#i usually keep my long rants on main

[sillyparker]

(mcu!)Peter's love for Spider-Man

I saw a few reddit comments that frankly really bothered me, so I just wanted to ramble about how Peter being somewhat bothered by having to be Spider-Man in ffh and nwh (ffh esp) is more than insanely justified. He will never hate being Spider-Man, infact i think his trauma likely will spur him on to do more and more, either as an escape or a chance to help people the way he hadn't been helped, either way I believe post nwh Peter definitely still finds his joy in being Spider-Man, it'd be literally impossible to just up and make him stop. This part is more of a personal hc before I get into the rest of the post, but I think if he desired to give Spider-Man up after everything, he would have chosen to make the world forget that instead, from what I understand it would have still relieved his troubles, as nobody knows who Spider-Man is, so why would they know Peter?

Far From Home. People take the way Peter acts during the film as him no longer liking being Spider-Man, and it frankly feels very.. ignorant of like literally everything Peter has gone through, honestly. ffh is post endgame, which good fucking god - that is the most trauma inducing experience any possible 15 (16?) year old teen could endure, now im talking both infinity war and endgame, because both are just as bad. In infinity war, he obviously fights alot, not as much as he does in the second film, but it's still very rough, and well he sorta dies, which I'm sure takes a rather extreme toll on him as he could likely feel absolutely everything happening, because of his healing factor, and spidey sense, it's just a very very scary experience, hell I wouldn't be shocked if Peter was drop dead terrified everytime he felt his spidey sense, (he isn't, but I wouldn't put it past being very possible).

And, in endgame he had to hold the gauntlet for an extended period of time from an insane amount of creatures, he literally was holding the future of the entire world in his hands, I would imagine that'd be actually very, very scary. He's consistently put in unfair positions and made to just 'deal' with it, I'm sure he expected some of this but I cant firmly believe he thought he'd end up in such a crazy situation. Now, most obviously the very big part of endgame - Tony Stark fucking died dude!?!?! Let the kid have some time to grieve... not that he ended up getting any, he's literally already lost his parents, (possible uncle), and now his pseudo father, and shit does he lose more right after in such a tiny timespan.

Point is, yeah the fact he want's a goddamn break is not the most insane thing that's happened, god forbid a thoroughly traumatized teenager wants a break without needing to have the burdens of the world (literally) on him again. It just gets to me each time there are such crazy expectations for him, as if any a bunch other characters or people wouldn't literally crumble into pieces if they experienced the amount of stress a kid like Peter is holding constantly. We also get an actual insight on an exact thing I mentioned, where he has a talk with Mysterio where he just wanted to be a normal kid for at least a few seconds, and god is he owed all of that and more. He never got a break, he never got a real chance to comprehend everything that went around him, he got pulled into a fucking other world crisis and yeah - sue him for being exhausted, and not motivated to attempt that all again.

No Way Home. Okay, to start this off - What the fuck? I don't know how obvious it has to be, but the fact Peter is not ecstatic to be Spider-Man after not only having his "identity revealed, but (all I'm about to say is from ffh, still going to get into nwh in a second) almost being killed multiple times, been manipulated by another adult in his life, had his trauma and losses smeared all across his face, faced with taking down an entire insanely large army of killer - explosive - drones, also faced with the fear of accidentally being the cause for a massive incident", is a VERY fair reason, I genuinely think if he stopped being Spider-Man right then and there, everybody he knew would probably support him, because god the things he went through is mind boggling, I don't know how to capture the amount of damage that must have done to Peter, not even just mentally but like quite literal brain damage, he's a kid - no world this severe amount of trauma is taken any forms of lightly. (Which is sorta shown, when Happy goes to pick up Peter on the flower field, and Peter being afraid of Happy maybe not being real)

I wish people gave Peter more credit than they think he deserves, also god Peter fights to be Spider-Man still all throughout nwh, he does his 'duty' by saving all the villains (whilst experiencing the most heinous levels of grief, post May's death), and does everything he can to save the people of their possible destruction, etc. One could fight for the fact Peter.. sorta did cause all of that, even if indirectly - but honestly, I genuinely cannot imagine a different outcome. "What if he went to the lady first, like Strange suggested" It definitely would have not worked, she literally only agreed because he saved her from a being that wouldn't exist had it not been for the earlier mess up, I literally cannot imagine how he would have been able to get any of fixed or back to a state of tolerable at the very least. Peter deserves (and wants) to not live his life as horrible as expected it'd be, he'd never get to any form of normal again, everything he loved was on the line, and half of the world hated him, (alot, wanted him dead or -behind bars).

Peter Parker is just a kid, that is the first and foremost the most important aspect to his character, because the way everything is affected is so so different its ridiculous, the way he will function as a whole when older is very starkly different had this happened to somebody around the age as most of the avengers, all because his brain is just simply not capable of handling such amount's of trauma, or stress. And the way he functions now is so important too, because he's a kid, n' hell will it be obvious how childish he can think or act.

Lastly, another thing I simply hate that people do is when they find the idea of Peter having trauma unrealistic. I'm very much thinking too hard about his character probably, but he is a character with such complex details, and his life is splayed out infront of us through the films, giving us every event that could likely be a cause of something to happen one day, or something that is a cause of an action he already did. I hate that people think just because he's a movie character he's unable to be an actual person in his world, like how everything is simply black and white when it comes to characterization.

Side Note, - this totally turned into just plain out angry rambling, as I've been just annoyed as a whole ever since I started writing this all. so mind anything I say that may be incorrect, I'm defensive about Spider-Man at 8am in the morning and I haven't slept yet, so typos will be made, and some sentences will probably seem confusing.

(next day now and I think i fixed everything(??), I had decided to post this tomorrow/now when I was more comprehensible)

[the-kipsabian]

the one thing im really glad about work tho is that im allowed to work kind of a hybrid form of being at the office and being at home where i can be here in the morning and if i have nothing going on and nothing that requires me to use the laptop i can just go home halfway through the day as long as im still reachable by the phone, its really doing good for my mental health

[schrodinger-swriter]

HI HII! Can I request B, C, K, L and P for Adam??

B, C, K, L, and P for Adam

It feels wrong only writing one post and then bouncing for an... uncertain amount of time, so before I go I will answer one more ask! I hope you enjoy this Anon, this is my first time writing for Adam!

BONDING:

A lot of bonding comes from shit talking. Really anyone is free game in Adam's eyes. Sinners, Charlie, Lucifer, even some of the other angels. He also tends to talk about himself, a lot... however when you're the one talking, he can be oddly... attentive? Though it may not seem like it, he is paying attention to your talking and rants, taking mental notes of things as you talk. Though, outwardly it may not seem like it. Not the best at appearing... how does one word it... not an asshole..

CUDDLING:

Keeping up with my heat headcanons, Adam is quite warm thanks to him actually being alive as a person before! He feels like a heated blanket! It's hard to tell what his body type is under the clothing, but I like to think that he's lean. Not too skinny, but he's not... really muscular. He tends to be the big spoon, usually. He likes resting his hands on your hips. Cannot stay quiet though, he starts mumbling in your ear about random stuff.

KISSES:

He rarely takes his helmet off, so a lot of the kisses you give and receive are quick pecks on the LED screen... though when you two are alone, he's more than happy to toss the mask off and REALLY get into it. Tends to kiss with tongue and if you allow it, many of these sessions turn into full on make outs. He enjoys kissing your lips, though if allow him to say it in company, he will say he prefers to go a little down south. As for receiving, he doesn't care where you kiss him just as long as you're on him. For lack of better wording.

LOVE LANGUAGE:

Words of affirmation. This man has an ego so you better stroke it. Acts of service are another thing that gets him going. As for how he shows his love to you, it's mostly through physical touch. Adam being a horn dog aside, he is fully capable of being gentle and sweet. Back rubs, pats, running his hands through your hair. Things like that, smaller gestures.

PETNAMES:

"Baby" is the main one he tends to call you, though he may call you something more vulgar behind closed doors or around those he trusts. "Sweetface" though, sounds nice, too... without being sexual! He enjoys being called "Babe", and every now and then, "Hon/Hun"

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Lee Know: Prompt 04

-> Pairing: Lee Minho x Fem!Reader -> Requested by: Anon -> Prompt: 04 - "Are you okay?” “No. Everything is a mess right now.” “What can I do to help?” “You’re already doing it.” -> Warnings: Reader having a bad day from the moment she wakes up. -> Word Count: 545 -> Request: Closed.

500 followers = 500 words Masterlist | Main Masterlist

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

The moment Y/N walks into their apartment, Minho can tell that something is wrong. It's not just the tear stains on her face or the redness and swelling of her eyes. Her whole demeanor seems different. She's not her usual cheerful self. Instead, she looks sad and defeated.  

He turns off the TV, moving Dori from his lap and gets up, going to her. He opens his arms as he reaches her and pulls her into a hug without saying anything. He can hear her trying to hold back her tears as her body trembles. 

Are you okay?" he asks, rubbing her back in an attempt to comfort her.  

"No," she sniffles, fresh tears streaming down her face and wetting his shirt. "Everything is a mess right now."  

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. She shakes her head in response. 

"What can I do to help?" he asks.  

"You're already doing it," she tells him. Despite the tears, her body starts to relax as she feels the warmth of his body against hers. His familiar scent lulls her into a sense of ease. Feeling the weight of her troubles start to lift she whispers, “I’m already starting to feel better. I just need you to hold me for a little while.” 

“Let’s move to the couch,” he suggests so they could be comfortable and he can hold her for as long as she needs him too. She nods in agreement. He lets her go, taking her hands and leading her to the couch.  

As they sit down, Minho pulls her back into his arms. Dori joins them, pushing his way in between them. They sit in silence, until he breaks it. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about?” he asks again, letting her know he’s all ears if she does want to vent. 

She thinks about it for a moment before she answers. “I just don’t know where to start,” she says with a sad sigh. “It feel like everything went wrong today.” 

He gently rubs her back, his full attention on her as she continues, “My alarm didn’t off this morning and I couldn’t work out why until I realized I set it for pm not am. Because of that I was late for work.” 

“I had a feeling I should have woken you up before I left,” he admits. This morning, he had to leave their apartment earlier than usual. When he went to leave, he debated whether or not he should wake her up so he could tell her he was leaving and that he’d see her later that evening and of course get in a kiss before he goes. He ultimately decided not to and let her get that extra hour of sleep.  

“That wasn’t even the worst part of the day,” she assures him and goes on to tell him about every bad thing that had happened, from her supervisor reprimanding her for being late to reprimanding her for not having her part of the new project done, even though she hadn’t been told that the date had been brought forward. 

The whole time, keeps mostly quiet, offering reassurance when she needs it, as he listens to her rant and rave about her bad day.  

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[oh-my-bindery]

Drarry: I love that Harry the hero is down for murder. But Draco the guy who comes from a long line of a family of dark magic is the one that hates murder (it's literally canon Draco can not kill anyone for shit) and it gives me so many feels. It's partly because I love healer Draco. But also because Harry is reckless and does not have a lot of self preservation. His idea of justice is like you die by the sword.

Definitely! I draw all my conclusions from canon.

Buckle up bc I went on a rant here

The way Draco is written and what we are shown of his actions and character, we can clearly conclude at least few things:

- Draco is a person who fights with his words, that cut deeper than a knife. He knows what he is doing and wants it to hurt. I believe he does it to feel better about himself.

- Draco can’t kill. He literally can’t kill. Even his wand (that chose him) is one that has the most difficult time turining into Dark Arts. It reflects on his character. He is different from his family.

- Draco is a very sensitive boy as we are told by Moaning Myrtle in HBP. We also get to see him break down and for the first time show his real emotions which is a new thing from him. Harry has never seen him cry. Which leads me to ask, why? All 6 years and no one saw Draco cry before? No one saw him express deeper emotions that his usual proud and snarky / bully mask? It is definitely connected to his family, most likely Lucius, as Narcissa is the one who even though believes in blood purity shit, never takes a Dark Mark, never fights for Voldemort, her main concern is always Draco. She has so much love for him. It is probably why Draco even knows that he can allow himself to cry, even if it’s on his own.

- Moaning Myrtle also tells us that Draco is lonely.

- On Harry Potter wiki and Pottermore (I think) it says that Draco was never able to produce a Patronus spell as he didn’t have a strong enough of a happy memory - well that’s sad seeing as Harry was able to do it with how shit his life was.

Draco is supposed to seemingly be rich, get everything he wants, he has a family that is alive , Mother who loves him SO MUCH, father that would she if anything happened to him (well he failed to protect Draco from the worst and then did nothing after the fact, continued being awful but that’s another rant), Slytherins seem to like him, he has some friends although I’m not even sure he likes them or if they like him (from canon we know that by Deathly Hallows - Crabbe and Goyle hate him. Draco never really liked Blaise (or wasn’t fond of him. He tolerated Pansy and had some trust towards her.)

So even though Draco smilingly has all, he doesn’t have a strong enough of a happy memory.

- Draco is terrified of killing someone, so much so he stops eating, keeps to himself and stops being himself when tasked with killing Dumbledore.

When Harry sees Draco in his Voldy visions - Draco looks terrified and broken when asked to torture Rowle - the sight of how Draco is being pushed into doing those horrible things and how much he could be suffering- canonically makes Harry try to get rid of the visions because he doesn’t want to see Draco torture people or if he refuses/ can’t- see Draco being tortured or killed.

- Draco doesn’t care if he dies. Why? Who knows? But he literally lies to his whole family that are depending on him to identify Harry as Harry Potter at the manor and he just doesn’t. He knows what are the consequences of failing to capture Harry are (probably being killed by Voldemort, him and his family.) and Draco knows it is Harry. If he was cruel and and awful person he would say “yep, that’s Potter” but instead Harry notices that Draco looks just as terrified, hands shaky as Harry was. Draco literally would rather have Harry survive and himself die than other way around. It is SO CANON.

And Harry wise

- Harry is super hot-headed as we know.

I think looking at his reaction when Sirius was killed, he literally sprung from Remus’s arms, shooting, shooting curses after Bellateix. He crucioed her. No, thinking, he just does.

When people whom Harry loves / cares about are killed or harmed Harry has no thoughts just do. Give them hell. He will deal with consequences later - he is bad at the ‘dealing with the consequences bit though. He doesn’t want to be a killer, and hates himself for being capable of it.

When Snape kills Dumbledore, Harry is in SO MUCH RAGE. He goes after Snape and literally uses Sectumsempra on him, knowing what it would do- if not helped Snape literally would die lol.

But when it comes to Draco and Harry almost killing him, knowing about Dracos Dark Mark, him being suspicious all year, being horrible to him all other years - ABSOLUTELY NOT ACCEPTABLE.

He leaves Draco alone even after he find out Draco was going to kill Dumbledore.

In conclusion, Harry would 100% kill for Draco, no questioning it. He wouldn’t feel bad about the person being killed but about the fact that he is capable to killing.

