#she was MADE to do this like the stage presence is INSANE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

worldlxvlys · 10 months ago

Text

speed

chris sturniolo x singer! reader

warnings: smuttt, fingering, oral (male receiving), no actual p in v

a/n: this is for @annamcdonalds67 ‘s writing challenge !! hope you enjoy <33

la da da da

da da da

the crowd went crazy after hearing only the first few chords of the unreleased song that i’d been teasing for weeks.

considering the fact that they’d never heard the full song, i found it funny how many people genuinely loved the song.

if i told you how much i think about her

you’d think i was in love

i looked out to the sea of people in front of me, growing slightly nervous at the thought of every single one of their attention being on me.

i had definitely performed before, but never in front of a crowd of people this large.

and if you knew how much i looked at her pictures

you would think we’re best friends

my nerves eased a little when i actually looked at the crowd. my eyes bounced from person to person, seeing bright smiles, tears of happiness, and people singing along.

deciding to pretend as though i wasn’t singing in front of an insane amount of people, i let myself enjoy the song.

as the words flew past my mouth and into the microphone, i thought about how excited chris was when i first played the song for him.

right before i got to the chorus, i looked over to the VIP section, immediately catching his gaze.

CHRIS’S POV

when i caught her gaze, there seemed to be a glint of something in her eyes, but i couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

although her face held a sweet smile, i could tell she was about to do something that would have me struggling to contain myself.

i’m starin’ at her like i wanna get hurt

and i remember every detail you have ever told me

so be careful, baby

she began to jump around on stage, her energy and happiness becoming contagious as everyone around her seemed to bask in it.

any nerves that she may have had at the beginning of the song easily washed away as she sang.

i’m so obsessed with your ex

yeah, i’m so obsessed with your ex

her hair bounced on her shoulders as she moved her head to the beat. she looked majestic, the stage lights giving her body a soft glow.

she’s got those lips, she’s got those hips

the life of every fucking party

it was almost as those she was singing about herself, her hands running up and down her body, my eyes following them.

the confidence she had was evident in her stage presence, making her seem all the more attractive.

she laid on the ground on her side, running her hands down her body while she danced seductively on the floor.

there was something so enticing about it, she made such a simple action look so alluring.

she made her way through the song, the adrenaline seeming to course through her as she bounced around on the stage.

she showed the love and passion that she had for music through a wide smile, her eyes shut as she soaked every moment in.

the further she got into her set, the hornier i got. i tried to stop myself, but my mind was consumed with the things i could do to her in her dressing room. i just needed ten minutes.

her tight skirt inched up her legs slightly with every jump, causing the curve of her ass cheek to peak out.

her low-cut top gave the perfect view her cleavage, the pendant of her gold necklace hanging just above where her tits met.

at this point, i was so hard that i was genuinely in pain. luckily for me, all eyes were on y/n, i didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing my raging hard-on.

“hi everyone!” i heard her speak into the mic, making my head whip up to her direction.

“i hope you guys are enjoying the show so far!” she was met with a roar of applause in response, causing her to let out a light chuckle.

“we’re going to take a brief, ten minute intermission, so go to the bar and grab a drink or snack, and we’ll be back soon!” she spoke, giving a light wave before walking off of the stage.

looks like i got my ten minutes.

“going to the bathroom!” i yelled out to nick and matt, bringing a hand down to cover my crotch as i sped walked to the backstage area.

i flashed the security guard my backstage pass before rushing to y/n’s dressing room.

i knocked on the door loudly, waiting to hear her answer before opening the door.

“oh, chris!” she spoke as i closed and locked the door behind me.

she rushed over to me, a bright smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

“i’m so fucking proud of you, baby. you’re so good out there” i spoke into her neck, pressing slow kisses to her neck.

she tilted her head to the side, letting out a small sigh as her fingers slid up to my hair to pull on the brown strands.

“such a good girl for me” i sighed into her neck, “you deserve all of the love” i spoke against her skin.

i moved my head to her chest, leaving kisses to the exposed skin.

her hand quickly found my crotch, beginning to palm me through my pants. “want some help with that?” she asked me.

“i- yes, please” i spoke, my breathing picking up as she sunk onto her knees in front of me.

she pulled my pants and boxers down with one tug, wrapping her hands around my thighs as she licked up the small bit of pre-cum that leaked out of my tip.

she swirled her tongue around it before taking me into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks.

“fuck” i moaned, my hand finding its way to the back of her head.

i attempted to control myself, refraining from moving my hips.

she momentarily pulled her mouth off of me to say, “c’mon baby, fuck my mouth” before moving to take me fully into her mouth again.

i did as she said, beginning to buck my hips into her mouth, holding her head steady.

she glanced up at me through her lashes, eyes filling with unshed tears as i pushed myself in and out of her warm mouth.

i stared down at her tits, watching as they bounced harshly from the force of my hips against her body.

when she caught my gaze, she pulled the straps to her top down to expose her boobs to me.

