#just have to do a little bit of reading gets some notes+quotes and the. actually write | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nickfowlerrr · 6 months

Text

everybody talks

pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut, fluff, a bit of angst. unprotected p in v. dirty talk. nipple play. if i’m missing something that needs to be tagged, pls lmk!

words: almost 7.7k

notes: happy halloween 👻 so i had an idea for reclusive neighbor!bucky meeting reader when she stops by his house with a group of kids for trick or treating, and this is very much not that but i think it still works lol. also, i wrote this in a day? i don’t think i’ve ever written more than like 4k in a day before so, yay me!

i wanted to participate in @witchywithwhiskey’s horror movie hoe-a-thon but i decided so last minute and then thought the deadline was the 31st, but i absolutely read the guidelines wrong bc it was actually yesterday and i missed it lol. i’m linking her event still though bc i did use a quote prompt! 🖤

The loud shaking of the wobbly cart you grabbed in your hurry precedes you as you make your way through the ridiculously crowded grocery store. Normally you would have been mortified - probably would have left the cart and ventured off to grab what you needed sans basket - but you don’t have the time to be concerned about the looks you’re getting as you walk fast down the aisles.

When your sister asked you for help organizing a family halloween party, you didn’t realize she meant an actual little community family friendly party for the street she lived on.

You had gotten two frozen pizzas, a bag of candy, a case of soda, and some random bags of chips you were sure your nieces would love, just last night. That would have certainly been enough for you, your nieces, and both your sisters, but unfortunately, that wasn’t where the guest list ended.

The look on her face when you showed up to her house with just those few things would have been funny if she wasn’t already on the brink of a breakdown.

Her husband was out of town for work and she was doing all the halloween prep for Sid herself, thus why she enlisted your help with the party and your younger sister’s help for the trick or treating plans.

Before she could snap and completely lose her cool on you, you were already rushing to the front door, keys still in hand, promising you’d be back within the hour and she had nothing to worry about.

That’s how you found yourself among the crowd of the woefully unprepared this afternoon.

You loaded the cart with six more frozen pizzas, three family servings of the deli’s hot and ready fried chicken, two packs of halloween cupcakes, two more cases of soda, an extra case of water, and three boxes of capri suns before you started filling the cart with the halloween party snacks you found in the holiday section.

You were getting a workout as you pushed the basket, less shaky now thanks to the added weight, heading to the candy section to grab a few bags of whatever they had left.

You were distracted by the end cap display as you turned down the aisle and didn’t see the man standing right in front of you, accidentally running into him. Though, running into him sounds like an exaggeration. With how heavy your basket was, and how sturdy the man before you was, it was more like a bump - a love tap. He didn’t even really react to it aside from looking over briefly to you and your basket.

Even still, you apologized profusely, rambling an apology about not looking where you were going before you finally got an actual look at your victim.

Your words stopped almost abruptly when your eyes met with crystal blues. His stare was icy, but not cold, moreso piercing.

He blinked and broke your trance, offering you a shy smile before he looked away.

“It’s okay, you’re fine,” he said, eyes fixed back on the shelves of candy.

He was dressed in dark denim jeans and a black crewneck sweatshirt, his hair was dark and down to just above his broad shoulders, and the stubble that lined his strong jaw suited him well. You didn’t realize you were staring again until he looked back up at you.

You forced yourself to smile then, ignoring the heat you could feel creeping up your neck and rising to your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you offered with a nervous laugh before you forced the cart behind where he stood to go onward.

You could have sworn you saw a blush rising to his cheeks as he smiled to himself, avoiding your gaze, but you weren’t entirely sure.

And you definitely didn’t have the time to ponder on it.

Instead, you began your own search of the shelves to find not only your nieces’ favorites, but your sisters’, too.

They were both working hard to make their kids’ halloween a good one, they deserved a little treat themselves when all the work was done. You, on the other hand, still single and child free, were planning on treating yourself all night. You were there to help, sure, but most of the work wouldn’t be done by you. You were looking forward to seeing them off to trick or treat and plopping down on your sister’s couch to watch movies for the rest of the night - handing out candy, of course, should any kids come by.

Once the party was set up and over, you’d be free for the night and you couldn’t wait.

You were lucky to find most of what you were looking for, but couldn’t seem to find the last kind of chocolates you wanted to get.

As your eyes scoured the shelves, you found yourself looking back over to where the handsome stranger still stood. His brows were furrowed as he held up two boxes of full size candy bars, seeming to be debating between the two.

The look of concentration on his face was endearing, you could almost chuckle at how serious in thought he seemed to be over candy.

You smiled to yourself, returning to your search. As your eyes left the man, traveling instead to the rows of candy in front of him, that was when you saw the bag you needed. In the section right where he was standing, because of course they’d be there.

He huffed in exasperation before you watched him drop both boxes of candy into his cart. He turned to head down the aisle in your direction and his eyes widened slightly when he saw you still standing there.

“Oh, sorry, I’m in your way, aren’t I.”

“No, you’re fine!” You assured him as you left your basket, walking closer to him. “I just needed to grab this,” you said, looking up with the bag in hand. He hadn’t moved from where he stood as you approached, so you were inadvertently in his personal space - but he didn’t make any attempt to move from you. In fact, he looked almost frozen.

His bright eyes were on you, one hand on his cart, the other clenched by his side. He seemed to go a bit ridge at your proximity, like he didn’t want to make any sudden movements, but he relaxed after a second after seeing your soft smile, blinking at you as his cheeks burned.

You quickly backed away, hoping to not make him more uncomfortable and to not embarrass yourself further.

You grabbed onto your cart and looked his way once more, meeting his eye again as his sights were already on you.

You smiled shyly, “Sorry, again, for hitting you,” you offered, “happy halloween.”

He didn’t respond verbally, but he did give you a small nod of acknowledgement.

Your smile grew tighter before you turned and made for the check out, sighing as you rolled your eyes at yourself, mentally chastising yourself for being such an awkward inducing mess.

The lines were long and as you waited, you had to field a call from your sister, promising her you were checking out and would be back at her house soon.

You finally got through the line and were on your way out the sliding door when your cart almost crashed into another. You gasped as you pulled at your cart to stop, the heavy weight carrying it forward, its momentum causing it to almost ram right into the cart beside it.

The doors were only big enough for one cart to go through at a time, so you looked up to offer whoever it was you almost crashed into the lead.

It was your turn for your eyes to widen as you once again were met with those piercing blues.

“I am so sorry, I’m not doing this on purpose, I swear,” you laughed nervously, backing up a bit so he’d have room to go through the doors. “Go for it,” you said.

He shook his head, “Please,” he gestured for you to go in front, “ladies first.”

Had you not been in a hurry, you would’ve argued that he should go ahead, but seeing as your phone was lighting up with messages from your erratic sister, you smiled and pushed on forward. “Thank you,” you breathed.

You were trying not to pay attention as he followed behind you, but when you got to your car, halting your basket at your trunk, you couldn’t help but notice as he stopped next to you.

You looked over at him, and he looked over at you. He smiled this time, popping his trunk, “What are the odds?”

You tittered, not knowing how to respond. You couldn’t help your smile though as you turned back to your trunk and started putting the bags in.

He himself didn’t have much in the way of bags, and was finished putting his stuff away and taking his cart back by the time you were halfway done putting your stuff in your car.

You saw as he approached his door from your peripheral, and looked up and over in his direction as he abruptly stopped just before he was about to pull open his door.

For a second, he looked like he was about to turn around but then thought better of it, reaching for the door handle again before pulling away once more.

He squeezed his car keys in his hand before he turned back around, completely this time. You blinked at him, in a bit of a stupor as he came up to you. You waited for him to speak as he opened his mouth before quickly shutting it, taking a breath, then anxiously licking his lips.

“I’m Bucky,” he introduced himself a bit stiffly before his lip quirked up in a nervous half smile. Your brows raised of their own volition before you gave him your name in turn.

He seemed to be relieved by your reply, as if he was worried you would have ignored him, before he took another step closer to your car. “Can I give you a hand?”

“Oh, uhm, sure. That’d be great, thanks.”

“Big plans for the night?” he asked as he slid the packs of soda and the water into the car.

“My sister is hosting a little halloween party for the families on her street before they head out trick or treating tonight, I’m helping her out with setup and food. But after that,” you sighed, putting a few more bags in, “I’m planning on just watching movies between trick or treaters. Nothing crazy. You?” you asked, looking over to him.

“I’m planning pretty much the same. I don’t know how many trick or treaters to expect, I’m new to the neighborhood and… maybe haven’t been the friendliest neighbor,” he cringed to himself as he grabbed the boxes of juice. “But I got the full size candy bars, so…”

“Sprung for the full size, huh? I’m sure those kids’ll love it. You’ll be the talk of the block,” you joked.

His chuckle had you smiling so hard you had to bite your lip to keep from looking like an idiot.

Bucky took the last of the bags from you and set them carefully down before he closed the trunk for you. You were hanging onto the cart, waiting to say bye before you walked it to its home, as he turned, shoving his hands in his pockets before he spoke. He had that anxious look on his face again, his eyes down at the ground while he licked his lips mindlessly before he met your eye.

“I, uhm,” he seemed to register where his hands were then and took them out of his pockets, “I hope this isn’t too presumptuous of me, but, did you maybe, want to exchange numbers?” he asked, bright blue eyes bearing into yours.

Your lips parted unbidden, eyebrows raising in surprise, or more like shock, as your eyes widened.

“You- you want my number?” you asked stupidly. You didn’t give him a chance to answer though before you continued, “Uhm, yeah,” you nodded, “sure.”

The delicate smile on your lips grew as you reached for your phone.

You exchanged numbers and said your goodbyes before you were finally headed back to your sister’s place.

You were smiling like a fool as you drove, a sense of giddy taking over you. This kind of stuff never happened to you. You were still in a bit of disbelief as you pulled into your sister’s driveway, calling her to help you unload but deciding against telling her about your little grocery store meet cute. At least until the party was underway and her stress levels came down.

—

Grumpy.

That’s the word you would use to describe your current state.

This was not how tonight was supposed to go. You should be lounging on a couch watching scary movies with a bowl full of candy right now, not clopping down the street in your wedges - a last minute costume thrown together as your niece held your hand and pulled you along with her while your sisters and baby niece strolled behind.

Sidney had thrown a fit when she learned you wouldn’t be coming along for trick or treating and only calmed down when you finally relented and agreed. But of course, you couldn’t just go out in what you were already wearing, no, that would be too easy. You absolutely needed a costume.

At your sisters’ and niece’s goading, you were forced to put something together.

You were already in all black, so you snagged the leftover cat ear headband your sister had and made your already done eye look a little more exaggerated. You all left soon after, your niece’s jubilance as she skipped out of the house easing your annoyance at the change of plans. As you started down the driveway, you were cursing yourself for not having brought your sneakers, and your sisters for both having smaller feet than you.

You walked up to house after house with your niece, taking turns switching who was going up to the door every two or three houses. In between houses, you finally told your sisters about the guy you met at the store earlier, how attractive he was, how he helped you load your car, and how he asked for your number before you went your separate ways.

It was nice to be able to talk with them about it, it had been a long time since it had been just the three of you together - no obnoxious boyfriends or overly talkative husbands to interrupt your conversations. You had to say, you were starting to feel a bit more grateful for your niece’s insistence on you joining them.

As you talked to your little sister while she held her daughter, you both watched as your niece tugged on her mom’s hand, refusing to go up the pathway of the house you were now at. As you looked around, you realized everyone else seemed to be avoiding the house, too. You weren’t sure why, though. The porch light was on and there was a cute, though solitary, ghost decoration that would greet you as you walked up the path to the house.

“What is up with that?” you asked aloud.

As your older sister walked back over, she answered your question. “She doesn’t wanna go, she says it’s haunted.”

You fixed your niece with a look, “What do you mean haunted? Who told you that?”

“Evan and Fifi. They said the metal man lives here and he kills anyone who tries to come in.”

“The metal man, huh? Well,” you said, making a point of looking all around the front of the house, “it looks to me like whoever lives here is ready to pass out candy to anyone brave enough to knock. The lights are on, and did you see the ghost up front? They’re probably just as excited about Halloween as you are.”

“No.” she responded flatly.

“No?” you scoffed. “Ohhh, okay,” you exaggerated, “I get it, you’re too scared to go. That’s all you had to say, Sid, no shame.”

“I’m not scared,” she argued, her face scrunched in annoyance at your insult.

“Really? If you’re not scared then why won’t you go knock on the door?”

She floundered for a second before she narrowed her gaze at you. You wanted to laugh at the low growl that radiated from her but held it together.

“We’ll all go,” she finally decided, looking all three of you in the eyes to make sure you were all ready to accompany her.

—

It had been two hours since the trick or treaters had started their nights.

Bucky could hear the laughter and screams of playful fright as family after family and group after group of friends passed by his house.

The bowl of king size candy bars sat on his coffee table untouched as It played on his screen.

Every now and again he’d get up and look out the kitchen window, hoping to see a dead street to make himself feel better about the lack of trick or treaters, but only found the streets full of people.

The more time that passed without a single knock or ringing of his bell, the worse he felt.

He could lie and say he didn’t know why he was taking this so hard, he wasn’t one to complain about his solitude, but truthfully, he knew why.

He had heard the neighbor kids talking about him the other week, telling tales of horror about the metal man who lived next door. If seeing his arm was all it took to spur their tales and ignite their fear of him, God, he didn’t even want to know what would come if they found out even a little bit of his past.

And if it wasn’t the kids starting their own urban legend at his expense, it was the adults who would gossip about him at their backyard barbecues. The mysterious man who lived alone and kept to himself was an easy target for lowly neighborhood gossip, and the few people who had pieced together who he was seemed to be tight lipped about it. Anytime they saw him in public, their eyes would bug and they would quickly avert their gaze, like they were scared what would happen if he knew they knew. It’s not like his identity was a secret, but he wasn’t planning on striking up a conversation with them to let them know that. Especially not when they looked at him like that. Like he was some kind of monster.

Even still, he didn’t want to be the social pariah on the block. He hated to think that anyone was scared or weary of him, though he knew most of them were.

He sighed heavily as he checked the time once again.

So much for that ghost helping to dispel his bad reputation. He’d be requesting the money he spent on it from Sam later, it was his idea for him to get halloween decorations in the first place. He should have known it wouldn’t have helped.

As his phone unlocked with his FaceID, he was tempted to send a message to the woman he’d met earlier in the day. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but he hadn’t felt so disarmed by someone in a very long time. And the fact that she was gorgeous, and didn’t seem the least bit frightened by him, was a nice feeling, too.

But she was probably watching movies and relaxing by now, he didn’t want to be a disturbance. Tomorrow, though. He’d definitely be messaging her tomorrow.

Another sigh left him as he locked his phone again, tossing it on the coffee table before making his decision.

Bucky paused the movie before he stood, bowl in hand, prepared to take it to the kitchen and shut his porch light off on his way upstairs. It was only gonna get later and he had to accept that no one was going to trick or treat at his house this year.

But just as he was setting the bowl down on the table, he froze.

Was someone actually coming up the porch?

He swore he was just hearing things…but then came a knock.

—

“You can’t just stand there, Sid, you have to knock or ring the bell, pick one.”

“No.”

“Ugh,” you exaggerated with an eye roll, turning to look at your older sister, “you live with this everyday?”

“Everyday,” she replied.

“Sid, if you don’t knock, you don’t get candy,” you told her.

“If I don’t knock, I don’t get murdered.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll do it myself,” you shrugged, adjusting the cat ears on your head.

You raised your arm to knock on the door, but Sid stopped you, pulling it back down.

“I don’t want you to get murdered, either!”

“Sidney,” you laughed, kneeling to get on her level, “I promise you, no one is going to get murdered. This house isn’t haunted and a murderer doesn’t live here.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” your little sister chimed in, earning a glare from you before you couldn’t help your laugh, shaking your head before turning back to your niece.

“I just met Evan and Fifi at the party, and I know for a fact they were just trying to scare all of you guys. I doubt they’ve ever met whoever it is that lives here. Now, do you trust me?”

Her reluctant nod was your answer.

“Okay. Then I’m gonna knock on the door, and we’re gonna get some candy. Cool?”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” you nodded with a smile before standing back up.

Sid inched back to stand in front of her mom, pulling her arm to hide herself behind as you once again went to knock on the door, this time following through.

You knocked and heard footsteps from within, smiling as you waited for the homeowner to open the door.

Once it opened, though, you found yourself completely taken aback.

Your breath caught in your throat as a newly familiar pair of brilliant blue eyes met yours.

Bucky stood at the open door, bowl of full size candy bars in hand. He looked just as surprised to see you there as you were him.

He tilted his head at you, a lopsided grin spreading on his face.

“Trick or treat!” Sidney yelled, seeing the big bars and coming to stand in front of you.

Bucky looked down, smiling as he showed her the bowl, “Happy Halloween,” he said, allowing her to pick which one she wanted.

“I know how this looks, but I swear I’m not stalking you,” you promised.

“I don’t know, it seems like a lotta coincidences for just one day,” he smirked, cooly leaning against his door frame. “Nice costume,” he complimented.

“Ha, thanks,” you smiled, touching the cat ears once again. “Nice ghost,” you nodded toward the lonely decoration, “Really livens up the place,” you teased.

“That was the intention,” he laughed, a little too glumly for your liking. “You guys are actually the first trick or treaters I’ve had all night, so I guess it didn’t really do its job.”

“Sorry, you guys know each other?” your sister asked.

“Yeah, uh,” you turned briefly, “this is Bucky,” you said.

“Bucky from the grocery store, Bucky?” your little sister asked.

You gave her a look you hoped Bucky didn’t see before answering, “Yes. That Bucky.”

Your sisters introduced themselves to him and as he switched the candy bowl from his right hand to his left, extending his palm to shake their hands, you noticed a glimmer coming from his left side.

You moved over a bit to allow them room to shake hands and as you looked closer, you realized that, peculiarly enough, his left hand wasn’t made of flesh.

You scoffed a laugh to yourself at his “metal man” moniker. That made some sense now… In fact, a few things were clicking into place. Bucky, you thought…Bucky Barnes? The Bucky Barnes. You wondered how you hadn’t noticed earlier, not that it mattered, but you were staring, like kind of a lot, at him when you met at the store, and even when he was helping load your groceries. You really must have been distracted by just how gorgeous his face is.

Now that you were really looking at him again, you noticed just how built he was. Strong arms, solid chest, nearly six foot tall if you had to guess.

Your sister’s laugh brought you back to reality as you followed her gaze to Sid who was now taking a bunch of bars from Bucky’s bowl as he held it out for her again.

“I doubt anyone is coming my way again, so please, take what you want,” he offered to all of you.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you smiled as your sisters each took a bar of their own. “We’ll uh, let you get back to your movie,” you said, remembering his plans for tonight.

“The movie, yeah. I think I might have to start it over, actually. I went on my phone for a minute and looked up to see a blood covered bathroom but I have no idea how they got there,” he huffed a laugh at himself.

“Oh, what are you watching?” your little sister asked.

“It,”

“It? No way, that’s so funny. That’s the movie you were gonna watch before we left tonight, isn’t it?” your older sister asked knowingly, a smirk no one but you and your younger sister would ever catch flashing for a microsecond on her lips as she looked at you pointedly.

“Yeah,” you swallowed thickly, “it is,” you said, trying not to let the awkwardness that was eating at you consume you entirely.

“You should stay and watch it,” your little sister suggested, to your complete and utter mortification. Your eyes shot over to her, and you swear, if looks could kill.

“I’m not just going to invite myself-”

“Come on, like he minds,” she turned to look at Bucky then, her hands still on her stroller holding her baby, “you don’t mind, do you?”

You peek over at Bucky, unsure of how you would even react if you were in his position. He met your eye and his lips quirked in a soft smile. “Not at all. If you wanted to, that is,” he added, offering you an out.

You looked at him a moment before looking over to your smugly smiling sisters and your niece as she tore into one of her candy bars, standing safely between the two of them. You inhaled sharply before looking back to a waiting Bucky.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Sounds…fun.”

“Great, well we were heading back anyway. So, see you later?” you sister bid.

“Or not,” your little sister added teasingly before she shot her gaze over to Bucky once more. “But we do have her location, just so you know,” she added seriously, a hint of a warning in her words.

“Ooo-kay,” you said, breaking the forthcoming tension, “I will text you guys when I’m on my way back,” you told them, urging them to get going.

“It was nice to meet you, Bucky. I trust my sister will get home safe,” your sister said directly.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he responded gallantly while your face felt as if it was literally on fire.

What was this, it was like your parents were dropping you off for your first date in high school. But somehow worse.

She nodded, “And thank you for the candy. Sidney,” she called, getting her daughter’s attention, “what do we say?”

“Thank you! Happy Halloween!”

“You’re very welcome,” Bucky smiled. “Happy Halloween.”

—

It wasn’t long before you found yourself sitting on Bucky’s couch, a glass of water you had desperately needed sitting before you on the coffee table and Bucky sitting to the left of you, but keeping a respectable distance.

“I’m really sorry about my sisters, by the way. They can be a lot,” you huffed a laugh.

“Don’t be,” he brushed off, “It’s nice to see, honestly.”

You looked over at him, he seemed a bit forlorn before he came back to himself.

“You know, my niece was almost too scared to come to your door. She said this house is haunted, that ‘the metal man’ lives here and kills anyone who tries to enter.”

“Ah, I see word travels fast when it comes to children.”

“Yeah, you’re kind of like their own urban legend.”

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully as you laughed, lifting a leg up to cross under your thigh as you turned to face him on the couch.

“What?” you asked, “Don’t you want to be an urban legend?”

“Not really,” he laughed with a shake of his head, turning to face you better as well. “Especially not when it leaves me with bowls full of king sized candy bars no one seems to want.”

There’s a pause before he continues,

“Honestly… I don’t like knowing people are scared of me. I mean I’ve known, for a long time, that they are, it’s just.. Different when you can see that fear on their faces, in person.”

You didn’t even realize you were moving as you scooted in closer to him while he spoke.

“I thought the city was bad, but ever since I moved out here, it’s all so much more intimate. The stares are a lot more pointed.” He laughed humorlessly at himself, “I heard a couple kids talking about my arm a few weeks ago and tried to tell myself I didn’t care, but I’ve been wearing nothing but long sleeves every time I go outside now.

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he said quickly to clarify, “I just, I don’t want them to have to be scared of me.”

“They shouldn’t be scared of you just because you have a prosthetic arm,” you argued, knowing they surely knew nothing else of who he was, “and their parents should probably be leading by better examples.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “what can you do?” He swallowed the lump in his throat that was forming at your defense of him, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring all this up-”

“No, I’m sorry, that’s on me. I am incredibly skilled at killing conversations before they even begin.”

“I don’t know about that. You don’t know me well yet, so you don’t know how big of a deal this is, but, I like talking to you,” he smiled.

You had to look away from his gaze, breathing a laugh as you did.

The movie was playing on screen, but neither of you were paying any attention to it as you continued talking.

Each time Bucky laughed at your lame jokes, you swore you felt like you were flying. You talked about everything and nothing. You got to know each other better, asking questions about life and preferences and favorites and what-ifs. The conversation flowed so easily, you never even really had to think about what to say next. That definitely wasn’t usual for you, and you liked it. You liked him.

Somewhere along the way, the conversation turned flirty, and again, it was completely effortless.

Your knees were pressing against one another as you sat across from each other, almost side by side on the couch.

You laughed in unison at a cheesy line Bucky tried on you before a jump scare on the screen had you quite literally jumping. Without thought, you leaned into Bucky, and he had no qualms about it as you hid your face in his shoulder.

He laughed lightly, his arm coming around you and gently rubbing your back before you forced yourself to pull away. His warmth was so nice and welcoming, but if you didn’t back up, you would’ve tried to nuzzle right into his side - you couldn’t risk the embarrassment.

As you turned back to sit next to him though, he kept his arm around you and tugged you in a bit closer.

You briefly wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, because you definitely could. You thought it might beat out of your chest at any moment as his warm cologne invaded your senses.

“Sorry, I guess I just assumed you liked scary movies,” he laughed.

“Ya know what’s funny is I actually hate scary movies,” you told him, “the It movies are some of the very few that don’t scare me.”

“Oh, that was you not being scared?” he smirked with a raised brow.

“That was- it just, it caught me off guard,” you defended with a smile, absentmindedly leaning more into his hold.

You had never gotten so close to someone in such a short amount of time, emotionally or physically.

It was foreign, but you enjoyed it. It may have been sudden, but it didn’t feel rushed.

“You get scared easily?” he asked.

“I’m the biggest scaredy cat I know,” you admitted. “I’m not hard to get a jump out of, I get scared of literally everything,” you laughed at yourself.

You turned to look at him when he didn’t say anything and felt your breath catch in your throat for the second time that night. He was so close to you now, and his eyes were piercing as he took you in, lingering on your lips and sending a chill through you.

The energy between you seemed to shift from something light and playful to something more charged, deliberate.

Your eyes drifted to his lips despite yourself, too.

He leaned in just a touch closer to you and your lips were mere inches away as he spoke,

“You’re not scared of me,” he said, though you weren’t sure if it was a question or not. Still, you responded as if it were.

Leaning in, brushing your lips against his, you breathed, “No.”

His hand was on your head then, keeping you close to him as he pressed his lips against yours, it was fervent, yet delicate, as your lips moved against one another.

You moved a hand to hold onto his left shoulder and he tugged your body to move you completely over his lap while he continued to lead the kiss.

His metal hand found its way to your plush waist as he held you, squeezing you lightly and inadvertently causing you to sink down lower into his lap while your upper body melted into him.

His hand slid from your waist to your ass, grabbing you through your leggings, kneading your ample flesh in his large palm.

You moaned into his mouth and that seemed to spur him on because in the blink of an eye you found yourself being flipped onto your back as he pinned you beneath his large body.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both panting, your hands fisted in his sweatshirt as his wandered your curves.

“Do you have a bed?” you breathed, pulling him back down to be closer to you, wanting desperately to have his lips on yours once more. He nodded.

“Glad you asked,” he returned, voice low and husky.

You yelped as Bucky lifted you in his arms, standing and carrying you with ease while you clung to him like your life depended on it. If he dropped you, you weren’t sure you’d be able to recover from the embarrassment. But as he began up the steps and his hold didn’t falter for a single second, you realized maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about.. He held you like you weighed nothing and honestly, it sent a new wave of arousal through you as he reached the door of his bedroom.

He tossed you down on his bed carefully, but stopped you before you could begin tugging your leggings down your thick thighs.

You looked at him, confused and with a touch of worry you were about to be rejected.

“I’m sorry,” he began, “I should’ve said this before I brought you up here,”

That did nothing to ease your worry…

“I really like you. And I think there could be something real here between us, I don’t want to ruin that. So if you were only here for one night,-”

“I really like you, too,” you cut him off, eyes gleaming into his, “And I think you’re right, I don’t wanna ruin it either. I wasn’t planning for this to be a one night stand, but if you want to take things slower, I don’t have a problem with that.”

“No, I’m good with where we were heading, I just wanted to make it clear that I don’t want this to be just tonight.”

You nodded, a little breathless as you smiled up at him.

“Same page, then.”

“Good,” he grinned before pushing you to lie back on his bed as he descended upon you.

His lips were on your neck and as he sucked on your sweet spot, you couldn’t contain the soft moan that passed your lips.

His hands found the waistband of your bottoms and he pulled them down as much as he could manage before you lifted your hips and wiggled a bit to assist him in getting them off of you.

You pulled impatiently at the buckle of his jeans, earning a chuckle from him before he got to work taking them off.

While he got rid of his jeans, you pulled your shirt up and over your head, catching on the cat ears you had forgotten you were wearing. You threw them all to the side, unclasping your bra as Bucky shrugged his sweatshirt off over his head in turn.

He was back on top of you in an instant, pulling your bra off of you and tossing it to land with the rest of your discarded clothes off the side of the bed.

His large hands immediately went to your breasts, admiring the soft, heavy feel of them in his hands while he palmed them, squeezing slightly as he felt you.

You mewled under his attention, eyes closed in delight as his touch only added fuel to the fire burning in your core.

When he leaned down and took a pert nipple into his mouth, kissing and sucking on your tit, your hand found his hair as you gasped at the sensation, holding him to you, enjoying the feeling of his mouth on your breasts.

