TheAnswer-FortyTwo

(AN: I realize this is really ridiculous- that's part of the point. It was just a goofy warm up to get me out of writer's block. Enjoy!) “Here, (f/n), let me take your books!” “No, idiota! He’ll just drop them! Hand them to me!” “I will not! I can probably hold twice as many books as you can!” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah!” “Oh yeah?” “Y-“ “Okay, enough!” You shouted. This had been going on all day. Your two friends Lovino and Antonio had been having this strange macho-man battle of chivalry over you. They had been going back and forth, walking y

You had always been picked on. Throughout high school, middle school, and elementary. (You even remembered vividly one time in preschool when a boy pushed you down into the sandbox and called you stupid for not giving him one of your Power Rangers) Why? Well, maybe it was because you had always been friends with more girls than boys, because you had gotten glasses in the second grade and kids had kept calling you “nerd” even when you got contacts, because even after puberty, you never got any muscles. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter to you. What mattered was that every single day, Alfred F. Jones, the quarterback

We left the Phelps’s very early in the morning before Aunt Sally or any of them woke up. It was cool and quiet, not even the birds were awake. That was Tom’s idea. In all the stories, he said, the heroes had to leave in the quiet hours of the morning so as not to be caught by anyone who would stop ‘em. Tom and me slid down the lightning rod and into the yard and then went over to the little barn where Uncle Silas kept his mare. We had decided to take her down to the Injun Territory, it would be fastest. It was my idea, really. Tom wanted to go it on foot. He said that when we were on our way we would find some wild ponies a

Your phone vibrated, skittering along your bedside table and almost falling to the floor before you swiftly reached out a hand to get it. Maybe it was him, maybe after a whole month without texting or calling, he had finally- ‘r u coming 2 con this weekend’ the message read. From Alfred. Damn. You typed your answer with flying fingers before throwing the phone unceremoniously back on the bedside table and flopping down on the bed, ‘Yeah. Pick me up at eleven.’ Even if your friend refused to use proper grammar, spelling, and punctuation didn’t mean you had to. You picked up your pillow and pressed it against y

((Read the description first, please)) The day began as normal. Alan, Elizaveta, and Yekaterina sat at their usual table in the courtyard. Lizzie perched on Alan’s knee, a content smile on her face as she played with his messy, white hair, while he chatted with Yekaterina. The Ukrainian girl never said much, too enchanted by the way he gestured as he spoke and the way his eyes sparkled, not to mention how- Oh, who was she kidding? She was enraptured by all of him. It hadn’t started off that way, in the beginning it was just a little crush, but bit by bit it had grown so large she could barely even talk to her friend anymore! It

“Kzzzt. Little Tomate, zhis is Five Meters. Come in, Little Tomate, over.” “Gil, you’re standing two feet away from me.” “But, To- I mean, Little Tomate, zhis is an operation! We haff to be professional! …Over.” “Oui, Little Tomate. I agree wizh Five Meters. Professionalism is critical, over.” “Franci-“ “Ah, ah, ah! It’s L'amant! Over.” “… Fine. L’amant, we’re using walkee-talkies. There is no chance at being professional.” “Little Tomate! You didn’t say it! Over.” “Say what?” “

Gilbert raced down the cobblestone street, trying to follow the slap of (f/n)’s shoes on the hard ground. He weaved in and out of pedestrians and horse drawn carriages, couples kissing and street merchants selling their wares, stopping for no one. He turned left into a small alleyway, slowing his pace down and letting his eyes adjust to the dark. There was no sound except for the panting of his breath and a faint sobbing from somewhere in the gloom. “(f/n)…?” Gilbert called, “Is zhat you? Look, I’m not here to hurt you, just come out.” There was no answer. “I’m serious, (f/n). I mean,

Yalta, 1945. “OKAY, GUYS! LISTEN UP! SO THE ALLIES TOTALLY PUMMELED THE AXIS AND NOW WE HAVE TO FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO NEXT!” America leapt from his seat at the conference table and began shouting. “Yes, we get it, you ninny. We were all there. Sit down so we can discuss what’s happening in the world right now.” Britain rolled his eyes at his younger brother and shook his head. “Well,” China folded his arms and glared at the other Allied powers sitting at the conference table, “Asia’s completely in ruins. Nine million people are homeless now thanks to you Xīfāng rén(1).

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one more traveled by For you see, I have never been creative Or all that smart The fear of being original would have stopped my heart It would be too much to follow the words of Robert Frost Because perhaps I'd become lost So I took the road more traveled by And to myself I could not lie About the answer why— Why I took the road more traveled by The truth is, friends, for all you see There is no bravery left in me