[blackbird-brewster]

Meta: Jemily Queerbaiting

With the huge influx of posts saying 'Jemily is gonna be canon', I really appreciated seeing this post because OP was completely correct. I didn't want to write an entire dissertation as a reply, so I'm making my own post with my personal opinion on this. (All sources are noted in footnotes)

Before I began this rant, for anyone who thinks this is anti-Jemily. It is not. I have shipped Jemily for 18 friggin years and that's never going to change. This post is specifically my thoughts about queer baiting.

First off, I need to note that the showrunners (and the cast members who use social media) KNOW what a huge queer following this show has and that's why we got pansexual Tara Lewis in S16 [1]. Which, in itself, was SOOOOOOO important!!! Our first canonically queer main in SIXTEEN seasons was a middle-aged Black woman!!! That's phenomenal. (The fact it was horrible rep, because they instantly ruined her relationships once her queerness served it's plot point is a whole other post entirely)

In my opinion, the 'big Jemily moment' Paget posted about on Twitter [2] (and AJ hinted at during a recent IG live) is simply queerbaiting to get people to watch S17. I know a lot of you are newer to the fandom and I love your enthusiasm, I really do, ship and let ship, but listen, let's be real, Jemily is not going to be made canon. The showrunners aren't going to suddenly say (after 17 seasons) 'Surprise, Jemily is endgame'. This show has never cared about queer rep and now that CBS/Paramount have already ticked their queer rep box with Tara, they won't be in any rush to add any other characters to it.

Please buckle in, I've got a lot of thoughts on this matter --

What is Queerbaiting?

If you aren't aware of what queerbaiting is, here's a good definition:

Historically, queerbaiting has carried two meanings: the first is an act of aggressive heterosexuality to shut down queer subtext on screen while still teasing and catering to the queer audience in advertising, public relations, and fan engagement strategies; the second is an existing homoerotic tension between two characters played up on screen while met with derision by the professionals behind the scenes. [3]

The Medium article quoted here is from 2017, a time when parasocial relationships were really starting to take over social media. In 2024, actors are now only a mention or tag away online, they have direct conversations with fans, and this process has allowed for an even deeper form of queerbaiting.

Oftentimes online, actors are asked directly about certain ships and while some ignore these questions (usually to avoid breaking their contracts or other repercussions), others (looking at you, Paget) choose to instead tease fans about queer ships. She's done this for years upon years and if I've learned anything in the past twenty-years of existing in fandom spaces it's this -- don't hold your breath. In it's original meaning, for something to be deemed as queerbaiting there had to be malicious, or at least, purposeful intent to string queer fans along by teasing them with suggestive content about the ship in question, while knowing this ship will never come to fruition in canon.

The thing to remember is, Paget and AJ aren't the only ones who know about Jemily shippers -- the network and showrunners are well aware of this ship too. When networks/showrunners figure out they have a strong sapphic fanbase, they love to use that to their advantage to get more viewers and higher ratings. Queerbaiting is a goldmine to keep fans watching long running shows, look at Rizzoli and Isles, Supergirl, and OUAT for examples of this.

Jemily and Queerbaiting:

Ever since Emily joined the BAU in S2 (2006), there have always been fans who ship JJ/Emily (shoutout to the old LJ forums!). Way before celebs were just a tweet away from fans, back when all our fics began with disclaimers so we wouldn't get sued by networks, we went to great lengths to keep our fanworks far removed from actors/showrunners attention.

As far as Jemily goes, this reply from Paget in a 2009 interview with TVGuide.com [4] (which has now been deleted from their site unfortunately, but there are quotes on Tumblr still [4.a]) confirmed some fans' worst fear -- the actors had found our fanworks online.

TVGuide.com: Of course, a band of fans want her to hook up with Hotch.

Brewster: I know! I didn't realize that fans make these videos on YouTube? A.J. Cook sent me a hilarious one that made it look like Prentiss and J.J. were having a secret lesbian affair. You know, when Hotch was blown up in the SUV, we shot this scene where he's in the hospital and I'm standing next to him, looking at his bleeding ear. Our director came in and said, "Paget, you're looking at Hotch like you're in love with him. It looks really weird." So now, every day, Thomas [Gibson] and I flutter our eyelids at each other.

This was the first time I recall anyone acknowledging Jemily shippers publicly and at the time (Jan 2009), the show was still in Season Four (just before CBS fired both AJ and Paget [5]). Paget genuinely said it's 'hilarious' that fans shipped JJ/Emily. Even now, I'll see people say 'We know Paget and AJ have seen Jemily fanvids, so they obviously ship it too' -- but those same people rarely acknowledge the full context of the original answer. Paget not only thought JJ/Emily were 'hilarious', but then she doubled down and turned her reply back to how she and Thomas liked to play up the chemistry between Emily/Hotch.

While no one can say for sure which video it was that AJ sent Paget, just knowing they were watching JJ/Emily fanvids sent a bit of a shockwave through the femslash side of the fandom. To some it felt like an invasion of privacy, fanworks are by fans for fans -- knowing the cast were poking around in fandom spaces added an extra layer of worry around what we fans were posting online. Fifteen years ago, it used to be quite taboo for actors to outwardly discuss shipping or other fanon for whatever show they were in, and we fans were usually comfortably removed from the actors altogether.

Of course, now it's the norm for fans and actors/showrunners to co-exist online and interact with one another. This connection has opened new ways for shows to queerbait their fans. Pretty much every show has some form of social media account now and there is no doubt that the people running those accounts keep up with the most popular ships and hashtags. Not to mention that actors are constantly barraged with questions about whether they ship their character with x,y,z, or whether they think a ship should be made canon, etc. These interactions only serve to benefit the shows themselves, because whether the conversation is for or against a certain ship, it's all just free publicity (Why do you think CM now has a TikTok account?)

Every time AJ or Paget say anything about Jemily, the queer side of the fandom loses their minds. But this has been going on for YEARS now and every single time, it turns out to be nothing but social media hype and queerbaiting. Remember this AJ post? [6] Or what about the notorious reply by Paget to a fan, where she talks about how she and AJ held hands under the table 'for the shippers' [7] I've seen this cycle over and over again, so perhaps I am cynical, but I'm not getting my hopes up that Jemily will ever seriously be canon.

It's widely known now, after both Kirsten [8] and Paget [9] have talked about it, that there was an early idea where Prentiss was supposed to be queer, but that was ultimately scraped before it ever made it on screen. For context, please remember, this show has been airing for nearly twenty years. It began in 2005, during the highly conservative Bush administration. Queer people didn't have rights in the US, we couldn't get married, we were rarely protected under discrimination laws, and we could even be fired for simply being queer (in some states). Diverse queer representation on screen was extremely limited to things like 'The L Word' and 'Queer as Folk' (both aired on Showtime, so they were behind a paywall. And as far as tLw goes, that show was extremely male-gaze focused and is horrible in nearly all regards if you try to rewatch it now). As far as prime time shows went, queer rep was even more rare. Which is why Emily wasn't queer from the get-go.

Yes, things have changed since 2006 in terms of queer rep on TV. We have a myriad of queer identities represented in TV and film nowadays, which is why I think it's so easy for newer fans to say 'lf she was supposed to be gay anyway, they should just make Emily queer in canon!' I know this is what fuels most fans' demands for Emily being confirmed queer, and I get it, I DO. I would be all for it! However, I do not, in one hundred years, actually believe that is going to happen after they already canonically queer confirmed Tara in S16. The fact we even got ONE queer character is ground-breaking for this show.

It's also worth noting, that in the time between Paget's departure in 2012 and her return in 2016, she became very active on Twitter. This was when more and more fans began asking her about Jemily and after Kirsten's AfterEllen interview, fans also pushed for Paget to address the possibility of Emily being gay. 'Pushed' is actually an understatement for some of the outright harassment she would receive. (AJ received some of this harassment too, but less so because she doesn't use social media ass often) Back then, neither of them replied to these things directly. Yet, no matter what either woman posted, the replies were full of Jemily stans begging for her acknowledgement. (Did you know 'stan' is literally a term coined for stalker fans?) I remember one time AJ's friend was missing and she posted info on her IG about it, you know what the replies were? People asking her about Jemily. It was genuinely sickening.

Within this context, it was no surprise to fans when Emily came back in S12 , she and JJ's friendship was seemingly erased. The two women were rarely on screen together in the late seasons, plus the writers saw fit to even give Emily not only one (Mark in London, but two, on-screen boyfriends for the first time in the entire series. I personally do not think these changes to Emily's character were coincidence, I saw the hellscape of what people would say to AJ and Paget online and I fully believe that upon Paget's return to the show, the showrunners purposely tried to distance JJ and Emily to dissuade the more abusive side of the fanbase.

Can I prove that, no. But it is the only reason I can think of as to why Emily S12+ seemingly didn't care about JJ anymore, despite their deep and meaningful friendship. I mean, they both CROSSED THE WORLD to go rescue each other in prior canon -- but when Emily comes back, they acted like they barely knew each other. This was even more prevalent in S16, when JJ's main storylines all revolved around Will, and Emily barely looked at JJ in the entirety of ten episodes. (Remember how Prentiss didn't even hug JJ after bomb, but she did go hug Luke?)

So, do Paget and AJ earnestly ship Jemily, or are they continuing the long tradition of queerbaiting us? Who fucking knows, not me. But based on the history of this fandom, I think I can make a safe bet. (Interestingly, if you search all of Paget's twitter for the word 'Jemily' [10] she only has 3 direct tweets mentioning the ship. I don't think it's a coincidence that two are within the past few months since they started filming S17 (the other one was a RT of Kirsten (who tagged something Jemily)

This is all to say --

Just because Paget and AJ have publicly talked about Jemily,, this doesn't mean it's ever going to happen on screen. And you know what, THAT'S OKAY!! There has been this constant outcry (after Tara became queer confirmed) of 'Do Emily next' or 'Why wasn't it Emily with a girlfriend!?' and 'Jemily needs to be canon in S17!' -- as if people believe their ships aren't worth anything unless they are canon.

That couldn't be further from the truth! Fandom is built on headcanons and fan interpretations and rare pairs and all types of shippers. Your ship does NOT need to be canon for you to enjoy it. I will ship Jemily forever, no matter what. I don't think there will be some magical queer plot in S17, at best, we might actually get to see Emily/JJ on screen together again and after the train wreck that was S16 -- I'll take whatever I can get.

And hey -- if I am completely wrong, if Erica Messer pulls a Korrasami out of her hat, I will be ecstatic. I will be happy to be proved wrong, but at the same time, I'm not going to lose sleep over it and I'm DEFINITELY not going to go hound the actors about it on social media.

Sources:

[1] 2022 Digital Spy article about the importance of Tara's coming out

[2] 04/18/24 Paget Tweet

[3] 2017 Queerbaiting article from medium.com

[4] 2009 Broken TVGuide link

[4.a] Tumblr quote from the above TVGuide Interview

[5] 2010 Kirsten interview screenrant.com

[6] 2019 AJ Instagram Post

[7] 2020 Paget video on Twitter (via @karasluthqr)

[8] 2015 Kirsten interview AfterEllen.com

[9] 2016 Paget Interview CriminalMindsFans.com

[10] @PagetPaget search 'Jemily'

[killcodesashes]

[QUICK RANT ABOUT QUEER REPRESENTATION IN TSAMS/TSBS SHOWS]

[As a genderfluid aroace person myself.]

TSAMS

Uh. I don't like it. Aroace Moon? Cool. Absolutely valid, we love him for that. Wasn't adressed much except in a few episodes which are pretty good, I liked the one where he rejects Foxy a lot!

But recently- g e e z. I understand wanting to bait people in with ships people want! Specifically KidsCove. Same in tmgafs! But the problem is that they do it not just to tease/mess around with the viewers in good fun, they genuinely seem to hate the shippers and actually want to make fun of them? Not just with kidscove but with any other ship that isn't canon. They don't even want to confirm Sun's sexuality, just constantly making it a gag that he has a bisexual flag in his room. Which as a queer person? It's just annoying. Just really annoying ? Please all we want is a confirmation or something? We want queer characters we can actually relate to. And we don't really get that :( Then New Moon came along and said it was possible he wasn't aroace. . . And then they never mentioned it again. So why mention it in the first place ? I don't think I would've minded it if he had just changed how much attraction he felt but was STILL aroace/on the aroace spectrum. As long as it was actually clarified. But they seemed eager to rush to his evil era so they didn't bother to close to any lose ends before hand, though I guess being aroace might've just not been as relevant.

On a bit of a side note- Ruin feels very gay coded. Very gay. There is no way he's straight T.T he's a villain but he's a zesty man and we absolutely adore him for that!!

That was probably an accident, though. Every theatre kid seems gay! /lhj

Just overall upsets me that the VAs seem to act offended by the mere idea of shipping characters? As if that's not a common/vital part of every fandom.

[OTHER SHOWS UNDER THE CUT]

TMGAFS

Upsets me that they can't clarify Puppets identity or pronouns? [Or maybe they have recently but I genuinely doubt it]

Because who are they meant to actually represent ?? It's probably just me but I wish it was more clear or something. I appreciate the VA for trying I do though, absolutely love that guy[Foxy’s VA, genuinely seems to just be a chill guy. And I think it's really cool that he actually does roles that could come off very cringe, voicing most of the cringe dimension characters +struggling with Puppets voice for the longest time.] I just wanna know if Puppet is a trans fem queen or trans masc slay or just trans ? But nothing seems to be clarified.

Again with KidsCove? Genuinely just annoying how they blatantly just do it to make fun of the people who ship them and get views from them.

Foxy seemed to have been gay before his memory loss. Or was at the very least interested in men to an extent. But since he began to be the main character of a show he suddenly only likes women?? S u s. They really keep insisting he's extremely straight and genuinely just annoys me that they erased him being interested in men [Proved he liked men in the episode he asked Moon out.]

. . .now. . . M o n t y. As a genderfluid person? I hate them and literally feel more represented and seen by cis characters from other shows. For the longest time Monty being genderfluid wasn't even adressed and was usually just brought up for plot reasons or something? And it pissed me of that every time they correct a character on Monty's pronouns.. they immediately go back to using he/him pronouns. I think the new fem body is pretty neat! Though I think it would've been more interesting for Monty to stay masc but ACTUALLY get their right pronouns used and their identity getting genuinely respected DESPITE of their appearance. But the body? It's genuinely completely fine! /gen I used to hate my body too and understand that the writers might've thought it might be easier for people if they just used a different body completely! But it annoys me that my gender representation comes in the form of M o n t y. The annoying character known for constantly hating on others and partially destroying their lives. Anyone can be genderfluid, yes. But when the representation is so little? I just wish it was at least a bit better or with a less hateable character.

TLAES

Lunar! Uh. Again can we just get clarification on his sexuality? Is he polyamorous? Bisexual? Omnisexual? Just any clarification please?

