#I hope they live a good lesbian life. as they should

[capseycartwright]

every little thing the sun shows, well it’s worth it

ao3 link

Buck should – he should be freaking out, right? He’d lived thirty-two years of his life without coming close to kissing another man, and it should be making him freak out that tonight, he did – but Buck felt flooded with the oddest sense of calm he’d ever experienced in his life.

He’d kissed a man.

or - after his kiss with Tommy, Buck goes to Hen.

Buck can’t help but bring his hand to his lips as Tommy leaves, fingers brushing gently against where the other man’s lips had been just a few minutes previously.

The other man.

Buck should – he should be freaking out, right? He’d lived thirty-two years of his life without coming close to kissing another man, and it should be making him freak out that tonight, he did – but Buck felt flooded with the oddest sense of calm he’d ever experienced in his life.

He’d kissed a man.

He’d kissed Tommy Kinard.

The giggle escaped his mouth before Buck could even try and contain it, and one turning into a fit of laughter faster than he could control, Buck unable to wipe the smile from his face as he grinned. He’d just kissed Tommy Kinard – and he’d really fucking liked it, actually. It had been different, that much he was certain of – the way Tommy had tugged Buck closer, two fingers under Buck’s chin, purposeful and confident as he responded to Buck’s weak attempts at flirting with a kiss. Tommy had been solid, under his trembling hands, broad and big and nothing like Buck had ever experienced before.

And he’d liked it.

Buck was moving before he could even really think about it, his feet somehow knowing where to take him, on autopilot as he slid behind the wheel of his Jeep, too lost in his own thoughts to realise that the radio had been switched to some criminally bad pop music station (Eddie’s doing, he was sure), the music background noise as he drove, replaying that kiss over, and over, the phantom drag of Tommy’s facial hair against the sensitive skin of his upper lip a feeling he was sure he could come to get very used to, if he was allowed a little more kissing.

Buck was parking up in front of Hen and Karen’s house before he even realised where he was – but, now he was actually thinking about it, he wasn’t sure where else he would have gone, there and then. Hen was – Hen was another big sister, to him, and a lesbian big sister at that, so she was the right place to come in the midst of his –

Buck didn’t want to call it a crisis. He didn’t feel like he was having a crisis. But he was definitely experiencing something – and Hen would understand, he knew.

Knocking softly, so as not to wake up Denny, Buck waited patiently for someone to answer. He hoped Hen would answer. He wasn’t sure if he had the words to explain to Karen that he needed to speak to her wife because he’d kissed a boy for the first time in his life, and he’d liked it.

“Buck?” Hen answered the door with a raised eyebrow.

“Tommy Kinard kissed me,” Buck blurted, because why beat around the bush, right? He might as well dive right into it. “Tommy kissed me,” he repeated, in an effort to sound somewhat less manic. “And I liked it. I wanted him to kiss me.”

Hen’s surprised expression morphed into something softer, and she gestured for Buck to step inside, closing the door softly behind him. Gently – always gentle, because Hen was the gentlest soul Buck had ever known – she sat him down on her couch, bustling around the kitchen for a couple of minutes before she reappeared with a steaming cup of tea.

“Chamomile?” Buck breathed in the familiar smell, knowing that Hen would have added honey – the good one that Karen always bought at the farmers market – the sweetness a familiarity he had come to be grateful for over the years. “No tequila?”

“This is a tea conversation,” Hen replied firmly, sitting next to Buck on the couch. “So. You kissed Tommy.”

“He kissed me,” Buck corrected, because he didn’t want to take credit for the way Tommy had leaned in and kissed him, confident in a way that Buck wasn’t – not yet, at least.

“And you wanted him to?” Hen repeated Buck’s own words back to him, gentle even in the way she pried.

“I didn’t know I wanted him to until he did, if that makes sense,” Buck’s brow furrowed. “I – I didn’t know why I was so jealous, that he was spending so much time with Eddie. I thought I was jealous that he was replacing me in Eddie’s life.”

“But that wasn’t why you were jealous?”

“It was, a bit,” Buck admitted with a grin. Hen laughed, and Buck felt himself getting comfortable, genuinely comfortable. He – he’d never talked to anyone about his sexuality before. An hour ago, he thought he was straight. “But I – I think I was jealous that Tommy wanted to spend time with Eddie, and not me.”

Hen’s smile was soft, her expression new – it was new, he supposed. He was Hen’s annoying straight little brother, deep conversations about queer identity were new territory for them. “Was it a good kiss?”

Buck let out a spluttering breath. “Hen!”

“Oh, come on! You look like you’ve sat down and had a beer with God himself Buck, I’ve got to ask if it was a good kiss.”

Buck had been kissed a lot in his life. He didn’t say that to slut shame himself – that usually earned himself furious glances from Hen, and Eddie – it was the truth: he had been kissed a lot in his life, by people he loved and by people he’d only just met – and kissing Tommy had been nothing like he had ever experienced before.

“It was a good kiss,” he admitted, worrying the corner of his lip, his face burning as he spoke. “It was a really good kiss.”

“It sounds like there’s a but coming,” Hen drawled, taking a long sip of her tea. She knew Buck too well, sometimes. He supposed that was why he came here, to her – he could have gone to Maddie, or Eddie, or Bobby, even, but Hen had been the person he’d come to. He needed to be seen, there and then.

“But – how did I not know? How have I lived thirty something years of my life and not known I’m into guys that way?”

That was the confusing part, Buck had decided – he had never really even questioned his sexuality, shouldn’t he have questioned it long before now? Spent years being tortured with this great big queer secret he was carrying around?

Hen was quiet, for a second, contemplative. “There is no one queer experience,” she began, pausing again. “Some people – they don’t know until they know. There’s no requirement to have your big gay crisis when you’re fifteen, Buck.”

“That’s the thing – I don’t feel like I’m having a crisis,” Buck sighed. “That’s what makes it more confusing.”

At least – at least if he was having a crisis, he might be able to put words to the strange mix of feelings churning in the pit of his stomach, none of them bad, all of them unfamiliar.

“How do you feel?” Hen asked, giving Buck a gentle nudge.

He –

How did he feel?

Buck felt like he was on cloud nine, for one. He was still replaying the kiss with Tommy over, and over, in his head, remembering the way Tommy had lifted Buck’s chin, the way Buck’s heart had thudded to what had felt like a dramatic stop as the other man had moved closer, Buck forgetting how to breathe for a second when Tommy kissed him, soft, and gentle. He was excited, too, thinking about Saturday at eight. What would he wear? Where would Tommy decide to take him? Should Buck offer to pay?

Buck felt – well, he felt like every part of himself he had never understood had clicked into place, the puzzle that made up Evan Buckley finally taking shape and making a picture Buck could see himself in. Buck felt like everything in his life made infinitely more sense now, strange interactions and friendships making more sense as he looked back on his life with queer-tinted glasses, hindsight lifting a haze of confusion he’d carried with him for his entire life.

Buck felt –

“I feel like I can breathe properly, for the first time in my life,” he finally managed, tears rolling down his cheeks before he could even attempt to blink them away. That was the truth of it – Buck felt like he could breathe, his chest free of the strange tightness he’d felt for as long as he could remember. Buck felt like he was free.

Hen’s watery expression reflected his own, her voice gruff with tears as she spoke. “Welcome to the club, Buck,” she smiled, reaching for Buck’s free hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “We’re happy to have you.”

Buck couldn’t help the half sob, half giggle that escaped his throat as he let Hen’s words wash over him. All his life, he’d been searching for a place he belonged, bouncing from job to job, bed to bed, and state to state, all in a desperate search for belonging. He’d found it – mostly – with the 118, but there had always been something that was missing, something he’d never had the words for.

The something was this – queerness. He was a part of a community he knew would fill that missing piece in, colour it in liberation and freedom and wrap him up in something bigger than himself.

Buck leaned into Hen’s embrace, his tea long forgotten on the coffee table, Hen’s warmth more of a comfort than the chamomile could ever be. “I’m so happy to be here,” he replied wetly, Hen’s arms wrapped tightly around him, and, well -

It was the truth. He was happy. Happier than he’d been in a long time. The happiest he’d ever been in his life, maybe. Happy, and free – and bisexual. Evan Buckley was bisexual. A bisexual man who had a date on Saturday, but he’d have time to freak out about that later.

For now, he was going to enjoy the way breathing came easier than it ever had done before.

[neil-gaiman]

So. I read the article by NME that you shared. And like, a lightbulb went on in my head. Can't believe I didn't even connect it before this. A few days after watching GO season 2, I think I was in the middle of my second or third rewatch, when my brain made a random decision all on its own without any input from me- if none of my friends or family can see me as queer, I'll just look for people who are queer. Like a switch went off in my brain, after it made some kind of connection? I mean, you wrote it like non binary people and lesbians and other queer people were so normal and like. All my life I've buried that part of myself along with a few other unpalatable parts deep down. Past few years I've been working on who I am and how I want to live my life- but there was this queer part that I didn't really know what to do with so I just, ignored it? I even got into a relationship just so that my friends would stop worrying I was lonely or something (the person in question had been asking for a year, I got tired and said yes because I should at least "try"- it didn't last long)

I love my friends, they've literally saved my life, but no matter how much I tell them, they just can't understand this part of me coz they don't have any context. I'd never even met another queer person until last month and I'm 27. But like. It's normal to be like this, right? and maybe what I need is to meet more people like me instead of burying it so much. I loved the new season so much more than the first. It's like the show is telling you how normal it can be. It's silly but that's all I can think of, you wrote them like people- complex and weird and lovely, and the show doesn't treat them like a joke or a horror thing- not in that degrading manner like in the mainstream media of my country. I know that's not the main theme of the show, but it's pretty significant for me. Also it's a really really good show. So thank you for writing it, you're genuinely amazing.

My heart aches for you. I hope you find whoever you need.

[lastoneout]

I will never understand anyone being upset when a queer person realizes they aren't one identity and are in fact another. Like people who get mad when lesbians come out as trans men, or when gay people find out they're bi or pan sexual or vice-versa, or ace or aro people realize they're lesbians or gay or bi, or bi/gay/lesbians come out as aroace, or trans women decide they're more comfortable as a masc enby or trans men decide they're actually feme enbies, or nonbinary people decide they're more binary trans like what is the problem here!!

That excitement when someone comes out for the first time should carry over for every shift after, how could you possibly be unhappy when a queer person finds a different label that makes them feel more happy and understood and free, queer people suffer so much already we should be OVERJOYED when one of us becomes even happier!! Hell we should even be happy when someone tries out a queer identity but realizes they're actually cishet but now have a better understanding of themselves!! Those are our allies!! I am happy when people are happy goddamnit!!

If you are queer and scared to embrace a new identity because you think the queer people around you will reject you or feel betrayed, one those people are NOT your friends, your real friends will be happy when you become more yourself than you were before, and two I AM HAPPY FOR YOU! YOUR JOY IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME!! YOU DESERVE TO LIVE A LIFE THAT IS YOURS!!! DON'T GIVE UP ON THINGS THAT MAKE YOU HAPPIER FOR THE SAKE OF OTHER PEOPLE!!!!

A lesbian coming out as a trans man is GOOD, more trans people in the world is FANTASTIC!! A bi or pan person coming out as gay is good, that's one more happy gay person!! A trans man or woman realizing they're happier being nonbinary is great, how could you be upset by more nonbinary people existing!! A nonbinary person discovering their actually a woman or man is great, MORE TRANS PEOPLE <3 like goddamn!! If this kind of thing upsets you idk I hope you get better.

[hyypnotix-writes]

Part 2

~ hiya! I'm really nervous about posting this, but I couldn't not at least try to give you a second part after the response the last one got! ~

~ I really appreciate everyone reading it and enjoying it as much as you did ..I hope this one doesn't ruin it for you! ~

~ I think this one's around 13k words. so again ..it's a long one, if you have nothing else to do! ~

~ there’s quite a lot of story before Alexia makes an appearance, sorry ..but she does eventually show up! ~

~ I promise to put more of her in the next part if any of you end up wanting one ~

~ I’m really worried this will disappoint a lot of you, but at least you still have the first part to go back to, if nothing else! ~

~ I really hope you're able to enjoy it even just a little bit, and thanks again for loving the first part so much! the response was very overwhelming and I've loved you all reaching out to tell me that you liked it ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.  

One perfect night.  

That’s all it took.  

One perfect night to throw your whole damn life into disarray.  

One perfect night, that’s lead to endless subsequent nights, spent tossing and turning on your own, replaying the memory over on a loop in your mind. It’s only been about a month, but it feels like an eternity.  

A never-ending, exhausting cycle of yearning and confusion.  

It was the most welcome distraction from your ex-boyfriend’s evil escapades, you’ve not really thought about him at all since. 

It should have set you free, broken you out of the chains of mundanity. It showed you a whole new world, a world of women. It gave you a new perspective on life. Unlocked a realm of brand-new possibilities all ready and waiting for you to venture, and yet, you don’t want to explore any of them.  

It's not that you haven’t tried.  

You’d have been an idiot to assume that it’s only her that can make you feel like this. That would be giving her an awful lot of credit. Yes, she was your first woman, but that didn’t mean that she needed to be your last. The way your mind and body reacted to her, maybe you could have been slightly gayer than you thought, but it doesn’t really look to be the case.  

A pair of lesbian sisters always seemed incredibly unlikely to you, and your sister’s already called dibs on the label. Maybe it’s the mere existence of your younger sister that eradicates the possibility of any real queerness in yourself. That’s probably how the handing out of sexualities works, right? 

It’s a working theory, and one that you seem to be proving the accuracy of.  

You’ve been to a few more clubs since your entanglement with the Spanish mystery. Only returning back to that specific one, once. It gave you a headache just stepping through the door. She was still everywhere in the room, her spirit living in the walls. You barely managed to stay inside for even a second before it became too much for you, sending your heart and mind racing.  

You took yourself back home, reminiscing every single kiss you’d shared with her on that fanciful journey back to her hotel together. Looking up at the floor she had been staying on, as you hastily walked past it on your own.  

Even the nightclubs that aren’t haunted by her ghost, haven’t yielded much greater success with you. 

You paid a visit to a smaller bar, a fair few nights after your perfect one, and had found a woman interested in you. More than interested. She was pretty, and friendly enough. She was flirty and bought you a few drinks. She didn’t try to play it weird by aiding you in your consumption of alcohol. There was no intriguing salt and lime foreplay. She was far more straightforward, far less irritating.  

Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Maybe she was too plain. Maybe she was too simple and easy for you to understand. Or maybe it’s the fact that when she pressed herself against you in search of a kiss, an alarm bell rang out inside of your head. You suddenly found yourself all too aware that she was a woman, and you simply no longer wanted to follow through with your curiosities.  

It doesn’t help in your confusion, why the femininity of one woman can leave you feeling more certain of your straightness, while another’s femininity has you still helplessly pining after her.  

It’s not like you were under any illusion with the Spanish woman. You were entirely aware that she was also a woman, and it wasn’t off putting to you at all. You enjoyed her being a woman. She smelt nice, she tasted nice. Her body was beautiful, and her lips were soft, and it doesn’t make any sense that she’s allowed to put a yearning in you that no other woman is able to satisfy.  

That does seem very typical of her, though. She really was very cocky and frustrating.ﾠﾠ

Until she wasn’t, of course.  

Then, she was just sweet and considerate. Cautious and careful. Flirty and undemanding. She took you back to hers and she still had no expectations from you. She was still willing to let you walk away. Maybe you should have.ﾠﾠ

You knew even then that you should have.  

It was daft of you to follow after her. Foolish to lose yourself with her, spending the night together, giggling under the sheets. Sharing kisses as you drowned yourselves in each other. Learning her body, every mark, scar and freckle, and committing them all to your memory. Tracing her curves and her tattoos and discovering what it is that makes her tick.ﾠ

She was patient, and understanding, she wasn’t in a rush with you. She spent the whole night exploring with you. Studying your body, wanting to learn all the things you liked her doing, and the things you really liked her doing. She turned what could have been a terrifying, embarrassing, disaster of an experience, into the most incredible encounter of your life.  

She brought you more pleasure than your pathetic ex-boyfriend had ever managed to give you in your whole 5-year relationship, in less than 5 minutes of her having your clothes off. She had the most unholy of noises spilling from your lips with her fingers and tongue inside of you, and she wasn’t exactly quiet herself, in letting you know when you were doing the right thing with her.  

She was intoxicating, exhilarating. She was life-affirming.  

She’s a far more dangerous addiction to you than alcohol could ever manage to be. You’ve never been tempted by drugs before, but you can’t even imagine the high from them being able to compete against what she’s done to you.  

It was just one night.  

It was one perfect night.  

________________

Living back with your younger sister isn’t exactly where you saw yourself being at 26. Your London flat had started feeling a little too big for you, without a traitorous arsehole of a man invading your space. So, you invited her to move in with you, not wanting to have to give up your dream property just because he had decided to try ruining your life. You needed help with the rent, and she had gratefully accepted.  

