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loohser · 9 months

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toxic!Ellie pt. 2

a/n: me love toxic ellie :))))). Going thru massive writers block atm so please stick with me y'all. Have many drafts started so if u sent me a request theres a good chance that i started it!!! Also Dina kinda goes sicko mode in this. Smooches for everyone and they momma

Word count: 1.6k

<3 <3 <3 <3

“Ellie, get off.” You grumbled.

You feel Ellie let out a small laugh from where her head is laying on your chest at your complaining. “But you're so comfy babes.” She wrapped her arm around your midriff and pulled you closer to her.

“But I have somewhere to be! Don’t be mean.”

“You think this is me being mean? I can show you mean.” She told you seriously. She sat up against the headboard and pulled you into her chest.

You frowned at her, “Ugh you're so annoying. I have to tutor someone in 10 minutes!” You start to get up from the bed but she grabs your arm last minute and pulls you back to her body. You let out a huff and rolled your eyes. She grabbed your chin and pulled your face right in front of hers. “Don’t ever fucking roll your eyes at me again. Understood?” You widen your eyes at her sudden seriousness.

“Fine.” You snipped at her. “I have to go. Or I’ll be late.” You stood up firmly this time in case she were to pull you down again. You started to pack your backpack to take to your study session.

Ellie watched as you gathered your items. She knew as soon she said her last words to you that she struck a nerve. She hasn’t gotten that strict with you before so she was afraid that she scared you off. She watched as you scrambled to pull on your shoes. “Hey, maybe I can drive you? By the time you get back it’ll be dark and I don’t want you by yourself at night.” She stood up and walked towards you.

You pulled back from Ellie and headed towards the door. “No, it’s fine. I’ll take my car, thanks.”

You slipped off your sneaker that wasn’t going up your heel and switched to your crocs that sit beside the door.

“Hey, don’t be like that. Lemme drive you.” She started searching for her car keys. You held up your hand. “Ellie, I’m serious. I can drive myself. Go smoke some weed or something. You need to chill the fuck out.” As soon as you said that you turned around and left the room. You were scared as fuck and didn’t want to see her reaction. You looked down at your phone and saw 2 missed calls from Abby. “Fuck.” You whispered.

<3 <3 <3 <3

You pulled up from Abby’s apartment and let yourself in. You saw her sitting on the couch. “Abby I am so sorry. Ellie didn’t want me to leave. But you know me, I pulled out the big guns and left anyway.” You flexed your non-existent muscles and sat down next to her on the couch. She watched you explain with a smile on her face. “Oh yeah? You my strong girl?” She smirks as she puts her arm around you. As soon as Abby leans into your personal bubble you start blushing. You like the way Abby makes you feel.

You looked at her shyly. “Yeah.” You whispered. She laughs, “Why so quiet all of a sudden? You literally just tried to flex on me.”

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away. She hummed to herself and cleared her throat. “So, wanna tell me about Ellie? Like how you two became friends?”

You perked up. “How come?”

“Look, Sam told me something crazy about Ellie today and I just want to make sure you're okay. Ellie is fucking crazy, to put it simply.”

“Wait. The same Sam that canceled on me when we met?”

She hummed to herself, “Yeah. But that’s not the whole truth. Ellie apparently scared the fuck outta her and told her to stay away from you.”

You lightly slapped her shoulder. “No way! She wouldn’t do that!”

“Well apparently she would. And she did. Sam almost shit her pants so she stayed home. She didn’t want to test Ellie.”

You stayed silent. You had trouble imagining Ellie scaring someone off for you. She was your best friend. Why would she do that? You had to talk to her about it.

Abby waved a hand in your face. “You okay there?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just in shock I guess.”

“So you gonna tell me how you two met?”

You let out a breath of air. “We met in our freshmen year. We’ve been roommates since day one. I didn’t know her prior to college. But we seemed to click when we met on our first day.”

“Hm, that’s it? Knowing Ellie I would’ve assumed that you two have been friends for years.”

You suddenly faced her direction. “What about you two? No offense but Ellie hates you.”

She laughs, “Non taken I guess. One random day freshman year, I ran into her because we were both turning a corner and she happened to be holding coffee in her hand. She yelled the fuck outta me but I assume the reason why she gotten so mad was because she was with a girl. She was tryna look cool and I messed that up for her.” She looks down at her lap and laughs at the memory. “What a cunt.”

“Hey! I’m sorry that she did that, but she’s still my best friend and my roommate.”

“You could be my roommate instead. If you ever get tired of her, you can come here whenever you want.”

You smile warmly at her, “Really? Thanks Abs.”

“I would do anything for you. Now come on. Let’s go see a movie or something.” She stands up from the couch and takes your hand in hers. Next thing you know you're laying in Abby Anderson’s bed with her arms around you.

<3 <3 <3 <3

“Son of a bitch.” Ellie mumbled to herself.

“I don’t know why you let her tell you off, Ellie. If she said that to me I would’ve locked her ass in my dorm room.” Dina said as she rolled another joint.

She scoffed at her, “I can’t do that. She would hate me. Plus, you should’ve seen the look on her face when I snapped at her for rolling her eyes at me. She looked so sad. I made my girl so sad.”

“Oh boo fucking hoo. You need to be more firm with her Ellie. Look at her, she fucking called me your guard dog. She needs to learn some respect.”

“Oh my god, I know.” Ellie groaned as she sat up from her bed. “I’m sorry that she said that Dina. She didn’t mean it. Trust me.”

“Whatever Els. If she says shit like that to me again, I will make her cry. And I’m not gonna feel bad.”

Ellie laughs, “Yeah I know you won’t feel bad. Fucking bitch.”

“Hey I’m just warning you.” Dina laughs while nudging her shoulder with Ellies.

Ellie looked down at her phone. “Hey, she’s on her way. At least she texted me right? That means she won't be pissed at me.”

Dina hums to herself, “Yeah, maybe. Good luck with that though.” She gets up and starts to get her stuff.

“Hey, where are you going? You can stay.” She looks at Dina with a pout on her face.

“I don’t really wanna be around your girl toy. I already have to put up with her during class.”

Ellie let out a huff, “Fine. But if you run into her on your way out though, don’t be a bitch.”

“Hm, maybe, maybe not.” She winks at Ellie. “See you tomorrow Els.”

“Yeah, bye.” She watches Dina as she leaves. She kinda hates that her two favorite people don’t like each other. She didn’t know what she would do if the other person made her choose one or the other. It’s not fair. Ellie will make you two be friends. Even if she had to force you two. You had to get along with Dina. Especially if Ellie was going to ask you out soon. She just had to make sure that her competition was out of the way. That’s why she had to get rid of Sam. Sam is a cunt and will always be a cunt. And she’s a pussy. Who the fuck gets scared of one threat? If anyone ever threated Ellie to stay away from you, she would’ve laughed in their face and told them to go fuck themselves.

Ellie watches as the door opens and you appear in the doorway. “Hey babes, how was the study session?” She watched you as you took off your crocs and put them by the door. She saw how your face looked confused for a second. But that look on your face quickly disappeared.

“Oh yeah, it was good. Felt like they understood quickly.” You start to grab your pajamas from your drawer.

“Yeah? It’s because you're such a good teacher.” She looked down at her hands.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit. She’s a smart girl.”

Ellie snapped her head up to look at you. “She? I thought you were helping some dude named Timmy?”

You froze in your spot. “Did I? Oh well, it was some girl. I must’ve gotten mixed up. But anyways, I’m gonna change.” You quickly rush into the restroom.

Ellie's face hardened. She knew you were lying to her. Why would you lie about who you were tutoring? Unless you were lying because you knew that it was with someone that Ellie had beef with? But that could be a lot of people. “Fuck.” She thought to herself. Guess she was gonna have to check your phone while you were sleeping tonight.

#ellie williams x you #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams oneshot #abby anderson #abby x reader #abby anderson fic #abby anderson headcanons #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby the last of us

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depressed-cowboah · 5 months

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✨About Me post✨

Hello!! Welcome to my little blog!! I saw some friends do this and thought I should too.

Online you can call me Ruby, using that for ✨privacy reasons✨

Idk here’s little facts or something

She/her, but honestly I don’t care what you use!

I am a adult but please no nsfw stuff, I will block u

Training a service dog! Any posts about him will probably be tagged “Franklin”

this is a social media I like to keep to myself and not worry about irl people so I'm not sure i’ll post much about my life.

Beginner taxidermist! I work with strictly naturally deceased animals. Mostly articulate bones, but i’d love to get better at true taxidermy.

I tend to unfollow frequently when interests change, so please don't take it personally- I'm probably just not interested in whatever topic you post about anymore.

(part of my collection!)

Stuff I'm interested in and prob reblog or post about!

LOCKED TOMB!! I love the locked tomb sm. First book is called Gideon the ninth, go read it!!

Bones and skeletons! I do reblog and post about them, so if that’s something you don't like to see be warned. I try to tag all those as “tw bones”

(the warthog I articulated!)

Dogs! I love them v v much and will talk about dogs forever. English mastiffs are my favorite, i’ve had nine English and a handful of other mastiff breeds. I would love to get into showing them someday!

Reptiles! I love them so so much! I have a northern blue tongue named Walter, 2 Beardies named Herman and Dart, and a corn snake named Pyrrha. Walter is from a enthical breeder I adore and the rest are rescues! All my enclosures are bioactive.

