do you ever think about how when even was manic he said 'we're so going to get married' and then when he was depressed he said 'in another universe we're together for all eternity' and cry
I cry more about what that turned into actually??? They started off talking on such a grand scale, “man of my life” and “married” and “eternity”, and while that might be romantic… I feel like that didn’t serve Even particularly well? If you’re living life as a film, you might make the big gesture and let the curtain fall. If you’re living life thinking of all the parallel universes, you can comfort yourself that one of them is getting it ‘right’. What I really loved about season three was that it wasn’t too precious about anything, Isak and Even enjoyed all the talk about the infinite and du er mannen i mitt liv but it wasn’t what ended up actually meaning the most to them.
What wound up being the most important thing was you and me and this bed and now. And then ‘move in with me because I want you and your dirty socks and your elbow next to mine on the kitchen table’. The everyday, every day. The “now” means more to me than any hypothetical forever and they’re giving everything they could right at this minute. That’s what gets me more than anything with them, seeing them take such good care of each other because they aren’t counting on anything else. Because life is…
I haven’t stayed up this late in awhile and
my head is spinning like it did that time I drank too much at that party last Halloween and
threw up on the side of the road and
called you on the walk back home.
you said you kept the voicemails but maybe she made you delete them. or maybe she didn’t need to make you. maybe you were sick of the constant reminder that I was under your skin I was there I was there I was THERE.
but we don’t miss each other now, right? now it’s empty love. empty sentiments. i talked to her in the library and my heart didn’t break. she reminds me of me but prettier I think.
but when it gets this late it’s easy to remember why I wanted you for so long. you were always awake and I was always lonely. now you’re still awake and I’m still lonely but
it’s just not about us anymore.
i don’t want you back and
i never feel like calling.
not even when I’ve had too much to drink and
i know you’re alone.
if this is a fairy tale ending we’ll never talk again– lily rain
if you haven't done this yet, top five serves in haikyuu?
I’m….so weak for all the serves tbh
1. Oikawa. Ah, nobody serves the way you do, baby and I’m so here for people being absolutely dead inside and outside before during and after his serves. He truly is the most beautiful and I think that this particular one from the last Karasuno vs. Aoba Johsai match could really be my favorite. But also, every Oikawa serve is my favorite Oikawa serve so there’s that
2. Yamaguchi. This moment. I cried all the tears I’ve got in my eyes and I wanted to run on the court the same way Noya and Hinata tried to do. It was so epic and it meant so much for our little Yams. A person who always felt behind everyone, the only first year not on the starting line, who’s not so good at anything and yet was able to trick with his killer serve one of the best liberos in Haikyuu. And not only him. That happened with Nishinoya too during practice. I can’t even find the words to describe how endlessly proud I am of him :’)
3. Semi. “I want to show my abilities. This desire is too strong. Although I know that the current Shiratorizawa does not need such a setter, this desire is un-containable. But, when I’m serving, I am free.” Like, damn. Semi is honestly so badass and he reminds me of Suga on so many levels. It doesn’t matter that he’s not the official setter anymore, no one could ever dare take his desire to fight away from him, and he will. He’s untamable and I love him so much
Plus that tongue thing he does before serving really makes me feel…things
4. Kageyama. Same as Oikawa (I mean he’s his student, after all), every time Kags serves is just mesmerizing to watch
Sorry for the spam it’s just that I could really watch him serve on repeat for the rest of my life and be quite happy with that
5. Bokuto & Iwaizumi aka my favorite aces…missing their serves ٩(ఠ益ఠ)۶
(You thought I wouldn’t find a way to put Bokuto even in this top 5. Jokes on you.)
- Bonus: BUT there’s just one, true person that deservers the most iconic Haikyuu serve award. And that person is…HINATA SHOUYOU (…mmmh watcha say?)
They’ve come back from a case, Rosie long-asleep in the upstairs bedroom where there’s just enough room for her cot and John’s bed, and Sherlock is ranting.
“Stupid,” he spits out, pacing to and fro in the living room, his hands in his hair. “Why was she so stupid? Why kill them in the first place, when she knows she’s the best suspect?”
“Well, she loved him,” John offers, even though he knows Sherlock doesn’t really want his opinion.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, not even looking at John. “She didn’t love him.”