You didn’t necessarily expect her to also invite her idiot new girlfriend into your home with her. That wasn’t really part of the deal, though you didn’t explicitly tell her that she couldn’t. You can’t really blame her. If you were able to spend every waking moment of your life with ‘A’ right beside you, you’d jump at the opportunity headfirst.   

It still doesn’t aid in the dispelling of your confusion. There’s no jealousy when you see them together. Her girlfriend does nothing for you, none of her girlfriends ever have. You both have decidedly different tastes in women. Your sister’s taste is entirely questionable, yours is perfection.  

You haven’t mentioned your Spanish predicament to your sister. She’d probably laugh at you for it, call you tragic, and embarrassing. Tell you everything you’ve already been telling yourself on repeat in your head. She wouldn’t be very helpful; she very rarely is. She’s your very annoying, smart-arse of a little sister, who couldn’t possibly give you any decent advice. She’s 2 years younger than you and she's an idiot.  

She’s not the one who’s still hung up on a stranger after over a month, though. It’s rarely taken her longer than 24 hours to get over someone she’s been with. She’s not the one who’s been questioning herself every night. She’s never questioned herself at all. You’re fairly certain her very first thought, straight out of the womb was about another woman.  

She didn’t really have to come out to the family at any point, she kissed her first girl when she was 8. Always been a bit of a Casanova, your sister. A walking stereotype of a lesbian. Short, brightly coloured, undercut hair, quite a few piercings, heavily tattooed. She’s obsessed with women’s football, always watching re-runs of ‘The L Word,’ and overwhelmingly insistent in trying to prove to you that Taylor Swift is also secretly gay.  

Your sister’s certainty in her own sexual identity isn’t something that’s ever irritated you before. Not when you were always so sure of yourself, too. You appreciated her confidence. It was admirable, given the way people can be with her. She’s your self-assured little sister, who isn’t great at confrontation. So, you support her whenever anyone tries to tear her down.  

Now, however, this too-late-in-life existential crisis you’re struggling with, has you wishing she’d try to be a little bit more questioning herself. Her surety and cockiness about her sexuality is suddenly the most prominent attribute of her personality, and it’s really starting to drive you up the wall.  

It’s a rare evening where it’s only the two of you at home together. You don’t really know where her girlfriend is, and you don’t much care. You only feel responsible for one annoying lesbian, the one who shares your surname.  

She’s being rather antisocial with you, playing video games alone in her bedroom, and you’ve just finished tidying up the dining table after sharing the dinner you cooked for you both. You’re not exactly sure how you’ve found yourself solo parenting your stroppy little sibling when you’re really not much older than her yourself, but there you go.  

Maybe you should try speaking to her. See what she can possibly offer you by way of sapphic guidance. If she’s going to continue having her nuisance girlfriend living here rent-free, she should at least try giving you something to make it worth your while.  

You walk straight through to her bedroom and collapse your head onto her stomach on the bed. Making sure to do so with just enough force behind it to ensure you manage to leave her winded and interrupt her gaming. She grunts under you, and you earn an overly aggressive smack to your shoulder for achieving your goal. As, whatever other little child she’s playing her game against, has just managed to score past her.  

“You’re a twat!” She scolds, and you backhand her face to shut her up. She raises her fist above your stomach, and you flinch, bracing for impact.  

“I have a question!” You shout, before she has chance to attack.  

She pauses her lifted fist above you, and reluctantly agrees to a truce, providing your question is of interest to her. “What?” She groans, and you fiddle with your fingers, trying to find the right wording.  

“Why do you like women?” You ask, your face grimacing as you await her response.  

It isn’t your smoothest ever phrasing, not your wittiest form of delivery. It’s honestly, rather annoyingly, not the most subtle line of questioning. Despite it not being entirely to the point, your sister isn’t stupid.  

“What?” 

Oh ..maybe she is! 

That’s not going to be super helpful with your impending interrogation.  

“Why not men?” You suggest, still trying not to be too blatant. “How did you know you liked women?” 

“I looked at one.” She tells you, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Why?” 

“Do you find every woman attractive?” 

“No, but I find enough of them attractive to sense a pattern.” She explains. “Why?” 

“And you’ve never been attracted to a man? Not even tempted?” 

“No. Not once. Why?” 

“Never ever?” 

“Y/N!” 

“I was just wondering.” You tell her quickly, drumming your fingers on top of your stomach.  

“About women?” She queries. 

“About ..why women. What it is about them.” 

“Aside from the obvious?” She snickers, nudging your arm.  

You quickly bounce your head back against her stomach winding her again.  

“Stop doing that!” 

“Stop being annoying!” You warn her. Your frustration at yourself getting the better of you.

She tries to push you off of her, but you mess with the analogue sticks on her controller, and she turns her focus back to salvaging her match. “You really are a twat! Get out!” 

“I need your help.” 

“I don’t care!” 

“..I’m sorry.” You mumble, and she scoffs at you, pushing you off of her bed unceremoniously.  

You can’t say you blame her, you’re a constant threat to her in that position, it’s too big of a risk. You enjoy bouncing your head and ruining her childish little game far too much.  

“Why do you like men?” She counters, and you find yourself stuck for words as you sit on her floor.  

It’s the question that’s been floating around your own head for a little while now. You’d never thought about it before. You just were. You had crushes on them all throughout your childhood, you’d had meaningless boyfriends in your teens, you met your bastard ex at university and figured that was it.  

You didn’t need to question why you were attracted to them, it just always made sense.  

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, letting out a groan as you grab one of her pillows and bury your head into it.  

“What’s going on?” She asks, as she prods at your shoulder with her foot.  

“Nothing. I was just—” 

“Thinking about women?” 

“No!”  

It isn’t really a lie, you’re not thinking about women, just the one. The one woman who’s been invading all of your thoughts for the past 30 something days. The one who won’t let you sleep properly at night, who won’t let you focus completely at work.  

The one woman who refuses to leave your head for even a second just to let you rest, to let you breathe, to let you remember what life was like, prior to her entering it and recklessly setting fire to everything, before she ran away from you and disappeared into thin air.ﾠﾠ

“I kissed one.” You confess, trying to suffocate yourself with her pillow.  

This really does take her by surprise. You can hear her movements on top of the mattress as she turns her game off and pulls her pillow from you with a rather startling urgency. There’s great confusion on her face as she looks at you. She really must think you’re very boring if that’s enough to render her speechless. Imagine her reaction if you admitted to all the other things you did to the Spanish enigma.  

“You kissed a woman?” She asks, frowning at you.  

You’re not entirely sure why she looks quite so cross about it. You’re not trying to steal her thunder here. You’re not about to start trying to catch up with her numerous exploits of female companions.  

“Mhmm.” You mumble in reply, smoothing your hair back from over your face.  

“Why? For a man?” 

“No! I just wanted to ..I thought it’d be fun.” 

“..and ..was it?” 

“Mhmm.” 

She looks at you with a very distinct air of incredulity. It’s a rather annoying look, weirdly condescending. She doesn’t believe you. Why she thinks you’d bother lying about it, you really do not know. You’re not that desperate for a story to tell her.  

It’s almost offensive that she thinks you’re so incapable. You didn’t just kiss a woman. You went down on one, you had your fingers inside of her. You evoked moans from her, she scratched her nails down your back. You’re not some virginal prude. You’re not inept. It can’t be that shocking and inconceivable that you could share a single kiss with someone of the same sex.  

You were right, telling your sister was pointless. She’s offered you no assistance and no support. She’s a useless little waste of space and her horrible girlfriend is an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Thanks, very much! This was really helpful!”  

Your words are laced in sarcasm as you slide yourself up away from her bed with a sigh, throwing your middle finger up back in her direction as you exit the room, and slam her bedroom door shut behind you.   

You slam your own bedroom door shut behind you too, just in case she hadn’t picked up on how pissed off you are.  

You’re not really pissed off with her. She doesn’t know what’s going on inside of your head. You’re pissed off with yourself, for still being all entirely far too consumed with a woman whose name you do not know. Who wouldn’t even bother sharing her profession with you. It isn’t fair.  

You collapse headfirst onto your bed and let out a rather guttural groan into your duvet. You’re very frustrated. Your brain’s a mess, your sexuality’s up in the air, and you allowed yourself to picture, far too clearly, your memories of having sex with the gorgeous Spanish woman and now that ache that she’d put inside of you is back.  

There’s a knock at your door, and you’re not in the mood. You grab your duvet and burrito yourself in it down to the foot of your bed.  

“Y/N?”  

You don’t even grace your sister with a response. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a swine.  

No, but she really is a swine, as you can hear her turning the doorknob and just walking right into your bedroom anyway. She’s really, unbelievably terrible at reading social cues.  

“Do you want to come to Spain with me next week?” 

See what I mean? What the hell?  

That’s a very serendipitous little offer, though. You didn’t even mention to her that the woman that you kissed was Spanish.  

Did you?  

She can’t have worked that out by herself. That would be insane. She’s already proved herself to not be the sharpest tool in the shed. That wouldn’t make any sense. What an intriguing little invitation.  

It’s very embarrassing that just the mention of the country sends a shiver down the back of your neck. All this instant adrenaline running through you, as if she’ll just be waiting for you there as soon as you land down in a random Spanish airport. Yeah, that seems likely!  

Spain’s not the biggest country in the world, but it certainly isn’t small. You’re not going to accidentally stumble into her again on the beach, or in a marketplace. She’s definitely not going to be staying in the same hotel that you’d be in.  

It shouldn’t have your heart racing like this. The chances of finding her again are so infinitesimally small, so extremely impossible, so overwhelmingly unlikely ..but you do stand a better chance, if you’re in the right country.  

“Next week?” You mumble under the sheets, playing it incredibly cool, as you try to ignore the way your heart’s started thumping at a thousand beats per minute.  

“Yeah.” 

“I thought you were going away with your girlfriend?” 

“..we broke up.” 

Shit. She would make this all about herself.  

You wiggle yourself free of your duvet cocoon and open up your arms for her to crash into you. She might be a useless little swine, but she’s your useless little swine. “Are you okay?”  

“Mhmm.” She grumbles, as she starfishes herself on top of you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not. You never liked her.” 

“That’s not true.” You protest half-heartedly, kissing the side of her head.  

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.” 

“Well, thank fuck for that!” 

“See!” She laughs, rolling off the side of you. “You hated her!” 

“She was horrible!” 

“You could’ve said.” 

“You wouldn’t have left her if I told you to. You’d be getting bloody married to the girl. Twat.” She giggles defencelessly next to you on the bed, because you’re absolutely right. She has always been a contrarian little thing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah. I’ll find someone else tomorrow.” 

“Unbelievable.” You chuckle, shaking your head as you push her away. “You can’t just give me her ticket. Did she not pay for it?” 

The embarrassed little look on your sister’s face is all the wordless response you need. Her girlfriend never paid for anything. She really was an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Where are you going in Spain?” 

“Barcelona.” 

“Why?” 

“Football.” 

“Oh! Give me a break!” You exclaim and roll down away from her back to the foot of the bed. “Why are you going all the way to Spain just to watch some football? You can bloody watch it here.” 

“It’s the Champions League!” She informs you excitedly, and you can’t even pretend to match her enthusiasm. “Chelsea’s playing Barcelona.” 

“Woo.” You respond flatly, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “You watched them play together today, didn’t you? Why are they so bloody obsessed with each other? Even I know there’s more teams than that.” 

“It’s the second leg..” She starts explaining, but none of it means anything to you, and you really just can’t bring yourself to care.  

Going all the way out to Spain to be stuck inside a stadium with thousands of screaming fans? What sort of holiday is that? You don’t care about Chelsea’s success or failure. Your sister’s dirty crush on their star-striker is just another one of her many celebrity infatuations that you can’t make any sense of.  

You don’t want to sit next to her as she gets herself all hot and bothered watching women run around a football pitch. You don’t even enjoy watching men do it, you have no interest in watching women.  

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You tell her, dismissively.  

“Please? We can do more than just watch the football.” She offers, pouting pathetically. “You have to come with me! I’ve just been dumped!”  

“No, you haven’t!” You remind her, laughing at her useless attempt at guilt tripping. “And you haven’t really left me much time to negotiate with work.” 

“You work too hard and you’re due some time off! Your boss isn’t going to refuse you, just bat your eyelashes at him. The filthy pervert.” 

“Hm.” You mumble, drumming your fingers over your stomach as you think.  

She isn’t wrong, about you working hard, at least. You do like to bury yourself in your work. You enjoy your job, and the harder you work, the more you earn. You haven’t had time off in a while, and your boss is unlikely to say no to you, you are his favourite employee. You don’t agree that it’s because he has a crush on you, you get good results for the company, and attract lucrative clientele.  

If batting your eyelashes could get you back in the arms of your Spanish one-night stand more easily, though, you’re not above flirting with him to get you there. You could take a few days of leave, go off to Spain, and possibly run into the woman who’s been living inside of your head.  

It’s such an incredibly remote possibility. An absolute stab in the dark chance of finding her. She probably isn’t even in Barcelona. You’re not cultured enough to be able to pin her accent to a specific city. She’s just Spanish. There’s much more places in Spain than just Barcelona. Barcelona isn’t even the capital. Maybe she’s in Madrid, Valencia, Marbella. She could be a party girl living on the island of Ibiza, you had originally found her in a bar. You don’t get a body like hers drinking yourself senseless every night, though.  

What if you do find her, and she wants nothing to do with you? There was only ever the promise of one night together. You already pushed your luck by spending the rest of the morning with each other, she doesn’t owe you anything more. It’s unlikely that she’s been spiralling quite as pathetically as you have. She’s not going to be fending off a sexuality migraine.  

You undoubtedly won’t have been the absolutely mind-blowing experience to her, that she was to you. She’ll have had sex with countless women. She definitely enjoyed herself with you, that much you’re certainly sure of. You can’t fake every bodily reaction to someone, but the rest of it could have been for show. The display of heartbreak afterwards.  

So, maybe she’s an actress, that would certainly make sense. It would explain why she had money, and why she had a company paying for her hotel. Maybe that was her little ‘business trip’. Perhaps she was in London promoting a Spanish movie. Maybe the entire thing was all a performance, and you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.  

Either way, stalking her in Spain would be far too pathetic. Even if she does want you to find her, it’s so desperate and needy of you to go all that way, and if she doesn’t want you to find her, you end up looking insane. Travelling to Spain, to possibly just show up right there on her doorstep? What a terrifying thing for you to do to the woman.  

But what if it’s a sign? 

Your clueless little sister, inviting you all the way to Spain, with absolutely no idea that the woman you’re harbouring all of these confusing emotions for, lives there? Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s the universe trying to get you back together. Maybe she didn’t fake it, she does feel the same, you’ll find her in Spain and spend the rest of your lives together.  

Please. Behave and be so goddamn serious with yourself. You sweet and simple, delusional little fool.  

“The woman I kissed was from Spain.” You inform your sister thoughtfully, and she sits herself up on your bed to frown at you.  

“You’re still going with that?” 

“Why don’t you believe me?” 

“You’re straight. Straight straight straight.” She points out, with such an incredibly annoying inflection to her voice, it makes you want to bang your head against the wall. “You’re also 26. You were in love with an ugly bastard for 5 years and you’ve never shown an interest in a woman before.” 

“I hadn’t met her before.” 

“Gayyy!” She giggles, and you give her an almighty clack on her arm with the back of your hand, to wipe the smug little smile from off her face.  

“Go with the woman you’re hooking up with tomorrow.” You instruct her. “I’d be a nightmare to watch football with, you’d have to keep explaining things to me.” 

“I don’t mind doing that.” 

“Do you have no other friends to go with you?” You laugh and she pouts dramatically again, shaking her head. “You’re a lonely little loser!” You tell her with a smile.  

“Is that a ‘yes’?” She asks, rolling her eyes at you.  

You take in a deep breath and let out a very heavy sigh. 

What’s the worst that can happen?  

She’s already completely upturned your life. It couldn’t make things any worse for you. Whether you’re able to bump into her or not. You’ll either find yourself some peace, lounging in the Spanish sun, or you’ll be left in exactly the same position you’re in now, but with a much healthier glow to your skin.  

You could even find yourself a Spanish man while you’re out there.  

Mm.  

It’s really not a good sign for your heterosexuality, that that’s no longer an appealing option to you.  

“If I can sort it with work,” you reason, “yes. I’ll come to Barcelona with you.”  

She lets out an embarrassingly girly squeal and crashes her head against your stomach, with just enough force behind it to manage to leave you winded.  

“Twat! I’m making no promises about going to the game, mind. I’m just coming for the tan.” 

“Maybe your ‘Spanish lesbian’ is also a fan of football.” She encourages  

“Mhmm. I’m pretty sure she is.” You admit contemplatively. “Is that an entry-level of requirement for lesbianism, then?” You ask, rolling your eyes. “Because if that’s the case, I really can stop questioning myself.” 