(my children- Dart the orange Beardie, Herman the grey Beardie, Walter the skink and Pyrrha the snake

The last of us!!! Ahh I love tlou! I am one of those people that adore the second game and i’m a Abby supporter. If you hate post about her simply because of what she did at the start, I’ll block. Structured criticism is fine- I just can't stand when people violently hate her just because of that, Joel has done way worse. It was justified lol

Stranger things! I've been a fan of st since the start, it's a big comfort show for me. I named one of my lizards after our favorite little monster.

Red dead redemption!! I could talk about rdr for days dude. My user is inspired by it!

Star wars!! I'm not as into Star wars as I used to be, but I still love it- especially mandalorian.

Lastly, the MCU! Again like Star wars i’m not as into it as I was, but I still enjoy it.

Anddddd lastly

Don't interact or follow if you're a asshole. Anyone can be whatever as long as they aren't hurting themselves or others, and just be generally respectful and polite. Ty!

#tw bones #tw animal bones #tw skeleton #me

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giibsongiirl · 9 months

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✎ ABOUT ME

my name is maddie!(she/her)

i am 18 originally from massachusetts!

i am bisexual and currently single😵‍💫.

i am partially fluent in french( can hold a decent conversation).

i have always loved writing but just haven’t had the time to. but now out of high school i do!!!

i am going to college(after my gap year) for forensic science!

i also never got good grades in english because of my horrible grammar, in my writing it will be better i promise😭.

i love boygenius, ethel cain, lana del rey, taylor swift, beabadoobee and many more artists of the sorts!

i just went to my first concert the other day, which was beabadoobee and it was AMAZING!

i’m seeing boygenius and muna in october😝.

my current read is everyone in this room will someday be dead by emily austin and i’ve been FLYING through this book it is so good.

my favorite vacation spot is costa rica and i’m going for the 4th time next year!

my favorite show atm is yellowjackets! i’m so late on the train but IDC ITS SO GOOD.

im also an editor! i have a tiktok account that will remain anon(for now). but i’ve been doing it since middle school and is probably my favorite hobby.

SPEAKING of hobbies, i’m that stereotypical gay who is good at every recreational hobby and loves spending time doing said hobbies.

most of my posts on here will be me shitting about my life and the occasional piece of writing.

i will probably only be writing about abby anderson and ellie williams(the last of us) right now as that’s my hyper fixation this month…(and the past 6).

my works will probably not be proofread lol get over it.

✎ BLOG RULES

no bulling in any way, shape, or form!

no homophobia, racism, ect. YOU WILL B BLOCKED🙅‍♀️

i honestly don’t care how old you are, as i have no intentions of writing nsfw any time soon. but…. if you are below the age of 18 please refrain from being weird.

constructive criticism is welcome! as long as you’re not straight up slandering my work critique away!

anywho, that’s me!

if you have any questions at all, at any times, my ask box will be open!

thank u!

#ellie williams #abby anderson #beabadoobee #taylor swift #lana del rey #ethel cain #muna #boygenius #the last of us #yellowjackets #french

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yourfellowsmolgay · 4 years

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Hi I’m Void/Rain

Pronouns:they/them,he/him, ghost/ghostself, pog/pogself and it/its

Identification: Non binary/agender/ghostgender cupioromantic and polyamorous

Triggers: U! Patton, U!Thomas, Pink Diamond hate (su and suf) and religious themes I can also often get uncomfortable with tickle fics (unless they are babies not children babies) along with the nickname “munchkin”

Highest kins: Kenma Kozume, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Remus Sanders, Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy

Most common aesthetics you’ll see here: punk, goblincore,cottagecore and kawaii

Minor

Instagram and Pinterest- yourfellowsmolgay

Tags I created (I think these are original tags 👁👄👁💧) #pluto speaks, #abby talks and #plutos art and #abby draws as well as #rain’s art, #rain isn’t always stupid and #void gets ✨controversial✨

If you’re going to be on my blog understand I use xenogenders and neopronouns and my pronouns change quite often so check please

⚠️Patton hate, Transphobic/racist/Homophobic, M*Ps, sexists, nsfw blogs, R*mR*m shipper/supporter, ship/support Spinel x Steven, anti Mogai, are an exclusionist, don’t support neopronouns, identify/support the super straight “movement” DNI you will be blocked⚠️

I usually try to keep my blog family friendly with anything other than my swearing. But other than that it’s pretty good for all ages. If I say something offensive/hurtful please correct me.

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darkblueboxs · 4 years

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howdy i love your aftg writing!! here’s a concept: i feel like once neil’s past is out, he has no reason to hesitate absolutely sucker punching someone. like we know he made neil a pushover because it raises less questions, but now that everyone knows who he is im SURE he’s just bitch slapped someone mid-game. no holding back, like if u say something fucked up he’s just gonna try to kill you!! do you know who this man is?? there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows some quick and lethal punches!

Oh yes, anon. Bruiser!Neil I can DEFO get behind.

Here’s 3k of Neil punching stuff, and Andrew being wildly turned on by it. Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings, etc.)

*Edit* : In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead he says, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet. The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

* Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! Still open to prompts etc.

#tfc #aftg #andreil #the foxhole court #all for the game #my fic #asks #anon #WHY IS TUMBLR FUCKING WITH THE POST FORMAT ASKDHSKDFGGGG

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fics-for-my-heart · 6 years

Text

Art and Drama

Summary: Everyone can see it but the two of you.

Word count: 4512

Warning: Swearing, awful writing

A/N: This kinda sicks. Half way through I had some awful writers block but I still wanted to post it. This was for the Teacher prompt/idea thing I posted (here). Hope your guys enjoy.

Masterlist

“Class, don’t forget that we have the field trip to Road Art tomorrow. Please remember to bring a lunch. I’ll send reminder messages tonight. Does anyone have any questions?” You scanned the faces of the class in front of you waiting for a hand. “Alright. Well, work on your projects till class is over. We will meet out front at first bell tomorrow.”

All the Arts and Humanities teachers had decided on a field trip to a traveling art exhibit that was stopping at the local University. There would be different art pieces, instruments, and even plays. It tackled all the subjects of the arts so it was perfect.

Before you could walk away a hand went up, it was Ginger, one of the sophomores in your class . “Ms. Y/L/N. I have a question, but it’s not about the field trip.”

“What’s up?” You asked, walking over and sitting beside her while everyone else started on their projects.

She looked at Niki, another sophomore in the class before looking at you and giggling. “Have you seen Mr. Holland?”

“Ginge, I work with the man, of course I’ve seen him.” You rolled your eyes, you knew where this was going, all the girls loved him, mostly for the fact that he was cute and from England.

Mr. Tom Holland was the drama teacher. Being from the same department, the two of you saw a lot of each other, plus you both joined the staff three years ago. The two of you shared a few late nights here and there setting up different events or going over test and assessments. He alway wrote the best plays, and you always helped with the set design. He was cute, but that wasn’t something you were going to share with a group of gossiping teens.

“Is he single?” The girl snickered, her eyes wide waiting for your answer.

“I’m not sure.” That was a lie, he had expressed many times before that he was single, but again, not something they needed to know.

Ginger sighed. “Ya know, Ms. Y/LN, the two of you would be cute together.”

“Alright. That’s the end of this conversation. Get to work on your projects.” You shook your head laughing at the girls. They weren’t the first ones to say that. Some of the staff were worse. Like Addy Russell, your best friend, and choir director. The first time you and Tom had stayed late together you didn’t think you would hear the end of it.

The rest of the day was quiet. It was almost the end of the quarter so you let the kids work on their projects or other work. At the end of the day, you stood in your doorway to monitor the halls. Some students would come in and use the art class for an hour or so, or run up and ask you questions so the door was the prime spot for everything.

“Good afternoon Ms. Y/LN.” A familiar voice spoke behind you, causing your mouth to spread into a smile against your will.

“Good afternoon Mr. Holland.” You turned, facing the brown eyes man.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and a smile matching yours on his face. “How was your day?”

“Oh, ya know. Lots of paint, oil pastels, makers. Same old same old. How was your day?” You rested your head on the doorframe looking at him as he watched the kids laugh and chatter down the hall.

“Dramatic.” He laughed at his joke while you rolled your eyes. “Actually, I’m working on a new play.” His eyes locked with yours, that same brightness to them he always got when he was excited about a new project. “Want to read over it? You’re the only one I trust to work on the set and backdrop.”

Just as you smiled, a giggling group of girls walked by, Ginger in the middle very unsubtly winking at you. “I’d love too.”

“Sick. Well, I’m going to go make you a copy of it. I’ll stick it in your mailbox.” He pushed himself off the wall, walking backwards towards his door a few down from yours. “See you tomorrow Ms. Y/LN.”

“Have a good evening Mr. Holland.” You waved, watching the last of the kids empty out the hall before turning into your room.

“Alright guys, when we get there the coordinator is going to talk to us and answer some questions, then you are free to roam around the building and visit the exhibits. Anyone seen in an area they aren’t supposed to be in will receive a write up. Am I clear?”

“Yes Mrs. Russell.”

“Good. Now go line up with your teachers for roll and we will be on our way.” She hopped off the bench she was on as the kids started walking around.

