*crap i meant to put this is my drafts oh well*

fietje07  asked:

Drabble challenge Sherlolly. Can I have #12, 44 and 67? Thanks a million

List is here. This is the last one in my drafts, one less set of prompts to fill, huzzah!

12. “I’m pregnant.”

44.  “Well that’s the second biggest news I’ve heard all day.”

67.  “You’re strong, baby. You have to be.”

A Life Backwards  

It was their favorite story, the one about themselves - all the hows and whys and wheres of their earliest existence (less the bit about how they were conceived - no matter how inquisitive, mature-for-their-age and intelligent the Holmes twins were, that was one story neither parent woud ever tell and one they actually had no interest in hearing). Best of all was how both Mum and Dad had their own ways of telling it, so that even though it was the same in the facts, it was endlessly changing in the details.

Especially once Dad started challenging them to ask for it in different ways and not just as a straight retelling.

“Tell it in sign language,” Hamish and Hester chorused once when they were three. “Tell it in French,” the demanded when they were four and bored. “Tell it on paper in the Dancing Men code” had been their request at five. And now, at six, it was “Tell it backward.”

Molly settled on the sofa next to her husband, holding baby Gregory and smiling, just as interested to hear this version as the twins were. He laid an arm across her shoulder, kissed Gregory’s head (cauinsg the baby’s forehead to wrinkle up and his little lips to purse, even in his sleep), and pretended to go into his mind palace to rearrange the facts.

“Your mother asked me how you both looked, since the nurse and doctor had bustled you off to drain out the mucus you’d decided to hoard in your lungs,” he began, eyes sparkling. “I, being utterly in control as always…” Here he widened his eyes in mock-innocence while wife and sprogs giggled. “…blurted out the first thing that came to mind.”

“He said you looked like a couple of turnips,” Molly supplied helpfully. It was hardly spoiling things when the story’d been told so many times.

“Nasty old wrinkly turnips,” Hamish added gleefully from where he was sprawled out on the carpet. He elbowed his sister. “She did, anyway, cause she’s ancient compared to me.”

Hester was three minutes older than he was and never misssed a chance to remind him of that. Just as he never missed a chance to prod her about being an old lady. Ah, the joys of siblinghood.

“Yup, turnips,” Sherlock replied equably. “Purple, moldy-looking turnips that had been kept in the vegetable drawer too long. But,” he added with a dramatic sigh, “your mother said we couldn’t let you cook a bit longer.”

Molly nodded. “Right, there was absolutely no putting you back, not after all the work I’d done!”

Sherlock gave her a doting look. “When she was still having a hard time ejecting you, stubborn brats that you were, I looked into her eyes, let her squeeze the sh…crap out of my hand and forever ruin my chances as a concert violinist, and for the first time ever used a ridiculously sentimental pet name for her. And do you know what I said?” He peered over at the twins questioningly.

You’re strong, baby. You have to be,” they chorused, rolling their eyes. 

“Glad you don’t do that anymore,” Hester added. “It’s silly.”

“And so it is,” Sherlock agreed. “Luckily your mother thought so too because she just giggled a bit, for the first time in fourteen hours, thirty-one minutes. Give or take a few seconds.”

He skimmed over the next (previous?) bits about arriving at hospital and calling Uncle John and Aunt Mary, zeroing in on what he knew was one of the twins’ favorite parts - when Molly had announced oh-so-calmly that she’d been in labor the entire day and night he’d been off chasing a jewel thief through the rooftops of London. “I came home after my triumphant capture of Julian ‘Jools’ Voleur to find your mother packing her overnight bag. I was so caught up in the excitement of the chase–”

“And so loopy from lack of sleep,” Molly interjected in a stage whisper.

“–that I missed the obvious signs of what was happening right in front of me,” Sherlock continued, not missing a beat. “Which meant I was doing what?”

“Seeing but not observing!” the twins responded with wide grins. They high-fived one another before settling back onto their elbows.

“Exactly.” Sherlock nodded his approval. “I was seeing but not observing. I burst into the house, coat flaring dramatically behind me, unwinding my scarf and not stumbling over Toby II as I began explaining how I’d captured the idiot when he jumped onto what he thought was a solid roof but turned out to be a very dirty skylight, thus crashing into the parlor of Sir George Westingham and landing on that very man’s very startled - and very, very angry - financial advisor. I had just got to the good bit, where I acrobatically and gracefully swooped into the room, cuffs in one hand and mobile in the other to call Uncle Greg, when your mother stopped me with her hand over my mouth.”

“Oh, weren’t you put out by that!” Molly reminisced with a giggle. “The glares your father was giving me!” To show no hard feelings, she leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose.

“And that’s when she said it,” Sherlock declared, after returning the kiss. “She has a real way with words when she wants to, your mother. ‘Well that’s the second biggest news I’ve heard all day,’ she said to me, and that’s when I stopped seeing and started observing…and dashed the three of you off to the hospital.”

Next he talked about measuring Molly’s tummy, about researching the latest trends in child-rearing strategies (useless, all of them) and finally being forced to ask Uncle John for advice (even more useless), and all the rest until there was only one thing left to tell.

The twins sat up, leaning forward with their hands on their knees in anticipation of what - sometimes, depending on their mood - was their favorite part of the whole story. 

“So,” Sherlock said, clapping his hands on his lap and making as if to stand up. “That’s all the best bits, time for bed, I think.”

“No! Dad! You have to tell the part with Mum and how she told you about us!”

He tilted his head to one side in faux-confusion. “The what, the who, the where, the why, the how?”

Molly scooted over, giggling quietly as she waited for what was sure to happen next. Right on schedule the twins scrambled to their feet and rushed over to their father, clambering up onto the sofa and from there to his lap, demanding that he tell them the best part, right now, it wasn’t fair if he skipped it until finally, laughingly, he ceded the point. “Very well, then. If you insist.”