________________

Booking time off work really is as easy as your sister thought it would be. Maybe your boss does have an inappropriate crush on you like she suspects. 

She’s very excited about having you for company, and she tries to educate you on all of Chelsea’s history, the players’ statistics, and their personal lives, all before you go on your little trip together. It really does just go right in one ear, and straight back out of the other. You’re not fussed on the facts and figures; it’s not why you’re going.  

There’s not enough room in your brain to care about the ins and outs of Sam Kerr and Kristie Mewis’ relationship. You’re not interested in the fact that Chelsea currently have 6 WSL titles, and are going for their fifth-straight one, and you really aren’t bothered that the semifinal’s first leg match against Barcelona ended in a draw.  

That is a fair amount of information for you to have retained already despite not being interested. Your sister really has been going on at you, you’re almost a footballing expert.  

Touching down late in the morning in Barcelona, you can’t pretend there isn’t a tiny part of you that’s letting yourself get a little carried away with dreaming. You’ve played through enough countless scenarios in your head of running into the Spanish wonder again back in London, of course your mind’s racing with the possibilities in Spain.  

You drop your bags off at the hotel your sister’s booked for you both, with the intention of heading back out to explore the city together. It’s a peculiar looking building, bright red, oddly shaped. She really never has been one for subtlety, it’s the perfect sort of accommodation for her.  

She insists on wanting to have a look at the Olympic Stadium before the big match, as well as seeing the state of Camp Nou’s renovations, and you really can’t indulge her any more than you already have. You probably will end up joining her for the game tomorrow, but you’re absolutely not walking around the outside of football grounds for fun.  

You’ve seen the exterior of Stamford Bridge more than your fair share of times, Wembley, the Emirates. There’s not that much difference between the lot of them, and they’ve never really been your favourite form of modern architecture.  

So, you agree to go your separate ways for your first afternoon in the city, you’ll meet back up with each other tonight.  

Playing tourist around the streets of Barcelona on your own, is quite an exciting little experience for you. You’re not very worried about getting lost, despite not speaking too much Spanish beyond the basics. Your hotel’s a distinctive looking building, it’s not going to be super difficult to find your own way back to it.  

You get a taxi further into the main hub of town and you’re able to mosey about with a rather unrestrained confidence, turning down tight alleyways and strolling aimlessly along multiple cobbled streets. You manage to find yourself being comfortably led astray, by allowing nothing more than just the warm gentle breeze to guide you as it blows against your body.  

It turns into a more casual exploration of the more authentic side of Barcelona away from most of the tourist hotspots. You have no real idea where you are, and you’re quite enjoying the small rush of adventure.  

A coffee is what you start craving, and you’re not exactly limited by options. Every other building on the peacefully quiet backstreet you’ve found yourself on, seems to be a tiny café. You could start ip dip doo-ing all the individual offerings, but that’s putting far too much consideration into it. You decide to go for the smallest one, the most unassuming. The best coffees always come from the places that aren’t trying to market themselves to any foreign tourists.  

A little bell rings out as you step through the door and the barista almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of you, he clearly isn’t used to getting anyone other than his regular patrons. You offer up your friendliest of smiles and a quick ��hola’ to show him that you mean no harm, and you tap your finger gently on the countertop as you inspect the board behind his head.  

Choosing the littlest coffee shop might have been a tiny mistake because absolutely everything on the menu is written in what you can only assume, is a rather confusing variation of Spanish. You can’t back out now, the barista already has an adorably excited look on his face at having someone new in his little shop, you can’t break his heart like that.  

You study the chalk written on the board for entirely far too long, in the hope that the words will slowly start translating themselves for you. It doesn’t work, obviously. So, you take a punt at a random one of them, with the rather daring assumption that you haven’t just ordered yourself a troubling batch of Spanish poison.  

“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you surely do not know. It’s recognisably ballsy of her, almost rude.

Her words echo in your ears, as time stands still around you. You’d recognise that voice anywhere, with that unmistakable, and entirely enchanting, cocky little tone to it.  

You can’t really have found her so easily. Life’s never been that kind.  

You can feel your heart clattering around in your chest instantly. Like it’s trying to escape from your ribs, to go off and say hello to hers, all by itself. Your chest’s rising and falling intensely as your breathing shallows and picks up pace.  

It can’t be her; it can’t be. This city’s just absolutely full of Spanish women.

She holds out her card right over you to pay, gently resting her arm down onto your shoulder, and you’ve definitely seen that tattoo before. The ‘11’ printed on her wrist.  

She’d refused to explain the meaning when you’d asked her about it. She wouldn’t give you the backstory behind any of her tattoos. It was too personal; you weren’t allowed to know.  

She thought you might have really fallen for each other if you both started sharing too much information about yourselves, and you only had the single night to spend together.  

“It would be too painful.” She had reasoned with you.

That was very clever thinking on her part. She absolutely managed to prevent you from having an awful lot of heartache and suffering about the whole thing, by letting you know absolutely nothing about her..ﾠ

You still can’t bring yourself to turn around and look. Even though you know it must be her. It can’t be likely that there’s multiple Spanish women that have branded themselves with that specific number on that specific part of their body. Surely to god.  

“..gracias.” You manage to choke out very shakily, in little more than a whisper, still facing forward.  

You have to turn around at some point. You can’t very well drink your coffee on the tiny little counter right in front of the barista when you can’t even have a conversation with him. Just staring at him, silently, neither of you able to speak each other’s language? That would freak him out! You’ll find yourself back on a plane headed for England before you know it, with a restraining order hanging over your head.  

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.  

It’s her. It has to be her.  

The barista accepts the woman’s payment method with a familiar little smile back at her, and she carefully retracts her arm from over your shoulder slowly. You can smell her perfume on her wrist as it wafts back past the side your face. You recognise the scent, and you find yourself following it round you like a lost little puppy, your knees almost giving way beneath you.  

You didn’t accidentally stumble upon her at the beach. It’s not a Spanish marketplace. She definitely isn’t staying at the same hotel that you’re in.  

You’ve found her, while getting yourself lost. In the tiniest little café, on an unnamed, tumbleweed backstreet, right in the very heart of Barcelona.  

There’s a wide smile of disbelief on her face. Which is hopefully an indication, that she isn’t terrified of you being here, she hadn’t faked her feelings, and she, much like you are with her, is a little overwhelmed to see you.  

“Hi.” Is all that drops out of your mouth, as your mind goes blank at the sight of her.  

“Hi.” She says back, with the exact same breathlessness as you, her voice cracking ever so slightly.  

“….Hi.” 

“You’ve already said that.” She reminds you, and she’s clearly able to bring herself back to her senses far more quickly than you are, because there’s that charming little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips again.  

You’re not really sure which one of you instigated it, you both just sort of ended up colliding into each other, gripping at the material of each other’s clothes. It’s a very desperate hug. Even more so than the one you shared outside of the hotel elevator. You melt into each other, merging yourselves together like two corresponding puzzle pieces.  

It’s an embrace, holding not just the 12 hours of curious devotion between you, but over 30 days' worth of frenzied yearning. It has you both clinging to each other with everything you have, as it defies everything you came to accept as truly achievable, that heartbreaking belief in you, that this reunion would never really happen.  

It’s an impossible hug, and it’s one that neither of you want to pull away from. 

“What are you doing here?” You mumble against her, clinging to her shirt as she buries her head in the crook of your neck.  

“I think it should be me asking that question.” She tells you, chuckling. “I have far more right to be in Barcelona than you do.” 

“This is where you live?” You ask. “You’re from Barcelona?” 

“Mhmm.” She murmurs. “Mollet del Vallès.” 

There’s really no reason for that to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It’s only a place name. It’s a good job she didn’t spend much time speaking Spanish to you back in London, you really would have been like putty in her hands.  

“What are you doing here?” She questions.  

“I thought you might want your sweatshirt back.” You joke casually, and she loosens her grip on you slightly so she can face you.  

“Do you not want it anymore?” She asks, furrowing her brow as she studies your face. 

There’s a clear look of uncertainty in her eyes, a small sense of worry, and you do feel mildly guilty for teasing her. “I was hoping ..maybe I could swap it for another.” You smile. “It doesn’t really smell like you anymore.”

She doesn’t allow you to feel guilty for too long. That small air of arrogance that’s always threatening to escape her, does so, in a predictable little smirk at the implication.  

“You’ve been wearing it that much?” She asks you proudly, and you push your tongue against the inside of your mouth as you roll your eyes at her typical display of cockiness. She carefully closes the small distance between you both again, gently pressing herself flush against you. “Does it smell of you?” She whispers in your ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down the side of your neck. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Mm. Maybe I could be persuaded to make a trade, then.” 

She’s impossible for you to resist when she’s like this. It’s still an intriguing talent she has, evoking such a physical reaction from you, by doing hardly anything at all. A quiet little whisper in your ear and your body’s immediately burning up next to her? You’re still so incredibly tragic.  

You might no longer be certain of your sexuality, but maybe it really doesn’t matter. Why do you need to understand it? Why does it need an explanation? No one else in the world is important at all when she’s standing here in front of you. No one else would ever really stand a chance. How could you ever be interested in anyone else, when you know that this woman right here exists? How could any other person ever truly compare? 

There’s a desire in you that’s clearly also felt in her, when she moves herself to look at you. It’s written all over her face, the twinkle in her beautiful eyes, and the fact that her lips are so incredibly close to yours.  

You lean in, and so does she, but it’s like something quickly shoots through her body, as though she’s suddenly being brought back into the room. She does a quick scan of the café, and she collects herself before she lets you both get carried away.  

“We can’t kiss in here.” She tells you quietly, and you frown at her as you pull yourself back.  

“Why not?” You ask, doing your own quick search to try and find what she saw to put her off.  

No one seems too interested in you, though there’s admittedly a couple of people discreetly watching her. She is very beautiful, so it’s not surprising, but you do sort of wish they’d stop their gawking. This gorgeous woman is here with you, and you’re not really in the mood for sharing.

“There’s not another bloody homophobe about, is there?” 

“No!” She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know, actually. I haven’t asked around, but we just ..can’t kiss in here.” 

It’s curious. She didn’t have any issues kissing you in front of people before. Spanish people are very famously more physically affectionate with each other than British people are. So, it seems unlikely that the two of you would turn too many heads just by kissing.  

“Okay..” you accept reluctantly, pouting a little at the rejection, “so ..should we just quickly nip outside to do it then, or?” You joke cheekily, pointing to the door with your thumb.

She chuckles with you, resting her forehead to your shoulder. “You’re still as straight as ever!” She grins, as she wraps you back up in her arms.  

It’s quite nice just losing yourself in her embrace. Burying your head in her neck and holding her tight against you. Having her arms back around you, her perfume overwhelming your senses. The rest of the coffee shop fades into a blur with her in your arms. She’s comforting, reassuring. She’s real, and she’s here.  

“Ale!” Is called out by the barista not a minute later, and you’d have very happily paid it no attention at all. The immediate flinch from the woman that you’re holding, in response to it, however, tells you that you might have just found out a very valuable piece of information indeed.  

You repeat it under your breath, as she pulls away from you and goes to collect your coffees from the counter.  

She says a quiet ‘moltes gràcies’ to the barista, and she narrows her eyes with a small grimace as she returns to you. There’s still a clear reluctance in her to give too much away, she’s not entirely grateful to her little coffee friend for unknowingly revealing slightly more to you than just her first initial.  

Ale. It must still be short for something, you figure. You start reeling off name possibilities at her in quick succession. Alessia, Alex, Alexis, Alexa. You’re like a dog with a bone, because she makes it clear that you’re getting closer, but she still shakes her head at every guess.  

It’s very frustrating, as she offers you absolutely no assistance with your guessing, but it can’t be as convoluted a mission as trying to discover Rumpelstiltskin’s ridiculous name. Thankfully, it isn’t. It’s on only your 5th attempt that you cause the same small flinch in her, and she smiles softly at you before looking down very quickly. You’ve struck gold.  

Alexia. 

It’s a beautiful name. Your favourite name, you’ve decided. It rolls off your tongue with so much ease, you want to repeat it again and again. 

“Now you know too much.” She sighs whimsically, handing you your coffee as she walks past you to collect her bag from the table she was previously sitting at.  

She gestures for you to follow her and leads you to a quieter area away from the other customers right at the back of the shop. She pulls out your chair for you to sit down, and you can’t not smile at the tiny act of chivalry. She really is very sweet. It’s a shame that she won’t let you kiss her.  

You reveal your own name to her, as she joins you on the other side of the table and she repeats it back to you quietly. Whether it’s the sexy Spanish accent, or just the fact that it’s her saying it to you for the first time, you’re not entirely sure, but your heart skips a few beats after hearing it. 

“Now we both know too much.” She tells you, and she takes a small sip of her coffee.  

There’s the tiniest level of nervousness, that blankets itself over you both as you sit together. It’s a little absurd, you’ve seen this woman naked. She’s seen you naked. It isn’t technically a first date between you, neither of you asked the other to be here, but you both clearly have the little jitters of being on one, coursing through your bodies.  

You find yourself just watching her a few times as you talk over your drinks together. You still can’t really believe you found her so quickly. So, you don’t want to risk taking your eyes off of her for too long, in case she just disappears into thin air while you’re not looking.  

She’s also the most beautiful sight in the café. So, why would you want to waste your time looking at anything else? 

You’re not being very discreet about your staring at all, and neither is she, really. You keep exchanging shy smiles over your cups as you catch each other looking. Both of you blushing and quickly averting your eyes as they meet, and then gradually repeating the whole thing all over again. You’ve definitely caught her gazing a few more times than she’s caught you. So, maybe she’s even more tragic than you are.  

The little coffee you ordered by chance, is Alexia’s usual order, so she tells you. It’s not the most life-changing piece of information for her to share with you, but it’s something else for you to know about her, and you’re absolutely sure to make a note of it. It probably keeps you on an even tally too, she already knows that you enjoy drinking a tequila.  

You’re still not allowed to kiss each other, for whatever obscure reason, but she has reached for you hand under the table. Interlacing your fingers together isn’t a new thing between you both, and neither are those tingles that immediately shoot up through your arm at even the most innocent of touches from her. She really does have an incredible effect on you, it should probably be more terrifying to you than it is.

“Why are you really here?” She asks after a moment, as she strokes her thumb over your knuckles.  

“My sister dragged me here.” You answer. “It’s a very important football match tomorrow, apparently.” 

“The one against Chelsea?” She asks, with an unmistakable look of interest in her eyes, that has you rolling your own lightly back at her.  

“I think she’d say against Barcelona,” you point out with a sigh, “but yeah, that one.” 

You had managed to work out that Alexia was probably a bit of a football fan. She has a little stick figure tattoo of a footballer on her leg, the outline of a baby being given a ball on her back, and you have exceptional detective skills. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.  

So, it isn’t a surprise that she’d be excited by your footballing interests, but it is unfortunate that you really don’t share the same passion for it as her.  

“Unless you’re a very daring rebel,” you start, “I assume you’ll be supporting Barcelona tomorrow?” 

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, with a small twinkle in her eye, “and you’ll be supporting Chelsea?” 

“Not emphatically,” you admit with a smile, “but I’ll be in that section of the crowd, yeah.”  

“You don’t really care about football at all, do you?” She asks knowingly, with an edge to her smirk that’s intriguing, as you shake your head at her in apology. “Maybe you should introduce me to your sister instead, then!” She winks, and you very quickly remove your hand back out of her hold.  

“Don’t.” You tell her. “Please. Don’t even joke about it.” 

It’s admittedly a little cute that she finds herself quite so hilarious for her disgusting little joke, but you are very unamused by the idea. If the childish look of mischief on her face wasn’t so entirely endearing to you, you may very well have got up and left her right then and there.  

She rests the back of her hand on your thigh with her palm outstretched, and you roll your eyes at her before placing your own hand back into it. She raises it to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your fingers, leaving you with the faintest of blushes across your cheeks. So, maybe you can find it in yourself to forgive her just this once.  

“I have a sister.” She reveals. “Her name's Alba. She’s a few years younger than me. I’m the older sibling, like you are.”  

“Uh oh!” 

“What?” 

“Well, now I really do know too much.” You tell her with a wink.

“My sister’s Emily.” You inform her rebalancing the tally of facts you keep sharing with each other. “Though she’d kill you for calling her that. I think she’d change her name completely if she didn’t think it would upset our Dad so much. She just goes by Em these days ..so ..she probably would have enjoyed your silly little initial idea, actually,” you admit thoughtfully, frowning a little at the realisation, “maybe I really should introduce you to her instead..” 

“Por favor.” She says quietly, quickly shaking her head at you and raising your hand to her lips once again. “Don’t even joke about it.” 

“Will you be going to the game tomorrow?” You ask, a not-so-subtle attempt at finding out if you might be getting to see each other again so soon. “We’d be like star-crossed lovers in the stands. Very Romeo and Juliet of us!” 

