#marcela said

[scenesandscreens]

Gangs of London, Season Two (2022)

Directed by Corin Hardy, Marcela Said & Nima Nourizadeh, Cinematography by Martijn van Broekhuizen, Laurent Barès, Björn Charpentier & Petrus Sjövik

[skeletonfumes]

Gangs of London

[idliketobeatree]

btw when you're being mean to aziraphale this is who you're being mean to. hope this helps

[ladysophiebeckett]

that's three questions, so marcela can't do math either. if i were betty i would have said 'idk not my sister, not my problem'.

daniel's face is face is funny bc he looks annoyed. like, he doesn't even care about the company, he's mostly upset bc he wanted to sell his shares and get out.

margarita's face is saying 'oh no, what am i gonna live off of???'

it's an incredibly stupid question that marcela just asks to be annoying bc she hates that betty's getting treated like an equal. betty was making sure the families were getting their checks long before they knew the company was in debt. marcela implying that the families are going to somehow be affected financially bc betty is getting a raise\living wage is both cruel and stupid. the only ones falling for it are roberto and margarita by the looks on their faces.

[buddyhollyscurls]

WHY DID ARMANDO WAIT SO LONG TO GO BACK TO BETTY'S OFFICE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[aragaki]

Hero Queen Lionheart

Weapons Master Cleaver / Master Flintlock Pistol

Alignment Good

As a Hero, she does good deeds for selfish reasons. The cruelty she faced as a child has made her both temperamental and praise-seeking. By doing good deeds the people of Albion love her but she doesn't feel any genuine attachment to them. At the Spire, her wish was for her family to be revived and was heartbroken that Rose didn't come back to her side when the other heroes left her.

Lionheart's legacy is that of a good and just queen, with her more brutal actions buried under the legend she left behind. She united under her reign by purchasing nearly all the land - with sponsorship from Reaver in exchange for a place in her court and the territories that didn't yield willingly were conquered. Her goal was to have a united Albion so that her children would never have to starve like she did. Being orphaned and left behind by everyone has left a hole that she tries to fill with things but no matter what she owns nothing feels like it belongs to her.

Before formally establishing the monarchy she married a Bowerstone noble, Albrecht, to help give her claim legitimacy. It was a business agreement between her and her husband and in exchange for becoming her King Consort, he would act as her ambassador and mouthpiece. Even into adulthood, Lionheart rarely speaks unless she's in casual company that doesn't know her or around those she trusts completely. Her voice is unrefined and she speaks less like a queen and more like a mercenary, so her husband must have more tact in polite company.

Albrecht, however, is not the father of her children. In another business deal, Lionheart conceived Logan and her daughter Marcela with Reaver to strengthen her Heroic bloodline and the chances her children would have abilities. Logan is Lionheart's favorite child. It wasn't something she intended but Logan was the first thing in her life that was well and truly hers, that could never be taken from her or leave her. By her second child, she finally felt more secure in her place in the world and was able to have a less desperate attachment.

Lionheart is a creature of revenge, having spent more than half her life wanting to avenge the death of Rose by Lucien it's almost all she knows. And even into her reign that hasn't changed. The cold realization that Theresa had used her, facilitated the death of her sister, and had her enslaved for a decade all to get her hands on the Spire has lit a dark fire in her chest. The latter parts of her life that weren't spent with her children were given to trying to find a way to hunt down and kill Theresa. It was on this path that the Lionhearted Queen was finally killed, having gotten too close to finally finding a way to put the seer down. Her body appeared on the steps of Bowerstone Castle, cold and dead with no signs of what was done to her.

The only one in Albion who knows would only give the future King a mysterious smile.

Perhaps it was for the best that Lionheart died when she did because if she'd lived to see the revolution led by her daughter, it might have been anarchy. In her eyes, Logan could never do anything wrong and would have supported all of his choices even if she was unaware of the Crawler and the darkness. Her legacy as the Hero Queen would shattered in the eyes of Albion's people if they realized that she never truly cared about them, her family would always be before the world.

If she had lived, it would be almost certain that she would have executed everyone who tried to rise against her son, even her precious friends. Walter, Swift, and Jasper would all come face to face with the fact that being a Hero doesn't mean one has to be good or heroic. Her second child would have never been able to sit on the throne unless Logan chose to abdicate, if she took it by force the hero queen would have forced her to give up her claim. Permanently.

And if Marcela chose to execute her brother? A five-star shock spell and a lifetime in the dungeon is a mercy compared to filicide.

I wrote this entire thing for that last section I was wondering how my Sparrow would respond to the revolution and the HoBW overthrowing Logan and the answer is. Not Good.

A lot of heads would roll, she would lightning the people who kicked her dog but using her as a standard to put down Logan? She would probably have cut Waler's tongue out at minimum. She just wouldn't allow the rebellion to happen and if it did it would still end with Logan on the throne after the Crawler was dealt with.

And of course her wanting to kill Theresa even more for manipulating her children and pitting them against each other. Lionheart is a good queen and can do good things but she not a good person y'know?

[supernova-151]

slowly adds parodi to the list of like the three characters that have common sense in this show

[melody1971]

i got a 9/10 on my cinema analysis semifinal everyone clap please

[larmegliamori]

Oh Lola Martínez from Hasta siempre mujercitas... We're really into it now...

[outfitqueer]

My Trans summer outfit in London

I’m advocating for the trans community—please show your support by reblogging my content, liking my posts, and following me. Every bit helps in spreading the word and making a difference💗

@outfitqueer

Who said trans don’t read? We’re flipping pages and changing narratives

This is a list of books I love to read. It’s the best present you can give to your trans loved ones 🏳️‍⚧️💗

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[autisticlancemcclain]

One Saturday morning, as Keith and Lance descend the stairs on their way to the kitchen — as Keith practically carries a still half-asleep Lance, that is — Marcela whips towards them, points a scolding finger in their direction, and says, “I am tired of checking in on you two at night and seeing my son, sprawling over half the bed, while poor Keith clings to the edge. No more.”

Keith’s heart drops to his toes, pounding all the way down. His ears billow out and then fade slowly, like someone turned the volume down. He feels like a beyblade someone just spun and dropped onto the pavement, dizzy and sharp and sparking, trembling to a stop. For several horrifying moments he’s convinced that this may very well be it, and he’s shocked by his own surprise. He’s usually so prepared for the eventual end of someone’s affection, for the patience to run out, for the boot to kick him on the way out the door. It’s startling to realise how far he’s let his defences drop with the Esposita-McClains.

Dangerous.

But then Keith processes the entirety of her sentence, hears past “I’m tired of” and “Keith” in the same sentence. He sees her narrowed eyes and chiding finger and playful exasperation pointed at Lance’s guilty grin, not at Keith, and he realises she is exasperated by the fact that Lance takes up the whole bed every night Keith sleeps over, not that Keith sleeps over at all.

He unclenches his fist from the hem of Lance’s shirt. He’s not sure if Lance does it on purpose, but he leans farther into Keith, and the pressure helps ground him, helps him breathe again.

“I really don’t mind,” Keith mumbles. He keeps his eyes averted, unwilling to meet her knowing ones. “Lance isn’t that bad.”

Marcela snorts, ruffling his hair as she walks by to set the milk on the table. “Please, Keith. He’s a nightmare to sleep with and he knows it. He had to have those little toddler rails on the sides of his bed until he was seven years old because he kept falling off.”

Lance makes a noise of protest at the embarrassing anecdote. Keith smiles, patting his back slightly.