Gemini! I wish they were canon nonbinary. They're literally stars. Why did they have to be gendereddd. Also curious about their 'sexuality'? Will also likely never get clarification on it :/

OTHER SHOWS/SIDE NOTES

Roxanne is canon lesbian and so is Glamrock Chica! I'm so sorry but I forgot his name T~T I think it was Tiger Rock[??] Is also canonically gay! Glam Chica has a girlfriend! And I do think their relationship is pretty cute [from what I've seen] and overall wish I would finally get to watching the show a bit more! Funtime Foxy feels very queer to me? Not just because his design is pink but his overall characterization! He does have a girlfriend! But he seems to be comfortable in his own identity and presentation from what I've seen? At least, it seems to be more comfortable than some o t h e r characters. I feel more represented by Funtime Foxy and Lolbit than I ever felt represented by Monty. But that is a personal opinion!

I overall have just lost interest in all of the shows. I'm tired of being constantly disappointed and lead on. But I do wish I could watch more of the other shows since they seem to show more love and care towards their characters :)

CLOSING THOUGHTS!

It's just shows. Does any of this really matter? I think it matters when the shows are claiming to have good representation when they really don't. And they're allowing people who aren't queer/a part of the LGBTQIA+ community to feel like they have the right to shut real queer people down. I've seen so much acephobia and overall homophobia even in this community. A l o t in this community. I wish the writers would listen to ACTUAL QUEER PEOPLE!! I wish the VIEWERS listened to ACTUAL QUEER PEOPLE.

That's what I really want. I just want to be heard and represented.

I don't claim this community. I CAN'T claim a community who is constantly against us.

LISTEN TO QUEER VOICES.

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Handkerchief Headcanons

The rat in my brain was overclocking on its wheel about the Hazbin guys and their potential handkerchiefs after watching some historical romance. Then I had the existential realization that I am probably the singular cancerous overlap between Hazbin Hotel and actual historical fiction. So I have to do these myself I guess. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(also huge thanks to @heart-of-the-morningstar for beta reading the Lucifer section; I love you boo-boo, MWUAH)

Hyperfixated rant pretending to be a history lesson and headcanons below the cut -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

*gently taps pointer on desk then smashes it against whiteboard*

HERE IS A HISTORY LESSON FOR YOU NERDS ABOUT HANDKERCHIEFS AND HANDKERCHIEF FLIRTING.

First off, I need to say I AM NOT talking about the Handkerchief Code. This is a form of LGBTQ+ signaling that many falsely say started in the 1970s (thats just when it first became 'mainstream', its much MUCH older then that).

Handkerchiefs have been used for flirting for literal centuries. There is so much history to them that I cannot possibly hope to cover. The Victorians even had an entire body language system dedicated to them. These are basically just historical highlights or things specifically related to this post.

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Alright. So before the 1960s (when handkerchiefs finally went out of style) EVERYONE had one. Disposable tissues weren't even invented until 1924!

Needless to say, pre 1920s, open flirting (especially by a woman) was frowned upon. So handkerchiefs became a main method of doing so.

Im sure yall have seen the infamous 'lady dropping her handkerchief in front of a guy she likes' move in movies or tv. This is because a woman used to not be allowed to talk to a man she was not introduced to first. So by dropping her handkerchief in front of a guy she wants to talk to, this gives the guy an opening to pick up the handkerchief, give it back to her, and introduce himself. Thereby making them acquainted.

Because everyone had a goddamn handkerchief, if a woman is crying, as a man, you would only offer her your own handkerchief if your courting her, her lover, or actually related to her. Otherwise you would just say 'dry your tears' because she got her own stupid handkerchief. If you were none of those things and still gave a woman your handkerchief, WOOF, that was forward of you. You just did the Victorian equivalent of an unsolicited dick pic.

Lovers would often exchange handkerchiefs as tokens. Usually with their names or initials embroidered on the handkerchief. Men would openly wear these, usually tucked into a pocket or hat brim, with the initials showing as a way of bragging about their lady.

Although there are stories of womanizers who would have entire hat brims stuffed with a rainbow of handkerchiefs as a way of bragging about their conquests (and all the broken hearts they left behind).

Friends would also sometimes exchange handkerchiefs but this was really only in specific circumstances and I don't want to get into the weeds on that. Just keep in mind that it CAN be a friendship thing too.

Also for long distance couples (or just general weirdos) it was common for them to send their lovers a handkerchief scented with their perfume/cologne.

Im only telling you this fact because there is a really funny story about Elizabeth the first. She attended a tennis match between two men who were attempting to court her (pun not intended). In the middle of the match, one of the men walked over to Elizabeth, asked for her handkerchief, and used it to wipe the sweat from his face (scenting it). The other man was so offended by this action that he fucking jumped the first guy and a fistfight ensued. When the second guy was asked why he attacked the first, he said the handkerchief wipe was 'too saucy'. I cackle every time I think about this.

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ALRIGHT. Now the history lesson is over and you have a general idea of handkerchief flirting. In my unprofessional opinion, the Hazbin guys who carry around handkerchiefs are; Alastor, Sir Pentious, Vox, and Lucifer (technically)

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Lucifer ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

I say technically Lucifer because he has a really bad habit of just forgetting about it or leaving it in random places. Guy will reach in his pocket for it, realize its not there, and be like 'oh no NOT AGAIN'.

He has a stash of them in his room and workshop. He also will carry around like two or three of them when he goes out because he KNOWS he is gonna lose at least one of them.

Lucifer's handkerchief is super fancy. Its made out of pure red silk (he likes the texture), with fancy white lace edges. A giant Morningstar family crest is embroidered in the center in golden thread.

I headcanon that Lucifer has always been a shut in and rarely, if ever, goes out. But when he does, this guy is super gracious with his handkerchiefs (he does carry around several after all!). Like, to the point its an actual problem.

Lucifer will see a girl crying and offer her his handkerchief without a second thought. Goes right over his head that its a little weird to give your handkerchief to a stranger and extremely flirty to give it to someone at all.

Has 100% started fights or accidentally made people fall for him because he didn't realize the message he was sending. I also just generally headcanon that shit like this (Lucifer being a social dumbass) is a big reason he hates Sinners.

An example: from Lucifer's POV, a guy just randomly started attacking him for comforting a lady; when from the guy's POV, Lucifer, the King of Hell, just came onto his guy's wife when she was emotionally vulnerable. But Lucifer being an idiot is another post >.<

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Vox ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Although he was at the tail end of the handkerchief times; Vox still has one personally and sees it as a sign of being a proper gentleman. Or at least he says thats why he has one...

Vox normally keeps it hidden on the inside of his suit jacket though because he doesn't want to deal with random people asking about it or trying to get it. The other two Vees aren't exactly pleasant about it either.

Valentino constantly tries to steal it as a joke, he will 100% start waving it at Vox like a maiden sending their beloved off to war while playing keep away with it (Valentino says stupid shit while doing this too; like "Oh my beloved Vox! You've come to save me from this wretched boredom that has befallen me!"). Of course this is when Valentino isn't using it as a towel to clean up messes of various bodily fluids and nebulous origin that is. (Vox has opted to burn multiple handkerchiefs due to this)

Velvette just thinks its the funniest thing and makes fun of Vox so hard when she sees it. Who carries around handkerchiefs anymore? Isnt that unsanitary? What does a computer need a handkerchief for anyway? Does he sniff it or something? She will not let up.

So yeah, hidden in the pocket it goes. Honestly, Vox will only take it out if you two have become good friends or he has a major crush on you. Otherwise he will just throw a tissuebox at you.

But no matter if you two are platonic or romantic, if you accept his handkerchief and keep it, Vox is guaranteed to stutter and glitch a bit. The fact that you didn't make fun of him and actually want to keep a personalized item from his time just gives him butterflies.

For how flashy the Vees tend to be, your surprised Vox has such a pleasingly monochrome handkerchief. Its a beautiful azure blue with his Voxtech symbol embroidered in the corner in a dark cobalt. Made of pure cotton for optimal handkerchief efficiency because of course it is.

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Sir Pentious ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Highkey one of the first germaphobes. Due to, you know, being alive in the time of plague and all.

Like Lucifer, he has a million handkerchiefs. But in Sir Pentious' case, its because he can't help but be polite and give one to his friends when they are sick or crying... and then burn/destroy them right after if they give it back.

Sir Pentious actually has two sets of handkerchiefs. The main ones are simple handkerchiefs made out of patterned cotton-blend fabric. That way they can be mass produced by the Egg Bois and still look nice. These are the ones he carries several sets of and gives out freely.

Be warned: sometimes the Egg Bois like to put their own names on them for fun. So you may end up with a relatively nice red and black plaid handkerchief with a very poorly embroidered 'STANLY' on it in neon green.

The other handkerchief type is his actual personal one. Its black and yellow striped with Sir Pentious' full name embordered along the bottom in a light gray. With how nice the embroidery is, you figure he must have done it himself.

Like I implied before, Sir Pentious is very protective of his handkerchief and doesn't give it to anyone. He normally just gives them his throwaway ones because he is afraid of germs and getting sick.

One of the first ways Sir Pentious tried to show Cherri Bomb his interest was offering his actual handkerchief to her. It was a super big deal to him. Cherri, not understanding the significance/meaning of the gesture, proceeded to blow her nose in it and give it right back.

Needless to say, the Egg Bois were quick to set fire to it

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Alastor ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Alastor has a handkerchief. But he wont offer it to you. Nope. Not ever. Not as a flirting gesture, not even as a friend. Your not getting it.

There is a reason for this though; its because Alastor technically doesn't carry his own handkerchief. He actually carries around the handkerchief belonging to his late mother.

The handkerchief is practically ancient at this point. The just sheer amount of washing and general use it has gone through has worn nearly all color away from it. Most people falsely believe it to be a classic, white handkerchief. But when the light hits it right you can see hints of the vibrant color it once had.

Alastor's mother's initials are also hand embroidered in the corner. Since Rosie is the only one privy to the actual origin of the handkerchief; usually people falsely assume it to be a token from a lover and a sign that Alastor is already taken.

Alastor actually loves this because it helps ward off unwanted advances. He will totally pull it out and fake wipe his face with it as a subtle way to tell a lady to back off him.

He is super protective of it and delicately hand washes it himself. Alastor wont even let Niffty touch the thing. You get the feeling that it serves as some kind of weird security blanket for the stag.

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AN: This took wayyy longer to release then I meant it to because its the first writing thing Ive put on here and Im anxious about it aaahhh. Ive reread it like 12 times and I still guarantee I missed things OH WELL

[houseofpendragons]

New Ideas for HOTD Alicent Fashion pt.2

So technically the last one I did for Alicent was apart of a Rhaenyra one, but for continuity sake this is my second outfit redesign for a younger Queen Alicent Hightower.

The dress in question we’re changing is one that will be changed in both scenes it’s worn. One will be a new dress entirely but the other will be just mentally recreating it to look more like the concept art.

The scenes are the dismissal of her father as Hand & The confrontation between she and Rhaenyra about the rumor that had her father dismissed:

I actually love this❤️❤️❤️ it’s just missing a little something, so when comparing these two pics:

If you notice these look exactly the same, except the black is darker, perhaps a velvet, the gold embroidery is more in the form of a design and brighter. The necklace is also more regal looking, bigger than the ones we saw her wear in her girlhood as a noble Lady. Those are the things they should’ve kept for the design of the dress in this scene, she’d look more like an actual Targaryen royal of the time. No offense but the dress that made the cut is kinda bland in tone.

The hair as well, she went for a jeweled hairnet to back to her girlhood hairstyles, precisely why I wish they would’ve kept the braided jeweled crown. It makes her seem more mature (despite her not being but jewelry can be a mask just as much as makeup sometimes) and more royal. She could even still keep it in this half held up hairdo just with the jeweled braided crown/twist added into it:

And the last thing about it the to want to say, the cape would’ve been awesome to see and it would’ve fit the scene. It was raining and she had a man carrying an umbrella for her, I think she’d have that cool ass cape too. Again makes her look more regal, more queen like, more mature.

The next time she wears it that I’d like to change, when she confronted Rhaenyra. A tense scene.

However at this point in time is when she is the most conflicted between her marriage to her husband and her “duty” to her house. I feel she’d reflect that in a representation of both houses. More so red, almost as if adding green was an afterthought, bc I rather think it would be a last minute decision for Alicent to add a green sash or piece of fabric to her usually Targaryen adoption in appearance. A way to feel close to her father by wearing the colors of the house she was born from (just like I headcanon she wore blue as a child to feel close to her mother; Helena Cuy, look it up where I go on a whole rant).

That in mind, imagine something similar to this:

The green being held in place at her neck, Targaryen dragon scales but in gold (perhaps a subtle nod toward Sunfyre/Aegon), it comes to wrap around her waist like a belt, tied at one side the remainder of the green fabric falls free on her left side of her hips down side by side the red dress. Also from the neckline, a half cape of green coming to cover her right side, thin gold chains reaching out from the neckline to hide beneath the half cape.

The red dress underneath would suit the summer climate/warmer climate of the time in the Red Keep, it’s just the right shade of Targaryen red, not to mention the red dress isn’t what really makes the dress but really what is meant to catch ur eye is that she’s wearing green for the first time in a long time. It meant to be hinting at her internal battles. Ofc her cleavage wouldn’t be exposed as depicted so it’s have a higher neckline, perhaps some simple gold and/or black embroidery to enhance it a bit.

Her hair would be something else to consider, thinking back to how we want it to be more mature and queen like. So perhaps a head peace or a jeweled net?

A mixture of these two would suffice:

The first picture is my favorite one and the main inspo for how I’d have done her hair, the pearls, the way her hair is twisted at the top with her bun being kept nice and beautiful in a net. The only thing I’d add from the second photo is the gold lace around the edges of the net, as well as the braid surrounding that as a whole. I’d also take the bands and add them loosely to the bottom part of her hair left down.

As for jewelry, they could’ve taken inspo from actual royal jewels. Something like this for Alicent:

Like I said the look starting originally as her traditional Targaryen Queen attire, with her Hightower symbolism added as an afterthought. Some small pearls could be added between diamond to go more with the pearls in her hair (although I think I might see some pearls in there but I might be dumb).

As for the earrings they could be something like this:

Again incorporating pearls into them or straight up replacing the diamonds entirely.

It’s just Queenly. It’s appeasing to the eyes. And it’s what I expect people to design royal fashion as to look like in period/historical dramas when you’ve proven yourself not concerned with accuracy or if it is a style fantasy gown.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Hi RTA! I was thinking about somthing the other day, pertaining MM and Harry and all the lies they tell. I thought, since you are the rumour expert, you might tell me if I am way off the mark here.

I think the only reason MM and H have been able to go on this long with the attacks agaiinst W&C, the BRF and the British public for that matter, is that whole "never explain" thing the royals have. I mean, we can go and look at the evidence we may collect, hearsay, what we remember or what we think, and we can come up with our own conclussions, drop them here and talk ad nauseam about how horrible something is (usually somethig Just Harry and the desterate wife of Mntecito do). Still.. is just guessing, most of the time. Because even if we have evidence of certain things, many of those, and many of the importnat ones, are still in a cloud of "truth or not". And that happens because the other party involved -W&C/BRF- do not tell us. Sure, they send a ballon to a newspaper with an ally journo, let someone know that someone close heard something, and so on..but there is no actual answers.

