#I'm having to get up before the crack of dawn for this stupid race

[petit-papillion]

Spanish Grand Prix Forecast

If it means more fantastic saves like this one by Charles in Q3 at Silverstone last year, sign me up! But more likely, we'll end up with damaged cars, red & yellow flags, and an even more unruly than usual SF-23...

🎥 lucas_hopwood

[mistralxsoul]

It was unfortunate that Flynn looked tired today after work, and even if Yuri wouldn't be able to give him extra energy, he did at least want to help cheer him up a bit. In part he was just being silly, but that didn't mean he couldn't actually mean what he said and did. Usually after work, if they were able to meet up (which was more frequent lately since Yuri purposely took jobs nearby as much as possible), there would be a hug or a kiss in the form of a greeting. Hugs varied depending on how silly Yuri's mood was, and today was a variant of silliness instead of hugs.

So when Flynn walked through the door to his room, where Yuri had already informed him in advance that he'd wait for him shortly before he finished his work for the day, Yuri took his ringed hand into one of his and leaned down to press a kiss on the ring instead of on Flynn. It was the kind of thing Flynn would do to him and so it seriously, and Yuri couldn't only do it in a completely serious way. Coming from him it would just look, well, actually silly, and they surely both knew he wouldn't be doing it normally. Sometimes he just changed things up and greeted Flynn differently.

In Yuri's mind, if he saw himself doing this, he would probably think it looked stupid coming from him, in fact; but he still wore a smile for Flynn because he was pretty sure it was safe to say Flynn wouldn't consider almost anything Yuri did to look stupid. "How is my favorite sunflower doing? You look tired, so... I'm guessing you got a lot done. If you wanna sit down for a while, I could borrow the kitchen and bake you something. Doesn't have to be something sweet or anything, but... a warm pastry or muffins might be nice if you're as tired as you look. If you're not as tired as you look, the offer is still on the table."

Flynn was exhausted, sure. Not a day went by where he wasn’t exhausted and sometimes, he really did feel bad that he seemed to come back to Yuri tired beyond all belief. To be fair to himself though, he was trying not to overwork himself nowadays. He went to bed at a reasonable time and didn’t get out of bed at the crack of dawn nearly as often so he could at least say he was trying. But things just… they were busy nowadays. At the very least, he could count on Yuri bringing a smile to his face the moment he walked through the door while the other was visiting.

Flynn’s smile lasted only a moment today, however, as he gave a silent greeting to Yuri as he entered the room. Flynn moved in, ready to hug his lover and to give him a kiss of greeting… but then Yuri is taking his hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the engagement ring on his finger as opposed to the simple peck on the lips or kiss on the cheek that Flynn was more accustomed to receiving. Flynn’s brain immediately shut down any and all thoughts at the small but incredibly romantic gesture.

Yuri was smiling at him, the corner of his mouth twitching as he probably held back a laugh at his own behavior. Flynn realized that to Yuri and probably to anyone else, it would probably seem silly but according to Flynn’s suddenly racing heart and heated cheeks, it was anything but. And then Yuri took another jab at Flynn’s heart, calling him… that and suddenly Flynn couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with Yuri anymore, the embarrassment of it all hitting him in full force.

This wasn’t fair, a childish thought exclaimed in his head. Totally unfair. Such gestures and pet names were his thing! He was supposed to be the one to kiss Yuri’s hand, call him endearing little names and all of that. Yuri was supposed to be the one standing there, flustered to all hell and back. Totally unfair.

If Yuri noticed the slight pout on his lips, he definitely didn’t point it out, opting to offer Flynn some pastries instead. For a moment, Flynn’s mouth opens… and then shuts as he’s unable to get the words to come out. Usually he wanted to be the one to pamper Yuri but… maybe a selfish tiny part of his brain wanted to be held and pampered tonight instead. But the embarrassment keeps him quiet for now and instead he just quietly wraps his hand around Yuri’s and squeezes.

It seemed like Yuri Lowell won this round.

“I think pastries sound like a good idea.” Flynn mumbled and ran a hand through his hair, finally glancing back over to Yuri as he tried to push back his embarrassment. He was so tired before but now he was strangely feeling a bit more energized. So, he would lean in and steal a quick kiss from his fiance and give him the sweetest smile he could muster as he gently grabbed for Yuri’s other hand. “Only if you show more of this romantic and sweet side of yourself when we get back…”

Yeah, for once in his life, Flynn miiiight be a bit selfish tonight. Just a little.

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

BTHB 2023 - Fill 10 - Near-Death Experience

The ending to this one possessed me and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. The Andrew mentioned belongs to @brinkofdiscovery!

TWs: car accident, near death experience, panic attacks

The early, early morning was crisp, the winter chill having set in only a few nights before. Snow still dotted the downtown sidewalks where the sun hadn't touched yet, and Bastian's bicep brushed up against Mariano's shoulder with every step they took. "So this place doesn't suck?" Bastian asked, one sparkling eyebrow raised.

"No. Andrew is...interesting, but I can't imagine his taste in breakfast is any worse than ours." Mariano said, as dry as ever.

"Isn't that the twink from work who's into you?" Bastian asked after a moment of silence, looking fully at Mariano now. "The one with red hair? Glasses? One of the two adults there?" He was pretty sure Mariano had mentioned him before.

Mariano thought for a moment, the crunch of their shoes in the snow filling the quiet, pre-dawn air. "He's not a twink." He finally said, as though that had been the crux of the question. "I think people would call him a twunk, if anything."

"Mariano."

"Yes, yes, that's the Andrew." Mariano said, finally cracking a small grin. "And we don't know if he's into me. He might just be nervous sometimes. It's not like he's a prospect anyway, while I'm his manager."

"For you." Bastian grinned, even as Mariano elbowed him. "What? If we happen to meet on a hookup app then you working with him won't stop me from taking my shot." They paused as they approached a curb and Bastian pressed the crosswalk signal button. "I don't have to worry about the ethics of you being his boss, because he'll be too busy thinking about me."

The crosswalk sign ahead of them changed, the little "walk" signal flashing. Together they stepped off onto the street. "Careful," Mariano murmured, putting more focus into each step. "It doesn't look like they've salted these roads yet."

Bastian shrugged, casually offering Mariano an elbow to steady himself with. "That's why I keep telling you to ditch those dumb tennis shoes. Just get some boots--you like to hike, it's not like they'll go to waste."

"I know that," Mariano said with a grimace, one hand reaching for Bastian's arm as his shoe hit another patch of ice. "But you've seen the price of leather these days. I need to make sure I get something I'll want to wear until I die."

"C'mon," Bastian rolled his eyes as they stepped onto the sidewalk. "Just let me get you a pair and stop being stupid about shit. You know--"

The roar of an engine cut through their conversation. A tall, souped-up van, complete with a kayak on top, raced down the road behind them. They glanced back as the engine revved, the reflection of what had to be the stalest green light in the city lighting up the snow and ice. It was going way too fast.

The light turned yellow. The brake lights painted the snow behind the van crimson. It kept hurtling forward.

Bastian and Mariano barely had time to turn before Bastian realized that it was starting to skid towards them. It wasn't going to stop. There was no way it was going to stop.

Time seemed to slow down as Bastian tried to scramble backwards, his own boots betraying him. He slipped after only a step or two, his feet disappearing out from beneath him as he fell towards the otherwise empty street. The van hit the curb with a bang and tipped, still hurtling towards Mariano roof-first.

He hadn't moved.

Bastian's eyes slammed shut as he hit the ground and slid. The screech of metal-against-concrete ended with a sickening clatter-crash. Silence swallowed everything up again.

Dazed, it took Bastian a second to get his eyes open again. The van lay still, wheels still spinning and headlights still on. The engine cut off. Sitting up, Bastian saw the driver trying to right themself. The top edge of the passenger side had sliced into the brick wall.