“He does drool.”

“And kick,” says Lance’s older sister Veronica, ducking into the kitchen to grab an apple. Rachel, his other sister, is right behind her, and she pipes up too.

“He also grinds his teeth!”

“And mutters freaky things. He said he was going to curse me once.”

“Oh, yeah, and there was the deal with the sleeping sitting up!”

“And there was —”

“Alright, girls,” Marcela interrupts, leaning over to hold down the hand Lance has clenched around a fork before he has a chance to launch breakfast at his sisters. She looks to have intervened in the nick of time, which makes Keith smile into his cereal. “Let’s not make your brother homicidal.”

Both girls leave the kitchen snickering. Lance’s face promises revenge. For their sake, Keith hopes they find a way to lock their room door, but somehow he doubts it. A part of him is intrigued about whatever scheme Lance will inevitably rope him into.

“I really am fine, though,” Keith repeats once calm has returned to the morning again. “I once had to sleep in a home that usually had more kids than beds, so Lance’s kicking is a significant improvement from a sleeping bag on the kitchen floor.”

He hadn’t meant for his comment to be upsetting. It wasn’t great, sure, but he’d had a roof over his head and food to eat, and he’d only been there for a couple days. The whole situation was funny in hindsight, hilarity inherent in the absurdity of his neon green sleeping bag next to the magnet-covered fridge, and that’s how he’d meant the comment. A joke.

But Marcela looks horrified, and Lance leans over to rest his head on Keith’s shoulder and wrap their hands together, and Keith realises he’s most definitely made a mistake.

“Kidding,” he tries anyway, but the damage is done. The determination in Marcela’s eyes becomes even more apparent, and she nods twice as if reassuring herself. Keith could kick himself.

“Be ready in twenty minutes,” she says resolutely. “We’re going out.”

———

In twenty minutes they’re in the car. Lance almost has his voice back by then, too, which is great, because Keith feels like he’s going to lose his — he’s expecting a fancy air mattress, really. At most he’s expecting to be delegated to his own space in the pull out couch or something. And even that is more than he ever thought he’d get. It’s not that he doesn’t think he deserves it, or anything like that. He knows that some of his living situations have been less than ideal, in the past few years.

But he…he’s not part of this family. He’s not supposed to be, anyway. He’s someone Lance dragged home someday, someone Lance latched onto and then everyone else seemed to follow his example. Keith knows his current foster family gets a cheque for an amount he’s too afraid to find out every month. He knows the state government pays people to home and house and feed him because no one else will. That’s how it’s been since that’s what it had to be.

He cannot understand what logic has inspired Marcela and Lance and all the Esposita-McClains, really, to home and house and feed him. He doesn’t understand.

He’s not expecting a forty minute drive to Ikea. He doesn’t understand why so much is being extended for him. He’s not expecting the determination in Marcela’s face and the way she holds Keith in one hand and Lance in the other, tightly, as if both are her children, until Lance whines and pulls himself free to come hold Keith’s other hand, as if he’s the commodity.

Keith doesn’t understand.

This is not how things are supposed to go.

This is never how things end up going. Not ever in a million years or even less.

“We should get a bunk bed!” Lance says excitedly, pulling Keith out of his thoughts and in a random direction. Marcela squeezes Keith’s hand once and lets go to allow it, stepping to the side to grab on of the boxy blue shopping carts.

Lance brightens even further when she brings over the cart, hopping onto the end of it and gesturing for Keith to do the same. Keith looks at the cart, then at Lance, then at the wheels, then at the total lack of space beside him, and imagines Marcela hitting the tiniest bump as they cram onto the little ledge and then them going flying.

He wisely chooses to walk over and grab the handlebar next to Marcela. She extends her pinky to rest next to Keith, which makes several emotions that he refuses to identify rise up in his throat.

“Let’s maybe consider our other options,” Marcela suggests as she pushes the cart farther. “You remember when we stayed over at your primo’s house when we first moved? You hit the ceiling every single morning because you could never remember that it was there. I don’t think bunk beds are for you, mijo.”

“And the toddler rail thing,” Keith adds. He’d meant it seriously — Lance has genuinely fallen a few times and Keith has had to drag him back up — but Lance huff-laughs in the way that he does when Keith teases him and he’s annoyed that he finds it funny, and Marcela straight up laughs. Keith meets Lance’s eyes and smiles to soften the unintentional dig.

“Fine,” Lance laments, dramatically leaning backwards on the rail. “We’ll just get boring normal beds I guess. Ooooou, we should get some bookshelves! Then Keith has somewhere to put all his nerd things.”

Marcela turns the shopping cart so quickly it screeches and nearly flings Lance right off, speeding towards the shelving area. Keith hurries to keep up.

“Excellent idea, Lancito. Bribing him to stay for longer. You’re so smart.”

Lance preens. Keith looks rapidly between them both, trying to find the joke, but there isn’t one. They, genuinely and truly, want to redesign Lance’s entire room to entice Keith to stay. However much it will cost, and Keith knows it will be a lot, they are doing more than what is reasonable to ensure they (not just Lance! All of them! The household!) can spend more time with Keith.

It’s baffling.

Try as he might, Keith simply cannot find a motive. He watches, gobsmacked, as Lance and Marcela hem and haw their way through the biggest furniture outlet chain in the world, comparing sturdy wooden shelving and colourful bean bag chairs and dorky spaceship themed beds, redesigning a whole room from scratch.

He startles out of his thoughts at Marcela’s beckoning, walking over to the display table she and Lance are illegally sitting at (there is a giant FOR VISUAL DISPLAY ONLY sign on it that they have ignored), half hunched over her cell and a pad of paper. “Keith, rojo, come here. We need you to sketch out the basics of Lance’s room so we know what fits. Marco is measuring the walls and everything right now. Don’t worry about anything that’s already in there, I think we’re taking it all out to paint it anyway. You like blue, right?”

Keith swallows roughly. He does like blue. He’s never painted his own room before.

“Yeah,” he manages, finally squishing down next to Lance on his chair.

Following Marco’s directions, he sketches out the foundations of the bedroom, marking the big window and weirdly narrow door and closet that Lance never uses because he has it piled full of stuff he doesn’t use but can’t bring himself to give away. The sketch is then used as a sort of map as they wander around the outlet, holding it up to various pieces of furniture and assessing how they would fit. It takes Keith some time, but after several hours of Lance’s energy and Marcela’s excitement, Keith starts to get hyped.

“Gasp!“ Lance says out loud, because he is a dork. He reaches a flapping hand over to Keith’s without looking, slapping him on the shoulder several times before finally managing to grip onto his sleeve. “Keith! Keith! Look!”

Keith squints in the direction Lance is emoting at. “A couch,” he says slowly, trying to figure out what warrants the intense excitement.

Honestly, it might be the couch. Lance got super excited about bar stools, earlier, so anything really goes.

“No no, farther!”

Keith squints harder. “The countertops?”

“Farther!”

“The…vases?”

“No! Farther!” Finally Lance gets frustrated enough to step behind Keith, gently pressing his palms to Keith’s cheeks and guiding his head in the right direction. “Now squint really hard and get excited with me.”

Keith tries. He sees grey blobs and says nothing, allowing the silence to speak for him.

“The stuffies, Keith! They’re sharks and hippos! Mama, Keith needs glasses.”

“I know,” she says at the same time that Keith says “No, I don’t.”

They stare at each other for several moments.

“As soon as you’re on the insurance,” she says levelly.