Take Spare(me) for example. Bitchy Harry whined and whined and whined for 200+ pages about everything and everyone. Sure, some people came out and gave their versions. But how about all the crap he said about William? About his father?

One of the main targets for MM´s venomous crap has been Catherine. How about her side?

I know this may not make any sense, but I feel as if, as long as the BRF is quiet (I trully believe in the silent treatment, grey stoning and the long game) MM and H will keep hurting our inteligences with more and more crap, and no matter how much we royal followers analyse and discover and defend, I don´t think there is an end in sight for the Sussex lies as long as the most affected ones (besides my brain cells) have to remain silenced. And how much are MM and H counting on that mandatory stoic silence to keep annoying and attacking and being gigantic pains in the brain for everyone?

Sorry for the morning rant. Something I posted on another blog led to this rabbit hole.

Old ask from July 8th

We’re thinking the same thing. The BRF’s “never explain, never complain” is why the Sussexes have been so effective with their attacks…and also why the Sussexes’ attacks increasingly have no more punch.

On the one hand, “never explain, never complain” means that the Sussexes get to control the narrative and be victims of the big bad BRF. As we’ve seen, it’s been somewhat effective.

But on the other hand, “never explain, never complain” means the BRF doesn’t react to provocation in the media. Which means that for the Sussexes to get the BRF to react and respond to them, they have to keep escalating their attacks and when they escalate their attacks, they also change the story of what happened. And when they change the story, they end up showing their hand that it’s all smoke and they don’t actually have real issues or real criticism, that they’re just doing all this for attention - the Sussexes end up undermining themselves. And as we’ve also seen, this has been very effective.

But the problem is that Charles keeps sneaking around “never explain never complain” with trial balloons designed to gauge public support for bringing the Sussexes (or at least Harry) back into the fold, which helps the Sussexes portray themselves as winning.

As for the BRF’s side, history will tell their versions. William, Kate, and Charles will have biographies written for them by reputable, authorized, credentialed, and respected authors. It’ll take time. It’ll take a lot of time, time that a lot of us probably don’t have and may never see happen. Once those biographies and retrospectives come out, the narratives will reset and the Sussexes will become but a footnote.

Of course the challenge there is whether the narratives will be the Sussexes’ version or if it’ll be the actual, recorded history version. I suspect it will be the latter, as more people go on the record as time passes to fix the messes Harry and Meghan made, particularly if there’s a divorce and if Charles wants to rehabilitate Harry’s reputation to bring him back into the family (note: small f-family, which is the private/personal side of monarchy, not big F-Family, which is the official public working side of monarchy).

Because after all, time heals most wounds. And if time doesn’t fix these wounds, history will, because history is written by the victor and the crown always wins.

[jewish-vents]

On my main blog i saw someone i had been following for a long time make a post about how one of their mutuals doesnt reblog donation scams because theyre secretly a zionist + they hate palestinians. I've also seen another person i follow say "only zionists are falsely claiming the gofundmes are fake".

This is the new norm.

Some of my long time mutuals as well as their moots and even random blogs i'll find tend to do this insane thing where they'll accuse everyone and anyone of being a zionist simply for no reason or even based on vibes. (Of course jews are disproportionately attacked but anyways.)

I usually dont block because i cant block everyone on the internet...i would also have to block everyone outside of jumblr.

This one time a few months back i had to block this one person tho because they had a long vague rant about a mutual who they were convinced was a zionist because

*GASPS* THEY TRY TO CALL OUT MISINFORMATION!

Insert the "ah ive seen youve fallen for the jewish trick of providing evidence" 4chan image lmfao.

I was so sad. This person had people agreeing with them (token jews and gentiles alike). Their rant could, no joke, be summed up by "idk why this mutual keeps talking about "antisemitism" and wont stop saying things like check your sources and fact check what u see.. only zionists would fact check a genocide!" I wish i was making this up. They were ranting about their most likely jewish mutual who tried to remind people to be careful of who they were listening to i.e. jackson hinkle and calling out misinformation which was "off" to the OP. Why? Because all that energy should be applied to caring about palestinians instead.........

As a result i reblog donation posts even though im sure 99% of them are scams.

Ive been uneasy since october 7th.

I dont post anything jewish because i know for a fact a mutual or a mutual's mutual will accuse me of being an evil genocidal zionist that drinks palestinian tears or something like that which would be an insane blow because i, as all humans should, care about palestinians and their oppression and suffering so such an accusation would upset me beyond words. idc about the zionist part i luv zionists but the other stuff would piss me off to tje point where i'd lose it.

I wish i wasnt such a coward. Im too scared for my safety. I dont wanna be punished for existing.

.

[randombush3]

But She’s A Stranger

florence pugh x footballer!reader

summary: originally titled ‘saved’, because that’s what you and this blonde woman seem to be doing for each other

words: 10048

warnings: none (😮)

notes: okay i know i said no more football fics, but i couldn’t help myself. i really couldn’t and you’re going to have to deal with that!

a few of my fav things about writing this include having to check flo’s instagram to see what hairstyle she’s had at what time, creating multiple timelines of club transfers to keep things consistent, and learning catalan! i speak spanish and quite a bit of french so it could have been worse. i also don’t explicitly say this (i think) but the reader played for wolfsburg when she was in germany.

January is fucking freezing. The wind is biting and it rains a lot, clouds lingering, having had to hide for Christmas. The days are grey and dark, trainings are hard, and you’re miserable about being stuck in England after spending a week in Cuba.

You walk down Portobello Road simply because your sister forced you to watch that Hugh Grant rom-com and you’ve got a bit of time before you need to get back to St. Albans. After exploring most of the main road, you stray into a side street, and then another… and another. Until you’re slightly lost (very lost) and in need of food.

Florence Pugh is having a peaceful cup of coffee to make her feel like she’s had a productive day.

Her head snaps to the door when the bell chimes. People don’t often come in here. You sort-of-stumble inside, first looking as if you’re going to walk right out, then settling.

While she is sitting at her usual table (the one in the corner, always with a tulip in the vase), you are aimlessly flitting from seat to seat, deciding on whether this place is worth your precious time. Something about the confusion in your eyes draws Flo in, try as she might to remain incognito. “It’s good,” is all she says, barely looking up from her book, not wanting to have the safety of anonymity stripped away. You glance at the pale blue ceramic mug sitting on her table, and walk to the counter.

“Please could I have whatever she has,” you tell the barista, who takes a moment to understand what you’ve said and then nods with a smug smile. She had been hoping someone would have a little coffee romance in her café.

“Would you like that to go?”

You check your watch.

Hòstia.

Maybe you got carried away on your adventure.

It’s 3.47pm.

Jonas requested everyone meet for team bowling at four, expecting most of you to have been eating lunch together anyway (as that usually happens on Saturdays with the Arsenal women’s football team). Even if you weren’t known to be the most punctual on the squad, getting to St. Albans for that time when it’s 3.47pm now is impossible.

You smile nervously at the woman serving you, and Flo is now intrigued as to why such a beautiful woman looks so terrified.

“Yeah, to go would be great, thanks.” She nods and you are left waiting there, foot tapping, time ticking, nowhere interesting to look other than into those green eyes peering at you from the other side of the room. “Could you… Could you make it quickly, please?”

Flo snorts.

Someone’s just invaded her little sanctuary and then told the barista to hurry up, and she can’t help but find the awkwardness fucking attractive. Like you’re some action in a tranquil day, a rain cloud in a blue sky.

Zach is going to be listening to a very long rant about this later.

It strikes her that you seem different to anyone else she has ever met, though she can barely say to have met you. The way you carry yourself with an air of importance but a dash of humility, the way an accent she can’t place curls around your words, the way you frown at your phone as you furiously type away text after text at the object of your frustration.

The way your eyes meet hers when you realise you’re being stared at.

Before she can defend herself, give you some bullshit about the wall behind you, the barista hands you your coffee. “Thank you,” you say, smiling, though it feels a little ingenuine considering the speed the words tumble out.

As you switch your phone off and reach out to the machine in front of you, the barista grimaces. “Our card machine is broken, sorry. It’s cash only.”

Well she didn’t mention that before.

You gave your last bits of cash to Jordan, having lost some stupid bet about how many of her shots you could save. She said you’d keep a clean sheet; you were humble and said she’d get one past you.

“Merda,” you mutter. Looking up at the barista, you reply, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t have any cash on me,” a little panicked and ready to risk it all by dashing out of the shop.

You and the barista exchange a helpless look. She needs the money, but you don’t have it. It’s frankly super awkward, and makes Flo squirm in her seat. She really has to put a stop to this, she can’t bear to watch you and the barista be struck dumb any longer.

She stands and walks over to you, “here,” handing the barista a fiver and trying her best to ignore how your jaw goes slack. Have you recognised her?

(No, you’re just wondering how it’s possible to be this attracted to a stranger.)

(Like, this is one of those moments when you truly are no better than a man.)

“Oh!” you exclaim, finding words again. “You don’t—”

“It’s okay,” she says calmly, though she feels anything but. You have eyes that seem to pierce through her. “You can just buy me—”

But whatever smooth remark she is about to make is plucked from her tongue and swallowed by an aggressively abnormal ringtone. It’s a new experience to be shut down by a duck quacking, and an unwelcome one too.

You grimace once again, finding that this supposedly simple detour has caused more chaos than £5.00 coffee is worth. The caller in question is Beth Mead, recently granted close-friend status after she found you mid panic attack in the gym having been overwhelmed by the watt bike, having to constantly use your third language, and the fact that Ona was being a little standoffish the last time you spoke (you were being dramatic — she hung up on you in favour of going clubbing with her own team). Beth won’t tell you this, but Jonas realised you were struggling in London at the start of the season and asked her to keep an eye on you.

Keeping an eye on you has, apparently, turned her into your mother.

“Where are you?” is what she greets you with, her annoyance drowning out the faint sounds of a bowling alley in the background. “You can’t skip mandatory team bonding.” After a pause, the woman on the other end of the line seems to soften. “Are you okay? You’re not lost, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you sigh, glancing at the stranger who you are now in debt to. She’s retreated back to her table, accepting defeat, allowing the universe to quell her potential one-night-stand or more. “I’m in Notting Hill. I got distracted by a café, but I’ll be on my way shortly.”

“You’ll be here in an hour, then,” says Beth, unimpressed. “I’m telling Jonas that you got lost, it’ll save you a lecture.”

“Thank you.” You’re grateful for Beth. “I’ll call a taxi now.”

Florence looks at you dumbly. You spare her a concerned look, but then realise she may have been… No, that’s absurd.

“Thank you,” you say once more, this time directed at the blonde, the curve of your lips undeniably attractive and the glint in your eye even more so. Flo nods curtly, attempting to save face, and then forces her eyes back onto Dune. It’s far less interesting than that entire interaction, but what can she do?

The door of the café shuts with a little click, the bell chiming once more, but Flo refuses to watch you leave. That’s creepy, she tells herself.

In truth, as you get into the taxi pulled up outside, you glance back at her, wondering who she is. Why does she look familiar?

You’re seconds away from figuring it out, having a right old lesbian ponder in the car, when Beth pops her head through the abruptly opened car door. “Hola,” she tries, “estas aqui, finalmente.”

“Sí, estoy aqui,” you reply, grinning. She realises your smile might be slightly mocking, pride replaced with slight frustration. “You tried. I’m sure you will improve.”

“It’s not fair if I’m trying to make you more comfortable and you keep talking to me in English,” she groans, but you wave her off.

“I’m grateful, but I need to practice my English.” The pretty blonde woman is worth the struggle. Not that you’re going to talk to her anytime soon. Because you don’t have her number. Or know her name. So really this is all a fantasy, and you’re being a little wistful and probably very horny. Thinking about it, the last time you slept with someone was at least two months ago, and even then it wasn’t the most mind-blowing night of your life. It’s not like the pretty blonde woman is your soulmate.

- - -

She becomes a dream for about a month, something that maybe happened but has become somewhat a fantasy.

As usual, your mother nags you about needing to date someone every time you call her, but unlike previous times where you find it easy to protest and defend your independence (loneliness), you understand what she means.

It’s so fucking stupid that you’re obsessed with a stranger, but it’s the truth.

How embarrassing.

On the 27th February, you forgo playing against Liverpool in favour of attending a big fundraiser for a mental health charity; an event your brother has strongly encouraged you to go to.

You realise why when you get there.

The banner adorning the entrance to the venue clearly states who tonight’s host is: Tomàs L/n. There is the same picture of him plastered around the place; chest puffed out proudly, his Barcelona kit underneath a blazer. No wonder he was so mysterious about this thing. His lack of warning means you actually have to do little interviews, wondering if anyone really cares what you have to say.

“How do you feel about your brother’s recent increase in his involvement with this charity?” a reporter asks you, mic held to your face as if you have an opinion on this.

“I think it’s good,” you reply vaguely. “It’s good to support something you are passionate about.” You can’t say anything else because you haven’t been briefed by his (admittedly over-bearing) publicist.

“You’re missing a match for this, despite playing time being hard to get for goalkeepers. Is family more important to you than your career — seeing as you need the minutes to be selected for the upcoming Euros?”

An odd question, but okay.

Minutes are difficult, but you’ve been first choice all season. The Euros squad will be finalised in early June, though your agent is confident in your selection. “I think that supporting my family should always come first.” You smile. You’re on camera. “And it is a good cause.”

There’s a surge of movement behind you, shuffling and shouting, clamouring for attention. Cameras begin to flash excessively, and before you can turn around, your brother is beside you.

“Hi,” he greets the reporter, grinning with sparkling teeth and a glint in his eye. “Could I borrow her, thanks!” He places a hand on your shoulder and steers you further into the crowd until you reach a corner that isn’t deserted enough to draw attention to the two of you. It being towards the back of the venue makes it somewhere that feels less exposed than the edges nearing the press

“Fuck you,” you hiss in Catalan, happy to switch back to something natural now that you’re alone. “You’re such a dickhead.” He came all the way from Spain to host this event, but you suspect this isn’t the actual reason for his trip.

“Am not,” comes his indignant reply. You scoff, rolling your eyes at his ridiculous ensemble. “Oh, you don’t like the suit? Cèlia said the same. Dolce&Gabbana sent it.”

“Yeah, well, your wife and I are right. It’s awful.” It’s very… loud. Crimson with golden roses. “I’m getting a headache just looking at you.”

“No,” he waves off with a smirk, “that’s from hitting your head against the goalpost.”

“You saw that?” you ask, scrunching your nose up at the memory. You had saved the ball at the price of a few brain cells, luckily scraping a pass in the concussion test you were forced to sit through.

“I’ve started watching your games more,” he admits earnestly. “Barça want you back, you know. You could come home.”