He didn't see Mariano.

Staggering to his feet, Bastian lurched towards the accident as the lights inside nearby apartment buildings began to flick on. "Mariano?" Bastian called, voice shaking. "Hey...Mariano?"

There was no answer.

Bastian fell forwards, catching himself on the brick wall that had been hit. Where was Mariano? He met eyes with the driver, whose face went ghost-white as they realized they were only looking at one person. Their hand rose to their face as they crouched on the driver's side window, covering their mouth.

"No." Bastian started, his knees giving out. He saw the crushed remains of the kayak smashed up against the brick, right where Mariano's waist would have been. He could smell blood. "No. No!"

Falling to his elbows, Bastian grit his teeth in a snarl. They had just been walking to breakfast. Mariano had just been there. He was just there. His head spun, pulling him fully down onto the icy pavement. Mariano had just been right next to him.

A tiny, shuddering exhale made Bastian's eyes snap up.

Silver met unseeing black. Right there, in the tiniest alcove that Bastian had ever seen, with his arms still over his head, was Mariano. He was pinned between the building and the van and the kayak. His jacket had been caught by the splintering fiberglass, leaving him dangling less than a quarter inch off the pavement. The ends of his hair had gotten tangled up in it too, draping around an ashen face that seemed frozen in shock.

Mariano's eyes wandered over Bastian with the same silent wonder.

"H...hey." Bastian said, as people began hurrying out. Someone was shouting to call emergency services.

"...Hey." Mariano said, his voice distant and even. Bastian saw him cautiously examining his chest then stomach, as though he couldn't believe what he was feeling.

Bastian carefully reached one hand out. He could smell blood. "Did...are...are you okay?" He didn't want to believe someone could be so lucky.

Mariano was just barely able to reach far enough to reach Bastian. He was shaking like a leaf. "Yeah. Yeah...I'm..." He started, holding onto Bastian with a trembling smile. "I think I just scraped my knee. When the...when the boat caught me."

Bastian squeezed Mariano's hand as he started laughing, covering his face with his free hand. "I..." Mariano covered his eyes, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. "I think I should call out today."

"Yeah," Bastian said, squeezing his hand back. Mariano's breathing had picked up, sharp and shallow, his laughter sounding more hysterical. "Yeah, I think that'd be good. Just...y'know, hang in there. They'll have you out soon."

Mariano's laughter redoubled, hiding his face as whatever was happening in his head gripped him. Nothing seemed like it would get him to let go of Bastian. Even when the emergency workers arrived, rushing in and asking questions, Mariano never let go.

[ionlyspeakinmyheroacademia]

Late Nights and Lavender Tea

series masterlist ☕️ 

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Ochako Uraraka

Warnings: Some lauguage, gets a lil steamy at some parts, slow burn, MAJOR SPOILERS

Summary: After a year of friendship, Uraraka realizes that she is totally in love with her best friend, Midoriya Izuku. There's just one slight problem. She's in a happy, committed relationship with Iida Tenya.Or is she? As their relationship progresses, she sees a side of Tenya that scares her- and she wonders if she made the right choice to get with him in the first place. And her resurfacing feelings for Izuku aren't helping her case, not in the slightest.Midoriya Izuku always avoids romantic relationships, but he simply cannot avoid his feelings for Uraraka Ochako. She's taken, but Izuku can't help but hopelessly pine after her. After seemingly the millionth late-night talk over tea, he realizes that he's head over heels in love with her. He's in love with a girl who's off-limits. He can swallow his feelings for her sake, of course.That's okay with Izuku. If she's happy, he's happy for her. It's really okay, honestly.Teenage relationships are hard. That's one thing they've both realized.

Notes: This is my first fic, let me know what you think! (cross posted on ao3)

Chapter 5: Out of the Frying Pan

Ochako was exhausted. She’d been up since before they had gone out to patrol yesterday, and they had left pretty early, considering Ryukyu usually didn’t even get up until noon. Nejire Chan, on the other hand, had them up and working at six AM. She had gone straight from patrol to taking on the group of low-level villains with Tsu, Nejire, and Ryukyu, where she had been kidnapped when they left her to keep watch. 

She shuddered, pushing thoughts of the night before away. It was too soon to think about it. She looked over at Tenya, still asleep on the chair next to her bed. He was so peaceful as he slept, the anger gone from his features. Outside the door, she could see her parents talking with the doctors and Ryukyu and Nejire, who had just arrived, and Tsu burst into the room, flying over to Ochako, throwing her arms around her. 

“I was so worried about you!” Tsu cried, tears falling rapidly, as she sobbed into Ochako’s hospital gown. 

“Shh, shh,” Ochako soothed, rubbing her friend’s back consolingly. 

“I should never have left you alone-”

“Tsu, it’s not your fault. It’s my own fault, I volunteered to stay by myself. It’s my own damn fault that I was too stupid to realize I needed help.” Before Tsu could tell her she was wrong, Ryukyu and Nejire hurried in, and Nejire, not unlike Tsu, pulled Ochako into a hug. 

“Are you okay? What did they do to you? Who saved you again? Was it that guy in the chair? Isn’t that your class rep? Oooh, is he your boyfriend? I could have sworn it was the green-haired problem child. Deku right?” Nejire, as always, erupted into a million questions, leaving Ochako flustered.

“Don’t suffocate her, Nejire,” Ryukyu scolded, and set a hand on Ochako’s shoulder. “Ochako, I’m so sorry I put you in danger. As your supervisor, the blame falls on me for your capture. I'm so sorry for putting you through that.”

“Ryukyu-” Ochako started, when Tenya sat up groggily, turning to the women in the room, looking confused before he registered what was going on. “Hey sleepyhead,” she teased, smiling at him warmly.

“What time is it?” he asked sleepily, taking his glasses off to rub his eye. 

“Around seven,” Ochako’s father said as he walked into the room, followed by her mother, both of them holding two cups of coffee.  

“Would you like one?” Ochako’s mother asked Ryukyu, who accepted the caffeine gratefully because she wasn’t used to being up at this hour. 

“No, thank you,” Nejire answered when Ochako’s father asked if she wanted his other cup. “I have enough energy, at least that’s what Ryukyu says.” 

“Well, alright. Iida, would you like it? I have sugar here if you want anything,” her dad asked, turning to her boyfriend.

“Yes, thank you sir,” Tenya replied, taking the steaming cup from her father, blowing it off before taking a sip.   

“Anyway, Ochako, honey,” her mom said, coming over to stand next to the bed, “You’re cleared to be discharged so that they can get you to Recovery Girl. That way you can be back in the dorms by tonight.”

Ochako nodded, smiling warmly at her mother. “Okay, mom,” she answered, as her mom reached down to ruffle her daughter’s hair. 

“We’ll give you guys some time alone,” Ryukyu said, putting an arm around both Nejire and Tsu, and walking out of the room. 

“I’m going to head out too, if that’s alright, Ochako,” Tenya smiled softly at her, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “I have to report back to Manual.”

“Of course, see you later Tenya,” she answered, returning his smile. 

“He’s an okay kid,” her dad said, watching Tenya walk down the hall, putting his helmet back on. Ochako didn’t respond, just watched him walk away, thinking about what her friends had told her a few days before. 

“You okay, baby?” her mom asked gently, tucking Ochako’s hair behind her ear and turning her daughter’s face to look in her eyes. Ochako shook her head, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes, the mask she had put up to hide her pain tumbling down with those three little words. “Aww, sweetie, shh, shh.”

“I was so scared, Mom. I didn’t think I would ever see you guys again, I…” she choked out, sobbing as her parents threw their arms around her, “I thought I was going to die all alone, tied up in a old warehouse, with no way to be heard or seen, I thought I was going to die, and no one would know what happened to me, you guys would have lost your only daughter, and I would have never gotten to tell you I love you.”

