Persistence Of Time

anonymous asked:

I really like your blog and the screenshots from strangely persistent strangers. Next time could you post a screen shot of the profile you always reference? the one that states what you're looking for that these ppl keep ignoring.

I think I’ve posted it before but I will for sure!! And thanks!! I’m so glad you like the blog!

full offence I’m so tired of YA making girls end up with their childhood crush (who only recently even noticed them) rather than someone who actually suits/compliments their current ! day ! self !

okay so since the carmilla fandom is basically dead / going into hibernation until the movie i figured i’d make a fic rec post just for fun (and then go drown myself in riverdale), going from my favourites to decent ones:

white blank page - angsty college sports au and the dopest thing ever

exposure - slow burn and internal suffering and emotions it is gorgeous, college au again but carmilla does photography

i’ll keep you safe if you keep me wild - bounty hunter carmilla moves to the country and an adorable love story 

pens - one shot (which is unusual bc i normally hate them) but its a subway strangers kinda thing

chasing ghosts - post military laura comes back to hometown, spoiler carmilla has a daughter shit gets real fluffy tbh but there’s also some angst

clockwork - i honestly don’t remember this one that well but apparently i liked it so heres a flower shop au 

pandemic - weird infection dystopian thriller au thing but holy shit the plot twist in this one is wild, also i cried at the end soooooo (happy tears i think)

this distant image of our tiny world - space au in a mars colony, hear me out, holy shit the setting is so well described and you can imagine this all so well its beautiful

the minister’s daughter - lgbt christian community, it’s acc quite sweet

absolution - short hollence-hollstein cheat fic, it’s a bit of a guilty pleasure

your mom called, you left your game at home - softball rivals and mucho angst turned hate sex??? turned dating (I’m spotting a trend here)

music to my ears - high school band and orchestra au don’t judge it’s cute alright

the road to home - road trip au with a v slow romance but hey ho its a good one

where your treasure is, there will your heart be also - fluffy but mostly plot based hogwarts au yet i ended up enjoying it v much so give it a go

the triwizard tournament - another sappy and soft but more hollstein centric hogwarts au why not

on our last leg - olympic running au, a v v v long one shot i believe

this just can’t be summer love - pretty writing, hawaii romance one shot

four walls - like a fucking action novel holy shit y’all

strangers - incomplete fwb story but damn i wish there was more

(of all persisting stars) - their first time from both povs 

the mirror between us - an okay one shot but i loved the twist

[also not with haste, back to back, god knows it’s not what we would choose to do, she smelled like lilacs, no space among the clouds, maybe the spark between us can light my cigarette, touched by stars, just stay with me, meet me halfway to your heart, gossip column, the sun dont set if we keep heading west]

okay I’m done (for now) (or maybe not wow this takes a long time)

Reaching your desired body goals takes persistence, patients, time, and determination.

Dont give up if you arent seeing instant results. Stay positive, surround yourself with people who motivate you, and invision success!

Persistence

Back there, a yesterday
in which we felt no need
for symmetry––things could be
just so and just so was so
enough. But then,

Right here, a today
for which we seethe desire
drip-drip-dripping wanton
ephemeral and never
enough. And so,

Up there, a tomorrow
to which we stumble blind
down unlit, bramble-bit trails
until we arrive once again
and find ourselves, just so.

To be happy and un-alone:
enough.

© 2017 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

Setting that intimate night in Karachi aside, and leaving any sentiment unaddressed, Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler (as they were formerly known) began their collaboration during The Fall.

Their encounter with the first strand of Moriarty’s network, however, did not go quite as smoothly as planned. Shortly after they arrived in Montenegro as Mr and Mrs Wolfe, a gunfire-loaded incident had them both injured.

It also cost the late consulting detective his memory – he awoke in confusion, without the faintest knowledge of who he was.

Fortunately for him, his location was incredibly easy to deduce, as was his relationship with the only other occupant of the house.