He sat with an arm around either of them, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “Your mum and I had just admitted, for the first time out loud and in front of witnesses, that we loved one another. Other crazy things were happening at the time–” They hadn’t yet told the twins more than the bare facts of their Aunt Eurus’ existance and had no plans to disclose that truth for a few more years– “so as soon as I could I rushed over here to explain to your mum that I wasn’t trying to hurt her.”

He turned to look at Molly with such a tender expression of love in his eyes that her breath caught. He could still make her heart flutter, and make her lady-bits do something quite similar, and her return smile promised all sorts of lovely possibilities after the children were in bed. “I knew he hadn’t meant it that way,” Molly replied, just as quietly - and, had she been able to observe herself from the outside, with quite the same tender expression in her eyes. “I knew it wasn’t meant to hurt me or for an experiment or a case, once I’d had a chance to think it over.”

“And I confirmed that belief, showed her that her faith in me was justified,” Sherlock said, taking up the reverse-narrative thread once again. “I came into her flat and I apologized and I explained about how she’d been threatened and how we’d both been forced to confess such a wonderful secret under such awful circumstances. I even told her that Uncle John and Uncle Mycroft had heard the whole thing, and asked her again to forgive me.”

“And then?” Hester prompted when he fell silent, losing himself in his wife’s loving gaze.

“And then,” he concluded, “she said the most wonderful thing to me. She said…”

I’m pregnant,” he, Molly and the twins chorused.

And their lives had never been the same from that moment on…in the best way possible.

Breaking... Ch.13

Breaking Masterlist

A/N: ‘m really sorry if this chapter feels kinda rushed and out of no where, I’m at a weird point in the story and I don’t know how to go around it yet so I’m really sorry you may have to suffer through this. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Wordcount: 2964

Warnings: Cursing (like more than usual), arguing, just generally being upset, revelations

Tags: @iamnotthrowingawaymyshit @renae-writes @deltablue202 @literally-melonkitty@meunicorn @favouritefighting-frenchman @demi-godamit @gum-and-chips @sweaterkitty-fluff@pinkyiger7 @littlemissshortcakes@msageofenlightenment @unprofessional-inhumanbeing@fandom-panda-221@hummusandchips @spoopy-piineapple @ashwolfcub @myself-and-the-madman @sweet-fate @superwholockbooknerd526 @frozengal2013 @lmaodedhaha@itsmikayblr @sarmar29 @arya-durin-77 @phantastic-fandoms @hoshihime98 @shinigamired @martapetrovic @robotic-space @iamnotthrowingawaymyshit2 (lol) @asprinkleofmermaids @pinkyiger7 (I’m tagging you twice my friend!)

Breaking Chances

This is it. It’s only a few more hours until everyone gets back and honestly you couldn’t be happier. The past two months working for Burr have completely sucked ass. Seriously if I have to hear “talk less, smile more” one more time I’m going to shoot someone. Aaron let you have these last few days off, just in case they came back early. You finally had some time to think, and damn were you doing a lot of it. You realized after your horse accident you need to be more careful. You’re about 99.9% sure that the voices you heard were from your timeline. And you were even more sure that you heard Anna calling out to you. God, I must be worrying the hell out of her… I’m so sorry Anna… Being away from the Hamilton’s was a wakeup call in it of itself. You’d gotten too comfortable being with them, they were practically your family at this point. You didn’t want to risk the universe but you were scared. You felt selfish and that made you more scared. You’ve majorly fucked up; you can’t tell what the backlash from your actions will be. But honestly, you didn’t really care, if that made sense. What you did care about though was how they would feel. What if you just woke up back at home? What if you didn’t get to say goodbye? So you found a way to fix that. Letters. If Alexander and Rachel taught you anything it was that writing solves everything. Or at least, almost anything. You wrote a letter to everyone, just in case something happened. You told Johnny that he needs to open up more, there’s nothing wrong with being a bit more reserved but he needs to be more confident in himself and his voice. You told Jamie that he needs to stop being so serious all the time, it’s alright to be responsible but he needs to lighten up! He’s just a kid, kids need to have fun! You told AJ that he can’t ever let go of his positivity, always think on the bright side and be there for the people he loves when they go through tough times. To Angie you wrote about her determination. She’s strong and intelligent, she should never lose confidence in her abilities. You told her to explore, not to force herself to be the ‘typical lady’, be someone no one has ever seen before! You told Alexander that he needs to relax, spend more time with his family, slow down on the work. Life is too short to let it fly by. For Eliza, your words were simple. Never lose hope, don’t give up. She taught you a lot and she needs to be proud of all the amazing things she’s done and will continue to do. Philip…that was a different story. You didn’t know exactly what to say and that made you question yourself. It was easy to write to the others, no second drafts, no redoes or anything. But Philip’s required many sheets of wasted paper. Nothing you put down felt quite right. How do I feel about him? I definitely care about him, I’ll never find anyone as trusting or as kind as him, especially not back home. Am I falling for him? Oh no, what if I already have? Shit, do I… Do I love him? No! I’ve only known him a year, I can’t say ‘love’ yet! And what would that even mean if I did? I don’t want to hurt him; I know I will. But still… When I fanaticize at night, it’s into Philip’s eyes. What should I do? He deserves someone who can make him happy… But what even IS love? Is it when you see someone for the first time and know you’re meant to be? No, love at first sight is silly. Is it when you miss someone so much that it feels like you’re suffocating? Possibly, but that doesn’t exactly have to be romantic I suppose. Then what is it? Whenever I read Philip’s letters…my mind feels fuzzy, that’s never happened before. If we read in the study, I end up not reading at all. I peak my head over the book and just watch him, try to guess what he’s thinking, guess what chapter he’s on, count his freckles. I don’t get distracted by anyone else. He makes me forget things, sometimes I don’t even remember that I’m from the future. I feel at home with him, even when we’re both awkward and don’t know what to say. I’m never bored with him, he always talks to me, he’s interested in what I have to say and I wouldn’t miss what he has to say for the world. If I’m feeling anxious or sad, he’s always the first one by my side, trying to make me feel better any way he can, and it always works. I can’t stand seeing him in distress, I just want him to always be happy, even if that’s literally impossible. I just love everything about him! Wait… Holy shit, I just said ‘love’! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, no! I…I love Philip Hamilton… Oh my god! What do I do?! Do I tell him?! Well duh, of course you tell him! Idiot! Nothing good comes out of hiding your feelings, but how do I do it? How do you even bring that up? Do I just blurt it out? No, then you’d look crazy! Real nice job, Y/N! You sighed and held you head in your hands. I never thought I’d ever feel so helpless… You looked up and out your window, the sun was high in the sky. Crap! They should be here any minute! You quickly put all your stuff away and ran out of your room, not bothering to check your appearance. Running down the hall and into the main room you heard a sound that made you both over joyed and incredibly nervous. You haphazardly moved some of your hair to sit over top the still healing cut, you hoped it wouldn’t scar so that your life could for once be a little easy. You stood in the middle of the room and waited for a moment. From outside you heard Eliza.