“I don’t know that we want to be comparing ourselves to those two! I don’t remember it ending very well for them.” She reminds you, narrowing her eyes at you as her intriguing little smirk returns to her face. “And no. I’m working tomorrow, I won’t be in the stands.” 

“Boo. You can’t be that big of a fan, then!” You tut in disappointment. “I’ve come all this way to support my team!” 

“Your team!” She chuckles. “Will you be there in a Chelsea shirt?” 

“Absolutely not. I’ll be in very neutral colours.” 

She smiles, nibbling at the inside of her mouth as she lowers her eyes to look at the table. She knocks her hand gently on it a few times before turning her attention back to you. It’s impossible to know what she’s thinking, but she’s definitely debating something silently in her head.  

“I could give you a Barcelona one?” She suggests a little cautiously, and you have to smile at the idea. Your sister would certainly disown you if you took one of those back home with you. It’d be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

“You have a very weird habit of offering me your clothes.” You tell her slyly.  

“Mhmm. I really like seeing you in them.” She admits sultrily, and your breath catches as her eyes darken looking at you. “I think I have one in my bag, if you want it.” 

It’s a surprisingly sexy little offer, and you do quite like having her clothes on your body. It’s hard not to laugh at her peculiarity, though, even your sister isn’t that crazy of a football fan.  

“You just ..carry it around with you at all times?” You ask, furrowing your brow as you chuckle at her. “That’s really weird of you! Do you sell them? You go round offering them to unsuspecting tourists? Is that your job? Is it a fake? Are yo—”

“You need to stop trying to know things about me.” She interrupts softly, shaking her head as she chuckles.  

“And just ..blindly accept that you always have a football shirt on you?” 

“Mhmm.” She giggles, and you narrow your eyes at her.

She really is very curious.  

She pulls it out from her little duffle bag from under the table and hands it to you with a gleam in her eye as you take it from her. You push your empty coffee cup to the side and spread the shirt out over the table to study it.  

They’re not exactly your colours, but you can probably make them work. You hold it up against you to check that it will suit, and she bites her lip as she watches you. There’s a name printed on the back of it, you realise, and you smile a little as you read it in your head.  

“Don’t most adults keep it blank? Or just go for their favourite player?” You ask smirking. You turn the shirt around and rest it over yourself, and she gently bites at the skin around her fingernail as you trace the lettering over your chest. “I thought it was just little kids that got their own name on the back. Do you quite like pretending you’re also on the team?” 

“Mhmm ..maybe.” She mumbles, stifling a giggle as she rests her head in her hand. She smiles at you fondly, as she continues gazing at your little shirt inspection.  

“That’s really very cute of you.” You tell her, placing the shirt back on the table and leaning over it as you trace your fingers over the number. “Why ‘11’?” 

“Hm?” 

“11. You have it tattooed on you. You’ve chosen it for your shirt.” You point out. “Is it your birthday? You were born on the 11th? You were born in November? Born on New Year’s Day? Is it just your lucky number? Is it—” 

���Stop, trying to know things about me.” She interrupts again quietly, reaching for your hand and meeting you across the table to rest her forehead to yours.  

“But I want to know things about you.” You whisper. “I want to know when your birthday is. I’d like to know your surname. I want to know what you do for a living, how you got those scars on your knee, how much you weighed when you were born. The name of your first crush, where you went to school, the meaning behind your tattoos. I want to know each and every incredible milestone you’ve ever achieved, and all the unfathomably boring things that you got up to in between each of them. I want to know every single detail about you, and your life, Alexia. I really, really want to know you.”   

It’s quite the thing for you to confess to the poor woman after only meeting her on two separate occasions, but the way her grip on your hand kept tightening as you spoke, the slight clenching of her jaw, and the fact that her lips are dangerously close to yours once again, probably means you haven’t just completely scared her off with it.  

“We’d have to spend a lifetime together, trying to learn all of that about each other.” She whispers to you, her lips lightly brushing against yours.  

“Is that a proposal?” You chuckle, gently bumping your nose to hers. Your eyes trail to her lips, and it’s really very hard to not act on your impulses. “Am I really not allowed to kiss you in h—“ 

It seems that you are allowed to kiss her in here, when it’s right at the back where no one’s watching. Or she’s allowed to kiss you, at least, because there's no doubt which one of you instigated this. Her lips move against yours, and your pulse reacts to her immediately.

It's a kiss harbouring an awful lot of emotion, for two people who still hardly know each other. It's slow, passionate, careful, and every confusing little worry that's been plaguing your brain since the last time you kissed, instantly melts away into nothing as her tongue slips back into your mouth. You're the only two people in the world when her hand's pulling you in by the back of your neck, and you’re tugging her closer by grabbing at her shirt.

It’s probably a good job she did decide to take you further away from everybody else, because it doesn’t stay an entirely family-friendly kiss for very long. It’s not wildly inappropriate, you’re not animals, and the bastard table’s in the way of you doing too much with each other. Thank goodness it is, because it’s been over a month, after all, and you’re both clearly quite a bit needy. You really can’t be doing that in public.  

“I’ve missed you.” She murmurs against your lips, pulling you impossibly further into her.  

“I really missed you too.” 

Hours feel like minutes, in Alexia’s company, as you spend the afternoon roaming Barcelona together. She still refuses to tell you everything about herself. You don’t learn her surname, and she still won’t tell you what she does for a living, but you do both share other things about yourselves with each other. 

It doesn’t matter how insignificant any of the details probably are. Every single one of them still feels important to you, because it’s another little glimpse into her. Every single fact, story and secret that she shares, is what makes Alexia, who she is, and she was absolutely right, you do find yourself falling more for her, with all of the little things you keep discovering.  

She eventually agrees to tell you her birthday. Which makes the whole ‘11’ obsession even more intriguing to you, because the 4th of February ’94 does absolutely nothing to clear that little mystery up. It does tell you that the man in his twenties that you were looking for the night you first met, didn’t even turn out to be a woman in her twenties at all. She turned 30 nearly 3 months ago. She’s absolutely decrepit! 

She gives you a tiny tour on your stroll together, bringing some clarity to the Catalonian streets you’ve been carelessly walking down. Explaining the extra confusing writing on the menu board, and casually revealing to you that she can speak 3 different languages. So, your drunken boast about your GCSE level German, probably wasn’t very impressive to her at all.  

You’re both approached a fair few times by people asking for directions. You can never understand what it is that they’re saying, and you're not really of much use to them just standing there being awkward. So, you hang off a little to the side taking in your surroundings, waiting for her to help them out, before she excitedly returns back to you. You’re not at all bothered by the interruptions. Your patience with it keeps earning you a quick discreet kiss from her as she wraps her arms around your waist, and you return the same display of affection, for her unrelenting kindness to strangers.

Alexia insists that she isn’t a tour-guide, and she’s also not an actress. So, you are very slowly whittling down the options of what it is she could possibly do for a living. She asks you about your own career, which is incredibly cheeky of her, considering. So, you simply refuse to tell her.

Maybe it’s that competitive streak in you, but if she wants to play it secretive, you can absolutely match her for it. You only agree to give her the corresponding facts to the one’s she’s willing to give to you. That way, if she’s falling for you with each new piece of information the same way that you’re doing for her, at least you’re both crashing down for each other, at exactly the same speed.

There’s slightly less careless abandon with being too physical with each other, walking hand in hand around Barcelona. It’s arguably tame compared to how you both were back in London. Whether it’s the lack of alcohol that’s keeping her more reserved, or maybe just because it isn’t yet nighttime, you’re not entirely sure.  

You’re still stealing kisses as you waltz along the streets, but you’re not pushing each other up against the walls of buildings out in the open. Maybe that would be a little indecent of you both. You’re pulling each other down quiet alleyways, instead, pressing yourselves together in secret coves.  

It doesn’t feel entirely necessary, the streets you’re exploring aren’t particularly packed with people, but you don’t question it too much. You’ve really just missed having her lips on yours, and whatever capacity she feels comfortable doing it in, you’re more than willing to oblige.  

You couldn’t really care less who sees you kissing her. You all but forget that they exist when she's pulling you into her and leaving her mark on you. It is arguably far more exciting, however, trying to be sneaky about it with each other. You're both almost actively searching for places that you're unlikely to get caught in. Finding hidden areas and seeing how much you can get away with together.

Your hands find their way under her shirt on more than one occasion. She really does have the most beautiful body. She jokingly reprimands you for it each time, but she doesn’t really discourage you from doing it. She does continually tease you, for your ever-decreasing signs of straightness, though.

Each newly shared kiss with Alexia, is somehow even better than the last. Whether she’s passionately throwing caution to the wind with you, by kissing down your neck, or trapping your bottom lip between her teeth. Even when she’s just being painfully frustrating, by giving you the quickest of pecks before skipping away. Every single one of them still sets your soul on fire, and they still manage to pull all the air right out from your lungs, every single time.

Alexia waits with you, as it turns to evening, on a bench by the road for your taxi back to your hotel. You try not to let the mild burning in your eyes ruin your final moments with her, but you can feel yourself starting to break.

She pulls out the football shirt from her bag again and holds it out for you to take with a shy smile. “I really hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.” She says, and you try to allow yourself to chuckle a little while nodding your head. 

“Mhmm. Thank you, I’ll try.” You tell her, throwing her shirt over your shoulder and quickly rubbing the corner of your eyes. “I’ll have to get Em’s permission to wear this, first. She’ll be very unimpressed with me.” 

“Just don’t let her burn it!”  

“I won't.” You promise, interlacing your fingers with hers and placing a kiss to the back of her hand. “The other fans might throw tomatoes at it, mind!” 

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, and there’s that familiar sense of dread in your stomach, as you watch the road, knowing your time together is quickly running out again.

You catch her gazing at you as you turn to her, and maybe there’s a little butterfly or two in your stomach as well, at the way her eyes are watching over you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhmm. You haven’t even gone yet,” she tells you smiling, tucking your hair back behind your ear, “and I already can’t wait to see you again.” 

“You’re really that certain that you will? You’re still sure you don’t want us to swap numbers?”  

“We’ve already bumped into each other a couple of times now. I have no doubt we’ll manage it again.”

It’s nowhere near as reassuring to you as it seems to be to her, but there’s a certain level of romance in her conviction in fortuity. Maybe you are beginning to believe in the possible existence of fate, though you're not completely enamoured by continuing to leave your encounters with Alexia, entirely up to chance. She cradles your head in her hands and gently wipes the tears that are threatening to spill from your eyes with her thumbs.

"I'll never forgive you," you warn her weakly, "if this ends up being it for us."

"Trust me." Is all she asks of you, and she pulls you back into her, resting her head against yours as she runs her fingers over your back.

It feels like an unspoken promise from her, to keep at least trying to find you, and there's a power in her certainty that has you desperate to believe in it too.

It’s still a little hard for you both to say goodbye to each other, but she’s already told you she has a busy day tomorrow, and you can’t really bring her back to your hotel when your sister’s already sharing the bed with you. You share another long hug, and a few more secret kisses before your taxi pulls up, and you finally hesitantly agree to part ways. She places a kiss to your cheek, by way of goodbye as you clamber yourself into the back of the car, setting off without her once again.  

You try to reassure yourself, on the taxi ride back to your hotel. You've ran into each other twice, in two separate countries, by pure dumb luck. It can't be impossible for it to happen again. Maybe there’s something connecting you both, an invisible string, an intangible little bungee cord, that's making sure that neither of you is ever able to truly stray too far away from the other. Alexia has ‘no doubt’ that you’ll manage another meeting again, and you take some comfort in knowing, that you still have 2 days left in the city, to do exactly that.

________________

Collapsing back down to lay on the bed in your hotel room, you have a sneaking suspicion, that you’ll have a far better night’s sleep than you’ve managed to have in a long time, tonight. Your mind isn’t spiralling with confusion anymore, and there’s no longer a gaping hole inside of your chest.  

There’s an excitement in you, a warmth. An encouraging little hope that you really have found something special. Someone special. That once-in-a-lifetime connection with another person who’s also trapped in this world along with you.  

It definitely isn’t the someone you expected to intertwine your soul with. Any younger version of yourself would be very confused about where she’s ended up. It isn’t a connection you want to keep questioning either. It’s not one you really have any doubts on the existence of at all. She’s just it for you, and maybe it’s okay that that’s all you can say to justify it.   

You don’t need to be attracted to other women; you don’t really care about your weakening attraction to men. It just makes sense when you’re together with her. There’s no confusion, no uncertainty, there’s no warning alarms ringing out in your head. There’s just Alexia, and the existence of anything and anybody else, will always pale in comparison to her. 

Your sister arrives a little after you, plodding back into the hotel room, clearly wiped from whatever individual Spanish adventure she got up to today, and she flops herself into one of the armchairs with a very heavy sigh.  

“Long day?” You ask. 

“Mhmm.” She mumbles, frowning at you suspiciously. “You look very happy?” 

“I am very happy!” You tell her with a smile. You excitedly roll over and reach down the side of the bed to retrieve your souvenir of the day from its hiding spot. You launch it right into your sister’s face and she grunts a little under the impact. “Will you hate me, if I wear that tomorrow?” You ask, trying to contain your newfound enthusiasm. 

She pulls it off from where it’s wrapped itself around her head, and she gives you a very unimpressed look. “You bought a Barcelona shirt?” She asks, clearly disgusted with your choice of fashion.  

“I was given it.” 

“By?” 

“..a woman.” You tell her, gently biting your bottom lip as you smile up at the ceiling.  

“Mm.” She mutters with a sigh, moving to join you over on the bed. She thwacks the shirt down over your stomach and lets out a huff next to you. “Well, at least she has good taste.” She tells you. “Or she’s just a bit basic.” 

That’s a little rude ..and very confusing.  

“What do you mean?” 

“Going for the best player on the team.” 

That’s less rude ..but even more confusing.  

“..What do you mean?” 

“Are you joking?” She asks, with a very clear tone of annoyance to her voice. She grabs the shirt and thwacks you with it again. “A woman gives you a shirt with a name on the back, and you don’t even care enough to ask who the bloody player is?”   

Maybe your head is racing again. That’s incredibly confusing. It really doesn’t make any sense. It’s her name, not a player’s name. Maybe they just share a name. It’s not an incredibly rare name, that’s not impossible. 

Your Alexia has a mild interest in football, she’s not playing it professionally. Who would keep that a secret? She’s reticent with sharing information, that’s for certain, but she’s not a bloody liar, and she told you she wouldn’t even be there tomorrow.  

No.  

She said that she was working tomorrow, and that she wouldn’t be in the stands with you. 

Your mind has started racing, and so has your little heart.  

“What. do. you. mean?” You repeat slowly, trying to keep yourself calm.  

“Alexia Putellas.” She tells you, very nonchalantly, and your brain all but short circuits at the name.  

“Who is Alexia Putellas?” 

She thwacks you again with your shirt in dismay, and you’ve really had just about enough of being treated like a piñata. You sit up, pull it from her hands and thwack it across her face as you ask her to explain herself.  

“She’s a footballer, for fuck’s sake!” She shouts, rubbing the palm of her hand against her eyelid. “She’s Spanish. She plays for Barcelona!” She pulls out her phone, to search for her Instagram and bonks you on the head with it. “That’s Alexia Putellas, you twat.” 

You look at the profile, and the hotel room blurs around you. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, hear the blood pumping around in your ears.  

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.  

She doesn’t sell shirts for a living, she’s not an actress nor a tour-guide, she really isn’t even a spy. Though she’d probably make a pretty good one, the way she never gave this piece of information away.  

Your unexplainable connection with another human being, and she plays football for a living? Clearly very well too, as 2 of her pinned photos have her holding a massive award for it right next to her face. Every other post on her page is about football. She’s Barcelona, through and through.  

She’s verified, she has over 3 million followers. She’s been out here, existing on the world’s stage, all this time, without you ever knowing. Your own sister’s been privy to more information about her than you have.  

She was in London a month ago for football, according to her Instagram posts. The cryptic little ‘business trip’ she was on, was a quarter-final match against Arsenal. An embarrassingly easy win for Barcelona, she must have been out celebrating it when she found you in that club.  

She was back in London again last week for football. You could have seen her then. You missed a chance at an earlier reunion with her, because you refused to go with your little sister to watch her in the first leg against Chelsea.  

Your breathing’s very shallow as you scroll through the endless stream of photos. Your mind is absolutely spinning. It’s all a bit much to take in. You lock your sister’s phone and place it back on her chest as you try to collect yourself. You really don’t want to risk learning too much about her. You want her to tell you everything, you don’t want to find it all out behind her back.  

You’ve been waiting with bated breath all afternoon, savouring every little piece of information she’s given you, and your smart-arse little sister could probably tell you loads about her if you asked. Lots of the details you’re so desperate to know about Alexia are probably only a quick google search away, but you feel guilty enough just knowing her surname without her having been the one to tell it to you.  