No need to inform her of the slightly inconvenient detail just yet. He was confident everything could continue on as usual, without his wife suspecting a thing about his (hopefully temporary) condition. It was their honeymoon after all.


One of the first things he learnt about himself was that he hated being bored, hated being immobilised in bed by a leg wound.

He almost wished it was more of a challenge, who this woman was to him. But no, it was so painfully obvious even without their shiny wedding rings (only 3-4 weeks old, he estimated) immediately giving everything away, further corroborated by the state of this place (clearly not in their home country; they moved into the house a mere couple of weeks ago and were not planning to stay for much longer) indicating that they were on a holiday trip abroad.

He could’ve arrived at the same conclusion with significantly less information. From how she’d looked at him the moment he opened his eyes, for example. (It was as if he were the first rays of sunshine, heralding arrival of the precious British summer, after 11 long months of grey skies and rain.) She had since withdrawn any initial concern from her expression, maintaining a cool and collected demeanour instead. A smirk or witty remark here and there, not a single word of caring, though what was unspoken in the way she tended to his wounds was more unequivocal than any words would’ve had power to convey.

It was just as well that they weren’t a very outwardly affectionate couple. Eased his reacclimatisation to the relationship. He didn’t particularly feel an affinity for the saccharine, and if he was honest, he was even rather surprised that they were apparently the marrying type.

Whomever it was that he used to be, however, he did approve of this man’s choice of spouse. He..liked her, from what little he observed about her since he’d regained awareness of his surroundings (approx. an hour ago). The nature of their relationship might have been the simplest of deductions, but the woman herself was most decidedly not. She was highly complex and incredibly fascinating. Intelligent, competent, self-assured, gorgeous.. (Wait, where did that last one come from? That wasn’t a deduction! Beauty was just a social construct.) Although he was certain that the intense (and very distracting) attraction he was experiencing had a more profound basis.

He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was about her that conferred this singular sense of connection, familiarity layered with mystery. Merely that it was there as a result of something, something he frustratingly had no tangible recollection of – his current data was far from sufficient in providing him with any glimpse into their history.

She was standing to leave his bedside, and he instinctively reached out and caught her wrist. To gesture to her that she, too, needed to rest – it was likely already late in the evening when he awoke. He had to have been unconscious for days, judging from her lack of sleep (obvious, despite her efforts to conceal her mental and physical exhaustion).

Her reaction was one he hadn’t expected. Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched, as he was pulling her onto the bed. Shocked? But they were husband and wife, presumably sharing the same bed, it was only logical that she–

Oh. Oh. It hadn’t occurred to him that the specific physical contact he initiated could be interpreted as prelude to intimacy and..intercourse. A sudden adrenaline spike sent his own heart pounding frantically as he felt the mattress dip beside him when she did begin to lie down, her proximity increasingly alarming, and he turned on his side to face away from her, to escape her deep blue gaze (it wasn’t to hide his blush, and it wasn’t panic, he shouldn’t panic, that would be absurd).

“Sherlock, what–” And he stumbled over his interrupting response, “Not that. Not today. I don’t think I’m feeling up to it.”

The silence that stretched between them, taut as a violin string, told him that she was studying his demeanour, undoubtedly finding it unusual (right, so sex wasn’t something he’d normally deny her of; still, he was in recovery from what must’ve been a traumatic event, a reasonable excuse). Whatever comment she was most likely biting back (he couldn’t risk turning around to confirm this hypothesis), she didn’t say it.

Instead, he sensed her movement as she finally reached for the light switch after a long moment, and within an instant darkness was upon them. For which he was extremely thankful, because he then felt soft lips pressed to his cheek, immediately causing it to heat up.

“Good night, Mr Holmes.” Her warm body was inches away, her breathing a pleasant sound in the quiet of the night.

He tried to ignore the involuntary neuronal activity protesting for a change of mind regarding his earlier decision, his statement to her that he wasn’t keen to perform (you liarrrr), and forced his thoughts to focus on the newly acquired knowledge of his full name.