“What?” John sits up from where he’s been lazing on his chair. “Of course she did. Listen, I know you like to dismiss ‘sentiment,’ Sherlock, but love makes people do crazy things, so-”
“That,” Sherlock says and his voice is flat and angry at the same time, “was not love. That was possession, that was ownership, it may even have been jealousy, but it was definitely not love.” He infuses the word with such contempt that it makes John flinch, but Sherlock is moving again, glaring at the world as though it had personally offended him. “If she loved him, she’d have let him go. She’d have done everything in her power to make sure that he was happy, even if that meant he was with someone else. She’d have killed - she’d have died herself - if it meant that he would have one millimetre more happiness in his life than otherwise. She would have protected his lover with her life, she’d have done absolutely anything in her power to give him anything he wanted. Instead, she killed them both in a fit of jealous rage, because she never really loved him, she loved owning him. Like a favourite pair of shoes, or a pretty picture.”
John is still trying to absorb that rant when Sherlock crosses the room and slams his bedroom door behind him.
John sits in silence for a few moments before heading to bed.
He wakes up an hour later and John Watson has never actually experienced an epiphany before, never experienced that moment Sherlock is always chasing where all the pieces come together and your brain dissolves into fireworks and you know everything but he’s pretty sure that he just had one.
Before he can even think, he’s downstairs, pushing open Sherlock’s door and standing there like a fool.
Sherlock sits up, sleep-mussed and soft, and says “John, what’s wrong? Is it Watson?”
John licks his lips and tries to speak and…nothing.
“You…you love me,” he manages, and it’s a bare whisper, all he can force past the weight in his chest, of ten years of unsaid words. “Sherlock?”
Sherlock is looking at him with horror in his eyes.
“I-I” Sherlock says, and John interrupts him.
“Please say I’m wrong, Sherlock, please say I’m wrong,” and he’s speaking quickly now, tears running down his face unchecked, and his leg gives out and he finds himself on his knees by Sherlock’s bed, a ragged penitent in old pyjamas, prostrating himself before a saint. “Please say I haven’t been wrong all this time, haven’t wasted all these years, please, Sherlock, please…”
He hides his face in Sherlock’s bed, so that he can’t see Sherlock’s eyes, his beloved face creased in confusion.
“John?” Sherlock asks. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”
But John is sobbing too hard to answer, great heaving sobs, and Sherlock puts a hand on the back of his neck that burns like a brand because of course Sherlock would try to comfort him, even though he doesn’t understand what John is on about, even though John has hurt him so terribly so many times.
“I love you,” John gasps into the bed. Sherlock’s hand stills for a moment and then, cautiously, resumes its smooth comforting stroking.
“John, you’re upset,” he begins, but John cuts him off mid-sentence.
“Years, Sherlock, years,” he gasps. It’s becoming easier to speak, the weight on his chest becoming less with every word. “I’ve loved you for years. Since Angelo’s that first night, I think, since the cabbie, since the first time I saw you sleep-soft in morning light. I loved you in Dartmoor and I loved you at the pool - God, how I loved you in that moment, I would have fallen to my knees and worshipped at your feet for the rest of my life and I would have been content. I loved you on the roof of Bart’s and on the pavement a moment later. I loved you every moment of every day you were gone, and I loved you every time I stood in front of your grave and begged you for one more miracle, and I loved you when I punched your face because it was that or kiss you, and I loved you when you were bleeding out in Magnussen’s office. I loved you on Magnussen’s porch and I loved you on the tarmac, and I loved you in the morgue and in the hospital and in the prison and the well and I’ve loved you every moment since the day I met you, I love you I love you I love you.”
He doesn’t stop so much as run out of breath, chanting those three words - three words he’d never thought he’d be able to say - like prayer, John is a monk and this is his religion now, this is his faith, this only thing he knows for sure.
“John,” Sherlock breathes. “Why didn’t you…”
“I thought,” and John is trying to think of a way to say this right, a way to really explain, “I thought that you didn’t…I didn’t think you didn’t love me, but I thought you wanted me as a friend, just a friend, and so I tried to be the best friend anyone could ever have, but obviously I’m pretty shit at it, but I tried and I hid it, and hid it, and I married Mary because I thought…I thought I’d break apart from missing you and later I thought I’d die from wanting you, and I couldn’t bear to lose you but I was losing you anyway, but the surest way to lose you was to tell you, you didn’t feel the same, you didn’t want the same things, and that’s the best way to kill a friendship, and if friendship was all I could-”
And John shuts up, because Sherlock has slithered out of his bed and fallen to his knees in front of John, and stopped his panicked babbling with his mouth.
When Sherlock finally pulls back, John stares at him, shocked into silence.