Her parents soothed her as she sobbed into their shirts, whispering calming words to her, rocking her back and forth, kissing her hair, and her mother crying with her. 

“We love you Ochako, we’re so glad you’re okay,” her father said, his voice shaking, and her mother nodding, sobbing at the thought of her daughter dying.

“If it weren’t for Deku, I’d be dead,” she looked at her parents in the eyes, “I owe him my life.”

“The next time I see him he’s getting a huge hug, make sure to warn him,” he mother said, her voice muffled by Ochako’s hospital gown, and Ochako and her father laughed. 

“I will mom,” she replied.

“Anyway, I brought donuts,” her father burst out suddenly. “I didn’t have enough to share with everyone, so I didn’t get them out when your friends were here, but I got you chocolate creme, your favorite!”

“Aw, dad, you didn’t have to do that!” Ochako exclaimed, but took the donut anyway, biting into the fluffy pastry, savoring the sweetness. 

“Anything for my favorite daughter,” he laughed, ruffling her hair. She smiled as he passed a donut to her mother, and all three of them squished on the bed, catching up before Ochako had to go back to school.

…

“That should do it for today,” Recovery Girl sighed, “I couldn’t fully fix your leg without using all your energy, so you’ll need a crutch until tomorrow, and I’ll fix it in the morning, all right sweetie?”

“Yes, thank you so much ma’am.”

“Your welcome dear,” Recovery Girl replied, smiling at Ochako, and handing her a lollipop. “Make sure you’re careful with that leg tonight, and don’t do anything to raise your stress levels. You need to rest, especially after what happened last night.”

Ochako nodded, unwrapping the sucker and putting it in her mouth. 

“Anywho, I’ll see you in the morning dear.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ochako said, and stood, reaching for the crutch, and started slowly out of the room, adjusting to how the crutches sat under her arm, rubbing uncomfortably, causing her to wince. She made her way to the dorms, admiring the sunset, savoring her time alone, or at least she thought she was. 

The events of the night before had planted fear in her heart, growing into paranoia, and Ochako felt herself looking over her shoulder constantly. This was the first time she’d been alone since the capture, and it was starting to dawn on her that she wasn’t okay, not in the slightest. She was terrified, in a way she had never been before. 

I hate this feeling, I don’t want to live the rest of my life in fear. I’ll never be able to do anything, she thought, rubbing circles on her temples, stopping to adjust her crutches. It was then when she heard the sound in the trees behind her. 

It was a quiet noise, only a small crack in a branch, but she jumped, landing painfully on her still injured leg. Her heart raced, staring at the trees, hoping it was nothing, only a squirrel or a large bird. She groaned inwardly, turning back to the dorms. I’m such an idiot, she scolded herself, UA is heavily guarded, I’m perfectly safe here.

But no matter what she told herself, she was still frightened, and she hurried to Heights Alliance with her heart in her throat, moving as fast as her injured leg would let her. 

When she reached the building, she breathed a sigh of relief, and composed herself before pushing the door open. 

“She’s back!” she heard Mina cry, and all at once, she was swarmed by her classmates, questions being thrown at her left and right.

“All right, everyone, move out of the way, Ochako’s boyfriend coming through,” Tenya called from the back of the group, and all of their classmates moved out of the way reluctantly, and Tenya made his way towards her.

“Hey,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek, and smiling up at him. 

“You okay?” he said softly, so only she could hear, keeping the conversation between them. 

“Yeah, just tired, Recovery Girl took a lot of my energy healing my injuries, and she still has more to heal tomorrow.”

“Do you want to go sit down?”

“Sure, that sounds nice,” she replied, and he helped her over to the couch neighboring the one where Todoroki and Sora were sitting, Todoroki’s head in Sora’s lap as his boyfriend played with his hair.

She leaned against Tenya’s chest, closing her eyes and trying to drone out the conversations of her classmates. She let her mind wander, thinking back to the other night, with the girls, remembering what they had said. Tenya had been acting normal, back to the way he’d been before the Sports Festival, before everything had gone downhill. Ochako had never been in a relationship, so she really didn’t know what to expect, but she knew something was wrong with her and Tenya’s relationship, but she cared about him too much to let him go.

“Why are you so tired babe?” she heard Sora ask Todoroki.

“Well, I got like, two hours of sleep, thanks to Midoriya. I covered for him after he went and broke the rules, and ended up getting chewed out all night, and when Midoriya finally got there, dear ol’ dad and Burnin lectured him. And of course when I tried to leave I got in trouble, so I didn’t go to bed until at least six-thirty this morning,” Todoroki answered, and Ochako sat up, looking at him quizzically.

“What do you mean? What did Deku do?” Ochako asked, genuinely confused.

“He saved you. We had specific instructions not to, but he was distraught, he said he really needed to make sure you were safe,” Todoroki said, and then turned to her, puzzled. “Why, did he not tell you?”

“That little shit,” she said under her breath, and stood up, positioning her crutch under her arm and hobbling towards the elevator. 

“Where are you going?” Tenya called.

“To give him a piece of my mind!” she yelled back, hitting the up button and tapping her good foot impatiently. He was in for a hell of lecture, that was for sure. 

Izuku had been studying when Ochako burst into his room, fuming. 

“Hey! You’re back! How are you-”

“Uh uh, I have a bone to pick with you,” she growled, limping over to him, and putting her free hand on her hip. “Izuku, what were you thinking! You could be expelled for defying a direct order like that! Do you not remember what happened last year with Bakugou? I won’t let you get expelled for me!”

“What was I supposed to do, Ochako? I couldn’t let you get killed, I couldn’t. I know I didn’t follow the rules, but someone once told me, ‘Meddling where you don’t need to is the essence of being a hero’. I couldn’t let you die, I just couldn’t, and I’m sorry if that makes you angry, but I saved your life, and I’m proud of that. I had to save you Ochako,” he said, bursting into tears, hastily wiping them away. She stood there in shock for a moment, staring at him as tears started to fill her own eyes. She stumbled forward, and threw her arms around his shaking shoulders, both of them sobbing into each other’s shirts. 

“I’m sorry Izuku, I just don’t want you to throw your future away for me,” she cried, her anger ebbing away as they held each other.

“I’m not sorry,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair, even though he knew deep down he shouldn’t. “I’ll never be sorry for saving you.” I love you, his heart was repeating over and over, and he wanted to scream those three little words as loud as he could, but he bit them back. She was with Iida, she had a boyfriend. He stifled another sob, and hugged her tighter, trying to commit her to memory. They stayed there for a good while, just hugging each other tightly, trying to hold each other’s sadness in, patching up the holes the two of them had left in each other’s hearts. 

…

“So,” Izuku asked, sniffling. “How are you feeling?” The two of them had been sitting in his room for a while now, after breaking down in front of each other. They had sat in silence for a good five minutes, Ochako sitting in his desk chair, and Izuku sitting rigidly on the edge of his bed. 

“I’m exhausted, I mean, I already was, and then I cried, so now I’m extra tired,” she answered, laughing lightly, cutting the laugh off with a yawn.

“Do you want to lay down? I need to keep studying anyway, and it’s getting late,” he suggested, immediately cursing himself. You idiot, his brain screamed at him.

“Do you mind?” she asked, “I could use some sleep.”

“Of course not, here,” he jumped up awkwardly, moving over to the desk as she shuffled over to the bed, slipping her slippers off and getting under the covers. He turned the lights off, leaving on the lamp on his desk, and sat down, trying to distract himself from the fact that Ochako Uraraka was in his bed. They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, and Izuku stared blankly at his notebook, doodling absently, anything to distract him from her.

“Izuku?” he heard her whisper from behind him. 

“Yeah?” he said quietly, turning to look at her, and saw tears shining in her eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He moved to sit on the bed next to her, and brushed her hair from her eyes gently. 

