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sakurasangcl · 6 years

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Lightning (part one)

Summary: With newly discovered powers, you’re not only a hazard to yourself, but to the public too.

Word Count: 2.6k

Pairing: Reader, Peter, Tony

Warnings: attempted suicide, divorced parents (idk if this is a warning or not, but hey, you never know), verbally abusive father (the reader describes it as “quasi abusive”)

Notes: Some of this is based off of my experience in high school, but is not at all true (obviously). And yes, this is part one of a series. *winks*

Changing from secondary school into high school was no big deal. You were a smart kid and knew how to go about it. You’d keep a low profile, be quiet, learn quickly. You’d fly from class to class, never lingering in the hallways. You seemed impatient and fidgety, and perhaps that was true. In your free time at school, you’re nose was always in a book. You knew it was an extremely antisocial behavior, but reading was an escape. An escape from the hell that was reality. And it worked… for a time.

It was one particular afternoon that really got to you. Since you changed school districts after moving to a new apartment across town into Queens, you didn’t have any friends. You’d sit alone on the bus, or even chance walking home if you felt like it.

It was a Friday that should’ve been like any other Friday. Except, it wasn’t. This was the first weekend that you had to go with your father. Your quasi abusive father. He never laid a finger on you, but you could just tell that he hated you. Your younger brother and older siblings were his pride and joy. One was becoming a doctor, the other an engineer. Your brother was showing promising athletic capabilities. But you, you were nothing special. Sure, you were incredibly smart and could write the equivalent of a novel about the Battle of Gettysburg, but he wasn’t interested in history or reading. No- only changing the world.

Your last class was Geometry, and the teacher had a nasty habit of holding you over the bell. You scribbled triangles and degrees on your notes, but nothing seemed to process in your mind. It was a foreign language to you-but much worse. As the bell shrieked, your teacher shouted your homework.

“The homework starts on page 54, and I want you to do 1 to 50 but only the odds!”

“Twenty five problems? Really?” you mutter under your breath.

You heard someone snigger nearby, “What, the nerd can’t handle it?”

You ignored the nasty comment as you rushed out of the room, hoping to make it quickly to the bus. Instead, Russell Meyers blocked your way.

“You’re doing my math for me, nerd,” He states, dropping his binder and pencil into your arms.

“No I’m not!” You reply, shoving the items back in his arms.

“You are, or that ugly face of yours will get even uglier,” Russell threatens.

“I didn’t know you were talking about yourself!” you scoffed, feigning shock.

“I’m not, you fool! I’m talking about you!” he growls, throwing his books at you.

Maybe it was that you were done with school for the day, really wanted to be gone, or were just really nervous, but you were not expecting what happened next. “I’m not doing your homework, you unintelligent oaf.”

“What’s that?”

“I said no.”

“No, you called me an oaf.”

“An unintelligent oaf, actually,” you correct, as his face reddened to the shade of a tomato.

As a child with extreme anger issues, Russell did what was only logical to him-punching you square in the face.

“What a perfect day to wear white,” you sarcastically comment about the bright red blood as you run to the bathroom.

You take out a ton of paper towels, and hold your nose to stop the bleeding. You bend over to help it clot faster, but to no avail. You must have broken your nose.

You silently cursed at Russell, hoping he’d rue the day he met you. And rue the day he would.

Except today it was you who would be ruing the day. You ran outside, still trying to stop the bleeding but also to make it to the bus. Just as you made your way outside, the buses were pulling out of the parking lot.

“Great. Just what I needed.”

With a very audible sigh, you began your long trek home.

Not once did a stranger offer you help for your nose, ask what happened, or why there was blood on your shirt. Not even any of the police officers that you passed- five, precisely.

Once you got home, you had thirty minutes to get ready to go with your dad and to fix your nose.

“MOM?” you shout, hoping to get her help to fix your nose. “MOM!” Of course, she wasn’t home. Instead, your brother came out of his room and looked at you quizzically.

“What happened to you?” he questions.

“I got punched in the face.”

“Nice! Did you hit ‘em back?”

“No, I fell.”

“Aww man…” he mumbles, retreating back into his room.

Alone with your younger sibling, you go into the room that you shared with your sisters and backed a small bag for the weekend. Once you were done, you went to the bathroom to clean yourself up with only ten minutes to spare.