You could feel the wetness growing between your legs as he continued to have his fun, unconsciously rutting his thick cock against you when you’d moan for him.

As he traveled down your body, his hands following your curves and his lips kissing every inch of you that he could, he paid special attention to your tummy before he traveled even lower.

You were a writhing mess as you felt his warm breath on your folds. When your hips bucked up into his face and you felt his lips brushing your cunt, you whined obscenely at the feeling. Bucky laughed tauntingly, holding your hips back down as he poked his tongue out past his plump lips, lightly licking your folds and your sensitive clit as you gripped his hair and urged him closer, wanting, needing more.

He finally took mercy on you after a long, torturous minute, spreading you open for him before he ate you out like a man starved.

His tongue glided all over your slick cunt, dipping in and out of your tight entrance, before coming back up to flick your clit.

He drew figure eights over the sensitive bud and you swore you were about to come undone from that alone, but when he sunk his thick digits into your dripping pussy, curling them just right, rubbing against that special spot perfectly, you were seeing stars as your thighs threatened to clamp around his head while you shook from your orgasm. Your walls clamped down on his fingers as you came and he moaned at the feeling as he worked you through the high, more than ready to finally get his cock inside you.

“Doll, you look so gorgeous like this,” he admired as he held himself above you, “naked and sweaty beneath me. Like a fucking goddess,” he praised, grabbing his erection and positioning himself at your entrance.

“You sure you’re ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, running his cockhead up and down your dripping slit.

“Yes, Bucky, please,” you moaned pathetically, spreading your legs as wide as you could for him.

“Mm, I love the way you say my name, doll,” he groaned as he pushed just his tip inside your tight cunt, moving in and out of you as you whined for him.

“God, please, Bucky, please fuck me! I want it so bad,” you whimpered. “I wanna feel you fill me up, please.”

The growl that left his throat had your pussy fluttering, squeezing around nothing before he finally gave you what you wanted. With one hard, deep stroke, he was fully seated inside you. Your eyes squeezed shut as you gasped sharply, your hands gripping onto him wherever you could as he began to set his pace. With every thrust of his hips into you, he was hitting deeper and deeper inside your cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried.

“There you go, sweetheart. Take all ‘a my cock inside this tight pussy, taking me so fuckin’ well,” his hands were tight on your hips as he fucked into you. “This what you wanted, doll?” he panted, his pace never faltering as he fucked you harder, the slapping sound of skin on skin and his balls hitting your cunt with his every thrust filled the room, mingled with your moans and whimpers and his grunts and growls. “Wanted this big dick to stretch you out, huh? Wanted to feel me fill you up with my hot cum til I’m dripping outta you.”

One of his hands left your hip and instead went to grab at your breasts again, his large hand palming your tit as he squeezed and kneaded, flicking his thumb over your nipple and only adding to the pleasure threatening to send you over the edge.

“God, yes! Please, fucking yes, Bucky, please, please, please, please” you begged pathetically, reaching a hand down to find your clit, working your bud in circles as your walls tightened around his thick cock.

Your eyes were about to roll into the back of your head as you moaned senselessly, Bucky’s hand leaving your chest and nudging your own away from your clit. He replaced your hand and circled your clit perfectly as he continued rolling his hips into yours, his pace growing more erratic and the words leaving his beautiful lips growing filthier the closer he got to his own end.

With one perfectly angled thrust, you were crying as your body shook at the intensity of your orgasm. Wave after wave of nerve tingling pleasure lighting you up as you rode out the high. Your toes curled, legs wrapped around him as much as they could be while he grabbed at your body, falling down closer to you as he moaned, holding your body tighter as he pumped his hips, “Fuck,” he growled as he pushed himself as deep inside of you as he could, his eyes squeezing shut, holding himself there as he came, his body shaking some as he attempted to thrust once more.

You moaned at the feeling of him painting your walls, your hands in his hair as he buried his face in your neck, holding him to you. He stayed inside of you for a long minute as you both panted, trying to catch your breath, while he ensured he got all of his load out before he finally pushed himself up off of you, gently sliding out of you.

He flipped over next to you, laying on his back before he pulled you into him. Your hand rested on his chest as you laid in his left arm.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed, your fingers playing in his chest hair mindlessly as you worked to catch your breath.

His hand was running up and down your side soothingly as he moved to try and meet your eye.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

“Yeah,” you assured him. “I’m better than okay, honestly. That was…amazing.”

“Good, I’m glad,” he smiled, “but still, I’m sorry if I got carried away. I tend to run my mouth when I’m, uh,” he fumbled with his words, “ya know, in the moment.”

He looked so bashful, you couldn’t help but laugh lightly at his expression.

“You just said all of what you just said, but you had trouble with that?” you tittered, rubbing his chest before turning further into him, laying on your side as he stayed on his back, propping his right hand under his head as he relaxed into the position. “But really, Bucky, you don’t have to apologize. I don’t know if you could tell, but…I really liked it,” you simpered sensually.

Bucky smiled at you as you leaned up to meet his lips in a soft kiss.

“It’s probably way late now, right?” you asked as you pulled away from him. “I should probably head back.”

Bucky sat up after you, “Do you have to?” he asked softly.

You looked back at him, his blue eyes set on you. You nipped at your lower lip before shaking your head lightly. A new, sweeter excitement washing over you.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you could stay for the night,” he offered. “I was hoping I could take you for breakfast in the morning?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the hopeful look in Bucky’s eyes as he waited for your response. That giddiness you felt earlier came over you once again as you held his gaze.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

#bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x plus size!reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes angst

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randombush3 · 6 months

Text

ubi amor, ibi dolor

alexia putellas x reader

part one

words: 11455 (SORRY THERE WAS A LOT TO FIT IN)

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks part two x

content warnings: it’s gets a little sad but tbh the next part is the one you should be worried abt 🤘

notes: this one covers 2017-2019. i apologise if it’s a bit jumpy because if i covered EVERYTHING you’d be sat here reading for days. also, this part was so slow to be finished because i abandoned it for ages and only just decided i should probs get to finishing it. the next part is the last one!

It’s about three months later, and there is not a silence that can’t be filled with the sound of Alexia’s voice. You don’t know how to prove this, because you leave none to be filled, instead seeking to occupy every spare second granted by your tour schedule to call her, to text her; to talk to her.

You spend your nights on balconies all over the continent. Your smoking habit is worsening but the excuse of getting some fresh air to do so is a perfect way to weasel yourself out of parties and clubs and late-night chats with your friends. You much prefer to spend your time finding out more about the woman you quickly become obsessed with. She often verbalises her disdain for your disregard for your lungs – something that transcends the language barrier with an overwhelming clarity – but she is glad that you are talking to her either way.

A few times, you go as far as to hop on a secretly booked flight. You never step outside the airport, leaving Barcelona very much stamped in your passport but not on your list of places you have explored, but Alexia is more than content to pursue your hooded figure as you lead her into hidden corners of the arrivals lounge she begins to associate with the racing feeling in her heart when she sees you. Kissing against walls and on hard airport seats is not what feeds most budding romances, but you don’t care. You happily fly to her whenever you have a spare five minutes, and she is more than content to make the time spent physically together worthwhile.

The tour is nearly over. Five shows in three weeks, and then you can traipse back to London to fight off the delayed hangover in the comfort of your own home with meals cooked by your parents to keep you going. One of the worst things about being on the road is the food (or lack thereof), and your athlete gi… Alexia, is unimpressed with your nutrition. You find that she does not agree with most of your lifestyle, yet she seems captivated by it; like she is discovering a different, scarier world, and she can’t close her eyes.

Alexia’s birthday is soon.

She has enough dread for the event to have communicated it far more efficiently than usual, with most conversations needing to be doubled in length to get past the all-too-familiar grunts of unrecognition. The streets of Barcelona are filled with whispers of a women’s league, and she is unsure of the pressure that is starting to grow on her shoulders. A birthday is inconvenient, she claims, though you only laugh.

You tell her about Virgil – she knows you love him, she knows you love most things to do with him – and his famous quote. “Labor omnia vincit,” you say, finding it ironic that you are only able to talk to her right now because you skipped out on soundcheck and a run-through with the backup dancers. “Work conquers all. It reminds me of you.”

Her lilting Spanish laughter fades as she actually thinks about it.

“Es verdad,” Alexia replies, and you are glad to understand. “Quiero ser la mejor del mundo así que ‘labor omnia vincit’.”

“You’re speaking Latin with a Spanish accent.”

“You love my accent.”

You smile. It’s true.

…

It hasn’t settled in Alexia’s mind that you, who calls her whenever you can because you miss her opinions and her jokes and the face that you can picture when she speaks, are the same person as the one she sees on Jenni’s phone as the team crowds round the screen to watch a viral video from your concert last night.

“A birthday present for you, eh, Ale?” Jenni jests, clinging on to Alexia’s admission months ago about her crush on you. She doesn’t know about the reality of it all. No one does, as of yet.

“Who puts them in these outfits?” asks Leila, mildly outraged at the bedazzled lingerie you’d been dressed in. “There’s nothing to them! They might as well go on stage naked.”

“It’s fine. They get hot while they’re performing anyway,” Alexia dismisses, not wanting to delve into your issues with your stylist. Well. Her issues with your stylist, who seems to not care about dignity or have any faith in the world’s imagination. (That, and Alexia is not sure she likes this idea of sharing, though she is aware that nothing defines you as hers.)

“Oh, did they tell you that themselves?” She glares at Jenni, and shoulders her way out of the huddle. It’s not Jenni’s fault that her mood has been easily soured, because tomorrow is Alexia’s birthday and then, the next day, she has to get to Madrid for her national camp. The Euros later this year is going to be in the Netherlands, and her dreams for her country are currently far-fetched. It hurts, and you’re well aware of her misery.

In fact, you are so aware that you are on a flight from Oslo on the fourth of February. It’s too special a day to miss. You have once again abandoned soundcheck.

Alexia receives a text as she slides into her mother’s old car, considering flinging the device out of the window at one of her teammates’ heads after they sang to her at training without the mercy of letting her forget that she is one year closer to the end of her career. At this rate, the career will be full of wasted potential. She is in a terrible mood about it.

And then she looks at her phone.

You have really tried to up your game with the Spanish of late, enlisting the help of a private tutor who Skypes you twice a week with new phrases and grammar that mildly resembles that of a dead language you carry more than a passion for.

You: Estoy aquí!

The only thing she can think to do is slam her index finger on the call button of your contact, nail bending painfully on the glass of the screen.

Your instructions are clear: “Airport. Now.”

She drives.

She drives at an embarrassingly desperate speed, because just over a week is too long a separation and her day has been awful and there is something so magnetic about your presence that she would be going against nature to do anything other than find you. Obviously, find you she does: right in the arrivals lounge, same black hoodie as always disguising your identity. It’s not any busier than usual, and you catch sight of her the minute she pushes her way to the front of the crowd of expectant faces.

With a weary grin, you walk towards her, and she knows that this game is only temporary. There will be privacy close by, and you can speak then.

She turns with a nod, and you follow as she takes the usual route, but suddenly there are fingers intertwined with her own and you are stopping her in front of everyone.

“Feliz cumpleaños,” you say with a pronounced failure and a hilariously concentrated expression. Alexia giggles, and the storm cloud above her dissipates, but the kiss she wants to press to your lips will have to wait. There’s somewhere empty just around the corner, and she tugs your hand to get you to come with her – to match the same haste she has – but you don’t. “Al coche. So we can go to your casa.”

Her eyebrows raise.

“It’s your birthday,” you explain, stepping towards her so that the people around you see a couple instead of two women walking in a vague direction. Alexia swallows, body tingling at your proximity. Her body always tingles when you stand near her like this. “It’s your birthday, so I am here for the night. My flight is tomorrow.”

She understands you entirely.

She all but drags you to her car.

Alexia does not even remember what it’s like to be miserable. She is set alight by your presence, by your lips, your hands, your soft greeting that you whisper in her ear when she pulls away to drive you to her flat. It’s a new place, and she is free from the fuss of her mother.

You smile when she pulls you out, taking your bulging handbag in one hand and grasping yours with the other, and she kisses that smile as she presses you against the mirror in the lift. The bag hits the floor with a thud, your overnight things spilling out because of her carelessness, but you pay the rolling Dior lipstick no mind, too caught up in the way her tongue swirls in your mouth. How her hands grip your waist.

She’s stronger than last time. She gets stronger every day: she is going to be the best footballer in the world. She is dedicated to her sport.

Your palms travel up the back of her t-shirt, cold from the metal you’d previously had them pressed against. Alexia flinches as your fingers brush a particular spot, the skin there slightly raised.

“¿Que pasó?” you ask, head tilted to the side as she draws back, panting. “Are you hurt?”

She examines your eyes. Deeply inquisitive. Full of something that may resemble love in the future.

Alexia smiles – an expression that she wears mostly when she is thinking about you. You watch as she turns around, the lift jerking to a halt as if to hurry up her slow movements. As she lifts up her t-shirt, you eye the tattoos you are aware decorate her back. There are going to be more someday, she has always been clear about that.

And, oh.

You’re not usually so attached. Alexia, it’s apparent, is a complete exception.

She asks you if you like it. You lean forward, and kiss the four words (she must have researched the quote, because you excluded the last when you mentioned it), tongue running over the redness as if you are going to heal the irritation. She moans quietly, more surprised than anything else.

“Do I get the credit for it?” She shakes her head, which you catch in the mirror opposite, and, before you can voice your protest, she is facing the right way again and kissing you as she leads you to her door. “You know, there’s another quote from him that I much prefer to that one. ‘Labor omnia vincit improbus’ is… Do you know the word workaholic?” Again, her head shakes. She backs you against the wall next to her door, lips attached to your neck as you keen under her touch.

She slots her leg between yours, and you forget your next sentence.

It’s a heated kiss. It promises tonight’s activities to you, and you cannot wait for her to unlock her door.

Your lips run along her neck as she jams her key into the lock. You suck and bite, spurred on by the moans she bites back with a clenched jaw. You find it sexy: her determination to get you inside. And it’s her birthday, after all. She deserves it. You have another gift for her in your bag, but she is grateful for this anyway.

“Inside,” she gasps as you smooth your tongue over the newly-created hickey you just gave her, kicking her door wide open and hauling you through the gap.

The flat is pitch black, but Alexia knows it well enough to chuck your bag towards the dining table and have you on your way to the bedroom without needing to switch any lights on. But your hands wander, and she gets distracted. She stops you in the middle of the flat, only half a second into your journey, and her life feels so full (especially when you moan like that). The room feels so full.

The room is full.

The room is…

“Moltes felicitats, moltes felici–” sings (and abruptly stops) a whole choir of Alexia’s friends and family, the lights switching to bathe the two of you in total mortification.

Alba’s hand covers the eyes of her cousin’s six-year-old, whose mouth has formed a perfect circle.

Silence washes over what looks to be a surprise birthday party. One which Alexia was assured yesterday was not going to happen. By multiple guilty attendees!

Alexia looks helplessly between you, her mother, and the shit-eating grin on Jenni Hermoso’s face, remembering herself promptly when Eli’s eyes drop to the placement of her hands on your bum. She almost jumps away from you.

“Fuck off,” you mutter under your breath, stewing in the terribly awkward silence as Alexia’s eyes only grow wider and wider. “Alexia.”

She breaks from her frozen state, thawed by the husk of your voice.

“Jo…”

The crowd explodes, and you let the tsunami of Catalan wash over your ears. There is so much noise, and so many people, and you can only watch as Alexia tries to answer all of their questions. She shakes her head, nodding at the same time, switching between two different languages to cover the shrieks from Jenni and the absolute bollocking her mother is giving her in front of everyone about dignity and respect. You are famous, says Eli, and you do not need Alexia’s horny motives to embarass you like that.

“She’s a celebrity,” Eli chides with a glare at her daughter, eyes softening as you continue to stare at the sea of faces blankly. You are backed against a wall with nowhere to run. “Alexia, introduce us to your girlfriend. Now.”

“You guys don’t need to be introduced to her!” Alexia replies like a petulant child, nearly crossing her arms and stamping her foot. “You know her name, and you’ve seen her. So you should all leave, really. Mami, I told you I didn’t want a party.”

Eli’s hands fly from her body to halt the departure of the guests as they catch on to how unwanted they are. “No, we are still going to have this party,” she insists. It’s the final decision. “So, go on. Introduce us.” It’s definitely not a question.

You clear your throat, wanting to save Alexia somehow. “Hola,” you begin, and every face breaks out into a beaming grin. “Um. Soy Y/n. Y… soy de Inglaterra?”

“Sí,” Eli says with a swell of encouragement that you can feel from two metres away.

“Alexia,” you plead.

“Guys, this is Y/n. She doesn’t speak Spanish, and she definitely does not speak Catalan, so either you practise your English or we cut the cake Mami has made and then you–”

“I am a big fan!” Jenni squeals, accented words loud and piercing as she surges towards you, sparking the movement of the entire body of people. No one listens to the rest of Alexia’s declaration.

…

There is a reason you are so well-liked, Alexia determines. She can see it as you interact with her family and closest friends. You smile and you listen and you remember things about people that they would deem insignificant. And it helps that you look breath-taking while doing it all.

Sitting at her dining table, Alba on one side, her mother on the other, she watches you flit around her flat with a talent for socialising, charming every person you speak to.

“She doesn’t know how you feel, does she?” Eli comments, noticing the hesitation in her daughter’s expression.

“I don’t know how she feels,” is what Alexia replies, because there is no way you can ignore the emotion she pours into your conversations. It exceeds that of a simple crush or hormone-fuelled desire. “She is incredible. I am me.”

“You are Alexia Putellas.”

“And she at least likes the way you kiss her,” Alba chimes in, her contribution unnecessary but making Alexia blush at the memory. The fact that her entire family saw that, most of them knowing where you were heading, is something she might be tossing and turning about at night for a while yet.

“Your father would love her.”

“I think so too,” Alexia says, chin resting on her palm as the world melts away, your eyes briefly meeting with hers as one of the children giggles at the face you have just pulled behind their mother’s back. A pang of disappointment reverberates in her chest as she grieves momentarily over the loss of her favourite person on Earth, wishing he could have shared the traumatic experience of today. He would’ve laughed so hard at her face when the lights went on.

“She seems lovely, really. Very polite. Is it because she’s English?”

“She is very…”

“I suppose the Latin came from her?” Alba asks with a smirk, prodding the fresh tattoo over the thin material of Alexia’s t-shirt, grinning as her sister hisses in pain.

“Next time, we can go somewhere quieter and talk properly. I know that you’ll be busy when tonight is over.”

Both Alexia and Alba shudder. “Mami!” her little sister groans, suppressing her gag.

“Sex is nothing to be ashamed of, Alba.”

“Never say ‘sex’ in front of me again,” Alexia tells her smug mother.

“Well, never get so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice the balloons taped to your flat number.”

Alexia bolts outside to check, and hates herself when she sees them.

…

“Dance with me!”

You grab Alexia’s hand, pulling her towards you. The party has lasted longer than she’s happy with, and you have seemingly forgotten about what you could be doing. You love to dance. You love music.

The little boy who’d been your partner up until now sticks his tongue out at Alexia, and she reciprocates the gesture. She is the birthday girl, after all.

You don’t understand a word of the music, but the beat flows through your hips as you move them against her. She runs her hands up and down your sides, your tank top now the only layer between your skin and her impatient fingers, hoodie having been stripped off the minute the party became interesting.

“My mother likes you,” Alexia whispers into your ear as you sway in time to the rhythm. Her lips brush your ear lobe, and you shiver despite the growing heat between you.

“This was very much a surprise,” you giggle in response, possibly answering wrong because her Spanish didn’t quite catch.

“Mhm.”

“I can’t wait for them to leave.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “You are not having fun?”

“I am,” you reply with a nod, a smirk slowly creeping into your content expression. She holds her breath, reminding herself of the presence of her family as you grind into her. “But I also can’t wait to fuck you.”

Alexia shudders.

“I will tell them to go.”

They cut the cake.

They sing again, completing the lyrics this time. You are even taught them before-hand, pushed out to the side of the crowd, very much silently told that you currently hold no place in Alexia’s life in comparison to these people. They all love her. You aren’t there yet.

But, she values your presence.

Alexia doesn’t care much about the people here tonight. She sees them almost every day, and she knows they are constants. What she does care about is you.

You, in that tank top. You, with your hair down, face fresh even though your day must have been exhausting. You, with a red mark on your collarbone that no one knows how to point out to you in English.

Soon, everyone is gone, and you are panting underneath her. Her lips capture yours, muffling the groan that comes with the movement of her fingers inside you. Your legs wrap around her body tighter, heels digging into her back.

Her hair falls around you; encapsulating you, surrounding you with only her. Her smell, her taste, her fingers.

You moan as her determination to destroy you becomes apparent. She hits every spot that has been neglected for the past few months, and though it is the first time the two of you are doing this, it’s as if Alexia has studied your body for years already.

She breaks apart from you as you come, your back arching off the mattress, chest pressing against hers. She wants to see your face for the first time. If she had a camera, she would have used it. You look beautiful.

Nothing on Earth compares to the cliff you have just been pushed off, and it is as if you are falling for eternity.

She goes again, and again, and again. She’s an athlete.

She ruins you, but her strong arms hold you together afterwards.

You fall asleep, for the first time in a while, with someone by your side. Whose hands find purchase on her favourite part of you, pulling you on top of her as she whines at your own tired attempt to make her feel good. Alexia whispers that she has been given enough, that she doesn’t need it, and she thinks you fall asleep to the sound of her incomprehensible, breathy Spanish. You cling to her.

…

The tour ends.

You couldn’t be happier. The final show is a blessing, and the tears in your eyes are of joy. You, Gio, and Anya are going home at last.

However, the well-decorated flat you walk into lacks everything possible, because there is no Alexia standing in the middle of the living room. She can’t be here, though you wish things were different. The season has been successful for her so far, and she is busy.

You really miss her. One night wasn’t enough. It will never be enough, and you are starting to realise the gravity of your blushes.

You like Alexia, and you have fallen hard and fast.

“You’re not coming back with us,” your brother says knowingly, skiing beside you down the picturesque blue run in Les Gets. You have come here every year since you were eight. April is a little later than usual, and the snow often turns to slush towards the afternoon – though one could argue that is simply a cue to move onto apres-ski – but it is pleasant to be on holiday with your family. People try to bother you, but it is easier to pretend you don’t see their waves when you have your ski goggles pulled over your eyes.

Your brother coughs, not pleased that you are ignoring him, reducing him to ‘everyone else’. (His ego, far too preened, far too large, cannot handle the idea of that.)

In front of the two of you, your father turns with precision and great technique. You can’t relate: you’re drunk. You have been since this morning.

“Sorry?” Your innocence is pretence and he rolls his eyes behind his Oakleys.

“Your flight. I saw it was booked to take you somewhere else. Somewhere you’ve been going a lot.”

“You’re not subtle.”

“You’re not subtle,” he replies, skis dangerously close to yours. You have to swerve, sending you onto the off-piste section of the run much to your irritation. With the excuse of tackling the jumps, however, you are lucky to evade further questioning, watching as he glides off into the distance, reaching the banner and skidding to a halt to wait for you and your mother. Your mother prefers to drink more than ski. She is always holding up the rear.

When you return to the chalet, bought by your parents a decade ago to solidify their roots in Les Gets, your brother seems to have remembered your conversation from earlier. Your parents have gone out for dinner, leaving the two of you to make something for yourselves. He is glad to have you alone.

“You don’t like lads, do you?” And, in truth, it’s an insightful question by his standards. He cares; he just does not know how to show it.

Pausing the construction of your sandwich for a moment, you allow him to see you for who you are. He’s your brother, after all. “Not at all,” comes your response.

He hums. “Thought so. You’d have gone out with half of England’s football team otherwise. God knows that they don’t mind.”

“England has a women’s team.”

“Gross.” His lips purse as he thinks about his little sister’s love life, and he decides that he would like to know more about Barcelona. “Are you buying a villa?”

“What?”

“Well, you go to Barcelona a lot. Are you buying a villa with the girls? Is that what celebrities do?”

You roll your eyes. “Mum and Dad buy villas. It isn’t just celebrities who splurge on property.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“I wish you’d never become a lawyer.”

He laughs – hearty and deep. His laugh reminds you of dark forests for some reason; tall trees that dwarf your body, but keep you safe nonetheless. “I wish you’d never gotten famous. My life would be so much quieter if half my mates weren’t trying to squeeze something or other out of my connections.” His pride is profound in his misery, and you smile, blushing. “You’re not buying a villa.”

“Well done, genius,” you taunt, assembling your sandwich once again in hopes that the baguette will kill the buzz in your mind. You can’t really think when you’re drunk, and, recently, when there is nothing else to occupy you, your mind wanders to Alexia. What is she doing now? Does she miss you? Is she excited to see you in three days?

It dawns upon his face with an amusing animation. “You’re seeing someone,” he accuses.

“Maybe,” you shrug. “She’d be one lucky girl.”

“One unlucky girl, you mean. I’d better find out who she is and tell her to run for the hills. You’re about two decades overdue for an exorcism, and it shows.” He swiftly appears behind you, despite his lumbering limbs, and flicks your ear as your teeth sink into your dinner. You squeal, pushing backwards to get him away from you. “What’s her name? Who is she? What does she do?”

“She is… classified.”

He reaches for his phone. “I’m going to find a list of Spanish names and see which one turns you into a tomato.”

“She’s still classified.” You prod your index finger into his shoulder.

“Hey.” You retract your finger, surprised by the tenderness of his tone. “You can tell me, you know. You’re my little sister. I really don’t give enough of a fuck to spread it.”

With great shame, you absolutely do not need to be told twice to talk about your favourite Spanish woman on the planet at the moment. He actually has to beg you to stop.

…

Things with Alexia are good.

Not just in terms of your relationship, but in general, too. Walks are more enjoyable, and so are mornings, afternoons, evenings. She likes that you feel comfortable to chill in her flat while she goes to training. She likes that she comes home to you. She likes that you spend your days with a pencil between your teeth, a blank page set out in front of you.

Now that the tour is over, it is clear what comes next. The new album will be the best ever made, you have decided, because you might finally understand the lyrics that you sing. They could resonate.

They will resonate.

Alexia asks you to be her girlfriend when she drops you off at the airport. Your plane is private and she can kiss you goodbye when you agree.

You love being Alexia’s girlfriend. You repeat your new identity over and over as you fly back to London, and it is a mantra that plays on loop in your mind as you get on with life back home.

The girls tease you mercilessly when you spill it. All three of you are on the balcony, though this time there is a joint placed between your fingers rather than a cigarette. Slightly high, more so giddy about Alexia, you confess. They’re happy for you, but Gio can’t help but text Anya later that night.

Gio: Have you seen the new plan?

Anya: What plan?

Gio is sitting upright in her bed, ensuring that her panic is quiet so her new boyfriend does not wake up. Her fingers hover over the keys shamefully, but she has to tell someone and it can’t be you.

Gio: The publicity plan.

It’s at your studio session the next day when all comes to light. Your manager/publicist appears, which is honestly quite rare. She’s not fond of the claustrophobia of the small room, nor the darkness it becomes shrouded in when you, Gio, and Anya are trying not to murder each other.

Dave swivels around on his chair, bored with the bickering. You aren’t sure about a lyric, but they disagree, even if Anya knows you have a better point than the third member of your group.

Your manager clears her throat. “Y/n, may I speak with you? It’s quite important.”

“Do this lyric without me,” you grit out to Gio.

“It’s your solo.”

“I don’t care.”

With that, you follow your manager into the corridor.

They hear your protests from the studio, the shout of frustration piercing through the small gap underneath the door, overcoming the supposedly impregnable sound-proofing.

There are tears streaming down your face upon your return. Fuck her, and fuck him.

Anya and Gio can’t look at you. Their chins dip to their chest as they slump in place, succumbing to the predetermined guilt they discovered last night.

“It’s not fair,” you cry to them as they refuse to turn around, throwing yourself onto the sofa with a heaving sob. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair. She’s going to hate me — she’s not going to love me anymore, and I… I love her.”

Anya’s mouth opens with a sob of her own. She had thought Alexia was a dalliance. She hadn’t realised.

It’s fun to have someone, she knows, but it is painful to love them.

You are clearly not enjoying yourself now.

“You love her?” she asks, though she is sure of the answer as another gasp leaves your body with a chilling desperation.

“Yes, I fucking love her. It was obvious.”

“But you—”

“Because I’m not out!”