Sherlock Holmes awoke in the late-morning light, with an arm comfortably wrapped around his wife. Time to piece together the remainder of this puzzle that was his life. He hoped it wasn’t a dull one.

The One Where Marcus Loves A Cheerleader (Jeff Atkins)

Request: Maybe a smut where you’re a nerd dating Marcus and you walk in on him having sex with a cheerleader. He says that he cheated because you’re a prude who didn’t want to have sex with him. Jeff Atkins comforts you, admits his feelings and smut ensues. Later in the locker room, everyone teases Jeff asking where all his hickeys and scratches on his back came from and he looks straight into Marcus’s eyes and goes Y/N and Marcus doesn’t believe it until he sees you guys kissing in the hallway later.

-

“I just don’t understand why you can’t come out tonight. It’s just Bryce’s place, we’ll be there an hour, two hours max.” Marcus argues, rubbing his hand over his head in pure, unadulterated annoyance.

You take a special kind of pleasure in annoying him, and you can’t help it. He’s your boyfriend, but he’s clingy. He’s annoying.

“And I just don’t understand why you can’t go by yourself.” You retort, dry and humorless. “You keep asking, and I keep saying no. This is getting repetitive.”

“I just –” Marcus stops himself for a second, breathing in slowly. “I don’t get why you can’t study for Heitzman’s exam tomorrow night. It’s not like you’re gonna spontaneously combust if you relax for one fucking hour.”

“That’s literally – no, Marcus, that’s literally rich coming from you. ‘Relax,’ what the fuck?” You bite out with a sharp laugh. Marcus Cooley, telling you to relax. That’s a fucking joke.

“Jesus, fine. Fine, I’ll stop asking you, annoying you, whatever. It doesn’t matter, I’ll just go with the guys.” He relents, sitting himself on your couch, a thick layer of ice building between the two of you. He’s taken to acting like a petulant, whiny kid lately, and it’s exhausting.

“I’ll go to the next one Bryce has, okay?” You sigh, and Marcus gives you a curt nod. You feel your eye twitch in annoyance. “Seriously, I’ll go to the next one,” you persist, genuine this time, twisting yourself on the couch until you can lay your head on his lap. You nudge his knee. “Bitch, if you don’t answer …”

A smile cracks on his face.

“All right – but I’m holding you to that, understand?” He says, mockingly stern. “I’m gonna make you have fun if it’s the last thing I do.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You grin when he kisses your forehead, laughing as he makes his way down to your lips. His own lips are chapped against yours, but you think you might like it.

Well, you think glumly. There are worse boyfriends to have.

-

It’s hours later and you’re in your room, two textbooks and three notebooks spread messily across your bed. You’re neck-deep in calculus when your phone vibrates for the umpteenth time for the night. You almost ignore it. Marcus and Sheri have been blowing up your phone for the the past hour, ranging from “bitch I know you didn’t make Marcus come by himself” to “bitch I can’t believe you actually made me come by myself.”

Tough love, you shrug to yourself. Only when your phone buzzes again do you look at it.

From: Mulholland Drive
U should seriously come I’m begging. Watch ur boy make a fool outta himself he’s tryna play beer pong rn lmao

You snort. Of course he is.

To: Mulholland Drive
pics or it didn’t happen

You look at your next message. The smile that slaps on your face is big enough to make you feel almost guilty.

Somewhat guilty.

Very guilty.

From: JoJo The Fool
where u at?

To: JoJo The Fool
At my humble abode

From: JoJo The Fool
I see ur boyfriend here, lookin lonely. U should stop by and join him

To: JoJo The Fool
Lemme take a wild guess and say

To: JoJo The Fool
u at Walker’s place

From: JoJo The Fool
ding ding!! u right

From: JoJo The Fool
seriously come over. bored without u. everyone’s left me

From: JoJo The Fool
acknowledge me or face the consequences

You laugh, typing out a quick reply before you can help yourself. And you literally can’t help yourself. Jeff is unnaturally kind. The type of kind that makes you feel bad for not being just as kind, if not more. Disappointing him is like metaphorically kicking a dog: it’s unforgivable and you’re probably going to hate yourself afterwards.