What you saw was bad. Your face was caked in dried blood, and your nose and lower left eye swelling black. You gently touched the inflamed area and squeaked in pain. Your nose was definitely broken.

With warm, soapy water you washed away the blood, revealing a cut under the bruise. At the same time, your mother came home, now only with five minutes left.

“Oh honey, what happened!” she exclaims, examining your nose.

“I got punched,” You state as though it was the most obvious thing ever.

“I figured that much, but why?” she inquires further, taking out her first aid kid.

“I wouldn’t do this kid’s homework.”

“That’s not right! I’m going to talk to the school, and his mother. What is this delinquent’s name?”

“It doesn’t matter. His mother wouldn’t care, and neither would the school. It would just make it worse for me.” You explaining, wincing as she patched up your nose.

“Oh honey, I am so sorry!” Your mother exclaims, kissing you lightly on your uninjured cheek.

The sound of barking and the ringing of the doorbell got your mother up. “I’ll go explain to your father, you finish getting yourself ready.”

“No, it’s no use. He’d congratulate the guy who punched me.” You admit, grabbing your mother’s hand to stop her.

You rushed yourself to get the rest of your cloths, and quickly went down with your father, keeping your head low.

“You should’ve just done the kid’s homework. Your sisters would have done that.” You father says, the disgust clear in his voice.

You say nothing, as his reply would be worse than anything.

“Or you could have fought him back. Your brother would have done that. You ran away like the coward you truly are.” He adds as an afterthought.

You don’t know if it was being punched, your dad, or a mixture of everything, but you found yourself on the top of his seven story apartment building, looking down. You were holding a piece of paper that you scribbled three words on- I’m not sorry.

Clenching the paper tightly in your fist, and you step onto the edge of the roof. You look around the city-your city- and sigh.

“This is it. The end.” you assure yourself.

After a deep breath, you hear the door to the roof open, and know it’s now or never. You glance over your shoulder to see your brother and say, “I love you. This is not your fault. Just let me go.” Then leap forward onto nothing. You heard screams and sirens. All you could see was blurred, and all you could smell was tacos.

You only partially remember being transferred into the ambulance, and the ride to the hospital.

You kind of remember blurred faces leaning over you, checking your pulse and heart rate. They put one of those masks to help you breath over you face. You wanted to take it off.

You remember being stuck with an iv at the hospital, so you wouldn’t die and could be given medicine since you couldn’t (but also wouldn’t) take it orally.

You also remember the doctor explaining a new type of experimental drug that could help speed up your healing time.

You remember seeing the arrangement of your bones from your x ray on the wall next to you, and how almost every bone in your body was broken.

You remember the days and hours ticking by.

You remember your two sisters coming to visit you, both of them wondering why you’d ever do such a terrible thing.

You remember them whispering how much they love you to your motionless and numb body.

You remember being carted down to get your second x ray a week and a half later, and seeing the results through drugged eyes. The smaller bones had healed, and you were almost done mending.

You got sent home that day with your mother. As a nurse, she was trusted to take care of you-and the heavy medications you were on. But rather than staying with you, she had to work overtime to get money for all the procedures.

You remember the doctor from before coming home to check on you and helping out. His beard was oddly shaped, but you couldn’t remember how. You swore you’d seen him before somewhere.

You remember your brother watching the doctor with awe, and that he would actually listen to him.

You also remember a red and blue blur looking at you through your window, both at the hospital and at home.

You remember the comfort from the strange blur, though you couldn’t explain why.

You couldn’t remember when you starting having a tutor, but his name was Mr. Brown. He was a chill dude, and you think you must have had him as a substitute teacher before. He was a very smart man, and optimistically assured you that you would be back in school in no time. Of course, you’d rather just be home schooled the entire time and never have to go back to that dreadful place.

Of course, you could only take so much boredom. Even Mr. Brown could tell two weeks in that you were over halfway caught up with over two months worth of missed classes.

“Miss y/n, did you ever find school paced too slowly for you?” he inquires one evening while grading your papers.

You shrug solemnly. “Yeah, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.”

“Well, on the bright side you’ll be caught up soon if you actually try from here on out.”

Of course, try was not something you wanted to do until your anxiety spoke up and pointed out that continually failing everything you missed would bring down your GPA. So you were soon back in school after four months of absence. Your casts were all off, and you were walking by yourself. By all accounts, it was a miracle. You should have taken about six months to heal, not hardly four.