“I will feed them to a creek,” Keith promises.

He has never been this stubborn to Marcela before. He didn’t even mean to. If he had known he was going to say it he would have kept his mouth shut, but the words kind of bubbled out of him. He waits for her eyes to harden, her shoulders to square, for the annoyance to become evident at his insolence.

But she only snorts, leaning over to flick him on the forehead. “I got Marco to wear them. I got Lisa to wear them. I got my mule of a husband to wear them. If you need them, you will not out-stubborn me, toro.”

Keith shrugs. If she’s that hellbent on getting to know him, she’ll learn, he supposes.

By the time the time they break their intense eye contact, they realize that Lance has already wandered off towards the stuffed animals, and hasten to follow him (he gets lost easy). Lance is already halfway into this big bucket, digging for something specific.

“This is for you,” he says when he finally unearths himself, handing a hippo to Keith. “Smaller than the others, like you, and the fluff is a little matted but it’s softer than the others. The shark is for me because it was stuck on the hippo like I’m stuck on you.” He playfully checks Keith’s hip, giggling at his own joke, but Keith’s eyes are totally glued onto the wonky little hippo plushie in his hands. He holds it loosely, afraid of crushing it, and stares intensely at the matted fluff on the one side, the tangled mess of the little poof at the tail. He tries three times to swallow and fails each time, lump in his throat taking up too much space.

“We’re too old for stuffies,” he finally manages. He gives himself away by how tightly he holds the soft things in his hands.

Lance snorts. “Yeah, well, you’re a massive dweeb, so I think we’re fine.”

“I think they’ll be wonderful additions to your room,” Marcela says with finality, and that is that.

———

By the time they make it out of the maze that is Ikea, pack up the car, and set out on the ride home, it’s well after eight thirty. And Keith isn’t a baby, and neither is Lance, and they have a later bed time than that, but…

They’ve been walking around all day. There has been a lot of expended energy.

They’re tired.

Keith remembers being finagled into playing double-o seven with Lance in the back seat. He remembers losing. He remembers poking Lance in the cheek as he yawned just to hear him squawk.

He remembers nothing but the feeling of Lance’s warmth pressed against his, after that, and the seatbelt digging into his neck, and the numbness of his legs. Then he remembers nothing until he felt the familiar bump of the Esposita-McClain driveway, until he cracked open his eyes to see that they were home and closed them quickly again, hoping he wouldn’t be made to get up, still mostly asleep.

“Should we bother setting up the new beds?” comes a whispered voice, deeper and male.

“No, no,” comes another, higher and softer. “They can sleep together for tonight. You take Lancito. I’ll take Keith.”

He is awake enough to feel soft fingers brushing through his hair, then jostling, then heavy breathing beside his ear and the swaying of being carried. He falls fully asleep again against Marcela’s shoulder, leaning his weight onto her fully, forgetting to keep awake for the walk to their room. He stirs slightly again as he’s set down onto something soft, as he feels the familiar tug of Lance’s finger’s against the fabric of his shirt, the sound of his slow breathing.

“Goodnight, estrellitos,” comes the same whispered voice from earlier, and it’s the last thing Keith remembers before he slips away into sleep.

———

other parts in this universe: 1 2 3

[el-moscorrofio-y-el-mercachifle]

Armando is a really conflicting character because of how much of a coward he is. He can't give a straight step ahead, it's always half things. He had a thing for Betty before the Plan, but when he was confronted with actually having something with her, he freaked out and feigned a disgust that was never there before. He always took Betty out to fancy places for work, it wasn't uncommon to be seen in public with her, but as soon as it was with actual intent, he freaked out and acted embarrassed even though they could have very easily just said it was purely for business. He said he was going to be public with her as soon as the meeting was over, but when Marcela catches them hugging, he immeditely denies it even though at this point he has nothing else to lose. He could only ever be honest in solitude or in front of Betty. He always lacked the courage to face society and himself.

[writeforfandoms]

Roardin

Find my CoD Masterlist

Title is the song “Roardin” by Marcela Bovio. Highly recommend listening to it before/during/after reading. 

This idea started as musing on this headcanon from the amazing mind of @soapskneebrace​ and she gave me permission to run with it. And then, uh. This happened. I... have no idea how. This one got away from me. There was an entire subplot that I cut. Gaz wasn’t even supposed to be here BUT HE IS. Look idk I’m just gonna yeet this and run. 

Soap x plus size f!reader

You’ve loved Johnny for a long time, but you’re convinced the feeling is not reciprocated. So you keep it to yourself and, well, at least he’s still your friend. 

Warnings: Swearing, some very unhealthy mental state on reader’s part, they’re both idiots, idiots to lovers. 

Word count: 7.5k

The first time you met Johnny was at a party. Your friend Emily had promised you it would be a lowkey thing. 

So of course there were twenty people. 

You ended up sitting on a chair, watching Emily flirt with one of the others. You were trying not to be bitter, but it was hard when you felt so alone. You didn’t know anyone but Emily, and you weren’t great in big social situations like this. So you sat and watched people, holding a cup of beer that was slowly growing warm in the balmy night. 

Someone dropped down into the chair next to you, and you blinked at him. He was handsome, dark hair kept short, blue eyes bright. 

“Doin’ alright?” he asked, smile kind, gaze focused on you. 

You were so startled you blinked at him, owlish. And then you nodded. “Yeah, just, uh.” You shrugged, ducking your head a little. “More people than I anticipated.” 

He nodded, leaning back in his seat. “Aye,” he murmured. “Me too.” 

"Who are you here with?" You glanced at him, cautiously optimistic. So far he was nice. 

"Eric, the blonde over there." He nodded in the correct direction. "You?"

"Emily." You looked around for her. 

And, as if summoned by her name, she appeared at your shoulder. "I don't think we've met," she said, flirty smile in place, holding out a hand to your conversation partner. 

"John." He shook her hand and then looked at you. But you were too slow to respond, too startled - Emily had already moved in, smile bright as she started talking to him. 

And you leaned back in your chair, feeling frumpy and boring in comparison. You weren't good at this sort of thing. You weren't the most personable person, you couldn't stop and talk with anyone. You didn't have the same kind of social battery that Emily did. 

So you mentally wrote the night off as a loss and contented yourself with being on the outskirts of this conversation. Which was becoming more flirting by the moment. 

Yeah. You were definitely sidelined, especially when you noticed Emily shifting closer to him, tossing her hair back behind her shoulder, eyes bright and confident. 

Maybe you'd get lucky and she'd drop you off at home before she went home with him, or something. 

After half an hour of listening to them flirt, you'd had enough. You stood, touching the back of Emily's shoulder with two fingers to get her to pay attention. 

"I'm gonna get a ride home," you said, gaze flitting to John and then down to the floor. "It was nice to meet you." 

If he responded, you didn't hear it, already heading for the door. 

You wouldn't be missed. 

You would have liked to talk to John a bit more before Emily stole him away, but you knew you didn't hold a candle to her. In so many ways. 

You were used to playing second fiddle to her. 

You honestly never expected to see John again. Not unless Emily nabbed him as more than just a bed partner for the night, but you weren't sure that would happen. 

So when someone sat across from you at the coffee shop, you felt yourself stiffen and prepare to make an excuse to leave. 

Until your gaze met brilliant blue again. 

"Oh," you murmured, blinking at him. "Hi." 

"Hi." His smile was warm but still soft, and a little bashful. "Hope ye don't mind, spotted you as I got m' drink." 

