it gets there, maybe it starts there, but they can't get it so why bother wanting for something out of reach? (That is to say, yes quality time is one of them but they prefer to take what they can get and not sulk around)

In the blinkshark plane they have all the time in the world, though. :3

12. How Are there communication skills?

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhggghhhhggghhh uhhh hmmm they tend to suppress when they can and be blunt when they need to. It's not really a big issue they just know they have different lives.

13. A little personal… but… Hot and Steamy or Soft and Tender?

Ohoohoh. They are both. I have a lot of thoughts about this actually. (Woah Sierra has a lot of thoughts about amber and Kodira who would have guessed)

I think on the shoreside they are kind of a mix, more on the playful and clumsy side. There's not a lot of spare time lying around so they make do with what they got.

In founders wake it's more intense. They have a bit more tension in general but I think they see each other when they can and they like to kinda compete for lack of a better word? Like they're just playful about it but also very passionate and I think they get comfortable with it in the sense that they trust each other but it's still not like.. all that frequent or stable of an arrangement. They take the time they can get and don't take it for granted. They see each other outside of that too of course.

When they get to the blinkshark plane I think for the first time it's not desperate. They aren't fighting for scraps of time or attention. It's just them. They can be as tender as they want to be. We see amber show some vulnerability with Oksana, when she asks if she did the right thing. And they're playful again, and take it one problem at a time. There's nothing to protect from, no threats, just them. And I think they are slow to accept that but once they do, they spend a lot of time just enjoying the company, being as soft as they want to.

#sierra speaks #taz ethersea #oksamber #im normal about them #genuinely the last question i was like yes a chance to talk about how their relationship changes over time bc its the most interesting part #particularly w that #the reason i haven't like. written a one shot yet #is bc the most interesting thing to me about the way they explore their relationship physically is the way it changes with the environment #so i would want to compare it to other times not just be a one n done #anyways #thank you for the ask!#ask game

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