After ensuring everyone from your class was present you lead them to the bus and counted them again and found a seat.

The seat beside you dipped. “Good morning Y/N.” It was Harrison, the Gym teacher and Tom’s best friend since they were in schools.

“Good morning, Haz.” He wasn’t big on having the kids call him by his last name so they all called him Mr. H. “How are you?”

“I’m swell. I’m glad you guys asked me to chaperone because Tom hasn't stopped talking about this and I really wanted to go.”

As of on cue, Tom bounced onto the bus. He instantly found the two of you but narrowed his eyes at Harrison as he made his way down the aisle. “I thought we would sit together?” His question was directed at you, his bottom lip out a bit.

Harrison draped his arm over you. “Sorry mate. I was here first.”

“You guys suck.” He whispered before making his way to the back of the bus. Moments later both your phones buzzed.

Tommy Boiii in Work Hoes: Haz u suk m8

Hazzy Boiii: slow feet loose ya seat

You: now now, are we in middle school?

Tommy Boiii: High school actually

You: l8r h8r

When the buses arrived at the Universities Art Center, you and Abby lead the group to the theater where the coordinator would be speaking. Once all the kids were seated, you scanned the rows for an empty seat only to be met with Tom standing in the back row looking right at you. He nodded his head and pointed at the seat beside him.

“I was going to yell your name if you didn’t look at me.” He laughed when you sat down.

“Oh shut it.” He opened his mouth to speak at the same time the coordinator started and you stuck a head up. “No. Really. Shh. I want to hear what he says.”

He introduced himself as Mel Robertson. He gave a short introduction on himself, and about each of the exhibits set up throughout the building. The painting and music exhibits held pieces from from different time periods and two different plays would be performed on the two stages with a chance for everyone to see them. After the short intro, he opened the floor up for questions.

“How long did it take to set this up?”

“About two years. There was a lot of rehearsals for the plays, and having to contact the right people in order to obtain permission to show the art pieces. Collecting the instruments was probably the most difficult part. But, it was well worth it because it’s been three years now and we always have amazing turn out.”

“Are any of the art pieces originals?”

“Sadly, no. It was too expensive insurance wise to be able to get originals. But, it was also safer to present copies because of the risks of damage while traveling. However, the copies we have are all professionally done and are almost indistinguishable from the originals.”

The questions rolled in for a few more minutes till Mr. Robertson looked at his watch. “Well, I believe it’s time to get started. I’ll let your teacher take it from here. If any of you have any questions feel free to ask.” He waved as he and Abby traded places.

“You guys are free to roam. All I ask is that you please be respectful and that you stay in the building. There’s a cafe in the basement if you guys want to eat, and we will make an announcement over the intercom when it's time to leave. Now, off you go, have fun.” All at once, everyone was up and making their way to the exits.

“So.” Tom started, taking a map from one of the people by the door. “Thanks. Where to first?”

You looked over his shoulder, pointing at the area for the paintings. “Obviously.”

——

In all honestly, you were surprised in the best way at the variety of artists and art they had displayed. Everything from pencil sketches to textiles, from Van Gogh to Raphael. The coordinator was serious about the pieces looking authentic.

“Wow.” The moment you walked in you were drawn to a Van Gogh piece. “This is incredible.”

“This is Van Gogh, right?” Tom asked, stepping beside you and examining the piece.

You pointed at the small label at the bottom. “Yeah. It’s “The garden of the asylum at Saint-Rémy”. It’s one of my favorite pieces he did.”

“Tell me about it.”

Your eyes scanned the colors as you spoke. “He painted it in 1889 while he was receiving treatment at the asylum. He did a lot of paintings there, all centered around the grounds of the building. The colors are my favorite part.” You point at the top of the tree. “The way he captures the different shadows from the light. This attention to the colors and the amount of detail takes my breath away.”

“It is beautiful.” Tom was almost whispering and in the room full of chatty teens it was almost inaudible. He moved, brushing his elbow against your arm as he looked at another painting. “Woah. Can you tell me about this one?”

You pulled your eyes away and followed his finger to another painting that was just as amazing as the first. “Oh my. That’s a Frida Kahlo piece called “The Broken Column”. She painted it in 1944 after she had surgery on her back. The white around her is said to represent the metallic corset she had to wear, and the column that’s broken is her back.” You were silent a moment, just taking in the painting. “The way you can almost feel the pain just by looking at her eyes. It's incredible how much emotion she can have someone feeling. A lot of her art was self-portrait. Another piece she did called “The Nurse and I” depicted her as a infant being breastfed by a wet nurse. It’s a very interesting piece, I’ll have to show it to you sometime.” You glanced over at him, he was already looking at you, a smile on his face. “What?”

He blinked, shaking his head while laughing to himself. “Nothing. I just enjoy hearing about art from you.” He extended his elbow. “Tell me more.”

He escorted you through all the exhibit. There was a fuzzy feeling in your stomach as he asked you about different pieces, and it was clear that he really was interested in knowing about them. It was nice to be able to talk as much as you wanted about the difference between the brush strokes, or the way the colors were mixed a certain way to achieve the color.

Tom loved hearing you talk about the art. He loved your voice if he was being honest with himself, and he loved how excited you were when you’d talk about your favorite painting or sketch. The way your eyes would light up, and how you would squeeze his arm slightly when you would get super excited about a fact. He wanted to keep you talking about art as long as he could, so he was a bit sad when you reached the last painting.

The two of you joined Harrison and Abby lunch in the cafe, then toured around the musical instruments before heading to watch the plays. This was what Tom was excited about. He loved everything about theater.

“It’s the way you get transported into the story of a well written play. And how you can be another person if you’re performing in one.” His eyes were bright in the shadows from the lights on stage. Excitement filling him much as it had filled you earlier.

Watching his face change throughout the plays was almost as entertaining as the plays themselves. Much like when he was watching on of his own plays come to life, his face was a mixture of emotions. Brows knitted together or up in his hair. Lips either between his teeth or stretched into a smile. His foot tapped along to the beat of musical numbers while his fingers tapped across his leg. Watching him was like watching a one man play.

“What?” He asked when he glanced over at you. It was much like earlier when he was watching you.

“Nothing, I just enjoy watching you watch plays.” You shrugged, poking him with your elbow and watching a slight pink cross his cheeks.

When the second play was over. Abby’s voice filled the building announcing it was time to go. You and Tom walked together and he had his class meet beside yours, determined to sit beside you this time. But the time the busses arrived back at the school it was time for last class so everyone went their separate ways. For you, that meant a planning period so you stopped by your mailbox and headed to your room, planning to enjoy the next hour alone.

Your mail was mostly announcements and flyers for different school events, but there was something in a Manila envelope marked “-T”. When you opened it you remembered Tom had given you a copy of his script. Sitting back in your chair you started reading. It was the story of a struggling artist who was constantly being belittled by the people around him. But, he never stopped, even while being broke, he never stopped painting. You were instantly pulled into the story, so into it that you missed the sound of the bell for the end of the day. It wasn’t until someone cleared their throat at your door that you looked up.

“Alright there, love?” Tom asked, his smile widening when he noticed his scripted in your hands.

You held it up as he made his way to your desk. “Tom, this is amazing.”

“I knew you’d like it. I’m thinking of trying to get it going soon, have it be the final play of the year.”

“I’ve already got tons of ideas for backdrops. I’ll sketch some up this weekend and we can meet up Monday after school?” You face was bright, ideas buzzing around your mind of different ways to set the scenes.

“I’d love that.” He tapped his knuckles on your desk before turning on his toes. “Have a lovely weekend Y/N”

“You too, Tom!”

—-

When you returned to school Monday, you were almost too excited. You had spent the entire weekend designing different ideas for buildings, different paintings for the main character to do, and different odds and ends to help set the mood. Tom knew you well, he had scribbled some of his own ideas and visions in the margins which is always a nice help.

The final bell rang and you were literally bouncing around you room. You grabbed your art binder, scribbled out a quick sorry note for the door, and weaved your way through the crowd of kids to Tom’s room. He was still at his desk when you entered, shutting the door behind you. He looked up at the sound of the hall muffling, a smile taking over his face as he saw it was you, with an equally big smile.

“Well good afternoon Y/N. How are you?” He set his pen down and watched you walk to his desk.

“I’m fantastic. I finished the script and went right to work and I think you’ll like some of these ideas.” You handed him the binder, suddenly a bit nervous.

He stood, making his way to the long table in the front of the room. Slowly he opened the binder and spread out the papers. He brought his hand up to play with his bottom lip as he examined them individually, eyes scanning every detail. Brows pinched in concentration. Your heart fluttered at how beautiful he was.

“Y/N.” His voice snapped you out of your trance. “These are incredible. You always manage to get things how they were in my head.” You slowly joined him at the table, watching as he looked back at the sketches. “Seriously, these are amazing. When do you want to start working on them?” Excitement laced his voice as his bright boyish face looked at you.

“Well, this week is finals and next week is the start of break. I don’t have any plans of you want to start then?” Seeing how excited he was brought the excitement back for you too.

“You got yourself a date.”

The week blew by. Grading finished projects and submitting final grades. Between class visits with Tom to talk about a tweak here or there on a design. Before you could blink, you were walking into the empty building to start prep. The only sound in the hall was your shoes squeaking as you made your way to Tom’s room only to find he was there.