She hadn’t been super willing to even give you her first, and no wonder! It’s the single name that’s plastered on her shirt, it’s the name she’s known mononymously as. She’s women’s football’s answer to Beyoncé, Adele. 

Of course, she didn’t want to kiss you in front of people in the café, out there on the streets. It’ll be why she only kissed your cheek in front of the taxi driver. She probably is a little liar, because she almost certainly wasn’t giving directions to people when they approached you both. She presumably isn’t old friends with the two men who wanted a photo with her. They all just know who she is. The whole damn city of Barcelona knows exactly who she is.  

Maybe she was testing you, waiting for you to crack, to confess to knowing everything about her. How couldn’t you know about her? How unbelievably rude of you.  

She’s a celebrity footballer, and you’ve treated her like she’s one of the most normal people in the world. You’ve flirted with her, teased her, kissed her, slept with her, and she’s welcomed it all with that adorable little smirk.  

So, maybe she’s liked that you didn’t know, that you really had no idea about who she was at all. You can’t have had any preconceived thoughts about the woman when you’ve had no prior knowledge about her. Perhaps it’s been part of the fun for her, just being with someone who really couldn’t care about the noise surrounding her. Maybe that’s the reason she didn’t really want you knowing about it. Her fame could have changed things, pushed you away.  

It wouldn’t have. She’d have to do something intrinsically evil to frighten you off. Especially now, after the afternoon you’ve just spent together, learning more, and falling deeper for her. She’s still just the woman that baffled you with a lime in a nightclub, wound you up by kissing someone else. Rescued you from a night of undeniable regret, and turned it into the start of something magical.

She’s your once-in-a-lifetime connection, your confusing, and frustrating, perfect one-night stand companion. She’s the woman that's turned your whole world on its head, and it just turns out, that she quite likes to kick a ball around, with a bunch of other women for a living, and people from all over the world, have been watching her excel at it for years.

She has to know that you’ll have found out already, you’ve told her your sister’s football obsessed. Even if your sister didn’t know who she is, there’s bound to be other people wearing her name on their backs tomorrow. Probably not many of them were given their shirts by the woman herself. There’ll be even less of them with one of her sweatshirts in their bag.  

Maybe she’s excited for you to connect all the pieces together. Giving you her shirt was far too bold a move for her to still not want you to know. She’d have just talked you out of going to the game, if that was the case.  

She wants you there, being a very daring rebel, with her name boldly resting between your shoulder blades, rooting for her and Barcelona, right in the middle of the Chelsea fans. You’ll probably stand out like a sore thumb with your red stripes in the sea of blue you’ll be standing in, and maybe that’s exactly what she’s hoping for. She had ‘no doubt’ that you'd see each other again, after all. 

“She’s the best player on the team?” You ask your sister dreamily, collapsing back down on the bed and clinging to the shirt in your hand as you hold it against your body.  

“Mhmm. Best in the world.” She tells you, and there’s that exhilarating little thrill shooting right up through your body.  

“Oof. I’ll tell Sam Kerr you said that!”  

She scoffs to the side of you and flicks your forehead playfully. You lift Alexia’s shirt, holding it out in between your fingers to study her name again in disbelief.  

You're falling in love, with the ‘best in the world,’ and she seems to be falling for you, too. A little nobody from London, who’s spent the past month pining after who she thought, was a little nobody from Spain. She’s once again turned your whole damn world on its head.  

She really is absolutely everything.  

“I will hate you if you wear that thing tomorrow.” Your sister warns you, as she hits the shirt with the back of her hand. “I offered you a Chelsea shirt and you gagged at it!” 

“I’ve not gagged at this one.” You point out with a grin. “It’s a shame you won’t be friends with me tomorrow.” You tell her, resting the shirt back out over your torso.  

“You can’t wear it!” 

“I bloody can, and I very much will.” You inform her. “You should rethink wearing a Chelsea shirt. You’ll be very disappointed when we beat you tomorrow.” 

“‘We?’ You really are a twat. You’re Barcelona’s biggest fan all of a sudden?” 

“Too bloody right, I am!” You tell her decidedly, hugging the shirt against you. “I’ve always loved football, me.” 

[dangermousie]

Book Rec

Not many dramas for me to watch (Phone is the sole airing drama I am following), so I've been making up for it by reading a lot.

And I have a book rec:

Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan - MY LOVE MY LOVE MY LOVE! If you ever want to have strangers stare at you as you cackle in crowded places, this book is for you. I was not particularly interested when I saw the description because I was thinking it was another "grimdark is cool/sociopaths rock" thing which is just not my thing and never was (nothing against it in fiction, just doesn't ping anything for me) but I was stuck at a long layover and the bookstore had it, I flipped and became a goner. I was refusing to put it down even close on no sleep, which shows how good it is.

Anyway, the set up: our FL Rae is a modern 20 year old dying of cancer. She gets offered a chance to live if, upon entering a fantasy series (one that is a favorite of her younger sister, but once she is familiar with through the sister and so has gaps), she obtains a plant that can make anyone healthy etc. She's got nothing to lose so...

The fantasy novel series in question is a dark, gothic gonzo extravaganza with characters who have monikers like The Last Hope, Golden Cobra, the Emperor, the Iron Maid and the blameless' heroine's stepsister, the villainess with the moniker Beauty Dipped in Blood. It is that latter that our heroine transmigrates into - a day before she's set to be executed!

Rae's goal is to survive long enough to be able get the plant - to do that she needs some fast talking and thinking as well a team of her fellow baddies. Will she get the attention of the Emperor, the series' dark, unhinged ML (who in the OG series went all Pedro the Cruel when his true love, the villainess' stepsister died - respect!)? How much will she drag the narrative off-key? (pun! ifkyk) Rae is not interested in romance, friendship, revenge or anything but survival. Yet, as she goes along, these desperate, larger than life, and irretrievably broken characters become more and more real to her.

The reason I love this novel is that it's both very very funny (I was literal when I said I was laughing in public) and very very dark (Rae is dying and has been dying for years - she has so much loss, rage and grief bottled in her and it keeps coming out and coloring everything and she fits very well into that Gothic world because she is just as damaged and desperate as the characters.) The prose is purple when it needs to be - and it fits the narrative perfectly and the characters are somehow complex despite their very larger than life/artificial personas. I am not very far in at all, but characters like the Emer, Rae's desperate, on edge of survival maid (who 100% has a lesbian love line with Lia, the pure heroine - I love ittttttt!), Key, Rae's unhinged, amoral, murder-talented and money-oriented guard (the one spoiler I have is his actual eventual identity and EEE YES PLS) who is drawn in by her feral self, Lia the pure (or not so pure) stepsister, and Marius the Last Hope - the seeming paragon who is so utterly damaged are all so very vivid and great to read about. (Side note - I live too much in danmei land, but Marius x Eric, anyone? Yes yes men are capable of platonic deep friendships blah blah blah.)

There is apparently book 2 coming in the fall this year and I CANNOT WAITTTT!

Sample quote:

Only minor villains had petty flaws like being greedy. Rae gave her minion an approving glance.

"I think we will be friends."

He tilted his head, with the air of a scientist beholding a specimen. "I've never had one of those before. Might be interesting."

"High five," proposed Rae,

Key's smirk tilted smile-ward. "No idea what you're saying."

Rae's hand was already lifted. "Hit my hand."

"How hard?" Key asked obligingly. "Should I break it?"

Rae stared back. "Do not! Tap my palm with your palm. Gently! Gently!"

Key frowned as though gentleness required ferocious concentration.

Next up in book posts: Washington's Lady by Nancy Moser, because the thought of the Father of the Country as a romance novel hero is giving me the best kind of fits and shortcircuits my brain tho not in the way the author intended.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Fake Dating Homelander

Description: Y/N and Homie have to fake date to get ratings up.

Word Count: 878

Y/N sat in her chair in the Seven's headquarters as Stan told her and the worst person on the planet that it would be good for ratings if they started dating. “Absolutely not.” Her response, Homelander, looked offended by that. “Wow, that was harsh.” He joked but Y/N knew he wasn’t joking. She rolled her eyes. “It would help with ratings.” Stan said. Homelander looked at Y/N, “Yeah come Y/S/N don’t you wanna get the ratings up?” She rolled her eyes again, “Not by dating a dickhead like you.” She said. “Ouch.” Y/N knew that she didn’t have a way out of this but still was not going to go down without a fight. “Can’t you get starlight or Maeve?” “Maeve is a lesbian and Starlight is already in a relationship that is public. You’re not.” Stan said. “Okay first of all, Maeve is bi and second I don’t wanna have to act like I’m in love with him.” Y/N pointed at Homelander. “It won’t be that bad.” He gave her a fake smile. Y/N didn’t return it. 

And just like that the relationship was announced a day later. Homelander took her hand as he talked to the crowd. “I love her and she is the light of my life and I’m so happy that we can be public now.” Y/N wanted to puke but instead gave a fake smile and kissed him on the cheek. She hoped someone out there would see through the bullshit and start a rumor.

“Ugh finally.” Y/N said as she let go of Homelander’s hand. It’s been a week and it was already annoying. Homelander didn’t seem to mind it, in fact Y/N had the theory that it was his idea. “Quit being a baby.” He said. She rolled her eyes and entered the elevator that he unfortunately entered as well. “You act like I’m so bad.” “Cuz you are.” “I save lives, I’m a fucking hero. You should be grateful to be with someone like me.” She wanted to laugh at him. He seriously was that delusional. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She said and exited the elevator. 

Over time Y/N noticed that Homelander wasn’t being pushy with her and he was actually being sweet. Even off camera. She didn’t know why or really understand it but it was kinda nice. A year would pass by before the truth would be revealed. Homelander was supposed to purpose to Y/S/N in front of the whole world. Y/N jaw dropped at the idea. “Why can’t we just break up? Fake dating is one thing but now marriage?” Homie kept silent as she ranted about how it wasn’t a good idea. Stan didn’t care how she felt about it at all, it was going to happen. 

“I have an announcement to make.” He said as the audience clapped. “As you guys may know, the woman next to me is the best person i’ve ever met.” He turns to Y/N as the crowd goes wild. “She is so kind, so caring and so beautiful. This past year has been amazing for me.” Y/N felt herself go red at what he was saying. “But it would be better if it were real.” Everyone goes silent at his words. “Y/N, This past year has been amazing, us fake dating has made me realize that it’s not fake, at least for me. I’ve fallen in love with you and I want this to be real so..” He gets on one knee causing everyone to gasp. “Will you actually marry me?” Her eyes widened as she stared at the ring in his hands. The smile on his face was genuine and it all clicked in her head. The world was waiting for her to answer as she finally made eye contact with him, “No.” His face dropped but he remained on one knee. “I won’t, I can’t marry you.” She said and looked at the crowd. “I’m sorry.” She said and ran off the stage, leaving him there, embarrassed. She turned him down in front of the whole world.

She ran to her dressing room and shut the door. She leaned against it and slid down it. What the actually fuck just happened? She knew that he would want to kill her after embarrassing him but why couldn’t he just stick to the script? What made him think 100% that she would say yes?  A knock at the door broke her from her thoughts. She got up and opened the door. He stood there with a straight face, eyes that didn’t have any emotion behind them. She stood in fear as he didn’t say anything to her but stared. “I don’t know why you went off script and decided to do that. I mean what made you think I would say yes to you?” She asked. “You should’ve either way. You embarrassed me.” He growled. “I don’t love you, let alone like you.” She said. He smiled, an evil and scary smile. “Oh you will. Trust me you will.” He said and left. She stood there and thought of what he could’ve meant by that. He couldn’t make her fall in love with him, right? Does he actually think that she could ever love a monster like him?  

[respectthepetty]

The Loyal Pin - Finale

I've waited two weeks for this finale, so I'm jumping straight in because I need three things out of it: a happy ending, Anin wearing pink, and Patricia apologizing to Pin, WHICH IT THE FIRST THING TO HAPPEN!

Pat, who finally gets her name back, is wearing Pink Person Pin's color and giving the best apologizing to Pin who still doesn't fully have her color back.

And now Anin's mom is pawning off the jewelry in case the girls have to go to England, and I have never appreciated fictional color-coded women more in my life.

OUR ALLY! OUR KING! OUR BEST BOY!

As much as Pin was upsetting me with that marriage business, she always shows up for her girl, and no man would EVER get on the floor and beg for mercy like this! THIS IS THE MOMENT!

One thing about Anin is she is always going to be a Blue Beauty regardless of what is happening.

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?! NO!!!! WE AIN'T GOING OUT LIKE THIS! PIN FINALLY GOT HER COLOR BACK AND HER AUNT/MOM/WHATEVS IS ON HER SIDE NOW! NOOOO!

Wait, a damn minute! What the hell is this all about?

What did this Blue Bitc--Beauty do? Annette, ANSWER ME?!

It's a prank?! What in the MTV's Jackass is this bullshit about?!

AND EVERYONE WAS IN ON IT?!

Anan, on God, you are the only royal I respect in this house because you have been PFLAG's Ally of the Year, and I appreciate you trying to convince your father, but what in the Sam Hill was your sister thinking?!

Pin, beat her! At least slap Annette once. She hasn't worn pink yet, and now this?! I know she is a princess, but if this was French Revolution, Annette would be on thin ice. I'm not saying kill her, but she needs to be scared the same way she keeps scaring you BY KIDNAPPING YOU!

Or give her a ring for her birthday because you love her special brand of crazy. Sure! That works too!

And the whole group is in blue for the Blue Beauty with some pops of pink. Everyone supports her special brand of crazy. Got it!

This feels like a baby shower, so it being a rich lesbian's birthday is making this so pleasurable!

Now, Pat! You just got your name back, and now I want to snatch it away again! What is this, mama? Desserts are your specialty, not decorations. Stick to your strengths, girl, cause this ain't it! AND WHY IS ANIN IN GREEN?! This green has haunted me the entire second half of the show! And now the green AND that little figurine will haunt me forever.

I know I should be happy homegirl is pregnant, but since Anan dropped the fact that he didn't get to marry who he loved, I feel bad for both of them.

They will make this work, but as Anin's mom would say, I'm being really western about this marriage of conventionality.

Alin, were you the Green Girl I was waiting for all along to take this darn color that has haunted me?!

Everyone's cute and in their colors. Alin looks more like Anin and Pin's daughter, and I love that for us.

Pat, I'm still salty toward you, but I'm glad I don't want to fight you anymore because you look so good in your color, and I hate being attracted to people who piss me off. I was never not attracted to you, but it's nice to know I actually like you again too.

Annette, just because you have incorporated more florals and dots into your outfits as a sign that you love Pin doesn't mean you are off the hook for not wearing pink, but I'm going to ignore it right now because MY BABYGIRL IS FREE!!! She can live her life as the bright and beautiful Yellow Yal she was meant to be without a man tying her down! I actually hope Aon is well too.

I don't know how Kuea's wife made the same mistake twice, but more power to that woman for giving that triflin' man two kids.

They are adorable wives, and Pin giving Anin lunch in a pink gingham checkered cloth is adorable, BUT WHERE IS YOUR PINK, ANNETTE?!

Prik, you and Pia were the real ones putting up with these lesbians over DECADES ACROSS CONTINENTS! I hope Annette taught you how to play tennis and drive, so you can run her errands in style.

SHE IS WEARING PINK! ANNETTE IS WEARING PINK! IT'S HAPPENING AND I'M SCREAMING!!!!!

Leave it up to Idol Factory to wait until the last possible minute, literally, to give me the color exchange! Congratulations, everyone got their name back this episode. Good job, Anin!

Pushing the horrible prank aside, the finale was worth the wait and the hour and half runtime. I enjoyed every single episode, and the colors were coloring until the very end (damn you, Idol Factory!), so I do hope it gets the credit it deserves for being the most each episode and doing most of it amazingly well.

Everyone got the ended they needed including our color-coded girls in love.

And I love that.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Nother Idea: Steve has a really bad migraine when he sees his parents for the first time post spring break from hell. He is still recovering from his injuries & his parsnts don't know how to help him. He is in tears begging his father or mother to get him Rob or Eds. And they have no clue who that is. The other parent finds a note by the main house phone and one by his bedroom phone with the names Robin & Eddie with their numbers. And they watch their adult son get coddled by a lesbian and a metalhead. Bsjsjcjdjd maybe they find out about the UD???

I TOOK A BREAK FROM PLANNING OUR WEDDING FOR THIS MY LOVE!!! You know how I feel about migraine Steve and you know how I feel about some good old hurt/comfort and how I feel about Steve's parents just being shitty always. It's like you wrote this request from MY BRAIN. It's a bit shorter than I could've done, but I am rushing out the door at this point and wanted to have it posted today in case I can't tonight. Hope you love it!!! - Mickala ❤️

-------------------------------------------------------

Luck was never on Steve’s side.