So this is why he’s here.

“To not be played at all?” you retort, walls going right up.

“They’d be crazy to not put you in goal now, and it’s good to play with the national team in the league. That’s easier if you’re actually in the country.” National camps have been going just fine. “I mean, haven’t you had enough of hiding abroad?”

You think about it for a moment. “Not really, no.” An indignant scoff follows, and then, “I have been back, you know. I flew to Barcelona that one time — and then I got the train from there to Madrid.” Plus, your old teammates (and national teammates) go on enough holidays for you to scrape by nervously in Ibiza and Mallorca, and relax in countries further away.

“Y/n, she left the country four years ago. You couldn’t possibly run into her.”

“My chances of that are even smaller in England,” you state firmly. You spent three years in Germany and she still managed to find you twice, conveniently appearing in her stupid, American law firm’s Munich office.. Away from mainland Europe is a safer bet, surely. “Maybe you could copy me and transfer to Arsenal, just like you copied me when I got into the Barcelona academy.”

- - -

Florence hates events held by footballers.

She rarely goes, and doesn’t if avoidable, but the cause is a good one and her publicist wants the media to paint her as a passive advocate for mental health awareness. Nothing too abrasive, but a quiet reminder of her support. It’s quite clever, really.

Sulking in the corner, she sips her martini with a scowl, watching the crowd wearily. The invitees are not her type of people and most seem to have cleared out Dolce&Gabbana’s SALE rack. The guy in front of her is the perfect example, golden roses sprawling across the back of his crimson blazer.

Internally, she rolls her eyes, taking another sip of her drink. This is unbelievable and won’t get interesting until the auction in two hours.

The man in front of her steps to the side slightly, revealing that he hasn’t been talking to himself but rather to someone who looks strangely familiar.

Your eyes meet hers and there’s a moment where you both go into mild panic mode. The recognition in your stare quickly turns into desperation as your mouth moves rapidly to reply to your brother’s opinions. Florence doesn’t understand the conversation at all, but realises she’s being asked for help.

The confidence people see in her usually isn’t real, but she squares her shoulders and walks up to you and the man.

“There you are!” She’s an actress for a reason. “I was just about to get another drink — I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

Your brother’s eyes narrow.

She slips an arm around your waist, hiding any shock about your muscular form, pretending she knows your name. You lean into her.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Flo has half a mind to send him a glare, but you do it for her. “Tomàs, no hi tonaré.”

The venom in your tone does something to Flo’s blood pressure. It’s sort of… sexy.

“What was that about?” she asks once you’re by the bar, snapping you out of a moody trance.

“My brother?” Your brother is Tomàs L/n. Interesting. (If Flo knew the first thing about the football world, she’d have realised who you were by now, but she doesn’t and so you remain nameless.) “He was being stupid. It doesn’t matter now. Thank you for saving me.”

She finds that she would’ve done it again in a heartbeat, which is a little weird considering she doesn’t know who you are. Flo secretly decides to chalk that one down to having just gotten out of a long-term relationship and needing someone to latch onto.

“No problem,” she replies with a smile. “I believe you owe me a drink…”

You smile. “Two martinis, please.” The bartender nods, looking exasperated by the demands of the overflowing bar.

“That’s my favourite,” Flo says — sort of whispers — as she bashfully looks away. The faint blush creeping up her neck and cheeks is hidden well enough by the blue lighting of the place. “How was your coffee?”

For a moment, you look at her blankly and her heart drops with embarrassment. Then, you let out a little laugh.

“I didn’t drink it. It spilled all over me in the taxi!”

“All that stress for nothing, huh?”

Not nothing, you think, but you’re not brave enough to tell her that. “I was recently introduced to Café Nero, and that tastes the most—”

“No!” Flo explains, pressing her hand to her heart. “That’s unacceptable.” You shake your head, laughing more, and she wants nothing but to hear it on repeat for the rest of her life.

“British coffee is unacceptable,” you answer, rolling your eyes. “But I found this place called Reinetta the other day. Very Spanish, very brilliant.”

“Are you from Spain?”

What a genius.

Your incredulous look quickly goes when you realise she’s serious.

“Yeah!” She notices how your smile grows wider but your eyes become a little haunted. “Hablo español,” you say with a smirk, sending her a superfluous wink.

And, if the bartender hadn’t interrupted by serving you your drinks, you would be well aware of how red she goes.

She takes a sip, groaning in appreciation. “This is a good—” She turns around suddenly, squinting at the woman waving at her in the crowd looking furious. “Fuck, I can’t believe I forgot. I’ve got to go.” You catch sight of the person she’s looking at; a stern-faced publicist wading her way through the mass of people to get to her client. In a last ditch attempt of actually getting to know you, she throws out, “you should totally show me this Spanish coffee place,” and rushes off to meet her publicist.

You stand stock-still. Stunned. Oh, that definitely gave you goosebumps.

The rest of your evening is mostly passive aggressive. With hardly anyone else to talk to, you end up hovering in whatever conversation circle your brother is in.

At the soonest possible moment, you leave and join the late-night recovery dinner at Beth’s house, earning wolf-whistles from everyone as you bundle through the door in your formal attire. Beth tells you to change almost immediately, throwing you a t-shirt and jog pants. “Recovery is all about wearing pyjamas,” she says, matter-of-fact. “And eating.”

“What have you made?”

She gives you a wry grin. “Come find out.”

The girls are sitting around her table, eagerly awaiting your arrival so they can tuck in. Jordan, Katie, Jen, Steph, and (surprisingly) Viv are all eyeing the food like starving wolves would look at a herd of sheep. It smells good and familiar and like Beth has kidnapped your abuela and chained her to a paella pan…?

You seem to fill with energy at the sight of the dish, and Katie announces she’s done being patient, spooning a hefty portion onto her plate and prompting Steph to do the same. They begin eating while you remain a little taken aback.

Beth nudges you. “I called Less and practically begged her to give me Ona’s number last week, sending her a text once I got it — to which your friend took bloody ages to reply. And then she was very difficult about when she could FaceTime, so when we eventually could I ended up making a mini version of her paella and memorising the recipe.” Her rambling is nervous. “But I sent her a picture of this one and she said it looked delicious.”

“Déu n’hi do, it looks delicious,” you agree, sitting down as quickly as possible and piling some onto your plate. Mouth now full, you continue, “it tastes like my mother’s cooking! It’s great, Beth, really.”

“She can cook,” Katie proclaims proudly, directing her statement at Viv; you think, for a moment, that she is going to list all of her positive qualities. Your eyes narrow and Beth shoots you a look that says ‘later’. “Y/n, can you cook?”

You almost choke on a prawn. “I can make pesto pasta. That’s it.”

Jen’s jaw drops. “You’ve only been eating pesto pasta this season?!” she asks, sounding scared.

“Yes, because I chose a club without Ona.” At Wolfsburg, you didn’t live on your own. Here you do. “I don’t mind. But Beth might have to make this weekly.”

“Absolutely not. This drained me more than any game of football ever could.” Beth motions at everyone to keep on eating, feeling accomplished that the meal is good. “Katie scored twice today.”

“Did you now?” She nods her head very proudly. “I bet I could’ve scored today.”

The laughter turns into silence as you eat contently, something that is broken when Jen goes, “where were you?”

The thought of having to talk about it causes you to grip your fork tighter, earning Beth’s hand on your shoulder. “Some charity event, right?” she replies for you. “Tomàs hosted it.”

“He came from Spain?”

“Yes,” you answer, and the girls hear how badly you don’t want to talk about this.

No one here knows exactly what happened, but when you abruptly transferred from Barcelona to Wolfsburg four years ago, you allegedly haven’t been back to Barcelona for longer than a day. Ona was saying to Beth the other day that with some convincing you can be persuaded to Ibiza (you’re about to be invited to two trips to the Balearic Islands), but anything on the mainland is strictly business — camps, games, the like.

Everyone has their theories, but Katie and Jenny think something happened between you and your brother. It’s not like you didn’t say outright in an interview that you have had a far better career than him despite being younger, yet he’s the one being paid €12 million a year.

“Guess what Ruesha fucking did yesterday,” Katie changes the topic.

Everyone groans.

“No one cares, Katie. Like I couldn’t care less.” Beth bites her lip to not laugh at Jen’s words. “Y/n, what’s happening in your love life? Got a girl, boy, cat?”

Feeling a bit like a deer caught in headlights, you look up from your plate. “I met a girl in a coffee shop in January. She was pretty.” You wonder how her interviews went. “I saw her today, actually. But I don’t date so—”

“You don’t date?” Steph asks, eyes widened a little.

“Yeah, because, like, it’s hard… with football.” They look at you like you’re a dog tearing apart a slipper: so unbelievably unimpressed. “Because it’s time consuming?”

In reality, you don’t date because your ex is the reason you can’t even be in mainland Europe, but they do not have to know that.

“So what’s this girl’s name and how did you go out with her if you were at an event?” Beth asks and it sounds a bit too much like a police interrogation for you to feel comfortable.

You shift your weight in your seat.

“I don’t know. She was just there.”

- - -

It’s the middle of March when you’re back in Notting Hill. With training sessions left, right, and centre, you’d been pretty much confined to St. Alban’s and Beth’s house for social activity. Today is a rare day-off, coincidentally aligning with both Manchester United’s schedule and Manchester City’s. Ona has dragged Leila, Laia, and Vicky down to London to see you.

“I can’t believe we had to come to you,” is the first thing Vicky says when you meet them at Euston.

“Wow, not even a ‘hello’,” you say back. “Come on, we’re going to a market.”

They roll their eyes. All of them. At the same time.

You wonder why you ever missed them.

Laia is the only one interested in Portobello, darting from stall to stall to another, excitedly giving you a rundown on her life while she does. Leila is hungry, and ruthlessly cuts her off.

“We get it. You felt sad for a week. I need coffee, Y/n, take me to a coffee shop.”

“It was more than sad,” Laia protests, but acquiesces to the group’s change of plans.

You lead them to the place you found in January — maybe this time you’ll actually get to try the coffee. But on the way there, Laia finds a mildly creepy clothes shop and manages to herd you inside. She flings clothes at the girls, while glaring at you for flirting with the shop assistant instead of letting the woman do her job and help.

You’re halfway to getting her number when there’s a commotion outside and the mood lighting of the shop is ruined by bright camera flashes.

For a moment, you wonder if they’re for you. People could have thought your brother was here, and the paparazzi love him.

But there’s something familiar about the voice shouting at them to back off; the rasp, the accent. Curiously, you look out of the window.

It’s her.

With brown hair?

Flo catches your eye immediately, and it doesn’t take much thinking for you to dash out of the shop to grab her hand and pull her inside.

The paparazzi have no choice but to crowd around the window, except none of their shots will turn out well once the shop assistant closes the blinds.

“Gracias,” Flo pants, out of breath.

Leila’s eyebrows shoot right up, closely followed by the rest of the girls. “Y/n, that’s Florence Pugh,” she blurts, thankfully in Spanish.

“Y/n?” Flo tries. Now she knows your name and her stomach feels settled with endearance. Your name suits you. “Thank you for saving me. I needed it.”

“I owed you,” comes your reply as you shrug.

“Y/n saves things for a living!” Ona butts in.

(Is she sabotaging you or being your wingwoman?)

There’s a tense silence, of which no one knows what to fill it with, until the shop assistant opens the blinds and informs Flo that the coast is clear. It takes that statement then to be repeated to snap you and Flo out of the mildly creepy eye contact you’re sharing, but once it does she can’t seem to look at you again.

She inhales and resets herself. “Right. I’ll be off. Things to do, people to see.”

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to feel embarrassed in front of your friends’ keen and watchful eyes. “Yes, yeah. Bye.”

“Bye, Y/n.”

With that, you let the woman you’ve been thinking about for months walk away, out of the shop, and down the street. You give yourself an internal kick for lacking the game you know you have in three other languages, but rub it better because now you know her name.

Florence Pugh. Like the actress from that creepy cult film Obi was obsessed with. And the girl from that Marvel movie.

You pause.

“The actress Florence Pugh?” Your question has Leila shoving her Wikipedia in your face. British actress, born in Oxford on 3rd January 1996. Florence Rose Pugh. Maybe you’d heard someone call her Flo before? “Oh, this is the girl I’ve been meaning to tell you about.”

“The girl with no name is Florence fucking Pugh?” Leila shrieks, hands on your shoulders, shaking you. “You know I love Marvel!”

“Sorry,” you chuckle, amused by her overreaction.

Vicky catches your eye, looking like she wants to say something.

Laia does it for her.

“You need to learn how to flirt in English, because that was atrocious.”

You glare at them both. Partly because it’s true.

“The Y/n who fucked four women in a week at the grand old age of eighteen did not just say — no, splutter — ‘yes, yeah, bye’ because she was looking at a pretty girl,” Vicky adds, smugly. “We have finally found the language barrier between Y/n and sex! Round of applause please!”

“Alright, alright,” Ona says, coming to the rescue. “Stop teasing her when she looks like a lovesick puppy.”

Fuck you too, Ona.

“Florence Pugh is practically a stranger.” You look at Leila, “we are not getting married.” You look at Vicky, “she is not being invited to dinner tonight.” You look at Laia, “she will not be upgrading your train tickets to first class.” And finally, you look at Señorita Ona Battle; the woman who has been your closest friend for years. “I am not in love.”

“I’m sure she’s in love too,” Ona says, pushing it.

“But she’s a stranger!”

Your friends are delusional because you’ve been over it in your head millions of times, clinging onto the shreds of interaction, and you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve met the woman. Florence Pugh can possibly be categorised as a celebrity crush at best. What Ona is talking about is way too serious.

- - -

Flo is certain that Ibiza is a good idea. Or so she tells herself.

And, well, Harris tells her.

He thinks she’s been in a bit of a slump since she and Zach broke up. While Flo can barely talk about it without wanting to cry, she mourns the loss in a very vocal manner to her closest friends. She misses him quite a bit.

Harris allows her a month of moaning before putting his foot down; vetoing Flo not joining them in Ibiza because she is sad. “You’re single, you’re hot, and you’re one of the most sought-after actresses and you don’t want to go on a hot-girl vacation…?” His puzzlement is almost comical when he asks. “It’s for my birthday, babe. You can’t not come.”

Her valid apprehension is quelled with the promise of lots of alcohol and sun, and so this is how she ends up on the Spanish island. Harris calls this a ‘come-back curve’ — when you let loose again after being in a long-term relationship.

It’s fun, really. The beach, the time with friends, the drinking. This is the kind of life she had coveted during her youth; the one most believe comes with the fame. When there aren’t any cameras in her face, she feels at peace with her situation.

(Is this what getting over someone feels like?)

Except for one, tiny problem.

Whenever Will drags them all to a nightclub and pumps her full of vodka, she manages to avoid the gaze of every pair of eyes looking for someone to sleep with. Usually, Flo after ten vodka shots would be on top of someone or on her way out, but the days go by and she can’t help but cockblock herself.