To: JoJo The Fool
needy bitch!! leave me alone lmao I’m studying for Heitzman

From: JoJo The Fool
ew stop. come over and I’ll help you study later. I actually have an A in his class

You lay your phone down. You’re not going to go, you tell yourself. You need to study. You need good grades. Good grades matter in life, parties hosted by an asshole don’t.

From: JoJo The Fool
guarantee I can get u white girl wasted in 30 minutes

Well, fuck it. There’s always tomorrow.

-

To: What’s Cooler Than Being Cool?
moi petite fromage I’m coming to bryce’s now. Sheri and Jeff wore me down

To: What’s Cooler Than Being Cool?
be excited I’m coming to play beer pong wit ya ass

To: What’s Cooler Than Being Cool?
hullo¿

-

The drive to Bryce’s house is quick and fast, your temporary lust for shitty beer getting the better of you. You park relatively close, and when you arrive past the gate, you’re greeted with shouts.

It’s ridiculously crowded. The lights are bright and glimmering off of the pools, filled to the brim with over-exposed bodies. You can practically smell the over-sexed teenagers.

“You came!” Sheri shouts, and you grin, taking her extended hand and letting yourself be pulled past the pool. You stop at one of many tables piled with beer.

“Well, you missed beer pong,” she exclaims over the music, grabbing a beer bottle and setting it in your hand. “But I know Marcus went in the house about fifteen minutes ago. Probably throwing up on Bryce’s rug right about now.” She titters, and you groan.

“Jesus, maybe I shouldn’t have come after all,” you snicker, taking a heavy sip. “Designated driver, once again.”

“What happened to getting white girl wasted?” A voice comes from behind you, and you roll your eyes as Sheri quirks her brows expectantly.

“Another night, Atkins.” You say. “Tonight, I’m stone-cold sober.”

He’s smiling at you when you turn around, and you feel something in your chest tighten by about twelve notches. He leans against your shoulder and grins, sparkling and bright, like the lights against the pool.

“I thought you came for me, now I’m just dissapointed.”

“Came for the beer, stayed for the boyfriend.“ You shrug, batting your lashes playfully. “Speaking of, I have to track him down before he blows all over Bryce’s house.” You take a mournful last sip from your bottle, giving it back to Sheri.

Jeff perks from next to you. “I’ll come with you,” he sets his own bottle down. “If he’s too faded then I’ll just drive you two lovebirds home myself.”

You raise your brows. “Sober enough for that, Atkins?”

“Three beers, max. I’m a sloppy drunk, can’t have people from school seeing that.” The smile he gives you is almost infuriatingly sweet, like he’s smiling just for you, and you want – god, for a second, you wish – that you could live in this moment for just awhile longer.

If you weren’t dating Marcus, the thought pops in your head before you realize what you’re thinking. If you weren’t dating Marcus, Jeff would

“Let’s go in the house,” you shout suddenly, almost shoving yourself out of Jeff’s reach. “To find Marcus. My boyfriend. My boyfriend, Marcus.”

“Sorry, who’s Marcus again?” Jeff looks amused, and you roll your eyes. You ignore the part of you that wants to scrub away every part of your skin that’s come into contact with him.

You say your goodbye to Sheri and march across the lawn, Jeff following behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. It feels like it’s boiling you from the inside out, and you decide to ignore that part of yourself, too.

You’re two steps into Bryce’s ridiculously large house when he takes your hand.

“Here, pretty sure he went into one of the guest rooms.” He pulls you to the left, and you try your best to ignore how sweaty your hand is. You try even harder to ignore that Jeff’s the reason why it is.

You just try to ignore.

It’s nearly empty in the house, most of the crowd outside, save for the few people lounging on the sofas and hanging at the kitchen bar. Those that are still conscious stare as you and Jeff make your way down the hall, smirks and sneers twisting their faces. You’re not entirely sure you want to know why.