“We’re home everyone! Now children please grab your- Philip dear, where are you going? You need to get your bags!” You heard impatient footsteps on the steps and then the door flew open. Philip was there, waiting for a moment. A huge, dorky smile on his face, wide eyes. He looked so happy that you could barely see his freckles behind is smile.

“Star!” He called out excitedly as he ran towards you. He wrapped his arms around you, lifted you off the ground and span around. You gripped onto his shoulders cautiously.

“P-Philip! Come on! I-it’s only been a few months!” He set you back on the ground, you couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious as you looked up at him. You heard someone clear their throat and turned to see Alex, holding way too many bags. Eliza, holding a slightly bigger Willy than you remembered, and the children following close behind, but once the kids saw you they all rushed over.

“TT! I’ve missed you so much!” AJ yelled. Angie wrapped her arms around you, giving you a squeeze.

“Oh TT! You missed everything!” She pulled away. “I’m fourteen now! I’m a proper young lady! Isn’t that exciting?” She squealed. You chuckled, you missed her excitement. Jamie and Johnny both stepped up to you and shyly hugged your sides, you patted them both on the head. You looked up to see Eliza and Alex waiting to say hello. You walked over to them and wrapped one arm behind each of their backs. They gave you a gentle group hug and pulled away to look down at you. Eliza raised an eyebrow incredulously.

“Are you alright, my dear? You seem out of sorts.” Her voice was soft and full of concern.

“Um, yeah? I’m a bit tired but I would say I’m feeling okay.” Do I look sick or something? Philip stepped up beside you, Eliza and Alex walked around the both of you to check and make sure the children brought in all their things. Philip turned to face you, when he looked at you he seemed confused. Yet he was also amused by something. He chuckled softly.

“Were you writing before you came to greet us?” He laughed.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” He raised his hand to your cheek, he grazed your cheekbone with his thumb, your hair pushing out of the way as he did so. You didn’t even register what was happening at first. “You’ve got ink on your face silly…” His eyes suddenly widened. Oh no… He moved the rest of your hair, completely exposing the cut on your face. His eyes filled with something you can only equate to terror. “What happened? How did you get that?” He asked worriedly.

“Uh…Um, n-nothing happened?” What the hell am I doing?! He grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze but now he seemed even more confused. He lifted your hand up and turned it in his own, making you palm visible. He focused on it, there were small almost scarred cuts on your hands. Damn you teacup!

“You’re lying; I know when you’re lying! Wait, why are you lying?” He asked with panic. “Did someone do this? Was it the suitor? Did he find you?” Who’s he talking…? YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME! No! Did he really remember that? Aw, he really does pay attention! Fuck, no Y/N! This is serious! You instinctively pulled your hand away and took a step back.

“I… I can’t…” You looked down at the ground, you couldn’t even look at him in that moment, you could hardly speak. I just found out I love him, how am I supposed to lie to him? But if I tell him the truth… it’ll crush him. I can’t do that; I can’t do that to him!

“You can’t what? Can’t talk to me? I thought you trusted me! We promised not to lie to each other!” He sounded genuinely hurt, you didn’t know why but you felt angry. Not at him but at yourself for getting into this mess.

“I don’t have to tell you everything Philip! It’s not like I’m your wife or something! And even if I was I don’t have to tell you shit!” You shot back. What am I doing? Where did that even come from?

“Well who even said I’d want you as my wife? Because I sure as hell don’t want my wife to lie to me!”

“What else do you expect me to do Philip? You wouldn’t understand! You’re just a kid!” You yelled. Philip’s eyes looked like they could pop out of his head, but for some reason you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I hate it when I can’t guess what people are thinking!

“So…that’s how you really feel, huh?” He asked softly. You didn’t move, your muscles were completely tensed up, your hands were clenched into fists and shaking. Philip let out something like a short laugh. “Of course, I’m such an idiot.” He turned and walked away from you, past everyone else and up the stairs. You didn’t dare take a breath until you heard his door shut. What did…Oh God… Philip, I’m so sorry…so sorry… You felt tears running down your face, your shoulders moving up and down with your cries. You covered your mouth to muffle the sobbing. Eliza and Alex were whispering behind you, after a moment you heard Alex speak to you in a calm voice.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” He stepped up to you and placed his hand on your shoulder, you shook it off. He began to say your name again but you cut him off by gathering your skirt and running to the door. You swung it open and rushed out. You didn’t know what you were doing, you weren’t processing anything, melting snow crunched under your shoes. The sun was warm but the air was sharp. You ran out of the yard and down the road, you didn’t realize where you were going, until you came upon that lamp post. The one that you woke up under on your first day in this strange old and new world. You stood in front of it and kicked it with all your might, not caring how badly it might hurt.