“oh my god, yes. feels so good” i groaned out when her nose hit my pubic bone, her head shaking side to side.

there was a sudden knock on the door behind me, catching me by surprise as she continued to suck me off.

“5 minutes until you’re on!” a voice said, leaving as quickly as it came.

i watched as her hand disappeared under her skirt, causing her to begin to moan around me.

i could hear the wet sounds of her fingers inside of her pussy, my head flying back at the thoughts running through my head.

i twitched inside of her mouth, causing her to pull away from me. her mouth remained connected to me by a long string of spit while she began to twist her hand around my length.

“ come on chris, you gonna cum for me? all over my tits?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at me.

i was only able to nod my head as my eyes rolled back, thick ropes of my cum flying onto her chest.

she stood up onto her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she grinned at me.

without another word, i turned us around so that her back was facing the door.

i hooked a hand under one of her knees, lifting it up with one hand, the other finding its way under her dress.

“let me return the favor” i spoke as i moved her panties to the side and pushed two fingers into her entrance.

“fuck, chris” she squeaked as her mouth hung open, her head falling back into the door.

her tight walls squeezed around my fingers, clamping down onto them.

there was a pounding on the door behind her, making her let out a yelp in surprise.

i covered her mouth with my hand, while she moaned into it, gripping my forearm harshly.

“2 minutes !” the voice yelled through the door.

she pushed her hips down to meet my movements, desperately chasing her orgasm.

i circled my thumb around her clit, enjoying the way she shuddered under my touch.

her head fell forward onto my shoulder, while her fingers threaded through my hair. she tugged on it harshly, eliciting a deep groan from me.

“you close baby?” i asked as she began to clench around my fingers again.

“yes, please let me cum. i’m so close, chris” she moaned out as her face scrunched up in pleasure.

“let go, princess. make a mess on my fingers”

she looked so pretty like this, her messy makeup running down her blissed-out face.

her legs began to shake, hips jerking up involuntarily and her back arching off of the door.

she let out one last cry of my name before letting go, coating my fingers in her pleasure.

“here, let’s get you cleaned up” i spoke, wiping away the smudged makeup on her cheeks.

i helped her fix herself up, before doing the same for myself.

once we deemed ourselves presentable, i opened the door. i was met with a member of the stage crew, who seemed to be preparing to knock on the door.

he gave us a knowing look before speaking, “you two couldn’t have waited until after the show?”

the two of us glanced at each other, giving the man blank stares.

“you” he pointed to y/n, “need to go get your makeup touched up” he spoke, waving over her makeup artist.

“and you” he pointed to me, “need to go back to your seat. stay away from her until after the show, got it?” he asked as he placed his hands on my shoulders, turning me towards the direction i originally came from.

when i tuned back to look at y/n she was already getting whisked away by her makeup artist.

i made my way back to my seat, meeting my brothers’ gaze. “so, you enjoy your bathroom break?” nick asked, brows raised.

“yeah, it was fine” i spoke, keeping my eyes forward to avoid his gaze.

“really? cause you just came from the opposite direction of the bathroom” matt pointed out.

before i could say anything in response, the crowd broke into a round of loud applause.

i watched y/n walk on stage, lightly smirking at the way her legs lightly shook with each step.

“so subtlety just isn’t your thing, huh?” nick asked.

“never was going for subtlety, just speed”

collide (matt version)

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nicksmainbitch @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

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theemporium · 1 year ago

Note

What about Max maxplaining Trouble? Like not to Trouble, but about Trouble to someone. He’s just gushing about her or maybe he’s telling someone that no they can’t do “x” b/c that’s not the way Trouble prefers it done. And everyone is just so confused about why Max knows something so random about Trouble.

kinda made this into a wee sick fic but enjoy! and thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

“Max, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Sorry for taking your health seriously. Now, give Danny the phone.”

If someone told you that Max Verstappen was an overbearing mother hen before you met him, you would have laughed in their face. You had heard many things about him, and that certainly wasn’t one you would have believed. Even in the early stages of your friendship, you would have never really pegged him as the type. He was caring, yes.

But this? This was a whole new level.

You were sick. Nothing crazy or insane, just a simple flu that left you feeling a bit under the weather and longing for your bed. But apparently to Max, it was equivalent to you being on your deathbed.

Unfortunately for him, he had to fly out to England for a few meetings at the factory that required his presence. He tried arguing Christian over the phone about it, but ultimately lost that battle and was forced to take his private jet out.

You made the mistake in thinking that you would be able to get a few days of quiet rest to recover. Because only mother hen Max Verstappen would send someone to do exactly what he would do if he was able to stay by your side.

“Did you get her a blanket?”