You: Where are you?

You: I swear if you forgot about our plans.

Just as you were about to call him music started from the auditorium. As if the school wasn’t already spooky, muffled music made it worse. Slowly, you made your way to the end of the hall, stepping quietly inside. Your breath caught. Tom was on stage, a rather tight tank and sweats on. He was dancing. Spinning and leaping to the rise and fall of the music. It was beautiful and hypnotic. When the music ended, he landed the final leap, chest heaving and forehead shiny with sweat.

“Bravo!” You clapped, causing him to nearly fall over.

“Shit. Oh my god you scare me.” He bent with his hands on his knees as you made your way to the stage.

Looking up at him, you smiled. “That really was amazing.”

His cheeks were flushed as he smiled. “Thanks. Now, get up here and let's get to work.”

The two of you spent the day going over the script and setting up placement for people, props, and set pieces. It was the most important first step and Tom set each scene on its own paper. Every move was planned first, then as the set pieces were introduced he would make adjustments. It was fun. You represent each character, letting Tom move you where he wanted you to go. His hands were nice, but there was work to do so you pushed the thought out of your head.

As the week went on, the two of you made your way through the script, getting a rough idea for placement. There were also lots of trips to hardware stores and local restore stores to get things to help with preparing the set. Spending so much time together was nice. Neither of you really knew just how much you liked each other.

When school started back up Tom got to work setting up auditions while you recruited students to help with set. Most work was limited to after school, but where were a few times Tom would be so excited about an idea that he would bust into your classroom to tell you. Of course, by this time everyone knew you were helping with the play more than before. Tom was coming directly to you with ideas. The two of you sat close in the cafeteria running through things.

Set building began, and so did play practice. By this time, you and Tom were with each other every day. Your feelings were growing and growing. Tom would wipe some paint off your face and your knees would go weak. He wasn’t much better, the paint on your face made you even cuter. You were both so blinded by nerves that you couldn’t see that you liked each other. But everyone else could tell.

“Ms. Y/LN.” Gingers hand was in the air, fingers wiggling. “Are you and Mr. Holland dating yet?”

“Ginger.” Your face warmed as the class giggled. “Why would you ask that?”

“Please. He clearly likes you! My brother is in his class and apparently you’re all he talks about!”

You shook your head. “I’m not discussing this. We aren’t dating.” You kept your face stern, ending the conversation, even though your insides had turned to mush.

It was true though. Tom had started mentioning you a lot more in class. Especially when a new idea would pop into his head. His first words would be “I need to tell Y/N!” And out the door he would go. The class didn’t mind, they enjoyed watching everything play out. But, with you both unknowing of the other feelings, it was making things go agonizingly slow.

“You know, you and Tom are the talk of the school.” Abby mentioned one weekend while setting up a movie. “All the kids have a ship name for you. And pretty sure I’ve heard something about a running poll on when you guys will finally kiss.”

“Oh please.” You body warmed at the thought of kissing him, but Abby didn’t need to know that.

Abby made a tisk sound while joining you on the couch. “Y/N. Come on, you’re telling me you can’t see it?”

“See what?”

“Tom likes you.”

“Bullshit.” You laughed, taking a handful of popcorn. “You’re worse than the kids.”

“I’m being serious. I happen to know from a very reliable source that it’s true. Also, I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him. Y/N he comes to you first with ideas, and don’t think I didn’t see you guys walking arm in arm at Road Art. He was literally beaming at you the entire time.”

“Whos this ‘reliable source’? Also, duh we are working on the play together.”

“Who do you think told me? Who, beside you, does Tom spend most of his time with?” She gave you her teacher look. Eyebrows raised and lips pursed.

“Harrison? How do I know you’re being forreal?”

She groaned. “Stop being so stubborn. Whatever. I told you what I know, what you do now is up to you.” She rolled her eyes and played the movie.

After the talk with Abby, you started to notice the little things more. Tom sat a little closer, stayed later to help you clean up. His text were more frequent and not always about the play. Without fail he was by your door between classes and at the end of everyday. You still couldn’t bring yourself to believe that it was because he liked you. No matter how many times you imagined grabbing his face and kissing him, there was still a bit of doubt.

Soon it was time for the first show. You were probably just as nervous as the kids.

“Everything looks wonderful Y/N.” Tom said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You’d been double checking everything, making sure things did what they were suppose to, and that everything was in its place. “Thanks.” You rested your head on his shoulder. You’ve been a lot of help getting this stuff done.”

“I should be thanking you. This would have all still been in my head had you not helped. This is mostly possible because of you.” He squeezed you closer, kissing the top of your head causing the butterflies in your stomach to go crazy.

All three days went off perfectly. So well in fact, there was another day added, as well as one last performance for the school. The show for the school was the best one of them all. All the kids were excited to put on a good show for their friends, and the rest of the students were excited to see finally see the play. By the end, you had tears in your eyes both from how proud you were of the kids and how sad you were that it was over.

“Guys! I have a few things to say!” Nick, the lead roll, said while waving his arms to get everyone's attention. “Firstly, this was probably my favorite play to have done, and the group of people I was able to do it with made it even better. Secondly, as a Senior, I’m so glad that I was able to have this play be my last one of my high school career. Thirdly, can Mr. Holland and Ms. Y/LN come out please?” The two of you shared a look before joining the cast on stage. “This play wouldn’t have been if it wasn’t for the two of you. You have both been such an inspiration to all of us, so we wanted to do something special for you.” Nick turned and motioned for someone backstage. Tom’s hand reached for yours and you intertwine your fingers.

“All of your classes got together and we secretly sold goodies and other things to help raise money for next years play.” Two other seniors had joined the front of the stage, a huge check in their hands. Tom’s hand squeezed yours, a huge smile was planted across both of your faces. Excitement flowed through you both as Nick took a moment before he continued. “Together, we raised $4,391.”

Your eyes grew wide and your mouth dropped. Tears were freely flowing down your face now. The fact that these kids cared enough about the plays absolutely warmed your heart. Tom wore a matching expression to yours. The auditorium was full of cheers, your body was so warm and fuzzy that you almost thought you were dreaming. Tom tugged on your hand, pulling you into a hug, and meeting your lips with his. What?

Everyone cheered even louder. Whoops and hollers and shouts of finally. But for you, everything stopped. When he pulled away, his face was full of shock

“Oh my. Oh no. I’m so sorry.” He frantically scanned your face trying to gauge your reaction. “I’ve been want omg to do that for so long. And there was just so much happening just now that I kinda lost myself. Oh man. I hope I di-” You put your finger over his mouth to silence him.

All the kids on the stage had circled around you, laughing and full of excitement that the two of you finally made a move.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Mr. Holland.”

#tom #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #teacher tom

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nickireadstfc · 6 years

Text

The King’s Men, Chapter 2 – Welcome Back, I Guess

In which the squad is reunited in the usual heartfelt fashion, Andrew has inquiries about learning curves, we finally find a hashtag for Abby, and Neil gets a makeover.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The King’s Men.

Hello hello hello! It’s been almost exactly three months since I last updated this trainwreck of a blog, holy shit. I have no one to blame but my own lazy ass.

But none of that matters because – here we are! The hellride continues, fucking finally.

In other news: We hit 1,000 followers during hiatus!

Wowzie. I’m still stunned by the number of people who want to read my bullshit antics.

So, if you’ve only found this blog during my hiatus – welcome! If you’ve been around for this shitshow since the beginning – welcome back!

Here’s to the rest of the series.

(Oh boy.)

[Neil] needed his teammates to think he was okay. That meant going about the day as if Christmas had never happened. He bought himself time to lock his thoughts down by going for the world’s slowest run down Perimeter Road.

Neil, I love you, I truly do. You are a brave, defiant, proud soul, armed with a battalion of wit and a truly unbreakable spirit.

But you are also an absolute, absolute cockhead.

DO NOT JOG WHEN YOU JUST HAD EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY BROKEN, YOU MASSIVE FUCKING SHITBRAIN.

Neil’s body is apparently an inkling smarter than his mush brain, because it immediately punishes him by making him fall asleep in the library. Serves him right.

And how does he wake up? By my absolute, absolute favourite line in this book so far.

Fingers digging into the back of his skull startled him awake. (…) “Is your learning curve a horizontal line?” Andrew asked. “I told you yesterday to stop making my life difficult.”

IS YOUR LEARNING CURVE A HORIZONTAL LINE, holy shit. Andrew, my boy, my man, never ever ever let me doubt your sass capabilities.

(Not that I ever did, because honestly.)

This may not only be my favourite line in this book so far, but also my favourite line Andrew has ever let past his small rage-filled lips. Is your learning curve a horizontal line.

Tattoo this on my body, paint this on my walls, print this on a blanket and bury me in it.

On a more somber note – this is how our boy Neil wakes up, en detail:

Fingers digging into the back of his skull startled him awake. He grabbed for a gun, for a knife, for anything close enough to buy him room to flee, and sent the computer mouse skidding across the table.

Does that violent, alert way of waking up ring any bells? Like, any?

The Neil/Andrew parallels are real, you guys, and I am so here for it.

Andrew and the gang fetch Neil to drive to the stadium for fun Fox reunion times, and in the car, Neil makes an interesting discovery:

A car key was fastened to the adapter head with a rubber band. (…) Either Andrew had confiscated Nicky’s copy or he’d gone out and gotten Neil one of his own. Neither option made much sense to Neil. He’d only used Andrew’s car because Andrew needed a second driver in his absence.

