TheBlackWook



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  1. Words:
    22,601
    Works:
    4
    Bookmarks:
    1
  2. Words:
    5,457
    Works:
    3
    Bookmarks:
    1

Recent bookmarks

  1. Public Bookmark 2

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    Summary

    WW2 AU: It is September 1944, the Allies’ advance into the Netherlands has failed, and food imports to the Netherlands have been halted. Told to go into hiding, Ruud van Nistelrooy finds himself living in a basement with a former medic and printer whose code name is the Ijskonijn. Oh, and a downed British gunner. Originally written for the fabulous Cornerflag zine.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    6,417
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    3
    Kudos:
    8
    Bookmarks:
    2
    Hits:
    117

    02 Aug 2020

  2. Public Bookmark 1

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    Summary

    Murmurer à l'oreille des morts prenait tout son sens maintenant.

    Series
    Language:
    Français
    Words:
    1,821
    Chapters:
    2/2
    Comments:
    2
    Kudos:
    2
    Bookmarks:
    1
    Hits:
    70

    18 Aug 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    C’était vraisemblablement stupide de continuer de discuter avec un être surnaturel, mais au moins ça l’aidait à concevoir quelques plans de jeu tard dans la nuit quand il faisait des insomnies. Pour l’instant, Jürgen restait le seul à voir Niko, c’était amusant de célébrer des victoires en trinquant avec un fantôme, aucun d’eux ne voulait probablement admettre qu’ils avaient plus besoin de compagnie qu’ils ne le pensaient

  3. Public Bookmark 26

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    Summary

    Even before he can pull away, Stevie's got the end of the tape and he's pulling it away to reveal six miniscule words inscribed on the skin, just under the veins.

     

    Get off me, you Scouse twat.

     

    Stevie looks at him, then down again, then back up.

    "What the fuck?"

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    13,518
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Collections:
    1
    Comments:
    40
    Kudos:
    182
    Bookmarks:
    26
    Hits:
    3139

    10 Apr 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Gary's standing. Jamie notices this only peripherally. Blue and yellow is still wrapped around his bicep and he stands with his arms akimbo, head down, jaw clenched. He's been playing longer than Jamie has. Has lost more than Jamie has. Jamie looks up at him, the captain going down with his ship. Tall and quiet, waiting for greatness that will not come.

    Then he breathes out slow and walks towards Rio, giving him a pat on the shoulder. A hand to pull him up. One by one he sends them down the tunnel, a quick word or a brief hold, arm around Lampard's neck, settled on Beckham's waist. He wraps his fingers around Stevie's palm and stands him up. Jamie watches him coming, almost like in slow motion, like everything else falls away.

    Gary takes his hand and pulls him into a hug. They've talked football and fought but never touched like this, intimate almost, a study in the sharing of grief. Jamie digs his fingers into Gary's back and presses his face into Gary's hair, and Gary twists to lean against Jamie's chest, saying nothing in the moment.

    It seems to last for ages but really it's no time at all. Then Gary lets him go and Jamie stumbles towards the tunnel, Stevie already waiting for him at the opening with blankness written into his face. He tilts his head back towards the pitch when Jamie draws close. "Look."

    Jamie looks. Gary is shaking the hands of all of the Portuguese players, a man who's been knocked out of five major championships, forcing himself forwards and congratulating the winners without a trace of bitterness. Calmness in his face, quiet in his features, a sense of stoic sportsmanship in every shake. It's class. It's what makes captains, really. It's being a bigger person than Jamie could have ever been.

    Jamie still doesn't know what it is; he doesn't love Gary Neville, because that is far too strong a word to be bandying about. He's not sure if he admires or respects him, because at the end of the day he's still a dirty Manc and there's that. And he certainly still doesn't think that the words on their wrists mean anything.

    But he doesn't hate him. He knows that much, at least, whatever that's supposed to mean.

  4. Public Bookmark 22

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    Summary

    Gary and Carra co-manage England. It goes about as- actually, it goes a lot better than expected.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    7,646
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    20
    Kudos:
    160
    Bookmarks:
    22
    Hits:
    2456

    09 Mar 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    It goes like this.

     

    22 men chase a ball for 90 minutes, plus some on the side.

     

    In the 91st minute, an England player finds himself alone in front of the goalkeeper.

     

    Maybe it’s Daniel Sturridge, his hip patched together by titanium and modern science, hairline fractures in his knees, in his ankles, in his heart. Maybe it’s Theo Walcott, with ‘potential’ hung around his neck like a shackle. Maybe it’s Marcus Rashford, old enough to be nearing the front of the queue to be England’s next great hope, all in a row to shoulder a nation of expectation, maybe rising to that expectation at last.

     

    Or maybe it’s one of the other boys, raised under the island’s cloudy skies, playing football for hours after school in the freezing rain.

     

    The ball swishes into the net. That part is simple. That part has always been simple, in every back alley, in every dusty or muddy pitch, on bruising asphalt or the greenest grass.

     

    Three minutes later, the whistle blows. It’s over. Dreams are made and dreams are crushed, all in those three minutes.

  5. Rec 1

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    Summary

    The system doesn’t create soulmates. The system doesn’t create perfect marriages or happy people. The system is a game. And you can’t win a game unless you know you’re playing. Andrea and Pippo— well, they’ve always played to win.

    (Prequel to the Memo/Monto stories, can also be read as a standalone.)

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    6,918
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    6
    Kudos:
    6
    Bookmarks:
    1
    Hits:
    85

    20 Oct 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    "I love you, Andrea,” Pippo whispers against Andrea’s lips – although considering his drunken state, the whisper might be too loud to be considered one – his palms settling on both sides of Andrea’s hips, fingers dipping under the waistband of his boxers. “I love you like crazy, but I also know for a fact that I don’t want my nephews or nieces or – God forbid – our own kids to ever go through what we have.”

    Andrea knows for a fact Pippo is drunk, because he would never talk this openly while sober. Also, because he counted the drinks his husband ingested during their celebrations, even if he can’t remember the exact number anymore due to his own drinking.

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