You got to school early your first day back. All of the teachers were extremely attentive to you, and wanted to give you ample time to adjust again. They were being overly nice, and avoiding the fact that the last time they saw you was the day you attempted suicide.

Your first class was history, and it was with your favorite teacher. You made your way through the labyrinth of a school to his class, and was the first one there. “Morning Mr. Smith,” you say, sitting down in your front seat.

“It’s good to have you back, y/n. How are you doing today?” He asks you, being earnest unlike the rest of the people you’d run into.

“I’m nervous, to be honest.”

“You’ll be fine!” he assures you.

That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

History ended up being fine, as Mr. Smith went in full detail of the Battle for Chattanooga, specifically the one on Lookout Mountain. English was stressful, since you were behind on the reading, but your teacher was understanding. When it was time for lunch, you had bitten off almost all of your nails. You were not looking forward to sitting by yourself or worse-being bothered by people wanting to know why.

You gathered your lunch from your locker, and slowly made your way to lunch. By the time you got there, most people were already sitting down, paying you no mind. With your luck, all tables were full. One was mostly empty, except for two boys. One of them, with brown hair and dark brown eyes, smiled at you.

They both gave off the nerdy vibe so you thought you’d give them half of a chance.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” you manage to ask over the fear rising in your stomach.

They both stared at you blankly.

“That’s a yes,” a girl laughs, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table near the wall.

The larger one elbowed the one who had shyly smiled before, and he nods. “Yes, please do! I’m Peter and this is my friend Ned.”

“I’m y/n,” you mumble, quickly eating your food.

“Well it’s nice to meet you!” Peter says, smiling again.

“You wanna eat any faster?” Ned jokes.

You shrug, but begin to eat a bit slower. You wanted to appear more “lady like,” but you roll your eyes at the thought.

Then you pause mid bite of yogurt and your eyes widen as Russell makes his way over. Before you could even leave the cafeteria, he was in front of you, blocking your way out.

“Do you know what we had to endure because of your episode of attempted suicide?” he grumbles, clearly irritated.

You shrug, not wanting to provoke him.

“We had to sit in this shitty assembly while they went on and on about the warning sides of suicide. All because of you. We aren’t even supposed to talk to you, because you’re ‘fragile’ and ‘damaged.’ Well, I just think you are a selfish bastard.” Russell blurts.

“Sorry,” you say, your voice as monotone as your emotions.

“Is that really all you have to say for yourself, you little bitch?”

You look down at the linoleum floor, not saying anything.

“You pathetic little-” he began, throwing a fist right at your face again.

This time, you were ready for it. In not even a blink of the eye, you were behind him and out the door. You moved literally over twenty feet in not even a second. You look back, only seeing Russell dumbfounded and his friends confused. Deciding that it was best not to wait any longer, you race off to the girl’s bathroom to wait for your next class. You step forward, and the next thing you knew, you were in front of the bathroom door- which was at least 40 feet away.

You open the door, beginning to hyperventilate. Your heart begins to race, your body begins to shake, and your breaths become short gasps for air. You feel bile in your mouth as you try not to throw up, and the salty tears as they made it to your lips.

Then you hear your name being called on the speakers, which does not help. You rummage through your purse and take your inhaler, then splash cold water on your face to help you calm down. You gently pat your face dry with a paper towel and blow your nose. You make sure you look as presentable as possible.

Peaking out of the bathroom, you look to see if the hallways were empty. They were.

You then sped walked to the front office, where the last person you ever expected to see was waiting for you.

Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man.

tagging: @ruined-by-destiel @teamfreewill-imagine (if either of you don’t want to be tagged just lmk)

want to be tagged? send me an ask and you’re name will be here for part 2!

#marvel #spiderman #iron man #peter x reader #tony x reader #peter parker x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel au #julia writes #julia's writing #homecoming fic #spiderman fic #spiderman fanfic #avengers fic #avengers fanfic

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withasmoothroundstone · 7 years

Photo

This is a bit long so I put a TL;DR summary at end of post, entire paragraph in bold type, just before the footnotes. Image description follows:

Black-and-white photo from a magazine, of six kids, a policeman, and the kids’ dog, in front of a car with bullet holes in the back of it. The caption reads:

OUT LOOKING FOR EXCITEMENT, six boys aged 8 to 13 and dog “Butch” from a Bakersfield, Calif., slum called “Billy Goat Acres” stole a car, wrecked it, stole another and wrecked it. In a third car they roared into Los Angeles at 95 mph pursued by police who pumped 11 shots into it (see trunk) before it halted. Expecting to find desperadoes, police learned they had captured the scared but unhurt Billy Goat Acres Mob.