“So what did she tell you?”

“They want it to last a few months. Enough to draw the attention away from my aversion to men and his relationship with some blogger.”

Anya gulps. A few months is a lot to endure, especially for the footballer whose heart you’ll be breaking. “You’ve said no, right?” she tries, paling as she grips onto the mic stand, trying in vain to remember the harmony she is supposed to sing. “You’ve told them… You’re you, of course you’ve said no!”

“Of course,” Gio adds, equally in denial.

You can only shake your head.

You were not given a choice.

Telling Alexia is hard, and not just because of the tears running through your words as you try to get them out over the phone.

In Barcelona, her head hangs in disappointment. She is never going to be good enough for you, she tells herself. The world will soon slot you by the side of another celebrity, and you will be pictured together as many times as humanly possible. No one will know that she is the one you call when you need to talk to someone, or that it is her rose that is pressed between your favourite copy of Little Women, saved from Sant Jordi. No one will be any the wiser to the girlfriend you keep in Spain, nor assume that you are visiting the country for a reason other than tourism and partying with your favourite foreign men’s football team.

It goes like this for months.

It sours the second- place finish in the league even more; makes the Champions League semi-final exit soul-destroying; and completely ruins her joy about winning the Copa de la Reina (worsened by a picture of you and him released the morning of the final).

She is still your girlfriend, but she is always one step behind you. She is in the shadows of the crowd when you sell out Wembley for the first time, and is just out of frame in the picture captured backstage of you and your lover embracing. His muscles do not feel the same as Alexia’s, but he becomes a friend, you guess. He isn’t fond of the arrangement either.

Then, when Alexia feels as though she might explode from the jealousy she harbours, she is tested once more as you go radio silent for a day. It’s unbearable. You usually text her every hour.

She misses hearing you greet her with ‘I took a smoke break’. She misses the taste of your lips, and the heat of your breath, and the swell of emotion you cause inside of her when you show her that you really care.

It’s a hard day. The Euros have started, and Spain has won their first two group stage matches. Vilda is terrible as usual, but it is nothing in comparison to the cavity left in her chest where you have carved out your notifications. Alexia has never wished to be distracted from football before, but today is clearly Judgement Day.

“Is this about your girlfriend?” Jenni pesters, mocking Alexia’s frown by exaggerating it on her own face. “She’s not pinging your phone every five minutes and now you’re inconsolable.”

“I have many things to be upset about,” Alexia replies moodily, though Vilda’s earlier berating has had no effect on her mood because it simply cannot get worse. “Our coach is shit, and we don’t get treated like England or Holland does.”

“And your girlfriend hasn’t texted you.”

“Yes, Jenni. She hasn’t texted me.”

She sighs.

Jenni is repulsed by the fire in Alexia’s belly seemingly having been put out. Her grimace is noticeable as she bends down to unlace her boots, glancing around the shoddy locker room, imagining what Alexia claims a few of the other teams have.

“Maybe she’s busy. She is, like, famous. She could be out for lunch with Shakira!”

“No, that was last month.”

Jenni pauses for a moment, awestruck at her friend's seriousness, before collecting herself and trying another approach. “Why don’t we do some shooting practice while you wait for her to call? That way, Spain gets more goals, and you’re…”

She doesn’t get to finish, cut off by the alarming brrrp of Alexia’s phone. Her friend saddens at the volume, pitying Alexia for how loud she has turned her ringer up just in case she had been missing your notification all along.

Alexia swipes her phone up from the bench, and hurries into the toilets.

Throughout the five months you have been dating, Alexia has become increasingly more aware of your intense reactions to emotional situations. You feel when you feel. She admires you for your work ethic, as you do her, because you fly from Barcelona to London and back again, all while writing songs, humming melodies, and holding together your high-profile life. Unfortunately, your determination and tendency to give everything and more has bled into every aspect of your life. And you are a wreck when she finally gets a word out of you.

“Tranquila, cariño,” she tries as you suck in a pathetically shallow breath. She knows exactly how many kilometres away from her you are, and she wishes she could sprint the distance. “Tranquila. What has happened?”

“I… I fired her.”

“Who?”

“My manager.” Alexia’s hand balls into a fist and she quietly celebrates. Well, until you sob again. “I mean, we all fired her. But now we have no manager and Dave is concerned about the structure of our group and the album sucks and it’s shit and HE tried to kiss me yesterday, even though he’s got a girlfriend too!”

“Búa, más slower, por favor. I’m not inglesa!”

Life, even if you are upset right now, starts to look up. You even get to spend a month with her, practising your Spanish (mejor-ing your nivel de español), meeting her family in a more appropriate context, and even watching the first match of the 2017-2018 season. Which Alexia is adamant they will win.

…

She proposes in November; a year after you kissed.

It’s not a hard decision to make. Not when you have built IKEA furniture together, and spent a week in Menorca with her, her mother, and her sister. Not when her English is littered with your vocabulary and references to Virgil and the like, and your family can all shout at you in Spanish because they’ve heard her do it so many times. Not when ‘I love you’ is the easiest sentence she’s ever said. Every minute of her life that she gives you is like exchanging part of her soul for pure, complete bliss.

You’re fucking freezing, and befuddled at the fact that Alexia has requested to take a walk in the park near your flat. Your Spanish girlfriend, the same woman who finds summer too temperate in England, has somehow turned into a snow-lover, even if there is only damp grass and a biting wind. Alexia wishes England had white Christmases, but it’s a myth, she has discovered.

The ring sits in her coat pocket. She chose it with Alba before she left the warmer climate of Barcelona, and her sister did not ask her whether she was rushing into things. It’s not too soon; if anything, she should’ve asked a year ago.

“Fuck me, it’s cold,” you groan as you shiver. She takes your hand, her woollen gloves itchy against your bare skin, but it warms you up. “We could be inside, in bed. There’s a new series we could start, or, I don’t know, don’t you have some football game to watch?”

“I hate watching football with you.”

You part your lips to respond, but she is not lying and she has said it before. Some bullshit about you supporting all the wrong teams.

“Well, I hate it when you drag me out into the freezing cold for no reason. If you want a dog to bring on walks, just say so. We can go to Battersea before you leave tomorrow.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, halting you both near the inky water of the lake you have been circling for the past five minutes. It sucks that her visits are temporary, even if you are technically moved into each other’s homes (she has your keys, you have hers). With the remaining time left before her flight tomorrow at noon, she has worked up the courage to do it now.

It’s like scoring a goal: receive the pass; dribble; gear up for it; shoot.

“What’s wrong?”

Her free hand reaches into her pocket. “Nada.”

“No, you’re acting weird…” You blink a few times as if to adjust better to the dim light coming from the distant lampposts. A plop sounds from the water, and she jumps. She’s on edge.

“No.”

“Yes. Jesus, you haven’t decided to break up with me in the middle of a park at night, have you?” Your question packs an unnerved insecurity, and she feels a little guilty about the suspense. She fiddles with the ring in her pocket, and then she takes a deep breath. “Hey,” you try tenderly. “Seriously, Ale, what’s wrong?”

“Te lo dije. Nothing.”

“So what’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

She sighs, “here,” and she grabs your hand to press it into the soft warmth inside. And there’s a piece of metal, heated by her fingers. With a chunk of rock on top of it. It feels like an engagement ring. You’re probably not getting broken up with tonight.

“Are you proposing?”

“Are you saying yes?”

“Yes.”

“Hòstia.” She frowns, and you consider pushing her into the lake. “I am going to say it now.”

“But you already—”

A quick display of her athleticism, for the muscles exist despite being buried underneath all those layers, and she is down on one knee. Her joggers will have wet patches, and she hates the squelch of the mud beneath her, but she has a perfect view of your surprise. Your tears.

“Bueno. Your brother helped me to… write the speech,” she starts, and her rehearsal is adorable. Although, honestly, you don’t hear what she has to say because you have already made up your mind.

You tell her yes in as many languages as you can.

And she thanks you with breathy moans into your mouth as you guide her towards a bench, and then your flat, and finally your bed.

When you are finished, well into the early hours of the morning she will have to leave, you climb out of bed, missing the firm grip of her toned arms the minute you’re out of it. There is a burning, overwhelming sureness inside of you that you can’t escape. You know it is soon – probably too soon for most – but there is a person out there for everyone, and yours is right in your bed.

Your guitar, slightly dusty from the neglect because of your frequent visits to Barcelona, rumbles when you pluck it from its stand, collapsing into the armchair beside your bed with a groan, feeling the ache of your muscles that only affirm just how good a time you’ve had with your fiancée.

You don’t play anything interesting, but the noise is enough to rouse Alexia from her heavy slumber. She lifts her head from where it has been buried within the silk pillows of your bed, and watches as your fingers pluck the nylon strings with vague allusion to one of your older songs. The weight of her ring – your engagement ring – does not seem to affect your playing: in fact, Alexia realises your hand was naked without it. You hum, fingers beginning to itch for a cigarette the minute the guitar starts to bore you, and she clears her throat.

Her grin is self-satisfied and certain. “Me voy a casar contigo,” she says into the dark stillness of your bedroom.

“I love you,” you reply.

…

Being engaged is fun.

Like, really fun.

You stay in Barcelona in December, hiding from the bitter chill of England. No one questions it, and the absence of a manager grants you so much freedom. The girls pop to the city one weekend to brainstorm a song, but, other than that, you are content to forget your own identity and become Alexia’s fiancée, one of the regulars at the increasingly more popular Barça Femení games (only the team know you’re there, able to see through the caps and sunglasses).

There are still rumours circulating about you and him, though their credibility has lessened ever since he revealed himself to have been in LA for a while. To the world, you’re sort of MIA. They catch you occasionally when you return to London for photoshoots or just to chat with your friends and family, but they get nothing more. Your Instagram posts are few and far between, and the most recent paparazzi picture is of you leaving Gio’s house to buy her a pregnancy test.

When the test is positive, something is tweaked inside of you, and you return to Barcelona – a place that is now your home too – carrying a lead-ish guilt.

Alexia loves her football, and Alexia is obsessed with her career. You are too, but you have done what you can, really. The BRIT nominees will be announced tomorrow, and you know that you and the girls are on that list. You have your fame, you have your money. But Alexia has neither, and she should. Especially when her male counterparts are raised high and mighty on large, golden platforms.

You know just how ambitious she is, and that is why you lack surprise when you enter her flat to find her hunched over her iPad at the dining table, replaying the same twenty-second clip over and over until she has identified every single fault and created a plan to correct them.

She barely registers your presence, but you don’t mind how absorbed she is in her footage. It is nice to make the ever-composed Alexia jump when you slink up behind her, pressing your lips against her neck. She dissolves herself in the fuzzy feeling you give her.

“Hola,” she says, regaining control when she spots another mistake, grasping her pen tightly as she scribbles down Spanish words you can’t be bothered to read.

“Hola,” you reciprocate, though you are a lot more enthusiastic about it. “Tengo una pregunta.”

“Oh no.” You wrap your arms around her shoulders, and she relaxes. Your ring reflects the light from her screen as if to remind her that you are hers, and that softens her previous sternness slightly. Another kiss to the skin behind her ear, and she is more open to talk.

Clicking your tongue, you think of where to start. “Okay, first, I have news.”

“About Gio? Is she okay?”

“She’s… pregnant.” The emergency you were recalled to London for was actually a pleasant surprise for her and her boyfriend. You’re unsure about how committed they are to each other, and whether a baby is a great idea, but you held your tongue when Anya shook her head at you.

“Uf. Pobrecita, ¿no? She loves tequila.”

“She does love tequila,” you agree with a chuckle. You extend your hand slightly and press pause on the footage. Alexia pushes back against you. Her chair scrapes against the wooden floorboards, but there is a gap between her and the table now. She motions for you to sit in her lap.

She tilts your chin up and kisses you gently: a welcome home kiss. “¿Qué pasa, mi amor?”

“What would you do if I told you that I was pregnant tomorrow?”

“I would ask you if you have been cheating on me with a man,” she replies instantly. You laugh, head falling forwards, resting on her shoulder. She runs her hands up your sides, fingers firm, thighs tensing underneath you.

“But hypothetically. If it were possible,” you continue, a smirk working its way onto your lips, guilt forgotten. You may have spent your plane journey scrolling through pictures of Alexia with the various babies in your life. It was a self-indulgent act, and it has very much led you to now.

Her eyebrows furrow with the adorable crinkle in between them, and she is seriously trying to work out if she is missing something. You go to London, you come back, you want a baby?

But she loves you. And she is very intrigued.

“Is it mine?”

“Yes, it’s yours.”

She watches the smirk on your face blossom into a smile, and she feels a matching one tug her lips upwards. “Is it going to support España or England?” The latter is pronounced in your accent, and you make a mental note to ask Jenni if she has been doing impressions of you to her teammates.

“It can choose when it’s older,” you say, waving off her stupid football question. Since dating her, your interest in football has decreased. She has sort of put you off. You only really watch it to watch her now, or when United are playing an interesting game and your father is antsy enough to text you every minute.

“No, it can’t.” You blink. She pulls you into her. “It chooses now. Spain or England, and Manchester United or Barcelona. There are right answers.”

“Manches–”

“Wrong! I think I will have to make sure the baby is not brainwashed.”

You panic for a moment. “Wait, you do know I’m not really pregnant, right?!”

Alexia is not the most ready for children, but she is always prepared to give you everything you want. “If you want a baby, mi amor, let’s make a baby. Sin chicos.” You giggle coyly as she hoists you up – the display of strength exuding an unbearably sexy cockiness. “And after,” she says in between kisses as she stands, “we can look on the Internet for options.”

“¡Vamos!”

…

The Barcelona women’s team congas its way back into the Home team changing room of the Joan Gamper, following a 7-0 win. Alexia kicked off the goal-laden game in the sixth minute, and she is on cloud nine. Victory is the sweetest taste in her mouth, and one where she knows you are watching is even better.

Mapi flicks her shoulder as they dance to the music bursting from someone or other’s speaker. “You’re so happy,” she says, her grin wide and eyes shining. They dance topless, most of them, but Alexia has subtly been rushing to get dressed and find you. Barcelona is a beautiful city, and she has promised that you can take her to dinner somewhere now that your morning sickness has subsided and only started to affect you when it is supposed to.

“We just won,” she explains over the shouts of joy from her teammates.

María León joined from Atleti this season, but she has known Alexia longer than that, and she can tell when there is something more to football in her emotions. Though it is a well-kept secret, Alexia has two obsessions, and you are one of them.

“Yo sé. But you have been very happy recently, in general. Except, you don’t come out for team nights or hang back to practise more after training, so it is definitely to do with Y/n.” Alexia’s absence in her teammates’ lives is actually unusual, seeing as you are very encouraging and a firm believer in the ‘work hard, play hard’ mentality. Your urging is what sends Alexia to bars and clubs with the girls, though she has neglected all of these outings ever since you showed her your positive pregnancy test (best belated birthday present ever). “So… what’s going on?”

“You’re so nosy.”

“I’m interested. I love her, and I want to know how she has made it so that you haven’t had a bad day for the last three months, even when we lost to Bilbao. Is it sex? Does she suffer through–”

“No!” Alexia interjects, cheeks reddening. Mapi smirks at the twenty-four-year-old, proud to have embarrassed her. She still claims that she is not a prude. Her phone buzzes on the bench – you’re asking how long she is going to take.

Mapi swipes Alexia’s clean clothes from her grip, holding them behind her back as she giggles at her friend’s exasperation. “Tell me, or go outside like that.”

“Good thing it’s May,” Alexia shrugs, grabbing her phone and bag, knowing you won’t at all mind spending time with her in just her sports bra. She is pulled back by Mapi, who has hooked her finger into the waistband of Alexia’s shorts and yanked hard enough for them to have stretched.

“Ale, tell me.”

“No. You’re a gossip.”

“I’m not a gossip.”

“You so are.”

“Am not.”

“So it wasn’t you who told Leila about Patri’s crush when I made it clear that we weren’t even supposed to know?” Mapi shifts uncomfortably, letting go of the shorts. “And it definitely wasn’t you who let everyone find out about my engagement because you don’t know what an inside voice is?”

“Hey, you never specified that you were going to be sneaky about it!” she defends, as she has done ever since the entire canteen went silent in shock and then, two seconds later, broke out into a clamour of pleas to be bridesmaids and to get Bad Bunny invited to the wedding.

“It was implied,” Alexia shoots back with a glare.

“Fine. Be annoying. I’ll just ask Y/n.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. She’s got better things to do.”

“Ouch,” Leila says, patting Mapi on the back as she shoves her way into the conversation. The two are partners in crime, and Alexia hates that she is now outnumbered. “But tell us. Please, Ale.”

“We’ll even not nutmeg you for a week.” They love to try. It’s their highest priority mission.

“A month,” Alexia negotiates.

“Yes! Just tell us.”

“Y/n is pregnant.” Three months down the line is not necessarily when she wants to announce her personal business to the entirety of Spain, but you both know that it’s safe to tell people now.

Mapi laughs. “Ay, Alexia, you don’t have to lie to us.”

She looks at her friends blankly, having not expected this reaction. When she told her mother, the woman at least had it in her to take it seriously (albeit with quite the cautious ‘are you sure?’). “I’m not lying,” she then says, more to Leila than the giggling Mapi in front of her.

“You’re not…?” Leila tries, grappling with it. Two pairs of eyes drift down to Alexia’s crotch, squinting at the material as though some previously concealed appendage is going to jump out at them.

Alexia clears her throat.

“I’m sorry. How?!”

“The normal way most lesbians–”

“She’s, like, actually pregnant? Like, de verdad, she is pregnant?”

“Or she’s smuggling a lime under her shirt.” Her nod is small and she has the glimmer of a smile on her face despite Leila and Mapi’s gobsmacked expressions. Her phone buzzes: it’s you again. “And, if you two don’t mind, I don’t want to leave her waiting for me outside.”

“Because she’s…”

“Exactly.”

When she finally escapes the changing room, she climbs into her car. With heartbreak from both you and your dad, you have sold your i8 in favour of getting Alexia a Land Rover. Most of your money is in savings. You earn loads, but it is hard to find things you want to spend it on, and a lot of it goes towards private jets to get you to and from Alexia.

You are sitting in the passenger seat. “Jugaste bien,” you say as her hand moves up from its instinctive resting place on your thigh, settling on the growing swell of your stomach. “I’m so hungry. I could eat a horse.”

“A horse?”

“Or a house. Or, I don’t know, an entire cavalry. Feed me.” Her alarm — a mistranslation — causes her to almost run over the steward directing her out of the car park. “Tengo mucha hambre, Ale.” She nods with a roll of her eyes. She’s been warned about pregnant women.

…

In the bustling excitement of Estadi Johan Cruyff, which has slowly filled with more and more fans in the time you have known the plastic seats and improving pitch, you find yourself in the midst of an unexpected turn of events. With your due date approaching and Alexia’s insistence that you are surely made of glass, you have been forced to part from your sisters (Gio and Anya) and live in Barcelona. She wants the baby to be born here. You’ve negotiated that the next one will be had in London.

Alexia’s mother notices the deep breath you take in, well-acquainted with the horror on your face having worn that same expression twice before. ¿Estás bien?” she asks you, the steadiness of her voice comforting to the flurry inside your head.

The whistle blows and the game kicks off. This can’t be happening now.

It’s too early. There’s a… What are they called? Braxton-hicks?

“Sí,” you affirm with a curt nod. The not-contraction doesn’t hurt that much, you tell yourself. You settle in the seat and focus on the match in front of you, using the rhythm of the crowd’s cheers (it can now be called a crowd!) to keep you grounded. With a reassuring smile, Eli offers you her hand. You take it and try not to crush her metacarpals.

It’s definitely possible that you are in actual labour, considering the increasing intensity of your contractions, but you are not about to leave the match. Alexia would notice your absence. This game is important for her team – it’s the last before the Christmas break.

At halftime, Eli quietly reassesses you, tricking you into seeing the team’s medic when guiding you to the ‘toilet’. Already briefed on the situation, the medic asks you a few questions in accented English, much like that of your newly trilingual fiancée. “Don’t tell her,” you beg quietly through a huffed sigh, gladly taking the seat offered to you. “I’ll wait until it’s finished.”

“There is another hour left.”

Your ears burn and another contraction shoots through you. You shake your head, fending off the pain while you do so. “He can’t be a Barcelona fan,” you insist. Eli grins at the knowledge that her first grandchild will be a boy, but you do not see it, too focused on convincing the medic to keep the child’s other mother in the dark about what is currently happening in the Barcelona medical room. “I’ll wait.”

Eli hands you your phone per your request. You call Gio, whose daughter is only two months old. “Don’t tell me,” she starts when you fail to greet her. The sound of her voice, her accent, her tone is relieving, though you are incredibly grateful for the woman who continues to hold your hand as though you are her own daughter. “Nah, nah. Where are you? I’m gonna jump on a flight, alright? I’ll call Anya and we’ll be there soon.”

“Don’t… rush,” you groan.

“Babe, we are going to rush. Where are you?!”

“A match!” You try to remember the breathing exercises you learnt for this exact moment. “Her match. Second half’s only just started. She… She doesn’t know.”

Gio’s loud, boisterous laugh rings out, and you can tell that she is not at home. No one with a newborn baby can afford to make noise at that volume. “Fucking hell. Ever heard of sense?” You don’t respond, embarrassed that you are in too much pain to think of a comeback. “I’ve left Mia at my mum’s, so don’t you worry. Want me to bring anything from home? Cadbury’s, maybe?”

“One of those massive bars?”

“Yep, done deal.” She pauses. “Hey, babe, I’m gonna ring Anya now, alright? Call your mum – or your dad, if you two haven’t yet made up. I’ll see you soon. Tell Alexia her baby’s on the way!”

Your protests are cut off by the final beep of her hanging up, and your head drops back as another contraction, your body squeezed as though some giant rubber band has just snapped back into place. Eli stands up, worried now.

Before you can tell her that you are alright, a gush of water hits the sterile floor with an unnerving splatter. The prospect of having to care for another life suddenly becomes very real. “Tenemos que ir al hospital.”

“No.”

“Soy la abuela. Yo sé que hacer.” Even the medic, who has nervously stayed by your side, much more experienced with ACLs than broken waters (and stubborn pregnant women), looks intimidated by the firmness of Eli’s words. “Por favor”: she softens her blow.

You glance around the room, slowly descending into agony and helpless against the wrath of rationality from your fiancée’s mother. “How long’s left of the match? ¿Cuántos minutos quedan?”

The medic holds up all ten fingers. You grapple with your body, begging the baby to sit tight for a moment. “Let her finish. We can go when the whistle blows.”

Your contractions get closer together.

Eli’s frustration leads her to ask God for the baby to not have inherited your stubbornness. She also loves you more for it; admiring your insistence to keep Alexia from missing everything.

You don’t call your own mother. You simply type out a shaky text to the family group chat; blunt and to the point. ‘Baby. Now.’

Half of your universe storms the web, booking flights to Barcelona. Anya and Gio are almost at the airport already — a few steps ahead of your panicking parents and your brother, who has been enjoying dinner at the Savoy with his clients. Those who serve as your planets, revolving around you like you are the sun, do you a favour, letting Dave know that you probably won’t make it to the Skype call scheduled for tomorrow morning. Dave, in turn, now expanding into management, informs your newly-hired publicist (good riddance to the old one). The world has expected a pregnancy announcement ever since you failed to appear at your most recent awards show, despite winning in your category.

It's almost an eternity later that Alexia, football boots clacking against the floor, flings open the door of the medical room. Eli calls out, warning her daughter about slipping on the sizable puddle that has spread out beneath you.

Your fiancée is valiant in her attempt to mask her sheer panic.

“Have you called an ambulance?” she asks her mother, stepping over your amniotic fluid and placing her hand on your shoulder. You squint, trying to open your eyes though this contraction has been the most excruciating so far.

“We were waiting for you. She was adamant that you finished your match.”

“No football match is more important than her!” If you understood Catalan (and weren’t in labour), you’d have teased her for being a sap. “Call an ambulance, Jesus Christ. Look at her — she needs a doctor.” Her composure revisits her fleetingly, and she turns to the medic. “Thank you for looking after her.” There is no answer because it is drowned out by her barking more orders her mother’s way.

“No ambulance,” you declare before your mouth opens in a silent sob. “Drive me. Not an ambulance.”

The last glimpse the Estadi Johan Cruyff gets of Alexia Putellas in 2018 is her carrying you to her mother’s car, your face buried in her team-issued jacket in case anyone is waiting outside to take pictures of the players.

Eli drives; something she doesn’t like doing often but feels is necessary with the nervous bounce of her daughter’s legs in the backseat enough to convince her that they’d speed like the Flash if anyone else ended up behind the wheel. She knows Barcelona, can navigate it with her eyes closed, and you are at the hospital before you can begin to tell Alexia how much you think you can’t do this.

“I really fucking can’t do this!” you cry out, situated in the delivery room. Sweat rolls down the side of your face, already dampening your hair. Alexia thinks you look beautiful, and she has been made proud of the last two hours. You’ve also helped her a lot with English swearwords.

“You can.”

“I can’t.” You’re told to push again. “Alexia, you are having the… next… fucking… beach ball.” Each word is punctuated by a guttural moan.

Waves of intense pain contort your face in agony, and the midwife continues to talk you through your task as though instructing you how to park a car. “Estás haciendo muy bien, mi amor,” she tells you, ignoring the possibility that you may have rendered her left hand boneless.

“There’s a baby coming out of my vagina,” you shout, “don’t even try to test my Spanish, you twat.”

The midwife shoots your fiancée a pitiful look. “She’ll take it back,” she says in Catalan.

“She’s getting quite inventive.”

“There’s been worse.”

You can imagine the conversation taking place in the middle of you delivering her literal child. “No, I won’t! It’s breaking me in half.” You grip her hand harder. “Never. Again.”

But, with a final, visceral (and heavily encouraged) push, the room is filled with the sound of life. Nico comes into the world screaming at the top of his lungs. All Alexia can think to say is, “definitely yours.”

…

Life is a lot more tiring trying to juggle being a mother and a pop star.

The press have a field day when you announce the birth of your son with a simple Instagram post, your engagement ring second only to the swaddled lump on your chest. The caption (‘ours’) sparks debate on who exactly is the other parent. Well, father. Alexia’s teammates, while waiting to finally be allowed to meet your bundle, spend a good two months teasing her mercilessly about it. Most notably, Alexia almost loses La Reina to Papi.

2019 comes with change — a lot of it.

You hire a new manager so that Dave can focus fully on the last album 2sday will produce. The group has been together for six years, and you have made your millions.You seek neither money nor fame, but it comes knocking on the door of your quaint apartment in Barcelona anyway, along with a record deal only for you. A solo act.

Between Nico crying, Alexia playing football, and you trying to write songs that don’t end up criminally depressing, the contract on your dining table slowly becomes forgotten about. Alexia is too stressed about the impending World Cup to grant you a moment to breathe. You spend your days in Barcelona with a baby attached to your hip, the question of his parenthood still a mystery to the public, and, ever so slowly, you begin to resent your life.

It could be postpartum depression, but you have no time to really investigate the symptoms.

Alexia, two weeks before she needs to leave for her national camp and then the World Cup in France, comes home to an eerily silent apartment.

She calls out your name, wondering if you have perhaps gone to her mother’s house. The terrible sinking feeling comes with your reply. “Can we talk?” you ask.

She finds you perched on the Egyptian cotton sheets that cover your double bed. The sheets are out of place here, greatly exceeding the original budget of the decor, and, where Alexia sees this as you adding to her life, you feel you are somewhere you don’t belong. It is fine when she is next to you, holding your hand, claiming the other half of the now six-month-old baby boy gurgling in his carseat. When she isn’t there, though, the vacant space taunts you.

“I have no friends here,” you tell her quietly. The gravity of the mood settling over you pulls her onto the mattress, not caring if the sheen of sweat she wears as her outermost layer of clothing dirties the expensive creamy white beneath her. “I have no friends, I don’t speak the language, and I think that I have played at being a normal person for long enough. I mean, it’s great to watch you and to be there for you, but, darling, that’s not who I am. This,” you gesture to the loungewear you have on, stained with dribble, “is not who I am.”

Alexia hears what you are saying. She understands; she remembers the nights where you’d call her, a cigarette rasping your voice, sparkles shining in the valley between your breasts. She has seen this coming. It would be impossible not to notice the dimming of such a strong love between you: still present, yet slowly fading away.