Oh… my… actual… fuck. How can anybody be this OBLIVIOUS. Harry Potter who?

Whether Neil realizes it or not, they are now Car Sharing Boyfriends™ and I am loving the fuck out of this development.

Upon arriving at the Foxhole, Abby confiscates Neil in order to look him over, meaning we’re in for some good good healthy Abby lovin’ in this time of stress.

“You won’t ask [about the contact lenses and the hair]?” Neil said.

“I’ve seen you scars, Neil. I’m not as surprised as I should be to find out they’re not the only things you hide. I want to ask, but you told me once already not to pry.”

Excuse me, why is Abby such an actual angel descended from the heavens. We do not deserve her and her absolute kindness. No one does.

(Lies. Neil does. Neil needs that shit.)

And because Abby is a kind and responsible woman with her head screwed on, she benches Neil for a week until he is at least marginally better – which of course, Mr Dramatic Cockhead over here does not enjoy.

“A week,” Neil echoed. “That isn’t fair.”

“No,” Abby said, and cupped his face in her hands. “This isn’t fair. None of this is.”

The pain in her voice killed Neil’s argument in his throat.

Ouch.

“Sometimes I think this job is going to kill me,” Abby said. “Seeing what people have done, what people continue to do, to my Foxes. I wish I could protect you, but I’m always too late. All I can do is patch you up afterward and hope for the best.”

Oh, ouch.

And then –

Abby folded her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. (…) The only people who’d ever hugged Neil were his teammates, and those were quick squeezes throughout a good game. His mother had pulled him close before, (…) but she’d never held him like he was something to be sheltered.

Abby, I have never loved you more than in this very moment.

I wanna make a joke about any of this, but I can’t. I’m crying.

Just – #hugsoutforabby

We’ve been searching for three books, and now we finally found a hashtag. Excuse me while I dry my tears with it.

And not enough with that – the Best Hug Ever also makes Neil think on some important stuff:

[His mother] was gone. Even if she was here, she wouldn’t have comforted him for this. She wouldn’t have held him like he was a hard breath away from shaking apart. She’d have cleaned his wounds because they couldn’t risk being slowed by infection, but she’d hit him for choosing the Foxes over his own safety.

Breaking news: Mama Josten is an actually awful human being, and Neil finally experiencing what real motherly love feels like makes him realize that.

To that, I have nothing to add.

(I do have some hands that Mama Josten can catch if I ever come across her.)

As Neil is released from Abby’s care, he finally meets up with the Foxes, and the usual heart-felt greeting formalities are exchanged – that is to say, Andrew punches the fuck out of Matt for hitting Kevin (Neil intervenes and easily stops Andrew, because, well, obvs), Nicky has exactly 0% sympathy for Matt, Matt calls Andrew crazy and Nicky a monster, and the goalie BFFs have a warm reunion by means of a curt two-second head nod.

So, you know, same old, same old.

Wymack quirked a brow at Matt, then looked to Neil and Andrew.

“Didn’t we have a talk about not killing your teammates?”

When. When has a talk like that ever worked, David.

“[Allison] is not crying,” Neil said.

Nicky grinned. “Five bucks says she is.”

Neil should have brushed it off. Maybe a month ago he would have. (…)

Neil kept the edge out of his voice, but barely. “Don’t you dare bet on someone’s grief.”

HECK YES.

My boy Neil’s development of Not Taking Any Bullshit Anymore has already begun last book and continues to grow, and I am so here for it.

Shortly before Wymack can commence his usual motivation talk, a lil unexpected something happens: As Andrew takes out a knife (which is not unexpected), Neil has War Flashbacks to his father (which is neither), but as he makes a comment about it – Renee drops in.

“I’ve never understood why he likes knives.” (…)

[Renee]’d stopped mid-sentence to stare at Neil, but the Renee studying him wasn’t the Foxes’ redeemed optimist. Her sweet smile was gone and the too-blank look in her face reminded Neil of Andrew. (…)

[Renee and Andrew] stared each other down, soundless and still, oblivious to the bewildered looks their teammates sent between them.

Uhm. What?

I thought we were done with backstory on Renee’s part. Don’t tell me my sweet murder princess has past beef with Mr Chop Chop himself. DO NOT.

What is happening.

But, alas – the moment passes, and Wymack finally starts giving them the ol’ Listen Up, Fuckers, Here’s How We’re Gonna Not Die This Season Speech.

Heads up: They’re most definitely gonna die this season.

The good news: The only reason they’re only most definitely gonna die is because the USC Trojans, the Edgar Allan Ravens and U of Penn – you know, the Three Main Fuckers – are up against each other before semi-finals, meaning one of them will bite it before they have a chance to bite the Foxes.

Yoo-fucking-hoo.

Neil “I’m Fine” Josten, of course, tries to make his case for being let off the health leash once again, but is quickly silenced by, well, every present person with half a brain.

Also – this.

“A fierce season and ample tragedies means we’re the talk of the town, and this year people might actually root for the underdog. The board want us to encourager that fever with more publicity. Expect more cameras at games, more interviews, and more nosiness in general.”

Oh yeah, because that has always worked out so goddamn well.

Let us reward your charming talent for attracting death threats every time you do so much as smell a camera by supplying more cameras.

“If I could ban some of you from ever opening your mouths in public, I would, but this is out of my hands.”

At least Wymack agrees.

And last order of today – Mission How To Get Neil To Look Less Like An Actual Punching Bag, which is elegantly solved by everything that solves every problem in a good high school/college movie:

A makeover.

Yup, you read that right, Allison swoops in like an makeup goddess descended from the high Sephora heavens (which, like – she is) and covers up Neil’s bruises like an absolute badass.

10/10 would learn how to contour and colour-block again.

Neil took [the mirror] from her outstretched hand but let it rest glass-down in his lap. Allison motioned for him to take a peek. Neil shook his head. (…)

“Not scared of Riko, but scared of your own reflection?”

Clearly, Allison has never looked into the mirror after a night spent getting thoroughly fucked up.

Or like, she just looks naturally flawless even after partying her brains out, which is honestly the more plausible answer.

Also please give me all the fanarts of Neil getting makeup tips and talking about boys with Allison, Renee and Dan, please and thank you.

Neil was tired and sore and not at all looking forward to his week off the court, but for a moment none of that mattered.

“We’re okay,” he said to the empty hall. “We’re going to be okay.”

And I’m not.

Happy fucking holidays to all of us! No matter what you’re celebrating - if aynthing at all - I wish you a wonderful time and I hope you’re all well.

Updates will - this time for real - continue in the new year. It’s my resolution, and for once I’m actually set on pulling through with it.

Have a lovely time everyone, take care.

And as always: If you like what I do here and you want to help me continue writing fun things for you, please consider buying me a coffee. Every lil bit helps, getting me through uni and all that jazz. Thanks so much!

#tfc #tkm #aftg #nicki reads tfc #I UPDATED #IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE #no seriously - I wanted to have this up before the holidays as a sort of early present for all #thank you for sticking with me through this #I love you

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someonesingingalong · 6 years

Text

taxi (I)

elevate my heartbeat

The neon lights from the local bar reflect onto the streets outside. The cool weather isn’t unusual for January, but the occasional gust of wind makes it feel like the temperature is dropping by the minute. Hope’s hands shake as she ends the call on her phone and returns it to her back pocket. She clasps her hands together and brings them to her mouth, blowing hot air in a poor attempt to remain warm. She regrets not grabbing anything else but her oversized sweater- usually, she stays out long enough to the point of overheating in an overcrowded bar, but tonight she’s turning in early. She lets out a yawn that turns into a visible puff of cold air and realizes that camp had been more exhausting than she originally thought it would be. She knows the first one of the year is always tough, with fitness tests and all, but Hope feels her. The influx of younger players isn’t necessarily a bad thing; they have pushed them all in different ways. Their team is getting faster and stronger each day, and while they still struggle to find chemistry, Hope is certain they’ll make significant progress in no time and be an even better team than the one in Vancouver. They have to be if they have any chance at earning another star.

Hope looks at her watch; it’s a quarter past ten. Her ride back to the hotel should arrive within the next five minutes, but she can barely keep her eyes open. They just about flutter shut when she hears a door swing open followed by a stumble of steps. She’s mildly annoyed that she’s not alone anymore- she doesn’t have the energy for a conversation- but when she turns around, her expression softens. She can’t help it (she never can).

“Hope, hey!” It’s Kelley, face flushed with a nearly empty drink in hand. She walks over and Hope feels her energy roll off in waves. She stands up a little straighter.

“Hey.” Hope greets in return. A part of her knows it’s just in Kelley’s nature to be so approachable, so likeable. But another part of Hope wonders if there’s intention behind her actions. She wonders if her younger teammate purposely seeks her out; it’s more often than not that she finds the younger woman lingering around her, even if it’s just for a small fist bump or an exchange of looks. This thought alone is enough to make her palms sweaty. It shouldn’t, but there’s always been a lot of should nots between them. Should not have been roommates. Should not have been friends. Should not have left the after party in London, alone. Should not be alone tonight.