“Damn it! Why? Why me? I didn’t ask for this! Take me back! I want to go home! Do you hear me? Take me back!” You screamed, so loud it made your throat burn. Your knees hit the ground, you couldn’t stand anymore. You felt weak, and this time you couldn’t lie to yourself. “I’m helpless… I ruined everything!” Your vision was blurry but as you looked down at the ground, a small light flashed into your right eye. You wiped away your tears so you could get a better look at it. There was a small plaque at the base of the lamp post, you didn’t remember it being there before but it looked old and worse for wear. The only part you could make out was the end. “…nix? What?” The beginning was blocked out by some kind of metal fragments imbedded in it. It looks like…what is that? Broken shrapnel? Whatever it is, it’s making this really hard to figure out. What does ‘nix’ mean? That’s obviously not all that’s there. You heard footsteps quickly approaching you, you didn’t bother to look up. Whoever it was kneeled down beside you.

“Titania! You can’t just run off like that! Or at least tell us where you are going first!” Alex said, trying to catch his breath.

“…Alex…What have I done?” You asked as you continued to stare at the golden metal plate. Alex sighed.

“I’m positive that if you just-“

“Not that! None of this was supposed to happen… Everything I get close to ends up going to hell. What have I done to deserve this? How could I make such an idiotic mistake? I made the man I love hate me…” Alex was silent for a moment.

“We all make mistakes, some worse than others.” He placed his hand on your shoulder once more and you raised your head up toward the sky. “Look at where you are, look at where you started. The fact that you’re alive is a miracle. Just stay alive and that would be enough for him. Look at how lucky you are to be alive right now!” He said with fatherly optimism. “I can’t pretend I don’t know the challenges you’re facing. The words you keep erasing and replacing in your mind. But I can tell that he’s just as afraid. He knows that he loves you, he wants to grant you peace of mind. All you have to do is let him inside your heart.”

“But I’m scared… I shouldn’t be a part of the narrative in the stories they’ll write someday…”

“Yes, you should. Let this moment be the first chapter where you decide to stay.” He encouraged.

“But could I be enough? Would this be enough?”

“It will be enough.” He finished. You knew he was right, you made a mistake but as long there was even a slim chance at redemption, you knew you had to take that chance. Even if he still hates you in the end.

“When should I tell him?” You asked.

“Not now, I believe he needs some time to cool down. I would suggest apologizing in a few days but don’t confess your feelings just yet. You’ll both need time to adjust before you can accept your mutual fondness.” You nodded in agreement. It was probably best to keep your feelings a secret for now, at least until you both felt comfortable again. “While we are away from the others I have a question for you Titania. Rachel, she left with Cato didn’t she?” He asked, you turned your gaze toward him, obvious shock painted on your features.

“How? How did you know?” You asked curiously, he chuckled.

“When we heard from Mulligan that Cato was gone, everyone was shocked. That is, except for Betsy and I. We saw the way she looked at him, to us it was obvious. She’s a bit of a rebel, isn’t she? Laurens would be very proud of her.” He smiled. Wait what? Laurens? As in John Laurens?! Like leader of the first all-black battalion?! “She may not look like him but she sure as hell has his spirit!” He laughed. OH MY GOD JOHN LAURENS IS RACHEL’S DAD HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

“My friend is the daughter of one of the first anti-slavery activists in American history… And fell in love with the slave of one of his closest friends…while she was raised by the other…Wow…” Honestly at this point you had an incredible headache, you had a lot to think about and you told Alex that. He agreed and you both made your way back to the house. You immediately went into your room and fell onto your bed. Making irreversibly bad decisions is exhausting… I wish Rachel was still here…just so that I could talk to her. I wish Anna was here! Why do both of my green-eyed best friends have to be so far away?! If Angie was a little older I would have no issue with talking with here…actually her and Anna are pretty similar sometimes… I guess I’m just going to have to deal with this one on my own! Hopefully I’m not running out of time…

rhack single dad AU that i forgot to post here

Rhys is pretty good at handling shitty situations. He’s managed to balance climbing the cutthroat Hyperion corporate ladder and paying for his lunch-leeching best friend’s lunch for years, all while raising his daughter on his own after his fiancee (and the mother of his child) jumped ship.

With all his amazing skills, a stupid crush shouldn’t even put a frown on Rhys’ pretty, pretty face.

Except for the fact that this crush happened to be on Handsome fucking Jack.

you can read it on ao3 (there are multiple chapters)


Rhys had a crush on Handsome Jack.

He tested the weight of the words out in his mind. Rhys, a middle manager turned PA, had a crush on Handsome Jack, the terrifying CEO in charge of an entire space station.

Yeah, he was fucked.

He’d denied it at first, those strange, fluttery feelings in his stomach whenever he was around Jack. It was just nerves, it had to be. He’d never had feelings for another guy before, and the whole thing was kind of freaking him out. He’d always thought of himself as straight, and tried to remind himself of that in an attempt to will away his stupid fucking crush.

Keep reading

Life Doesn’t Always Turn Out the Way You Plan

I was trying to post this on AO3, because it’s going to be a multi-parter. But AO3 is being grouchy tonight. So the first part will go up here, and get put up over there when the database starts behaving itself again. Then the rest of the chapters will go up over there too.

“While You Were Sleeping” is one of my all-time favorite movies ever. It just doesn’t feel like Christmas unless I’ve watched it at least once. And because I love it so much, I won’t be able to resist slipping verbatim quotes in here and there. So, watch out for those. Also, I know this is a Valentine’s challenge, but this movie is so wrapped up with Christmas for me that I had to set it then.