"Not at all." You smiled, a little thrill zinging down your spine. He'd actually chosen to sit with you! "Just unexpected, that's all. How are you?" 

"Oh, dandy. Enjoying my time off while it lasts." He winked, leaving you little doubt as to how he was enjoying. "You?"

You shrugged. "Wishing I knew more languages to cuss out this paper," you said, light and cheerful. 

“School?” he asked, leaning a little closer. 

“Mmhm.” You sighed at your laptop. “It’s annoying.” 

He chuckled. “Anything I can help with?” 

“That depends,” you said slowly, blinking at him. “Know anything about Paradise Lost?” 

“Not really. Had to read a bit of it, but not much.” He looked sheepish now.

“Don’t worry about it.” You shut your laptop. “I’ll figure it out later. I’m an expert procrastinator at this point.”

He snorted and then grinned at you. “Oh, aye? Not one to get things done early?” 

“I try, and then things happen, and then I end up doing them last minute.” It was your turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hunching a little. 

He laughed, playing with his coffee. “Well, you get it all done.”

“I do.” You relaxed a little at the lack of judgment. “Are you studying?” 

He shook his head a little. “Military.”

“Ah.” You blinked. It made sense, looking at him. “What do you think of it so far?” 

He made a complicated expression. “I’m glad I joined,” he said, firm and sure. “There are… ups and downs. Like any job.” His lips twisted. 

“Understandable,” you agreed, leaning back in your seat. “You’re on leave, then? How much longer do you have?”

“A few more days.” He shrugged, watching you from under his lashes. 

“I hope you get to enjoy.” Your smile was small but genuine. Your phone buzzed on the table, and you looked down to check it, making a face. “Dammit. I’m sorry, I have to go, apparently my apartment is flooding?” 

He blinked at you but nodded. “Good luck,” he said, watching you shove your laptop into your backpack. 

You murmured your thanks to him and took off. Well. There went your mood. And also some good company. 

You didn’t let yourself really register the disappointment, though, pushing past it and shoving it down to think about never. 

Surely, that would be it. He only had a few days of leave left, he’d said so himself. There was no way you were going to see him again. 

You saw him again. 

Normally you didn’t really go out, preferring to stay in the quiet solace of your room. But your room was temporarily off limits while repairs happened from the flooding, and you were all off-kilter, so you decided to go out at the invitation of a classmate to a local pub. 

Dinner, you said. And one drink. Your classmate (a really nice girl named Claire) agreed eagerly. (Which surprised you - you were too much of a wet blanket for people to get excited about going anywhere with you.) 

The two of you sat at the pub and chatted. It was nice. It was easy. You had some musical tastes in common, which helped. 

You both settled your bills and then she waved at someone. “A couple friends of mine are here, do you want to come meet them?” she asked, happy and eager. 

You turned to look, and blinked when those same blue eyes met yours across the room. What were the odds? You recognized the blonde next to him - Eric. From the party.

What a small world.

“Sure,” you agreed shyly, ducking your head briefly. But you gamely followed Claire over to the table, introducing yourself and settling into your seat, shoulders hunched to try to take up less room. 

For a little while, you just sat and listened to the others, content to fade into the background. But slowly, John nudged you into adding your opinion. It was odd, but in a nice way. You didn’t mind. 

And when you finally checked your phone and realized the time, you made your excuses. You had to get up in the morning. 

“Do you want me to drive you back?” Claire asked, a little concerned.

“Nah, it’s not that far to campus.” You smiled. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, yeah?”

“Of course!” She beamed at you. 

To your surprise, though, John stood when you did. “I’ll walk you back,” he murmured. “And I’ve got a plane to catch in the morning.” 

“Right.” You grabbed your things and waved once more to the table before you headed out, John a few respectful steps behind you. The air was chilly as you stepped out of the pub, and you paused a moment to adjust. “I’m okay to walk back on my own if you’d rather just grab a ride,” you offered, looking at John. 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I offered,” he pointed out. “How’s the, uh, Milton thing coming?”

“Oh, I’m still procrastinating,” you admitted, ducking your head as you started walking. “My current plan is to bang it out on Saturday.”

He tipped his head back to laugh, beautiful and bright. “Aye, that’s a plan,” he agreed, fingers just touching your elbow as you crossed a street. 

You took a deep breath, nerves fluttering in your stomach. “You know… If you ever got bored… you could text me sometime.” The offer came out smaller than you intended, and you winced at yourself. No wonder nobody bothered with you. 

“Sure,” he agreed, so quickly you lifted your head to blink at him. He was already pulling out his phone. “What’s your number?” 

You rattled it off, and moments later your phone buzzed in your pocket with a new text. 

“Ah’m not always the best at texting,” he said, a hint of nerves entering his voice. “But, uh.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “Like I said, if you’re bored or want to chat or whatever. I get it.” 

His smile relaxed at that and he nodded. 

“Well, this is me.” You stopped outside the residential area, turning to look at him. “Thanks for walking me back.”

“My pleasure.” He shifted a little closer to you, eyes bright. 

For a moment, you two simply stood and looked at each other, the air thick between the two of you. Then a door slammed and loud laughter echoed from an open window. 

“Have a good flight, and stay safe, okay?” You smiled at him, one hand reaching out and then retracting. 

But he held out his arms and lifted one eyebrow in silent question. You smiled and stepped into him, hugging him. And oh, he was warm and he was a good hugger. 

You stepped back before things edged into longer than socially acceptable, and his hands slid from your back. 

“I’ll text you,” he promised. “Good luck with your paper.”

You nodded and let him go, waving briefly before you turned to head to your building. 

Honestly, you half-expected him to fall through. It was easy to not expect much of people, a well-developed defense mechanism. 

It was hard to be disappointed when you didn’t expect anything. 

So when he texted you the next day to say he was back on base, you were pleasantly surprised. 

And he didn’t stop texting, either. Sometimes he wouldn’t for days or weeks, but he always got back to you when he could, hours long conversations making up for the necessary silences. 

You didn’t see him in person though for months. When he finally had leave again, he was busy - going out with friends, hiking, playing football. 

You even managed to see him a few times. Out at a bar one night, Emily once again dragging you out. He talked you into going hiking with him and a few of his buddies. (That one you regretted a little, feeling self-conscious around them.) 

But you began to notice more about him.

John had a lot of friends, and he seemed to be pretty casual with most of them. Friendly bumps or hugs were normal for him. Despite how often he went out, he never arrived to events with a date, always on his own.

But he often left with someone on his arm. Often a girl - one time a guy. (Thinking very briefly about that had left you warm and flustered for the rest of the night.) Emily went home with him a second time, and she gushed to you about him the next day.

But there was no expectation of more. Just sex.

You had no idea how they did it, but, more power to them. As long as everybody was happy with that arrangement, you weren’t going to rain on their parade. 

Months turned into years, and you watched as some of his friends drifted away due to time and distance and whatever else. Most of your friends were transitory, in and out of your life. You watched as he changed his hair, growing out a single stripe for a mohawk. You watched as his confidence settled into something proven without being boastful. You watched as he hid demons and nightmares behind smiles, as his job took him around the globe. (Which you only knew because he’d text you sometimes about the views or the weather. Never anything identifying, but you hoarded those dregs of information anyway.)

You always sent him a birthday text, even if he didn’t respond to it for days. He often missed yours, which you brushed off. But he didn’t miss holidays, either showing up a few days beforehand (he always spent the actual day with his family) or sending you gifts. 