“So many years,” Sherlock says, stroking a thumb over John’s lips. “We could have had so many years, John. If only we hadn’t been…”
“Afraid,” John supplies. Sherlock nods, and he’s so close that his nose rubs against John’s when he does, and it’s unbearably intimate. “We could…” And John has to stop for a moment to breathe, to lick his lips and gather his courage in his hands. “We could still have years,” he says. “If I’m not too late. If you still-”
And Sherlock doesn’t say anything with words, but when he kisses John, he writes eloquent poetry in this new language they are building together.
Yes, he says as he licks into John’s mouth
I want, he says, as he sucks a bruise into John’s neck.
I still, he whispers into the curve of John’s ear. I still love you. I will always love you.
This is sorta lame and cheesy, but it’s basically just a fluffy Imagine about Tom being a cute boyfriend and taking care of his drunk girlfriend💗
Author’s Note: This is a oneshot inspired by sorta me? My mom had a party and made a ton of mixed drinks, and because I’m a dumb baby that never drinks, I forgot that vodka literally punches you in a face when you drink too much of it? Anyways, I got drunk and ended up crying to one of my cousins for about 40 minutes about all the reasons why I love Tom? Apparently, I’m even more cheesy and sentimental drunk than I am sober, who knew lol?
She giggled to herself, ankles knocking into each other as she braced herself on the door of her apartment. She was absolutely, completely, and undeniably smashed. Truly, she couldn’t even remember how she’d gotten this way, but then again, she could barely recall her uber ride home.
Her hands kept shaking and she couldn’t find the correct key to fit itself into the doorknob. At this rate, she’d be out all night.
Tom paused the film he was watching and glanced back towards the front door. He was pretty sure that he could hear someone out there, but it was probably just their neighbor’s being noisy. Allowing the film to regain his full attention, he did his best to ignore the strange sounds outside, until he heard something that replicated her giggle.
His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She was supposed to be at a sleepover with her best friends, not coming home at one in the morning? Tom got up and made his way over to the window by the door. Peeking out, he saw that the giggle outside indeed belonged to her, and she appeared to be struggling hugely with the task of opening the door.
Quickly crossing to help her inside, Tom yanked open the door and barely had time to catch her as she crashed in on top of him.
“Tom!” She yelped excitedly, making no effort to move off of him, instead cuddling further into him, while he laid sprawled across the floor with her lying on his chest. “Do you wanna hear a joke? It’s so dirty and I know how you love dirty things!” She explained innocently, her eyelashes tickling his neck.
Tom chuckled, “Darling, come on up here. We’ve gotta close the door.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you!” She leaned over him, “What did Cinderella do when she got to the ball?”
“You’re absolutely wrecked.” Tom laughed, taking in her mussed up appearance. She still looked good, how could she not? Her skirt was just shorter, her breasts were more exposed than she’d be comfortable with sober, and her eyemakeup was slightly smudged. Her hair tumbled down her back in messy waves and she teetered on her high heels.
If she had come home sober, Tom would’ve dragged her off to bed with him, but alas, she was drunk and needed to be taken care of.
“She gagged!” His girlfriend giggled, finishing up the butt of her joke. “Do you get it?”
Tom burst out laughing and cradled the back of her head as he rolled her onto her side so that he could get up to lock the door. “Yes, baby, I do. Where’d you hear that one?”
She didn’t even seem to have registered what he asked her because, in response, she said, “I don’t think I’d be Cinderella if I was a disney princess. She gags, but not me. I don’t gag, unless you make me.”
“Oh my gosh, you’re going to be so embarrassed in the morning.” Tom said, slipping his hands beneath her arms to pick her up. Helping her down the hallway to their bedroom, he asked, “Darling, how come you’re not with your friends right now?”
She blinked her eyes slowly and licked her lips. “We were all talking, and drinking. So, so, so much drinking. Did you know that vodka is strong? Like, it’s so strong, because, I’m not sure if you can tell, but,” She leaned closer to his chest and pressed herself up onto her tippy toes to whisper in his ear, “I’m kinda drunk right now.”
Turning his head towards her, he decided to play along, “Are you serious? I’d had no clue.”
“Well, yes! Anywho,” She dragged out the last letter of anywho before she tripped over herself again.
Tom caught her and slipped a firmer hand around her waist. “Anywho?” He pressed.
“We were all talking about our boyfriends, and how much we love them, because, I love you so much. And then, we started talking about the stuff we do with our boyfriends.” She paused in the hallway to poke Tom’s chest, “That’s my favorite shirt on you.”
“Darling, I’m not wearing a shirt?” Tom said, cocking his head to the side.
“I know,” She smiled, “That’s why it’s my favorite.” She gestured to Tom’s exposed midriff, “This is all great. Like, you look so good. The best.”