I’ll be honest - after this chapter, the rest of this so far is pretty much an outline interspersed with scene scraps. I’m hoping to post at least twice a week, but the schedule may be, ummmm, flexible. I’ll still try to get it all done in the month deadline.

That said, enjoy!

Life Doesn’t Always Turn Out the Way You Plan

My dad used to say something to me all the time when I was growing up. He would get this distant look in his eyes and he would tell me, “Iris, baby, life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan.”

l just wish I’d realized at the time he was talking about my life.

Keep reading

Whore

Summary: When you decide to have a little fun to rid yourself of Dean who was constantly plaguing your thoughts, he gives you an accidental piece of his mind

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, (mentioned) Dean Winchester x Lisa Braedon

Word Count: 976 (by far the shortest one I’ve ever done)

(A/N): Well, this has also been sitting there in my drafts. I decided to finish it and post it. I don’t really have anything to say to this, except that I’m actually on time with posting :D finally, right? Alright, I hope y’all enjoy this little story. I might be open to creating a second part to this if I get enough requests to do so. It’s completely up to you. I’m happy to oblige. Well, have a nice day everyone!

(Part 2) (Part 3)

Keep reading

Enzo Amore x Reader - DRAFT

You happily sat perched in you boyfriends lap backstage of SmackDown. Enzo had just got down with standing ringside during John Cena’s match and was now mindlessly running his fingers through your hair as you watched the big screen with most of your close friends. The energy in the room was high as everyone excitedly waiting to see where they were gonna be drafted to. You were considered a top pick with you being a former champ and a headliner for the past few years. But your past could never compare to they dream you were living right now. You had an amazing boyfriend off screen to come home to and unwind. Enzo was everything you ever looked for in a man and more. He placed a sweet kiss on your shoulder as the next set of draft picks were about to be announced. You knew in your gut that you were going to be sent to smackdown. That was because Shane was one of your close friends in and out of the ring. “I’m kinda getting offended that I wasn’t one of the first five…” You grumbled leaning back against Enzo’s chest as he wrapped his arms around your middle. “Okay Kevin Owen’s don’t pitch a fit.” He teased as you stuck your tongue out at him. On the tv the attention was turned to Shane to announce who was going be added to smackdown next. “Well… Personally I want SmackDown to be the best… So why not choose the best woman we got… (Y/N) (S/N).” You bolt up from Enoz’s lap and do a little victory dance as your theme song played. 

“Zo… Take a pic of me with my SmackDown shirt for Instagram.” You hand him your phone and pull the tshrit over your head. You strike your signature pose as Enzo walked around you immitating a professional photographer. “Make love to the camera… You’re a tiger.” You bust out laughing as he squats down to take different angled pictures. “You’re crazy…” You laughing taking your phone back from. “Crazy in love with you.” You blush as he kisses your cheek. “Come on lets go back and see if they are announcing the next picks.” Enzo took your hand in his and lead you back to the lobby where everyone was hanging out. Once you two where in the room everyone fell silent. “Boy this party really died…” You whispered to Enzo as everyone’s eyes were on you two. “What we do??” Enzo asked aloud for everyone to hear. “Uh… Zo… We got drafted to Raw man…” Cass finally spoke up. You could feel the anger rising in your stomach. 

You storm out of the lobby after the show had ended as Enzo trailed after you. “Babe come on you gotta calm down before you say something you don’t mean.” Enzo grabs you by the waist and pulls you against him. “Look at me okay?? Breath in… Breath out…” You follow his lead and breath along with him. “Better??” He kisses your forehead. “Much.” You smile and give him a thank you kiss. Your temper returned however when you heard Shane’s voice from down the hall. “I’m gonna kill him.” You raced down the hall as Enzo just threw his hands up in the air in defeat knowing that there was nothing he could do now and to just let you get it out of your system. You grab Shane by the sleeve of his jacket and pull him away from the camera’s mid-interview and pull him into aside in an empty storage closet. “What the hell where you thinking??” You whisper scream clutching his collar. “I was gonna pick you first but Daniel thought that it would be safer to choose some other people that Steph might want… She can’t stand you so we knew she wouldn’t pick you.” He grabbed your wrist trying to undo your death grip on his shirt. “That’s not what I meant… Why didn’t you choose Enzo and Cass first… You knew Folley would want them since they know how to work a crowd.” You words barely make it past your gritted teeth. “Hell… I didn’t know they would choose them so quickly… Cass and Enzo give Steph a headache… And what does it matter your storylines don’t intertwine… You don’t even want the relationship to be on total divas…” Shane argued. “I would like to have my boyfriend around on the same show as me… And what the crap where you thinking with not getting the womens title on your own show… What are me and Naomi supposed to do now?? Fight each other over and over… We used to be tag partners…” You finally let go of his collar. “I had other plans okay?? It’s not been annouced yet but Eva Marie is gonna be on SmackDown… And I was gonna have it where you two were tag team partners… You know put the best with someone who needs some help in the ring…” Your mouth hangs open in shock. “I got my own career to think about… I don’t need deadweight to carry around… What if she botches and gets me hurt… then what are you going to do….Wait are you gonna put me against Naomi?? Oh my gosh you idiot…” “Look okay… If it makes you feel any better… We go Carmella…” He offers a smile as his close friend fumes in front of him. “You aint heard the end of this.” You give him a death stare as you jerk the storage door open.

“Its like they want me to quit Zo…” You run your fingers through your hair in frustration as you pace in the hotel room. “I can’t believe we are without both you and Mella…” Cass shook his head still in disbelief. “I’m happy she got called up though but dang… They spliting up the dream team.” Enzo tugged you to sit on his lap. “And now I gotta be with Eva… There goes everything I worked for…” You sigh and lean your head on Enzo’s shoulder. “Maybe you can make a champ out of her…” Cass tried. “This will all work out in the end… I know it will… We all got some smarts in our head and can turn anything around to be in our favor…” Enzo tried to pep talk his defeated friends. You nod sadly and try think positively as everything that could go wrong now laid in front of you. 


THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING… and a big thank you to @designrwriterchic for helping me out with the brainstorming for this last night… please let me know what you think… any and all feedback is welcome… THANKS AGAIN FOR READING

Eric Heisserer On Subtext in Screenplays

From his twitter:

- All right, diving in: The demon in the room I want to talk about today is subtext. Subtext makes me suffer so. Oh, the suffering

- Because its delicious presence in a script is the mark of good writing, and its inverse is the sign of bad writing. But there’s a catch.

- Playwrights tend to rock subtext, because they have to. The dialogue has to convey more than face value because that’s all there is.

- Consequently, people in the theater world pay close attention to the writing. They look at the words carefully. You can dine on Shakespeare.

- But in film and TV subtext can also exist in imagery. You want every shot to be suggestive of something more than what’s merely right there.

- And you need to, to attract talented directors and actors. They know quality, they’ve done theater, they CRAVE subtext.

- And of course, writing it is incredibly hard! Let’s not overlook that, shall we? It’s alchemy. It’s like crafting a really great joke.

- In subtext, everyone builds the punchline in their heads without you telling it. Without subtext, you’re explaining the joke to them.

- There are plenty of avenues to subtext, of course. And as script writers we have dialogue, narrative description, wrylies, etc. to play in.

- One Oscar-nominated writer likes to use dialogue in her narrative for it–
DAVID gestures at them, “I’m fine, whatever.”

- And just on this tangent, what I like about that option is that we get the meaning of the gesture without telling the actor what to do

- But okay, here’s where it gets even WORSE for us as writers. Because guess what, we’re making a transitory document. Which means…

- People need to grasp the subtext in a scene or else it will turn out crap.

- And by “people” I mean everyone between you and the finished film/episode/whatever. And here’s how that gets tricky:

- Your DIRECTOR and your ACTORS will want as much subtext as possible, because it gives them room to do THEIR jobs well (if they’re good).

- The people who get the script BEFORE them tend to fear subtext because they can’t be sure how it will land on the screen. So… notes.

- Holy buckets, the notes you will get about limiting, destroying, removing, reducing, and nuking subtext. Oh man.

- 1. “You know, I think you need to put a finer point on what she’s saying in this scene…”

- 2. “What is she really saying here? I get that, yeah, but can you make that idea louder?”

- 3. “Just put the words in his mouth; just so the audience knows what he’s feeling.”

- From strange to awkwardly porny, there are a hundred different ways execs will tell you to kill subtext.

- They are sometimes right to do that! Not often, in my experience, but sometimes. Because finding the right balance in the writing is HARD.

- So, what do we do? Seriously, I’m asking. Why do you think I’m drinking on a Sunday? Well, yes, because it’s Sunday but yeah.

- Here’s what I’ve discovered on this terrible path of writing layered content with subtext, and you can use what works for you…

- There is the option of simply “kicking the ball downfield” – writing essentially “this is how we feel when we see this scene play out.”

- That spawns description like: “This is the most heartbreaking moment of her life, and we’re all in tears at the end of it.”

- BAH TO THAT, I SAY. That is my mouth writing checks. That’s me saying, “Fuck it, this isn’t my job, it’s someone else’s, I’m outtie.”

- We have a responsibility as writers to know what the characters are feeling AND how they both hide and express it in the same moment.

- Not down to the tiniest gesture (because again we’re invading the domain of the actor usually) but it has to have more going on than “Here!”

- So the demon I wrestle with is: How much do I need to say on the page that lets the fearful types know the director/actor will rock it?

- This is where the iterative process can actually help a writer.

- There’s an episode of The Simpsons where Homer starts to take a bite of Maggie’s BD cake, but Marge has made a spare for him to mess up.

- We sometimes have to do that as writers: Build a draft where all the emotions are signposts, and people talk like NOBODY TALKS IN REAL LIFE.

- And then later, before going out to talent, we offer the artful draft full of subtext, the one that will land capable voices.

- Of course to pull this off you need conspirators in the machine. You need a clever producer or junior somewhere.

- Outside of that option, the only one I’ve made work part of the time is by building a script with subtextual shorthand, for lack of better.

- In that, I preserve the dialogue best I can where all the subtext lives, but I “explain the punchline” in the narrative immediately after.

- This helps a lot since actors are primarily focused on dialogue. Especially those trained from theater. (And those are the ones you want.)

- TANGENT: You do not want an actor whom you often hear “cuts well together.” That’s not a marathon runner, there.

- By that I mean someone whose performance must be assembled by your Dr Frankenstein editor from a large volume of takes/shots.

- Subtext works really damn well when it’s this sandbox you build for the people taking the script from you to produce the thing.

- And! Oh! Sometimes you can paint subtext in negative space. By that I mean, write to what the scene isn’t.

- Or you can make bold the juxtaposition of what’s being said and what is being felt or meant on the page.

- Like:

JOE
(please stay)
Just get out. Go.

- This kind of dynamic isn’t easily swatted by rushed execs trying to understand the purpose of a scene. Usually.

- Point is: We have a lofty goal here of trying to deliver something that works on at least two levels. You know?

- In our writing, what our characters say is not the truth, but it’s a map to the truth.

- When people actually say what they feel, it makes them terribly vulnerable. And vulnerability is nearly extinct thanks to the Internet

- So, my gorgeous monsters, let’s keep finding and sharing clever ways to deliver subtext in our stories. That shit is tough, man.

Clark Kent Imagine

Requested: “Can you do a story with Superman/Clark Kent, you can choose the prompt. Please!!!”

You confront your co-worker Clark about being Superman.


When you think of Clark Kent, his stature comes to mind.