“They want me to sign a new deal. Alone.” The suitcases lined up in the corner of the bedroom become glaringly obvious. Nico is in his carseat for a reason. “I think it would be good for me to go back to London. I need to feel like myself again, and my parents are willing to watch him. I sold my flat – I’ve bought a house in Highgate.” Tears sting your eyes as you speak, and you know where Alexia’s shoulder is without having to look, resting your head against it. “I love you. I love you so much, but I just can’t do this anymore.”

It’s as if the ground crumbles away beneath her. Your words hang above Alexia’s neck like an axe, waiting to execute her, waiting to end everything. She can’t look at Nico, whose face crumples at his mother’s clear heartbreak.

The world, once vibrant, lays in ruins. Her funny story from training dies on her tongue, and her question of whether you wanted to visit her mother before she left for camp disintegrates, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Do you still want to marry me?” she asks, and you hate the way her voice cracks with uncertainty. “Are you moving permanently?”

“I haven’t called anything off. It’s still going ahead as planned.” She senses the but. “But I… I can’t think here. I can’t be here. I want – I need – to go home.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She is going to be at the World Cup anyway. You and her will always find your way back to each other. She is going to be busy.

She is going to be busy.

“Yeah. It’s okay. Take all the time you need.”

She is going to fall apart without you.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #fc barcelona

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redflagshipwriter · 2 months

Text

Nest Swap 3 (baby Tim wakes up in Red Robin's life)

This was without a doubt the best day that Tim Drake had ever had. It was probably the best day any Drake ever had, actually. He was never going back to elementary school. He would use a laser on anyone who tried to take him there. There was probably one here, actually. He set off looking for one.

He found a notebook and a clicky pen with six different colors that he used to take a note about everything he found, to get his thoughts in order. After he had inventoried all the coolest stuff in the secret hideout, he went back upstairs. He was yawning too much to do a lot tonight and anyway, he had to be up in the morning to help Miss Fox. He had important responsibilities to uphold, just like Mom.

Going to bed presented a little bit of a challenge. He dug through the drawers to borrow pajamas, nose wrinkled up at how terrible these clothes were. Most of them were boring. They were way too big, of course. It troubled him.

He dug under the sink and found some super concerning things. He looked in a plastic box in the bathroom closet and eventually found a package of spare toothbrushes. Tim felt a little gross about borrowing toothpaste from a stranger's tube, but he didn't see a way around it. He brushed his teeth, washed his face with something he found in the main bathroom, and took a fast shower.

Tim stood in the main bedroom for a while, pursing his lips. It was where he found all his cool stuff, but it was probably personal space. “I think it would be presumptuous to sleep here,” he decided. He gathered up the electronics and their cords and hauled it all into the next bedroom.

He crawled into bed and tucked himself in. He was out in a matter of minutes, even though the hallway light was still on.

He woke up when he woke up, because he totally forgot that he didn't have an alarm set here. Oops. Tim had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he crawled across the bed to check the time.

It was 9:34 already!?! He was late for Miss Fox! Tim scrambled to open up the email- and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank gosh,” he said. He put the phone in his pants pocket and shuffled to the kitchen.

The weight of the phone pulled the pants down to his knees.

“Ugh!” Tim shouted, because he could. He took the phone out and hiked the pants back up with one hand. He kept complaining, because it was fun. “Terrible pants,” he scolded them. “Falling down, in this economy?” His voice went up way too high when he quoted his dad's favorite complaint while reading the news. Tim cheerfully waved his hands around and channeled his Mom next. “As per my last email!” He ended it with a foot stomp.

Wow, that one was fun. He felt powerful. He decided he was going to use that one today. Tim put the phone and tablet on the table and made sure the volume was up. Then he tried to find breakfast. He knew alllll about breakfast, and so did the guy who lived here.

Usually Ms. Mac made it if his parents were gone, or Dad made it if they were home. But Tim knew the formula. For breakfast, you pick a piece of fruit, a carb, and two drinks. If you're fancy, you have a hot serving of protein.

And Tim? Tim was fancy.

He picked a banana out of the fruit bowl and cut it up with a big chopping knife he found sitting in a wooden block, like kitchen Excalibur. He forgot to take the peel off first, so that was annoying.

For drinks, he found a carton of milk that actually smelled pretty bad. “Boo,” Tim said sadly. He poured it down the sink and then got out a can of Zesti. It was grape, so it was probably the best substitute for fruit juice available.

You also need a hot drink for breakfast, so he made a whole pot of coffee and bounced on his heels while it dripped, feeling very adult. He looked at the coffee packaging for a while, lost in thought with his tongue sticking out slightly between his lips. It had a great picture of an atrocious cat thing on it, and said it was AUTHENTIC FANALOKA COFFEE. He liked the cat. It looked like it was designed by an evil scientist who had never seen a cat.

Tim didn't know what Fanaloka meant in this context, though he surmised it was the cat’s name. He moved on with his day.

It was harder to find a carb. There was cereal, but that was yucky without the milk. He found two bagels, but there wasn't any cream cheese! What was wrong with this guy?

He eventually gave up and toasted a bagel. Morosely, he got out butter. Maybe that would be good enough.

The piece de la resistance was bacon. He found a package of it in the freezer. It was all frozen. It was way too hard for him to take off two strips.

His first thought was to cut it up with Excalibur and then fry up just a little. But the fry pan was super duper heavy. So he just microwaved the whole thing for 5 minutes.

It smelled great!

The bagel in the toaster was actually really cold then. He heated it one more time and then frowned at it when it came out too brown. “You get what you get and you don't throw a fit,” he grimly quoted Ms. Mac, and climbed up the tall stool to sit at the counter. He buttered the bagel. Like, he buttered it a lot. Maybe that would help.

It was still kinda hard to eat. He peeled open the bacon and fished some out with his fork. It was all wiggly. Tim tried it. “That's good,” he said, pleased. He had another strip of bacon. Oh! The coffee!

He hopped down from the stool and ran over to find a mug. He filled it with coffee and tasted his creation. Hm. He had another sip.

“It tastes bad,” Tim said contemplatively.

Did that mean he used too many beans or too few beans?

The only way to find out was experimentation. He dumped out all the coffee, threw away the wet beans, and made it again with like, twice as many beans. He went and ate his banana and about half of the bagel while the coffee percolated itself. Then he tried the coffee again. He took a slow sip. His nose wrinkled. “Maybe this coffee is just disgusting?”

Mom always gave it to him with sugar and milk, like how she had it. Obviously the loser who lived here had let his milk expire (Mom would never) so Tim gave it up as a bad job.

His first email arrived with a ding during breakfast. Tim opened it with a slightly greasy finger and read it while he gnawed at the bagel.

Hmm. Miss Fox was concerned about something going on in R&D and she wanted him to replicate an experiment by the notes the scientist was using. She didn't want to bias him by telling him her suspicion, so that was all the information she was giving him.

Tim used one hand to laboriously type back an okey-dokey message, in business language.

When he finished eating he dumped everything in the sink. That was probably good enough. He grabbed the phone and the tablet. Then he went to bother the fish, so that he could use the laboratory downstairs.

The phone buzzed while he was going down the stairs. He felt it against his chest where it was stuck between his body and the tablet. Hmm. It buzzed again. “Just a minute,” Tim said crossly. It kept going off! Wow, that was so annoying.

As soon as he got downstairs he put down the tablet and scowled at the phone. He was getting like a billion messages from someone named Dick. “I am WORKING!,” Tim said to himself as he typed up and sent the same message.

Dick sent like 42 crying faces. Tim groaned and scrolled up to see the last couple of messages, just in case they were important.

Uh.

“These messages don't look important,” Tim said, raising his eyebrows at babble about how Dick missed him and he hadn't checked in last night and “the family” was afraid that he had fallen in a hole or been eaten by a lion. Apparently someone called Dami had drawn up what they thought that might look like, in case they needed to show the police. Dick had included it as an attachment.

Tim clicked on it, curious even though he knew he really shouldn't open attachments from weird people. These were definitely weird people.

It was a really good picture. He told Dick as much and then blocked the number. He needed to get stuff done today.

#red nest swap #dc fanfic #tim drake deaged #tim drake #ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY POST

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2knightt · 1 year

Text

the gangs love languages<3

!warnings!

1.GN!reader-mentions of reader being ‘pretty’

2.minor swearing

3.i did NAWT proofread ts. we die like men.

Johnny Cade ;

I’m getting strong physical touch and words of affirmation vibes.

do not even try to lie to me he would TOTALLY be holding your hand 24/7.

with the gang? you guys have your pinkies intertwined! on a walk? holding hands! cuddling? holding both hands, scandalous!

he hugs you so much. he doesn’t get it, you don’t get it, nobody does.

he just, likes hugging for some reason???

but YOU have to hug him first, he will NOT hug first.

absolutely LOVES being the little spoon. may hurt his ego a little bit, but ykw, it’s worth it in the long run🙏.

he’s so touch starved. he doesn’t know what the loving touch of anyone feels like. so PLEASE, treat johnnycake nicely.

he will CONSTANTLY tell you look look gorgeous. constantly.

“you look stunning today. n-not sayin’ you don’t look good everyday! i mean you’re a real looker ya know and-“

he doesn’t know how to function because he thinks he messes up everytime he tries to speak to you :(

homies that whipped fr…

ANYWAYS, back onto track🙏

when you two are alone he’s actually so sweet with his words i can’t.

“dunno how i got this lucky. huh? i didn’t say anything.”

“you look real good in that shirt, babe.”

“love you so much. so, so, so much.”

Dallas Winston ;

it’s physical touch and acts of service. do not play with me right now, i know i’m right.

i don’t really think dally’s good at expressing how he feels in any shape or form.

so he shows you love by having his hand on your hip, kissing you, stealing cute accessories for you, holding the door open etc.

if you’re expecting him to go on rants on how he loves you, you’re in the wrong place. that’s all sodapop but we aren’t on his section, are we?

anywhere and everywhere you guys go he will have his hand on you. not just because he’s protective but i think it gives him a sense of security and calmness.

like, dallas knowing you’re safe, makes him happy.

SPEAKING OF HIM BEING PROTECTIVE— he will intimidate someone by having his arm around your shoulder and staring right into their eyes.

kisses are his favourite thing💆‍♂️ he told me himself.

he steals shit for you. i know he does, we both know.

dally ain’t well off so, he’s gonna do what he does best. steal.

want that necklace? SNATCHED! want cigarettes? ALREADY IN HIS HAND! pepsi? YOURS ALREADY!

“you want some chips, doll? i’ll get ya some. don’t you worry your pretty little head over it, eh?”

“but you’re broke, dall.”

“what did i just say?”

Ponyboy Curtis ;

QUALITY TIME QUALITY TIME QUALITY TIME!!!

words of affirmation too ig.

ponyboy definitely finds so much comfort in just sitting in silence with you.

he thinks it’s a nice break from the loud bumbling idiots in his house.

like you could be napping in his room and he’d come in if the gang got too loud and sit next to your sleeping body and just read.

he reads out loud to you. now, i don’t know which category that falls under but he does. like, a lot.

“ ‘To the soldiers and me it's all worth it. Risking life, dodging or taking bullets, and pulling triggers. It’s all worth it.’ “

“what?! that’s so sad pony!!”

“well, that’s what the book says y/n.”

he’s another one that finds comfort in knowing your safe. actually, most if not all of the gang feels like that.

you’re definitely his first relationship so i can see him being hesitant on physical touch, but he can and will write you a cute lil note with 0 shame.

“dear y/n, i just wanted to let you know that you looked really cute today—well, you look cute everyday. but you get what i mean, right? anyways, meet me at the dingo at 4PM. I’ll treat you this time.”

expect notes like that to just randomly fall out of your locker.

ponyboy quotes corny romance books in those notes. i just KNOW he does.

at the end of your note one day there will be a;

“ ‘so no, he didn’t give me flowers or candy. he gave me the moon and the stars. infinity.’ — reminded me of us.”

Sodapop Curtis ;

HE IS WHIPPED FOR YOU so it’s probably something like, lovesick-ish.

it’s definitely physical touch and words of affirmation to the maximum.

he is ALWAYS bragging about you to EVERYONE and ANYONE.

he talks about you to steve

“i think i’m gonna marry ‘em steve. i can see the wedding now!”

“you said that last tim-“

“SHUT UP!”

and even to customers!!

“they’re just so sweet! they’re the most beautiful person ever!”

“thats great kid. can you ring up my fucking chocolate bar now?”

he’s always smothering you in affection.

he just loves you so much he just needs to squeeze you with love!!

when he sees you just standing around or cooking he’ll come up from behind and hug you. he might pick you up n swing you around a little but ykw that’s what makes it special.

he ain’t afraid to sweet talk you bro.

“there you are! my pretty little lover, huh?”

“you’re so cute, you know that right?…right babe?”

you guys cuddle all the time it’s SICKENING.

you’re always in his arms and he has this grin on his face like he just won the goddamn lottery.

if you guys were to walk around town, he’d have his arm around your waist the whole time. like, the whole time.

he’s so in love it makes me sick just writing about it.

Darry Curtis ;

darry is a simple man dare i say.

he definitely shows love by spending as much time with you as he can.

he works two jobs so he doesn’t have all the time in the world to hang out with you, but when he does? he LIVES for it.

he’ll cook supper with you and teach you a new recipe his mom used to make, he’ll sit on his chair while reading the newspaper as you rant about your day, ANYTHING.

no matter what he’s doing, he will ALWAYS listen to you. it’s like a super power.

“that’s great baby.”

“you aren’t listening are you, darry?”

“yeah i am. you said you got tipped 10$ by one customer.”

you ain’t hear this from me but, sometimes when darrys in a real good mood he’ll give you gifts.

he has a jar separate just for you! it’s got money for dates, anniversary gifts, presents, all of it!

sometimes he’ll go take out some of that money and buy you something sweet<3

darry, also, isn’t one to tell the whole world on how he loves you. but, you do understand how he shows love.

even you cherish the minutes that pass by as you sit next to darry on the couch with your head on his shoulder and his arm around your shoulders, sitting in silence.

silence that speaks a thousand words when it comes to sir darry curtis.

Steve Randle ;

just like his best friend, he’s shouting to the world about you too. just, not as loud.

he respects his own privacy, so i can see his being physical touch and acts of service.

he’s a man of respect, obviously. he is one to throw his arm around you to show you off every once and awhile, but not much.

he’ll mostly hold your hand. when i say mostly, i mean all the time btw.

it’s all he does.

“steve, you can let go now. i’m home and you know you can’t come in!”

“..nah.”

he acts like he’s in debt to you for no fucking reason???

like you need something fixed around the house? DONE. grocery shopping needs to be done? ALREADY BOUGHT AND PUT AWAY.

he holds car doors open for you. he does, i can see it now. i’m just delulu

sometimes he acts annoyed with you when you ask him to do a simple task, while he’s doing it.

“steve, can you get me a water?”

*sighs and gets up*

“you have legs you can do it.”

he says that while he’s pouring the water into a glass cup with a lemon slice on the side with ice cubes already in the drink.

he loves you, he really does.

and he will say it, just not often.

he has too much pride for that….

no he doesnt.

he rants to sodapop about you while he fixes cars like a teenage girl talking about her crush.

Two-Bit Matthews ;

homie just wants to show you off to the world😭😭

he’s so proud of you he goes down the streets yelling that he’s officially dating you not literally…he isn’t that insane LMFAO

he gives off physical touch and..oddly enough quality time.

i feel like two-bit really likes the both of you at the curtis house sitting on the floor, your head on his lap while his hand sits on top of your head as you two watch whatever cartoon is on.

two-bit DEFINITELY wants to spend every waking moment with you.

“c’mon angel, let’s go get beer!”

“two, i don’t drink.”

“well, i do. so, lets go!!”

he will definitely walk everywhere with his arm draped around your shoulder.

instead of you being the trophy wife, HE’S the trophy wife fr.

he’s such a pretty princess and he expects to be treated like one!

he gives you all his time so it’s only faire you give him all of yours.

“what does math have that i don’t y/n?!”

“i need to pass this class, baby. you know i suck at math.”

“well, thats even more of a reason not to do it! why bust your ass over it?! come over here and let me LOVE YOU!! JEEZ.”

all two-bit does is brag about you..like, its all he does.

“yeah, sorry your hamster died. but did you know that i’m dating y/n?-“

author notes;

1.FIRST POST ON THIS ACCOUNT RAHHHH!!!

2.pulled this out of my ass LMFAO

3. hope it aint too bad tho💔💔

may 2nd, 2023. 11:57PM.

#2knightt #the outsiders x reader #johnny cade x reader #johnny x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #ponyboy x reader #the outsiders #dallas winston x reader #dallas x reader #darry curtis x reader #darry x reader #two-bit mathews x reader #how the fuck do you spell two-bits last name jesus #two-bit x reader #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #steve x reader #steve randle x reader

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empress-simps · 1 month

Text

Scribbles and Sketches

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader

CW: Just two idiots in love with each other and the occasional swearing.

Genre: Fluff with a sprinkle of angst

Summary: Sirius has a habit of drawing in every possession he owns. It also doesn’t help the fact that it’s the way his crush finds out his feelings.

Note: This is inspired back then when my crush (at that time) sat next to me did a sketch of me while in Biology class. Enjoy! Photos used are from pinterest, credits to the owner!

Sirius loves to doodle, whether it was little stars on his converse shoes, some random quotes he found funny that he decided to write in the back pages of his notebooks, or how there’s always a little scribble of ‘S.O.B’ on the first pages of his books (that he never really read, he just saw you once or twice holding or reading as you pass by him).

Walburga hates it, when she saw Sirius’ expensive hard bound books have his name scrawled out messily on the side, she was furious. She called it ‘Vandalizing’ and would punish Sirius back then for acting like a ‘mudblood’ and disgracing the beautiful pristine books with a childish scrawl.

Did he do it again numerous times before leaving to spite his birth giver? Yes, definitely, and certainly.

The night he left, he made sure to splash black paint onto the walls, carpets, and curtains— basically everywhere, he even managed to get the ceiling too. He could only imagine the horrified expression and the shrill scream Walburga did after discovering the thrashed room. A smirk of satisfaction never fails to appear on his face every time he thinks of it.

“Drawing her again, Pads?” James looked over Sirius’ shoulder, wanting to take a peek at his friend’s journal. Sirius hissed, shooing him away. “Go away, Prongs. I’m busy.” James lets out a snort, “Yeah right.”

“Just ask her out already, pads. You’re always ogling at her during classes it’s a bit creepy.” Peter teased, laughing at Sirius’ offended face.

“Sod off, wormtail.”

Remus took a break from reading his book to look at his squabbling friends. Seeing the journal in Sirius’ hands, he got curious. Placing the book down, he walked over to Sirius’ bed where James, Sirius, and Peter are. “That’s actually a pretty good sketch of her, mate.” Remus’ eyes travelled down to the right corner of the page, eyes bugging out at first then emitting a loud laugh.

“My future Mrs. Black? Really?”

Sirius grumbles, clearly embarrassed as a light blush coated his cheeks. “Don’t judge.”

“You’re such a sap, Pads!” James laughed, slapping his thighs repeatedly, finding it completely hilarious.

“Yeah, we’ll see who’s the one laughing on our wedding day.” Sirius grumbles, closing the journal and placing it in his school bag absentmindedly.

“If you even get to speak a simple ‘hello’ to her without tripping over your feet that is.”

The only thing keeping Sirius passing out and snoring in his boring Divination class is you humming next to him as you write in a blank piece of parchment. Merlin, he feels grateful and all that, but really? In the one subject he has no motivation for? Sirius grumbled; if it was transfigurations, then he could’ve shown off to you.

You didn’t fail to notice his grumbling state. Misunderstanding his actions, you thought it had something to do with you. Negative thoughts swirled around your head. Does he not like being your partner?

Putting your quill down, you felt nervousness settle in the pit of your stomach. You discreetly look to your left, seeing Sirius with a bored expression on his face. Alright, maybe you were overthinking things. He probably just finds this Divination class bollocks like you do, but you still folded the paper and placing it back into your bag, feeling a bit paranoid that he might see what you wrote.

Classes soon ended, and students hurriedly piled out, eager to get out of the boring class, muttering among themselves. You began to pack up your things, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sirius standing and about to exit the classroom.

“Sirius, wait!” You hurriedly grabbed him, your hands on his wrist. You blushed, trying to ignore how you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach and the tingles that you felt when you made contact with him.

A look of surprise and a light blush coated his cheeks. “Y-yeah...? What’s up?” He stuttered. Sirius heard his friends howl in laughter outside the door, clearly spying on them. Thank Merlin that you didn’t notice (or didn’t care if you did notice) as you smiled warmly at him.

“Um, so are you free this Saturday? I figured it would be best if we both worked together on the essay since... we’re partners…” Oh for the love of Merlin, please have mercy on these two people who are too coward to say they like each other. Sirius blinks—not once, not twice, but three times. You can hear Marlene snickering in the background at the exchange.

Was he hearing this right? You? Asking him out? (Okay, not really, but in his mind, it still counts as you asking him out) He was pulled out of his thoughts when you chuckled nervously, awaiting his reply. “Sirius...? You in there?” Sirius cleared his throat. "Erm, yeah! Yeah, see you at the library then?”

You smiled warmly, and Sirius thought he had been blessed by Merlin himself. “Yeah, see you at 9:00 a.m. Bye!” He watches you go to Marlene and Lily, both looking at him with knowing looks.

“Bye.” He breathes out, still looking at you.

“Merlin, Padfoot is whipped.” Peter shakes his head, smirking.

“That he is.” James laughed, watching a pink-faced Sirius make his way towards them. “Cat got your tongue, Pads?” James teased, elbowing Sirius who tried to shove him off. “More like Y/n got his tongue.” Peter snickered; Sirius turned redder.

“Nah, how could Y/n even get his tongue when he couldn’t even get a kiss on the cheek.” Remus laughed, joining in the teasing.

“You guys are terrible mates.”

“We love you too, Pads.”

You bit your lip, looking at both outfits sprawled out your bed. “Lily! Please help me pick one!” The said girl looked up from her charms essay, standing up and walking towards you.

“Are you going on a date, Y/n?”

“No, just doing some divination work with Sirius.”

Marlene perked up, her smirk evident on her features. “Are you sure it’s just divination? Not something else?” Lily scolded her “Oh hush Marlene! Y/n isn’t like that.” She turned to face you, “I think the red sweater and ripped jeans will look good on you.” She smiles, you smiled gratefully. “Thanks Lils, knew I could always count on you. Not like the other person here.” You teased, eyeing Marlene jokingly who pouted “Hey!”

Sirius groans, plopping down his bed. It seems like he couldn’t get a single wink of sleep. He tried everything, even taking a walk outside into the wee hours of the night. Remus throws a pillow at him, grumpier as the full moon is only days away. “If you don’t wanna sleep then at least let us get a fucking good night’s rest, Pads.”

He ignored his friend but kept quiet not to disturb his friends. “Merlin, the things you do to me woman...” he grumbled, rubbing his hand exasperatedly over his face. Opening his trunk, he decided to mull over what he was going to wear for the next day.

“Alright, do I look presentable?” You turn towards your two friends, dressed in the slightly oversized red sweater and ripped jeans Lily had recommended, topping it off with a maroon converse with little flowers and leaves embroidered around it. Pretty basic but eh, it works.

“Kinda meh, let’s put on some make up, yeah?” Marlene gestured to you to sit down, looking at the mirror, you frowned. “I only know how to do blush and lips though...”

“That’s where I come in, let’s make Black drop on his knees and fawn over you.”

Sirius glanced nervously at his watch, uncharacteristically quiet and early; he was a whole hour early, a huge change for the boy who’s always running late and calling it being ‘fashionably late’. By the way he was behaving it looks like he got stood up on a date, which was quite amusing to other students who are seeing this new side of him. Just sitting and having nothing to do makes him even more impatient, so he did what he did best— sketching you.

He took out his journal which he surprisingly brought and took out a pencil and an eraser he stole from Remus. He pictures you in his head, how you hum while scribbling something in a parchment next to him during your last divination class. He started to sketch, expertly drawing you as he did hundreds of times before. It took him about an hour to finish it, even having the time to detail it. He smiles lightly, adding ‘My love.’ in the right corner. It was not just some sketch as he likes to call it, it’s an art piece.

You are his muse— much like he is to your poems.

“Sirius, hey.” You smiled, sitting down beside him quietly, oblivious to a drawing he made that was practically glaring at you, waiting to be noticed. “Sorry I was late.”

Sirius blinks, looking at you “Ah, it’s no problem! I just got here too.” you smiled, pulling out some quills and parchment they would need for the study session as Sirius grabbed the books from his bag. What you both failed to notice was the little piece of parchment containing a painfully obvious poem about him.

Ah, talk about being blindly in love.

“Alright, let’s get this over with. I would seriously drop out of this class next year...” She mumbles, grabbing Sirius’ books without much of a thought.

“I’ll go start with the reading about tea leaf reading then- what’s that?” She stopped in her tracks, staring at what seemed to be a perfect drawing of her. Sirius blanched, feeling his heart drop to his stomach. Shit, you were definitely not supposed to see that. Sirius wanted to cry and disintegrate on the spot.

Your eyes scanned the page quickly, eyes catching the words “My Love” in the corner in Sirius’ handwriting. Your face quickly heated up as your heartbeat went faster, your stomach doing flips. You were speechless, eyes gravitated to the drawing. Sirius quickly slammed shut his journal, pulling you out of your trance.

“It’s not what it looks like!” He tries to save face. Although he immediately wanted to punch himself as he saw you visibly deflate at his statement. He can already feel Remus whacking him upside the head while James scolded him. As if Potter boy would do any better when facing Lily Evans. You bit your lip “Oh.”

An awkward silence ensued for a few moments, Sirius looking anywhere but you and you looking down biting your lip. “Uh, I know you said it’s not what it looks like…” You started, making Sirius whip his head in your direction. “But I just wanted to tell you… That I fancy you.” She saw the poem she wrote during divination class poking out of some of the blank parchments, Marlene and Lily had probably placed it among your parchments. She carefully hands it to him. “I’ll just do the rest of the essay, don’t worry. I know you don’t like this subject.” She quickly packed her things up and headed straight to the exit.

He sat there dumbly, reading the poem you gave to him, eyes widening when he realized it was quite obvious that the love poem was about him. Merlin, he done fucked up his chances of being with the girl of his dreams.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Remus grabbed his wrist and dragged him to a section of the library where not many people are to see the rest of the Marauders with disappointed looks on their faces. “Really, padfoot?” James frowned. “You’ve done it, pads.” Peter sighs, shaking his head.

“Just what the fuck was that, Black?!?” Remus hissed, Sirius bit his lip and looked away. “Lily told me how Y/n was excited, she’ll kill us for sure.” James shivered while Peter gulps “Don’t forget about Marlene.”

“Did your exchange your braincells for your fucking hair, padfoot?!” Remus still hasn’t finished scolding his friend. “I know I know, Moony. I fucked up.” He grumbles, looking at his Doc Martens. “To think that we even planned this with Lily and Marlene…” Remus grumbles.

“What? What plan?”

“Setting you up with Y/n, we thought this will be the perfect time.” James told him, “Apparently not” Remus grumbles. “Y/n’s got a crush on you for ages, Pads.” Peter told him. “And how would you know this?” Sirius found it hard to believe.

“Aside from the fact that she practically confessed to you earlier, Lily accidentally slipped up and told me.” James shrugged. They watch as Sirius practically scrambles out of the library, presumably off to find you. Remus folded his arms to his chest.

“Well at least he saved one braincell just in case.”

“Y/n! Hold on!” Sirius called, seeing you were about to enter the girls’ part of the dormitory. You ignored him, continuing to walk. He managed to catch up, holding your hand to stop you. “Y/n please…” You turned to him, eyes swimming with disappointment. “What is it, Black?” He visibly winced. “I-I take it back.” He told her, you raised one eyebrow in suspicion, “Take what back?”

“What I said earlier, in the library.”

“I don’t need you to feel bad for me.”

“I’m not, believe me.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, conflicted. Should you believe him?

“I’ve also been hopelessly in love with you, Y/n.” Your eyebrows shot in surprise. He continued, “I… I was so embarrassed and panicked since… my journal was full of you.” Sirius confessed. You were about to reply when he opened his mouth again. “And your poem; fuck, it made me feel things. Merlin, I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry love-”

“If you really are sorry then just shut up and kiss me, Black.”

#sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius x reader #sirius x y/n #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #peter pettigrew #marauders fic #harry potter #padfoot #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs

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vintagemulti · 1 year

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a psa for those writing for johnny “soap” mctavish

as much as a love the works you’re all writing, a lot of people really don’t know how to write a scottish character (and that’s ok !!!! we get like no rep so) so as a scottish writer, i figured i should help you guys out a little bit.

dialogue

johnny has a VERYYY strong accent as i’m sure anyone can work out

however this doesn’t mean he’s suddenly speaking a different language

yes, a lot of slang is used and for a basic definition of scottish slang and how they should be used; use this ! if you have no idea of slang i’d recommend reading through every word

although we like to use slang, i can promise you that if we’re with someone that wouldn’t understand a word of it / someone who’s first language isn’t english, we wouldn’t speak fully scot (for example if johnny was speaking to alejandro or rudy)

there’s absolutely nothing to suggest he can speak gaelic. yeah i know this is an obvious one but i have seen a few people slip gaelic into his dialogue and that’s super duper inaccurate

barely anyone in scotland speaks gaelic (unless you’re up very high north or maybe in the isles). it’s actually almost an extinct language because the english pretty much wiped it out when we got colonised.

something i love to see is when he mumbles little scottish things under his breath. accurate af.

we say shite more than shit. and never ever will a scottish person say ass. it’s arse all the way.

we don’t call people (especially if you’re sleeping with someone !!!!) lass. or lassie. we call kids that.

pet names are normally along the lines of love, hen (my personal fave), sweetheart, little lady, bonnie (sometimes)

also, shagging is sex. shag, shagged, shagger. yeah.

mum not mom. maw, more commonly.

all that being said he does use a loottttt of slang so honestly go ham i love seeing scots language get used because it’s not been used in fanfic like ever before

culture

seen a few people write soap going mad for st andrews day

yeah no we don’t to that lol i barely every remember that it’s actually st andrews day

also, we aren’t all completely versed on celtic mythology. i could barely tell you the first thing about it.

in scotland we’re all kind of touchy, like we’ll greet people with a hug and stand weirdly close to each other so if that’s something you’re writing about it’s important to note that our personal space is really small

not sure where people get this idea from but scotland isn’t all sheep and highlands and fairies and like little huts

yes we have that but we’re a really modern nation and wayyy to many people have a weird perception of scotland

my man is literally from like glasgow (his accent sounds glasgow but don’t quote me on that) he’s not a farmer or anything

we swear. a lot.

KILTS. not skirts, very common to wear in scotland to events like weddings, christenings, anything formal really.

cunt isn’t a horrible word i literally everyone a cunt, sometimes it’s used affectionately

misc.

if you’re gonna write about scottish politics i beg you research it. johnnys probably pro independence and an SNP voter. google it for context

we’re really loud. and we talk really fast. yes, other characters are gonna be confused af

irn bru !!!!!!!!! it’s a scottish drink and ive seen one person mention it and i just about cried i loved it

in scotland you can vote at 16 and join the army at 16 if that’s relevant to you

if you’re going to write about something you don’t know anything about, either do research or ask someone scottish (im more than happy to help!!)

please don’t take these as complaints or anything !! it’s just very very off putting to see people make massive misconceptions and conclusions about scotland! i love that we’re finally getting some hype. anyways ask about anything!! <3

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harringtonisms · 2 years

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people like us

pairing: steve harrington / eddie munson summary: Five times Amanda Driscoll hears about Mr. Harrington’s wife and the One time she realizes it’s his husband. warnings: some angst in #4 and a slight coming out (to herself) arc, hinted at homophobia (nothing explicit) word count: 7.5k a/n: (10/18/2023): a little after a year from the original post date, i decided to go back and edit it. it's still the same story any rereaders know, but all the little plot holes and issues have been fixed and there's 200 more words to read! thank you for reading <3

(og note): this is based off of this post i made! i will be doing a second part to this that follows eddie's bandmates and meeting steve! i hope you enjoy and any feedback, likes, reblogs, comments, ask, are all appreciated!

Read it on AO3

taglist: @zed-zeppeli @valenschmidt @expectocrucio @rel312 @jonathanbyersbbg @beeing-stuupid @ataztuv @noahzanehethey @ludabug @mavernanche @casualherolightbailiff @purplebellybell @phenomenal-bird @persephone13 @gleefully-macabre @darkqloszed @the-baby-goblin @aryanightshade @jojobeaner @specialagentslut-24 @goodomensgurl

1. Monday, August 21st, 1995

Amanda was not one to be late, especially on the first day of school. Her steps echoed in the empty hallway as she rushed to her first period class. In one hand she held a tardy slip. In the other was a ripped piece of notebook paper detailing her homeroom class in smudged blue ink.

Mr. Harrington

U.S. History

Room 114

Having lived in Hawkins her whole life, she’d been attending the same middle school her older sister and both parents attended. This made her rather familiar with the staff at Hawkins Middle and yet she hadn’t recognized Mr. Harrington’s name. Reaching her classroom, she grabbed the handle and pushed it open.

All the desks were arranged in groups of four and there were four groups. Hanging from the ceiling, were pieces of laminated paper designating each desk group a number. The walls were covered in different iconic historical quotes, maps of the worlds, and black and white photos of people Amanda assumed were important. On her teacher’s desk was a small globe, a pencil cup, and a clay pot full of various origamis. Her teacher was leaning against his desk, in the middle of a speech when he was interrupted by the squeak of the door being opened. All eyes landed on Amanda and she squirmed under her peers' watchful gaze. She walked shyly over to Mr. Harrington and handed him her pass.

“Ah, Amanda! Welcome to U.S. History. Uh, here! Grab a syllabus and there’s a free seat at table two! I’m just telling the class a bit about myself.” He smiled politely at her, and motioned toward table two. At table two, Mary and Lj were sitting on the same side, facing the windows, so Amanda chose the seat across from Lj. She quietly sat her stuff down and paid attention to what her teacher was saying.

“Like I was saying, I was born and raised in Hawkins. I walked these very same halls you did once before! It’s actually where I met my current partner, I just didn’t know it at the time. I started at Ivy Tech college before I transferred to Indiana State Teachers College to get my degree. I lived in Chicago with my spouse for a few years and taught at the local high school, before we moved back this past summer to take care of their dad and here we are! I’m also the coach for the basketball team so information about try-outs will go up soon. Now, enough about me. If you’d take a look at your syllabus…”

Mr. Harrington’s voice faded into ambient noise in the background as she looked around her classroom. He’d met his wife right here in this building, and he didn’t even know it at the time. The person Amanda would marry could be sitting right in front of her and she’d never know until she was finally with them. She glanced around and her eyes landed on Louise-Jane Brooks, or Lj as she was typically called. Amanda immediately looked away, a fierce blush painting her cheeks the same color as her hair. That happened almost every time she looked at Lj. How weird is it that someone she’s known since kindergarten made her so nervous? The sun fitted itself through the blinds behind Amanda and illuminated Lj, like she had her own personal spotlight shining down on her. Brown skin, long braids, deep dark eyes turned to honey, and freckles left over from summer time glittered underneath the light and it stirred up something within Amanda that her mind had trouble reconciling with.

“Any questions?” Mr. Harrington’s voice cut through the Lj related fog in Amanda’s mind and her hand immediately shot up.

“You said you met your wife in middle school. How did you know she was the one?” Amanda forced her eyes to stay on Mr. Harrington despite the strange urge to look back at Lj.

“Well I didn’t know I’d marry them in middle school. I didn’t know that I’d marry them until way after college. We met in middle school. We were desk partners in our science class and they taught me how to make origami out of our homework sheets.” He picked up the little clay pot on his desk and pulled out what looked like a pencil. “They made me this little pencil for my first day teaching here.” He returned the origami pencil and the clay pot back to their spot on his desk and looked back out toward his students. “Are there any other questions?...No? Alright we’re gonna head down to the library and grab your textbooks so line up!”

A symphony of chairs screeching against the ground and whispering voices erupted as the students lined up by the door. Much to the delight of Amanda, Lj ended up in front of her. Lj was wearing a baby pink dress with white polka dots and white flats. Amanda tapped Lj’s shoulder and waited for her to turn. She turned and Amanda had to ignore the warmth in her cheeks as she spoke.

“I like your dress!” Lj’s smile grew in response to Amanda’s compliment.

“Thank you, Amy. It has pockets!” and she stuck her hands into the pockets of the dress to show them to Amanda. Amanda went to say something but the line had started to move so she kept her response to herself.

2. Friday, September 15th, 1995

In the weeks that passed, Amanda found herself looking forward to her first period class more and more. Mr. Harrington made learning about history much more fun than her previous teachers had. Though they had to check out the textbooks in the library provided by the state, Mr. Harrington told them to stack them along the window sill and they sat there everyday, untouched. In class, he told them the real history and explained what actually happened, what the textbooks glossed over or lied about. Instead of reading page after page in their textbooks they got to do fun projects creating poster boards, making dioramas, and even creating their own political cartoons.

Amanda has also been early everyday. She was sitting in her regular seat waiting for class to start, when two boys walked in, talking excitedly about some band she’d never heard of.

“Did you hear about the first Corroded Coffin show last night in Indianapolis? Apparently people were camping outside the venue for 2 nights to try and score tickets! I want to see them on tour so bad!” Mr. Harrington peaked his head up from the paper he was writing on and joined the boys’ conversation.

“You guys like Corroded Coffin? I know those guys, we all went to high school together.” Mr. Harrington said. He looked off to the side, brows furrowed as he thought about something. “Maybe I can ask them to come for career day in October?”

The two boys gasped excitedly and started asking their teachers questions about the band and how he met them. Mary, who sat diagonally across from Amanda, sighed. Amanda watched, Mary, who had her head in her hands, gazing dreamily at Mr. Harrington.

“Isn’t he just so handsome, Amanda?” Mary said, turning to look at her. Amanda wrinkled her nose in response. Sure, Mr. Harrington wasn’t ugly but she couldn’t see what it was about him that made all the girls trip over themselves. No matter if they were in the cafeteria during lunch or in the library for study hall, she was subject to hearing theories of what Mr. Harrington’s wife looked like, and whispers of ‘She’s so lucky’. Amanda didn’t get any of it. Still, she wanted to fit in, so she pretended. He wore the same style glasses that she did, so at least she could compliment him without lying. To herself or her classmates.

“Um, I like his glasses.” She replied. Avoiding Mary’s piercing gaze, she decided pulling her pencil bag out was a smart move.

“I don’t know, Amy,” Lj said, looking up from her book. “I think Miss. Rosario is prettier than Mr. Harrington. She would never come to school with her shirt so wrinkled.” Lj glanced at Mr. Harrington once more before going back to her book. Mary flipped her long, blonde hair over her shoulder, before she raised her hand. Next to her, Amanda’s eyes were glued to Lj. Miss Rosario was pretty. Super pretty. If everyone was talking about that, she’d understand one hundred percent. She forced herself to look away when Mr. Harrington started speaking.

“Yes, Mary?”

“You don’t normally come to school with your shirt so wrinkled. Why today?” She asked. Mr. Harrington looked down at his shirt and inspected the wrinkles and huffed. He was wearing a plain blue and white striped polo, and jeans since it was a friday.

“Thank you…for pointing that out, Mary. For your information, normally my partner irons my shirts every morning while I make breakfast, but they’ll be away for the next month on a work trip, and I was in a rush and forgot to do it.” He walked back around behind his desk and grabbed the hawkins middle hoodie that was hanging on the back of his desk chair and put it on. “There, Now no one can see the wrinkles.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to say ‘is this okay’ and Mary nodded as she giggled

“Why does your wife always iron your shirts? Why don’t you iron your own shirts and she makes breakfast?” Janet asked.

“Well, Janet, if you must know, they like to pick out my clothes, and I’m the only one who can cook so it just works out.” Mr. Harrington replied. A few awws came from the crowd and he waved them away. “Yes, it’s all very sweet and domestic and all that jazz. Now, who can tell me where we left off yesterday.”

3. Tuesday, October 3rd, 1995

“Yo, Mr. H, what’s that thing on your nose?” It was right before class began, and Mr. Harrington had just turned around from writing their new essay prompt on the board. Right in the center of his face was a scratch, from the bridge of his nose to underneath his eye. Amanda was by the door, sharpening her pencil for the lesson.

“Well Good Morning to you too, Gerald. That thing on my nose is a scratch. My partner came home for the weekend and we ended up adopting some kittens last night. Three of them actually, so in the whole mess of transporting 3 kittens back to our home…” He gestured to his face and then shrugged.

“What did you name the kittens?” A voice said from the back.

“Sabbath, Kirk, and Abba.” His lips pursed, as if he was trying to suppress his smile.

“Why those names?” Amanda asked before she could stop herself. She recognized Abba because her older sister was always blasting it through her walkman, but the other two names were unfamiliar. She assumed they probably also had to do with music but she wasn't sure what they were references to.

“Well Sabbath and Kirk are nods to my partners favorite bands. The last cat was named Abba because I occasionally play them and my partner loves to tease me for it. Says I need to be introduced to ‘real music’.” Mr. Harrington had an exasperated look on his face, but you could hear the fondness in his voice as he talked about his partner. He glanced over at his origami pot, which Amanda noted now had a black cat added to it. She spun to walk back to her desk with her newly sharpened pencils when Lj walked into class, beating the bell by a few seconds and immediately caught Amanda’s attention.

“Woah, Amy! You wore your hair down today?” Lj said, and stopped when she saw the redhead by the door. Amanda typically kept her hair in a ponytail and her bangs neatly trimmed just above her eyebrows to keep her curls from falling into her face while she worked. Today though, she had a black and white striped headband settled behind her bangs, the rest of her curly hair falling down to her shoulders. “I really like it like this. You look extra pretty.” Lj offered her a small smile and made her way to her seat. Amanda's hand flew to her hair and her jaw fell open a bit, eyes tracking Lj’s movements as she walked away.

Lj thought she was extra pretty with her hair down. Extra. Like she always thought Amanda was pretty, but with her hair down…she was more, pretty. Additionally pretty. Especially pretty. Her gaze slowly left Lj and landed on Mr. Harrington who was watching her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite place. He shook his head in amusement and then pointed to her desk with his chin. It took her feet a few seconds to catch up with her brain and move, but she made it to her seat. As she sat down, Gerald called out to her teacher.

“Wait Mr. H, I’m confused. Why did y’all get 3 kitties in the first place?” Mr. Harrington sighed and ran a hand down his face, wincing when he made contact with the scratch.

“We couldn’t separate the siblings. Or, my partner didn’t want to separate them and…who am I to stop them. So we got three kittens.” His eyes widened like he still couldn’t believe it.

“Will you bring them in so we can meet them?” Kendra asked hopefully. Amanda knew she wanted to be a veterinarian so it made sense that she’d ask. That was the cool thing about going to school with the same kids all her life. She knew so many little things about them and what their aspirations were. Gerald was out of this world smart so he’d decided he would either be a lawyer or a doctor, whichever paid more. Mary wanted to be a famous actress, Janet loved science, and Lj was a writer like no other.

Amanda imagined hanging out with Lj in the future. Lj as a world famous journalist for the New York Times and Amanda working somewhere with numbers. They would both live in New York because Lj would want a friend there and they’ll live in the same apartment to save money and they’ll share a room because what if it’s lonely and she’ll get to wake up to Lj and fall asleep with Lj and grocery shop with Lj and

Amanda sat up straighter in her seat and shook her head as if to shake those thoughts out of her mind. She reminded herself to leave those types of thoughts to when she was alone and tuned back into the ongoing conversation.

“Sorry Kendra, can’t do that. I have a kid in my third and seventh period classes with allergies to fur.”

“What if your wife brings them, and then after this class period, she takes them back home?” Someone else suggested. Mr. Harrington chuckled to himself and dropped his head, letting it hang for a moment.

“That won’t be possible, they’re on a work trip, remember. Maybe I’ll bring a picture in so you all can see.” He offered, looking around to see if that would appease his students.

“But we want to see your wife! You’re always talking about her!” That comment came from Mary. Mr. Harrington laughed again and Amanda wondered what was so funny.

“Ok ok, I see what’s going on here. You’re trying to get me to talk about my personal life so we don’t start those essays today huh? Unluckily for you, I was a student once so I know all your tricks! Come on, let’s get class started.” A few tried to protest, but eventually they grabbed their notebooks and flipped to fresh pages.

As Amanda worked, her hair continued to fall into her face. She resisted the urge to tie it back into its signature ponytail, instead opting to tuck her hair behind her ear constantly. Louise-Jane Brooks thinks Amanda Driscoll is extra pretty with her hair down and Amanda decided it was normal to want another girl to think she’s pretty, so she kept her hair down.

4. Friday, October 13th, 1995

“Mr. Harrington, what was high school like for you?”

That day, the eighth grade class had a field trip to the high school now that their first marking period was nearly over. The class was pretty chatty now that they were back in their classroom waiting for the dismissal bell to ring. They were all standing around Mr. Harrington’s desk, a few sitting on the student desks behind them. They quieted down when they heard the question asked.

“I was pretty popular in high school, was co-captain of the swim team, fought some monsters, skipped prom, then I graduated and met the love of my life.” Mr. Harrington was staring upwards, like he was checking off an imaginary list in his mind. Immediately, a gaggle of questions were shouted out at him. His eyes widened in shock and he put his hands up in surrender. “Woahhh guys, one a time, let me see some hands. McKenzie, what’s your question?”

“I thought you met your wife in middle school?” A few ‘yeah’s came from the group as they recalled what Mr. Harrington told them on the first day of class.

“That is technically right. I did meet them in middle school and we were friends for that science class we shared. Then we drifted apart until after I graduated. We reconnected during the whole fighting monsters thing after high school and ever since then it’s been me and them.”

“What do you mean by fighting monsters?” Another person asked. Mr. Harrington only shrugged. His arms, which were hanging down by his sides, wrapped around his stomach. “Whatever you think it means, Kevin.”

“He’s probably talking about some game or movie,” Someone commented from the back of the group to their friend. Mr. Harrington didn’t acknowledge them, only staring out the window. The kids begin to break off into separate conversation when the bell rings to dismiss for the day.

“Hey Amy,” Lj said, approaching her as the crowd started to disperse and leave Amanda, Lj, and their teacher behind. Mr. Harrington yelled out a ‘See you tomorrow and made good decisions!’ as he sat back behind his desk. The two girls were standing in the aisle between table one and table two, a few feet from the front of Mr. Harrington’s desk. She noticed her teacher start to look for something on his desk.

“I’m surprised you’re still here, normally you're first out the door.” She commented. Amanda smiled at the thought of Lj paying that much attention to her.

“I have Chess Club afterschool today so my mom will get me at four. I don’t have to catch the bus.” Lj hummed in acknowledgement before speaking again.

“So…I just moved to a new house, and I finally finished decorating my room. If it’s okay with your mom, my mom said I could invite people over now.” Lj had a delicate smile on her face as her fingers played with the hem of her t-shirt before being stuffed into the pockets of her jeans.

“Um, yeah of course! I’d love to! How do I tell you if my mom said it’s ok?” Amanda said, smiling so widely she knew her cheeks would ache later.

“Uhhhh,” Lj looked around, before taking a few steps and grabbing a marker out of Mr. Harrington’s pencil cup. Amanda trailed behind her. Lj grabbed Amanda’s arm and wrote down a series of numbers on her forearm. Amanda could see that Mr. Harrington was now fumbling for something within his desk. Lj let her hand fall from Amanda’s forearms to her hand.

“There. That’s my home phone number, just call me when you ask your mom! I hope she says yes. I got this jewelry making kit so we can like, make bracelets and stuff! Bye, Amy! Call me! Even if you can't come over!” Lj squeezed Amanda’s hand before letting go and walking out the classroom.

Amanda was rooted in her spot, the path LJ’s fingers took burned into her skin. Having feelings for Lj had gone from manageable to completely unbearable from that one interaction. How was she supposed to walk around everyday not aching to touch her again? To feel the weight of Lj’s hand in hers and have her small, kind, infectious smile directed at Amanda. Her fingers traced the numbers on her arm as she reimagined her Saturday plans. She was shaken from her daydream when a throat cleared. Her head snapped to the source of the noise, and she met eyes with Mr. Harrington. Realizing he watched that entire interaction, her smile dropped. She knew exactly what he was thinking. It was the same things her parents whispered in the kitchen when they thought she was asleep in the living room.

“That wasn’t what it looked like. I don’t have a crush on Lj.” Mr. Harrington only raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

“I…I didn’t say you did.” He replied.

Amanda’s cheeks burned a deep red as she realized he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything. She assumed she knew what he was thinking and just dug herself into a hole. She looked away embarrassed, feeling the burn of restrained tears behind her eyes. She’d just come to terms herself with what those feelings inside her meant. She wasn’t ready to deal with what it meant to openly like girls. But now she’d have to, Mr. Harrington was going to tell her mom.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” She whispered, looking away when a few tears fell. Mr. Harrington’s eyes widened in shock. He jumped up from his desk, walked around to the front, and kneeled in front of Amanda.

“Hey, hey, hey don't cry. I won’t tell anyone anything you don’t want me to. There’s nothing for me to tell, Amanda. Promise.” He reassured, his hands flailing about in front of him as he spoke. He offered a comforting squeeze on the shoulder before shifting to sit criss-cross in front of his desk, using it to lean on.

Amanda watched Mr. Harrington as he sat on the floor and made himself comfortable. He looked up at Amanda and patted the spot next to him. She sat down with him, legs stretched into the aisle in front of them and her back pressed up against Mr. Harrington’s desk. She took her glasses off and wiped her eyes, and Mr. Harrington pushed his glasses into his hair and began to speak.

“If I may ask, what is it… that I'm not telling?” He asked, voice gentle.

“I don’t think you’d understand.” She said, voice shaky with unshed tears.

“Maybe…maybe not. But you never know unless you tell me. If you want to, of course.” He said as he watched Amanda carefully.

“How do you feel about your wife?” She asked him, finger aimlessly prodding at the linoleum floors.

“My partner is the best gift that I could have ever been given. They’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid my eyes on. The kindest, most compassionate, and genuine person I know. And they’re hilarious, they make me laugh like never before. I used to dread going home, but now that they’re there, I can’t wait to get back to them everyday. Everything leads back to them, and I’m never not thinking about them, or missing them, or loving them. They are the center of my universe and every planet surrounding it.”

The two sat in silence for a moment after. Amanda wondered what it would be like to love a girl so fully. To love a girl so much that her mere presence made the stars shine brighter and air seem crisper. To love a girl, and be free to tell anyone who asked.

“I want,” she started. “I want to be allowed to feel that way about a girl.” Amanda nearly whispered the end of her sentence, the force of hearing her voice admit that out loud for the first time knocked the air out of her.

“You are allowed to feel that way about a girl.” Mr. Harrington said, shifting to face Amanda better. She turned to look at him, red rimmed eyes meeting earnest ones. “My best friend and her wife moved to San Francisco so that they could. They’re much more open minded out there. When I lived in Chicago, you heard about people like us out there way more than you did here in Hawkins.” Amanda’s brows knitted in confusion.

“People like us?” She asked. Mr. Harrington nodded.

“People like us,” He confirmed. Amanda let the weight of both their confessions settle in the air. Other people felt this way. Mr. Harrington did. And so did his best friend and her wife. And the people in San Francisco and in Chicago. She wasn’t the only person who felt. Amanda let her worries be temporarily soothed by the comfort of knowing she wasn’t a freak or a mistake. She wiped her eyes again, put her glasses back on, and pushed herself off the floor. She looked up at the clock which read 3:12. Chess Club started in three minutes.

“I have to go, I don’t want to be late…but thank you, Mr. Harrington.” Amanda said, voice quiet.

“Anytime, Amanda. My door is always open.” And she didn’t doubt that. Not many people in Hawkins knew how she felt, but Mr. Harrington did and that was more than she thought.

5. Monday, October 15th, 1995

When Amanda walked into her homeroom class the following day, the first thing she noticed was the new poster up by the chalkboard. It was a plain beige rectangle with rainbow patterned letters, spelling out “YOU ARE SAFE HERE.” Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes immediately searched for Mr. Harrington, but he was busy talking to one of her classmates. She walked to her seat, reveling in the warmth that grew in her chest from how nice it was to be cared for like this.

As Amanda placed her arm on her desk, she felt the delicious bite of the gems on her bracelet sink into the skin of her wrist. She lifted her wrist to inspect the new jewelry she made with Lj. There were pink, orange, and red beads patterned on her bracelet, while Lj’s had a pink, blue, and purple pattern. Both bracelets however, had “LJ&AMY”. Her right hand came up and she ran her fingers over the beads, and smiled fondly as she remembered her weekend with Lj. Memories of bracelet making, pizza, karaoke, and sharing a banana split sundae filled her mind. Amanda looked ahead of her and saw that Lj was already staring at her. She smiled at her and waved shyly. Lj giggled and waved back.

“I like your bracelet,” She said, smiling back at Amanda. Amanda stuck her hand wrist out proudly to show off the bracelet Lj helped her make.

“Why thank you, it’s custom made, one of a kind,” She laughed again, but was interrupted by one of her classmates yelling over the chatter in the classroom.

“How was your weekend, Mr. H,” Gerald asked.

“It was pretty good. I went down to Lovers Lake with my partner and they had a picnic set up. It was very sweet. They even made me a flower crown by hand. We also saw some of our friends from back in the day.” He responded.

“Wow, Mr. H, your wife sounds mad sweet.” Gerald responded, his fingers absentmindedly twirling one of his locs.

“Right,” Kendra piped in from the back corner. “Everytime you say something about her it’s always something so gentle. Like she taught you how to make origami, and she irons your clothes, made you adopt all those cats, now a picnic at Lovers’ Lake and a handmade flower crown? She’s like, the sweetest woman in the world.” Kendra said, recalling all the kind things Mr. Harrington’s partner did for him.

“I wish you guys paid this much attention to what I say when i’m teaching, how did you even remember all of that?” Kendra only shrugs and Mr. Harrington sighs. “Anyways, what about you guys, what did you get up to this weekend?” Immediately Lj’s hand went up and Mr. Harrington called on her. She reached her hand out to Amanda, who immediately clasped her fingers around Lj’s.

“Well Amy came over to my house and we did a bunch of fun stuff like go to the mall and get pizza, but we also made these matching bracelets.” Lj then stuck their conjoined hands in the air so their classmates could see the bracelets, even if it was a bit awkward with all that space between the two girls.

Amanda’s grin grew impossibly bigger and she looked at Mr. Harrington who raised his brows in pleasant surprise.

“That’s very nice girls, my partner and my best friend have a matching pair of purple converse that they decorated together actually. Janet, what about you? How was your weekend?” Mr. Harrington went on, letting his students tell him all about their weekend before they started class. Amanda couldn’t pay much attention to what her classmates were saying though, savoring every second Lj kept her in hand in Amanda’s.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of weird how Mr. Harrington never just says ‘my wife’?” Mary whispered to her tablemates. Amanda froze for a moment, considering Mary’s words. Lj squeezed Amanda’s hand before letting go and picking up her pencil to take notes since Mr. Harrington was now starting the lesson. Amanda didn’t follow her lead. Instead, she ran back every time Mr. Harrington brought up his wife.

“Then I lived in Chicago with my spouse for a few years…”

“...normally my partner irons my shirts every morning…”

“Everything leads back to them, and I’m never not thinking about them, or missing them, or loving them.”

Why didn’t Mr. Harrington just say ‘my wife’ instead of ‘my partner’? Why did he always say ‘they’ instead of ‘she’? Amanda’s mind reminded her of their conversation afterschool on friday.

“When I lived in Chicago, you heard about people like us way more than here in Hawkins.”

People like…us.

Her eyes darted to the new poster hanging up in their class. You are safe here. Her eyes drifted to Mr. Harrington as the realization dawned on her. Why Mr. Harrington was so specific about how he referred to his partner. Why he didn’t have a picture of them on his desk like her other teachers do.

Mr. Harrington…doesn’t have a wife. He has a husband.

+1. Tuesday, October 16th, 1995

It was career fair day so after lunch instead of heading to her algebra class, Amanda met up with Lj in front of the gym to browse all the different jobs that came to present that day. She almost tripped over her feet in excitement once she spotted Lj. She quickened her pace, nearly running over one of the 6th graders. The two girls embraced before linking arms as they walked into the gym together.