She racks her brains to figure out the cause, the reason, but there is nothing in it apart from the echo of your laughter and the sound of you speaking Spanish. She closes her eyes and she can picture you, clear as day, grinning right back at her. She is not okay with it.

Obviously.

Despite the idea of you throwing her off her game, she is still easily convinced to venture out to nightclubs. Leading her here.

Paraíso.

It’s sticky inside; surfaces, people, floor. And packed. Bodies pressed to other bodies, hair trapped, shouting, screaming, singing.

For an already drunk group of people, it’s perfect.

Crammed into a booth in the heart of the club, Flo and her friends do two rounds of lemon drops, the sugar going everywhere. When her nose scrunches at the bitter taste of the rind, Harris snaps a picture, says he’ll post it later.

Good, she thinks. Maybe you will see her having fun.

If one was to ask, and Flo decided not to lie, it would be revealed that she has spent every night this week making her way through articles about you. Your Instagram didn’t take long to find, nor to scroll through, but it saddens her slightly to discover how little people write about you, and how much they write about your brother.

She is dignified enough to refrain from scouring your Wikipedia page.

Funnily enough, you have been doing the same, though the material to get through is significantly more substantial. Mapi has taken to calling it your ‘bedtime reading’, prompting you to announce very loudly to every guest sitting in your family villa in Ibiza that you own the place.

Well, your dad does. (Same thing though.)

Housed in said villa are Mapi and Ingrid, Ona, Laia, Leila, Patri, and Pina. Beth, Jordan, Leah and a few of their England teammates have come along too, staying in a boutique hotel not far away; about a fifteen minute walk. The groups merged very quickly after a bottle of wine.

As you get further into the holiday, you dive deeper into Florence Pugh’s digital footprint, and everyone else is very over it.

“This obsession isn’t cute,” Patri teases, snatching your phone as you spread out on the sofa. “But Leila wanted me to let you know that Florence Pugh is in Ibiza.” Your heart clenches hard; this could be a heart attack. “Oh, and we’re all going out tonight. England girls and us lot. Ingrid is also banning Spanish in case they think we’re talking about them, Pina broke the shower on the third floor, and Laia has fed that stray cat so much that it is now curled up in her bed.”

You glare.

Many of those things are so unbelievably far from ideal.

Patri raises her hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

In time, you wish you had and that your evening was being wasted away in jail, because this place is loud and busy and it is far from acceptable for you to go back to internet-stalking Florence Pugh around such interesting company.

The England girls have chosen a club called Paraíso, though you wouldn’t have known from the way they pronounced it. Most of them are dancing, but Beth, cheeks flushed from a few vodka sodas, has sat next to you in the booth, looking like she’s about to pour her heart out.

You turn to her. “Go on, then. Tell me about you and Viv.” And she grins like that’s the best thing she’s ever heard, launching you into a timeline of events that have you feeling disappointed in yourself about your situation.

If it all hadn’t been ruined, you could have been able to reciprocate the conversation.

It’s a bit like a knife to the stomach to be reminded of something you don’t have.

Eventually, Beth is finished, eyes shining because she is so happy with her and you are so supportive of it. She cares what you think, and is glad you approve.

“I’m going to get a drink,” you say, deciding there’s not enough alcohol in the world to make you feel better but that you can at least try. Beth nods and finds the others on the dance floor.

The bar is well staffed, and it takes all of two minutes for you to place an order of three Jägerbombs. All for you, but you hesitate to tell the bartender that.

Someone brushes your arm and your stomach drops to the floor.

“Hi,” she says, practically sparkling under the club lighting.

This is why you don’t come home. Fucking hell.

“¿Inglés?” you question, raising an eyebrow. Adela used to hate having to learn the language.

“Vivo en Nueva York en la actualidad.”

Tomàs was right. She doesn’t live in Spain anymore. So why is she here? Why is she in the last slice of your home country you can be persuaded to let loose in? Why does she have to ruin everything?

Though time feels frozen, someone else has placed their hand on your waist. You tense as you turn around, but hope Adela doesn’t see it.

When you realise it’s Florence Pugh, you are very close to running away to Australia in search of complete isolation.

“Hey, babe,” Florence drawls casually. She’s an actress, you remind yourself. Improvisation is a skill she’ll be great at. “You alright?” Her hand squeezes your waist in reassurance.

Flo’s hair is blonde again. It looks nice.

“Yeah,” you breathe, feeling a heat pulse through your body. “Just waiting on some Jägerbombs.”

Flo stands her ground. She wants to wait with you. She doesn’t want to leave you alone with the beautiful woman who’s got you on edge.

Is it wrong to feel protective over a stranger?

(Neither of you feel like such — a consequence of extreme internet-stalking on both ends.)

“¿Tu novia?” Adela asks. You smirk at the flash of jealousy in her eyes. “Pensé que estabas follando a todos a la vista como siempre.”

“No, es mi novia. ¿Tienes un problema con eso?” She shakes her head. “Bueno.”

“Sí.” She looks Flo dead in the eyes. “Adiós.”

The two of you let the silence take over, both aware of how she’s still got her hand on your waist, now with her body pressed up against yours.

“Your ex?” Flo asks, praying it doesn’t sound hopeful. There’s no way you’re not into women, right?

“Yeah,” you answer miserably.

She adjusts herself so that you’re now facing each other, but it only aids you both in feeling a little turned on. Seeing the other looking just as flustered does nothing to quell the possibility of where this night is going.

“Want to get out of here?”

She grins. You take that as a yes.

Her hands are sweaty as they cling to yours, but the club is packed now and she’d get lost if she didn’t hold on. Getting outside is like a rebirth, fresh air washing away the grime and a soft breeze cooling her down. That is until you look at her, biting your bottom lip.

“You can if you want,” she whispers as you sort of back yourselves into the alley beside the building. You place your hands firmly on her waist.

You smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And with that you close the space between you, pressing your lips against hers and a hand against the wall to support you both. She kisses back desperately, opening her mouth, clashing her teeth on yours. Her hands run up your back, wrapping around your neck.

You make out for a while, before she pulls away.

“I’ll call a taxi to my hotel.” She gives you the opportunity to text Ona.

You: no volveré esta noche

You’re about to tell your friend where the spare keys to your villa are, before Flo kisses you again, capturing your attention in order to direct you to the taxi.

From there, it’s a downhill slope of ripped clothing, walking into things, and being fucked into oblivion.

The morning comes brightly, unforgiving of any hangovers.

Her suite is really nice, but is partially destroyed by last night’s storm of a hookup. The sofa cushions litter the living area’s floor when you try to find her.

She is sitting on the sofa, hair wet, lazily watching the TV. As you laugh at the program, she snaps out of her brood.

“Do you understand what they’re saying?” you ask through your giggles. It’s a pretty crass show to have on at 10am.

“No,” she sheepishly replies. Her eyes tear from the screen to focus on you, examining your body from head to toe, resulting in a frown. “I went out and bought you something to wear.” She directs your attention to a shopping bag on the coffee table.

“You didn’t have to.”

“It was nothing, really.”

You pause.

She looks beautiful. You wish you hadn’t been so drunk. Now all this will be is a one-night stand.

“I’ve got to go. I thought I texted my friend where the spare keys were but I didn't, so they've all crashed at our friends’ hotel, and they’re not happy about it.” Flo laughs, recalling giving you enough time to let everyone know of your changed plans. Maybe you were too caught up in staring at her.

“No worries,” she says easily. “I’m headed to breakfast, but feel free to use the bathroom to clean up.”

There’s a stagnant silence.

Neither of you are going to further this interaction. Alright.

It will be fine. She’s less of a stranger now, and no interview could ever inform you on what your name sounds like as she moans it over and over again.

You tell yourself this again as you approach the England girls’ hotel, bar the last bit. (Though it does remind you of the game you once had.)

Everybody is waiting for you in the small restaurant, the group practically filling the space. There are many colourful words, both in Spanish and Catalan, being muttered as you walk in.

It’s fair for them to feel irritated, and you did leave as soon as possible to allow them back in. You probably would have slept in that expensive hotel bed for the rest of the day if Pina’s seventh phone call hadn’t awoken you.

“You are unbelievable,” is the first thing Mapi says, ignoring the questioning looks from the English girls. None of them speak Spanish, though you’ve heard that Lucy is learning. “Where were you? Pina says she saw Adela as soon as we walked in, and was about to go looking for you to get you out of there.”

“Well Pina didn’t do that,” you reply, folding your arms. Clàudia looks away guiltily. “And I spoke to Adela.”

“So you have a run-in with her and you take off? As if the years haven’t made a difference? As if you’re not over her?”

You clench your fists. “No, I was with a girl.”

“Which girl?” Ona excitedly interjects. “Do we know her?”

“Yeah,” you say, but intend to give them nothing else. “I just came back from her hotel. Would you like to get back to the villa or not?”

“Y/n, you’re such a dickhead.”

Beth asks for a translation.

Before you can omit the parts you don’t want her to hear, the whole of the group is made aware of what you got up to last night. Patri skips over the background information about Adela once she catches the way you are looking at her. If looks could kill, she’d be long gone by now.

The conversation evolves naturally into something more general, until everyone is gathering their things and leaving the hotel to walk to your place. With a group of fifteen, the pavement is cramped, meaning Ona and you pull ahead.

She nudges you when you go quiet for a bit.

“So…” Ona begins, smirking. “Tell me about your night.”

“My night was too scandalous for Onita to handle,” you tease, ultimately avoiding the question. Her eyes narrow and she grabs your wrist to stop you from crossing the road. “I’m not going to run away.”

“But you love running away!”

You sigh. “My night was good, Ona. Really good.”

Ona is clever enough to piece together a story in her head. Adela has a way of disrupting the flow of your life, and a certain someone is in town.

“Fucking hell, Y/n. You slept with Florence Pugh?!” she exclaims.

“Keep your voice down,” you say loudly, shaking your head as to not let the others know. “It was a one-time thing. A mistake.”

She studies your expression, realising how your regret was easily confused for sternness earlier. “You wanted it.”

“It’s a celebrity crush!”

“Not if you’ve actually met her. Then it’s just a crush.”

“You’re just a crush,” you retort. Ona bursts out laughing.

“You slept with your crush and it’s a mistake because she thinks it’s a one-night stand.” Your friend shakes her head in disbelief. “Now I remember why we stopped talking about your love life. It’s chaos!”

Technically, it’s because your love life went very dry once you reached Germany, but you laugh along with Ona because she’s right.

Your hushed Spanish is safe from the ears of the others, but when you lay your phone on the kitchen worktop in the villa, Beth notices two Instagram notifications.

@florencepugh has started following you.

And a DM.

+44 7701 923892 xx

Flo throws her phone across the room once she clicks send, and hides under the covers from a cackling huddle of her best friends.

- - -

Somehow, you are persuaded to cancel your flight to Gatwick and follow the girls to Barcelona. Now that Adela herself has told you she isn’t in your home city anymore, maybe you can visit for longer than five hours again.

When you knock on the door of your family home, you’re tackled to the ground by your mother. Though you didn’t go radio silent on them, the only time they really get to see you is when you’re playing a home game for the national team. Even then, it isn’t guaranteed.

“You’re home?” she asks, pinching your arm to see if you’re real. “My baby was driven out of the country by some stupid girl, so is this stupid girl dead or…”

“Mamá!” You frown and step past her to get inside. It smells like your little sister has found out what incense sticks are and burnt them everywhere. “I thought I’d visit before the Euros. I was in Ibiza anyway.”

“I know,” she says matter-of-factly, making your stomach turn with guilt. “Eva showed me how to work the Instagram.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise you checked.”

She smiles softly and it feels like everything you have been missing has always been here.

“Of course I check to see what you’re up to. Wherever you are. Especially since you stopped calling as much.” You shake your head as if it will make it better. You’ve been busy in a new country. You assumed having Eva and Tomàs was enough to keep her hands full. She seems to read your mind. “While your brother and sister are a lot, I’ve missed you.”

You’re suddenly fighting back tears.

“I’ve missed you too, Mamá.”

She pulls you into a calmer, firmer hug. The moment is ruined when Eva comes charging down the stairs, screaming at the sight of you.

The last time you saw her in person was when the Barça academy took her team on tour to Germany last year, but she’s acting as if you’ve come back from the dead.

She alerts the attention of everyone else in the house, meaning your grandma and dad flock to the kitchen, dropping whatever they’re doing. You can hardly blame them. You must have become a myth.

Plans are quickly made to go out to the usual spot for dinner with Tomàs and his family. Your older brother has a wife and three children that you never actually see. You haven’t met his youngest because he was born just before the pandemic started (as if you’d have visited anyway).

With that, you are integrated back into your old life.

You dust off your motorbike from the garage and go on rides through your city, watching the sunset from the rooftop of your friend’s old apartment building with Eva. She tells you about how her football is going; how everyone thinks it’s odd she plays neither in goal nor as a striker.

Growing up, you were forced to save Tomàs’ incessant (but increasingly more accurate) shots, meaning you’d had a fair amount of goalkeeping experience by the time your dad put you onto the football team he coached. You played what you knew. Tomàs hated being on the same team as you, but it didn’t last long when you were scouted and put in Barça’s academy. He followed soon after.

Eva, however, decided to stay away from her older brother and sister’s constant practice. She ended up on your dad’s football team too, scouted again by Barça, her name written down like you and Tomàs had done before her. At seventeen, she might be on track to be signing for the senior team next season. You promise to get the girls round and introduce her to them.

In turn, you tell your sister about the woman you keep on running into. How her eyes looked more grey in January than they did in May. How she makes you nervous, makes you forget how to do things. How you slept together five days before you arrived home.

You have her number, and you show your little sister. She begs you to call it, but you quietly admit you’re scared. She leaves you to move at your own pace, even if she finds it painfully slow.

As the days go by, you become Eva’s chauffeur. She finds it exciting to be driven about on your motorbike, and you have nothing to do but wait for the final Euros squads to be announced.

Your little sister often has places to be. Today it’s The Museu Picasso. Apparently, she’s ‘cultured’ and ‘sophisticated’ and will be getting high as a kite before entry. Makes the experience better.

As you weave through taxis and try not to run over any tourists, a certain blonde catches your eye. She sits dejectedly on a bench with her phone held loosely in her hand. You pull over without a second thought.

“Lost?” you tease, taking off your helmet. Florence startles and almost drops her phone, before coming to her senses and recognising you.

“Very,” she sighs. “My driver cancelled and I’m stranded.”

“Need a ride? She’s getting off here anyway.” You nod to Eva, who is looking affronted by the suggestion of that.

“Jo sóc?”

“Sí, Eva.” She stares at you blankly. “Baixes de la puta moto.”

“Ah. Aquesta és ella.”

You hum in confirmation. “Ara aneu a escampar la boira.”

Flo watches the conversation trying not to blush. The Catalan might be sexier than the Spanish.