Tom dissolved into laughter and shook his head, “My silly, drunk girl. What are we going to do with you?”
“Well, you see, what I’d like you to do with me is make-out. That’s really why I came home. We started talking about some things,” She cupped her hand around Tom’s ear and whispered, “Sexy time things. And we all agreed that I should come home to you so that we could do the sexy time things. Because, I wanna do them, with you.”
Finally crossing the threshold of their bedroom, Tom placed her gently onto the bed and tried to ignore her last statement. Yes, she was his girlfriend. Yes, she’d just told him that she wanted him, and yes, he obviously wanted her too. But, she was drunk, much too drunk to consent to sex with him.
Tonight, Tom would be a good boyfriend and take care of her, but, in the morning, Tom would be a good boyfriend and he’d give her at least 2 orgasms with 2 advil pills to chase away her headache before breakfast.
“Sweet girl, we can’t right now. You’ve been drinking too much, you’re absolutely wasted.” Tom tried to reason with her.
“No, no I’m not. If I was drunk, could I do this?” She took a deep breath, “‘May I feel said he/ (I’ll squeal said she/ just once said he) It’s fun said she/ (May I touch said he/ How much said she/ A lot said he) Why not said she.”
Tom cut her off, “Sweetheart, nothing you say matters right now, you’re too drunk. Now just let me help you out of that dress.” Shaking his head, Tom laughed as he walked over to her with an oversized sweatshirt of his in his hand. Only she would be able to quote E.E. Cummings completely inebriated.
Kneeling in front of her, Tom lifted one of her feet onto his lap to unbuckled her high heeled shoe. Undoing the clasp and carefully removing the heel, he pressed a tender kiss to the top of her foot.
“You know, I like it a lot better when you’re on your knees for a different reason.” She pouted, sitting up to watch him.
Tom chuckled again as he began to remove her other shoe, “Trust me darling, so do I. Roll over-” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence when she interjected.
“Are you gonna spank me?” She asked, rolling over. Her tiny dress had ridden up even more and Tom had to bite down on his lower lip and clasp his hands together to prevent himself from doing just that.
“You’re making this really difficult.” Tom muttered.
“Then do something about it. I thought bad girls got spankings?” She teased him, eyeing the hardness growing within his pajama bottoms.
“Stop it, I’m trying to take care of you and you’re making it really hard.” Tom groaned.
“I can tell,” She giggled.
“For fucks sake,” Tom rolled his eyes, “I’m going to help you out of the dress, and that’s all the touching I’m going to do tonight. Then, I’m going to take off your makeup, and you’re going to go to sleep.”
“Tom,” She whined, wriggling around on the bed, “I don’t wanna. I want you to do me.”
Tom laughed, “You’re going to die in the morning, oh my gosh. You’re such a child.”
“Ugh!” She whined and flattened out onto the mattress.
Sitting down behind her on the bed, Tom rolled her over and unzipped the back of her dress. He did his best to not look, but the zipper kept getting caught in her hair, and he couldn’t ignore the soft skin of her back. He saw that she’d chosen to wear the pretty, light pink, lace bra that she’d been wearing the first time they’d had sex. Groaning over the memories, he helped her rid her body of the confining fabric of her dress and had slid his sweatshirt over her body.
She turned to lay on her back, “Will you at least kiss me?”
“Yes,” Tom placed a soft kiss on her mouth, “Do you wanna get up to go to the bathroom to take off your makeup, or do you want me to do it for you here?”
“Hmmm, here.” She sat up and stuck her hands inside of the sweatshirt, only to toss her bra off seconds later.
Tom’s eye lingered on her chest as he got up to retrieve her makeup wipes.
“I love youuuuu.” She said, hugging herself to his chest after Tom had successfully cleansed her face of all traces of makeup. “You’re my favorite, even though you refuse to fuck me.”
Tom tucked the duvet under her chin and crawled in behind her. He kissed her temple and curled an arm around her, “I love you too darling.”
He prayed to the high heavens above that she wouldn’t feel his excitement poking her in the back while she drifted off and into dreamland.
EXO: “OMGGG.” “ARE YOU OKAY HYUNG?” “GET A BAND AID NOW.” “HAVE YOU EATEN?” “IS EVERYTHING GOOD?” “YOU SOUND TIRED.” “DON’T FORGET TO REST, OKAY?” “YAH, WE MISS YOU, BUT DON’T WORRY FOR US.” “LAY HYUNG, IT’S SAD WHEN YOU AREN’T HERE TO PAT MY BUTT.” “WE LOVE YOU.”