They stopped by the doctor table and the accounting table, and ran past the construction table giggling. They visited the journalism table so Lj could talk with the woman there. She had a short, curly bob and a name tag that read “Miss Wheeler”. Amanda looked around and spotted Mr. Harrington toward the back of the fair talking with another man with unruly, curly hair. The long haired man smiled at Mr. Harrington and knocked the educators shoulder with his own.

Amanda told Lj she would be right back and headed in their direction. Upon arriving, Mr. Harrington’s friend stepped away from him and approached Amanda. He was wearing a t-shirt that said “The Devil Was Once an Angel” and ripped black jeans. He had many rings on his fingers and various chains hanging off his belt loops. He had multiple tattoos all along his arms and stuck to the front of his chest was a name tag that read “Mr. Munson”.

Looking at his display, she saw a speaker, quietly playing metal music and a black and red electric guitar on a stand next to it. There were pictures of the long haired man on stage with 3 other guys and a notebook open with what looked like song lyrics. Next to the notebook, there were some tickets for a band called ‘Corroded Coffin’. Amanda racked her memory trying to remember why the name sounded familiar.

“Amanda!” Mr. Harrington greeted. He turned and faced Mr. Munson. “Mr. Munson, this is that student I told you about. Amanda, this is Eddie Munson, lead guitarist, lead vocals, and songwriter for his band.” Mr. Harrington looked at Eddie proudly, and placed a hand on each shoulder, in a weird sort of side hug.

“Thank you for that lovely introduction, Mr. Harrington,” Mr. Munson said, grinning widely. He then turned to Amanda. “What kind of music do you listen to, Red?” He had his hands clasped together, his two pointer fingers pressed against his lips.

“Uhh, I guess I listen to a lot of pop music. My older sister introduced me to someone called Madonna? I mainly listen to my sister's old tapes so whatever she has,” Amanda responded.

Mr. Munson gasped, dramatically clutching his hand to his chest where his heart would be.

“Oh you poor thing! You’re a lost little sheep, just like Stevie here. He only listens to whatever’s on the top 40. AKA, Not. Real. Music.” She giggled and Mr. Munson smiled at her in a way where she knew he was only teasing. Amanda could see Mr. Harrington roll his eyes but smile, as Mr. Munson grabbed the speaker that was on his table. He pulled it closer to the front of the table so she could hear the music playing better. Mr. Munson looked around quickly before whispering to Amanda. “You won’t tell anyone if this song says any bad words will you,” His questioning gaze turned into a devilish grin when Amanda smiled and shook her head. “I knew there was a reason you were his favorite” Her feet tapped in excitement as she glanced quickly to her teacher.

Mr. Munson turns the music up slightly and lets the heavy bass and electric guitar fill the air around them.

“That is my band's latest single, ‘Trials’. It’s about some stuff that your teacher and I went through back in high school.” He said.

“You guys knew each other in high school?” Amanda asked, bewildered. How did her polo-wearing, mr. popular, not a hair out of place history teacher become friends with a man so completely different from him?

“Well we knew of each other in high school, we were friends in middle school for a little while. We reconnected around this time of my senior year. 1986, can you believe that was 10 years ago, Stevie?” Where had she heard that before? Where did she know this man from? She can’t recall ever seeing him before, so why do his words sound so familiar? Amanda pushed those questions out of her head, and instead decided to ask him questions about his work since that is what he was there for.

“Do all the inspirations for your songs come from your life? How do you not run out of things to write about?” Amanda asked.

“What a wonderful question, Red. I do get a lot of inspiration from my real life. Take this weekend for example, Me and Mr. Harrington—or Mr.Harrington and I, Miss O’Donnell would kill me if she heard me say that.” Mr. Munson said that last part to Mr. Harrington before he turned back to Amanda. “Like I was saying, Stevie and I went out to the lake and afterwards we got to meet up with some of our old friends. I got some inspiration from that experience to write about reminiscing on good times. The song that just played for you right now, is also about the past but it’s about how the past changes us today. So while I may use the same base for songs,...”

Amanda started to lose focus as Mr. Munson explained his songwriting process. Mr. Harrington also said he was at Lovers’ Lake with his partner and that he met up with old friends this weekend. She understood them hanging out as old friends, they knew each other since middle school apparently. But how could Mr. Munson have been at Lovers’ Lake too?

Amanda looks at Mr. Harrington, opening her mouth to ask a question when she stops herself. Mr. Harrington. That’s who she’s heard this from before. She looked back at the tickets on the table. “Corroded Coffin” She realizes that’s the band he was talking about that one day. She runs her entire conversation with Mr. Munson back in her mind matching it to the things she heard Mr. Harrington say in class.

‘’The last cat was named Abba because I occasionally play them and my partner loves to tease me for it. Says I need to be introduced to ‘real music’”

“You’re a lost little sheep, just like Stevie here. He only listens to whatever’s on the top 40. AKA, Not. Real. Music.”

“We reconnected during the whole fighting monsters thing after high school.”

“We reconnected around this time of my senior year.”

“Stevie and I went out to the lake and afterwards we got to meet up with some of our old friends.”

“I went down to Lovers Lake with my partner…We also saw some of our friends from back in the day.”

Amanda looked away from the table, looking between both Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington. Mr. Harrington was watching Mr. Munson as he explained something Amanda wasn't paying much attention to with rapt fascination. His eyes were soft and his smile was adoring. His arms were crossed casually across his chest and he leaned slightly toward Mr. Munson, like the musician had a magnetic pull on him.

Like Mr. Munson was the center of his universe.

Amanda gasped loudly, effectively cutting off Mr. Munson’s spiel and drawing attention from a few of the neighboring tables. They all turned away when Amanda’s face broke into a wide grin, assuming her gasp was from excitement. Both Mr. Harrington and Mr. Munson were staring at Amanda with confusion on their faces.

“Are you…okay, Red?” Mr. Munson asked as he stepped backwards to inspect Amanda, consequently getting into Mr. Harrington’s personal space. Her history teacher didn’t budge when there were only a mere few inches separating them. She peeked around them, searching for Lj and finding her talking to Gerald in front of the lawyers table. She turned back to the two men in front of her and kept her voice low when she spoke.

“Mr. Harrington doesn’t have a wife,” She paused for dramatic effect, something she learned from Mary, and let the two men share a glance before looking back to her. “He has a husband.” She clapped her hands, excited by her discovery. It all made sense now. Realization washed over both Mr. Harrington and Mr. Munson. They looked at each other, Mr. Munson pursing his lips to suppress a smile and Mr. Harrington with both hands on his hips and an exasperated look on his face.

“How did you piece that together from my presentation?” Mr. Munson asked, head tilted in amusement.

“It wasn’t your presentation, it was the stuff you said before you started talking about the music. Mr. Harrington talks about you all the time in class. The stuff you said right now matched up to what Mr. Harrington said before and all the signs, the poster, ‘People like us...It just clicked right now. What all that meant.” Amanda said, hands waving wildly in front of her. They froze mid-air when another realization washed over her. Her eyebrows knit up in confusion as she looked Mr. Munson over once more.

“You…with the tattoos, and the rings, and the chains, and the all black clothes…adopted three kittens? And you iron Mr. Harrington’s clothes every morning? And planned a picnic out on Lovers’ Lake? You taught Mr. Munson to make little origamis? Made him a flower crown? That was you? But you look so…” Amanda paused looking for the words. Mr. Munson glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Harrington with the widest grin she’d ever seen. “You look so, not the type.”

“I told you all those years ago, Stevie. Forced conformity. It’s killing the kids.” He turned back to Amanda. “It’s 1995 Little Red, people are so much more than their stereotypes.”

Amanda stared at Mr. Munson, soaking in all the new information, when another question popped in her mind.

“Wait. If you’re both boys, how did you get married?” She kept her voice low, so the other tables wouldn’t over hear her. Mr. Munson crouched down to Amanda’s level.

“Well, to the government, marriage is a piece of paper saying ‘This is who I chose!’. And tax benefits. We didn't need a piece of paper and a big fancy party, though we did have one, to say that we chose each other for life. I love him. And the government doesn’t get to tell me if that’s okay or not, it is okay.” Mr. Munson then looked up at Mr. Harrington from his spot on the floor. They shared a look, one that said a million more words than they’d be allowed in such a public place.

Amanda looked away from them, the connection between the two becoming almost suffocating. It was so surreal to be standing in front of two people who understood what she was going through. They went through it already and came out the other end. They were living breathing proof that it’s not always this hard, and it’s not always this confusing. That one day you’ll be able to wake up every morning next to the love of your life, no matter their gender. You’ll get to visit your favorite spots from your childhood as you grow old together. That we get a fancy wedding and the promise to be together forever too. They were proof that our fate isn’t subject to becoming a forgotten name in the newspaper for a case the police won’t try to solve. People like us, get to have our happily ever after, and Amanda was looking right at one. She couldn’t quite put into words what that meant to her.

On top of that, Mr. Munson wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Besides the fact that she was expecting a woman up until yesterday, he wasn’t anything like she expected for someone who presented themself like he did. He was kind and gentle while being loud and dramatic. He picked flowers for his husband with the same hands he used to shred electric guitar. He was unapologetically himself, even if that confused some people. Amanda looked forward to the day she could say the same about herself.

Mr. Harrington offered Mr. Munson a hand, and helped him off the floor when Lj approached the table.

“There you are Amy, I was wondering where you went,” Lj immediately reached for Amanda’s hand and interlocked their fingers, like she couldn't go another second without touching Amanda. Mr. Munson offered a small, knowing smile. “Are you done here? I heard the veterinary table is giving out cookies shaped like dinosaurs!”

Amanda looked away from Lj and back up at Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington.

“After the promotion ceremony, and we’re officially high schoolers…am I still allowed to come back and say hi?” Amanda asked. Sure, it was only October but Mr. Harrington had already changed her life in such an irrevocable way. When she gets her first girlfriend or when she moves away to find people who are like her, it’ll be because Mr. Harrington was the first person who told her that it was okay and that she wasn’t alone.

“Of course, Amanda. Come back anytime! I’d love to hear about how high school goes for you. Even beyond that!” Mr. Harrington said. They shared a smile, and she let Lj pull her away.

“So you talk about me in class all the time, huh?” Mr. Munson teased as Amanda walked away.

“Go back on tour,” was her teacher's reply.

—

I don't know if i really have the words to explain what this fic means to me and how cathartic it was to write. Thank you for reading <3

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steddie fic #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steddie stranger things #st #plu #100 #1k #oc #ducky writes

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warcholica · 4 months

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i really like the how the olgimskys designs in the first pathologic play around with material. obviously – mainly with fur.

big vlad has his huge fur coat – it's very much in spirit of his hes bourgeoisie caricature like design. it's arguably not the best looking and i dont think that's intentional – his coat in patho 2 is clearly supposed to look very cozy and nice. i actually like how symmetrically the fur falls in the upper back of the original design. it's charming. overall the coat really emphasizes this very old school idea of wealth.

it reads to me clearly as fashion, not as an uniform – alexanders outfit is very elaborate as well, but it does read very, well, governorish. vlads quite extravagant compared to the other rulers.

and that design philosophy is not really typical for pathologic, i don't really think it is – grief does fall into it a bit, but that's all. it makes vlad stand out in some really cool ways, as he has an unique silhuette. it's kind of insane how well theyre able deal with a character that has to overpass the barriers of their standard design. everyone knows that his face in p2 is like. insanely well made. but did you maybe notice how good his voice acting in the original pathologic is? ridicoulously good compared to like. anna. it really makes me wish they decided on more variety regarding other characters. oh well.

let's talk p1 kapella because shes obviously a showstopper. besides her obvious cuteness, i like how much it focuses on jeans as a material. it is, i think, a symbol of wealth in her case. i am polish and for me there was always this idea floating around than during the PRL period jeans was considered to be a luxury good.

(here it is represented in ryszard zamorski's sculpture "playboy"-- a pop art image of a smiling man covered in jeans from head to toe. fun. hip. well-off)

and so she is draped in jeans, just like her father is draped in fur – her wealth manifests clearly as well.

its also worth noting, that she has fur details on her collar too. that plays into the visual identity of them as a family – she is his daughter, she is a successor. i love her biig satin bow. so cute. makes her look like a very pretty rich girl. old-school wealth with a modern-ish twist.

and i think you already know where i'm going with this. yeah... vlad jr does not have any fur element in his p1 outfit. i like to overinterpret that.

like in the context, i feel fur represents mainly wealth – but it's also worth noting that it's a material foreign to the setting. i really like the spindle touch quote from p2

and i think it works for fur in p1 as well, although, obviously, every textile material comes from outside town.

but whats fur outside of that? lets think fur as a symbol a cruelty that also connects man with nature. fur as a terribly sensual material.

and vlad doesnt wear it: what are the reasons for that?

1. hes working with dirt. it would get dirty

2. he doesnt really like looking wealthy – hes not like the other olgimkys! the unusual simplicity is, to me, kind of reminicent of what victor is wearing – and vlads a successor to victor. in utopian ending hes supposed to tame maria/nina a little with his normalguyness. when you choose to do an utopian ending as artemy, he notes that maria will be dangerously wild without a husband

3. i think he denies himself luxury. because of how his shed looks i think hes an utopist that separates himself from the reality of his feelings – and so he separates himself from such a sensual material. but thats reallly a material for another, much more headcanonish post in which i will incorporate fragments from czesław miłosz's biography. i will make that one when ill play p2.

and btw: its a strange model, right? but i like it, i actually really do. i like how obviously blonde he is -- it is a soft callback to victoria. hes similar to her. her son.

also, i dont think it was intentional, i like how big he is in game. it feels like there is too much room for his soul in this body and so it echoes. i have the same feelings about like. ross from friends so thats more like a throwaway point.

it does manage to make him very much like a bussiness man – and vlad sr in his bourgouise caricature swag is very bussinessmannish as well. so maybe in that way he takes after him too? just a bit.

this is all very surface level analysis, but i do think about it a lot. i think p1 managed to communicate what it wanted to do with those characters very clearly through visual language.

#pathologic classic hd #pathologic #vlad olgimsky jr #vlad olgimsky sr #kapella olgimskaya

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son-of-a-top-gun · 3 months

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Sky's The Limit Part 3

we're back baby and things are getting spicy (ish)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, mention of strippers/lapdancing, two horny people who desperately need to get off, shameless flirting, Bradley being a babe as usual, continuation of the bob fucks agenda

Sky's The Limit Part 3

Bradley could tell you were starting to get a little down. As one of the only people who actually knew about the book, he was also one of the only people you can tell about how it was really going. You had been giving hints that it was not going well, but after he catches you lying face down in one of the Hard Deck boothes, he decides that’s enough. It was time for you to have a bit of fun, even just for one night.

“Bradley, it wasn’t what it looked like.”

“I know.” He keeps staring ahead, hands still on the wheel. He had offered to give you a lift to his house, where you were supposed to be having a few ‘casual drinks’. You took one look of the bag of balloons and had known exactly what that meant.

“You don’t have to throw me a stupid party.”

“But this isn’t just any party, baby girl. This is a Bradshaw party, which only get offered to the creme de la creme. Besides, you haven’t even been given a proper welcome to San Diego. There’s no way you can stay here one more day without an official welcome.”

You smile at him. Bradley truly was one of the best friends a girl could wish for. Losing his parents only meant he loved people harder and you loved that about him. You couldn’t have imagined anyone more perfect for your sister, you just wanted them to hurry up and realise they were in love with each other so he could legally become part of the family.

“Ugh fine, But you best make -

“Those biscuits you like. Honestly what do you take me for Ladybug? I’ve already got the ingredients in the back.”

You turn around. Of course he did.

******

Of course the party is perfect. Bradley had cued all your favourite songs, supplied all your favourite snacks (as well as some supposed San Diego delicacies) and invited all your new pilot friends, who you had really become quite fond of. They’d all been extra nice to you lately, which made you wonder what sort of desperate vibes you were giving off. Even Jake had been less annoying the last week, perhaps sensing your stress, making less sassy comments, leaving you well alone when you were trying to write and even occasionally letting you rant about the inaccessibility of online archives. The most surprising thing was that your favourite coffee had been turning up at the Hard Deck every morning before you arrived with a little ladybug drawn on it, along with anonymous notes that had literary motivational quotes on it. You had initially attributed it to Bradley, but he denied it and no one else at the party would fess up either.

The party is in full swing, and you are a couple of drinks in, starting to feel relaxed for the first time in weeks. You were listening to Phoenix tell everyone about her new girlfriend, which was nauseatingly adorable. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt like that about someone. The last guy you went on a date with tried to give you his manuscript to read over the minute you said you were a writer, and after that you swore off casual dating. Which was lucky, because it seemed all the men here were Navy men, which you had sworn off a long time ago.

Without thinking, you find yourself scanning the room.

Everyone is here, except one particular blonde pilot. You don’t know why you are looking for him. It was just wherever the pilots were, so was he. You had to admit, It was sort of odd for him not to be there. You find yourself wondering if he finally got that hot date he seemed to be begging for. From what the other pilots told you, Jake had always been a massive flirt and had been known to get around most of the women of San Diego. You hated that you were thinking about this so much and took another hefty swig of your drink.

“Hope you didn’t miss me, darlin’.” A familiar voice leans into your ear.

You almost leap out of your skin. “Jesus Christ, Bagman you can’t sneak up on people like that! You nearly scared the pants off me.” He looks down on you with that annoying smile of his and you suddenly feel very cold in your little strappy vest top.

He leans down. “Trust me, don’t need to scare you to get you out of your pants sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at him and are about to come back with a witty retort when you see out of the corner of your eye Bradley brandishing an empty bottle. He claps his hands and everyone turns around.

“I think it’s time for a game guys.”

“Really Bradley?” You raise an eyebrow. “Spin the bottle?”

“What, are you scared?” Jake immediately chimes in. You shoot him daggers.

“Only of having to touch you.” You smile sweetly at him as he mimes an arrow going through his chest.

“Can it lovebirds!” Bradley announces, rubbing his hands with glee, “We’re not so basic to play Spin the bottle.” Bradley looks at you and grins. You know this means trouble. “It’s time to play Truth or Dare!”

There is a chorus of cheers across the room.

“Bradley, you are in your thirties.” You tut under your breath, but he ignores it.

He spins the bottle first. It lands on Fanboy first, who chooses truth.

“Which superhero would you bang?” Bradley asks

“It’s got to be Catwoman right?” Jake is indignant.

Fanboy takes a moment to really think it through, “I dunno, I like to think about what Wonder Woman could do. The lasso could come in handy. What about you guys?”

“I like Batgirl.” Bob offers.

Coyote suggests “Mystique, you know, for roleplaying. It’s basically like having infinite wishes. Also love me a bad girl.” Payback sagely nods.

“How much have you guys all been thinking about this?” You turn to Natasha, who shrugs.

“Jean Grey does it for me.” This made sense, having seen the pictures of her new ginger girlfriend.

They spin the bottle again, this time landing on Bob. He says Truth and you can see Jake already brewing the question, so you jump in.

“How many hookups have you had in the last year?”

“That’s not fair, I was going to ask!”

“Quit your whining.” You turn to Bob, whose cheeks have tinged pink. “Go on.”

“Oh, er, I don’t know, maybe” He starts counting in his head. “Twenty, twenty-five” He looks up. “Are we counting repeat incidents?”

“As in you had sex with them more than once?”

“Uh, yes, I guess.”

“Sure.”

“Because that would bring it up to sixty, seventy- “ You watch as everyone’s jaws go slack.

“Are you joking?” Jake is stunned. Bradley turns his head. “How?”

“I don’t know, I just like helping people, and I tend to run into women who need help with their coffee, or taking things to their car, or need something tall fixing around the house…” As Bob rambles, it’s cute to see how unaware he is. You lock eyes with Jake, raising your eyebrows to say I told you. Bob fucks.

Third time around, the bottle lands on you.

“Truth.”

“Oh come on, not everyone can say truth or we are all going to die of boredom.” Jake folds his arms.

“Firstly, I don’t think Bob’s truth was boring at all. In fact I found it very interesting.” You say, throwing a wink to Bob. “But fine, have it your way. Dare.”

This time, Reuben, who has been very quiet, pops up.

“You have to give Jake a lapdance.”

“What the hell Javy? I thought we were friends.” He shrugs.

“Just for one minute.

“No way.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” Jake sits back.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean Bagman?” There is a chorus of oos from around the room.

“Nothing, it means nothing!”

“I get it that I’m not your usual type Seresin, but you think you wouldn’t enjoy it?”

“No, just… I mean you seem like the sort who would hate strip clubs.”

You go to speak but bite your tongue.

What Jake didn’t know was that for your last book you had a whole plot involving strippers which meant you spent several days with dancers researching their life. One of them, Brandy, became one of your best friends in New York and had given you many a lesson in lapdancing (to make your writing accurate, of course). But you figured this was a fact best left unsaid. Besides, this was a rare chance to get Jake to eat some humble pie.

“Yeah…But a dare is a dare. Javy…put on Pony.”

You were grateful that the hot weather had meant you had put on a vest and a fairly cute pair of daisy dukes. If you had been wearing a dress there was no way this would be happening. You make a show of stretching while they set the room up, Jake sat on a chair on the middle. You wink at him as you bend over and you see him flush just a little.

Javy gives the signal for the music. You are kneeling on the floor in front of Jake,.

“Hope you’re ready to have your world rocked Bagman. Bradley, look away.”

“Yes ma’am.” Bradley, seeing you as his honorary younger sister, did what he was told. “You took a deep breath and then a large swig of whisky.

You sat on your knees and let your hair down, slowing rolling your neck as the music starts to play. You try to ignore the hand shaking and slowly look up towards Jake. You expected him to be smug but he’s looking at you with such a look of confusion and pity that you suddenly realise. He genuinely doesn’t think you can do it. You are suddenly filled with a devilish combination of spite and rage and power. You close your eyes, slowly rolling your body and feeling all the way up yourself, grinding up on some imaginary guy until you flash your eyes open and send him one cautionary wink before slowly licking your fingers.

You crawl towards Jake and push his knees apart, slowly rising up between them. It’s a good thing he’s wearing shorts right now, his thighs exposed, so you can feel how his skin burns under yours. The look of pity has turned into something else, both fear and astonishment and something darker, but you have no time for this. Your nails dig slightly into his flesh as you rise up slowly between his legs until you are eye to eye. You slowly wrap your legs to the outside of his thighs and slowly start grinding down on his crotch until.

Oh.

At least Jake’s arrogance was starting to make sense if all of what you were feeling was true. With this realisation you look up and lock eyes. Jake’s look burns through you like he could devour you whole and you feel him grip onto your thigh, just a little squeeze, and then you suddenly have a terrible physical urge between your legs, when the music suddenly stops.

“That’s one minute!” Reuben calls out. For a moment, neither of the two of you move.

“Guys? You can get off each other you know?” Phoenix interjects. You both leap away from each other. “Although I should say that was phenomenal.” You croak out a thanks before heading to the kitchen.

What the hell was that? You wonder as you pour yourself a glass of water. I guess it really had been a while. Your heart is racing and you steady yourself against the counter, closing your eyes.

“What the hell are they teaching you on that pHD of yours?” Your eyes open to see Jake standing in the door with his arm leaning against the frame. He must know how his arm looks when he does that. You hate how much you like it.

You take a moment and reassume your confidence, laughing a little. “Oh that? Just a little something I picked up back in New York.”

He walks towards you until he’s right next to you on the counter before leaning in. You can feel his hot breath in your ear. “I knew there was something fishy about this pHD stuff. And now I know.” Your breath hitches. Surely there was no way he could have figured it out, could he? Your lapdance scene wasn’t that similar in the book. He looks away from you. “I thought you reminded me of someone and now I know it’s JLo in Hustlers.” He looks over you with a slightly more sincere look. “So are you..you know?” He waves his hand. You can’t believe that out of all the things, the subject of strippers would make Jake Seresin awkward.

“And what if I was?”

But much to your surprise, Jake shrugs. “Everyone has to pay their bills somehow.” He turns back towards you. “It’s just if you’re not, I think you should seriously consider it. I think you would earn a lot of money.”

“Would you come to my club then?” The alcohol is making you overconfident, so you gently stroke your index finger down his chest.

“Baby.” He now leans his arm on the kitchen cabinet behind you. His face is so close, just above you. You could smell his cologne again and you find yourself wishing you could lick it off his neck. “I would be there every damn day.” You felt a flutter in your stomach. This was dangerous territory, but it was too late. What would it be like to kiss Jake Seresin, you wondered, leaning forward just a little -

“There you are Ladybug!” Bradley’s voice booms and the two of you pull apart once again. “Hangman, I hope you’re not trying to get seconds.”

The two of you return to the party. You don’t see Hangman for the rest of the party except once where you catch eyes across you the room. You smile at him and he smiles back, before you are pulled back into conversation. When you go to find him again, he is gone. Weird that he left without saying goodbye.

When you finally get home and get to bed, you find yourself instinctively reaching your hand between your legs when it happens. Who flashes into your head but a certain blond, handsome and potentially well-hung pilot.

You were fucked.

---

hope you all enjoyed! Let me know if you want to be tagged in part four!

Tagged:

@dizzybee03 @mrsroosterbradshaw @tgmreader @dgs8891 @alldaysdreamer @eloquentdreamer @ravenwtfbro @dempy @milkbummm @memoriesat30 @yourfavouritecitizen @burningwitchprincess @il0vebeingdelulu

#jake seresin x y/n #romance #fanfic #hangman top gun #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #top gun maverick #bob fucks #bradley bradshaw #top gun fanfiction #bob floyd

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thelittlepinkwitchblog · 3 months

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"God he just wants to be loved. All he has is a library and a cat... and Elmister, but c'mon give the man a break." - Tim Downie

Okay so I'm watching an interview with Gale's VA and Dan Allen and Tim's natural voice and cadence are so so close to Gale's it's almost weird. (Not only was the early concept for his audition because on MOCAP he would resemble Henry Cavil from the Tudors. Also, Tim Downie almost voiced Raphael, he auditioned for both parts) Here are a few quotes that made me think of our favorite purple wizard man -

"When I was younger, I was very much a night owl. But as I get older I find myself waking up earlier."

"What are you doing? Go back to bed this instant."

"I need every book here. How many times - it doesn't matter how many times I've read them, It doesn't matter. Don't get into the details."

"I was bidding my time. Just bidding my time, I know my stuff. I've done my research... no it was just complete fluke and luck."

"Horror and comedy work in very similar ways. Creep, creep, creep, open the door, nothing happens. You sigh in relief and then the thing happens. Creating that comfort and then hitting you with something. "

"Although, what you could actually have, maybe some artifact so we dont blow Daddy up. I'm just putting it out there, you wouldn't want Daddy blown up, would you? Of course you wouldn't. "

"What I found the hardest was saying something and then embodying it. Being too cerebral with things."

"The cake I made was perfectly baked, layered, colored. Just little bits and pieces and little ideas..."

"That's what you're watching, an adult man, mid 40's, working hard. I know, it's unbelievable isn't it?"

"OH, there'll be a romance thing. Okay, sure, yeah. Wait, there's going to be a lot of it?"

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry you're going to have to sit through all of this with me, again. Take a deep breath, and off we go."

"It was great, great fun. A lot of work and hard work to get it all done. But to give it everything it needed and everything it warranted, my Gods it was fun to do."

"I'm just an incredibly modest, calm, calm man."

"This is a trajectory, either it's a good outcome, a bad outcome or a miscellaneous outcome. But on this, it could be any of those things, and all of those things and none of those things."

♡ NOTES ♡

The boat scene in the weave took 4 sessions to film, roughly 6 hours because of various technical difficulties and script changes

He loved filming and recording Gale as a hologram, it was one of his favorite parts

#bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #tim downie #baldurs gate gale #dan allen gaming #gale lines au #gale dekarios au

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prettygirlmjmjmj · 5 months

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Romanticising school and studying

Going to school everyday can get a little monotonous at times, especially if you aren't a massive fan of all your subjects or don't like the class your in for a variety of reasons (annoying classmates, bad teacher etc). Romanticising school can help make going seem more appealing, help motivate you and ensure that you actually start to enjoy going - as well as meaning you look and feel pretty every day. These tips are ones I personally follow and they have helped me stay organised and motivated (so much so that people often describe me as 'that girl'). I really hope they help you too or at least inspire you to find ways to romanticise school/studying!!