He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in weeks, his brain and body constantly running through checklists of things he had to do and people he needed to check on.

It was catching up with him in the form of the worst migraine he’s had in months.

And now his parents were home.

He could hear them talking downstairs, their voices carrying and making Steve wince against his pillow.

He managed to close his curtains when he got up to use the bathroom this morning, but hadn’t managed to do anything else. Including close his door.

He hadn’t really expected that to be an issue since he was alone all the time.

His parents hadn’t been home in nearly six months. They hadn’t even bothered to call when the “earthquake” hit.

He kept his eyes closed in hopes that they wouldn’t bother him, maybe they’d even close his door for him if they thought he was asleep.

Wishful thinking.

His dad’s booming voice was suddenly right next to him, echoing around his room and his head.

“It’s the middle of the damn day, Anne! He can’t sleep his life away!”

Steve let out a groan, burying his head as far into his pillows as he could to avoid some of the noise.

His father would give up eventually, probably call him something terrible, be disappointed, the usual. But he’d leave, and Steve could bask in the peace and quiet again.

“Do you hear me, Steven? Anne, he’s ignoring me!”

Steve groaned again as he heard his mother’s voice from the doorway.

“Richard, he’s clearly hungover. We should come back later.”

Steve loved that idea. If they left, he could try to sleep this migraine off.

“I’m not just leaving him! He has to act like a responsible adult someday, Anne. We don’t pay for this house for him to spend his days hungover in it.”

“Not hungover.”

Steve’s voice was muffled against the pillow, his head pounding with every movement of his lips, but he knew he had to at least try to stick up for himself.

“So you’re just a useless sack in the middle of the day on a Thursday for no reason, then?”

Steve let out a whine at the sharp pains shooting through his head.

“Eddie. Call?”

Words were hard when your head was trying to implode on itself.

“Who is Eddie? Is that the person who got you drunk? I will not be calling this Eddie person, and I expect you to be up, showered, and dressed by the time we are back from our business dinner. Do you understand?”

“Robin.”

“Isn’t that your girlfriend? Is she responsible for this?”

Steve wanted to scream that the people responsible for this were dead or Russian spies who were hopefully dead and no thanks to either of his parents, he often spent days like this.

Not as often since he practically had Robin and Eddie living with him, but enough.

“No. Eddie.”

“Eddie isn’t your girlfriend.” Anne was closer now. “Do you need medical attention? You’re not making any sense. Oh goodness, Richard, maybe he’s having a stroke.”

His side was pulsing. Eddie said his did too sometimes, a casual reminder that they’d been nearly eaten alive. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as his head, though.

He needed to get to his phone so he could call Eddie.

Eddie knew what to do to help. He wouldn’t be scared of his parents.

Just as he started to move his head so he could try to roll out of bed, he heard his mom speak again, much lower, probably directly to his dad.

He had extremely sensitive hearing when he had migraines, though, so he could still hear what she was saying.

“This note has those names with phone numbers. Maybe we should call them?”

“It’s just a hangover. He has to man up.”

“It just seems like more than a hangover. He’s in real pain.”

“You do what you want. Coddle him if you must. I have a business dinner to get ready for.”

He heard his father leave the room, but didn’t bother moving.

His mom was suddenly talking into the phone.

“Is this Eddie? Yes, this is Anne Harrington. Steve’s mom, yes. He had your number written down by the phone. He’s asking for you and he seems to be quite hungover. It’s not? Oh. Oh. Okay. Well, could you come keep an eye on him, then? I would appreciate it. I could pay you.” Steve heard yelling on the other end and tried to smirk, but his face was in too much pain. “Okay, see you soon.”

“Steve? Eddie’s coming. He didn’t want any money or anything to sit with you, but I’ll leave some on the counter just in case.”

“Loves me.”

“What was that?”

Steve turned his head to the side so he could say it again, emphasize to his mother that people actually loved him.

“He loves me.”

He was met with silence, but he was happy about it, his head still finding new ways to hurt even after 100 migraines.

His mom left the room, but he knew Eddie was coming, so he rested.

When he woke up, Robin’s hands were in his hair. She was gently combing through it, from scalp to ends, being careful to avoid any tangles that may have been hiding.

“Robs.”

“Hey Dingus,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t handle normal talking voices when it was this bad. “Gave Eds and I quite a scare having your mom call, you know.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“Eddie?”

“He’s downstairs giving your parents the riot act while he unloads groceries. He’s pissed.”

“At me?”

“No, never you. He’s got your extra strength pain meds that you were out of though.”

Steve had forgotten to get more last time he went to the store and he admittedly wouldn’t be this bad off if he had them ready to go when he woke up this morning.

But Eddie always took care of him and Robin always took care of him, and he was allowed to not have to do everything for himself anymore.

“It’s like you don’t even care that he’s hurt because of fucking government conspiracies!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Robin’s hand froze as they listened to Eddie and his dad go back and forth.

“The Russians almost killed him! Where were you? Not fucking here! The monsters almost killed him! Where were you? Probably on a business trip or whatever it is you rich fucks like to do with your time that should be spent checking in on your son.”

“Oh boy,” Robin slowly started to get up, causing Steve to whimper. “I’m gonna send him up here to cool off. Just breathe.”

So he did. He breathed in, then out, in, then out.

He did that until he felt Eddie’s hands in his hair, lips on his forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered against his hair. “Brought you some water and meds.”

“Yelling?”

“They deserve it. But don’t worry about that right now. Just take these pills and sleep. I got ya.”

“Got me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, always got you.”

He could hear Robin yelling downstairs now, but he didn’t focus on it, following Eddie’s advice and sitting up just enough to swallow the pills and half a glass of water.

As he fell asleep, he heard Robin whispering to Eddie.

“He’s got us, at least.”

“Yeah, he does.”

[kiefbowl]

hi, sorry for sending this outta nowhere but i guess i just need some advice. i'm a lesbian still in the closet, and there's a guy in my class who likes me. i know this because he straight up told me he'd like to be "at least friends" with me, and has called me hot "jokingly" before multiple times. the thing is, he's not a bad guy, if he wasn't into me i'd even like to be friends with him, but knowing he likes me that way makes me feel gross, makes me feel objectified. i can't hang out with him without imagining how he really thinks about me, what he imagines. he's been getting kinda touchy lately, like nowhere inappropriate, just on my shoulders and stuff, but i hate it. and i guess this is really starting to get to me, i feel so relieved when he doesn't show up to class (we're in the same class in college), and i feel tense when we talk, even if it's a fun conversation. it's starting to impact my day to day life, i feel like a piece of meat. when he said he'd like to be "at least friends" with me, i said (among other things, it was a long conversation) that i was looking for friendships, emphasis on friends. i know i should have straight up told him i wasn't interested in him romantically, but i got scared of his reaction. i don't think he'd get mad, but he'd definitely be hurt on some level. he's the main extrovert in our friend group in uni, the "glue" of the group per se, and i'm scared of people isolating me when they figure out something happened between us and i'm the reason he's sad. i want to tell him i'm a lesbian so he doesn't think i'd reject him because i dislike him, but i don't know if he's homophobic, and i'm so scared of him being one of those weirdos with a lesbian fetish. one say he saw me reading dykes to watch out for, he asked what it's about and i told him it was about the lives of a group of lesbians. i was hoping so bad he'd get the hint, but i don't think he did.

i don't know what to do. i guess i'm waiting for him to ask me out directly so i can be more firm, i can't just randomly tell him i'm not interested without the subject having come up naturally, but i'm getting kinda desperate.

I'm going to give you a few pieces of broad advice that I think will help you:

First: Any amount and any kind of touching that you don't want is inappropriate touching. You don't have to wait until it gets "bad" or "worse" until you say something. If someone jokingly touches your shoulder and you don't like it, you are within your right to say "I don't want you to touch my shoulder like that anymore" and that person, as a good person and a good friend, should immediately respect that. This is true if it's a man or a woman, someone you know or a stranger, or even family. It's your body, you get to dictate your boundaries.

Second: Retribution from friends because you aren't making yourself available as a dating option for someone is a sign of terrible, awful friends and, frankly, just as people in general. I understand being scared, especially if you think any violence is at risk, but when you're in a situation where you can't act in your own self-interest because you are too afraid of punishment, it's worth asking yourself what you are getting from these friendships beside just general companionship and not being alone. Why are these people worth your time in your opinion? Yeah, maybe they're funny and nice, maybe they aren't "evil", but are you too afraid to give them reasons to prove they actually aren't nice? Well then, it's probably because you know they aren't actually nice.

Third: You don't need to make up a rule book in your head then ask me permission to break those rules. You can tell him you're not interested, because it's not random, it's something that's weighing on your mind. You are actually the focal point in this conversation because it's about you and you are experiencing your life, not him and not your friends. If you think it will seem random to him, frame it in a way so it isn't. You can say things like, "I have a hunch you're interested in me romantically, and if that's true I want to be clear that I am not interested in that from you" or "I have something that's been weighing on my mind, and it feels awkward to talk about, but it makes me uncomfortable, and I want to discuss it with you."

Fourth: No one in this world will ever or even can fight for your comfort and pleasure that best benefits you except for you. You can sideline your own comfort forever, and what that will get you is an uncomfortable existence. There's no two ways about that. So why not fight for your comfort and pleasure, why not do the uncomfortable thing that gets you what you want than do the uncomfortable things that doesn't get you anything you want? A lifelong struggle for all of us to some degree, but perhaps this is the best time in your life to push yourself in this way. Good luck :)

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Barbara Stanwyck (Ball of Fire, The Lady Eve, Double Indemnity)—I hope someone else has submitted better propaganda than I because I don't want my girl's prospects to rest on me just yelling PLEASE VOTE FOR MY TERRIBLE HOT GIRLFRIEND. She is a delight in everything! She is often a sexy jerk! (It's most of the plot of Baby Face!) Even when she plays a "good girl" (as an example, Christmas in Connecticut, which more people should see) she's still kind of a jerk and I love her for it! She won't take men's shit and she sure wouldn't take mine!

Mae Clarke (The Public Enemy, Frankenstein)—she was in frankenstein. which i think is neat

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Mae Clarke propaganda:

Barbara Stanwyck propaganda:

"THE queen of screwball comedies. I adore her, I'd kill for her, I will cry if she's not gonna win this poll."

"listen ok she had awful politics she was a mccarthyist right wing wacko BUT she's so incredibly hot that i've deluded myself into believing i could fix her. if you see her onscreen she carries herself in a way that's just so effortlessly sexy AND she has just a stunning face. imo she was at her hottest in the 1940s but even as early as the late 1920s she had a rly captivating screen presence and just a beautiful face, and then post-1950 she was just irresistibly milfy so really she was just always incredibly hot. she was also an incredibly talented actress who was equally stellar in melodrama, film noir, and unhinged screwball comedy. the blonde wig they made her wear in double indemnity is notoriously silly looking but she still looks sexy in it so that's gotta count for something. i've watched so many terrible movies just for a chance at seeing her that i think her estate should be paying me damages."

"Not often thought of for her sultriness, Barbara Stanwyck was incredible in that she could actually choose to be hot if the role called for it, and then have a glow-down to look ordinary for another role. She wasn't the most beautiful or effervescent, but damn did she have rizz. Watch her with Gary Cooper in Ball of Fire teaching him about "yum-yum" or with Henry Fonda in The Lady Eve whispering huskily into his ear."

"THE leading lady of the golden age of hollywood. One of the only actresses to work independent of a studio, making short-term contracts that enabled her to make movies wherever she wanted. She had so much range, and could act in basically any genre. She's been rumored to be a lesbian literally since she was active in Hollywood; most notable is the rumor that she had a long time on-and-off relationship with famously bi Joan Crawford, her "best friend" for decades (They lived right next door to one another). She also lived with Helen Ferguson, her "live-in publicist" for many years. She was the quintessential femme fatale in Double Indemnity, and really pushed sexual boundaries in her pre-code films like Baby Face, and the famous screwball The Lady Eve, where she plays basically a downlow domme. Allegedly, when a journalist asked her if she was a lesbian, she straight up threw him out of her house. She even played a lesbian in Walk on the Wild Side"

"She is always the smartest woman in the room. Watching her play Henry Fonda like a befuddled fiddle in The Lady Eve was a highlight of my life. Femme fatale in Double Indemnity, comedy queen in Ball of Fire. She can do anything."

"She was part of my gay awakening"

"SHE'S A PRE-CODE QUEEN. She did everything, drama, comedy. The most beautiful woman in the world to watch weep. Beg for to step on you with those legs. Fun Babs story: Ginger Rogers was offered the role in Ball of Fire but said, “Oh, I would never play that part, she’s too common.” So they called Barbara Stanwyck and they said “We offered this to Ginger Rogers but she’s turned it down, would you be interested?” And she read the script and she said; “You bet! I LOVE playing common broads.” (Source: https://misstanwyck.tumblr.com/post/72996544180/barbara-stanwyck-photographed-for-ball-of-fire)"

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 3 MATCH 32

Mammon propaganda:

“He was done dirty in the first round, I hope he wins this time because he deserves it 

First of all, he hates you at the start but then he starts to like you but he exclaimed his hate too much at the start so he can't admit it 

Everyone knows that he likes MC, even his little D (who are demons familiars) thinks that they should date 

He is a classic tsundere but doesn't actually hurt you like other tsunderes but he is so bad at hiding his feelings that everyone is just ignores it 

He is the avatar of greed, meaning he is clingy which may be a turn away for some people but he cares for you so so much 

He has never turned into his demon form to hurt you (Asmo hasn't but he has tried to seduce you with his power)

Don't get me started on his story cards, he literally is so cute

He wants to be a mentor to Luke, like Lucifer was to him, he is only mean to Luke because he wants Luke to learn about how life isn't all sunshine and rainbows

He is also so hot, he is a bisexual panic 

He is bullied by his brothers but he cares for them so so much despite their bullying

I am so in love with him and have written so many fics about him 

Anyway, I'm going to stop here because otherwise I'll be here all day”

“First friend, first pact, practically the MC's first everything, he is a major Tsundere, he holds my heart hostage, I just want to smooch him, he and MC share a room, he is such a cute little bab, he does bully Luke (a child) but it's revealed that he just wants to show Luke that the world isn't all sunshine and rainbows and want help him figure things out

He is the cutest little guy, he cares for his brother 

His sin is greed so he does steal things from people but since lesson 1 he hasn't stolen anything from MC 

He wrote a song to propose 

Sure he is clingy but in a good way

He is so cute 

He adopted a child, which he had to leave in the care of witches and willingly let's the witches extort him 

There is so much that I can say about him but 1. Spoilers and 2. I don't think you want to read that much”

“OKAY SO. OH MY GOD. 

First person we're able to properly romance in game. AND FOR GOOD REASON. He's had MCs back from the beginning, hes the one real one in the game. He's always trying to protect us and its so nice. Puppy boy. He's so me as well??? Like he's such a doting boyfriend it's literally so cute. When MC had to go back up to Earth, he kept breaking the rotating schedule in order to call us more. He always gets MC gifts (avatar of greed love language being gift giving im gonna collapse) and he just drops the most romantic lines out of nowhere??? Like sir are you trying to give me a heart attack. He's the secretly traumatized comic relief. He has ADHD. He's canonically queer (MC doesnt have a set gender). He even likes Head pats. Vote Mammon.”

“HE'S SO PATHETIC AND CRINGEFAIL. I LOVE HIM”

Jaehee propaganda:

“only female love interest in MM, not included in the first round for SOME REASON, you literally go off and live your coffee shop au with her at the end of her route.”

“My lesbian wife. Open a bakery with her after convincing her that she doesn't have to give up her happiness to make money. She can pursue her passions. Also her backstory is so sad and I just wanna hug and kiss her and throw hands at her "family" for making her feel like she does. Also the Valentine's dlc, you get locked in the back of the bakery with her and... Yeah that's my wife. I love her dearly. Also can we just acknowledge that she's like the only path that involves almost none of the dramatic death defying nonsense. You're just gay and in love and it's beautiful”

[letters-of-libertas]

Given the climate we're in, it is political when women refuse to partner or reproduce with maIes but at the same time when choosing to commit to this lifestyle, it is very important to have non-political reasons for it aswell. I think a lot of women struggle to commit to this because they get into it for political or reactive reasons but when that energy dies down they find themselves left with nothing else. They feel empty and would want to be with a maIe for non-political personal reasons to them.

Before I continue, this is not a change-your-mind post (or page). If you're actively looking to partner with a maIe then stop reading here because this isn't for you. This is for women who dont want to ever deal with dating.

This is not to downplay or invalidate political reasons behind choosing to not date or reproduce with maIes, but it cannot be your only or main reason(s). When I say reactive I also mean women who do this to get a positive reaction from maIes, hoping they'll apologise, 'change' & beg you to be with them when you say no.