The first door you knock on goes unanswered, the room empty when you open it. The next two consist of – surprise – hormonal teenage sex, which you’re only too glad to close the door on. The third isn’t any different, and you and Jeff stutter out the same apologies as the previous ones.

“God! Sorry, I’ll just, uh, leave. I’ll close the door–”

Jeff grabs your arm. “Uh,” he stops you, eyes wide and staring into the room. His face pinches in disgust seconds later, and you stop yourself from shutting the door when you realize exactly who’s in the room.

“Dude, get the hell out!” Nina Burbank shouts from the bed, breathless and moaning, but you stand there, watching your boyfriend plow into Liberty High’s head cheerleader.

Get out! What the fu –” Marcus begins to shout. To his credit, he manages to stop himself when he looks at you.

You’re staring at them – at him, and you don’t know what to do. You’re stunned. You’re disgusted. You’re vividly imagining him being run over with your car.

You decide to settle with just staring. It’s less embarrassing than trying to stutter out your shock and anger. Luckily, Marcus manages to do that for you.

“Shit – shit! This isn’t – no, baby, I swear I didn’t mean –”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” You say suddenly, and he shuts his mouth with a tight, audible snap. You don’t stutter when you speak. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Jeff is ramrod straight from behind you, and you refuse to be embarrassed that someone else is here to witness this – this entire fucking mess.

You refuse to be embarrassed for something that isn’t your fault.

“Baby, baby – this isn’t anything, I swear to God. This is nothing –” Marcus practically throws himself off of the bed, and you throw your arms out when he makes a move towards you.

Don’t!” You shout, and he jerks back at the sound of your voice. You ignore the sharp burn of tears in your eyes, how hot they feel against your cheeks. “Seriously, get the fuck away from me. Get the fuck away from me, Marcus.”

“Baby,” he steps towards you again, his hands held out and his voice near pleading. “Let me explain. I can explain this.”

Explain this?” You scoff, and the laugh you give is manic and empty. “What the fuck? How do you explain having sex with someone else? Are you even listening to yourself?”

“This – just listen to me. This,” Marcus gestures around the room, and he’s shouting back now. “This happened because we have nothing. You’re my girlfriend, and I love you, and we have nothing.”

You nearly choke.

“We have nothing? What – what does that even mean? Are you … oh, my god. Are you seriously using us not having sex as an excuse? What are you going to say next, that I’m a – a what? A fucking prude?”

The answer you get is silence, and you feel your face burn.

“Jesus,” you bark out. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to listen to this,” Jeff says coldly and quietly from behind you, the first he’s spoken since opening the door. Marcus turns to him and spits venom.

“Stay the fuck out of this, Atkins!” He practically hisses, and you round on him. He doesn’t get to talk to Jeff. He doesn’t get to say anything.

“Don’t talk to him like that!” You shout just as Jeff says, “Calm down, man.”

“No, seriously, why the fuck are you even here, Jeff?” Marcus questions. “Just leave! Get the fuck out, this doesn’t involve you, man!” He screams and throws his hands towards the both of you, and you jut your head back in disgust.

“I’m not listening to this,” you turn and grab Jeff by the arm. “We’re fucking leaving.”

You still hear Marcus shouting even as you walk down the hall, practically dragging Jeff with each hurried step. The last things you can manage to make out are two simple words.

Fuck you.

-

“Are you okay?” Jeff asks as he pulls into your driveway, and you shake your head with a scoff.

“That can’t be a serious question right now, dude.”

Silence.

“I’ll go back there and kick his ass, if you want me to.” He suggests, and you snort. You could do that yourself, if you wanted to. But you know he’s being painfully genuine now, and you can’t bring yourself to say yes, please hurt him, bring one of your baseball bats if you have to.