Create school playlists. This is a playlist to put on while studying, going to school or when you need to feel a little bit more enthusiastic about school. Give it a pretty cover and title and pick songs that make you feel happy and motivated.

If you get to pick your own clothes, pick clothes that make you feel cute and comfortable, with jewellery to add extra details to your outfit. If you wear a school uniform (which I used to have to wear) try and find ways to make it cuter without breaking uniform rules, for example wearing bows/ribbons in your hair, jewellery, cute socks, stylish shoes and jumpers/cardigans.

Try to buy pretty school essentials. For example a nice bag, pencil case and stationary, an adorable water bottle, a lunch box and a pretty notebook.

Add stickers to your school book covers! Try to either find ones which fit the subject (for example quotes for literature) or just stickers that you love. Decorating your notebooks make them a little cuter and might help motivate you to open them more!

Make your notes colourful and pretty. I love taking colourful, fun notes (I'm pretty well known for it in my classes) and it always help my notes be more memorable and also easier to read and turn into additional revision resources. If you aren't sure where to start, pinterest always has super pretty note inspo.

Try and join clubs or activities which are around things that you love such as an art club or a football club! This is a great way of meeting new people but also making your day more interesting and busy.

Before you start studying, set your desk up. Turn lamps on, light candles, open a window, fill your water bottle up and get your favourite highlighters and pens! This will make it easier to start studying and make it feel more cozy, helping you to study for longer.

Have a delicious and nice looking breakfast. Nourishing your body in the mornings will help you to feel more energised and motivated for the day ahead. My favourite breakfasts (and the ones I think are the most aesthetic) always involve fresh fruits.

Bring a book with you to school! I always bring at least two books to school with me, one book that will be good for gaining more knowledge in classes and the other that's just a fun read. This will give you something to do when you're bored other than scrolling on your phone.

Find role models to inspire you to do better in school. Whether they are real people or fictional characters, try and find role models who inspire you to study harder and do better in school. Think about why you admire them and try to adopt those qualities yourself.

Try studying outside or in a café you love every once in a while. Order your fave drink and snack, put on your playlist and get studying.

Try to participate more in school or engage in class discussions. Verbalising your ideas and getting feedback on them can be so helpful, and so motivating especially when you make a good point or get something right.

Create a vision board or pinterest board themed around how you want your school experience to be. Look at it regularly and try to motivate yourself to fit that vision.

Install studying/school apps on your phone so you can revise between breaks or make revision a little quicker! Some apps I recommend are: quizlet (best app for making flashcards), flora (cute little timer), notion (great for organisation), wunderlist (to do lists), wild journey (relaxing sounds for studying) and xmind (for digital mindmaps).

Try studying with a group, a friend or with a 'study with me' youtube video! This is a great way of keeping yourself disciplined and motivated and of studying with real people can help you feel more motivated.

Thank you for reading! Good luck and all my love, mj.

#glow up era #that girl #glow up #self development #self care #glow up journey #self love #it girl #girl blogger #girlblogging #study inspiration #study motivation #study blog #studyblr #studyspo #study aesthetic #studying #student #student life

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vintageaurelia · 4 months

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knitting club (Thomas Thorne x Reader drabble)

note: hi fellas. this is my first time writing something like this and POSTING it. I'm a little nervous ngl! But just bear with me I swear I'll improve 😊. anywho! feel free to shoot some silly little requests my way!

Also! apologies if you don't have any clue about knitting, I personally do and I based this off a singular Thomas quote LOL.

------

The club meetings Alison was hosting in the home proved to be bothersome for some of the ghosts, annoyed at how many people were visiting the house every day. Between the AA meetings and just the most random topics you could ever think of being discussed, it was something not everyone was entirely interested in. Though everyone loved to tune into the AA meeting every once in a while, for some juicy stories.

You on the other hand? You stuck around for all the art based clubs, it reminded you of when you were alive and could do all this work with your hands.

The knitting club proved to be one that you could watch for hours, it's one of the hobbies you missed a lot. Looking around at all of the cute creations everyone was making and talking about their families and different stories they had from the day filled your soul with a sort of warmth.

As this week's meeting began, you sat on the old beat up couch, watching all the young, old, women and men fill the seats, excited about what progress they made over the week. Unbeknownst to you though, a certain poet was walking past the room to see you sitting in there alone, with the group that had no idea you were there.

Thomas was never really fond of the knitting club, he felt it was boring and it wasn’t worth his time to sit and watch other people knit while talking about their grandkids or their in-laws. But maybe he could learn to like it? Maybe just for you?

He walked into the room silently as you were enchanted by all the people getting ready to start the meeting. “Good evening dear (Y/N),” Thomas greets you with a slight bow and a polite smile on his face. You light up and wave to him “Hi! Are you here for the knitting club? I thought you didn’t like them?” Thomas freezes up before responding with a quick agreement. “I just thought I might’ve judged them a little too hard at first, so I thought I would give them another chance,” this makes you smile and you go back to watching the group.

He had to admit it's not as boring as he remembered, but it still wasn’t super enjoyable for him. But boy did it make him gleam seeing you get up and tell him what everyone was making and why.

By the end of the meeting, he learned one of the older women was making a blanket for her new grandson, and a young man was making a hat for his wife as a Christmas gift. Part of him wished he could do something like that for you, just because he realized how excited you get about this stuff.

“Say (Y/N), did you know how to knit when you were living? You seem to know quite a bit.” You nod, “It was a big hobby of mine. I spent a lot of time and money on blankets and hats, which now thinking about it, probably paid off. Because now my family has something handmade to remember me.” You smile, but it hurts to think about sometimes.

Thomas reads you like a book, he realizes how emotional you are getting. He places a supportive hand on your shoulder.

You both lock eyes, getting lost with one another. Thomas soon breaks eye contact to glance over at the people knitting mindlessly.

“I know that being stuck here isn’t ideal, and not being able to do the things you love isn’t ideal either. But isn’t it splendid you can still appreciate it? Even if you cannot do it, isn’t the true gift appreciation?” He states, so matter of factly you can’t even begin to argue. “That was actually very poetic.” Both of you smile at each other.

“I also appreciate you, Thomas.”

“I feel the same exact way, my dearest.”

-----

I hope you all enjoyed! Probably not the best work ever, but I thought it was cute :)

#thomas thorne #thomas thorne x reader #bbc ghosts #x reader #bbc ghosts fanfic

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chance-lard · 1 year

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Book!Lucy & Lockwood vs Show!Lucy & Lockwood: A VERY LONG Deep Dive

So I finished the Netflix adaptation of Lockwood & Co.

Overall, I think it was a respectful adaptation, which, despite some plot changes, kept largely to the spirit of the books. At minimum, Joe Cornish actually seems to like L&Co, which is way more than can be said about most adaptations these days. Hooray!

But I wanted to write a bit about one of the bigger changes they made: namely the dynamic between Lucy and Lockwood.

I’ve seen people saying that the Locklyle adaptation to screen was very true to the books, just without Lucy’s close personal voice, and sped up a little in the romance department (“Stroud doesn’t mention what Lucy was doing with her hands! They could have been on Lockwood’s face in the books!” etc).

Respectfully, I disagree quite a bit with this. While some argument could be made about it having shades of their relationship from THB/TCS onwards, I actually think Show!Lucy’s attitude towards Lockwood is a 180 from the way she views him in TSS and TWS.

IDK, this might be a bit of a controversial opinion judging by what I’ve been seeing in the L&Co tag and general ways people have interpreted TSS and TWS in the years since their publication, but I’m going to try to back my argument as best as I can, focusing only on those books.

I’m using the original paperback UK editions of both the Screaming Staircase (2013) and The Whispering Skull (2014).

Spoilers for the show and VERY mild spoilers for books 3+ (literally just the name of a new character/type of ghost + stuff already shown in the show that wasn’t shown until later in the books)

Another warning: this analysis is 5500(!!!) words long, and mostly quotes from the book. If you’d like to just read the main bits, look at the intro/conclusion to each section and read the TLDR; at the end.

PART 1: THE NETFLIX SHOW

Before diving into differences, there are things I do think stayed the same between the show and the books:

Lucy and Lockwood banter, swap one-liners and occasionally squabble.

Lucy remains unimpressed with some of Lockwood’s more slapdash schemes.

During missions, they work equally and trust each other with their lives and the job.

They care about each other’s wellbeing.

Basically, when things are going well between them, or when they are in high-stakes circumstances and need to cooperate, there isn’t too much of a difference between Show!Locklyle and Book!Locklyle.

But as Tolstoy (lmao) says, all happy families agents are alike, all unhappy families agents are unique in their own way. With that said, I think the differences between Show!Locklyle and Book!Locklyle are best explored through the way conflicts are handled.

In the show, there are 5 major arguments between Lucy and Lockwood:

Episode 2: Lucy feels upset and hurt because she thinks Lockwood only views her as an “asset”.

Episode 4: Lucy is upset that Lockwood doesn’t believe/doesn’t want to admit that she is talented enough to talk to the Skull

Episode 5: Lucy gets mad at Lockwood being self-sacrificing/death-seeking after they escape from the Winkmans.

Episode 7: Lucy calls Lockwood a boy with a “cold dead heart of stone”, and is upset that he won’t let her and George in on his past.

Episode 8: Lucy is furious at Lockwood using dangerous methods at the auction, that “every relic hunter in London is out to kill us”, and that Lockwood is acting self-sacrificially again.

There are also the following minor squabbles:*

Episode 1: Lucy rolls her eyes at Lockwood for forgetting the chains at Mrs Hope’s house.

Episode 1: Lucy mad at Lockwood and George for the toothbrush cup initiation test.

Episode 2: Lockwood gets annoyed and brusque with Lucy for keeping Annabel’s source and trying to communicate with her ghost. After Lucy is nearly possessed, he flintily tells her he will burn the source, and that they have more important bills to pay.

*Note there might be some more minor squabbles, but they weren’t significant enough to make their way into my notes

The most important takeaway here is that Lucy is the one who initiates most of the arguments! We can also note Lockwood’s response to Lucy’s anger: mostly he mutely self-reflects as she shouts and storms away, then later he comes to her to apologise and promises to do better.

The one time Lockwood gets mad at Lucy (Ep 2) we are a) not shown the bulk of the argument (there’s a cutaway after the fight with the ghost to Lucy justifying herself), b) it’s anger born of worry, and c) Cameron’s delivery of the lines is quite measured and muted.

In essence, when it comes to conflict, Lucy is the one holding the cards in the relationship between the two of them.

We also know the show is set much earlier than the books (which take place over the span of a whole year). Show!Lucy isn’t acting this way out of concern for a Lockwood who she’s known and loved for ages. Rather, Lockwood is someone she is not impressed by at all from the outset. The show is setting up what makes Lucy special here: unlike the adults, the other agents, and maybe even George, she’s the only one who can see through his “prodigious entrepreneur” mythos to the hurting teenager beneath.

Within the logic of the show’s universe this makes sense. Unlike Book!Lucy who is a judgemental grump (and is why she has “no female friends”; TWS p80), Show!Lucy is a more confident girl coming right off the back of losing someone she loves dearly.

Having experienced an arguably greater loss than Book!Lucy at this stage in her life, Show!Lucy seems adamant to prevent anyone else she cares about going down the same path. For Book!Lucy, this is a realisation she only comes to near the end of THB.

So to summarise, in the show, Lucy is a hurting, no-nonsense girl, unimpressed with Lockwood’s antics and objective enough to act as his “chain to earth”. From the way Lockwood responds to Lucy’s upsets, we get the sense that he’s quite sincere and maybe more in touch with his emotions than he shows on the surface.

The show portrays two people gradually learning to trust each other and perhaps slowly, mutually discovering their feelings as they do.

PART 2: BOOK: ACTIONS

The show uses disagreements as watersheds for character development, but they don’t play as significant a role in the books. Still, I went through TSS and TWS and made notes of every time there’s conflict between Lucy and Lockwood because the differences are quite telling.

TSS:

Lucy is mildly irritated/snarky at Lockwood for the entirety of the Hope case in TSS, and is angry when he forgets to bring the chains.

Lucy is angry at Lockwood for talking about the Annabel case and getting her name in the papers (TSS, 231)

Lockwood gets angry and berates Lucy for keeping the Annabel source (TSS, 179-181)

Lockwood calls Lucy “too sensitive” and accuses her of getting too close to ghosts (TSS, 248-249)

Lockwood is furious at Lucy for trying to talk to Annabel again (TSS, 284)

TWS:

Lockwood angry at Lucy for talking about the door on the landing (TWS, 116)

Lucy angry at Lockwood (and George) for taking her Listening for granted (TWS, 258)

Lucy scolds Lockwood for brushing off/slapping down George (TWS, 398)

Purely by numbers, they get mad at each other fairly evenly (rather than it being one-sided from Lucy, a la the show).

But numbers themselves don’t tell a full story. In fact, after looking at the particulars, I was surprised to see just how unbalanced their relationship is in the first 2 books (TSS in particular), and how much Lucy sits under Lockwood’s thumb for the whole thing.

Let’s look:

THE SCREAMING STAIRCASE

The Hope House - Lockwood forgetting to bring the chains.

This is the argument that plays out most similarly to how it does in the books. Lockwood asserts that filings “will be fine” for a job like this. In both mediums Lucy lets him go, but in the show she rolls her eyes and tuts, while in the books she tells herself “now (isn’t) the time”, takes a deep breath and changes the subject. In my opinion, this difference is insignificant.

BUT: in the book, the chains get brought up again. On p39, Lockwood suggests they should leave the house because it’s too dangerous, it is Lucy disagrees and thinks they should stay (as an aside, compare this with Lockwood’s behaviour in the show, particularly when escaping Winkman at the auction!).

Lockwood “condescendingly” tells her that her head isn’t in the right place, and Lucy once again accuses him of making bad decisions by leaving the chains out. Lockwood in turn first blames George (as he does in the show), then goes on to blame Lucy!

How the argument resolves is also interesting. Lockwood smiles at Lucy, and ribs her:

‘How’s your anger management going, Luce?’ (p40).

This effectively defuses Lucy’s rage (she likens his smile to “the sun coming out”).

Only after she’s no longer at the peak of her anger does he admit fault:

“He clapped his gloved hands together briskly. ‘Alright, you win'” (about staying at the house). (p40).

Even in the very first pages, we see Lockwood comporting himself as Lucy’s superior. We get the sense he doesn’t take her anger very seriously. Lucy also doesn’t seem to be able to stay mad at him for long.

Now, I've seen readings of Lockwood smiling in this moment as him being simply unable to stay mad at Lucy. That's definitely one interpretation, but I personally don't agree with it. Lockwood has a patterned habit of using his smile to get out of trouble:

“Lockwood took a deep breath; perhaps he realized he had to explain himself to George and me, as well as to Barnes…(Explanation). He switched on his fullest, most radiant smile.

Barnes winced. ‘Put those teeth away’” (TSS, p426)

And:

“‘Papers that almost certainly don’t exist,’ I growled…I didn’t look at him; if I had, he would have given me the smile, and I wasn’t in the mood for that.” (TWS, p258)

Though as we can see, by TWS Lucy has definitely wised up haha

Lucy’s name in the article

On paper, this argument is similar to the one in the show. The major difference is at no point in the books does Lucy explicitly tell Lockwood to keep her name out of the papers.

In the show, this argument leads to one of its biggest disagreements (Ep 2):

Lucy: I told you to leave me out of it.

Lockwood: And I told you I'd handle it. What are you so worried about? It's all true.

Lucy: We haven't even solved the case yet. What if Hugo Blake sees that and comes after me?

Lockwood: Well, then, we'll look after you, Luce. You're our biggest asset.

Lucy: Asset? Is that all I am, then? Just something to make you money? You think that you do things so differently. But you're just like the rest of them. You're as bad as everyone back home.

In the books, Lucy does not get angry when the article comes out (p217). She only gets upset after she’s pulled in by DEPRAC to see Hugo Blake. When the argument erupts, George is also there and it plays out like this (p232):

Lucy: “Don’t touch me. Because of your article, I came face to face with a murderer tonight, and funnily enough, I didn’t enjoy the experience.”

Lockwood: “Blake is not going to come after us”.

George: “Or if he does, it’ll be very, very slowly, hobbling on a stick. He’s over seventy years old.”

After Lockwood and George’s further justifications about why Blake is not going to “get them” (p232-233) Lucy thinks:

“What (Lockwood) said made sense, as usual. It was good to be out in the night again, with my sword and my colleagues at my side. The distress of my brief encounter at Scotland Yard was slowly fading. I felt a little better.”

We know from this that Lucy’s anger was one borne from worry and fear of Blake. By successfully alleviating that fear, Lucy’s anger at Lockwood dissipates. At no point is she mad at being treated as a showpony or asset by Lockwood. In fact, going back to when the article comes out (p 217), we’re presented with the following:

Lucy: “I still don’t know why you mentioned me but not the necklace.”

Lockwood: “It doesn’t hurt to emphasise what a star you are. We want other clients to come running, eager for your services.”

He doesn’t use the word “asset” here, but you can easily replace the word “star” with the word “asset" to get the original lines that triggered the argument in the show. To this statement, Book!Lucy has no reaction at all (the topic changes).

[As an aside, Lockwood also obliquely calls Lucy and George “inessential” on p214, which they also don’t comment on. Also, at various points he calls George and Lucy “fishwives” (p 272) and Lucy “sensitive” because she’s a girl (p 353) (lmaooo what an ass).]

Lockwood, Lucy and Annabel

I’m lumping these three arguments together because they follow the same pattern: Lucy tries to talk to Annabel, Lockwood gets upset that she keeps trying. What is absolutely fascinating is just how he treats Lucy when he is upset, and how Lucy responds to his anger in turn.

The first argument begins the morning after the fight. Lockwood says:

“Why, Lucy? I just don’t understand! You know an agent has to report any artefact she finds. Particularly one so intimately connected with a Visitor. They must be properly contained.” (p179)

He continues berating her like this (with a lot more anger than he ever displays on the show).

Lucy tries to apologise:

“Yes. I said I’m sorry! I’ve never done that sort of thing before.” (p180)

But Lockwood is still angry:

“So why did you do it now?”

Lucy spends the next page trying to explain why she took Annabel’s source, but even after her apologies and justifications, Lockwood is still furious:

“You forgot? That’s it? That’s your excuse?” (p 181)

The three of them talk a bit more about the mechanics of how Annabel ended up in the house, then when Lucy is in the middle of talking, Lockwood cuts her off again, and they have this whopper of an exchange:

“I hope you’re not trying to change the subject, Lucy,” Lockwood said in a cold voice. “I’m in the middle of ticking you off here.”

I set the case down. “I know.”

“I’m not finished, either. Not by a long chalk. I’ve got a whole heap more to say.” (Lockwood loses his train of thought here). “The point is: don’t do it again. I’m disappointed in you.”

Lucy meekly takes Lockwood’s lecture:

“I nodded. I stared at the tablecloth. My face felt cold and hot at the same time”

Lockwood’s one-sided lecture of Lucy lasts a whole five pages!!!

But he’s not done. It comes up again on p248 where Lockwood accuses Lucy of being 'too sensitive’ (in both the psychic and emotional way), and of getting “too close to (the ghosts)”. Then, in a 180 from the dynamics of power in the show (remember, Lucy threatens to quit several times), Lockwood threatens to fire her!

“You need to be careful, Lucy,” Lockwood said, and his voice was flat and cold. “Wicked ghosts aren’t things to trifle with. You’re keeping secrets again, and any agent who does that is endangering the rest of us. I’m not having anyone on my team who can’t be trusted. You understand what I’m saying?”

Again, Lucy takes this lecture meekly and submissively:

I did understand. I looked away.

In the final argument about the matter (p284) we learn that Lucy is actually a bit scared of Lockwood.

“You deliberately let her free?” Lockwood said. “That was a stupid thing to do.”

When I looked at his face, my heart quailed. “Not free,” I said desperately. “Just…freer.” (emphasis mine)

On p285 Lucy starts crying/tearing up because she thinks Lockwood:

“...Would not forgive me…this was the end of my employment at the company”.

Ordinarily, you might be able to argue that her fears are misplaced and subjective (because of her narrow perspective). This rings a little hollow given Lockwood’s threat on p248.

Does Lockwood ever apologise to Lucy during the Annabel affair? Once, when at his suggestion, Lucy tries to talk to Anabel, and things go awry:

“I’m so sorry. I should have never asked you to do that. What happened? Are you OK?” (p192)

It’s a sign that Lockwood does care about her wellbeing, despite his general distance from Lucy and the way he carries himself, which is as a figure of authority, and more importantly, as Lucy’s employer.

Seriously. We like to joke in this fandom that Lucy is too wrapped up in her own head thinking that Lockwood is out of her league to notice that he actually likes her. But reading the books again with detailed notes, I think Lucy’s impression is actually accurate.

In fact, writing this up sparked a memory of reading TSS for the first time (prior to the release of TWS), I remember thinking there wasn’t going to be a romance between Lucy and Lockwood. I couldn’t articulate it fully at the time, but I imagine it was because of how much older Lockwood seemed and how much control her asserts over her behaviour, combined with the way early book Lucy (to borrow Holly’s words from THB) “can’t say no” to Lockwood.

It is only by the end of TSS, does Lockwood finally say to her:

“I trust your Talent and your judgement and I’m very proud to have you on my team. OK? So stop worrying about the past!” (p436)

It’s still a tad condescending (think: praise from kindergarten teacher) but it’s a momentous occasion because as shown, prior to the Combe Carey Hall case, Lockwood seems to respect and trust her very little. This bookend leads nicely into their growing dynamic in TWS.

THE WHISPERING SKULL

Lucy, Lockwood and the skull in Bickerstaff’s manor:

By The Whispering Skull, Lucy and Lockwood’s relationship has evolved (which would make sense given the 6 months between books 1 and 2) and consequently the way they conflict has too. However, they still don’t ever reach the level of direct conflict they do in the show. Take what I consider to be Lucy’s biggest upset at Lockwood in the first 2 books:

On page 258, Lucy says:

“Forget it! What happened to us treading carefully, Lockwood? I’ve a good mind to go back home!”

Lockwood begs her to reconsider. Lucy remains angry. She says:

“You’re taking me for granted. Me and this house.”

However, it should be noted that although she mentions Lockwood by name, she’s actually angry at both Lockwood and George (yup, he’s there too). She calls them “both mad” for expecting her to agree to their scheme. She then stalks away from them in a rage, leaving “the others” (not just Lockwood) to follow.

In short, her anger isn’t directed at any particular trait of Lockwood’s (such as recklessness or foolhardiness), but rather at having been duped by both George and him. Nevertheless, it shows that she’s become more comfortable at expressing her anger in general by this point.

Lockwood’s door on the landing

As in the show, after the skull tells Lucy about Lockwood’s door, she confronts him about it.

In the show, after Lucy brings it up, Lockwood responds by diverting the subject:

Lockwood: That is not just a nick. You need to get that looked at. Could be some toxins got into your blood.

Then:

Lockwood: You're not Marissa Fittes.

Lucy: Cause you can't handle being my Tom Rotwell? Second best?

(This response is OOFT and also VERY Show!Lucy imo)

Another difference: in the show, Lockwood clearly believes Lucy, but doesn’t want to admit that she might be talented, because he’s used to being the most powerful one.

In the books, Lockwood just flat-out doesn’t believe her:

Lockwood lowered his mug; he spoke flintily. “Yes, I know (the door). The one you can’t stop asking about.” (p116)

He also calls her a “prima donna” (lmao LOCKWOOD).

Here, again, Lucy responds a bit more huffily than she probably would have in TSS:

We stood there, glaring at each other. (p117)

Lucy defends George

I think this argument, from page 398, though minor, nicely summarises Lockwood’s general attitude in conflict.

“Lockwood, we’ve been so blind! He’s desperate to investigate it. He’s been obsessed with it all this time. And you just kept criticising him, slapping him down.”

Lockwood responds at first by doing what he typically does (justify, accuse):

“Yes of course I did! Because George is always like that!...It’s just how he is! We couldn’t possibly have known.”

But compared to the chains argument in TSS where he deflects until the end, moments later:

His shoulders slumped. “You really think he’s affected by the ghost?”

Perhaps it’s because of the imminent danger George is in, but this time he takes Lucy’s anger seriously. Unlike the chains argument from the beginning of TSS, he doesn’t put on airs or “give permission” to Lucy when he senses he’s in the wrong. This way, they work together to prepare to get George back.

PART 3: BOOKS: THOUGHTS

“Wait,” you say, “Doesn’t this just prove that the show is like the books? Sure, it might have skipped that weird employer/employee stage from TSS, but it at least follows their relationship in TWS well, right?”

To this I say, yes, but also no. We need to take into account the role the arguments play in both mediums.

In the books, since Lucy is a very personal narrator, the arguments are a good way of showing the Locklyle relationship unmarked by her own thoughts. Although Lucy is quite inaccurate at judging what people feel and think (see: Holly), she’s not the kind of unreliable narrator that makes up things people say or do.

In the show, since we don’t get to see Lucy’s internal monologue; the arguments are instead used to show how Lucy feels. To that end, I can understand why they made her more direct/in touch with her emotions during them – if she didn’t say anything, the audience probably wouldn’t know.

SO: to get a full picture of her relationship with Lockwood, we need to examine both her acts AND her internal feelings.

What does Lucy feel in the show?

In the show, although Lucy does like Lockwood, she hates (or at least is troubled by) the following: he’s reckless, he’s (over) confident, he’s arrogant and loves the spotlight. But her two primary issues with his character seem to be:

His death-seeking nature:

“What does any of it mean if we end up stabbed or dead at the bottom of the Thames with nobody left to care?“ / “To be honest, the bottom of the Thames used to be a far more appealing place to be.”(Ep 8)

His distance/mystery:

“You might be able to turn your feelings on and off like a tap, but I am drowning here, Lockwood.” (Ep 2)

“At the centre of you is just a…” “A what? A cold, dead heart of stone?” “Yeah, maybe. But who knows, though? 'Cause you don't actually show anyone.” (Ep 7)

Is this the case in the books?

Nope. Not at all. This is the absolute biggest difference between Show!Locklyle and Book!Locklyle.

Lucy has very little to say about Lockwood’s general recklessness because, well, she is reckless too (this is the case in the show as well – makes her look just a little bit like a hypocrite).

In regards to his death-seeking nature: Lucy doesn’t even pick up on it until the Skull of all people points it out, and that is definitely much further along than in TSS and TWS.

But why doesn’t she see these signs? It ties back to how Lucy feels about Lockwood’s distance/mystery in TSS and TWS which is, well: she loves it.

Show!Lucy can’t stand Lockwood hiding things from her and running off madly towards “any old mystery”, and that’s what makes her a good grounding force for Lockwood there.

Book!Lucy fully drinks the Lockwood kool-aid and buys into his grand myth.

From the very outset, Lucy immediately likes Lockwood. Unlike Show!Lucy who compares him negatively with the people “back home”, Book!Lucy thinks:

“Lockwood, I already liked. He seemed a world away from the remote and treacherous Agent Jacobs; his zest and personal commitment were clear. Here was someone I felt I could follow, someone perhaps to trust.” (TSS, p 112)

We also get Lucy’s opinion of Lockwood “throwing himself” into missions the very first full day she joins:

“Vigorous and energetic, eager to throw himself into each new mystery; a boy who was clearly never happier than when walking into a haunted room, his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt…It already pleased me to think of walking into darkness with Lockwood at my side.” (TSS, p 127)

She starts buying the “Lockwood narrative” very quickly too. When Lockwood says:

‘This will be one of the three most successful agencies in London…And you can be a part of that, Lucy. I think you’re good, and I’m glad you’re here.’ (TSS 129)

Lucy thinks:

“You can bet my face was flushed right then – it was a special triple-combo of embarrassment at being found out, pleasure at his flattery and excitement at his spoken dreams.” (TSS 129)

We see her continued fall into Lockwood’s all-consuming orbit on the next page:

“For a moment, as he said this, it all made perfect sense…when he smiled like that it was hard not to agree with him.” (p 130)

Contrast this to the show, where instead she cooly responds, “Thank you,” then immediately asks: “How do I know you’re good enough for me?” (Ep 1)

Show!Lucy clearly isn’t buying it from the beginning, and continues to not buy it. We can see the difference after the Hope House case when Lucy is talking to George.

George: “Maybe if you'd been more interested before you went charging.”