After a second of rebellion, Eva gives in and gets off the bike, thrusting her helmet into your stomach bitterly. The museum really isn’t far away — about a ten minute walk — but it’s the principle. What happened to sisterhood?

You get off as well, unsure of whether Flo knows how to get on. She does, thankfully, meaning you don’t have to fumble your way through that. Dodged a bullet there.

At first she keeps her arms loosely wrapped around you, awkwardly holding on. When you speed up, she squeezes you tighter. If she hadn’t squeezed tighter and pulled you out of thought, you’d have been pancaked by an oncoming lorry (they’re memories — it makes it worse).

“Where am I taking you?” you ask, shouting to be heard.

“Coffee!” she replies, amusement audible. “There’s this woman I like who owes me one!”

You pretend you didn’t hear her second sentence, focusing on the road in front of you instead.

Florence relaxes quickly, enjoying the way the people change from tourists to locals; the buildings become more homely and less commercial. Barcelona is beautiful. Your eyes are brighter than when she last looked in them.

The coffee shop you take her to is the one you’ve been going to for years, though the colour scheme has changed from blue to red since the last time you came. The staff are fresh-faced and young, but the manager pulls you into a hug immediately. Flo hangs back, feeling like an elephant among the mice. She doesn’t understand what you say, and takes a minute to realise you want to know her order. Even then, she’s uncomfortable with reading anything off the menu and shrugs.

The manager, Pablo, is the son of the owner, and has worked here longer than you’ve been alive. When you first sat down for a coffee fifteen years ago, exhausted from a 10k run, he gave you a free biscuit on the side. You’ve been close ever since.

Naturally he asks who Flo is. Why is she here?

You can only shrug, say she’s a friend, and deal with his unconvinced expression.

Sitting opposite her on a wobbly table starts the first conversation you have intentionally had. One not tainted by alcohol or put in place to distract from an unwanted discussion. It’s now not a failsafe or emergency, but something you want to happen. It’s weird.

“Thank you,” she says earnestly. “I was a lot more panicked than I looked.”

You laugh. “You looked pretty panicked.”

“New city. Haven’t had a chance to get my bearings.” You wonder why she’s here. What do actresses do for fun? Would Florence go to a museum? “My flight got in yesterday, so it’s really new.”

“This is where I grew up.” She figured as such.

“I went to one of your games, you know,” she blurts. “The last one of the season. My friend was looking to invest, and I only put the pieces together once I saw you from the stands.”

“So you don’t know who Tomàs is?” She shakes her head and you look at her with horror. “Do you not like football?” you ask, eyes wide.

“Do you like musicals?”

“Touché.”

The corners of her lips twitch upwards into a smile. “French as well?”

“My talents don’t extend that far.” Innuendo settles in your words. Oh, she knows exactly where your talents lie. “In Ibiza…”

“Who was she?”

“An ex-girlfriend.” She raises her eyebrows. “The ex-girlfriend.”

“We all have one of those,” Flo says with a sly smile. “Mine got me kicked out of the school choir when I was fifteen. Yours?”

Your leg shakes anxiously. There is something so incredibly unfair about having to feel so horrible every time she’s brought up. As if she feels the same way. Your life was the one that was obliterated; the collateral damage.

Flo listens carefully when you talk about signing for Barça’s senior team and moving out. About the lifestyle you adopted from your brother; the parties and the drinking and the constant meaningless sex. And then, when you tell her that Adela seemed so mature, that she had her own place that was quiet, she actually understands. Zach felt like that. An example, a teacher. Someone who was safe and quiet and knew what they were doing.

You would sit quietly in Adela’s little flat while she did her work for her law degree, unwinding and relaxing. She’d stroke your hair and do yoga with you after rough games.

But Adela got tired of it. She was sick of always coming home to either an empty flat or you being exhausted, and she couldn’t handle how much she had to put her own life on hold because of your football. She had been offered a training contract at a big American law firm’s Spanish branch, which would require her to move to Madrid and work like a dog.

She said you were holding her back.

It was the most heartbreaking thing you ever had to do, because she gave you a choice: her or football. And you chose football. But you loved her a lot, and her leaving was like losing your favourite teddy. You became stuck in a dark place; you couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Barça became concerned by your playing standard and you were replaced by another keeper. When the transfer window came, you ran off to Germany without so much as a goodbye to Barcelona and hoped to never have to run into Adela again.

“Good thing she now thinks you’ve got a super sexy, hot, famous new girlfriend,” Flo jokes when you finish, attempting to diffuse the tension.

It only adds to it.

“Did Ibiza mean anything to you?” you ask quietly, nervously. She catches your eyes and holds them, trying to make you feel better. Safer. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you for months,” she confesses, almost a whisper. “Before I even knew your name.”

“I should have called.”

“No, it’s okay. That was very bold of me.” She took a shot before sending it. “I’m not in Barcelona very long, but I have a hotel room and my hotel room has wine. And a—”

“Do we need a bed?” Your wink makes her cross her legs. “First, let me introduce myself, yeah? So we’re not strangers.” She nods. “I’m Y/n, and I saw you in that overpriced coffee shop in Notting Hill.” Pablo pretends to not be listening.

“Hola,” she tries valiantly. “Soy Florence. Call me Flo. Um, that’s the extent of my Spanish.”

“It was good,” you lie. She hits your arm lightly. “No, really! I’m sure you’ll learn some.”

“Oh, I did.” Her smirk is unsettling. “Dámelo más duro,” she moans, imitating you.

Your blush makes your face feel like it is on fire.

“We have got to leave this place right now, oh my god.” She gladly stands. You hand Pablo €20 because you’re not focused on how much money this will cost you. “You’ve got to never do that again. Especially not on the motorcycle. I’ll crash.”

“Yeah, I noticed how you nearly killed us earlier.” You don’t get to make a witty comeback, because she firmly plants her hands on your waist and kisses you hard.

Your heart soars.

- - -

It has taken six months for you and the mystery blonde woman to go on a date, but it’s perfect. You eat out at an Italian place, followed by a different kind of eating out later into the night.

On the 15th June the national team for the Euros is confirmed, she is at your family home, halfway through helping your mother to prepare lunch. The whole family swarm the kitchen to congratulate you on being the first choice of goalkeeper. They couldn’t be prouder.

When you kiss her in front of most of the crowd at the last game of the group stages, she has to wipe away your tears. While everyone else appreciates the effort of your clean sheet, your teammates are thankful you’ve found someone. They knew you seemed different the whole tournament.

Obviously, the quarter-finals are conflicting for Flo. She dons an England shirt, but while her friends seek out their Lionesses afterwards (famous people always think sports teams want to see them), she searches for you instead. You sob into her embrace and she knows how stressful the tournament has been for the whole squad. She supports you fully when you and fifteen other Spanish players email the Football Federation with complaints of the manager.

In September, she’s thrown into the middle of the current hottest scandal in Hollywood. You’re there for her to rant to, scream at, and talk with — even if most of the time it’s over the phone. She misses you the most when you’re away for matches, so for her to be filming in Budapest takes a toll.

Flo tells you that she loves you when you pick her up from Heathrow terminal three, something your little sister goes feral over (another Hugh Grant romcom, apparently).

You say it back without hesitating.

You say it over and over again until it’s your most commonly said phrase. The girls tease you for being obvious about when you get laid, because you can’t keep the smile off your face the next day. In truth, you grin anytime you see her.

Christmas and New Year’s with the Pughs makes you love her more, and you reflect on how far you’ve come since January. How she once didn’t know your name, but now can sort out your bills if you asked. Florence Rose Pugh means more than a Wikipedia page because you say it when you propose, and she manages to say yes in Spanish through her tears. It makes the 29th December a special day forever, and it’s still too cold in England for your liking but it’s an excuse to bury yourselves in blankets that night. And for all the nights to come.

She’s no longer a stranger but she has always been so much more than that anyway.

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @karsonromanoff

[ashwhowrites]

If you are still taking requests, could I please request 9 from the fluff prompts “. . . sorry, I talked too much” “No no no not at all. Keep talking” with Eddie. Maybe he's rambling on about one of his passions and he is so used to people shutting him down but the reader is absolutely enamored?

Your writing fills me with pure delight and I keep trying to sneak reading it at work.💙

I am for sure still taking requests! And flattery works well on me so you will definitely get your request written with a sweet message like that!! I am so happy to hear you like to read my work and it fills you with delight. I will make sure to make this extra fluffly for you.

“… sorry, I talked too much” “No no no not at all. Keep talking”

Eddie was heading to his deal after school, walking and sitting at his usual bench. He rolled his eyes as Jason sat in front of him. "Let's make this fast." Eddie huffed out, opening his lunch box. Eddie was measuring out the weed when Jason spoke up, "So what exactly is a hellfire club?" Eddie looked up, silently puzzled. Why was he asking him about hellfire? Jason never cared. All he wanted was to make his life hell. Eddie glared as he answered with a stiff tone. "We don’t need to do small talk. This is about $30." Eddie handed over the bag filled with weed. He was thrown off by Jason's expression. He almost looked genuine. Eddie always had a soft heart, thanks to Wayne. "It's a DnD club; my friends and I play. It's a fantasy game. We form an adventuring party and explore fantasy worlds together as we embark on epic quests and level up in experience. We each have our own personalities. I'm-" But he was cut off when Jason laughed; the genuine expression was gone. "Wow, those theater classes are paying off. You truly thought I gave a shit about your freak club. " He scoffed and threw the money on the table. And with that, he walked off back to the school grounds. Eddie's shoulders slumped. He knew that not many people understood DnD and thought it was dumb. But that was one of the places he felt himself. Those kids looked up to him, and it made him feel good. He's so used to people looking down on him. It was something he knew so much about he could talk about it for hours, but no one ever wanted to listen. With a slightly worse mood than he showed up with, he went to his van to head home. ~~~~~~~ The next time Eddie got passionate about talking about a topic was with Steve. Eddie was in the middle of a rant about how horror films were truly works of art. Steve believed romance was the top tier. "Listen man, chicks dig horror films. It gets them horny or some shit." Eddie's main point was that he believed nothing got a girl fired up faster than a horror film. Eddie was not one to give up during an argument, so he started stating his facts. He goes into full detail to back up his theory. He was feeling proud of how much information he was able to bring up, but once again that feeling in his gut returned when Steve spoke up, "Okay, I got it, damn you didn't have to keep talking for so long." and he went to help a customer. Eddie felt embarrassed. He knew he got too into his conversations and would go over the top. But the feeling of someone telling you they aren't interested in talking with you or listening to you always hurts. ~~~~~~~ Eddie tried not to talk too much about things. That feeling that had turned his mood sour was something he didn't want to experience again. But once again, he couldn't stop himself in class when the topic of music was brought up. He proudly stated how he played guitar and was in a band. He was working in a group, and they had to create a song with chords. Eddie decided to take the role of the group, as his sweetheart had taught him well. The group had to share their work with the class. Eddie was passionately stating how his mind came up with certain parts of the song. He felt confident and, for the first time, smart about how well he understood the material. But then that feeling was running down his throat and landing in his stomach when a voice spoke up. 