Your friendship had settled into something deeper, something that lasted. Something that withstood the time apart and the silences and the rigors of his job. 

You, however, stubbornly ignored that your feelings ran deeper. That you cared for him, too much. More than you should. More than he cared for you, certainly. But you held your silence and ignored the longing and did your best to simply be there and be the best friend you could be. 

Which, really, was easy in some ways. The two of you just got on, had from the very start. Arguments were rare between the two of you, and you were always able to pick right back up where you left off around his absences. 

It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable pattern, but it was a pattern, one you were content to hold. It was enough to be in his orbit, to circle around him. It was enough. 

So seeing a text from him made you smile, even in the slurry slushy rain-sleet of December. 

Gonna be home for three weeks. You got time?

You read the message twice. Three weeks was longer than normal, even with the holidays around the corner. Maybe he needed some extra time to recover from something? But you could find out, you didn’t need to push now. 

For you? Always.

Well. That had probably been too honest. But it had been months since you’d seen him, and he was often silent on top secret missions. So, yeah, too honest but undeniable. 

Should be back in two days. See you soon.

You hummed and put it out of your mind for now. 

But if you ended up cleaning your apartment… well. That was just in case, really. And it needed to be done. So there.

(Even in the privacy of your own mind, you weren’t fooling anybody.) 

Two days later, your phone started buzzing with an incoming call, and you picked up with a grin. 

“Not dead yet?” you teased gently in what had become nearly a routine for the two of you.

He chuckled, the sound soothing the ball of anxiety that sat in your chest every time he went silent. “Not yet,” he agreed. “How are ye, sweets?” 

“Oh, the usual.” You smiled a little. “You?”

“Mandatory leave,” he answered on a sigh. “Got some company, though. One o’ my mates is here for a week ‘fore going home to his family.” 

“Sounds like fun,” you agreed, glancing at your calendar. “Work is still the same for me - any time after 5:30 or so I’m open, or weekends.” 

“No plans?” Johnny asked as gently as he could. 

You huffed. “No. No plans.”

The words sat between you, heavy and thick, for three heartbeats. Then Johnny clicked his tongue. 

“Won’t do,” he said with cheer that felt a little forced to you. “I’ll fix ye right up!” 

You laughed softly. “Just whatever you have time for,” you assured him. “I’m fine.”

“Ye’re home alone with reruns on doin’ nothin’ exciting,” Johnny predicted, and damn it all, he knew you too well. 

“That’s neither here nor there.” Your gaze skittered down to the floor. 

“Then come out with Gaz and I. Tomorrow. We can meet at our pub.”

Your lips twitched entirely against your will. “What time?”

“After work.”

You huffed a little laugh. “Alright,” you agreed. “I’ll meet you there tomorrow.” 

“Excellent.” The grin was clear in his voice. “See ye soon, sweets.”

“See you soon,” you agreed, reluctant to hang up but knowing you had to go. Well. More like you had to let him go. But you made yourself hang up. 

Now you just had to get through work and you’d be able to see arguably your favorite person on the planet. And one of his friends. Who also worked with him. 

No big deal.

You still showed up at the pub after work, looking around for Johnny. 

All you saw was a bright grin and that mohawk before arms grabbed you in a tight hug, absolutely uncaring of the rest of the pub. You squeaked as Johnny picked you up for a quick twirl, something you protested feebly. You were not some teeny dainty thing, you didn’t want him hurting himself. 

“There’s my sweets!” he crowed, finally setting you down. “Come meet Gaz.” Keeping hold of your hand, he led you over to a table in the back, where a dark-skinned man was already sitting waiting. “Gaz, this is my sweets.” 

You rolled your eyes and gave Gaz your actual name, holding out your hand for him to shake. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“You too.” He smiled at you, easy and warm. “This idiot doesn’t shut up about you.” 

“Oh really?” You turned to Johnny with a teasing smile. 

Johnny shrugged, shameless. “Hard not to when ye send me packages,” he said, ushering you into a seat and finally releasing your hand. “I’ll grab this round, aye?” And he was gone before you could protest. 

You huffed a little laugh, shaking your head. “I hope he actually shares and doesn’t just dangle the packages in front of you,” you said, grinning. 

“Sometimes,” Gaz said with an easy shrug. “Sometimes he just hoards things.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sounds like him,” you agreed, fondness bleeding into your tone, even as you turned a little to look for him. He was easy to spot, leaning up against the bar, probably flirting with the admittedly very pretty bartender (who looked mostly amused). The sight didn’t even hurt (much) - you were just happy to see him. 

“How long have you known him?” Gaz sounded curious, and you snapped your gaze back to him.

“Oh, years now.” You smiled. “Met him when I was in college and got dragged out to a party.” 

He chuckled. “Haven’t gotten rid of him since?” he teased, though the way he looked at you was sharp, assessing. 

“Why in the world would I do that?” You shook your head, amused. “He’s a good friend. One of the best.” 

Gaz nodded slowly but didn’t have a chance to say more before Johnny was back, putting down drinks in front of you. 

“Here ye are,” he said with a grin and a dramatic wave of his hand. “Take yer pick, sweets.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Gaz grumbled good-naturedly, making you laugh even as you picked your drink. 

“Something like that,” you agreed, grinning. “So, what was your favorite thing this time?” You took a sip of your drink, watching Johnny go off about some cafe he’d found on assignment in some other country, and how much it had annoyed someone he called “LT” when he stopped there for every meal one day. 

From there, the rest of the night was easy. You didn’t drink much, aware you still had to work the next day, but you relaxed. Gaz was funny and nice and interesting, much like Johnny. You ended up giving him your number at the end of the night and promising to send him packages too, so Johnny wouldn’t be the only one having fun.

Johnny’s overly dramatic clasping of his heart sent you into peals of laughter again. 

And when you needed to go, both men stood to see you out, offering to walk you home, which you gently turned down. 

“You gonna come tomorrow?” Johnny asked hopefully. “Arranging a football match.” 

“If you want me there, I’ll be there,” you agreed. “Just text me where and when.”

“Copy that.” He smiled, warm and beautiful under the street lights, everything you wanted and couldn’t have. 

“See you tomorrow, Johnny.” But you couldn’t resist darting in for one more hug, just one. Just to get a whiff of him to take home with you. He barely had time to respond before you were pulling back, bright smile in place as you took off for home.

You couldn’t let yourself linger or you’d do something damn foolish. 

To your surprise, Gaz checked in to ask if you got home safe. He really was sweet. You reassured both him and Johnny that all was well before you went to bed. 

You had plenty of time to get to the football game after work, since most of the players also had to work. You’d brought an extra sweater, in case you stayed out later than you meant to and got cold, and found a place to sit and wait. 

“Sweets!” Johnny jogged up to you, beaming, Gaz not far behind. “Been waitin’ long?”

“Just a few minutes.” You smiled up at him. “Did you two keep out of mischief today?”

“Sweets, I am hurt! Destroyed! Me, mischief?” Johnny pressed a hand to his chest, staggering back two steps with an exaggerated look of hurt. 

“She knows you too well,” Gaz drawled, and ducked the swat aimed at his head. 

“I take that as a no,” you said, laughing, watching the two tussle. “Save some of that energy for the match, I need some excitement today.”

“Bad day?” Johnny paused, one arm still wrapped loosely around Gaz’s neck, focus shifting to you so fast you were surprised he didn’t hurt himself.

“Just long.” Your smile felt brittle, small, and you tried to force it to be better. To be a better shield. “It’s fine, I’ve been looking forward to watching all day.”