From my dad’s memoirs:

One day Francis, Joan and I came into the house after throwing rocks in the river. The river was only about 100 yards behind our house. We went into the living room where Mom and some relatives were gathered. They were passing around a copy of Life Magazine. The item of interest was a fullpaged picture with the title “The Billy Goat Acres Mob”. Grandma Rowland exclaimed, “How could they treat those children that way?” Other similar comments followed from those present: “Look at the expression on the policeman’s face.” “Just look at those bullet holes!”

Billy Goat Acres was a poor neighborhood in Bakersfield. Some kids from there had stolen a car and taken it for a joyride. They crossed over the mountains towards Mojave and near Tehachapi they ran the car into a ditch. They stole another car and ran it out of gas. The 3rd car they stole, near Mojave, was a Chrysler. They made a wrong turn and ended up in Los Angeles where the joyride turned into speeding, running red lights and general reckless driving. The California Highway Patrol gave chase and when the car wouldn’t pull over, they started shooting. The kids ran through 2 roadblocks and when the car finally stopped the kids were unloaded from the car. When I saw the picture I was surprised to see that the driver of the car was my 12-year-old cousin Howard McAbee and that he was the oldest in the group.

When I looked it up online, this photo was attributed to Time Magazine, not Life. Of course, it’s quite possible that both ran the photo and the story at the time. My mom’s memoirs say she remembers reading about this and having no idea that any of the kids would turn out to be related to her future husband. Howard (my dad’s cousin) is the kid on the far left.

One thing I love about my parents’ memoirs (they sent them to me as a birthday present one year -- hands down the best present I’ve ever received from them at any time in my life) is that they interweave a lot of history into them. Born in 1941 and 1946, there’s a lot of things about their lives that are very different from life now, and a lot of events they lived through that I didn’t realize we had any close ties to. And then there were things like this...

Anyway I love reading about who my parents were before they met each other and became parents. For reference, the above events happened in 1952.

If you are a parent, make serious thought of writing or otherwise conveying (like through art of some kind) a memoir for your children. You don’t have to make it public. It doesn’t have to be long and detailed, it can be anything, really, that you want to do and are capable of doing. But I pretty much guarantee most kids will be fascinated by this stuff, unless they’re that age when anything about parents becomes embarrassing or something, or unless they have such a bad relationship with you that it would just remind them of that (but you never know, really). Certainly I am thrilled that my father wrote this, and wrote some partial family history too (that my mom is supposed to finish for him because he died before he could finish, but left her his notes). And that my mother wrote hers. Their voices come across loud and clear.

And don’t worry, mom -- I won’t be posting anything from yours unless I ask you first and you say it’s okay, I know how much you value your privacy and you wrote about some pretty intense personal stuff at times. I know this was okay with Ron, and also he’s dead and therefore unlikely to be embarrassed. Plus it’s not like I’m posting the entire thing, just parts, and always parts that wouldn’t cause problems for anyone. Anyway, one thing I love about reading both of the memoirs together, is the way each of their individual personalities and interests become clear not just from the stories, but from what they choose to write about and the way their very different writing styles convey who they are.

Additionally, these memoirs will outlive their authors, even though they are not published. My father is dead, but I can always go back to his memoirs to get a glimpse of him. I am glad that he decided to write it long before he got cancer -- by which point he was working on a novelized version of our family history involving the Okie migration, and he never finished that. But this is something I’ll always have to remember him by. I have talked about other ways I remember him (such as wearing his clothes or clothes very similar to his clothes, every single day, and wearing his beard hair in a floating locket around my neck). But this is a way to remember his ideas about the world, and his life experiences, and it’s wonderful.

To me, history is less about the huge events, and more about the people who get wrapped up in everyday life, whether they have any connection to the large-scale events or not. Not that the large-scale events aren’t important, but they’re only as important as the effect they have on ordinary people. So I love reading the memoirs of ordinary people, even when they aren’t related to me or known t me in any way.