Daniel tried to suppress his laughter and remain serious as he held your phone in his hand, watching Max on the screen scrutinising every little detail about your setup in your bed.

“Yes, I—”

“You got the wrong blanket,” Max stated bluntly.

You sighed. “Max, it’s fine—”

“Stop saying that, schatz, when it’s not,” Max retorted before his focus returned to the Aussie. “She likes the cream one in the hallway cupboard. Should be on the third shelf.”

Daniel nodded. “Right, got it.”

“Did you get her medicine?”

“Oh yeah,” Daniel said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I got her some cough syrup from the pharmacy down the—”

“Which flavour?”

“Cherry,” Daniel said.

Max scoffed. “Mate, she hates cherry. You need to get the orange flavoured one.”

“Max,” you groaned as you nuzzled yourself further into the endless amount of pillows your boyfriend had made Daniel surround you in. “Cherry is fine. I just have to take a spoonful once a day, or whatever it is.”

“Three times a day,” Max said, his brows furrowed together. “And you hate artificial cherry flavouring. You said it makes you want to throw up.”

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“I’ll get her the orange flavoured one,” Daniel said with a laugh, finding it adorable how caring Max was. “Anything else, helicopter boyfriend?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Max grumbled. “But yes. I have left menus on the kitchen counter, I’ll send you what she likes and what she wants to get but always refuses until it’s in front of her. Also, there should be a list of movies I sent you that are her comfort movies that you can—”

“This is creepy, Verstappen, it’s like you’re my stalker or something,” you muttered, even if your heart was swooning at the small details he remembered about you.

“Lil’ Maxie just loves his Trouble,” Daniel grinned wildly. “He doesn’t shut up about you. He could probably go on for hours if we let him.”

“More like days,” Max corrected before he continued to explain everything you would need to his friend, whilst you laid there with a fond smile on your face.

#max verstappen #formula one #f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen fic #max verstappen one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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supernovafics · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 (𝟏)

PART ONE | PART TWO

pairing: singledad!steve harrington x divorcedmom!fem!reader

word count: 9.4k words

summary: in which you hate him and he hates you— and that mutual disliking is perhaps the only thing you and him agree on. you make it your mission to avoid and ignore steve at all costs, and nothing more or less than withering stares and annoyed eye rolls are shared among you both whenever you have to see each other, which luckily isn’t that often. but when your son and his daughter end up in the same first-grade class and quickly become friends, it forces things to change between you two. it means that you and him also have to be friends, or, at the very least, tolerate each other’s presence. which is something that is much easier said than done

warnings: modern!au, enemies (to friends) to lovers, steve and reader are in their late 20s/early 30s, bestfriend!eddie, mentions of cheating/an affair (reader’s ex was an absolute asshole), explicit language, some angst

author’s note: i had the idea for this lil two part mini series (and have been working on it on and off) for like a thousand years at this point and i'm so glad and excited that it's finally free from the jail cell that is my google docs lol. i really really wanted to finish this and have it up before this year was over, so part two is coming new year's eve<3333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

For the first time in the past two weeks, you were early. Granted it was only by two minutes, but you still counted that as a win.

You stepped out of your car and headed to where the other parents were on the sidewalk, waiting for school to be over and the kids to come out. You inwardly ran through the list of things that you still had to do today— on a Friday that should’ve been calm, but instead, it had been pretty hectic.

It felt like pure luck that you were able to step away from your coffee shop for thirty minutes to pick up Oliver from school. God bless Jude for being willing to take over the rush that was happening. She was your favorite employee, and you knew that she definitely deserved a raise for being able to effectively keep up with the insanity that the last two weeks brought.

That transition from summer into the beginning of the new school year was harder than you had anticipated, and you knew it was mainly because this time last year you weren’t running a business full-time when Oliver had been starting Kindergarten. Instead, the coffee shop was still just an idea, a dream, that felt like it solely lived in your head; even though it had actually been in its final stages, and with each passing day, you only got closer and closer to that October opening date. And when the long-awaited opening finally came, it actually didn’t alleviate an ounce of your stress; instead, it was only increased practically tenfold.

You’d never say it out loud for fear of being deemed as a bad mom, but it was so fucking hard juggling everything and trying to handle it all.

However, somehow, you were doing it and you were actually doing it pretty well. Although at most times it felt like you were so close to drowning, for the time being, your head was completely above water.

You kept running through your mental to-do list as you waited for the time to go from 2:29pm to 2:30pm, indicating the official end of the school day.

Call the vendors that supply the coffee beans and teas and see if they can change the next delivery date, finalize the work schedule for next week, prep the ingredients for the pastries that will be baked tomorrow—

Your eyes instinctively went to check the time on your watch right as the first handful of kids came barreling out of the front doors.

When you saw Olly, you waved until his eyes landed on you and he immediately smiled.