“I’m scared ‘Zu,” she whispered, tears spilling over. “I don’t want to sleep, I’m scared I’ll have nightmares again.” He reached over and wiped her tears away. 

“Shhh, it’ll be okay Ochako, don’t worry.”

“I haven’t slept since this morning, and I didn’t sleep for long, I had these terrible nightmares…” she wiped her tears away hastily. “Sorry, this is the second time I’ve cried in front of you in an hour. God, I’m so pathetic.”

“No you’re not,” he reassured, setting a light hand on her knee. 

“Midoriya, have you seen-” he heard a voice from behind him, and a swift intake of breath. 

Izuku turned around, and smiled at Iida. “Hey Iida, what’s up?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Iida roared, storming over to Izuku and ripping him off the bed, picking him up and throwing him by the collar of his shirt into the All Might covered wall.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Izuku said after grunting in pain. “Why the hell did you thro-” He was cut off by Iida’s fist colliding into his face.

“Tenya!” Ochako screamed from behind them, trying to stand up, reaching for her crutch. “What is wrong with you! What are you doing?”

Izuku slid to the floor, pinching his nose that was gushing blood. He looked up to see Iida, his eyes full of pure malice, pulling his arm back for another punch. Izuku prepared himself for the blow, but it never came. He opened his eyes to see Ochako’s hand on Iida’s arm, pulling it back. Iida swiveled around to face her. 

“Stop, please, stop,” she whimpered, trying to reason with him, but Izuku could see his arm twitching. He tried to make a sound, but he was too late- Iida had already slapped Ochako across the face.

[surajmukhis]

bestselling author!seokjin with seasoned cop!namjoon and it’s absolute chaos when they’re partnered together for the first time

seokjin is excited about everything and wants to go everywhere and talk to everyone and namjoon is fed up of telling him it’s dangerous to play cards with those shady guys in the inner room of the club- no, I don’t care whether you’re good at it stay bACK YOU FOOL-

namjoon’s genuinely considered going up to captain kim and demanding that one of the other officers babysit the author and show him around bc, unlike them, he has bad guys to lock up (and a precinct record to break, thank you very much) but somehow he isn’t sure taehyung will see any issue with seokjin tagging along on cases for what he calls “research”

which is frankly a pity bc it’s ridiculous how quickly everyone else at the precinct has warmed up to the guy. namjoon cannot, for the life of him, see why the others would want to cosy up to a guy who acts fourteen years younger than his actual age and cracks bad jokes with that stupidly attractive laugh all day long but that’s how the situation lies and he’s the one getting weird looks for not liking seokjin

which, can you blame him?

seokjin sits at his desk, scrolling through tumblr and has a new obsession every other day. jungkook’s favourite by far is when seokjin does the sports commentator voice to describe namjoon doing boring stuff like paperwork bc he’s always salty about having to stay indoors and watch the younger do it (“it is a fine morning here in gangnam district, folks, but unlike most people who are trying to go out and grab fun cases, detective kim has decided to stay in and do paperwork! what a thrilling choice indeed for everyone here forced to suffer through this decision!” “mr. kim, I informed you there’s not much to do today, you needn't have-” “and he’s using blue ink instead of black gel! it must be your lucky day, dear spectators, bc detective kim rarely feels so festive!” “oh for the love of god-”)

what bugs namjoon the most is that, despite his tomfoolery, seokjin actually does try his best to help in the cases. if namjoon has to be on door-duty, seokjin’s usually there, bounding up beside him to charm the grumpy neighbours till they’re amenable to talking to cops. better yet, there’s never a vip lounge the high-flying criminals can hide in that seokjin won’t get namjoon into and the cop is seriously beginning to hate that stupidly attractive grin on the elder’s face every time he helps namjoon solve a case

he goes on coffee runs, cracks jokes when morale is low and is right there as “unofficial” backup even when the squad insists they're fine without someone waiting in the car (they would’ve been minced fucking meat if seokjin hadn't commandeered a tractor to crash into that construction machine but okay namjoOn, wHAteVeR yOu SaY)

in any case, by the time seokjin’s done gathering all the research he needs to write his next book, namjoon is maybe, sort of, a liiiittle bit attracted to him and he’ll be damned if he lets seokjin leave the precinct forever without telling him how he feels

so of course, the serial killer he’s been hunting for months resurfaces just as he’s about to call out to seokjin and namjoon has to race to his last seen location instead, with the confession still trapped on his lips. he’s distracted as he scouts out the location, completely neglecting the fact that the guy is more dangerous than any of the other perps he’s tackled this year and he’s made the rookie mistake of flying in (mostly) solo which is how he finds himself facing down the killer and his right-hand man at the wrong end of a gun. namjoon’s preparing for some useless evil monologuing before the actual fight starts when suddenly, a crowbar flies at the henchman, knocking him out. the killer and namjoon both crane their necks to look as seokjin appears from behind a pillar, holding another iron rod and a bandana around his forehead (???what the fuck jin)

“what the fuck, joon!” 

“me what the fuck? you’re a goddamn civilian, you what the fuck! why are you here?”

“I'm being a good backup, obviously!”

“I had backup, you absolute oaf!”

“oh yeah? how come your backup isn’t here, watching your back then, huh?”

“BC YOU JUST KNOCKED HIM OUT, GENIUS”

realisation dawns slowly on both the killer and seokjin’s face and namjoon strikes while the former’s still disoriented, efficiently knocking him out and cuffing him as the author stands awkwardly in the background, muttering something about ‘being out of the loop’

it’s only when they’re back at the precinct that namjoon can drag seokjin into the empty break room and ask him exactly what the older was thinking,  following him like that to a potential crime scene, when he very clearly wasn’t equipped for it or supposed to be there in the first place

seokjin rolls his eyes. “well one of us had to gather the balls to ask the other out, namjoon, and I'm certainly not going to be prioritised lower than some stupid serial killer, thanks”

and that’s how namjoon finally gets the hint and scores himself a boyfriend 

(the squad hoots as they catch the two making out through the break room windows)

[gurguliare]

DVD: that one scene from your fic about Dirhaval, with the elf lady and the two of them being really intent with each other over the fire. "Do you love me" et cetera. I hope that makes sense I'm on mobile.

omg IT DOES although since that fic barely has scene divisions I’m going to take this excuse to do… a lot of it.

“I have remembered something,” she added, inconsequentially. “My aunt’s husband was Guilin’s steward. Everyone in my family hated him because he always making up to us with stories about the great princes. He said that Gwindor and Finduilas fought much over the Adanedhel’s love for her.”

I… I love this OC. She’s not even a box of rocks, she’s like, a box with one rock in it. Selectively dense; elsewhere, airheaded.

Dírhaval considered the fish with great interest. He had been told triumph lent him a fierce expression. He had no wish to scare his friend off now.

I can’t remember if @crocordile​ and I had a conversation before or after I wrote this about Dirhavel being like, not necessarily a big but an energetic guy who’s frequently seen around the camps doing SUPER WEIRD athletic shit to see if some of the feats he attributes to Turin were physically possible—anyway, whatever the timing, that concept was what I was psychically tuned into when I wrote this description. He has a beard and it bristles despite his best efforts to keep it trimmed.

“Raised voices—he overheard—Gwindor said, ‘Why does he seek you out, and sit long with you, and come ever more glad away?’ And that was true, I remember; they sat together in all kinds of places, on the terraces, in the treasury, and even by the earthworks for the bridge. No doubt he told her much you would be glad to know. But as for me, I think Gwindor a fool; few men would have loved her for listening. It reminds them what they hold dear in themselves.”