Now obviously life happens & it doesn't suprise me as I'm blackpilled but I've seen many osawomen who mainly have reactive or political reasons for not wanting to deal with maIes eventually end up partnering with maIes regardless of how staunch of a separatist, wine aunt, lesbian, etc they were.

The thing with reactive politics is that it tends to get exhausting especially when things are not going in the direction you anticipated. So when the energy of whatever politics is tied to your decision for not wanting to date maIes at the moment is gone, then the reasons for wanting to not partner with maIes also goes. That pillar begins to breakdown.

Whereas when you have non-political reasons for doing this, you focus on yourself and what you get out of this - it's a different story, so find non-political reasons for choosing to not date or reproduce. Dont just find/define the reason but actually live it out. These reasons should mean something to you beyond politics or reactive measures. Does it really give you purpose? How do you let it be a part of you? I have my own personal non-political reasons for not dating (or not reproducing) which is why regardless of how my politics changes (& has changed) I wouldn't want to be in a relationship with a maIe at the end of the day or give birth.

Another reason to not center political motives as a reason for not dating is so that it feels more natural to you. It becomes a part of you where it doesn't absorb you. It shouldn't absorb you to the point you're blind or feel trapped. As it's a part of you it will feel natural to go about doing your thing without wanting a partner, even to the point where if you saw a maIe & he was fine as hell + appeared to be a good fit; you have your principles + ways of living so you wont want a relationship with him anyways. Tbh only a minority of women will be at this point but that's the headspace you want to be at if you're serious. It should be natural, not something that you force or you make yourself do. Generally ask yourself what it is about relationships that you wouldn't want to get into & why.

On the flip side, many women wont initially date for political reasons but as I said; when the political drive slows down they will start dating. However they dont date for political reasons, they do it because wanting a relationship/love (+ starting a family) is a part of them. It feels natural to them to want love/companionship, or even have kids. This is why so many women will continue to date maIes despite all the maIe degeneracy, risks, and evil in the het dating scene we all see. Even though women know what maIes are like (more than they want to let on), they dont care they still have their reasons for wanting to have a relationship with a maIe. This is why regardless of the hurdles in the way when it comes to dating for osawomen they will jump those hurdles *bounce bounce bounce* to have a relationship with a maIe but when there's one hurdle when it comes to not dating maIes, they start running back. A little thing happens and "it's too hard I cant do this anymore". So again it's about personal objective.

Ik people will say "but we can't control our sexuality!1!", i know I'm straight aswell. I have had times where I've been attracted to maIes & even when they like me back I wouldn't pursue a relationship with them (and no I dont feel like I'm missing something either) because it's just not for me.

Personally, I dont believe this is a lifestyle women choose I think it chooses you tbh. Cause if you're in a position where you feel like you have to force yourself to stay on track & you dont feel comfortable committing, it aint for you. When you're new it can be hard but as time goes on, if it's for you it'll feel natural. It will be a part of you and you can find purpose beyond a romantic relationship or reproducing.

[thehoneybeestings]

A Place to Call Home - Kassandra x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Synopsis: When Kassandra of Sparta runs into Phoibe for the first time in a year, the future she'd planned for herself quickly unravels, and the trajectory of her life is changed. Frankly, she should have figured this would happen; Phoibe always gave her a run for her drachmae.

Content/Warnings: sfw, fem reader, fem pronouns/terms used, maternal reader, reader gets drunk, creepy/gross behavior from a douchebag (naturally, kass does not let this slide), possible that some phrases/words used are historically inaccurate, did my best to get accurate translations for the few greek words that are used but i apologize if they aren't used correctly!

A/N: yay! here is the Kassandra x reader feat. reuniting w Phoibe fic that you all voted on. this ended up taking me a bit longer than expected and ended up being much longer than expected, but i wanted to make sure Kassandra's character got all of the love it deserves, esp if this fic might be some folk's first introduction to her. i fully expect that this will flop bc i don't know how active ac odyssey lesbians are anymore, but i loved writing it nevertheless and this page is in fact entirely self-indulgent, so i hope those of you who do read it enjoy!

Love, Bee ୨ৎ

୨ৎ Settling down was not in the plan for Kassandra of Sparta

୨ৎ In fact, it wasn't an option; she had decided this years ago after narrowly making it out of a military fort in Mykonos, and she knew, she couldn't-wouldn't- ever put someone through the stress of never knowing which contract would be the one she didn't make it home from

୨ৎ So, despite being the hopeless romantic she was, she resigned to settling for a few good lays here and there and overworking herself in the meantime 

୨ৎ Still, that didn't mean that there weren't moments- moments like this one- where she'd watch a mother cooing down at her babbling child and grieve what her life could have looked like one day

୨ৎ She sat on the edge of a fountain in Athens on one of her only days off, a sad smile on her face as she watched the chubby-cheeked toddler pluck a piece of bread from their mother’s hands, and couldn't help but get lost in her own imagination 

୨ৎ What it'd be like to come home to a family; to her wife walking out to greet her with a baby on her hip, to see her child’s gummy smile beaming up at her

୨ৎ It was so vivid- so close she felt as if she could reach out and grab it- until, suddenly, she’s broken out of her trance by the the excited shriek of her name coming from her left

୨ৎ It's then that she whips her head around to see,

୨ৎ “Phoibe?” 

୨ৎ She stands up to meet the small girl who's barreling towards her with a familiar toothy grin, nearly tripping over her own feet

୨ৎ “Kassandra! It’s you!” Phoibe exclaims, wrapping her arms around the woman’s waist

୨ৎ Kassandra stares down at the child now glued to her hip in disbelief 

୨ৎ “How are you- what are you doing so far from home?”

୨ৎ “You said you weren’t coming back to Kephallonia,” the girl begins, “so I decided to leave, too!”

୨ৎ Kassandra is exasperated- but frankly, unsurprised- to learn that in the year since she’d left the small island, the rascal had managed to sneak onto a ship heading to Athens from Kephallonia, and had since found work as a servant for a woman called Aspasia

୨ৎ “Right,” Kassandra begins wearily, “And where does this Aspasia live, hm?”

୨ৎ “In the leader house, of course! She and Perikles like to kiss!”

୨ৎ Of course

୨ৎ So she had also managed to land one degree removed from the leader of Athens

୨ৎ “By the Gods, Phoibe,” she sighs, “you are… a handful.”

୨ৎ The handful had now taken Kassandra by the arm, dragging her towards Perikles’s residence with an earful about how big the estate was, how nice Aspasia had been to take her in, how pretty the leader’s daughter was…

୨ৎ That’s when you come rounding a corner; hand flying to your heart as you exhale in relief at the sight of the 10-year-old

୨ৎ “Phoibe,” you pant, “how many times have I told you: you pick one spot for hide and seek, not a new spot every time you think I’m going to find you…”

୨ৎ Kassandra told herself that her interest was only piqued because you seemed to have a relationship with the girl she’d practically considered her own for so many years, and not because you were breathtaking

୨ৎ (It was because you were breathtaking) 

୨ৎ “I’m sorry, Y/n,” Phoibe mumbles, scratching at the back of her neck, “but look! It’s Kassandra! After all this time! I knew I’d see her again!”

୨ৎ Your eyes lift from the dark-headed child to the dark-headed woman beside her; whose heart was officially breaking at how overjoyed Phoibe was to have crossed paths with her

୨ৎ You were suddenly finding yourself quite pleased to have crossed paths with her, too…

୨ৎ She was tall- a little over six feet- her stance wide and strong. Her armor did little to conceal her muscled arms and legs, her skin nearly as golden as the armor itself. Her wavy locks of deep chestnut were settled over her shoulder in a braid, stray tendrils framing her features; her strong jaw, the scars above her soft lips and on her freckled nose, her piercing tawny eyes…

୨ৎ It was safe to say that your interest was piqued, too

୨ৎ You’re snapped out of your trance by an excited tug on your Chiton

୨ৎ “Kassandra, this is Y/n, the leader’s daughter! Didn’t I say she was so pretty?”

୨ৎ You choke out a laugh as your face heats up at the child's straightforwardness, and Kassandra knows that the flutter in her stomach means she needs to be careful around you

୨ৎ But as much as she was a hopeless romantic… she was a flirt; she just couldn't help it

୨ৎ She shoots you a smirk before looking back down at the girl- who now has her arm in one hand, and your chiton in the other- with a raised brow

୨ৎ “I’ve never known you to tell a lie, Phoibe.”

୨ৎ Naturally, Phoibe insisted on spending as much time as possible with the Misthios now that she was in Athens, so you'd grown quite accustomed to seeing Kassandra

୨ৎ Which meant you'd also grown quite accustomed to being shamelessly flirted with

୨ৎ The way she'd scan your figure when Phoibe wasn't looking, the way she'd place a guiding hand on your lower back if she needed to walk past you, the way she'd taken to calling you agapi more than she’d call you your own name

୨ৎ At first, it was all fun and games, and considering that the most action you got these days was dinner with some obnoxious suitor, you were more than happy to entertain her lighthearted advances

୨ৎ But eventually, Phoibe became insistent on spending time with both of her favorite people, and now you were spending your days strolling the streets of Athens with Kassandra as you watched over the young girl who had you both wrapped around her finger

୨ৎ And suddenly, this felt far too much like the life she'd already accepted she couldn't have

୨ৎ When the two of you weren't keeping Phoibe out of trouble, you were exchanging witty banter (leaving the misthios impressed by your ability to keep up with her sarcasm), doubled over in laughter at each other's jokes, or listening intently to each other's ramblings

୨ৎ It was comforting, warm, domestic 

୨ৎ And that was dangerous

୨ৎ She knew that she needed to reign her feelings in now, or it'd be too late

୨ৎ But when she walks in on you comforting a wailing Phoibe- rubbing soothing circles onto her back, speaking to her gently and sweetly- she feels a familiar fluttering in the pit of her stomach

୨ৎ Kassandra knew what that meant; and now, she was cursing herself for not listening when her mother told her the story of Icarus

୨ৎ It was too late; she'd flown too close to the sun, and now, she was officially in too deep

୨ৎ She forces one foot in front of the other, hoping that whatever the situation at hand was would distract her from the realization she'd just made

୨ৎ “Everything alright?” she asks, kneeling down in front of you and the girl perched on your lap

୨ৎ “Y/n is leaving us forever!” Phoibe sobs, “For a man she doesn’t love!”

୨ৎ You press your lips together in a thin line in an attempt to hold back a laugh, but Kassandra’s worried eyes shoot up to meet yours before she can help it

୨ৎ “Please tell me that's not true,”  They read

୨ৎ “I’ve got a suitor visiting today,” you explain to Kassandra, before turning back to the inconsolable girl on your lap, “which does not mean that I am going anywhere. He only wants to meet me.” 

୨ৎ Relief replaces the anxiety that had begun to stir within Kassandra, and she kicks herself again for letting herself get this attached

୨ৎ “Why do you have to get married to a boy and leave me, Y/n? You don’t even like boys!”

୨ৎ Kassandra snaps out of her thoughts with a snort 

୨ৎ “She’s got a point,” she teases, looking up at you with a smirk

୨ৎ You sigh in mock annoyance, but the smile on your face works to soothe them both

୨ৎ “It's going to take a lot more than some stupid suitor to drag me away from the two of you.”

୨ৎ Phoibe wraps her small arms around your neck, burying her head in your shoulder

୨ৎ You're glad to see that you've finally managed to console her, but when you look to Kassandra, there's a longing in her eyes that you don't miss

୨ৎ Before you can ask what's on her mind, she's standing up to leave

୨ৎ “I've, uh… I’ve got to get going. Barnabas has some errands for me to run today,” she states casually, hoping to avoid your inevitable prying (it hadn’t taken long for her to discover that you could see straight past her aloof exterior)

୨ৎ Because you can read her like a book, you know she doesn’t want you to question her sudden change in mood; so, instead, you invite her to the upcoming symposium you’ll be attending

୨ৎ “My pater insisted I go to represent Athens, but he doesn't want me going on my own… I was wondering if you wouldn't mind accompanying me?”

୨ৎ She knows that she should say no; that she should be doing everything in her power to distance herself from now on

୨ৎ She also knows that there’s no way in Hades she’s letting you sit in a room full of gross men and endless wine by yourself

୨ৎ So, here she is, standing against the wall of the leader's estate in Boeotia, arms crossed and a scowl on her face

୨ৎ She hates these things- can’t stand the pretentious company and meaningless conversation- but every time her eyes find you in the crowd, she can’t help but quirk her lips up into a grin

୨ৎ You’re sitting with a group of women your age, gossiping about who knows what with a goblet of wine in your hand and a wide smile on your face; one that grows wider when you catch her gaze from across the room

୨ৎ She doesn’t miss the way you nearly trip over your dress as you stand to make your way to her, brows raised in amusement as you approach

୨ৎ “Why are you brooding, Kassandra; come, have some wine!” 

୨ৎ Your hand is on her arm, and she knows you’re probably just steadying yourself, but that doesn’t keep her heartbeat from picking up 

୨ৎ “I think you’ve had enough for the both of us, meli,” she chortles

୨ৎ “Oh, please?” you plead, your hand moving to rest on the breastplate of her armor; and when you lean into her, batting those pretty lashes…

୨ৎ She has to close her eyes, clenching her jaw and taking in a deep breath to settle herself

୨ৎ “No, Y/n; I’m here to look out for you. I want to stay sharp.”

୨ৎ She can’t help the disappointment she feels when you drop your hand and back away

୨ৎ “Fine,” you pout; but then, you’re looking up at her through your eyelashes again, a mischievous smirk playing on your face. “You’ll just have a drink with me when we get home.” 

୨ৎ When we get home

୨ৎ The words echo in her mind as she watches you waltz back to your friends

୨ৎ It wasn’t worth denying anymore that she’d already imagined what going home with you might be like; what coming home to you might be like

୨ৎ She cursed herself again for letting it get this far, but by the Gods, you were a dream

୨ৎ And clearly, she wasn’t the only one who thought so

୨ৎ “I’d put a ring on her finger tomorrow if it meant I could watch her walk away for the rest of my life.”

୨ৎ The scowl Kassandra had on her face moments ago reappears when the voice of one of the sleazebags she’d hoped to avoid tonight cuts through her thoughts 

୨ৎ “Pardon me?” She spits

୨ৎ “Aw, come on,” he drawls, “can you blame me? In fact, I was hoping to get a piece tonight, if you know what I mean.”

୨ৎ She can’t help but laugh in his face. “You’re a real class act, huh?”

୨ৎ“You’re no classier than I am, Misthios. Now listen; just let me have a little fun with her, and then you can escort her back home, no fuss. I’ve even got drachmae to spare.”

୨ৎ The look Kassandra gives the man- icy and threatening- is enough to warn him that if he spoke again, he was leaving with missing teeth; and he when he finally backs away in surrender, she’s making a b-line for you

୨ৎ “Hey,” she calls out from behind you, her expression stony as she watches you rise to meet her, “It’s time to go, agapi.”

୨ৎ “What?” you whine, “but we were just-”

୨ৎ “Y/n. It’s time to go.”

୨ৎ The seriousness with which she spoke was sobering, and you suddenly understand why everyone- everyone but you and Phoibe, that is- seemed so intimidated by her

୨ৎ The two of you are halfway back to Athens before you finally feel her relax

୨ৎ “What happened back there?” You ask, absentmindedly toying with the straps of her armor

୨ৎ “Don’t worry about it;” she asserts. “Did you have fun?”

୨ৎ “I did!” You respond, easily distracted in your drunken state. “The girls were asking about you.”

୨ৎ “Oh?”

୨ৎ “Mhm,” you muse, head falling down onto her shoulder from your place behind her on Phobos, “wanted to know if you were spoken for.”

୨ৎ “And what did you tell them?” She asks with a chuckle

୨ৎ “Said you were, of course.”

୨ৎ “Oh? I am?”

୨ৎ “Yeah. You’re mine.”

୨ৎ You were drunk

୨ৎ That’s what Kassandra repeated to herself, over and over, for the rest of the ride

୨ৎ ‘She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it. She won’t even remember this in the morning.’

୨ৎ You remember in the morning

୨ৎ And with your heart in your stomach upon remembering your drunken confession, you approach Kassandra while Phoibe fetches her wooden sword for the lessons the misthios promised she’d give her

୨ৎ “How you feeling?” She asks with a hand on her hip, toying with the hilt of her blade

୨ৎ She was nervous; that was her tell

୨ৎ “Not too bad, actually. The snack helped,” you’d say, recalling the small plate of bread and cheese she’d made you eat before seeing you off to bed

୨ৎ “Good,” she nods. “I, uh… I’m thinking of heading off to Messara tomorrow.”

୨ৎ “Messara?” you repeat, your stomach dropping, “That’s… nearly a world away.”

୨ৎ “Yeah,” she sighs, and you notice that she won’t look at you, “it is. There’s good work there.”

୨ৎ “There’s good work in Athens.”