Suddenly, you couldn’t care less about the time and the rest of the shit that you needed to do throughout the day.

“I made a new friend!” Were the first words he said to you when he came over to where you stood.

“That’s awesome!” You kneeled down so that you were pretty much at eye level with him. Hearing him say that made your heart feel so happy. You knew how shy he could be and he rarely ever talked about any kids that he was friends with, especially not with this much enthusiasm. “Who is it?”

“Maddie,” He answered and then pointed in the direction of where you assumed the girl was standing.

There were a handful of kids standing with their parents in the direction Olly was pointing to about ten or fifteen feet away, but when he further specified that she was “the girl holding the blue lunchbox,” you saw her. A girl with brown hair who was smiling at her dad who was smiling back at her and holding a hand up so that she could give it a high five.

You recognized him immediately.

In your mind, his name was “the worst person in the world.” In reality, his name was Steve Harrington.

You didn’t really pay attention to him until this past January because your kids weren’t in the same Kindergarten class. You actually didn’t even learn that he was the only other single parent in the grade until then.

It was one of your New Year’s resolutions to become more active and involved in school activities, PTA meetings, etc. Mainly because you knew that the other Kindergarten moms were judging you for barely doing anything aside from the occasional bake sale and the school was way too small for you to slip under the radar and not be noticed; those moms noticed everything.

Therefore, on the first meeting back after the Winter holiday break, you were there— five minutes late, but there nonetheless. Although, it could’ve been assumed that everyone thought you were an hour late with the amount of withering looks you received when you entered the gymnasium.

You offered a small apologetic smile and made a mental note to never be even a minute late again.

Leslie, the PTA president, was droning on and on about what big things were planned for the second half of the school year— somehow dragging out a short list of things that you thought could’ve been simply sent out in a mass email— when Steve walked in fifteen minutes after you. You fully expected him to receive the same type of annoyed looks that you had gotten, and maybe even more because he showed up later than you, but he got nothing but happy smiles from the majority of the moms.

That complete opposite reaction severely confused you and you wondered how he was able to receive such niceness when all you got was the coldest of shoulders.

Meeting after meeting it was continuously proven that he was the favorite among the moms, and it didn’t take you too long to learn why. He was a charmer, which everyone absolutely loved, and he seemed to effortlessly throw money at any school activity or fundraising event, another reason why he was so goddamn adored.

You were probably the only one that didn’t give a fuck about his charming personality, and instead, you would inwardly roll your eyes or scoff at pretty much anything he’d say and how easily the moms ate it up. Because when you really looked at it, you two were pretty much doing the same exact things— only moderately participating in events, showing up to the big monthly meetings instead of the weekly ones (and he was still always late to them), and not signing up for fields trips or activities that happened during school hours because of how overly demanding your jobs were; you’d learned from one particularly chatty mom that he worked at a pretty intense marketing firm. However, there was such a stark difference in treatment because he was the “hot single dad that gave a lot of money;” all of the moms practically fell at his feet and seemed to only tolerate you.

Maybe it was a hint of jealousy talking, but he still always managed to piss you off and you didn’t like him at all. It was an animosity that was perhaps just one-sided, and you hated yourself for caring so much, but that changed in April; during a moment where if the circumstances were different, it would’ve felt like some sort of romcom-esque “meet cute.” But, you basically despised Steve, so instead the whole situation just made your blood boil.

It was a Thursday at almost five o’clock during parent-teacher conference week; it was the only day that could work in your insanely busy schedule and you managed to get the latest time slot with Oliver’s teacher. You were pacing in the hallway where all three of the Kindergarten classrooms were; a coffee in one hand, because it was the only thing keeping you going that late in the day, and your phone in the other as you texted back an employee who was having problems with the oven. You were seconds away from calling him— because you knew that the issue would probably be solved quicker if you did so— but before you could, you were bombarded by someone who was quickly coming around the corner and they crashed into you. The abrupt collision was forceful enough to make your drink spill on you and your phone slip out of your hand.

You glanced down at your now coffee-stained white shirt and then up at the person who had caused this mess, and of course, it was Steve Harrington standing in front of you. You had to fight the immediate urge to roll your eyes.

“Oh, shit. My bad,” He quickly said. “I’m minutes away from being late for my parent-teacher meeting, so I was rushing from the parking lot. Now it really does make sense why teachers always said no running in the halls, right? Because something like this can happen.” As he rambled, you picked up your phone off the ground, glad that it wasn’t broken, and then you tossed your now mostly empty coffee cup into the trash can nearby. When you looked back at him, you saw that he was fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. “Anyway, maybe I can pay for your dry cleaning? Or so you can at least get another coffee later or tomorrow?”

If it had been anyone else, you would’ve thought that the gesture was nice. But, since it was coming from Steve Harrington it only pissed you off because, of course, money was his immediate thought solution.