It was really hard for me to strike what seemed like a reasonable balance between hearsay and direct observation, but I leaned on the idea that Nargothrond, though huge, was not like, “modern city space” huge, more “sprawling overdeveloped apartment complex and you need a permit to go above ground”—so in five years and with perfect memory, everyone has a decent chance of stumbling on everyone else’s attempts at fresh air.

“That’s true,” he said. The first time he had interviewed her, she had spoken for an hour about the cavern of assembly, like an egg on its side—but so vast!—and with stalactites Finrod himself had sung down into pillars, or was it that he had worn holes in the walls parting small caves, she couldn’t decide; and the window on the river, whence a grey light came, like a shadow thrown on the gliding light of a thousand lamps and torches.

I think this description of the great hall is kind of cute but I have to acknowledge it was influenced, consciously or subconsciously, by the great hall in the Rats of Nimh.

And now when she spoke it was matter-of-fact and with hardly a jibe at her uncle. She was Túrin to him in that moment with her straight-sloping neck, the flushed skin of her neck and jaw with her face as fair as fair could stay at sunset, the cupful of shadow under her chin. He had burned the roof of his mouth. The fish was tender, almost flavorless, flaking between his teeth like a cake of river-flesh; a little muddy, even, as all water here was. He ate the crisped-black skin for a whiff of charcoal, which coated his mouth. “Don’t you love me, your loyal hearer?”

She gave him a startled wink; and smiled, and smiled.

Okay, so yes. I do love this moment, I hope it does a lot of things at once; basically I want 1) Dirhavel to be ironic in a nice way about his elf friend attempting to invent the term “emotional labor,” which reflects both a male impatience with this attempt to generalize everything to men talking women’s ears off, but also some vague species-based edginess about him trying to construct this human story out of testimony from elves, and like, navigating elves’ possessiveness of Turin but also the way they patronize him in the same breath, Adanedhel. And at the same time having to confront the fact that people are people and the elf-human boundary has gotten increasingly blurry with the end times, however much he might want to retain a sense of lofty apartness, whether as a human among elves, a writer among subjects, a man among women, whatever—that tension between observer distance and involuntary empathy is another big theme of this fic. And 2) I want the cook to catch it but not quite get it—like, she knows he’s making fun of her but she doesn’t necessarily interpret it in the same way he does, what she gets is that he’s talking about the limits of different kinds of love, that you can love someone and it can still go just so far: that’s why it triggers her next thought about Finduilas –> Turin.

“I do not think Finduilas loved the Mormegil either. Or, that is, I believe they loved one another as sister and brother.”

I said this in my commentary on an otherwise VERY different LOGH fic but I love when characters are wrong. Every time. Also, I love childish oversimplifications that have good reason for existing—that is, I like when you can really see why a character would with all their heart want to believe x, because the alternative is both messy and depressing.

Trying to lick his fingers clean just spread around the soot. Among the things she had told Dírhaval was that she was an only child. But he was inclined to believe her, almost. To Finduilas Túrin should have been a child. She must have wanted to love him like a brother—it would have been best, by far clearer and finer, to love him as a brother, even when her death walked near. The death he handed her down to; but if they were kin, it would have been her right to love him, blaming him.

“Do you not agree?”

Dirhavel takes this basically as like, confirmation for his thesis that all real love is irrational and unconditional (see also Gwindor wanting Finduilas and Túrin to be happy at his own expense, a few lines down) but only familial love has the “excuse” to be so. So the distinction is not, “would I love him whatever he did to me,” but rather, “do I feel fucked up and guilty about that fact or not.” In a vague way, this is supposed to set up the extremely bleak lines he gives Nienor after she gets her memory back: twice beloved.

“I can’t say.” Up again to pace. She followed him, basket on her arm, and settled onto her haunches when she saw he had no journey in mind. He stood when he performed, which was not hard, but it made him more restless when alone.

See above remarks about Dirhavel’s acrobatics, and also maaybe his ADHD

“I think—by the time—no, Túrin did not love her, and as for Finduilas, well, surely she cared for Gwindor? If they argued. Let’s see. And Túrin pursued her at last and fell in a swoon on her grave, we know that. And he loved Gwindor; how not, when Gwindor was with him at Ivrin? But Gwindor—I suppose—Gwindor must have hated him. No. He must have hoped Túrin loved Finduilas, and that was why he couldn’t be persuaded of the truth. For he would have wanted her to be happy, in the end.”

“Oh, no!”

His mood tipped down at once. “Oh no,” he agreed, and took his sandals off and stepped into the stream.

Again, I just think this interaction is fun. I mean I like the placement of his realization about Gwindor, but I LOVE the cook being like “oh no!! that’s so sad!” I hope other people enjoy “stories about the process of idiotic sadstuck brainstorming” as much as I do.

His mother had said once that both he and his father were happier than other men, but that they had no ballast, to keep steady the craft. If he took on an ounce of grief he’d sink, and yet he felt the flood almost as freedom. It made him more the master than had his dry, feckless race, his high-riding. As long as he struggled he had yet to succumb; that was the rule for a wasted night. He ought to go beg a bowl of sour milk from Linnor, or go and sing a service for the king. He could see as far as a night of stars.

I wanted to communicate a particular kind of mood downturn here where you can still clearly remember being happy, and the rising tide of discontent isn’t overwhelming on its own, it’s just depressing because you know where it leads—but for the same reason it’s also a relief, in that you know where it leads. Whereas joy is weird and easy to get lost in and you never know when the plug will be pulled. But I’m not sure the boat metaphor really works.

But it was day, it was red evening. It was his companion’s grief, filling his mind from above. She crouched and watched the far bank huge-eyed, not a tear in evidence, eyes opened but sealed, as it seemed, against sadness that strove for entry, not escape; she sat with wide mouth cracked, nostrils flared, sucking in great absent sniffs of sea-wind. She was besieged as an afterthought, safe and calm except besieged.

I also wanted to include some telepathy! As always! Dirhaval I imagine to be something of a natural, who probably has had some experience with elf mind-speech at this point—enough to recognize it but not really to manage it. I like this description of the cook in pain, I think it works well with her established personality and also evokes Nargothrond itself, which is of course the thing she’s actually grieving for. I mean, and she identifies it with Gwindor, reasonably enough, and takes unhappy pride in him as a lord of Nargothrond, and in this moment is kind of shot through herself not just with the fact of his defeat but the like, honorable necessity of his defeat, knowing that on some level he accepted it.   

(Gwindor surely wished Finduilas joy. Finduilas, dying, remembered Túrin, and told him where his quest should end. The feathered tops of the reeds glowed on dark stems, like a fire in a field of reeds—there before nightfall he planted for ever the standards of the Noldor and their unsheathed swords, kindling in the dawn.)

I’m so proud of this stupid line lol, it’s just the reverse of Tolkien’s—“The light of the drawing of the swords of the Noldor was like a fire in a field of reeds”—but I LOVE THAT LINE, it’s so perfect for Dirhaval as an author and Sirion as a place of memory/last battlefront/first battlefront for this long war. And its conclusion, still to come.

He washed his hands and greasy beard in the river. “Your fish will be cold,” he advised. He had abandoned hope of dinner until she brought it, but that was no reason to encourage bad habits in her.

Dumb friends. Dumb friends are great because they are attuned to the hazards of stupidity, and can help each other.

Then he had to pick some scales out of his teeth, and couldn’t elaborate, but he heard her uncover the basket, anyway.

He had met her before with a handful of salt, pressing a few grains to her mouth to check their purity. “Dírhaval,” she said wisely, mouth full. “Dírhaval, I have forgotten how to cook.” Meaning she had no spices, witched ovens, and trained assistants—maybe, with her, it really was as though she had forgotten; at least it was something else she had lost.