“Where are you running off to?” Kelley asks, her eyes widening with an idea. “Wait no, I want to guess. Let me guess! Don’t tell me!” She grips Hope’s arm, as if her alarmed tone wasn’t enough.

“Okay…” Hope says slowly, more concerned by Kelley’s hands and their potential to wander. She knows from experience.

Kelley lets go though and brings her hand to her chin in a classic pensive look. Hope smiles at her dramatics, completely oblivious to the fact that Kelley’s actually serious about whatever game she’s trying to play. Hope doesn’t mind though; it’s killing her wait time.

“Oh, I got it!” Kelley’s on her toes now, taking a step closer to Hope without actually touching. “You’re going to a coffee shop!”

“Yeah,” Hope’s on auto-pilot, completely distracted by the distance (or lack thereof) between her and the shorter brunette. She quickly corrects herself, “What? No, Kell, what coffee shop would be open now?”

“Well, I don’t know…I’m close though, right? You’re getting coffee, but at one of those gas stations, right?” Kelley shoots her finger guns, making some sort of clicking noise with her mouth.

Hope stares at Kelley in disbelief. Sometimes it’s hard believing she graduated from Stanford. She reasons, “Kelley, why would I be getting coffee this late? It’s ten at night. Where do you think I’m going?”

“Ahhh, yes, yes…I know exactly where you’re heading. It’s that place we all came from. You know, it’s like home but sorta not really home. There’s a bed with pillows and complimentary breakfast in the mornings and those really nice old men who greet you every time you enter or leave. It’s called, uhm…oh gosh, don’t tell me, it’s on the tip of my tongue…”

“You’re joking right?” If it weren’t Kelley, Hope would’ve walked back to the hotel by now. Where was her damn ride?

“Don’t tell me! I almost have it!” Kelley pauses shortly before giving up, “Okay fine, I give up. It’s too hard.”

“A…hotel?”

“YES! That’s it!” Kelley’s eyes shine like a kid on Christmas morning, completely unaware of her drink sloshing all over the place. “Yes! Thank you! I knew it. You and I, Hope-” She points between them wildly, “We’ve always been on the same page!”

Realization dawns over Hope, she can’t believe how tired she was to miss this. Her response is flat. “You’re drunk.”

“Am not!” Kelley shoots her a look, taking great offense.

“Yeah, you are.” Hope bends down slightly, her suspicions confirmed as she gets a strong whiff of alcohol. “Give me that before you spill the rest of it.” Hope takes away her drink, grabbing her arm at the same time. “You’re going back inside before you wander off lost and it’s New Orleans all over again.”

“Hey, I was not that drunk that night! I mean, we had to do Abby’s sendoff justice.” Kelley tries to struggle free, but after realizing she’s no match to Hope’s goalkeeping arms, she grins stupidly. She kind of likes it. Hope rolls her eyes.

There’s definitely intention.

Before Hope can drag her any further down the sidewalk, she sees an outpour of her teammates from the entrance to the bar. Alex is the first to spot them. “Oh, I found Kelley!”

“You guys leaving already?” Hope tugs at Kelley, bringing her over to the rest of the group.

“Well someone got us kicked out.” Emily glares at Carli, standing next to a timid Sam.

“What karaoke bar does not have ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’? Absolutely ridiculous. That’s a classic duet!” When Carli’s riled up, the team can’t help but pick on her. It’s amusing- and it’s good for her.

Becky smirks, “You’re just mad that we destroyed you guys at pool.”

“No, I’m not! We deserve a second challenge. I vote for darts, but oh no, Pinoe insists on karaoke and you listen! We wouldn’t be here if we just stuck with darts. We never listen to Pinoe! Why would we do that now?!”

Pinoe perks up from afar, hearing her name. “Keep your panties on, Carl!”

Sam speaks calmly, “It’s really, okay, Carli…I don’t mind. It was just one game of pool. We can come back another time and-”

“Are you giving up on me?!” Carli turns to Sam, sending her a look of betrayal. “We don’t give up. You understand? I’m tired and I want to be anyone else but here, but we’ve been challenged. We don’t give up ever.”

Pinoe shouts back, “Guys, quit the bitching. Let’s go! Alex and Allie found us another bar, just a couple blocks down.” The three of them begin to lead the way.

Hope sees a bright yellow taxi turn on the street (finally). “Oh, thank god. Guys, my ride is here. Take Kelley.” She gently pushes her forward.

Sonnet looks at them, confusion etched on her face. “She’s not going back with you?”

“Hey, that’s a great idea!” Kelley looks up at her, excitement building.

“No, it’s a terrible idea.” Hope cuts off Kelley. She tries not to overthink the fact that her teammate would think she and Kelley were leaving together. Hope walks towards the taxi, placing a hand on the door handle. She’s close to her escape, but she can already tell things are only going downhill from here. “I’m going straight to bed when I get back.”

“Now you’re talking.” Kelley winks, and Hope feels warmth rising to her face and she’s never been more grateful for the darkness outside.

“Look, she’s drunk- like too drunk- to come out with us anymore.” Becky points out, “Can’t you just make sure she gets back to the hotel in one piece?”

“Oh no you don’t…” Hope shakes her head, now opening the door of the taxi. “You cannot just leave me alone with her.”

“I’ll be good, I promise!” Kelley begs, her eyes widening almost to the point that Hope can’t say no.

“See? She promises, Hope!” Becky chuckles and then continues seriously, “Please just take care of her for us, okay?”

“Well of course I would.” Hope glares, resigning. She doesn’t know where the night is heading, but she also wants to find out. She beckons, “Okay, come on, Kelley.”

“Really?!” Kelley’s eyes shine as she skips over to Hope. She gushes, “You’re so kind.”

Carli is heard yelling at them to hurry up. Becky sighs heavily, “Okay we have to go before your best friend rips us a new one.” She fishes into her pockets, “Here’s our room key. I’m guessing we won’t be back or quite awhile. You can leave it at the front desk or I’ll probably just crash somewhere else. See you later!” She and Emily jog after the rest of their team.

“Bye.” Hope barely gets out, before realizing and calling out, “Wait, Becky, why would you crash somewhere else?! I’m not staying with her!” She hears distant laughter and lets out a heavy sigh. She’s about to step into the car when Kelley startles her.

“Curb! Curb!” Kelley’s pointing towards the ground at their feet.

“Yeah, I know.” Hope says, “Come on, just watch your step.”

“You watch your step.”

Hope gives her a stern look, “Get in the damn taxi, Kelley.” She grips the younger woman’s shoulders, guiding her in.

“Help! Help! I’m being kidnapped!” Kelley jokes, struggling against Hope’s touch until she’s well situated in the back.

Hope apologizes to the driver, “Hi, thanks for waiting.” She leans further forward and whispers. “If you can get us back to the Marriott on 6th street in less than twenty minutes, I’ll tip you extra.”

They begin to move and Hope notices Kelley fidgeting. She sighs, “Will you keep still?”

“You’re no fun.” Kelley frowns, frantically touching everything all at once to spite her seatmate in the back.

Hope yawns, “Please, I’m tired.”

Kelley now occupies herself with the little button on the inside of the door handle. The window slowly rolls down, and then up….and back down….and back up. Hope closes her eyes and silently prays for patience. She hears Kelley and by the sound of her voice, she already knows her eyes are bright with no good. “Oh! I want this to be like that one movie!”

“What movi--Jesus, Kelley! Get back in here!” Half of Kelley’s body is hanging out of the window, and she knows that if she doesn’t do something in the next ten seconds, their ride would include a visit to the emergency room. She reaches across the back seat to grab Kelley’s waist.

“This is the dream!” Kelley shouts, the cool breeze sending her hair in all sorts of directions. She frowns as she feels herself being reeled back in. “Hope…” She whines loudly, “Let me live for a few more seconds!”

“Sit down and I’ll let you live for the rest of your life.”

Kelley struggles for good measure. She looks down at Hope’s strong grip, and when she lifts her head, a smirk forms. “You can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

“No, I cannot.” Hope watches as Kelley’s brows wiggle, teasing her. She almost laughs, but keeps it together because- well, she’s an adult.

“I think it’s nice.” Kelley’s cheeky smile is both irritating and cute.

“Well I think it’s necessary.” Hope rolls her eyes, freeing a hand to reach around Kelley and roll the window back up. Kelley responds by hovering a finger around the button, the window going back down. “Roll it back up, Kelley, I’m cold.” Hope feels the temperature of the taxi continue to drop.

“Well I’m h-o-double-t-hott.”

“Not funny.” Hope’s expression is serious. When Kelley fails to listen, she raises her voice, “Quit playing with that!”

“Okay, Mom.” Kelley sticks out her tongue in a childish manner.

“Don’t test me.”

“Fine, fine, I’m sorry.” Kelley puts her hands up apologetically, but there’s a spark of trouble still evident in her eyes. She clears her throat. “You can let go now.”

Only now does Hope notice her hands, dangerously placed at Kelley’s hips. She lets go immediately without a word and moves closer to her side of the vehicle. She looks out the window and feels warmth creep up her neck. She hopes Kelley doesn’t notice (oh but she does).

It’s quiet, but only for a minute. Kelley can’t stop playing with the zipper on her leather jacket and it’s not even that loud, but Hope hears it ringing in her ears. “Psst…psst…Hope?”

Hope reluctantly turns her head to the side, whispering, “Yes, Kelley?”