The way his body slightly slouches, in and around crowds of moving bodies in the streets, or even at work. His shoulder rest forward, his back arching softly. His head remains low, his arms and hands tight to his body. His feet are together, small, yet large, careful not to tread on anybodies feet, or get in the way. But his eyes, his eyes. They watch carefully, darting fast from person to person, either close to him, or as far away as a football field; they are always watching. They appeared as if they could listen to the slightest vibration of air, or a bird chipping on the other side of the amazon.

When you think of Clark Kent, his abilities come to mind.

He is a reporter of the Daily Planet, his skills are divine, his writing infatuating. But he remains on the side, preferring to be tenth page news rather than front cover. He’ll stick to the small columns, preferring to go over high school sport stories, or if he’s feeling the need, a small scoop into business outside of Metropolis. His writing is unique and adequate, yet, you feel he’s holding back, as if not to draw too much attention to himself.

But even with all the cautions he took, and how quiet and invisible he was, while his eyes were on other people, yours were on him.

When you think of yourself, your quietness comes to mind.

Like Clark, you preferred to stay towards the back of the line, preferring to observe and only be of use when need be. You admired from the back, and you were perfectly fine with that. You were accustomed  to not receiving attention, and not giving much of it either. But because your quiet nature had allowed you to watch intently, your intuitive eyes had caught something. 

The whole Daily Planet had stood up, the chairs rolling backwards as they made their way over to the TV that was stuck on the wall. As all your co-workers ran to the front to watch the news with a better view, you were left at the back. A fire had struck inside an apartment building, and with the recent floods around Metropolis, it was almost impossible for emergency services to get through. The streets were flooded and roads blocked; there was not hope.

But, a small yet unnoticeable movement caught your eye. Your peripheral visions serving you well, your body twisted to the left, where you saw Clark walk backwards shortly, before turning around fully, and briskly walking out the room. For an ungodly reason, your feet moved too. They too were intrigued, their little minds working for you. You stopped and hid behind the wall, where you poked your head out and look to your right. There you saw Clark, walking fast, removing his jacket, it dropping to the floor, and loosening his tie, before pushing on a door that lead to the roof. You watched as the door closed shut, the final click echoing through the hall. You looked back, behind you. Everyone had returned  to their seats, the familiar red caped man now crowning the TV. You turned back to the hall where a Clark once stood. You walk out, steps slow and careful, as if he could pop out any minute. The jacket to your feet, you pick it up, clutching it tight, wondering where the hell Clark went.

It wasn’t until the chilly Metropolis night, when the desks were empty, the industrial lights were off, the flashing small green light of the printer was going off in a rhythmic tone, that Clark had walked back into the office. Your desk lamp being the singular source of light,  You looked up, your ears hearing the clicking of shoes. Clark stopped. A warm smile plastering on his lips. You smiled back, waving awkwardly before deciding that wasn’t the best option.

“Just getting my Jacket.” He stated. You nodded softly, before giving a soft,

“Oh,”. Clark stopped mid walking, turning his head to you. Your eyes were confused, wondering how on earth he heard you, but the fact that you held his jacket was more important. You stood up, clearing your throat and holding out his jacket.

“I have it here actually.” You said, voice quiet, almost cracking from being useless for the past hour. Clark smiled and began walking to you,

“Thank you (y/n).” He said. Surprised that he knew your name, you chuckled softly, placing your hair behind your ear.

“That’s okay.” You said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” He says, whilst putting on his jacket and turning to leave. You nod,

“You to.” You said, watching as he left. You sat back down and pulled yourself into your desk,

“Oh,” You hear Clark say, you look back up to him, his figure almost lost in the darkness of the office, “Don’t work too late.”

Your mouth slightly agape, you nod, smiling whilst at it,

“I won't” you say.

Watching Clark exit the building, you could have sworn, that he was taller than normal.

You left only a half hour after he did.  Whilst putting on your coat, and saying goodbye to the security man you exited the building. Entering the chilly Metropolis night, you cross your arms beginning to walk home, your scarf covering your mouth. Your mind was racing. It was thinking hard, fast.

‘Where did Clark go?’

On your walk home, you couldn’t stop thinking,

‘Why wasn’t he surprised that you had his jacket?’

You push it aside, preferring to concentrate on getting home, but little did you no , that up in the sky, the Man of Steel was watching you, wondering the same thing, whilst making sure that you got home safely.

Honestly, he thought you were a stalker at first. Why else would you have his jacket? But then his mind rationalised.

‘stupid’ He uttered to himself, remembering dropping his jacket on the floor.

And yes he was.

He wasn’t paying attention.

He was foolish.

Clark figured that he would just ask you how you got it. Maybe you didn’t see him shoot off into the sky to save those people. Maybe you didn’t know? Maybe you hadn’t figured it out. Clark slowly hovered over the city, waiting until you got into a taxi safely, before heading off into the night, planning in his mind how he would ask you the next day.

If you were at work that was.

He looked around, the many co-workers running errands and walking to-and-fro with coffee in their hands. Desks were full, people were on the phone, people were in meetings and getting the job done, but there was no you. He was confused. Where would you be? Although he hadn’t memorised your schedule, he was sure you would be working today.

Clark then turned around, stopped investigating, and went back to just being Clark. The day went on and his eyes still couldn’t find your presence. Every now and again he would get up and walk around, trying to spot you. But no luck.

The day went on and the sun began to set. Being a Friday, the office was empty at six. The orange beams shooting through the windows, giving the office a warm glow. But see, as Clark began to get up and walk out, he heard the faint tapping of computer keys. He looked over, and found you huddled behind your desk, stuck in work. Just like him, you were in the shadows, in the corners, minding your own business, remaining unseen. Clark saw your face in the orange light, it was much more beautiful than what he remembered. Maybe because the last time he saw you it was almost completely dark. Clark smiled before walking up you, admiring the way a strand of hair fell in front of your face. You noticed him of course, his handsome completion giving you slight chills as he smiled at you.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello” You said back.