Yeah… the focus on memory in this is another unexpected link to the LOGH fic uh, an inevitable byproduct of writing about a historian, and it’s also supposed to reflect that loss of separation between elves and men, since so much of what distinguishes elves is… their wealth of resources, psychological and material. And the material resources are essential to and interwoven with the psychological resilience, as noted here, so I really wanted to capture that sense that *not having* all the wonderful things she used to have baffles her as much as a hole in her memory. Because the default is that you keep everything forever, right? Another feeling which is not unique to elves. God I love………………………… “people.”  

[spider-quackson]

Like it's Real (2/3) Tom Holland X Reader

Summary: Tom and Y/N are childhood best friends. So when Tom’s publicist told him to fake-date someone, Y/N seems to be the best choice. But will it stay fake, or will true feelings start to blossom?

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Some swearings

A/N:

Wow guys, thank you for the 100+ followers, you’re all so sweet. If you would like to be tagged in the future parts, you can leave a comment to let me know ❤️

P.S: The italicized sentences are your internal thoughts

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 3

Tom’s Publicist: Good Morning (Y/N), I’ve dropped off some stuff for you on your front door. You: Stuff? Tom’s Publicist: For you to wear to the date. Tom’s picking you up in an hour. You: Oh sure. Thank you.

You opened your door to find a box. You carried it into your room, placing it on a chair before rummaging through it.

Apparently what the publicist refer as “stuff” includes several dresses, 4 pairs of shoes, bags and purses, and even hair accessories. No wonder the box is a bit heavy.

All the dresses seems to be a little extra for a lunch date in a local café. Well except for the simple pale yellow sundress with floral prints.

Putting it on, the dress fell just right above your knees. It flows beautifully. You put on a nude platform sandals and looked at the mirror.

This should do it

“Y/N?” came Tom’s voice, followed by three knocks.

“Coming!” You yelled back, hurriedly grabbing a purse then stuffing in your phone and money.

Opening the door, you greeted him with a cheerful smile, “Hi”

“Hi (Y/N), you look beautiful.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself” you said, blushing a little from his compliment.

“I was thinking that we could walk to the café?. It’s only a few blocks away. I wouldn’t mind driving if don’t want to though,” He asked.

“Sure Tom. I could use some exercise.“

-

After a 5 minute walk, you both arrived at the café. The bell jingled as Tom opened the door for you, being the gentleman he is.

“Let’s go sit by the glass window. My publicist said the paparazzi would get better shots of us that way.”

After you both had settled in, the waitress came to take your orders.

“What can I get you?” smiled the waitress.

“I’d like a soufflé and a glass of iced tea please,” you ordered.

“And for me, a hot tea and a quackson would be nice,” Tom added smiling at the waitress.

“Excuse me, what?” the waitress asked giving him a weird look.

You tried muffling your laughs, but when Tom looked at you with his confused face you coudln’t help but roar in laughter.

“Tom! You - you just said quackson instead of croissant!”

Realization dawns on his face. “Oh shit. I meant a croissant. A croissant and hot tea would be nice,” he corrected, grimacing a little.

You’re still howling with laughter as the waitress leave. You’re laughing so hard that tears are escaping your eyes.

“Oh my god Tom. I can’t believe that just happened,” you said still chuckling at his red face.

“I’ve been asked to say quackson so many times now that it kinda stuck,” He explained, still not smiling.

“You have to admit it’s funny though,” You snickered.

He cracked a small smile, “I guess it is a little funny.”

With all the fun you’re having, you almost forgot that this is supposed to be a fake date. Almost, but then your phone vibrates.

Tom's publicist added you into a group chat Tom's Publicist:: You're both doing great. Tom: How did you know that? Tom's Publicist: I'm three tables away from you

Both of you looked around the café trying to spot the publicist. Sure enough, he’s sitting in a booth at the corner of the café.

You made eye contact briefly, then he starts tapping on his phone again. You looked back at your phone as it buzzes.

Tom's Publicist: Y/N, put your hand on the table, and Tom put yours on top of hers. This is a great chance.

You could feel the blush creeping up your neck at the thought of this. You lift your head up to see Tom already staring at you, his cheeks tinted with a slight blush.

You placed your hand on the table and Tom looked at you, asking for permission. You nodded, heart racing with anticipation.

As his palm rest on top of your hand, you felt a jolt of electricity run through your body. You have a thousands thoughts rushing through your mind.

Why am I being like this. It’s just Tom, I shouldn’t be feeling any of this. It’s even staged for fuck’s sake.

After a few minutes, the paparazzi left but Tom’s hand is still resting on top of yours. You tried continuing the conversation. But it’s kinda hard with his thumb occassionally sweeping back and forth on the back of your hand.

He’s staring at you with such intensity, you felt like you could melt into a puddle. But then the waitress came back, bringing your orders making both of you break the physical contact.

-

“Do you still have any room left in your stomach?” Tom asked as you both exited the café.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I saw an ice cream truck on the way here. Thought we could maybe make a quick stop,” he grinned, knowing you wouldn’t turn down free ice cream.

-

Thanks for the ice cream,“ you thanked him, as he handed you your cone. You start licking on your heavenly treat, sighing in content.

Tom chuckled at your antics, “I’m glad you like it that much.” You can only hum in agreement as you continue to devour your sweet treat.

“Y/N, I’m going to try something. Just go with it okay?”

Narrowing your eyes you questioned, “What exactly?”

“Can I try your ice cream?” “Umm, sure?” You answered, utterly confused. What is he trying to do? You hold out your ice cream for him to try. But instead of licking your ice cream like you thought he would, his soft lips meet yours instead.

Your eyes flew wide open. As you body froze in shock. It’s the most innocent kiss anybody has ever given to you. Even though it only lasted for 3 seconds, it’s enough to leave you feeling lightheaded.

“It worked!” Tom exclaimed all of a sudden. “They’re all taking videos and photos”

You turned around to see a small crowd video-taping you and Tom. Of course it was an act. How stupid of you to think it was real?

-

Tom held your hand the whole way to your apartment, awaking the butterflies inside your stomach.

“I had a great time today Y/N. Time seems to fly when I’m you,” He smiled at you softly ad you reached your door. “I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to this,”

“Hey, I had fun too. And I should be thanking you for being such a great ‘date’ today,” you assured him, doing the air quotes gesture.

Chuckling Tom said, “Well then I should be going. See you tomorrow!” The he leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead, making you suck in a sharp breath.

“Bye Tom,” you squeaked, waving at him before entering your apartment and closing the door. You closed your eyes as you leaned on the door, heart still racing from his forehead kiss.

Fuck, I have a crush on Tom

Part 3

@i-dream-of-taxes @harrysbbby @peterparkersayingmrstark @rosaetum @5-seconds-of-sarcasmm @purpleshowers @seargantbcky @sarcasmismyonlyweaponofdefense

[lv-ha]

Hello! I just went through a bit your blog, loved it and I was wondering if I could have a marauders era (boy) ship? I have light brown hair thats extremely curly (like Merida) and dark green/hazel eyes. I'm 5'6. Ultra feminist and LGBT activists. I love anything to do with literature and photography. you'll never see me without a book and earbuds. I always speak my mind and can be a bit blunt. I'm studious,sarcastic,and sporty(would play beater)If you can make me laugh you're my favorite person

Thanks love xx

I ship you with: James Potter

You and James had known each other since you were born. Your families lived next door to each other and you swore you spent more time at his house than you did your own. You would constantly be playing in each others’ gardens and flying around on your toy brooms racing each other from one yard to another. You were practically each others family. The day you both received your Hogwarts letters was one of the happiest days you could remember. You always preferred to sleep in where as James always woke at the crack of dawn, so you were nothing short of annoyed when your best friend came pounding on your bedroom door at the ungodly hour of 8am.

“Y/N, THEY’RE HERE, THEY’RE HERE! Y/N, WAKE UP!!!!” You groaned as your best friend came bounding through your bedroom door.