"Yo freak, I don't care about how you made the song. Quit talking, we have other stuff to do." Defeated Eddie headed to his seat in the back of the class, with his curly head down.

~~~~~~

Eddie was forcing books into his dirty locker that really needed to be cleaned out when a soft and gentle voice came from next to him. "Excuse me?" Eddie looked over and saw the most gorgeous person he had ever seen. Their eyes were big and sparkled. Their hair was styled to perfection. And a big smile was stretched across their faces. Eddie felt his heart literally skip a few beats. He then realized he had not answered. "Oh yes, Hi." He fumbled out with a shy smile. They laughed, and the smile got even bigger.

"I'm new and was wondering if you could help me out." Eddie's ears were attentively listening to them. It was like their voice were his new favorite sounds.

Eddie nodded quickly and put out his hand. "I'm Eddie." "I'm Y/N" They shook his hand with a soft grip. His stomach did flips at the contact. Eddie spent the rest of the day showing Y/N around, helping them get to classes, showing them the nearest bathrooms, and even asking Y/N to join his lunch table, to which they happily agreed. Eddie and Y/N were getting closer as the days passed. They shared many classes, sat at lunch together, and Eddie lied and said he studied at the library on Fridays, just to have Y/N alone at least once a week. And tonight, Eddie was finally going to ask Y/N out. He had no idea if they were even interested, but he had to take the chance. "So Y/N, any plans for this evening?" Eddie asked as Y/N hopped into his van. Y/N quickly answered with a no. Eddie felt relieved at the fact that they didn't have plans. "Would you maybe want to go out tonight? To like, dinner or something? on a date? " Y/N was caught off guard by the question. There was definitely a crush growing on the metalhead they spent all their time with. They felt a blush heat their cheeks and a smile form. "I'd love to." they answered, and they had never seen Eddie smile bigger than today. Eddie decided on a diner. Granted, he couldn't afford an expensive place, but he hoped a diner would be a good choice. "Don't worry Eddie, I've loved diners ever since I was young. This is a great choice. " Eddie felt himself smile at that and was pleased that this date was going in a good direction.

As the date went on, the conversations flowed effortlessly. His cheeks hurt from how much he was smiling and laughing. He could feel the crush growing more and more. He tried to steer the direction of things he knew he'd go over the top with. He really liked Y/N and did not want to annoy them with his constant ramblings. The date ended and he brought them home. He sealed the date with a kiss and a new hope in his chest. He felt like he was on cloud nine the whole way home. Smiling to himself and fist bumping, he was proud that he didn't get carried away in conversation. Maybe he was getting better at keeping himself composed. ~~~~ Y/N loved spending time with Eddie in the last few weeks. He was sweet, caring, and hilarious. But something kept nagging in their minds. It felt like he was walking on eggshells when they spoke. Y/N wasn't sure if they were intimating or boring. But Eddie is honest. He'd say something, wouldn't he? Y/N and Eddie were cuddling on his couch, in his small and cozy trailer. Y/N's hand was delicately rubbing Eddie's chest over his hellfire shirt. "So what is hellfire?" They asked softly. Eddie went stiff. His mind went back to Jason, and that sickening feeling arose in his stomach. He tried to stay clear of hellfire and DnD conversation because he knew he couldn't stay quiet about it. "Just a club." He mumbled with a shrug. "What's the club about?" Y/N asked as they looked up at him. They could see the anxiety in Eddie's eyes. They just didn't understand why he was so distant and scared. "Its DnD." His answers were short and quick. They weren't giving up on him. "What's DnD? I'm not sure I've heard about it.” Eddie made eye contact and he could see the curiosity in their eyes. Y/N was different from Jason. Eddie shouldn't treat them so badly. He sighed and began to describe the events of DnD.

Eddie was lost in his rant when he looked at the clock. His eyes went huge when he realized he had been talking Y/N's ear off for 20 minutes straight of just DnD. He quickly shut his mouth, mid-explanation. He reasoned that since Y/N had already zoned out, they wouldn't even notice his thought was incomplete.

But to his surprise, Y/N looked up at him, confused, "Why did you stop? Did Dustin defeat Vecna? " Eddie was lost for words. Not only were they listening the whole time, but they were asking him to continue. "Oh, I'm sorry. I talked too much, so I didn't want to bore you. " His words made their heart hurt. How could he think that they didn't want to listen to him? He never talks too much. This was the most they had gotten to hear him speak in weeks. They smiled encouragingly, "No, not at all. Keep talking. I need to know how it ends. I love how passionate you sound. " Eddie swears he fell in love right there. His chest felt like it was going to explode. He felt accepted and understood. For once, someone wanted to listen to him. Someone cared. And he vowed not to mess this up.

[joohanisms]

hi lizzie! i already know you by your main, i wanted to ask you some oneshots/thoughts about sex with jealous jiseok?

MY MAIN ?@?@@? was it from the obnoxious amount of likes i leave on every single work on the xdh tags LMAO thank you so much for the request <33 hope you like it

jealous jiseok thoughts 💭💫

cw: jealousy obv, oral (fem receiving), possessive tones, unprotected sex (on birth control. don't be dumb), cum play slightly wc: 1,1k

minors dni

jiseok doesn't strike me to be the type to get jealous easily But! once he does... oh no

let's say you're out somewhere, like a party. and he's going about the looks people shoot you the usual way: smirking back at people, all smug, as if he's saying "this is Mine <3 look at me having someone you'll never have"

he did not expect your own friend to hit on you though

they were always a little touchy, and jiseok's not usually bothered (hell, he's not even in a place to be bothered. his friends are hanging off his shoulders half the time – if it doesn't bother you, it shouldn't bother him)

but tonight they were too affectionate

it started with them casually touching you while you talked, then they started playing with your fingers and fixing your hair and now jiseok's threat radar is beeping

when they lean in to talk into your ear, he draws the line. he's intervening

he gets closer and hears the "come on, leave with me. he doesn't have to know" in the air

oh no. oh nononono

he's PISSED. not only are they flirting with you in front of him, they're also blatantly asking you to cheat?

you can barely begin to indignantly refuse as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, ignores the so called friend and goes "hey, babe." before he presses a kiss that lasts a second too long to your lips

"do you want to go home? i think we'd have a better time there than here," pointedly looks at the person in front of you and pulls you closer, "plus i really want to find out what's the surprise you said you have for me back home."

there's no surprise. he's only making a point. you don't think you're even wearing matching underwear

he didn't even wait for your friend to say anything – as soon as you open your mouth to agree, he's whisking you away (he Does look back to see their face though)

when you're finally met with the fresh night air outside the building, jiseok pulls his phone out to call you both a cab and starts his angry rant

"are they out of their mind? doing that when i'm a few feet away? trying to get you to fuck them when they know damn well you're taken! we're not seeing that asshole ever again, they should feel lucky i didn't punch their teeth right off, if i was the slightest bit crazier i would've–"

"jiseokie," a hand to his cheek, "are you jealous?"

he looks up from his phone to find your playful gaze. he huffed, "of course i am! who do they think they are–" he's cut off by a searing kiss to his lips.

"it's kind of hot."

the way you were looking at him... hell he could fuck you right then and there and even hope your stupid friend catches you. unfortunately, the cab is here and the poor driver shouldn't be subjected to seeing that

the second you arrive at your apartment, he's holding your face with both his hands and kissing you downright filthily in your little entrance hall

you need to take your shoes off though... that's not a problem at all – you hear his chunky sneakers be tossed to the ground while he keeps kissing you the best he can, and you only separate as he crouches down to unlace your boots for you

you can barely appreciate the view of your boyfriend at your feet before your boots are off and he's on you again

his lips attach to your neck, sucking and nipping on the flesh while his hands sneak under your shirt

he has half a mind to bend you over the couch and fuck you stupid until your moans are engraved on the couch, but he ultimately decides on pulling you into your bedroom

before you even get to the bed, you're shirtless, jiseok's hands fumbling with the clasps of your bra while you work on his jeans

you don't get very far before your knees hit the bed and you're falling backwards

your hair fawning around your face, your cheeks flushed, your lips kiss-bitten, your bra half-off, your eyes nearly desperate... jiseok is so glad he's the only one who gets to see you like this

(and if it's up to him he'll be the only one to see you like this for the rest of time <3)

but for now he'll just push your skirt up and pull your underwear down <3

and eats you out sooooo good like legs over his shoulders his fingers spreading you

after you cum, you try to repay the favor but he grabs your hands and goes "wanna cum inside you, baby, please"

and who are you to deny him !! it's not common to have him cum in you even though you're on birth control... my guy likes the visual of his cum on your skin

and so in a second his pants and underwear are off, your legs are around his hips and he's ruining your neck again while he guides his cock to your entrance

he pushes in bit by bit, and only when he bottoms out he detaches from your neck and grins, pressing the pads of his fingers into what you assume are the hickeys he left

"you're mine", he softly says, looking into your eyes, before he starts thrusting into you

it gets really fast and rough really quick

you can't help but moan a little too loudly, the way his hips are slamming into your thighs feels divine. and when he presses his thumb to your clit...... you're seeing stars wtf

he's kissing you desperately, in a mix of panting and actually kissing you properly. your arms wind around his neck, needing him closer while you feel a familiar wave of pleasure starting to come over you

what really does it for you is his little rushed whisper of "mine, mine, mine, you're only mine right baby? mine to fuck you like this, mine to ruin, mine"

he keeps mumbling possessives and filth while he fucks you through your high

"'m yours, ji– only yours," you manage to say through the fog in your brain, and you feel his release fill your cunt

when he finally stops grinding into you, prolonging his orgasm as much as he could, he'll pull out slowly so he can watch his cum drip out of your hole

scoops a little bit of it with his fingers and smears it on your cheek, kissing you deeply afterwards

"my baby," he whispers between kisses, "only mine."

when both of you have finally caught your breaths, jiseok gets up to fetch a towel to wipe you down

when he comes back, he cleans you thoroughly - except the cum smeared on your cheek

"you forgot something." you point to your sticky cheek.

he grins devilishly, straddling you. "that's for you to wear, babe. so everyone knows you're mine."

bonus: when you're cuddling later, ready to sleep, you remember something: "... so what was the surprise i had for you back here?"

"shut up and go to sleep."

[lazywerebat]

Fandom: Lost Boys (1987)

Request: I was thinking about a Lost Boys x little!reader (they/them) where y/n wants to go hang out with the guys and Star during their nightly trips to the boardwalk, but once they saw all the carnival rides and games, they regressed and can’t partake in an rambunctious activity.

It can include all the lost boys, but maybe be mostly Marko that y/n is gravitating to for comfort 🌟

Little Me, Big World !

Polyam! Lost Boys x Little! GN! Reader With Vampire! Star ( Mostly Marko x Little! GN! Reader )

⚠️ DO NOT READ THIS IF UR 18+ BLOG,INTO AGEPLAY AND HAVE MDNI IN SOMEWHERE IN UR BLOG !! THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT AND Y'ALL MAKE ME UNCOMFY ASF !! ⚠️

warnings: lil bit of violence but its not detailed described

a/n: im sorry it took me so long to post this, i had such awful writers block and i had to study for my final exams :']

It was another warm night in cave and I was very much bored. I was in my nest, trying to entertain myself with so much stuff in there but they all failed. I went to the main cave where most of them were. I wondered if they were there or they went on a hunt. When I got there I only founded Star

“Hey, where are boys?”

I questioned confused,

“They went on a hunt” she replied.

“What about you? Did you go?” I questioned her again,

“Yes I did, don't worry” she replied,

“Okay” I said, I went to sit by her side as I watched her sewing one of boys shirts. After a while boys came back, I looked at them and smiled,

“Hey little one” Marko said as he went to me and I ran into his arms and pretty much tried to ignore the fresh blood on him. I felt another pair of hands hug me and I looked up to see Paul.

“Hey” I said softly,

“Hey sugar” Paul replied with grin,

“Can we go to the boardwalk?” I asked while looking at all of them,

“We'll go when we clean ourselves up” David stated to me,

“Okey” I replied, Marko and Paul let go of me and went to the other side of cave with others. After a short time they came back and we went to the boardwalk. Star rode with Dwayne this time and I rode with Marko. When we arrived they parked their bikes in usual spot. When I saw so many carnival rides and games, I felt so little and everything seemed big. I didn't realise I held onto Marko a bit tight,

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked me and I nodded a bit. I let go of him and kept my hands to myself.

“You feeling little baby?” Dwayne asked me and I nodded to that.

“Oh amore, we can still do fun stuff, we'll keep you safe okay?” Marko stated to me and held my hand.

“Okay” I replied to him softly, after that we went on rides and played games. I was getting something to drink because I was getting really thirsty. As I was on my way to boys bikes I accidentally bumped into someone, it was nothing surprising to bump into someone as everything was filled with so many people,

“Hey! Watch where you're going!” The man said with an angry tone,

“Im so sorry sir, I didn't mean to do that” I replied to him but he didn't like that either, for some reason, he was going on a rant on how he could've spilled his drink on himself and stuff. I was still trying to apologize and go away but he didn't let me go. When I tried to leave, he grabbed me by my arms and started yelling at me. Which caused me to feel panicked, my heart racing, fear and similar feelings and yelling was making me cry, so I had started forming tears in my eyes.

“Oh now you're crying, are you a little–” He got cut off by someone punching him and his grip loosen which I had my chance to escape and I did. I went into Marko's arms sobbing and I felt him wrapping his arms around me,

“Hey, hey, its okay, you're safe now love” He said comforting me and blocking my view to whats happening. Marko went with me to their bikes and he looked me,

“Im sorry little one, I should've went with you to get that drink and not let you go on your own when in your in this state of mind” He apologized to me and held his hands on my cheeks,

“You didn't know that was gonna happen M” I said to him confused by his apology and Marko looked worried.

“Did he hurt you love?” He asked,

“No, he just held my arms really hard and tight” I said to him which made him worry more,

“Amore, then he hurt you” He explained to me,

“Oh” I replied to him,

“May I?” He asked and I nodded. He took of my jacket to see how bad I was hurt and it left kind of visible hand print and Marko felt so much anger. I put my jacket back on as others came. Marko looked at them and honestly I guess they talked with each other with their mind thingys or whatever it is called. David came to my side as I watched Marko leaving us and I went with him but I got stopped by David.

“I want M” I said to them,

“We know love, he just has something to take care of” Dwayne explained to me, he knew I didn't like that answer and he looked at me being angry and starting to have tears in my eyes again. Star pulled me into her arms and she was trying to comfort me as Marko was coming back.

[floreanfortescuetruther]

Autumnflower/Florean x August microfic ~ Red gloves

My main account is @yourlocalbadgerscales, I post microfics on @slitherpuffinstories! :3

Florean loved summer. And he hated autumn with a passion. He loved eating ice-cream in the warmth of the sun, he loved feeling the hotness from it on his cheeks as he tilted his head to face the endless blue sky. He loved the coolness of his father’s homemade ice-cream on his tongue as he sat and enjoyed the summer while it lasted.

But when July passed and autumn came, and the cold was on his skin all of a sudden, making his cheeks hurt if he sat outside for too long… when autumn came and made the world dull and grey and wet and cold, cold… ugh, how Florean hated it. The cold weather in the UK was torture for him.

So to be completely honest, he had no idea what had possessed him to step out the door today. He stood next to the road outside of his house, staring gloomily at the cloudy sky, indecisive of where to go. When he looked to his left, he saw a red glove on the empty, lifeless branch of a bush. He tilted his head and went to grab it. Florean held it in his own gloved hands, not sure what to do with it. So he pocketed it for now.

Suddenly, a voice was calling for him. Or someone, at least. He didn’t hear his name, just a slight panting and a “Hey! Hey, you over there!”. He turned around and was met by the sight of a boy his age, running towards him.

“Hey… I’m so sorry to bother you…” The boy seemed out of breath. Florean blinked and smiled carefully at him, letting him take his time. He hadn’t seen this boy before, or at least he couldn’t recall ever meeting him. Would probably remember if I had, he caught himself thinking.

The boy was wearing a red hat with a knitted little ball on top of it, under which a few strands of sandy blond hair poked out, stuck to his forehead. When the boy looked up, Florean noted that his eyes were a greyish shade of blue, like the darkest of clouds that had formed on the sky just now. The owner of said eyes flashed a tiny smile at him, revealing a little gap between his front teeth. The words Florean had meant to utter were caught in his throat, and suddenly he himself seemed short of breath.

“Er, I was wondering, since you stood here… have you seen a red glove lying around? I must have dropped it as I stood here earlier today, and now I can’t find it.” The boy looked past Florean’s shoulder. “Ah, I can’t see it… darn it. I’m really freezing.” He held up the hands that he had kept in his pocket until now, showing off the one gloved hand and a bare one. “It’s so cold today, isn’t it? I usually love autumn, I love the colours of the leaves and how they crunch when I walk on them, and summer is way too hot for me anyways. Oh, am I ranting again? Mum always say I do. I’m August, by the way. August Ollivander. Did you say your name yet? I seem to have forgotten it already, if you did.”

Florean had never felt more warm and fuzzy, not even in summertime. He smiled. For a boy who usually used to rant just as much as any kid, he was awfully quiet. He licked his lips and blinked a few times.

“I’m… I’m Florean. Fortescue.” He smiled warmly. “Nice to meet you, August.”

He was suddenly aware of the red glove he had in his pocket. He clutched his hand around it, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like giving it back just yet. So he pulled his hand out again and held it out for August to shake.

“I like Autumn too”, he lied. “Especially August.” That didn’t feel like a lie.

August smiled even bigger and took his hand, shaking it using his bare hand. It was pale but red at his fingertips.

“We could keep looking for your glove, if you like?”, Florean asked. “Or… we could go home to my place and get you warm again. My mum wouldn’t mind at all, she’ll be thrilled! I was just going home anyways, to eat ice-cream. I live right here.” He nodded towards the house right next to them. August’s eyes flickered over to the house and then back to Florean.

“Yeah, sure!” He laughed softly. “But ice-cream? In this weather? I usually only eat ice-cream in the summer, you know.”

“Oh, well”, Florean shrugged. “My dad says that you can eat ice-cream whenever, and I agree with him. At least you can eat the ice-cream he makes whenever. It’s so good! I promise you.”

August’s eyes widened.

“I knew that I recognised the name Fortescue!”

The two boys made their way towards the house as they spoke. August told Florean about the one time when he was eleven and his dad, a famous wandmaker, had made him find himself his own wand from the shop and had trashed the whole place while trying, and as Florean laughed his heart out, August took his hand and pulled him towards the house more eagerly. It wasn’t what Florean was used to when it came to friends, but he didn’t have the heart to pull away, not even as they entered the house and called for his mom to come to the door.

The rest of the day, Florean caught himself sighing softly, a big grin plastered across his face, every time August looked over at him and smiled at him, his freckly nose all wrinkled up.