Lucy: “That was Lockwood's decision. I've only just started. What am I supposed to say to him?” (Ep 2)

George: “You're meant to say no. You have to, or you'll make him worse.”

George is another character who works well to contextualise Lucy’s behaviour towards Lockwood. In the show, George sees Lucy as someone capable of reigning Lockwood in. Whereas in the books, he sees Lucy as equally at fault for being reckless.

“When is going to be the time? When you and Lockwood are both dead, maybe? When I open the door one night and see the two of you hovering beyond the iron line?...All you and Lockwood care about is going out and snuffing Sources, as quickly as you can! ” (TSS, p 139-140)

Rather than deflect blame onto Lockwood as she does in the show, she says:

“Because that’s what makes our money, George!...If you were less obsessed with it, we’d have done twice as many cases in the last few months…We waited all afternoon for you.” (TSS, p140)

The “makes our money” line sounds a lot like something that would come out of Lockwood’s mouth, and makes me wonder whether she’s parroting something he said at this stage. Conjecture aside, it shows the reader that Lucy is firmly on Lockwood’s side – as established, Lucy “never says no” to Lockwood, and everyone else knows it.

I suspect part of the reason this continues for so long is because Lockwood never is too approving of Lucy, which causes Lucy to scrabble for the rare moments of his approval.

“Moments before, he’d been promising to incinerate the locket. Now it was the key to all our troubles. Moments before, he’d been giving me a rollocking; now I was the apple of his eye. This was the way it was with Lockwood. His shifts were sometimes so sudden that they took your breath away, but his energy and enthusiasm were always impossible to resist.” (TSS, p 190)

“As usual, the full warmth of his approval made me feel a little flushed.“ (p TWS, 108)

Although by TWS Lucy is far more comfortable with Lockwood to his face, she can’t help but put him on a pedestal at the back of her mind, which marks the remaining difference between the show and the books.

“One full year after my arrival at the agency, the unrevealed details of my employer’s early life remained an important part of his mystery and fascination.” (TWS, p 40)

Even George calls her out on it:

“Oh, come on. You love all that mystery about him. Just like you love that pensive, far-off look he does sometimes.” (TWS, p 55)

Putting aside the “haha Lucy has an obvious crush on Lockwood” part, what’s interesting is that George specifically hones in on Lucy enjoying the “mystery” of Lockwood – although she does want to find out what’s behind the door, she also is drawn to, rather than repelled by (unlike Show!Lucy) the part of him that keeps things hidden. Her encounter with the Fetch in THB shows her precisely what is underneath that mysterious facade of Lockwood’s, and that (combined with Holly) is what, I think, finally scares her out of her idolatry.

As for Lockwood, we can only guess at his thoughts in the book, but we do know that he’s far less open than he is in the show. It is George who reveals to Lucy that Lockwood’s parents are probably dead (TSS, 114).

Lockwood only really brings up his parents (and quickly moves on to other matters) at the END of The Hollow Boy (p 391).

I think he makes a concerted effort to act as Lucy’s employer, to the extent that he hardly asks about or takes an interest in her personal life at all. Compare the line in the show where Lockwood says:

“Interesting outfit, Luce. Didn't have you down as a fan of unicorns. Or rainbows.”

To the book, where not only does Lockwood never comment on Lucy’s appearance, that line is a callback to a line said by George:

“Ooh, Lucy – I’ve never seen you wearing that.” (TSS, p175)

In fact, I’d maybe even go so far to say that the show has snatched bits from George’s relationship with Lockwood and Lucy respectively and repurposed into Locklyle dynamics [see: George worrying about Lockwood’s recklessness, George upset at being treated as an asset (TWS, p107)].

This isn't to say that he doesn't care about them: he very clearly does and it is most clear in moments of crisis. But Lockwood is such a unique character, plus a known Stepford Smiler, and so "typical" signs of feelings of happiness (smiling at Lucy etc) shouldn't be taken at face value when trying to ascertain how he feels – and this is true until THB.

I don’t want people to think I’m cherry picking moments of tension between Lucy and Lockwood to make a point here. Once again, Lockwood does care about Lucy. When Lucy isn’t caught up in her Lockwood-filter, and when Lockwood isn’t preoccupied with his role as THE Anthony Lockwood, they share plenty of moments where they joke, laugh and generally act like teens, which the show captured just fine.

But those moments of cheeriness belie a narrative backbone that is very different. Lucy in the books is just 14 years old, and she’s looking for a (metaphorical!!!) “grown up” mentor after losing her father and being betrayed by Jacobs. Meanwhile, Lockwood is trying his best to shut the door on his childhood and act wiser than his years.

Thus when they meet, Lockwood just happens to be playing that authority figure Lucy thinks she needs (but we know she doesn’t!), and is only happy to oblige by continuing to play that role until slowly Lucy (and George) start breaking down his guard.

TLDR;

Show!Locklyle has a far more balanced dynamic than Book!Locklyle, which is objectively pretty “boss and employee”. Perhaps controversially, I don’t think Lockwood felt anything other than general workplace fondness/friendship for Lucy for most of TSS (at least until Combe Carey Hall).

Most importantly: Lucy in the show hates and is hurt by Lockwood’s secrecy, but Book!Lucy fawns over the very shadow consuming his soul – that is, until her rather rude awakening at the end of THB.

The ramifications of these changes have also spilled onto the characters. Lucy in the show comes off as more strong-minded, practical and confident, whereas book Lucy seems tougher, more of a tsundere (ye) and more love-starved. Lockwood in the show is the same attention-hungry “politician”, but more sincere, troubled and subdued. Whereas Lockwood in the books is crueller (remember that time he threatened to shut a kid in a coffin?), flashier, more competent and a huge brat (affectionate).

Which Locklyle is better is a matter of personal taste. In the show there’s arguably more dramatic tension, and the relationship is more tender/romantic and caring overall. But I think there’s something to be said for how unique Lucy and Lockwood’s dynamic is in the books, and the very carefully written unfurling that takes them to the end of TEG.

Either way, I hope I’ve convinced any readers of this giant word vomit that the show and book dynamics are two very separate beasts.

Agree? Disagree? Found it interesting? Hate my guts? Let me know what you think!!!

Till next time!

#lockwood and co #lockwood and co spoilers #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #this thing is absolutely massive i hope it doesn't wreck the app #if i see a typo or factual error after i post i will perish #locklyle #i guess

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jakekiszkasmommy · 6 months

Text

The Professor Part 4 📖

Warnings: ETIRE SERIES 18+, a little fluff/angst, p in v unprotected sex, dirty talk, rough sex, a little bit on bondage, squirting, ALL the warnings!!!!! You know the drill- minors if you are here I will have professor Jake slap you across the face with a textbook.

Author's note: I am NOT condoning teachers and students having a relationship like this. HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🎃👻

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

............

Jacob:

7pm. I have to get some lesson planning done.

.....

After classes you came home and took a long nap, much longer than you were anticipating. When you woke up, the time on your phone read 6:02pm. Shit. You climb out of bed, quickly shower, and throw on a pair of leggings and a cropped tshirt with two rock and roll skeleton hands on it. The shirt nearly too cropped, exposing the underside of your breasts when you reach up.

You spend the next hour deep cleaning your house. You hadn't given yourself the time this weekend to give it a good cleaning. After lighting candles all around your home, you dig your freshly clean blankets out of the dryer and fold them. You put some away in your room and lay the others neatly in their spots around your living room.

You pour yourself a glass of wine and settle onto your couch. You hadn't heard from Jacob all day and weren't sure if he was even stopping by. Pressing play on your TV remote, the opening scene of Scream rolls across the screen. You chuckle to yourself quoting, "What's your favorite scary movie?"

About 20 minutes into the movie and 2 glasses of wine, you hear your doorbell ring. Opening your door, you find Jake dressed in the same clothes as this morning and a stack of take out containers in his arms. You grab the top few boxes so that he can see as he steps over the threshold. You walk into your kitchen and help him set everything down.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show. 20 minutes late," you scoff.

He opens a few containers while you set out plates for the both of you. "Sorry, I wasn't sure what you liked, so I- uhh, I got a little bit of everything so that took longer."

You walk to the living room and snatch up your wine glass. You wiggle it his direction as you ask, "Would you like a glass?"

He nods and watches as you reach up into the cabinet to retrieve another glass. Your shirt raises higher and exposes your left side and the underside of your breast. His lips part and he clears his throat, tearing his eyes away.

When you turn around and hand him his glass his cheeks are flushed. He takes a rather large sip of wine and notes, "Scream? You like that kind of stuff?"

You giggle, wiggling your eyebrows at him as you take a seat. "Do you not like scary movies?"

He takes a seat one stool away from you, grabbing a few scoops of food. "No, horror is actually one of my favorite genres. But this," he says while pointing his fork towards your TV, "is just child's play."

.....

You both eat in silence, the movie playing in the background for a moment before you speak up.

"Jacob," you sigh, "we can't....." you trail off as you pick at a piece of chicken with your fork. You take a gulp of wine.

His eyebrows are knit together in thought. "I know. Damn. I know." He huffs and shakes his head. "I know it sounds crazy, Y/n, but I want to get to know you. Not just a hookup like the other night. I don't do that either, you know?"

"But your job. Us- we can't." You pop the last piece of chicken into your mouth.

He turns to face you in his seat. "I know we can't. But there's this- this tension. Obviously you felt it earlier."

You stand up and collect your dishes. "I would be lying if I said I didn't want to. But I can't be worried about your job and the fact that I could get kicked out of school right before I graduate." You scrub the dishes in frustration.

Your back is turned to him and as you busy yourself at the sink, he is taking you in. Dressed comfortably as you were the night prior. He stands from his stool and looms behind you, arms trapping you in between him and the sink. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder. "I'm going to keep chasing you, I'm afraid. Always wanting what I can't have." He bites at the exposed skin and trails up to your ear. "I would have fucked you across my desk if you would have let me today."

His gravely voice making your body tense. The crushed velvet covering his top half brushes your arms and you place the dishes off to the side to dry before turning to face him. Your fingertips lightly brush over the material before your arms lay atop his shoulders. Your fingers naturally find purchase in his hair.

"Jacob, if I didn't know better, I would think you were the Devil himself trying to drag me to hell with him." You look up at him with doe eyes, fluttering your lashes ever so slightly.

"Well the thing is, love, I know you want me to." In the blink of an eye he picks you up under your ass and wraps your legs around his waist. "What do you say, love, be my Persephone? Let me drag you to the underworld."

Your lips are on his in an instant. Picking up exactly where you left off earlier in his office. You tug the hair at the back of his head downward, exposing his throat. You lick and bite at his sensitive skin. He could hardly stand it anymore.

While his plush lips travel the length of your neck, your head tilts back and you whisper, "Take me."

No sooner than the words leave your mouth, he has you thrown over his shoulder walking towards your room. The sound of Randy explaining the 3 rules of horror movies getting more and more quiet the closer you get to your bedroom.

He tosses you down on the bed, your head landing in the pillows. He quickly unbuckles his belt with one hand and uses it to tie your wrists to the headboard. He pushes your shirt up but your bound wrists stop it from coming all the way off. He shrugs off his jacket and pulls his shirt quickly over his head, opting for that rather than wasting time unbuttoning it.

Leaning over you, his lips wrap around one of your nipples. Your back arches off the bed in response. "My Persephone," he bites at the supple skin under your collar bone. "Are you ready to be dragged to the depths of hell? Held on the brink of pleasure and pain until you give yourself to me?" His voice is dripping with lust as he whispers to you.

"Yes, sir. Please?" You wiggle under his light fingertips ghosting over your hips.

He drags your leggings and panties down and tosses them to the floor. Settling between your legs, he slowly kisses and nips at your inner thighs. You lift your head slightly to take in the sight of the man below you. His eyes meet yours as he wraps his lips around your clit. His tongue working slowly over the bundle.

He releases you and comes up to lightly kiss your lips. His left hand lightly wraps around your throat. "I want you to beg. You sound so pretty when you beg."

"Jakey," you plead. A moan escapes your lips.

"Ooo that's a new one. I kind of like it. Makes you sound pathetic." His right hand moves back down to circle your clit. Your eyebrows knit together in response and your mouth hangs open. He sinks two digits into you, eliciting a groan from your chest.

"Ughhh, Jakey, please, please I need to cum." You grind your hips into his hand.

He tsks, "You really are such a needy thing. All tied up and begging to cum." He quickens his pace with his fingers. Each pump in and out of you has you screaming louder.

"YES. GOD YES. PLEASE," you pant out.

"Such a good little slut for me aren't you? Know how to make my cock twitch." He pulls his finger out and shoves them into your mouth. You lick your arousal from them before he rips them out of your mouth. "I want you to give me everything you've got." He sinks his fingers back into your core. His pace is even faster this time. His grip on the sides of your throat tightening, restricting the blood flow to your head.

Your wrists struggle against the restraints. "Jacob, I- I'm-" you are absolutely lost in pleasure. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you feel dizzy. Just when you think you might pass out, he let's go of your neck and cradles your head in his hand.

"Look at me, love," his smooth accent floating to your ears coaxes you back to the present. His pace has slowed but only slightly. And it's enough to throw you headfirst into your orgasm. You clench around his fingers. "Fucking hell, baby." He pumps his fingers faster. Your eyes lock with his and it's all you need before you are releasing all over him.

He removes his grip from you and you whine in protest. Quickly he undoes his belt from around your wrists and you make quick work of the button and zipper on his pants. He slides them off and you push him into the pillows. Straddling him, you line yourself up before sinking down onto him.

You both groan in response. Your hands trail up his chest, gripping his layered chains as you start to move up and down on him. His hips move to meet yours. His eyes are fixated on the way you breasts bounce. The perfect little tattoo that lays between them. A particular thrust sends your head falling backwards and you start to squeeze his thick length. "Already, love? Is my cock just that good?" His hands grip your hips so tightly, you are sure there will be bruises. He uses his grip to slam you down onto him harder.

Your eyes meet his and you swear you feel the world stop around you. You lean down, tangling your hands into his hair. Kissing him feels like absolute heaven. Your bodies feel like they were made for each other.

You pull away from the kiss just enough to whisper, "Jakey," you moan, "I want to be yours. I want you to have me anytime you want."

He slows his pace, keeping you both teetering on the edge a little while longer. "All mine, eh?" A smile spreads across his face. "I guess having this velvety pussy wrapped around me all the time doesn't sound too bad." He flips you both over again. Your bodies tangled together. You are unsure of where yours ends and his begins.

His thrusts become sloppy and he is moaning into your kisses. You can't hold it any longer and are releasing all around him. "Fuck yes, Jacob. Keep going. Please don't stop." You moan, clawing at his back.

His hips still as he spills into you for a moment but then he continues fucking his release deep into you. "I fucking love this pussy. Tell me who's it is." His hips snap into yours harder. He leans back and pushes your thighs into you. "Hold them." He instructs smacking your thigh, you yelp. "I said tell me."

"Yours. It's all yours, sir." You grab your shaking legs and hold them in place. This angle making tears stream from your eyes. "God please."

His thumb circles your clit and his left hand resumes it's earlier postion on your throat. "God isn't here, love. Remember? Better to not make deals with the Devil." He slams into you relentlessly.

You start to lose grip on your legs and you see stars in your vision. Your orgasm rips into you and you scream his name. He fucks you through it and eventually still his hips. He leans down and kisses your forehead.

"My Persephone."

............

Part 5

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snakeeyesdraws · 8 months

Text

Overly Analyzing Fortune Street character dialogue (Mario and Luigi)

So I've spent a lot of time browsing Mario wiki pages (organized easy to read information about a current hyperfixation makes for great destressing material) and one of the pages I've been really into is the quotes from Fortune Street (2011)! I've been thinking about talking about and discussing some of the character dialogue from it, since some of them actually have some fun character tidbits, and after seeing this post from pianokantzart (please go check out their stuff!) I decided to go ahead and do so!

Today we'll be focusing on Mario and Luigi's dialogue, and dialogue that involves them! If you would like to view these quotes for yourself, you can do so here and on the character's quote pages. I'll mainly just be highlighting some of the fun ones under the cut!

Mario

"Brr! This ship gives me the creeps! Best to win fast so I don't have to hang out here too long!" (The Ghost Ship)

This is an area-specific dialogue line for the Ghost Ship, and I find the implication that Mario is a bit creeped out by ghosts/haunted places, seeing as Boos/ghosts are an enemy that have notably defeated him numerous times via the Luigi's Mansion series.

"Wow! What a fancy palace! But I still think Peach's Castle is the best…" (Castle Trodain) "Ha ha! I'm gonna do well here. Peach's Castle is like a second home to me!" (Peach's Castle)

Simple but cute!! He thinks of Peach's Castle as a second home and feels safe there!! This is extremely important to me

"Dooo-doo-doo-doo-doo-dooooo! Hey, I love this tune!" (Super Mario Bros.) "Doooo--doo-doo doo-doo-doo! That sure is a catchy tune I've got stuck in my head! Oh, sorry, is it my turn already?"

He also really loves the Super Mario Bros. theme! The theme that is associated most with him and Luigi ;w; I like to imagine he hums its to himself whenever he's working

To Yoshi: "I'll help you find your cookies, Yoshi - just give me a second to brush these cookie crumbs out of my mustache!" Yoshi to player: "Yoshi! Yoshi! (Nice job on that promotion, (player's name)! Here, have some cookies to celebrate!)" Mario's response: "Why no cookies for Mario? Can't I have just one?"

There's also a running theme of him wanting Yoshi's cookies which I think is so funny. The Legendary Hero of the Mushroom Kingdom cannot turn up a tasty snack. Some people seem to push back against the idea that Mario enjoys eating?? But I think it's such a cute characteristic of his (and the fact that he basically admits to Yoshi's face that he swiped his cookies jsadjkkdlsa)

"Not to look a gift Yoshi in the mouth, but I was hoping for more coins..."

Mostly highlighting this one for the substation of "horse" with "Yoshi" in this quote. Fun little world building tidbit of Yoshi's being the Mushroom Kingdom's horses.

After player warps: "Ever get a stomachache when you warp, (player's name)? That happens to me sometimes!"

Even though he presumably uses the warp pipes all the time? Interesting... (side note but because I'm movie brain pilled, you could potentially read into it more here for that verse 👀)

After landing on a Take-a-break square: "Heroes never take the day off! What am I supposed to do with myself - go to the beach?"

Bro that is not a good mindset let yourself take vacations!

"Thank you for your patronage! You're very generous, (player's name)... Just like me!"

There's a lot of playful lines like this from Mario, I like when we get to see his competitive side and how he has a teeny bit of an ego (he's still overall humble and kind, but he knows he's the hero of the Mushroom Kingdom)

After player buying his circus tent: "I can't believe you took over my circus, (player's name)! Didn't you like my fireball show?"

FIREBALL SHOW???? HE PUTS ON A FIREBALL SHOW????? I am desperate for any crumbs of reference to Firebrand (even though he likely used a Fire Flower for this but still)

To Luigi: "Hey Luigi! Stick with me, Bro, and we'll win this one together!" Luigi's response: "You got it, Mario! We'll show (player's name) some real Mario Bros. teamwork!"

To player: "Nice work, (player's name)! But Luigi and I aren't going to give up quite yet!" Luigi's response: "Right you are! The Mario Bros. are just getting warmed up!"

THEM........ 🥺💖 WE LOVE TO SEE THEM WORKING TOGETHER

To player: "Psst! Hey, (player's name)! Princess Peach is watching, so I'm afraid I just can't lose to you today!" Peach's response: "Mario, I heard that! But don't you worry - I'm the one who's going to win!"

Dude is SMITTEN for Peach and it shows. He wants to impress her! I do like that we get to see that Peach is also competitive and playfully rolls with it

To player: "Keep going, (player's name)! It's way too early to give up!" Peach's response: "Hey, Mario-what gives? You seem like you're more concerned about (player's name) than you are about me!"

That said, Peach clearly likes having his attention on her LMAO it reminds me of the scene in Paper Jam where M&L Peach visibly got a bit jealous of Mario getting blushy and flustered over Paper Peach

Bowser to player: "You're in luck! If you beat me, you automatically get to become one of my minions! That's the law around here!" Mario's response: "Don't listen to him, (player's name)! I've beaten him a million times, and I'm no minion!"

Almost all of Bowser's quotes that invoke a response from Mario play out like this; Bowser provokes or taunts the player and Mario immediately snaps back or defends the player. It's fun to see a version of their rivalry here, albeit one in a much more relaxed and lower stakes setting. They will get extremely competitive even when it's just a game for fun

Bowser Jr. to player: "You're just being a big show-off, (player's name)! I'm NOT impressed!" Mario's response: "Don't be jealous, Bowser Jr.! Sure, (player's name) is doing great - but you're not doing bad yourself! Try to stay focused!"

While Mario will do the same if Junior taunts the player, here we can see him being encouraging towards him. It's a cute little moment! I feel like Bowser's Fury enjoyers will like this quote lol

Peach to Mario: "Hmph! Why does (player's name) have all the luck? Mario! I order you to go out and gather me some gold coins!" Mario's response: "Sure thing, Princess Peach! But, umm..how?"

I mean it when I say dude is smitten. One order from the princess and he's ready to drop his competitive streak to go fetch some coins for her LMAO

Toad to player: "I'm impressed with your business acumen, (player's name)! I wish I was more like you… Mario's response: "You can be, Toad! Just keep up the hard work!"

Friendship between Mario and Toad can be so personal, actually... and more encouraging and sweet Mario! Never forget that this man is kind and caring before anything else

To Birdo: "Ouch! Birdo, you're charging me an arm and a mustache! That's precious gold I'm never going to see again!"

AN ARM AND A MUSTACHE HE SAYS............ this man is a DORK

To Bowser Jr.: "I'm surprised you're charging folks so much to shop here, Bowser Jr. ! Just like your daddy, you are!" To Bowser Jr.: "Bowser Jr.! You're just like your daddy. Always getting in my way!"

He'll be encouraging and overall gentler with Junior, but it doesn't change that fact that Junior still gets in his way a lot JADSKK

To Donkey Kong: "Hey, Donkey Kong! Would you mind if I paid you in bananas? Ha ha ha! Oh, I bet you get that joke all the time!" To Donkey Kong: "You sure know how to roll that die, Donkey Kong! Almost as well as you roll a barrel!"

oh my god he's so obnoxious sometimes you KNOW this man is telling dad jokes even if he's not a father. And it's a small hint towards the DK and Mario rivalry that started in the old games!

To Luigi: "Oh, Luigi! Can't you give me a special discount or something? I thought we were the bestest of buddies!"

the bestest of buddies I could cry.... it's a very sweet sentiment, even though clearly it's said in a bit of teasing tone here. I now HC that Mario calls Luigi his bestest buddy whenever he wants something from him

To Peach: "Looks like I need to start picking some flowers for your victory bouquet, Princess Peach!"

THIS. MAN. IS. SMITTEN.

To Waluigi: "I hate to fraternize with my brother's nemesis, but it looks like we're going to have to work together! Let's swap shops, Waluigi!" To Waluigi: "What!? Waluigi's about to win!? I don't think Luigi is going to be too happy about that…"

Interestingly, we get to see the Waluigi / Luigi rivalry acknowledged by someone outside of them. I do like the implication that out of principal, Mario avoids anyone who has beef with Luigi.

Luigi

”Eek! No one told me there would be gh-gh-ghosts here! I wish I'd brought my Poltergust 3000 with me.” (The Ghost Ship)

LUIGI'S MANSION REFERENCE!! An obvious one, but it makes me happy whenever it's referenced regardless

"Leaping lasagna! This place is even bigger than Peach's Castle!" (Castle Trodain) "This place is wackadoodle! It's turning my brain into spaghetti!" (Good Egg Galaxy)

HE DID IT HE SAID THE FOOD JOKE THINGS!!!!

"Looks like my bro really cleaned this place up! I hope they gave him the key to the city!" (Delfino Plaza)

this one is just, so pure and cute???? supportive Luigi confirmed??

To player: "Hey, (player's name)! I'm Luigi! Oh, you've heard of me? I'm so flattered I think I'm blushing!"

This is also so cute and a bit sad - he thinks it's amazing that someone has heard of him enough to know his name outside of just "Mario's little brother"

"This game has got my mustache all mussed up! Where's my little comb?"

Implying he carries a comb with him specifically for brushing and cleaning up his mustache! Which makes total sense, considering these other lines of dialogue from him;

"I take a quick time-out to trim my mustache, and someone buys up almost all the shops! What gives?" "Ack! One shop left? All I did was take a minute to trim my sideburns… I need to stop doing that!" "Who bought up all the shops? Guess I was too busy grooming the 'stache to pay attention to the game…"

A lot of people interpret Luigi as very neat and tidy and almost obsessively keeps himself cleaned, and this dialogue most certainly solidifies that! People pointed out in the recent film that Luigi's hair is also a lot neater than Mario's, which lends to this idea. Apparently more than once he's been so focused on grooming his mustache and hair that he's missed something important lol

"It's not so bad being in second place. As a matter of fact, it feels just right! I wonder why that is…"

Ohhhh buddy,,,,,, the eternal player 2 mood LOL

"One day I'm gonna dominate this district. Then everyone will see who's the real brains behind The Mario Bros.!"

JDSJKASDLDASKLA this is such a sibling quote. Though it is interesting considering many people consider Luigi the more strategic of the two

After player lands on a Take-a-break square: "You've been working so hard lately, (player's name). Promise me you'll take it easy on your day off!"

A lot of characters will gleefully remark that they can advance while you're on a day off when you land on a Take-a-break square, but Luigi seems to genuinely want you to take it easy and I think that's neat

To player: "Did Mario teach you to play this game, (player's name)? 'Cause you've definitely got some sweet moves, just like him!"

CUUUUUUUUUUTE Luigi thinks the world of his brother, so of course if you impress him, he will compare you to him!

After player builds a tax office: "Built yourself a tax office, (player's name)? That was a calculated move! Ha ha ha ha!"

"You got any hobbies, (player's name)? I'm into lots of things: golf, tennis, basketball, beating you at this game…"

DORK I am going to lovingly push him into a locker. This was the blueprint for "You just got a-Luigi'd!"

After building an estate agency: "I bet Princess Daisy'd be really impressed if I owned a few more shops! Help me out, estate agency!"

One of the most favourite moments for Luigi/Daisy enjoyers. Because it really is cute! He just wants to impress her!

Going bankrupt: "Bankrupt!? I'm gonna get laughed right out of the Mushroom Kingdom!"

highlighting this one just because every time I read it all I can think of is "they're beating my ass in the QRTs"

Daisy to player: "If you win, (player's name), maybe I'll invite you on an all-expenses-paid vacation to Sarasaland!" Luigi's response: "Wow, what a prize, (player's name)! I wish I was in your shoes!" Daisy to player: "Yay! You got your salary, (player's name)! I guess that means you'll drop by my shop soon, right?" Luigi's response: "Wow, Princess Daisy! You're good…"

THIS. MAN. IS. ALSO. SMITTEN. I find it so funny that both Mario and Luigi are so head over heels for their respective princess GFs.

Waluigi to player: "Hope you're comfortable in last place, (player's name), 'cause that's where you belong!" Luigi's response: "Knock it off, Waluigi! I'm pretty sure you're the one who belongs in last place!" Waluigi: "Luigi, (player's name)… Is there anyone they DON'T let into this thing?" Luigi's response: "Ha ha! You're one to talk, Waluigi! How did YOU get on the guest list?"

LUIGI, KILL!!!!

More of the Waluigi / Luigi rivalry, and it's interesting to see someone who is usually more timid and soft spoken like Luigi be so confrontational and angry addressing someone who is clearly getting on his nerves. Waluigi seems to be one of the few people who can really push his buttons like that.

Mario to player: "Nice job, (player's name)! You're a real hero - just like Mario!" Luigi's response: "I wish Mario would call me a hero sometime…"

The post I linked before delves a bit more into this, but Luigi has a couple of dialogue lines about wishing Mario would think more highly of him. It doesn't come across as out of spite or disdain; it just reads as a younger sibling wishing he could impress his big brother who he looks up to. But as we all know, Mario clearly thinks the world of Luigi and he even shows it in this game;

Mario to Luigi: "Great job, Bro! Ha ha! You're my hero!"

They care about each other and I will hear NO arguments.

#snake talks #smb #mario #luigi #I surprisingly think I had a lot more to say about Mario than luigi here LOL but this was fun to do!#Mario analysis #fortune street

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