“What is here James…” you mumbled, your voice still laced with sleep. “And I swear to Merin if this is some stupid prank toy you’ve received I am giving it to my owl…”

“Our letters genius… our Hogwarts letters came with this mornings post!” James said waving two envelops in front of your face. At hearing this, you jumped from your position on the bed and grabbed your letter from his hand. This was the day that the two of you had been waiting ages for. You both joined your mother and father downstairs for breakfast while James and yourself chattered excitedly about what would happen when you got to get your own wands and once you got to Hogwarts. It was no surprise that you were both sorted into Gryffindor that September and you both quickly befriended other students in Gryffindor tower. The two of you met a boy named Sirius Black while on the train and the three of you became inseparable. The two of you always had a competitive streak and this never changed over the years. You were competitive over EVERYTHING, from something as small as how many Bertie Bott’s beans you could eat in under a minute (for which you were always the winner), to something as big as which one of you could get the highest mark on a test. You both tried out for the quidditch team in second year and much to your friends surprise you made the team. James became a chaser and you were a beater. Although you did not look strong, you were and you quickly became the secret weapon of the Gryffindor team. You spent as much time as possible together and it felt weird when one of you had spare time and weren’t with the other. However, as you got older, the bond between best friends turned into something else and you no longer saw James as your annoying, protective best friend. He was now the attractive chaser of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who all the girls drooled over. You would be lying to yourself if you didn’t feel differently about James and it pained you to see him out with other girls. But little did you know that James was feeling the same way. He loved to watch you try and tame your crazy curly hair and whenever Sirius, Remus or Peter teased him about his crush on you, he told them to shove off while he continued to watch you talk to your friends with a small smile on his face. It wasn’t until after the incident during a Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match that James finally admitted his feelings to you. The match had been very intense and the Slytherin beaters were having a go at yourself and your fellow beater to try and knock you off your brooms. Gryffindor was winning the match and you prayed that it wouldn’t be much longer until the snitch was caught. James had just scored another point and as you turned to cheer for him, you felt the whiz of a bludger fly past your head and before you had the chance to react, a second bludger hit your broom, sending you flying to the ground. When James saw what had happened he zoomed past the other players, who looked at him as if he was mad. He tried to catch you before you hit the ground but could not get there in time and your body hit the ground with a hard thud. Once on the ground James threw his broom to the side and bolted as fast as he could to where your body was laying on the ground.

“Y/N! Y/N! wake up, can you hear me?” he yelled helplessly. Your mouth emitted a small yelp of pain before you went limp again.

James accompanied an unconscious you to the hospital wing and refused to play until he knew that you were okay. He sat next to your bed with his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes. You had broken multiple bones and from the height you fell from, it was a wonder you were even alive. When Sirius came running through the doors to the hospital wing, James lifted his head and wiped his eyes on his arm once more. Sirius’s eyes widened when he saw the state that you were in.

“I-is she going to be a-alright?” he said lowly, his eyes not leaving your unconscious figure.

“Madam Pomfrey says that she will be fine but it will take a while for all the bones to h-heal.” James said quietly afraid he would break down again.

“Merlin mate, that was a hard fall. You were too far away, you wouldn’t have been able to catch her. Don’t blame yourself, you know she wouldn’t have.” Sirius said moving to put his hand on James shoulder. A small groan sounded from your lips and the two boys shot to your bedside to see if you were okay, Madam Pomfrey had given you a potion to help with the pain so you wouldn’t be in too much when you woke up.

“Merlin Y/N you scared me, please don’t ever do that again…” James said grabbing your hand and holding it so tight you thought he would pull it off.

“It’s okay Jamie, I can hardly feel a thing,” you said with a small giggle and both boys knew it was due to the potion.

“I’m gonna give you a minute.” Sirius whispered to James, smiling as he turned to leave. You tried to sit up but James made you stay down so you would not hurt yourself further. You smiled up at him while he cupped your cheek in his hand. He leaned in and left a lingering kiss on your forehead and before you could say anything James spoke up.

“I know that I should have said this sooner Y/N but I am so in love with you. Please don’t ever get hurt like this again.” You thought you must have misheard him due to the fact that you were out of it, but you could always read his eyes like a book, regardless of what you were under the influence of.

“I love you too James, but I can make no promises on the second part.” You giggled and he laughed as he kissed your forehead again and sat on the edge of your bed.

“Of course love, get some rest.”

Best Friend: Sirius Black

Lisa xx

Want a ship?

[jontracy]

3. "I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid." With Gordon and Alan? :O I love your writing so much

It was a rare morning that Alan came downstairs to find the living areas of the villa empty. Grandma was almost always up before everyone else, using the time to read or dust or think up new culinary concoctions with which to torture her grandsons. Scott was also an early riser, getting up at an ungodly hour to work out and deal with Tracy Industries or IR business. Even Virgil was known to rise with the sun every once in a while; something about there being some golden hour that was perfect for art.

That morning though, Alan was alone when he stumbled down to the kitchen. It took his sleep-addled brain a long minute to remember that Scott had taken Grandma to her 55th college reunion, Virgil and Brains were at an engineering conference in Switzerland, and Kayo was in Chicago, teaching a self-defense class to two dozen teenage schoolgirls.

Which meant that, for the first time in Tracy family history, the Tinies had the island to themselves.

As the realization dawned, Alan did the only reasonable thing that could be expected: he raced up to Gordon’s room and let himself in, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Rise and shine, my partner in crime! We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

The Gordon-shaped lump under the mound of blankets on the bed just let out a muffled groan. Alan frowned and turned on the lights. There was a slightly more disgruntled sounding groan. A tuft of messy blond hair was the only sign of Gordon still visible.

“C’mon, this is no day to sleep in!” Alan declared, marching forward to grab the edge of the blankets. “We- Jesus.”

He blinked down at the pitiful sight he’d unearthed. Gordon’s face was the color of moldy milk, save for the bright spots on his cheeks and his inflamed nose. His lips were chapped and slightly parted, his breath audible as an unhealthy whistle. His blue and green pajama shirt was stuck to his torso with sweat.

“Are you dead?” Alan asked.

“Yep.” Geez, even Gordon’s voice sounded like crap. “Throw me a nice funeral.”

“I don’t think people throw funerals.”

“Then they’re clearly not doing it right.” Gordon finally cracked an eye open to peer at Alan. It was bloodshot and watery. “It’s been nice knowing you, bro.”

Alan sighed, mentally shifting gears. Not how he’d expected this day to go, but hey; part of being a member of International Rescue meant that you had to learn to adapt to your situation.

“Don’t go getting mushy on me now,” he said. “If you die, who’s gonna help me switch the labels on all of Virgil’s paint bottles?” He pulled the covers the rest of the way off Gordon. “Come on. If I’m gonna take care of you, it’s not gonna be in this cesspool.”

Gordon’s room always had the unfortunate tendency to smell like feet and seaweed, and that was before you even considered the biohazard disaster that was its actual contents.

“Or you could just leave me here to die,” Gordon suggested.

Alan rolled his eyes. Instead of arguing further, he just leaned in and dug his fingers into the sensitive spot on Gordon’s side. Gordon let out a noise like a drunk ferret getting run over, and toppled out of his bed. Alan grabbed him before he could hit the floor, and dragged him upright and out of the room, grimacing as he realized just how sweaty his brother really was. But he was committed by then, so he persisted in hauling Gordon to the main room, where he deposited him on the couch.

He liked to think that when Gordon opened his mouth, it was for the express purpose of thanking Alan for being the world’s best and most thoughtful little brother, but he would never know, because instead of words coming out, Gordon released the wettest, most violent sneeze that Alan had ever had the misfortune to be standing in front of.

“Ew, dude!” Alan complained, recoiling and wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

“I did tell you to leave me,” Gordon said, grabbing a pillow and curling his body around it, the picture of misery. “Just save yourself. It’s too late for me.”