You can’t bring yourself to say it, because you want to do it yourself.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll just wait until Monday to run him over at school.” You half-joke, but it’s empty. There’s silence again for a few minutes before you decide to speak. “I just – I know I didn’t do anything wrong, but … what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jeff says quickly, and god, you can hear the pity in his voice. “There was nothing you did that led to this. Marcus is just a – he’s just a dick.” He finishes lamely, and you laugh.

“Yeah, well, he’s definitely that. It’s just … I mean, Nina Burbank?” You question, incredulous. “I’m worth more than fucking Nina Burbank.”

Jeff’s laugh is one of surprise.

You shake your head. “No, Jeff, I’m serious. He could’ve picked anyone and he chose Nina Burbank. God knows if I ever cheated on him, I would’ve chosen someone better than her.”

“Like who?” The questions is light and airy, a joke, but that doesn’t stop you from looking at him, eyes narrowed in contemplation.

“You mind being a rebound for the night?” You ask, your laugh mirthless and dry and god, you’re such an asshole. You shouldn’t even be joking about something like that.

You expect anything but the laugh he gives back to you, his eyes bright and his smile sweet.

“Well,” he begins, and the smile on his face turns even sweeter. “If it’s any consolation, you’d be my rebound, too. You’re …” He stops. His eyes soften, and you feel your heart stutter and stop in your chest. “You’re everything.”

“Stop.” You laugh, and you’re blushing, but Jeff shakes his head.

“No, seriously, you’re … god, I shouldn’t even be saying this right now.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re someone I’ve wanted to be with for … a while. And I mean, like, a while, and I –” He forces himself to stop, swallowing heavily. “I’m just gonna stop talking now.”

Silence, again. The heat you feel in the car is sudden and rising, and you’re sure your heartbeat is audible.

“Do you want to come inside?” You ask, breathless, and no. No, you shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong, it’s too fast, it’s dirty, but you don’t care.

When Jeff says yes, you get the feeling that he doesn’t care too much either.

-

Your parents aren’t home, you tell Jeff, and you close your front door with a heavy bang and grab him by the collar of his shirt. Your kisses are blind and fleeting, traveling from his lips to his neck, and he stumbles to hold you against the wall leading to your kitchen.

It’s only when his hands rub over your chest do you truly realize you’re about have sex.

It’s nothing to be nervous about, you tell yourself in the midst of Jeff’s rough hands quite literally tearing your clothes off. This isn’t the first time you’ve had sex, it won’t be the last. It doesn’t even have to feel good right now, you just have to feel.

None of that stops you from literally gaping in shock when you feel him against you, because oh.

Oh.

Oh, holy fuck.

You know Jeff’s big – you know. But god, he’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had in your goddamn life and – holy shit. You can’t breathe, your chest heaving as he grinds himself against you, wanton and hot and excited. He whines. The heavy pressure against you is enough to have you feeling the beginning of the end, every nerve on fire and waiting for that wave of ecstasy to extinguish it.

You only burn hotter when he whispers in your ear, “I want you. Oh, my god, I want you.”

Jesus Christ.

He’s smooth and hard compared to the rough wall behind you, his skin burning with every touch, coaxing himself between your legs. He get what he wants, which is exactly what you want, and he doesn’t waste time.

He pushes himself into you, slow and delicious because god, god, god, he’s thick and long and fucking perfect. It hurts you, realizing how perfect he is, and you love it.

He’s breathing just as hard as you are, teeth nipping at your shoulder, and he bites down – hard – once he’s finally balls deep.

You’re almost positive that he’s licking the bruised skin, sucking harshly as he pulls out and thrusts back in, his exhales shakey and fast. He’s got one hand pulling your hair and another hand grabbing your hip, meshing yourselves together.

The slap of skin against skin is all you can hear, all you can feel, and god, it feels unbelievable.

There’s something almost violent in the way he grabs your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. He’s going to leave bruises, you think faintly, and you smile lazily while he thrusts into you, each rough movement of his hips pushing you up and down the wall in small jolts.

You can leave bruises too.