Some other time I’ll post what my dad wrote about the atomic bomb testing and its mild but nonetheless terrifying effects on his everyday life, as well as the severe effects it had on a close relative who was one of the low-ranking military men who were used as guinea pigs in atomic bomb experiments. This is a good example of a huge event that’s known to history already, but seen from the perspectives of ordinary people who were affected by it, rather than it being an abstract and dry piece of information more to do with how it connected with lofty world politics stuff (which is, itself, highly important, but is not the only important thing, is what I mean here) than how it affected regular people.

But also, no less important, are the basics of everyday life for people like my parents, and how they and their relatives saw the world. (If you ever plan to write something like this, it’d be really great if you incorporated information that goes back before you were born (or before you were adopted, if you know more about your adoptive family than your birth family). It gives the perspectives of adults in your life at the time, and also sets the stage for exactly what was going on in the family and elsewhere when you came into the world. Hearing my dad talking about having to be taught how to use a flush toilet because the whole idea was new to him, and the culture shock of moving from a one-room schoolhouse to a more typical public school(1).

I didn’t intend this post to be so long and get into so many different topics. I haven’t been writing lately -- of any kind -- very much, because of a huge crochet project I’m working on when I’m awake and have free time. I just got through with the lichen (it turned out beautiful, and all done without a pattern). So when I do write, often I either can barely write anything at all and my brain just stalls and refuses to write much, or else I write something very long and my brain stalls in the other direction and can’t condense it into something concise. As I’ve said many times before, with my receptive language difficulties it’s just as hard for me to read my own posts as other long posts are. Which is really annoying when proofreading -- I catch spelling errors, especially if my computer points them out to me, but I don’t catch entirely wrong or missing words and things like that because it’s too hard to read with meaning.

TL;DR: My dad’s cousin was a car thief at the age of 12! It made it into Time Magazine (my dad said Life Magazine, so maybe it was there too, or maybe he got the names mixed up), and I posted the picture, and then my father’s recollection of when he first saw the picture. Then I discussed my parents’ memoirs and the way ordinary people’s lives are my favorite way to learn about history. Also noted that my parents’ memoirs were hands-down my lifetime favorite birthday present and that if at all feasible it’s a great idea for parents to do this for their children. Most children (especially older children and adults, I suspect, but you could also write something in simpler language with lots of pictures, for younger kids, and they’d probably be interested too) would be both curious and thrilled by this kind of thing.

FOOTNOTES

(1) In America, public school means a school funded entirely by the government. By default, most kids are put into public schools. Private schools are schools you have to pay for, and are generally either for upper-middle-class and rich kids, but also are sometimes for middle-class and working-class kids whose families may take out loans and go into debt or do other things to make it possible for them to attend. Then there’s homeschooling, and unschooling, and religious schools (which I think are usually private but not sure), and nonpublic schools (what my special ed school was called in California), and I keep hearing about school vouchers but I have no clue what that means.

I’m specifying the meaning of public school because public school means something entirely different in some countries. More like what we’d call private schools here in America -- schools for well-to-do kids and sometimes kids who are not so well-to-do but get there because of loans or scholarships or financial aid or something.

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networkingdefinition · 4 years

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Leo Quotes

Official Website: Leo Quotes

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Every drama requires a cast. The cast may be so huge, as in Leo Tolstoy’s ‘Anna Karenina,’ that the author or editor provides a list of characters to keep them straight. Or it may be an intimate cast of two. – Nancy Kress

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Give like the sun, and the whole world grows tall. – Atticus

Funny People is my favorite performance of myself to date. Even though it’s a comedy and there are serious moments, I really felt like Leo felt like a real person. It didn’t feel like I was playing myself. Whether it’s a comedy or drama, I just try to make it as realistic as possible. – Jonah Hill

Here comes the sun. – The Beatles, Here Comes The Sun

I am a Leo, and I love to be active and creative. – Howie Dorough

I carry around this little lion named Leo, which I’ve had for as long as I can remember. – Shawn Mendes

I did imitations of anyone who came to my parents’ house, and that was my identity at school – if there were ten minutes to lunch, and the teacher was done with the lesson, he’d say, ‘Okay, Leo, get up there and do something.’ – Leonardo DiCaprio