Alan gazed skyward, searching for strength. They clearly weren’t going to get anywhere without some kind of chemical intervention.

“Stay put, Mr. Melodramatic,” Alan ordered, before setting off for the medical facility buried within Tracy Island.

When he returned with a box of tissues and a bottle of the cold and flu medicine that Scott always gave him when he was sick, it was to find Gordon shivering and sounding for all the world like he was trying to cough up one or both of his lungs.

Alan winced in sympathy. Gordon may have been melodramatic, but he also really was miserable.

“Here,” Alan said, holding out the bottle. “This has always helped me. I just need to find the little dose dispenser thing-” he broke off and watched in morbid fascination as Gordon snatched the bottle and chugged half of its contents in a single swig. “Uh…”

Gordon made a face and sneezed again. And again.

“It’s not working,” he said.

Alan snatched the bottle back before Gordon could drink any more of it. He studied the ingredient list, wondering just how likely it was that today was going to involve a flight to the nearest emergency room or poison control center. He couldn’t make sense of any of the active ingredients listed though. Most of them sounded like diseases themselves.

So he retreated to the loft, where he could keep an eye on Gordon without being within earshot, and pulled up his personal comm.

John answered about two microseconds after he called.

“What’s wrong?” he asked before Alan could get so much as a word out. “Scott can be there in less than an hour. There are fire extinguishers in-”

“Whoa, hey,” Alan protested, raising a hand. He glared suspiciously at his brother. “Have you just been sitting around waiting for something to go wrong?”

John flushed slightly, but raised an eyebrow.

“So nothing’s wrong?” he asked, skeptical.

“Well…nothing is on fire,” Alan said. “Geez, I’m not five.”

“No, but historically, when you and Gordon are left to your own devices, there are casualties.”

Alan wanted to argue, but realized that may not have been an unfair assessment. He shook his head, switching tacks.

“Whatever. We’re behaving. Now, don’t let this question alarm you, but hypothetically speaking, how much of that nasty kind of cold medicine is too much?”

John’s eyebrows nearly got lost in his hairline.

“Alan-”

“Hypothetically.”

John just shook his head with a sigh.

“All right, hypothetically, do you see the little cap that comes with the bottle?”

“Yeah.”

“One capful is an adult dose.”

Yeah, Alan had been afraid of that.

John must have read his expression correctly, because he went on.

“But if someone were, hypothetically, to take too much, they wouldn’t be in any real danger. But there would be some side effects that someone keeping a very close eye on them would have to be prepared for.”

“What kind of side effects?”

“Do you remember when Virgil got his wisdom teeth out?”

Alan’s eyes widened.

“Oh, God.”

John smirked.

“Have fun,” he said. “Call me if you need anything. I can be down there in twenty minutes.”

He disappeared. Alan leaned over the loft railing to give Gordon a dubious look. His brother blinked benignly back at him. Alan wondered how long it would take for the medication to take effect.

He returned to the main floor and perched on the edge of one of the couches, facing Gordon.

“Dude, why are you staring at me?” Gordon asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, I’m just waiting for you to start crying about the fact that penguins don’t get to know what it’s like to fly, like Virgil did when he was doped up on painkillers.”

“Oh, come on. This stuff isn’t that strong,” Gordon said, grabbing the bottle of medicine from where Alan had left it. He peered down at it for a long moment, thoughtful. “It says it’s Arctic Berry flavored,” he observed. His expression pinched. “Do berries even grow in the arctic? Wouldn’t they need hats? Who makes all the little berry hats, Alan?”

He stared earnestly at Alan, who could do nothing but stare back for a moment. Well, that hadn’t taken long.

When it became clear that Gordon was actually waiting for an answer, Alan managed, “I don’t know, Gords. Maybe they grow them in greenhouses and they don’t need hats at all.”

“Oh. That’s nice. I don’t like the cold.” Gordon looked down at the bottle again. “I wonder what Arctic Berries smell like.”

He raised the bottle to his nose, and a wet gurgling sound commenced. It sounded like a vacuum cleaner trying to suck up wet concrete. Gordon’s face started to turn purple as he continued to try to inhale through nasal passages that were just having none of it.

“Okay, how ‘bout we table that question till you can breathe?” Alan suggested, taking the bottle from Gordon again.

Gordon stared forlornly after it as Alan set it aside.

“I don’t think I would grow well in the arctic,” he decided, the words carrying the weight of a life-altering revelation.

“Well, it doesn’t look like you grew well in the tropics, either.”

Alan wished Gordon were with it enough to appreciate that one. He thought about calling John back just to share, but John would probably just shake his head in disappointment.

Alan looked at his brother critically. He wasn’t used to being on this side of illnesses. Whenever one of the brothers got sick, Scott or Virgil were usually the ones to take care of them. But Alan had been through enough cold and flu seasons to know the drill. He could do this.

“So, Gordon, do you want to go back to sleep?” he asked, hopeful. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Gordon frowned.

“Why, what’s wrong with me?” he asked.

“You mean aside from the fact that you look like Dr. Frankenstein hasn’t gotten around to bringing you back to life yet?”

Gordon clapped his hands to his neck.

“Am I gonna start growing bolts?” he demanded in a horrified whisper.

Alan was utterly nonplussed, until he remembered that Gordon had always been a movie purist, and he liked the original version of the Frankenstein movie, cheesy monster effects and all. Well, Alan could work with that.

“Only if you don’t take a nap,” he said.

Gordon threw himself down at once, shutting his eyes. Alan blinked, surprised that it had worked so quickly. He watched Gordon cautiously for a moment, waiting for…what, he wasn’t quite sure.

When nothing happened, he sat down again a safe distance from Gordon’s cloud of germs and grabbed his tablet from where he’d left it the night before. He pulled up his favorite video game and started playing. He didn’t know what John had looked so amused about; this was gonna be easy.

“Won’t being asleep make it easier for Frankenstein to find me?”

Or not.

Alan sighed and looked up at Gordon, whose eyes were wide open now. He’d managed to curl his body up into a ball that fit on just one sofa cushion, his arms wrapped around his knees in a death grip as if he were afraid that any protruding limbs would be summarily eaten.

“Nope,” Alan told him. “He’s like the reverse Santa Claus. He knows when you’re sleeping, and he doesn’t come then. Your snoring scares him off.”

This only served to petrify Gordon further.

“But I don’t snore, Alan!” he cried. “So he won’t get scared away!”

Alan stared at his brother, dumbfounded.

“Are you serious?” he demanded. “You sound like a category 3 earthquake when you sleep, healthy. You might actually cause an earthquake with your nose all plugged up.”

Gordon looked affronted.

“That’s not true!” he protested, sniffing (or trying to) and turning his head away. But then he froze.

“I told you!” he hissed, barely moving his lips. “He didn’t know, and now he’s here for me!”

“…What?”

Gordon raised a trembling hand to point. Alan followed the direction of his finger. His eyebrow rose.

“Gordon, that’s Scott,” he said, slowly. “His picture has always been there.”

Gordon flashed him a derisive look.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid.” He froze again, and then rounded on Alan. “Are you working with him?” he asked, his eyes glistening at the thought of his brother’s betrayal.

“With Scott?” Alan asked. “Depends on the day. Gordon, you’re safe. Dr. Frankenstein isn’t gonna get you. Neither is Scott, for that matter.”

Which, naturally, was the exact moment Scott chose to check on his youngest brothers.

“Hey, Alan, John told me-” Scott’s projected image broke off abruptly as a bloodcurdling scream rent the air.

Scott and Alan watched in varying levels of bemusement as Gordon continued to shriek at the top of his lungs as he scrambled over the back of the couch and went to hide under Dad’s desk.

Wordlessly, Scott turned his eyes on Alan, who felt his face heat.

“So, hypothetically…”