“You don’t play?” Gaz asked, and you could have hugged him for keeping Johnny from fussing.

“Oh, no. I’ll kick a ball around, but I can’t keep up with an actual game.” You shrugged easily, gaze falling to the grass. “I’m just here for moral support when Johnny loses.”

Johnny puffed up, successfully distracted. “That was once! One time!”

Other people started showing up, and Johnny was quick to introduce Gaz around. You stayed where you were, waving to some people you knew, content to be on the edges of things. 

And of course Emily was there, with a few other women, all standing in a group chatting on the edges of the unofficial field. You hunched into yourself, gaze skittering away from her. 

You shouldn’t have come. But it was too late now. 

You kept your gaze on Johnny instead. It wasn’t hard. He was so vibrant, laughing and cursing and jostling the others. It was never a hardship to watch him. 

The game broke up eventually, and you weren’t sure which team had won. Or even if there had been real teams. But they all seemed happy, trooping together to the side with the women to talk about dinner plans. 

You did not miss the way Emily curled a hand around Johnny’s arm, leaned in close to him, flashed a pretty smile at him. You swallowed and looked away when he nodded, barely having to dip his head to get closer to her. 

You didn’t need to watch. You already knew where this was going. 

Thanking all your lucky stars that you’re quiet and invisible when you want to be, you gathered up your things. It was time to go. 

“Leaving already?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Gaz’s question, hand flying to your chest. “I didn’t hear you come up,” you said, a weak defense for the way your heart thundered in your chest. 

“Sorry. Habit.” His lips twisted as he gave you a quick once-over. “Seriously, though, you out? They’re talking about getting food.”

“Some of them are.” You smiled up at him, holding your extra sweater tight to your stomach. “It’s okay, I’ve got food at home.” 

He looked over at the group, his brow furrowing a little. You didn’t need to, but you followed his gaze anyway to see Emily and Johnny stepping away from the group. 

Just as you knew would happen. 

Gaz’s jaw clenched and then he looked back at you with something far too close to pity in his eyes. “Come have dinner with me. My treat, yeah? We can have a nice quiet time of it, if you like.” 

You opened your mouth to refuse him… but nodded. He didn’t really know anyone else here, and Johnny had kind of abandoned him too. “Yeah. Okay. I know a nice place, if you like Italian?” 

“Sounds good to me.” He held out his arm in a gallant move, which at least got you to smile. 

The two of you were quiet as you walked, you steering, him simply keeping pace. 

“So,” he finally started, quiet, gentle, “how long have you been in love with that idiot, then?” 

You debated lying to him. He couldn’t know that for certain. He was taking a shot in the dark, testing his accuracy. But you knew as soon as you glanced at those brown eyes that there would be no lying. No getting out of this. So you deflated, eyes closing briefly, even as you pulled your shoulders in, sinking into yourself. “I’m not sure. A few years?” 

“You haven’t said anything?” He rested his free hand over yours, squeezing gently. Offering silent support. 

“No.” You shook your head, almost desperately. “No, and I’m not going to.”

He stopped, pulling you to a stop with him. “Why not?” He looked genuinely bewildered. 

You stared at him. “You’re joking, right?” You pulled your hand away, crossing your arms tight over your chest. “I mean, look at me. It’s obvious.” 

He continued to look confused, gaze darting over you. “Explain it to me.” 

You shook your head, taking a step back. “Maybe I should just go.”

“Whoa, hey, no.” He held up his hands, frowning a little. “I’m sorry, that was too much. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You breathed in slowly, letting the cold air burn down your throat and in your lungs, holding it for just long enough to begin to feel the sting before you let it out in a whoosh. But his pleading eyes got to you, and you sighed. “Alright, yeah. Okay.” 

“Thank you.” He stepped closer again and offered his arm again, looking hopeful. You tucked your hand in his arm again and finished leading him to the restaurant. But the silence between you now was tense, stifled. 

“This is it.” You nodded at the restaurant just up ahead, gaze immediately dropping to the ground again. 

The two of you got seated at a table in the back, because the owner knew you, and sat for a few moments, your shoulders winding tighter with each passing heartbeat. 

“Hey.” Gaz ducked his head a little, trying to catch your gaze. “I’m sorry. I won’t push. Alright?” 

You nodded, chewing on your lip for a moment. “Okay.” 

“Tell me about your job?” He tipped his head a little. “Or a hobby.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair, since I know probably too much about your job.” Your lips twitched in almost humor but you drew in a deep breath to start talking. 

It didn’t take long for the space between you to ease again, and dinner was more relaxed. The two of you carefully danced around the subject of Johnny and your feelings, but Gaz had plenty of amusing work stories that he could share with you. (And some pictures. Your favorite was the one of their captain slumped in his chair at his desk fast asleep. You wanted to drape a blanket over him and leave him cookies. When you told Gaz as much, Gaz looked surprised and then undeniably fond.) 

Gaz paid, ignoring your arguments, and then offered to walk you home. 

“I hope he at least left you a key.” It was the first time you’d directly brought up Johnny since before you’d arrived at the restaurant. 

“Yeah, I’m set.” Gaz shook his head a little. “Don’t worry about me.”

You huffed. “You don’t know me well, so I’ll give you a pass on that this time,” you grumbled. “I am physically incapable of not worrying about my friends.” 

He ducked his head, smiling, and then shook his head. “You must worry a lot, then.”

“Fair bit, yeah.” You shrugged. “It’s okay.” 

“I know I said I’d leave this alone…” 

Your heart dropped. Well, you’d known that was too good to last. “What do you want to know?”

“How often has he done that?” 

“What, go home with someone?” You shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve kept track.” 

“How often does he do it when you’re out with him?” Gaz looked down at you, concerned. 

“Not all the time. And he knows Emily, they’ve, um, hooked up before.” You looked away, shrugging, fighting down your discomfort. 

Gaz blew out a breath, muttering something you couldn’t understand. “If you ever want to talk,” he offered slowly, carefully, “I’m here. Yeah?”

You stopped, then, frowning at him. “Why?” 

“Because you’re sweet, and you deserve to have someone support you.” Gaz shrugged. “Since that idiot is too blind to see what’s right in front of him, I’ll do what I can.” 

You held his gaze, frowning just a little, looking for any signs of teasing or deceit. But you found none. So you nodded slowly. “Okay. Thank you.” 

He just nodded, smiling a little, and walked you the rest of the way to your apartment building in silence. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” You took one last look at him and then went inside. 

Life would be so much less complicated if you could just… fall out of love with Johnny. You’d probably even be happier for it. 

But you couldn’t. It was out of your hands - your heart had decided and didn’t seem to be budging any time soon. 

With a low groan, you gave up and flopped face-first into bed. Maybe you’d manage to smother yourself. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with all of this. 

Johnny texted you over the next couple days, but didn’t invite you anywhere. You knew one day he dragged Gaz off on a full day hiking adventure - you advised Gaz to bring chemical heat packs, because Johnny always forgot. 

But this was a good thing. A little space to get your head on straight again, to shove that longing back in its box where it belonged. Where you could absolutely bury it. 

Saturday you didn’t get an invitation. You just got knocking on your door, too bright and early. You stumbled over to the door, bleary-eyed, and yanked the door open to yell at whatever fool dared disturb you this early.

Only to be met head-on with Johnny’s puppy dog pout.

You glowered for a solid four seconds before you sighed and left the door open, going to the kitchen instead. You needed caffeine. 