“Do you want to know a secret?” Kelley asks in a hushed whisper.

“No, but you’re going to tell me anyways, aren’t you?”

Kelley giggles, sharing, “I haven’t been this drunk since the World Cup.”

Hope knows it won’t do any good trying to convince her otherwise so she brings a hand to her chest, appalled, “No! The World Cup?!”

“Shhh! Shhh!” Kelley hushes her, moving closer to Hope. “Keep it on the down low! You can’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Hope promises.

“Pinky swear?” Kelley adds.

“I swear.”

“No, Hope, pinky swear?” Kelley emphasizes, bringing her last digit of her hand up in front of Hope’s face. It’s ridiculous.

“Kelley…”

“Come on, you gotta do it! You gotta!” Kelley whines until Hope can’t do anything other than hook their fingers together to shut her up. Kelley literally has her wrapped around her fingers.

Kelley, of course, is far from done. She sighs loudly, and then again and again. Hope sees their hotel in the far distance; she just needs to last another five minutes or so. “Do you have something else you want to say?”

“Well, not really. It’s just…well, things were so different back then.” There’s a raw honesty underlying Kelley’s voice, and Hope wants to hear more.

“It’s only been a year.” Hope responds.

“Things were so good.” Kelley’s short statement makes Hope think. Kelley wasn’t wrong. They had been on top of the world- they still were, but in a different way. The road to Vancouver wasn’t an easy one, but when they arrived, it was like life had only just begun. They played like they never played before, and loved the game fiercely. They won, but they were hungry for more. They would have that chance to make history at Rio.

Hope peruses, “I know you’re drunk right now, but if we’re going to have this conversation, I’m going to need a little context around ‘things’.”

“Everything. The tournament, the team, my role on the team-”

“Hey, you’ve earned your starting spot.” Hope cuts her short. She doesn’t understand why Kelley’s still second guessing herself.

“Sure. Maybe.” Kelley looks down, shielding herself from Hope’s intense stare. She asks timidly, “But am I ready?”

“You’ve been ready since London. You played every minute with me. I know, Kell, you’re a good player.”

“But the team is so different now. I just don’t feel connected to as many people as I did back then. I don’t know who I can lean on, both on or off the field. I can’t juggle a relationship outside my career. It’s too hard and I…I’m going to die alone.”

Hope watches Kelley’s insecurities unfold in front of her, escalating at a rapid pace. She knows she’s not exactly coherent at the moment, but she knows that these thoughts are coming from deep within nevertheless. She confronts her, “Whoa, slow down. You are not going to die alone.”

“How do you know?” Kelley stresses.

“Because…” Hope is careful with her next words. “Because you’ll have me.” The instant flicker in Kelley’s eyes makes her realize that she hadn’t been careful enough.

“Oh! Oh-”

“No-”

“-Oh! I have an idea.” Kelley scoots unbelievable close, her voice low. “If we’re both like 40 and still single, we have to get married, okay?”

“Yep, there it is.” Hope knew this conversation was inevitable, especially with Kelley in such a state. She plays along for the second time- somewhere along the ride, she’s given up on fighting all logic and reason. “Let’s elope in Vegas. That’s one everyone does!”

“That’s what I was going to say! I like it! Quick and dirty!” Kelley grins, and Hope’s breath hitches. “You know what, Hope? You are my soulmate.” Hope can’t help but laugh, now that finger guns are involved. Kelley smiles, too, cocking her head to the side, “What’s so funny?”

“You are hammered.”

“I am not! I mean it, Hope, I really do. You’re my soulmate!” Kelley’s voice increases in volume.

Hope makes eye contact with the driver in the front, and he’s laughing with them. She shifts her look back to Kelley. “I’m sorry, Kell, but I’m kind of taken.”

“Only kind of?” Kelley tests.

“I’m very much taken.” Hope repeats, holding her hand up and pointing to her ring. “See?”

“Oh.” Kelley deflates back into the seat. She realizes, “So I am going to die alone.”

“No!” Hope wants to chuckle, but she keeps her tone at bay. “No, you won’t, I promise. You have me-as a friend,” She quickly clarifies, her eyes softening. “You will always have me.” Maybe it’s the way Kelley looks back at her or maybe it’s the sudden realization that their night was just beginning that causes her heart to pound against her chest, but she had spoken the truth. She meant every word.

“Thanks, Hope.” Kelley’s hands are now playing with the ends of hers sweater (Hope’s not at all surprised). “You’re pretty lucky, you know, to have found your soulmate.”

Hope just stares at Kelley. She truly was. But she finds herself telling her, “Marriage isn’t all that it seems, Kell.”

“No.” Kelley refuses to believe, “No, it has to be with you. Anyone would be so lucky to be with you.” Hope doesn’t know how to answer; she’s in no place, anyways. Kelley’s hands have ventured to her legs now. She swallows, “Your hands, Kelley.”

Kelley responds nonchalantly, “I know.” She winks. “Now, we’re even.”

Hope is wide awake now. The taxi driver announces their arrival and Hope quickly fumbles with cash in her wallet. She grabs Kelley’s hand, leading her up the steps and through the lobby. The elevator ride is incredibly long- Hope spends the entire time prying Kelley’s hands away. They really shouldn’t be left alone any longer.

Hope finally opens Kelley’s hotel room. She sighs in relief. They had made it back without any problems (yet). She busies herself with tidying things around the room, telling Kelley, “Get ready for bed.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Hope freezes, deciding no response is the best response. She continues around the room until she hears Kelley. “A little help over here?”

Hope turns around, and she realizes that maybe she shouldn’t have let Kelley get ready alone. She sighs, helping her take off her shirt. Hope tries not to look, hastily tripping over a pile of clothes on the way to the bathroom. She fills up a glass of water and rummages for a bottle of aspirin. She returns and Kelley still doesn’t have a shirt on. Go figure.

“I can’t find a clean shirt.” (No shit, Kelley.) She looks at the items in Hope’s hands. “Are those for me?”

“What?” Hope can only stare before blinking back to reality, to responsibility. “Oh yeah, yeah…it’ll help with the hangover in the morning.” She puts everything down on the nightstand.

Kelley slowly climbs into bed. “Thanks for taking care of me, Hope.”

“You can thank me when you have a shirt on.” Hope turns around again, looking for a clean shirt- or really, a dirty one would do at this point. She hears Kelley climb back out of bed, and she feels her dangerously close.

“I don’t need a shirt.”

“You—you’re going to get cold.” Hope stutters. The minute she turns around it’s over.

“It feels pretty hot to me.” Kelley replies huskily, placing her hands on Hope’s hips. Now, she really can’t concentrate.

“F-found it! I found it! Here!” Hope whips around, taking the shirt and pushing it against Kelley’s chest.

Kelley doesn’t move, their faces only inches apart. She places a hand on top of Hope’s, still holding the article of clothing in place. “I’m not saying this because I’m drunk right now, but I love you, Hope.” She steals a quick glimpse at her lips. “Like a lot.”

“I…I know you do.” Hope barely gets out, amidst a swirl of responsibility, excessive pining, and desire. Hope feels Kelley’s touch fueled by the alcohol coursing through her veins; it commands her to no control. All Hope can think about now is that Kelley’s body is pressed up against her own and that she wants her- sober.

The t-shirt falls to the floor.

#taxi #exes #my fics

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gringoslur · 7 years

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i was looking at the notes on your sh!ro edit and!!! i can't believe someone actually likened being against minor/adult relationships to homophobia. holy shit

I was…surprised about how stupid and gross someone can be to do that. And the person was part of the community, that’s what i can’t understand. But…honestly? I don’t care if someone calls me a stupid bitch or does that comparation. One, they don’t know me and yes i can be a bitch, but i provoked that reaction in that person (the anon) and i found it hilarious. There’s nothing more pathetic than send anon hate. And about the comparation…i feel sad that someone really thinks like that, it’s disgusting. She needs to get educated asap, because she’s being so fucking ignorant. It’s sad…and the fact that she really thought that it was a smart thing to say…lmao, i can’t.But what really frustrated me and that’s why i took the time to answer this, is that i made that edit/post with all the love in the world. I was (i still am) so excited. I really enjoy making those kind of edits for Lance, learning about his cuban culture that sometimes is really close to home because i’m a latina. And i have the opportunity to do the same for Shiro with the help of @itsmekeithyour-iamyourpaladin, Shiro is a character that i love and i hate to see how he is treated in the fandom. Learn about his culture, seeing people excited to see his culture, to feel validated, is wonderful for me. That’s why i make those edits.And of course, i don’t want my content in some parts of the fandom where i know that they can be nasty. I don’t want it there because it makes me uncomfortable. So i asked them to delete it (some of them, that list was longer) and let’s be honest, i had at least 4 sh//aladins saying sorry and deleting it. While others kept doing it, even deleting the description.But i’m not gonna stop doing it, i’m gonna put a big “SH//ALADINS DONT INTERACT” in everything that i make and block everyone that doesn’t respect it. And btw, this is a list of people that everyone that is an anti and makes content should block:

-witch//fell (u know why)-cass//purrjoybell-2 (deleted my description)-lesbian//onice (deleted the description, then blocked me when i call them out)-theofficial//shirogane (deleted my description, i couldn’t look at their blog: is a full time sh//aladin)-pro//klance (the first one on my list, they didn’t deleted it and the first thing that i saw in their blogs was anti-lance posts, %100 s/haladin) -coco//keith (didnt deleted the post) -attacko//nass (didnt deleted the post, i’m sure that they saw it because they liked one of my posts after that i tagged them) -abbys-watch//ing (didnt deleted it, reblogs things to mock antis, when i was looking for my post i found another one from a mutual talking about the situation in PR. Yep, they reblogged it from another person calling the op -my mutual- stupid and blablabla. block their ass)

Honestly? Block everyone in that list. Some of them have really graphic nsfw of the ships. You can save 4 people in that list, 3 of them commented in the post and 1 of them apologized in private, so i’m gonna respect that. PLEASE, don’t send hate or interact with them, just block them. It’s the best for everyone.And i want to thank EVERYONE that defend me in tags or in comments, especially @isayvolyousayvoltron, @hunk-is-an-anti, @chemosynthelich, @antishaladin, @antinastyships, @optimassprime, @sleepyrealities, @duskianfae, @antishalabitch, @daggerons, @ablubluh. I love is a long list and everyone should follow them (i’m sorry if i didnt mentioned someone, the app is trash) and the ones that send me an ask like you or @onehornmoose. That was really sweet of you and made me feel so much better and not so alone in this situation. Thank you so much!