-

It’s Monday and Jeff feels the scratches on his back sting as he takes his shirt off. They only vaguely hurt now, most of the cuts scabbing over and healing over the weekend. The bruises are different, though, he thinks with a smile. They’re like faded ink splotches against his skin, and he feels a twisted sort of satisfaction every time he thinks about it.

“Atkins, Jesus.” Bryce whistles once he catches a glance at Jeff’s back. “Who the hell attacked you?”

“It’s, uh, nobody.” He smiles faintly. He’s not about to say anything. Not now, when the locker room’s jam packed with every single male in Liberty High.

“Come on, Jeff,” he gets a nudge from Monty, and Zach grins from behind him. “Looks like one hell of a lay.”

“No, seriously. I’m not about to tell you guys –”

“Why not, Atkins?” Marcus’ voice overlaps his, cool and harsh, and Jeff feels his jaw lock.

He turns to look at Marcus and feels nothing but a heavy weight of disgust and anger in the pit of his belly. For a second – just a second, he swears – he fantasizes about landing a hard one right on his nose. The break would be clean and nobody would hold him back. He would probably get away with it.

He snaps out of his fantasy and sighs to himself. No. No, he wouldn’t.

So he settles for the next best thing.

“You really wanna know? Your girlfriend, Cooley.” He says, his voice loud and harsh in the locker room. It’s suddenly quiet. “Don’t tell me you didn’t recognize her handiwork.”

He slips his shirt on quickly and grabs his bag, shouldering Marcus roughly as he leaves. He ignores the sudden onslaught of jeers coming from the locker room as he walks out.

He finds you in the hallways soon enough, and he feels the smile take over his face before he can do anything to stop it. He doesn’t really want to stop it.

He grabs you by the waist and grins. “You know, I think I might have mentioned something about having an A in Heitzman’s class.”

You hum thoughtfully, pressing against him. It makes him feel warm inside. “That’s right. I think you also mentioned something about helping me study for his exam.”

“Did I?”

You scoff. “Don’t be cute, Atkins. Doesn’t really suit you.” You lean towards him, lips soft and just barely grazing his own.

Jeff grins. He can only just barely see Marcus from the end of the hall, and he decides, yeah, the bruises covering both of your bodies are well worth the look on his face.

anonymous asked:

Hey! After reading your Andriel amusement park prompt, I was wondering if you could do some Neil whump? Where Neil gets sick, or injured, and andrew takes care of him? Cheesy, but soothing for my soul \(^_^~ thanks!!

Listen, Anon. Soft fluffy Andreil is what I live for! So please enjoy this sick Neil drabble featuring mother-hen-Nicky and the very real flu death experiences of @irishrainbownjh

It starts with a tickle. Right at the back of the throat. It grates with every swallow, and despite how many times he clears his throat, Neil can’t seem to shake the scratch. He pulls himself out of bed, has a long hot shower, and downs two glasses of water, but it’s still persistently there.

By the time Neil is halfway through his morning lecture, his head has started pounding as well. It’s a constant pressure behind his eyes that throbs in time to his heartbeat and cries out at the flash of each new slide. The scratch of a pen on paper to his right and the smack of gum to his left only make it worse.

When the class finally ends, Neil drags himself back to Fox Tower. His body feels both sluggish and sore, like he’s just run five miles then slept ten hours cramped up. Even the smallest movement sets his muscles aching and his joints creaking.

It takes considerable effort to make it up the hill to Fox Tower, so Neil opts for the elevator over the stairs. The doors open on the third floor to reveal the hallway bustling with a group from the soccer team. One of the players has an arm full of pizza boxes, and the greasy scent wafts down to Neil. It makes his stomach bubble and churn, and the striker braces himself against the wall and breathes through gritted teeth to get it to settle.

“Neil?”

Neil whips around at the sound of his name, but the fast movement causes lights to pop behind his eyes. It’s like a bad case of vertigo, his whole world tilting, and Neil stumbles back against the wall again. He blinks a few times, and when his eyes come back into focus, he finds Nicky’s concerned expression. It takes another moment to register that Nicky’s hands are gripping his elbows and holding him steady.