That time it was too difficult to not allow yourself to roll your eyes at him. “Y’know, throwing money at everything doesn’t make you a good dad. It actually makes you kind of an asshole.”

You knew that you were being a little too harsh, but it was still too hard to feel completely regretful about your words; you were pissed at this current situation that was fully caused by him and you were also pissed simply because he was him.

You weren’t sure what you expected Steve to respond with, but he easily matched your angry energy. He narrowed his eyes at you. “Well, at least, I can do something. You barely show up to things and can’t give money to make up for it, so how much of a ‘good mom’ does that make you?”

Before you could say anything in response to that— a response that probably would’ve started and ended with a simple “Fuck you”— you heard your name being called from behind you by Oliver’s teacher. With everything happening with the man in front of you right then, you’d almost forgotten the meeting you were at the school for in the first place.

Instead of saying anything to Steve, you simply buttoned up the black cardigan you were wearing to cover the majority of the coffee stain on your shirt and then walked away from him, putting on a smile and greeting Miss Wilson.

It wasn’t outwardly stated right then, but it was pretty much sealed then that this disliking could no longer be confused for being something that was one-sided. You two hadn’t said any words to each other since that moment in the hallway, and instead only annoyed looks and glares were shared anytime you saw one another; which lucky for you, actually wasn’t too frequent.

On the first day of school, you learned that his daughter was in the same First Grade class as Oliver due to the emergency contact form all the parents had to fill out, which was then condensed into one sheet and shared among everyone for “just in case” purposes, and Steve’s name and number was on there. You really didn’t think it would be that big of a deal because you could still avoid him like the plague that he was, and that was exactly what you’d been doing for the last two weeks.

However, you did not think that your kids would become friends.

“Can we have a playdate tomorrow?” Oliver asked.

You racked your brain for a response; a way to say no without actually saying it because you really did hate disappointing him. “Oh, um, this weekend is gonna be really busy. But, maybe soon though, okay?”

He frowned a bit but still nodded. “Okay.”

You held out your hand so that he could slip his in and then you started heading to your car.

“We have to go back to the coffee shop for a few more hours before we can go home. But, how does pizza for dinner tonight sound?” You asked as you buckled him in his car seat. The offer was an attempt to cheer him up and you hoped it worked; probably like every other six-year-old, Oliver loved pizza.

He smiled at that. “Ooh, yeah, that’s good.”

You smiled back at him and inwardly hoped that this playdate idea would blow over over the next few days. And that the thought of you having to spend any sort of willing time with Steve Harrington would become a scary thought that only occasionally haunted your dreams, instead of it being something that actually became real.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Of course, it did not blow over.

Excuse after excuse would fall from your lips, but Olly was determined and your words of “Today’s really busy” or “This weekend probably won’t be good” didn’t discourage him from continuing to ask.

As the days came and went and a week passed with Olly asking the same question each day, you were so close to sucking it up and calling Steve and finally setting something up, but you were still way too fucking prideful to do so.

That didn’t stop you from thinking about doing it most days, though. But it was easier not to think about it when you were busying yourself at the coffee shop, and it was almost too easy to make yourself busy in some way there. And that was something that didn’t change on this Friday.

Oliver was sitting in his favorite booth working on homework and you were behind the counter, making a simple hot chocolate for the older woman who would come in almost every afternoon, typically around four o’clock.

“Enjoy,” You said with a smile as you handed her the drink.

Things in the coffee shop were calm and quiet, and you were about to go see if Oliver needed any help with the worksheets he was doing, but then your phone started vibrating in your back pocket. When you grabbed it, you saw that it was a random number calling, and maybe you should’ve thought about that fact more before answering, but you didn’t.

“Hello?”

“Has Oliver asked to have a playdate with Madeline?” You quickly recognized Steve’s voice.

You let out a small sigh. “At least once a day since last Friday.”

“Same here with Maddie,” Steve said and then let out a sigh of his own. “We need to let this happen. I don’t think either of them are gonna let it go.”

At first, you didn’t say anything in response to his words. You wanted to disagree with Steve, but you knew that you couldn’t because it was the truth. And then there was the fact that every time you gave some sort of fake excuse to Olly, you would feel like the worst parent ever, so maybe it would be best to just finally let this happen. “You’re right. Are you free tomorrow?”

“Yes,” He answered. “We can just do a quick thing at the park if that’s good?”

That was exactly what you were about to suggest, but you didn't tell him that. “Yeah, that’s fine. Is twelve okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Steve didn’t say anything in response to you and instead simply ended the call there. The lack of an actual goodbye almost made you want to roll your eyes in annoyance, but you didn’t because you knew that you probably would’ve done the same thing to him.

You put your phone back in your pocket and walked over to the two-person booth Oliver was sitting at, sliding in across from him. “Hey, bud, I have really fun news. You and Maddie are finally gonna have your playdate tomorrow.”