୨ৎ You can’t help the edge of your words, but you know it isn’t fair to take offense; not until she knows how you feel

୨ৎ It was now, or never

୨ৎ “Listen… last night-”

୨ৎ “Don’t.”

୨ৎ The hand previously toying with her blade shoots up to stop you

୨ৎ “You don’t need to explain. It’s alright. It was a meaningless, drunken comment; I get it… but I’ve got to go, Y/n. You make me feel things that I can’t afford to feel. You make me want things that I can’t have. It isn’t your fault- I should have been more careful- but I can’t spend my days with you, I can’t watch you raise Phoibe, and pretend that you, that this, isn’t exactly what I want.”

୨ৎ Kassandra feels time slow down as she waits for you to respond; but when you step closer, your hand reaching out to wipe away the stray tear that had made its way down her cheek, she swears time stops all together

୨ৎ “And if life with you is what I want, what then?”

୨ৎ Her breath catches in her throat, eyes searching your face for any trace of humor, but you’re as serious as she was about getting you the fuck out of that symposium

୨ৎ “You don’t want life with me.”

୨ৎ “You don’t get to make that call.” 

୨ৎ Your hand drops to her arm, your thumb rubbing soothing circles into the muscle of her bicep

୨ৎ “Look,” you begin with a sigh, “I’m getting out of here, too, and I’m taking Phoibe with me. The threat of war is far too pressing for her to work for Aspasia safely, and never mind that a child shouldn’t have to work anyway. My mater lived in a house right outside of Lalaia; I loved visiting, so when she died, she left it to me. There, life will be simple- peaceful- for Phoibe; but you know as well as I do that Phokis is full of good work for mercenaries, so, if you wanted… you’d always have a place to call home.”

୨ৎ When Kassandra finally dares to look into your eyes, her own are filled with a yearning that nearly breaks your heart

୨ৎ “You’d like that?”

୨ৎ “I’m not sure life would feel complete without it.”

୨ৎ And the kiss she plants on your lips says that she’s not sure life would feel complete without you

୨ৎ Her lips are soft, tender, as they move against your own; her hands on either side of your face, your hands on her waist, and-

୨ৎ “Woohoo!” 

୨ৎ You both jump, eyes wide as your heads shoot to the source of the loud cheer

୨ৎ “Phoibe,” Kassandra breathes out; and this time, it’s her turn to place a hand on her racing heart, “Malaka, you scared the shit out of me!”

୨ৎ “I knew you would fall in love with pretty Y/n! I just knew it! And hey… you told me swearing is bad.”

୨ৎ You burst into laughter, and Phoibe is quick to follow suit in her own fit of giggles when Kassandra scoops her up, twirling her around in dizzying circles

୨ৎ And as the sound of laughter from her girls rings in her ears, Kassandra realizes that she’s finally getting what she swore she never would: a place to call home

End ୨ৎ

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

agapi: love

meli: honey

malaka: motherfucker (kassandra's fav word lmfao)

[bamf-prongsminiprongs]

My take on the Marauders

I'm a Marauders era fan. MY take on what it should be

Sirius Black- is the tallest (Well over 6 foot), maybe one or two tattoos, black hair above his shoulders, doesn't simp over Remus and can't do anything without him, one of the smartest in the school, hell of a dark humor, dark looks, VERY popular, has many flaws, but is still the best, prefers James over anyone, one of the hottest in the school, reckless

James Potter- not as tall as over 6 foot, like 5,10 or 5,11 (Like Harry), one of the smartest in the school, popular, not constantly asking Lily out or assaulting her

Remus Lupin- quiet, coward, tries to keep to himself, good at quidditch, but doesn't play, isn't the school's Casanova, not the hottest guy, a bit below average or such, not over 6 foot, not the smartest in the school (Like average or just above), doesn't swear like a sailor, doesn't have anger issues, isn't an asshole, not a tattoo type of guy

Peter Pettigrew- most likely more popular than Remus, is included, not hated by his friends, not a bitch to his friends, doesn't act like his adult self

Lily Evans- isn't Hermione 2.0, she does swear occasionally, is able to beat someone's ass, rightfully hates Snape and the other Slytherins or blood supremacists, strong, smart (Not as much as James and Sirius though

Regulus Black- not a twink, isn't a crybaby who constantly cries about Sirius (They probably threaten each other and use death threats until Pandora and James are like 'Oi, wtf'), tall, not as much as Sirius, but probably James' height and maybe taller

Walburga Black- doesn't use unforgivable curses on her kids, doesn't physically abuse them. I hope you guys know that emotion abuse exists. DOES spoil her kids, puts expectations on them, but does praise them about being the Black heir, she's the reason they're so bloody hot

The others aren't so bad (But they still have bad characterization)

The Slytherins are not softies. It was the 70's, LGBT wasn't s respected, though there could be a few gay kisses and other stuff. They don't have so many tattoos that it covers their whole body, there's nothing wrong with that, it's just that there's pure bloods and they're still in Hogwarts. Sirius is TALL. He has dark humor, is capable of doing stuff himself, did NOT regret the prank.

The Prank- Sirius openly said (And to Remus) that Snape got what was coming to him for the prank, I bet there wasn't a whole angst thing where they ignored Sirius. James would NEVER do that. Remus was a coward; he probably forgave Sirius very easily (Though he couldn't trust him), they probably laughed about it in the dorms.

Wolfstar- It's one of the biggest ships. I don't ship it or see the appeal. Though I'm not going to hate or tell anyone to stop, but there's so much evidence that Remus and Peter were toxic to each other (I'm going to say it all in a different post). Sirius and Remus can live without each other perfectly fine. It was James that Sirius couldn't live without. Though you guys can ship whatever you want (But please no pro-ships), but also. ATYD is NOT canon. The writing is brilliant, it must've taken a god long time, it's great. BUT. The characterization is completely off, the girls are barely there, even Snape is wrong (Still hate his guts though).

Also, I know SOME fans are going to come to my house with pitch forks. THOSE FANS, you can come and suck my nonexistent DIC- (I'm a woman). ALSO, I'm not homophobic for saying stuff about gay not being as active in the marauder's era, there were probably SOME, but I'm lesbian, so I can't be homophobic. And to THOSE fans, I know it's not real, but I don't have a life, and I like being a part of the marauder's era, but it's the characterization

Also, everyone says "Canon? What's canon", but the only reason the marauders era exists is because of canon. It's like me making Sirius a blonde, and I go "Canon? Never heard of her"

[hotpinkboots]

You should do a fic where reader is like a female version of Sweeney Todd or sm and mrs.lovett is like obsessed with them

:)

~~~~~

~𝓜𝓻𝓼. 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓽𝓽 x Fem!Sweeney!Reader~

(Headcanons + Mini-Oneshot(s))

SWEENEY TODD BUT LESBIANS? YES.

Note(s): Female Reader, it is mentioned that the Reader likes to sketch, "(L/N)" stands for "Last Name", I occasionally switched between using "Nellie" and "Mrs. Lovett" to keep it fresh, Reader overall has Sweeney's personality and backstory

Warning(s): Dark themes, Cannibalism mentioned, Blood mentioned, Mrs. Lovett is a yandere, Delusional mindset, Unhealthy + Codependent relationship, Manipulation, Mention of being hanged

How long it took to write: 4 hrs, 30 mins

~~~~~

𝓜𝓻𝓼. 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓽𝓽 set down a plate in front of you, next to your parchment of which your pencil had been scratching on for the last hour. On the plate sat a piping hot fresh meat pie. She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, watching you intently, waiting for you to take a bite. You glanced at the pie, remembering how horrific the last one she fed you was. Your eyes flicked up to her briefly, expression unreadable. You then returned to your drawing.

She sighed in exasperation, letting her right arm fall to her side. She nudged the plate forward with her index finger. "C'mon, y'haven't eaten a thing all day. Promise this one's good." Nellie's gaze lingered softly on you as she added, "...Put a lot of love int'it, Ms. (L/N)," she added gently to guilt trip you into taking a bite.

You decided to humor her, praying that this one wouldn't do anything too terribly awful to your gag reflexes. Her stare made you uncomfortable as you took a reluctant bite. Lucky for you, this one was decent- delicious, even. You paused your chewing, taking another hesitant look at her. Did she just feed you one of the victims? You had no desire to try human for yourself. Mrs. Lovett quickly shook her head no. "Chicken. It's chicken, I swear it," she promised.

You thought it over momentarily, muttering a "Thank you", then taking another bite. Mrs. Lovett smiled proudly, giving your shoulder a pat. "O'course, love." You had expected her to leave your personal space, but rather, she lingered. She continued to hover beside you like some sort of maid awaiting a command. One more glance from you gave her the hint to leave. She took a hesitant step backwards, murmuring an awkward, "Oh- right." Nellie walked away, throwing one more secret look at you from over her shoulder.

She began to wipe down the counter, cleaning off imaginary crumbs as an excuse to keep an eye on you. She occasionally looked to see your reaction to the pie, you seemed to be enjoying it. Nellie certainly knew the way to a man's heart was through his stomach-...well. She hoped it worked for ladies, too. Mrs. Lovett looked down, pretending to focus on cleaning up the kitchen. She hummed as she worked, all while contemplating her future with you.

The business was running smoothly, and she was worn out by the end of each day from running to the cellar, collecting and chopping the "meat", baking, taking orders, serving, etc. She certainly had her work cut out for her. It would all be worth it, she knew, for one day, she'd live a cozy life with you. Perhaps not like she was imagining, but you and she could get by. The money was certainly piling in with the customers that came every day. Soon, she could finally live comfortably. But she couldn't live comfortably without you. She wished you'd open up eventually.

~Mrs. Lovett is so in love with you that it's disgusting. If she were given the chance to inject your blood into her veins just to feel you closer, to know a part of you is pumping through her to keep her alive, she would. But this wouldn't be enough- she wants to be part of you, as well. If she gained the bravery to do so, she would cut her own hand open to allow her blood to drip into your next meal, watch you eat it, and be satisfied that a part of her was inside of you, connecting you to her by blood.

~Of course, this is all wishful thinking. Mrs. Lovett tries to be somewhat normal with you, while still making it very obvious that she's in love with you. In public, she casts glances at you from the corner of her eye and makes a point of standing close enough to you that people grow suspicious that you may be a couple. She always makes something for you to eat, taking an extra long time on it so it's perfect (note that she can, in fact, cook delicious meals, she was only unable to before because there wasn't money for high-quality ingredients). She checks on you so often that it becomes a chore for you to tell her "I'm fine" multiple times a day, etc.

~Nellie sees herself as being the only person who can tame you. She thinks she needs to gently coax you into opening up to her. She finds ways to manipulate you into thinking that the world is cruel and she's the only warmth you'll find in it. Nellie believes she's the best option for you, and you're the best option for her. You were born for each other, your hearts beat in sync every second of every day, she's sure of it. Mrs. Lovett sings about you, sometimes purposely around you to show off her voice, and so you know that you're the only person on her mind.

~She'll eventually grow very lonely and desperate for you if you deny her for a long period of time. Nellie gets rather touchy-feely with her affection, brushing her hand against yours, kissing your shoulder when she walks by, fixing your hair far more than needed, and giving you a few pet names.

~But, Mrs. Lovett isn't always so lovey and adoring. She's refreshingly cheeky and exasperated. She once pretended to be inconvenienced when she spotted a cut on your hand from your barber shears. She patched you up and scolded you to be more careful, while you sat and humored her, knowing full well you could do it yourself. Nellie is very happy to be taking care of you, even if it's just the smallest opportunity to do so, and even if she plays hard to get about it.

~Somehow, her clingy behavior, the way she looks at you so deeply, and how she's always insisting on planning for the future with you, begins to get into your head and heart. She's such a unique lady, you've really never met anybody like her. Nellie always looks so perfectly disheveled, you've started taking a liking to her messy hair and her cheeky remarks from across the room to fill the silence. She's a quick-witted lady, any suspicions from a customer would result in an easy cover-up explanation from Mrs. Lovett. She works quickly and efficiently in her shop, trotting about to get the work done. All of her strange little personality quirks became home to you. Nellie infuriated you in more ways than one, and really, you wouldn't have it any other way.

~By this point, you and Mrs. Lovett are completely codependent on each other. You couldn't imagine a life without her. This was all her idea, anyway, where would you be without her? Poor and alone, that's where, perhaps even back in prison. The same goes for Mrs. Lovett. She'd continue to be alone in her empty shop without you. She most likely would've gone mad (although, she's gone quite mad already) with her lonesome life.

~Nellie couldn't be more satisfied with the way everything turned out. The business was flourishing, the money was coming in, and she had the love of her life by her side.

𝓜𝓻𝓼. 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓽𝓽 had quite a tiring day. She was busier these days than she had ever been- she was grateful for the customers, but she was undeniably exhausted. Going up and down the steps of the cellar had done a number on her knees, she had been in such a hurry that she'd burned herself on the furnace a few times, and to top it all off, one of the customers had been infuriating. When she finally had time to sit down and enjoy a cup of tea, she'd fallen asleep.

You quietly went down the stairs to the first floor of the building, Nellie's pie shop. You spotted her lounging back on the chaise lounge, the dying fire crackling softly, her tea cold without even a sip of it gone. You reckoned she must've been exhausted, doing most of the work, while you simply stayed upstairs slitting throats and sending them down the chute. You had the easy part of the job, you realized, as you made your way with silent steps over to where she lay.

Nellie felt you coming toward her even in her sleep. She turned her head in your direction and muttered something incomprehensible at you. You didn't respond verbally, but you gained the courage to lean down and give an affectionate peck to the top of her head, your breath gently ruffling her unkempt hair. Mrs. Lovett immediately opened her eyes and looked up at you. She scoffed when she saw that you were walking away. "Y'can't just kiss me an'walk away. Come back, love," she called after you, her voice sounding raspy as she had just woken up.

Mrs. Lovett sat up to make room for you, while you hesitated before walking back to sit by her. She rested her chin on your shoulder, looking up at you with rich dark brown eyes. "Ms. (L/N)," She murmured tenderly, waiting expectantly for you to kiss her lips. "Don't be shy," Nellie added playfully, hoping that you would follow through.

All of her dreams suddenly came true when you cupped her cheek tenderly. She wanted to rush it and kiss you already, after all, she'd been waiting months for this, but she knew it would make the moment far less special if she gave you a hurried kiss. Nellie's eyes fluttered shut, as did yours. You felt her tender lips against yours moments later, your body melting into her like soft butter on warm toast. Neither of you had kissed anybody in years. This felt like a first kiss for both of you, full of adoration and pure unadulterated devotion.

Just as yours had, her body melted, as well, in relief. She was finally kissing you, after so long of daydreaming about it. Nellie softly ran her fingers down your jawline, her other hand busy tracing the back of your soft neck. You could feel her smile against your lips. Once the kiss was broken, she looked up at you sweetly. You caressed her cheek with your knuckles, causing her to lean into your hand as though she had never been touched so gently in her life.

You and Nellie had an unspoken agreement that night. You'd stay together forever, until death do you part- whether from natural causes, or from the noose you'd hang by should society ever find out the secret ingredient in Mrs. Lovett's meat pies.

~~~~~

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~Love, PinkBoots

[olderthannetfic]

I think my big pet peeve about the Bechdel Test is how it's always a gotcha whenever you say you like a woman in a film. Oh, you liked her? You liked her storyline and character arc and how she lived her life? Well, you're a bad feminist. A good feminist would only like a character who passed the Bechdel Test. You're bad at media consumption and gender equality and you're full of internalized misogyny. No, you're not allowed to like Esmeralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, no it doesn't matter that you were a kid when you saw it, it's bad of you to think back on it fondly or like this badass woman who spat in her executioner's face and stood up against injustice in front of an angry mob. You're problematic.

I saw so, so much of this back when I interacted with fandom tumblr. It was absolutely exhausting having everything I liked be deemed anti-feminist all the damn time. I once summed it up to a friend as, "In order for a female character to be good, she has to talk to women. Nothing else she does matters." And that's where a lot of people I know are at with it, applied unironically and with sincerity: did she talk to other women about something other than men? Good. Did she talk to other women about men, for any reason, in any context? Bad.

My least favorite take on this is that a story about the last person alive, a woman, is not sufficiently feminist because, due to a lack of other characters, she doesn't talk to other women.

I'm so tired. If the entire fucking story is centered around a woman, and she is literally the only living character, maybe it's not anti-woman as a piece of media. Maybe the Bechdel Test is not the arbiter of Disgusting Filth or Pure And Good Media.

I hope the people who came up with it don't know how much the internet has twisted it. That'd suck.

--

LOL.

Not only does the cartoonist obviously know, but she has commented that it's embarrassing because it's not original to her.

It's her friend's RL test for seeing movies, and she's even credited in the original strip. AND YET...

Honestly, people who misuse the test this way are devaluing the legacy of a key piece of lesbian media, and they should feel bad about it.

Feel free to tell them so in those words since they're likely the kind who'd have a childish meltdown over that, and it would amuse me.