“Jesus, are you alright? You look awful.” Nicky raises his hand and presses it against Neil’s forehead. “And you’re burning up. Let’s get you inside.”

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Stay Professional! Pt. 11

Work AU! Fluff, Angst and smut: Jungkook x Reader

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 (Part 12 will be a continuation!)

Summary: Jungkook desperately tries to fix his mistakes. Whether it be through his irresistibly sweet speeches or something a little more, you were bound to fall under his spell again. 

A/N: Yes I am back! Did y’all miss me? 😘 I honestly think the mothers are the best characters ever tbh (ultimate wingwoman goals). Sorry I didn’t update for so long- I had my Semester 1 exams :) As always, feedback is appreciated! 

Jungkook knew that there was nothing he could do. So why did it feel like he was waiting for a miracle to occur? He rhythmically tapped on the dark mahogany table with his slender finger, tension built up to his shoulders. He felt as though he was going to snap at any given moment. And he hated the feeling. He couldn’t stand the nausea that bestowed upon him when he thought about you. At least he knew he fucked up this time.

“Jungkook, may I come in?” A familiar voice interrupted his toxic thoughts. He quickly glanced in the direction of the elegant voice and a small smile of relief spread across his lips.

“Of course mother.” He gave her a nod of affirmation before standing up to greet her properly.

“You’re probably wondering what brings me here.” She smiled warmly at him and closed the door behind her before seating herself across Jungkook’s table.

“Sit, son. We have some talking to do.” She spoke in a gentle tone- but Jungkook was beyond intimidated. He felt like he was 4 years old again, getting lectured and scolded. But this time it was worse because it wasn’t Jimin lecturing him, it was Jungkook’s actual mother- whom before had no time to do that.

He gulped noticeably loud before looking behind his mother’s shoulder and he avoided her gaze completely.

“Is it possible for us to do this tomorrow? I’m really not feeling good today.” He confessed and his mother raised an eyebrow.

“Did you think I was here to lecture you?”

There was a small pause that intensified Jungkook’s childish fear. Despite being a grown man, Jungkook didn’t deal with authorities well because it was abnormal to have people of higher status than him.

“You’re not wrong my darling but that’s not my main intention. I’m here as a mother today. How about we sort things out together?” She suggested in a sweetened voice and gently placed her hand on top of Jungkook’s and his trembling stopped.

“As you may also be aware, I wasn’t very happy when I found out that Y/N left the company. I assumed it was because of you- you do have a reputation for firing assistants quite regularly so I wasn’t surprised. But she had so much potential and she brought out the best in you so I was generally upset when you fired her. Not to mention, you looked so much happier with her around.”

“For one, I didn’t fire her. She left because Jimin offered her a job at his company. He told her that she was a burden to me and so she left.”

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9

Cosmic superclusters, the Universe’s largest structures, don’t actually exist

“The idea of a supercluster and the name for ours, “Laniakea,” will persist for a long time. But just because we named it doesn’t make it real. Billions of years from now, all the different components will simply be strewn farther and farther apart from one another, and in the farthest futures of our imaginings, they’ll disappear from our view and reach entirely.”

Galaxies don’t just exist in isolation in our Universe, but are often found bound together as a part of even grander structures. Our own Milky Way is bound in a galactic group (our local group), nearby are larger groups and galaxy clusters, and on still larger scales, cosmic superclusters appear to encompass as many as 100,000 individual galaxies. Yet it isn’t sufficient to simply see what appears to be a collection and draw an imaginary line around it. You can’t just give something a name and proclaim that it’s meaningful because you defined it. Instead, for a collection of objects in space, they need to be gravitationally bound together and connected. Thanks to dark energy, these superclusters aren’t.

Over billions of years, the galaxies in even our own Local Group will separate from the other clusters and groups nearby, and we’ll never wind up with a bound supercluster. Not here, and not anywhere in the Universe.