I do wish everyone would call me Leo. It’s not that I don’t like Melissa. But the more I hear it called out, the worse it sounds. – Melissa Leo

I don’t believe that my first name is Leo or that my last name is Tolstoy. I’m a storyteller. – Robert Ludlum

I had a bulletin board in my bedroom with every picture of Leo ever taken – keep in mind, this was pre-‘Titanic’ and pre-Us Weekly, practically pre-Internet. I had to buy ‘The Leonardo DiCaprio Album’ and cut out my favorite pics. – Jenny Han

I have such an ego ’cause I’m a double Leo. I can’t let go of me, you know, so it’s very difficult for me to be somebody else and not me. I’m so into me. – Paul Mooney

I like art history and art criticism. Leo Steinberg has always been my favorite. He’s very original, very accurate and acute. – Helen Vendler

I listened to the veteran wrestlers that had tons of experience, like Leo Burke. I was never really alone. – Robert Maillet

I met Leo Fender, who is the guru of all amplifiers, and he gave me a Stratocaster. He became a second father to me. – Dick Dale

I read a book called ‘Transatlantic’, which is a history of the great shipping lines. Also, of course, I had read about the Titanic and saw Leo drowning at the end of the ‘Titanic’ movie and all that stuff. – Erik Larson

I really do not care that Messi isn’t scoring every match. Leo always produces match-changing moments. – Gerardo Martino

I thought back to my middle-school experience of having slumber parties and watching Romeo + Juliet and staring at Leo and thinking about my first kiss and what I wanted it to be like. And when you have your first real love, it’s an epiphany, you know? It’s like a whole new world. – Bonnie McKee

I would like to have an assortment of words, but what can I say about Leo? He is breaking all the records, and those he will still beat. He makes the public always expect something special from him, and he delivers it. – Ernesto Valverde

If Leo is at his level, it’s going to be very difficult to find a solution to stop him. – Luis Enrique

I’m a huge fan of Don Leo Jonathan. I love that era of wrestling. – Cesaro

I’m a leo, and damn proud of it. – Unknown

I’m a middle child, so I have middle-child syndrome. With a middle child, you always have to take in everything and adjust and maybe compromise a little bit so you’re able to see both sides of an issue. I’m also a Leo – I love astrology – so that affected me, just being a lion. – Jessica Williams

I’m Pisces with Leo rising. The Pisces part is the dreamer. The Leo says, ‘Let’s execute.’ – Quincy Jones

In the summer of 1866, as Leo Tolstoy prepared for his serialized novel ‘War and Peace’ to be published as a single volume, he wrote to illustrator Mikhail Bashilov, hoping to commission drawings for the new edition of the novel, which he referred to by its original title,1805.- Alexander Chee

It is a pleasure to see Leo, an Argentine, as the top scorer in the Champions League. – Gerardo Martino

It is an honour and a pleasure to be able to play with Leo Messi. I want to learn. He is the best player in the world and in history. I am delighted to be able to share costumes. I want to learn a lot from him on and off the field. – Ousmane Dembele

It is best to be born in April or August when the life-giving Sun is in its exaltation sign Aries or Leo, its home, for then we enter the sea of life on the crest-wave and are backed in the battle of existence by an abundant fund of vim and energy. – Max Heindel

It would not be honest if I did a review, because I’ve worked with Leo Messi, whom I consider the best player I’ve seen. I cannot comment or compare with Cristiano Ronaldo because I have not worked with him. That is not to say that I do not have as much respect for Cristiano as a footballer. – Frank Rijkaard

It’s an incredible feeling when you look across the dressing room and see Andres, Leo, Luis and Sergio Busquets, and everyone else. They are players I used to watch on TV or play with on PlayStation, and now I am sharing the same dressing room. It’s incredible for me. – Philippe Coutinho

I’ve always heard Leo saying he is happy at Barcelona. I’ll take the message that he is very comfortable here. – Luis Enrique

I’ve never met a player like Leo Messi. Julen Lopetegui

Lauv comes from the Latvian word for lion, and my mom’s side of the family is from Latvia – it’s a place I’ve been probably 15 times or more. I’m also a Leo, and my real name, Ari, means lion. – Lauv