Seeing the elated grin immediately take over his face made the fact that you’d be spending a few hours with Steve Harrington tomorrow worth it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You never thought you’d witness a moment where Steve was actually on time for something, but for once he was. When you pulled into the small parking lot of the park, you already saw him sitting on one of the wooden benches that surrounded the playground watching Maddie go down a slide.

Moments after the car was put in park, Oliver was unbuckling himself and rushing to get out so that he could head over to where Maddie was. You could only smile at his enthusiasm before telling him to slow down and be careful.

You took your time walking over to where Steve was because of how much you were dreading it, and for a moment you debated whether or not you should sit next to him or go to the bench that was empty and a few feet away. Ultimately, you decided to just sit next to him; you could be civil for a couple of hours.

“Hi,” You said as you sat down on the wooden bench.

He looked at you just for a second before turning back to the playground. “Hey.”

“How are you?” You asked. It was always easy to go into the mundane small talk you’d have all day with customers; aside from the ones that were the regulars that you knew too well and couldn’t simply ask how they were doing without actually meaning it.

“Good,” Steve responded. “You?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You answered with a small nod.

A silence that could only be deemed as awkward began to linger in the air because it felt as if there was absolutely nothing else to say. If he was a customer, you would’ve simply taken his order and he would have walked away by now, but obviously, this wasn’t that kind of interaction. The only sound that could be heard was the handful of other parents with their children and your own kids looking happier than ever.

It could’ve been easy for you to make some joke to Steve about how weird this entire situation felt because of how much animosity you had toward each other and now there you two were on a sort of playdate of your own because of your kids. And then the two of you would have laughed about this current set of circumstances, and maybe that would’ve allowed things to actually start to feel somewhat okay. But, it just felt way too hard to let yourself actually be civil toward him, even though you had told yourself that you would be.

“I’m very surprised you’re actually on time for something. After all the PTA meetings, I thought you were incapable of it,” You said, still staring straight ahead as you then took a sip from the water you had in your hand.

“And you’re late, which is not surprising,” He told you with a small scoff.

Aside from that first time you had been late for the meeting, there was one other time where you were late again and, of course, that was also the one time where Steve managed to be a little bit earlier than you. Given that he had been late countless times, you felt that it was both stupid and unwarranted for him to use the single time he saw you late against you.

“Whatever,” You said as you rolled your eyes. “Not that I even owe you an explanation for being only five minutes late today, but the coffee shop was starting to have a rush right before me and Olly were about to leave, and I didn’t want to leave my employee right then to completely fend for himself.”

“That’s interesting because every time I drive by the place, it looks the complete opposite of busy.”

Perhaps this entire conversation immediately taking the shittiest turn was your fault because you “fired the first shot,” but his words felt equivalent to a low blow. You pretended as if you were completely unaffected by them and tried your hardest not to recognize the slight validity behind them— the coffee shop had its peak times and also its deserted moments, and maybe sometimes it did feel a bit more deserted than not, but you were surviving and right then that was all that mattered you.

You glared harshly at him although he wasn’t even looking back at you. Muttering a “Fuck you” was right on the tip of your tongue, but you bit it back and instead got up from the bench and started moving to an empty one. Steve didn’t say anything else to you and instead seemed completely unfazed by you walking away from him.

You watched Oliver and Maddie talking and laughing at the top of a slide that was big enough to fit both of them and they went down it together. Seeing how happy Olly was and knowing that this was the first friend he actually wanted to spend time with outside of school, made dealing with Steve’s bullshit right then completely okay with you.

When two o’clock rolled around, you were waving Oliver over to you, much to his dismay.

“I know it’s time to go, but can we all get food together?” He asked when he walked over to you.

For once, the excuse for saying no that you were about to tell him wasn’t a made-up one. “We gotta go pick Eddie up from the airport, remember? Also, he told me that he has a bunch of cool stuff to give you from California.”

“Oh, yeah,” Oliver said, a smile taking over his face. “I almost forgot he was coming today.”

He went over to where Maddie was now standing with Steve and he gave her a quick hug goodbye before running back over to you.

Instead of giving any sort of verbal goodbye to Steve, you simply gave him a small wave. It was hard to wrap your head around the fact that you’d now probably have to see him more often than not. With how happy Oliver and Maddie looked playing together, you knew that today definitely wouldn’t just be a one-time thing.

Somehow with the wave Steve gave back to you, you could tell that he knew that too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You were in no way related to Eddie Munson, but he felt more like family than your actual family.

He was the first person you met when you moved to Hawkins three years ago. After going through a messy divorce that felt like it had actively taken at least ten years off of your life, it felt so goddamn nice to immediately make a friend in this town that was completely new to you.