“I brought you some,” Johnny bribed, following you in. “Here.” He held out a to-go cup. You could tell from the smell it was just the way you liked.

“What do you want, Johnny?” You took your cup, curling around it, not quite awake enough to be embarrassed about your state of dress. 

“It’s Gaz’s last day here,” he said, looking hopeful. “Was hopin’ you’d spend it with us.”

“You have plans?” you asked on a sigh. You already knew you’d say yes.

“Nah, figured we’d figure it out as we went.” 

“Fine. Let me get dressed.” You took your cup with you into your room, shutting the door pointedly. 

This was going to be an absolute disaster, you could tell. But you were going to see it through anyway. Because you were a damned fool. 

Johnny was quick to grin when you rejoined him, pulling you along in his orbit as he led. His mood was contagious, and always had been. Before long, you were no longer grumpy, smiling along and letting the other two lead. 

The day really wasn't a total disaster. Actually you had a lot of fun. You went on an easy hike, tried a new place for lunch, explored an art museum, and had finally stopped back at your pub for dinner and a few drinks. 

Gaz excused himself for a minute and Johnny leaned into your space, comfortable and easy. 

"Y'know, he might fancy you," he murmured with a conspiratorial wink. "If ye wanted to…" He wiggled his eyebrows, playful and suggestive. 

But you just stared at him, blank at first, but with growing pain. "He doesn't fancy me."

Johnny snorted. "Think I know him a bit better’n you do, sweets." 

You shook your head, disbelieving. He could not possibly be this blind. "He doesn't fancy me, Johnny. I know. We had a conversation." 

"You–what? When?" He leaned forward, eyes bright, clearly expecting gossip. 

You scoffed a laugh, looking up at the ceiling. "After the football game, when you left with Emily." 

He looked away briefly, jaw clenching. "Oh." 

"Yes, oh." You shook your head, looking at your half-finished drink and knowing you weren't going to finish it. "He and I talked a lot that night. He's nice. He's a good friend. But we both know he and I won't go anywhere." 

"Oh? Ye ken, do ye?" He leaned in, a challenge in his eyes. "How do ye ken?" 

"Because I love you, you absolute dafty." 

The words escaped entirely without permission, and your eyes went wide. The world froze. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. You just stared at Johnny as his eyes went wide too, uncomprehending. 

You didn't wait for reality to set in. You fled. Someone may have called after you, but you could barely hear through the rushing in your ears, your heart pounding so loud against your ribs that it hurt. 

You didn't stop until you were back in your flat, shaky hands locking the door. Which was about when reality set in. You'd told him. You'd told him. And there was no way to laugh it off as a joke now, no way to take it back or stuff it back down. 

Somehow, you ended up in the shower, pressed against the wall, gasping breaths humid and heaving. 

You weren't sure you'd ever recover from this. 

But you forced yourself to move. Because what else was there to do, now? You couldn't go back. You couldn't take it back. 

You had to move. 

In this case, that meant finishing your shower. Cleaning up your clothes. Putting on your baggiest sweatshirt, the one that made you feel okay because it was simultaneously like being hugged and being hidden, and curling up on the couch. And turning your phone on silent so you could ignore it. 

That wouldn't work forever, and you knew it. But it would work for now. You just needed it to work for now. 

Sunday was a blur. You barely remembered what you did. You had no idea what you ate, if you even ate. When you did dare to check your phone, you had a dozen missed calls and even more texts. 

You ignored the ones from Johnny for now. Just the thought threatened to send you back into a panic spiral. 

But Gaz should be safe. 

Soap told me. That was definitely a way to do it. 

Let us know you're home safe, yeah?

I get it if you don't want to talk. You don't have to. 

Flying out today. Text me when you can. 

Let one of us know you're safe or he might break down your door. 

Please.

You breathed slowly, reading through them again. Nothing about how Johnny felt, how he'd reacted. 

You weren't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. 

I'm fine. I'm home. I hope you had a safe flight. Sorry I didn't see you off. 

You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it, and promptly hid again. 

One more day and Johnny would be going to visit his family for the holidays. 

You left a full half hour earlier than normal to go to work, anxious and keyed up and unable to sleep. 

But you couldn't break your habits, not entirely. You scrolled past all the texts Johnny had left you, too anxious to read most of them, and sent him a quick text. 

Have a safe trip, John. 

You put your phone away again before the temptation to read through his texts got the better of you at work. 

But you couldn't hold off once you got back home. 

Most of his texts were check ins, requests to call him or text him, let him know you were okay. A few were apologies. 

But one… 

Sweets please call me, please. We can talk this out. I'm a damn fool but I swear I'll make it up to you. 

And that? Well, that could really go either way, couldn't it?

You buried your face in your pillow and cried. Just a little. For lost things and broken things. For things you couldn't have. 

Two more days of work and then you had the rest of the year off. You could make it two more days without breaking down. 

Have you talked to Soap yet? Gaz asked via text the next day. 

Not yet. You were a little ashamed to admit it. But only a little. 

Call him. We had a long talk last night. It will be okay. 

You stuffed your phone away again before your hands could start shaking any worse, anxiety and insecurity surging. 

You dragged yourself home from work Wednesday and froze. 

Johnny was standing outside your flat, shoulders hunched, hair wild like he'd been pulling on it. He spotted you and froze, expression torn between hope and fear. 

"Johnny?" You approached slowly, keys in hand. "You're… here?" 

"Aye." He scratched the side of his head, shifting his weight. "Talked to my ma. And Gaz. Ma told me to, uh. Fix this." 

"Fix?" Your heart went cold at the thought, and you shook your head. "It's hardly your fault, Johnny, you don't have to–" 

"Please." He put one hand over yours, light as a feather. Just enough to make you realize your hands were shaking even as you tried to unlock the door. 

You'd always been terrible at telling him no. So you swallowed and nodded, pushing open the door for the both of you. 

"Can I get you anything?" You glanced at him as you put your things down, kicking off your shoes. 

He shook his head, watching as you buzzed around for a minute, putting things away and getting water for the both of you anyway. You couldn't bear the look in his eyes, the quiet grief there. 

So you tried to head it off. 

"Really, Johnny, you don't have to fix anything. I'm… I'll be okay." 

"Were you ever going to tell me?" He watched you now, gaze pinning you in place. 

"Not if I could help it." You gulped. "It was… you didn't reciprocate, and I didn't want to ruin our friendship. I didn't want this exact thing to happen." 

"What made you think I don't have feelings for you?" He spoke slowly and carefully. 

"John." You shook your head. "I've seen the kind of woman you go home with, and they don't… look like me." 

He winced. Actually winced. "That's not…" He trailed off, anguished eyes meeting yours, struggle clear on his face. 

"It's okay." You even managed to smile. "I know I'm not exactly the standard of beauty, and I'm not anyone's first choice. I understand." 

"But ye are!" He jumped to his feet, pacing in front of the couch. "Sweets, I never ask those people over ta mine, ye ken? They ask me." 

You blinked. That was… surprising, granted. But it didn't change much. "Okay?" 

He sighed, short and sharp, tugging at his mohawk again. "I did flirt with ye." 

"What?" You blinked at him, absolutely stupefied. 

"In the beginning. Tried flirting. Ye dinnae seem open to it, so ah stopped." 

"You… with me?" You were still stuck on that, brain whirring, trying to go back through your memories of your early friendship with him. 

"Aye, with ye." He looked sad for some reason you didn't understand. 

"When?!" You stared at him, flabbergasted. 