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 5 years

Text

Stop shaming recipe bloggers for writing a lot

Every so often, someone will act very angry online because a recipe they clicked on has "too much text." They wanted to make mushroom ravioli, but instead had to scroll through a bunch of words about what mushroom ravioli means to a blogger's family. Boring!

It's true that many (if not most) food bloggers write long narratives preceding their recipes. Sometimes, they explain how they developed the recipe. Other times, they share why they chose to post this particular food, or explain the modifications they've made to accommodate family members with dietary restrictions. They might share a story about the dish providing them comfort in a difficult time, or how cooking the dish with a loved one healed a broken relationship. Food is personal, after all; it comes with stories.

So why do so many people rush to mock them?

Cadry Nelson, a food blogger who runs the vegan website Cadry's Kitchen, includes narratives with her recipes regularly. (She's also written an essay about recipe narratives.) This is partially because she wanted to document her transition to veganism, the context in which she developed much of her work. In doing so, she'd create a reference point for readers curious about going vegan themselves.

"I was trying a lot of produce I’d never had before, as well as re-creating old familiar flavors but without meat, dairy, and eggs," she explained in an interview. "I didn’t have many other friends who were vegan at that point."

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This summer it will have been 9 years since we loaded up all of our belongings into a U-Haul & moved across country from Los Angeles back to Iowa, where David & I were born & raised. On the way, we stopped at FUD restaurant in Kansas City. The restaurant is gone now. But they were known for their raw dishes & jackfruit recipes. I especially loved their jackfruit Reuben. I figured it was high time I made my own version. The jackfruit is pink from beets. It’s topped with homemade #vegan Thousand Island dressing, @goldminenaturalfoodco garlic kraut, and beautiful marbled rye from @newpioneercoop. Get the recipe on the blog. Link in profile. #vegansofiowa #vegansofig #veganfoodporn #reubensandwich #veganreuben #whatveganseat #vegancomfortfood #vegansandwich #foodporn #foodphotography #foodstagram

A post shared by Cadry Nelson (@cadryskitchen) on Feb 7, 2019 at 10:46am PST

Sharing this information doesn't just benefit her readers, either. It also helps her secure a place in the saturated food blog realm. "Through these posts, I’ve gotten to know bloggers’ flavor preferences too," Nelson said. By sharing stories on blogs, people get to know the types of foods [and] flavors that specific recipe creators enjoy. You figure out who is a good match for your own palate."

So why do people have such an issue with people writing about their own food? It seems to come down to convenience. Generally, perturbed readers complain that it takes too long for them to scroll down to the recipe itself.

Historian Kevin Kruse, for example, tweeted his disdain for recipe narratives last weekend: "Hey, cooking websites?" he wrote. "I don't really need a thousand words about how you discovered the recipe or the feelings it evoked for you ... I'm trying to feed my family. No need to curate the experience for me."

SEE ALSO: Why the '15-minute recipe' sets you up to fail

"GIMME THE RECIPE HON MY SCROLL FINGER HURTS," tweeted Chelsea Peretti last November.

Admittedly, it is irritating when anything is difficult to find on the internet, especially when we've come to expect an easy-as-pie user experience from every app and every website. It can feel like a slog to scroll through paragraphs of text when all you want is a list of ingredients.

But the thing to interrogate here isn't necessarily whether blocks of text are annoying — it's why people think these particular blocks of text don't deserve to exist.

Nelson thinks there's an element of sexism to the critiques she sees about recipe writing. Home cooking is still a deeply gendered pursuit, and writers whose work centers on home cooking are still perceived as less professional, less valuable, and less worthy voices. "The feeling seems to be that they don't think these writers have something of value to offer," Nelson said.

There's been high-profile backlash to the backlash against recipe narratives. After Kruse's tweet, Smitten Kitchen creator Deb Perelman tweeted a thread on the matter, encouraging recipe writers to "write as long and as in-depth as your heart desires about recipes and anything else they drum up in your mind and ignore anyone who says you shouldn't."

1. These websites are free to read and free to not read. /3

— deb perelman (@debperelman) February 16, 2019

2. It's mostly women telling these stories. Congratulations, you've found a new, not particularly original, way to say "shut up and cook." [I just don't see don't see the same pushback when male chefs write about their wild days or basically anything. Do you?] /4

— deb perelman (@debperelman) February 16, 2019

3. Not that you asked, but I love context, both in the recipe's development and the way it knits into your life. I wish more people who cooked got to tell their stories. /5

— deb perelman (@debperelman) February 16, 2019

Like Nelson, she also called out detractors' casual sexism. "Congratulations, you've found a new, not particularly original, way to say 'shut up and cook,'" she tweeted. "I just don't see don't see the same pushback when male chefs write about their wild days or basically anything. Do you?"

"I wish more people who cooked got to tell their stories," she added.

There's also a more technical element at play where recipe narratives are concerned: search engine optimization (SEO). Recipe bloggers want to catch the attention of the illusive Google algorithm — and, ideally, land their recipe on the coveted first page — so they must demonstrate "authority" in their field. This means more comprehensive content, which is really hard to pull off with a concise recipe alone. (Tons of people will be using the phrase "apple crumble," for example, but only you can write your own story about it.)

"When I’m writing, I try to tell a story that has a hook as well as please[s] the Google algorithm," Nelson said. "I do keyword research ... I see what kinds of questions people have around the topic, and look for ways to anticipate their problems, and answer their questions, so that they will have a successful cooking experience. Lately, I’ve been adding more step-by-step pictures of how to make dishes, as well as videos, because Google says that readers want that."

Even though she's noticed people criticizing lengthy posts, Nelson maintains that writing a lot — authoritatively, of course — is what's going to get eyes on her recipes. "People say they want shorter posts, but Google values information," she said. "It’s hard to give information without using some words along the way."

SEO and marketing experts agree that Nelson's approach is a smart one, especially in such a saturated landscape. "Because a recipe usually consists of a listing of ingredients and steps, it’s often very difficult for a search engine to discern what this article is trying to convey," Pete Herrnreiter, who is the VP of digital strategy at The Motion Agency, explained via email. "By developing a richer upfront with background on the dish ... it [helps to] define the post."

Content strategist Abby Sanders, who works for Von Mack Agency, also emphasized the advantages of differentiating one's recipe from the pack. "These days, search engines are pretty effective at determining whether a page can serve as an 'expert source' on a specific query," she said. "So any additional content that includes certain keywords, as long as it's coherent and well-written, will improve that page's ranking."

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Who'd have thought two such aggressively wholesome ingredients could taste so exceptional together? To be honest, not me. But we come back to this again and again whenever we are looking for a hearty vegetarian meal because it tastes like a luxury, not a compromise, especially heaped on grilled bread. [Spinach and Chickpeas on smittenkitchen.com or linked in profile]

A post shared by smitten kitchen (@smittenkitchen) on Feb 19, 2019 at 9:10am PST

As a caveat, Sanders mentioned, there are "plenty of other factors that play a role in rankings, such as domain authority, links to that page, and the list goes on. But from a sheer content standpoint, it does make good sense for a food blogger to write some extra, interesting copy around their subject."

So, fine. Finding a list of chili ingredients would be easier if we didn't have to scroll. But recipe bloggers are writers, and they have stories to share that are poignant, funny, and valuable — even if you (and I) don't love every single one you read. And if you really don't like the narratives? There are plenty of places for you to find story-free recipes online, though you might have to pay for a subscription to see some of them. Also, cookbooks exist.

"My food blog is my own. It’s my creative space. I spend a lot of time testing the recipes, taking photographs, making videos, and writing my stories," Nelson said. "If people aren’t interested in any aspect, so be it."

"My blog is Cadry’s Kitchen. It’s literally the place where I cook," she added. "I don’t know why I would write myself out of it."

WATCH: What happens to your body when you eat spicy food?

#_category:yct:001000002 #_uuid:2fa419ed-0e61-3bf7-b8cc-5ae1f1bc6278 #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_author:Chloe Bryan #_revsp:news.mashable

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