Coming from Chicago, a city that had always felt way too big for you, any small town sounded perfect in your eyes, and you were able to find a cheap-ish house in Hawkins, so it was the winner.

You met Eddie at a grocery store a week after you’d moved in. It was also your birthday, a fact that three-year-old Oliver didn’t fail to tell Eddie when you accidentally bumped into him— quite literally crashed your cart into the guy— in the bread aisle.

“Happy birthday,” He had said to you and you gave him a small smile before proceeding to say another sorry for bumping your cart into him. He then looked at Oliver. “Are you gonna bake a birthday cake for her?”

Oliver visibly brightened and turned to you. “Ooh, yeah, can we bake a cake?”

“Sure,” You nodded and smiled at his eagerness.

He smiled widely and then looked back at Eddie. “Can you come over and help us make it?”

“Oh, um…” Eddie’s eyes met yours to see what you wanted him to say.

“You can, if you want,” You told him and you genuinely meant your words. He seemed normal, and even though this was a small town, he was the first person who had been so outwardly nice to you and Olly.

“Okay, yeah, I’d love to help,” He said with a nod. “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

You told him your name and then gestured to Olly. “And this is Oliver.”

“Sorry for suggesting this idea and contributing to the sugar high that will probably be happening tonight,” Eddie told you as you moved to the next aisle where all of the baking stuff was, you were giving Oliver full reign over what cake mix you got.

“Apology not accepted,” You responded but still smiled at him.

Many hours later, when the cake was baked and Oliver was tucked away in bed after having two pieces of it, you pulled out a bottle of wine for you and Eddie to drink. And then because of the wine and because of the fact that birthdays always managed to bring something severely melancholic out of you, you started crying to him about your divorce that had just been finalized, the affair that your husband had with his coworker being the catalyst for said divorce, and how you felt so weirdly alone in this new town but also not at all alone because you had Oliver.

Somehow none of that managed to scare him away— even though you would’ve been completely understanding if it had— and a friendship had been cemented ever since.

Eight months ago, he moved to California because of a huge opportunity he got with his music; it was something he had been waiting for for so many years. You had called it a “big break,” but he thought that sounded too pretentious.

You hadn’t really wanted him to leave, he was your best friend— your only friend in this town— but you were also so happy for him. And the distance actually managed to feel somewhat okay because you two would talk all the time and he’d visit every few months.

Oliver especially didn’t mind the distance because whenever Eddie did come back to Hawkins for a visit, it always meant that he’d get some cool new toys from him. And this time proved to be no different.

The three of you were in the coffee shop. It was quiet right then— you didn’t think about Steve’s words from earlier— and you watched Eddie smile at Oliver as he animatedly talked about something, you assumed he was telling Eddie about Madeline.

Moments later, Eddie walked over to where you stood behind the counter, beginning the clean-up process because you were closing in about an hour.

“It’s really nice seeing how fucking– I mean fudging,” He turned around to see if Oliver heard what he’d just said, but Olly was too busy playing with his new red toy car to hear anything. “Happy he is. All he’s been doing is rambling about his new friend.”

“Yeah, it’s really great,” You said, smiling as you thought about how happy he had been at the park earlier. You then thought about Steve and inwardly sighed. “Well, for the most part.”

“Why? Is she a bad influence or something? I didn’t think there could be bad influences in first grade,” Eddie said and then laughed a bit. “Actually, scratch that, I was definitely a bad influence in first grade.”

An amused look crossed your face. “You talk a lot about this “bad boy persona” you used to have, but I don’t know if I really believe it because all I see is a guy that actually enjoys buying toys for a six-year-old.”

He smiled at that. “I changed. Turned over a new leaf.”

“Mhm, got it,” You responded, your voice slightly sarcastic because it was still hard to imagine Eddie as anything other than the nice guy who baked a cake with you and Oliver on your birthday. “Anyway, though, it’s not the girl that’s the problem; she’s really sweet and nice. It’s her parent that’s the worst person in the world.”

Eddie nodded. “Okay, tell me all about this mean mom drama.”

“It’s a dad, actually,” You said and then started explaining everything that you had never said aloud before. You told Eddie all of it— how Steve was so easily able to throw money at anything the school needed, how he was basically treated like a King among the other moms because of that, the incident that happened last year during parent-teacher conference week where everything between you two fully came to a head, and the shitty conversation you had with him at the park only hours earlier.

“Wow, I’ve missed a lot. I can’t believe you have a nemesis, and I also can’t believe you never told me about him.”

“He’s the last thing I ever want to think about, let alone talk about. If it wasn’t for Oliver becoming friends with his daughter, you wouldn’t be hearing about him. Also, I feel like “nemesis” is a bit of an exaggeration.”

“I can call him your mortal enemy, if you want,” Eddie said with a teasing smile and you only rolled your eyes in response, refraining from flipping him off. “What’s his name? Maybe I know him. Aside from you, people rarely ever move to this town for fun, so he’s probably been here his whole life.”