Clark stood in front of your desk, a draft article in his hand;  his eyes and fingers playing with its paper form.

“Get home okay?” He asks. You look at him and nod,

“I did.” You say, “Did you?”

Clark nods, looking out over the empty office, smiling at how he didn’t even notice you were here. He looks back at you, studying your face.

You’re restricting your words, and Clark notices.

Your mind is racing. Should you tell him? That you’ve figured it out. Who he was, who he is?

“I have a question (y/n),” He begins. Your heart feels like its pumping blood at an accelerated speed. You swallow, your grip on your pen getting tighter.

“How did you end up with my jacket?” He looks at you, his glasses framing his face perfectly.

“I um,” You say, looking down at your feet, “I found it- in the hall way, Why do you ask?” you finish.

“Just curious. It’s just that Lois always makes sure to collect things I’ve left around.” he says, “Are you okay?” he questions. A bead of sweat is running down your temple. Crap

“Yeah I’m fine,” You say. You’re not. You want to tell him, so so bad. But wait, what’s stopping you? After all, Superman is meant to be a hero, would he really hurt you if he knew you knew? No. Yes? Oh dear.  Your mind is racing. No, speeding at uncontrollable paces. Just tell him. JUST TELL HIM-“You’re Superman.” You blurt. Your hand comes to your mouth as quickly as it came out. You don’t look at him. Your eyes too ashamed.

“I mean, you’re Superman?” You slap yourself as to why you even started  talking again. No. Wrong idea wrong idea abort mission ABORT MISSION!

But you hear laughing, a chuckle almost. Your head looks up to Clark, a large smile on his lips. He calms down slightly, a large smile still on his face. He looks into your eyes,

“How did you get that idea?” You swallow your saliva and look at him, your mind almost getting immersed in them.

“Well, when I saw you exit the room when that fire was on the news, I followed you out, I then saw you begin to take off your jacket and clothes which then lead me to believe A. You’re a stripper, or B. You had a booty call,” Clark laughs and your face blushes, “I then went back inside and saw Superman had just saved those people from the fire,” Your voice quietens, “I then put two and two together, being a reporter and all…” You look at him and sigh,

“Look, I believe you are him. I mean, I’ve watched you at work. You slouch, your posture is horrible, you’re extremely quiet, but then, the other day when I saw you walk out of the office, you stood tall, much much taller than I thought, and you looked strong, you walked with a sense of.. of…I don’t even no how to describe it!  But I believe you are Superman, If not, then..then…!” You stated passionately.

And it was at this moment in time, that Clark found your eyes, your lips, your character, your smile, your laugh, your jokes, your extremely good intuitive detective skills, incredibly brave (even if you didn’t think so) persona, intriguing. It would have taken a lot of courage to say what you said, and he found that admirable. You intrigued his soul, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Follow me.” Clark said, and so he began to walk off, and you quickly followed him, only a step behind. The orange sun had set, and the Metropolis Twilight had begun. He pushed open the door that lead to the rooftop, holding it open for you as your walked up the stairs. At the top, you reached a rather large door. You attempted to push it open, but found your strength did nothing. Clark gently put a hand on your shoulder, and you let him attempt to open it. Without even a grunt, Clark pushed it open like a broken wooden door. You looked at him, eyes wide. He held open the door for you again as you walked outside onto the roof. You looked back at him, head in confusion, hair blowing in the cold wind.

“Are you going to kill me now that I know your secret.” And Clark genuinely laughed,  a hand to his stomach,

“No,” He said. He stopped, and looked up at you, eyes warm and smile wide,

“Have you ever flown over Metropolis at night before?”

You shook your head, “No.”

Clark smiled, causing you to smile slightly too,

“Would you like to?”


–Hope that was okay! It’s been awhile since i’ve done a clark imagine!

–let me know what you think! x

Barry + Cisco + “apparently we’re dating and I didn’t even know it”

This is how it happens.

Cisco is chilling in Jitters with Barry, three Flashes shared between the two of them on a quick lunch break, when a guy approaches their table with a hesitant grin. Although “guy” isn’t necessarily the best way to describe the incredibly attractive, hot, gorgeous, handsome man that’s now standing in front of him.

And Cisco isn’t a shallow guy, but he can’t help the way his brain short-circuits, or the way the bottom drops out from beneath his feet. Or the way butterflies seem to have taken up residence in his stomach, and – get a grip, he tells himself. Tries to, at least.

Both Barry and “guy” are staring at him now, which means…

“Sorry,” Cisco says, clearing his throat and composing himself as best he can. “What did you say?”

“I, uh…this is silly, but I noticed you come here everyday and um…” he scratches the back of his neck self-consciously, and Cisco swoons, “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get dinner sometime.”

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But The Greatest of These is Love

Summary: Two years into America’s War for Independence, Prussia visits Valley Forge to help the Baron Von Steuben train the unshod, ragtag Continental troops into a disciplined and formidable army. The path to victory is no smooth road however, and somehow along the way Alfred gets a crush, Gilbert gets a headache, and Francis gets to act as both mediator and bemused bystander as everything unfolds. 

Notes/Tags: American Revolution, One-sided pretty light PruAme, cameos of historical figures, Aro!Prussia. Historical notes at the bottom.

Chapter 1 / An Interesting Visit: France asks questions, makes some observations, and gets to see familiar faces.

Also read on: ao3 / ff.net 

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Writing for YE OLDE AUDIENCE (yes they're there; see them? wave hello!)

While I’m here in the zone of writerly thoughts I think it’s worth pointing out that when you write a thing–any “thing”–you are writing for an audience. You need to keep that particular audience in mind the entire time you’re writing, and later, when you’re editing, don’t forget about them. They’re always there. Watching. Creeping. Judging.

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