He huffed a little laugh. "Plenty." He stared at you, halted several steps away. "Ye didn't ken?"

"I had no idea." You slumped a little. 

He snorted, a little wet, and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "Any idiot would be lucky to have ye." 

"Any idiot…?" Hope curled around your heart, delicate but growing every moment. 

Johnny crossed the room, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands bracketing your thighs. "I would be lucky," he amended, looking up at you earnestly. 

"You don't mean that." Tears pricked in your eyes, and you blinked rapidly. 

"I do." Slowly, carefully, one hand migrated to your knee. "I really do." 

You gasped at the intensity of his gaze, trembling a little. "But I'm…" you trailed off, hands clenched tight in the hem of your shirt. 

"Beautiful." He sat up on his knees, leaning in closer. "Warm." His other hand landed on your other knee. "Kind." Both hands squeezed gently. "One o' the sweetest people I ken." 

"Johnny…" You stared at him, lips parted, hope and longing and disbelief all swirled up together in your chest. 

"Please, sweets." He shifted closer to you, hands rubbing restlessly but never progressing past the tops of your knees. "Lemme show ye, prove to ye I mean it." 

"Okay." 

You weren't sure who moved first, you or him. But it ended the same: kissing him, one palm against his jaw, the other in his hair, while he pressed as close to you as he could get. You slowly spread your knees and he moaned softly, immediately shuffling into the space presented, still on his knees. 

"So sorry, sweets." He kissed you again, one hand lifting to the back of your neck, holding you where he wanted you. "Ah'm an eejit." 

"We both are," you whispered, thumb stroking over his cheek tenderly. 

"Now, sweets, won't hear a word against ye." He pulled back, grinning when you tried to chase his lips. "Got it?"

"Fine, but please don't stop." You tightened your grip in his hair, trying to pull him back to you. 

Another several minutes were lost to kissing that slowly calmed from desperate to just lovely, slower and exploratory and open-mouthed and messy. 

"Come home wi' me," Johnny murmured in between placing sweet kisses along your jaw. 

"What?" You felt a little fried, like this was the best kind of dream, or like you had short-circuited and needed to reboot. 

"Promised Ma ah'd ask." 

"She's okay with this?" You felt bashful suddenly, dropping your gaze to your knees. 

Johnny laughed softly, nuzzling right at your pulse. "Threatened to kick me out, actually," he said, humor in his voice now. "If ah messed this up." 

You hid behind one hand, hot and flustered and trying to hide just how pleased you were. 

"Nah, none o' that,'' he clucked, pulling your hand away from your face. "Wanna see ye, sweets." 

And how could you say no to those eyes? "I mean…. If you're sure she's okay with it…" 

"More than okay," he reassured you, leaning up again to press his forehead to yours. 

"Then… okay." Your eyes suddenly widened. "I'll have to pack, and I don't have gifts for your family!"

"Ach, donnae fuss," he grumbled, though he was grinning. Beaming, really. "You are a gift." 

"That was awful." But you relaxed again, smiling. 

"Mm. Might'a been." His grin turned predatory, short nails scratching lightly against the back of your neck to make you gasp. "Now, how 'bout I show ye what we've both been missing…? Show ye exactly how beautiful ye are." 

Doubt flashed, a big blinking light in your brain. But there was nothing in his eyes but sincerity and desire, nothing harmful in the way he looked at you, not a hint of doubt in the way he kissed you. 

So you breathed in slowly, wrestling down your inner demons, ignoring their cries and screeches. And you nodded. 

"Yes, Johnny." 

[idliketobeatree]

the allusion to the cat king and esther having a thing sometime long ago, and after a messy break-up deciding to avoid each other at all costs is a bit mental. imagine getting stuck in the same small town as your bloodthirsty ex, but you're both supernatural beings, living for hundreds of years and are only really separated by a few neighbourhoods. i'd go crazy. what if you go to the market to buy milk and she's there in the corner picking up packet bird food. do you just pretend to walk into a different aisle

[hard--headed--woman]

Hey! After talking about not just a lesbian but a lesbian couple yesterday in my post about Elisa y Marcela, I will do the same thing today ! This time, the two women are american. Their names are

Donna Burkett and Manonia Evans !

"I did not believe the government had any business telling me who I could marry."

This sentence aptly describes the convictions and state of mind of the two women in 1971.

This year, indeed, Donna Burkett and Manonia Evans applied to a Milwaukee County clerk for a marriage license, decades before their state legalized homosexual marriages. At the time, their story made the rounds of the national media and newspapers, attracting the hatred of some and the admiration of others. Such a bold move at a time when homophobia was so rife was bound to get people talking! They were the first same-sex couple to do such thing.

Aged 25 and 21 respectively, the two women had met in a gay bar. After being refused a license, they filed a federal lawsuit claiming that the denial of marital benefits, including inheritance rights and joint tax filings, did not afford them the equal protection granted by the Constitution. The complaint read, “The legal increments of marriage ought to be shared irrespective of generic differences, to wit: mutual fulfillment and happiness and the equal opportunity to share in the benefits of the law as those in heterosexual unions blessed by the civil marriage contract.”

Federal judge Myron Gordon dismissed the suit over "technical legal issues".

Meantime, Donna and Manonia still wanted to get married, so they invited 250 family and friends together on Christmas Day 1971 for a ceremony officiated by Joseph Feldhausen, a gay Russian Orthodox priest, in Milwaukee. Some members of their family, like Manonia's parents, were not present, not accepting this union, but the two women were OK with it, saying that it's part of life when you're gay.

Their wedding also made it to the news.

The results of their newfound fame were not positive ; the young couple’s friends shunned them, Donna lost her job, and Manonia got kicked out of school. Manonia’s father, a preacher, said he’d rather see his daughter dead than homosexual.

Unfortunately, the strain took its toll and eventually, Donna and Manonia split up. Both of them spent the rest of their life fighting for gay rights. Some years ago, Donna, who isn’t married even though she now has the right to, said that she doesn't care anymore, that she's happy with herself, but glad that young homosexuals can marry who they love. The two women haven't seen each other in many, many years.

It sounds like a very sad story indeed; their attempt to obtain the right to marry failed, their coming out caused them a lot of problems, and they ended up separating because of it all.

But this story and the determination of these two young women has encouraged many homosexuals to fight for the right to marry, and has definitely helped this cause achieve its goal.

Although their lawsuit was ultimately unsuccessful, the argument they used – equal protection under the Constitution – was cited by U.S. District Judge Barbara Crabb more than 40 years later, when she overturned Wisconsin’s ban on same-sex marriage in 2014.

I personally love this story and think we should all remember it, as it is important in global lesbian history, and is so interesting and inspiring!

[firestorm09890]

in Don Quixote there’s this girl named Marcela who started having men pining after her in her teenage years and her father was like “nuh uh, no one is marrying her until she’s an adult” (based) and then once she did become an adult her father said she could marry whomever she wanted (based) and she decided that she didn’t want to get married at all and instead wanted to become a shepherd (BASED) so she went and did that. and then there was this guy who tried to court her and she rejected him and he died of heartbreak (supposedly) and all his friends held a funeral and they shittalked her because how dare she and then SHE SHOWED UP THERE and gave them a lecture about how it’s not her fault people think she’s pretty, and it’s not her fault he took the rejection badly, and it was very well worded and it sort of flabbergasted the entire party and then she just walked back into the woods and then Don Quixote who was also there threatened everyone who tried to follow her with his sword