Leo admires and is admired, loves and is loved. – Linda Goodman

Leo Burke was an unbelievable trainer. Him and Tom Prichard. Tom Prichard was not a big guy. And I learned a lot from him. – Mark Henry

Leo couldn’t deliver Mr. Martin Scorsese his Oscar with ‘The Aviator’, but I will go on record to say I will do so in ‘The Departed’. – Anthony Anderson

Leo Durocher was our manager and he brought Willie up to me and said, ‘This is Willie Mays and he’s your new roommate.’ You could see right away that this young man was a natural. He had those real big hands, great power and speed and would catch everything hit in his direction. He’s the best center fielder that ever lived, no question. – Monte Irvin

Leo Hurwicz is the father of mechanism design theory and has inspired much of my work, and Roger Myerson is an old friend and collaborator and a tremendous economist. – Eric Maskin

Leo is the best player in the world; that is very clear. – Thiago Alcantara

Leo Messi is a little football God. I love playing alongside him. We understand each other without needing to talk. – Dani Alves

Leo would also be unstoppable if I played him at full-back. Messi is simply the best there is. – Luis Enrique

Leo, sadly, has Parkinson’s, but he used to cook all sorts of dazzling things. – Jilly Cooper

My father, Leo Henry Brown, really was talented – he could write. He had a gift, and he had a great, sly humor. – Angie Dickinson

My kids and I make pasta three days a week now. It’s not even so much about the eating of it; they just like the process. Benno is the stuffer, and Leo is the catcher. They’ve got their jobs down. – Mario Batali

My life as Mrs. Leo Durocher and baseball come first. – Laraine Day

My sign is Leo. A Leo has to walk with pride. When he takes a step, he has to put his foot down. You walk into a room and you want people to know your presence, without you doing anything. – Wesley Snipes

Norbert Leo Butz is a master class in energy. – Lauren Ambrose

Of course there is ‘Messidependence.’ It would exist in any team in the world, but when he is not there, we also have to play and try to win. Leo is fundamental for us and marks the style; it is well known that he is the best in the world for something. – Ernesto Valverde

One might say Leos possess a kind of instant passion. – Linda Goodman

Ronaldo leaving would seem to have ended the competition between Leo Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo because people rarely mention one without mentioning the other. A lot of people are interested – me, too – to see how it will affect Real Madrid’s football and what they might do in the transfer market. – Ernesto Valverde

So I think it was a good thing It was a little surreal watching Leo scream ‘I’m not going to die today!’ with our music playing – that was the last thing on my mind when I wrote the song. – Jon Crosby

The first time I met Leo Messi, I didn’t know who he was, only that I couldn’t believe the boots he was wearing. But he is like a brother to me. It was at the start of 2005, when I was with the Argentine under-17 squad and I saw him chatting with Ezequiel Garay and some other players about the boots he’d brought back from the U.S.A. – Sergio Aguero

The Kate Winslet thing has been a shocker. I was like, that is the most ridiculous claim. Amazing, obviously. She’s been my idol since I re-enacted ‘Titanic’ and fell in love with Leo. And it’s a privilege to be called the next anything. But I suppose to be the next you is all you can do. – Florence Pugh

The Leo contains the essence of royalty. – Linda Goodman

The vibration of Leo, ruled by the Sun itself, is almost tangible, a thing you can actually feel throughout your whole being in the presence of a Lion or Lioness. — Linda Goodman

There are no words to describe Leo. He continues to break records every time one is put in front of him. – Gerardo Martino

There is something fundamental about Leo in terms of what he transmits to the supporters and what he transmits to the opposition when he starts to run at you. And I speak from experience. – Ernesto Valverde

There’s no really signature Leo DiCaprio role, like Jack Nicholson is Jack Nicholson no matter what movie he’s in. – Dennis Christopher

What I’d most highlight about Leo Messi is his huge sense of responsibility for the team. It shows in every game in every competition. – Ernesto Valverde

When I played Leonardo DiCaprio’s mother, they liked that Leo had very hooded eyes and a rounded nose with a ball. They said, They look like they could be mother and son. – Ellen Barkin

When Leo takes the record from me, it will hurt a little. But it’s not just anyone taking it away. It’s not a normal person. A Martian is taking it from me. That makes me feel a little better. – Gabriel Batistuta

You know, I am a Leo. Lion is a giant part of me. – Patrick Swayze

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equitiesstocks · 4 years