You actually never thought about the potential of Eddie knowing Steve, although it was completely plausible given the reason your friend just mentioned.

“Steve Harrington.”

“Oh.”

From Eddie’s reaction, the answer to your next question seemed pretty obvious but you still decided to ask it. “You know him?”

“Yeah, we were in high school at the same time.”

“Okay, what was he like?”

“All the typical high school stuff. He was a popular guy, played sports, was kind of a jerk but pretty much all of the girls still loved him.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “That sounds very accurate.”

“By the end of it, though, he seemed like somewhat of a changed guy. Got his heart broken by the nice girl, and then became friends with actual good people,” Eddie told you, and that was the one part of his description of the Steve that he had known that managed to actually surprise you. “I didn’t know he had a kid now.”

“Yup, and he’s also changed back into the jerk that you originally knew him as in high school,” You said. “And the most fuc— fudged up part of it all is that we should be friends. Which probably makes me sound crazy because of everything I just said, but it’s true. Me and him are basically in the same boat— the only single parents in the grade, we both have time-consuming jobs, and now even our kids are friends with each other. It would just make sense if we were actually friends too.”

“I mean, you still could be, right?”

You immediately shook your head. “Wrong. There’s no way that could ever happen.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

The rest of September and most of October flew by with what felt like an abrupt kind of quickness.

Absolutely nothing changed between you and Steve, even with Eddie’s idea that maybe it could. The only time the two of you talked to each other was if it involved your kids and if you were setting up the day and time for another park playdate, which quickly managed to become a weekly thing because of how adamant Oliver and Madeline were— just like you assumed they’d be.

It may have seemed a little weird, these brief conversations you’d have with one another that were nothing more and nothing less than transactional, but it worked perfectly for you two.

“This weekend is gonna be pretty busy for me, so is tomorrow after school good?” You asked Steve. A PTA meeting had just ended and you and him were lingering by the same exit that the kids would come out of when school was over.

You were pretty close to not showing up to this Thursday night meeting, but you knew that you had to because it was about the Winter Carnival happening in December. It was a huge event that would be an “all hands on deck” kind of situation, which was why they talked about it so far in advance and why attendance at any meeting discussing it was pretty much mandatory.

Steve shook his head at your question. “I have this big work thing tomorrow, so I have to pick up Maddie and then drop her off at the babysitter before rushing back to the city.”

You nodded understandingly at his words. A part of you knew that you should have left it at that, because you tried to set something up and that should’ve been more than enough of an effort, but instead, you found yourself saying, “I can pick her up and take the two of them to the park tomorrow if you want.”

Steve was quiet and your words simply lingered in the open air. You almost regretted making the suggestion because you felt as if he was somehow going to find a way to be a dick about it, but then he looked at you curiously, and another look that you couldn’t decipher crossed his face too as he said, “You sure?”

You nodded at him. “Yeah, it’s really no problem.” And it honestly wasn’t a problem in the slightest; Madeline was the sweetest girl ever. She reminded you nothing of Steve, so you assumed that she got her personality from her mom; you still had no idea what that entire situation entailed. “What time will you be done with work?”

“Hopefully around five or six,” He answered. There was still that look on his face, which you still couldn’t tell what it said, but you really wanted to know.

“Okay, after the park, I can take them back to my house and you can pick Maddie up from there when you’re done with work,” You said, only a little surprised at how easily this idea came together. “Olly’s been wanting to show her his new fish, anyway.”

“Yeah, I think she’s mentioned his fish to me probably a thousand times. It’s blue and purple, right?”

“Yeah, it’s a betta fish; Barnaby.”

“Barnaby?”

You shrugged. “I have no idea how Olly came up with that name, but I will admit that it does sound more like the name of an old sailor lost at sea rather than a fish. But, in some weird way, both of those things are actually kind of related.”

Steve laughed at that and somehow it didn’t sound the least bit mocking or condescending, it was more amused. Hearing that sound coming from him shocked you as much as it, surprisingly, made you inwardly smile.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

The amount of dark clouds in the sky didn’t necessarily faze you until a raindrop hit your cheek as you sat on a park bench watching Oliver and Madeline on the playground. It was a light drizzle that transformed into something heavier in a matter of minutes and you realized that you probably should’ve been more mindful of what the weather was going to be today.

Neither of the kids really minded the rain putting an end to their time at the park though, because Oliver was happy to go home so that Maddie could finally see the fish.

They bounded up the stairs to Olly’s room the second you unlocked the front door, and you headed to the kitchen, sending a simple text to Steve in the process.

You: Had to leave the park because of the rain. We’re at my place now

At first, the lack of a response from him didn’t surprise you because it was only around four-thirty and he was probably busy. He was also Steve Harrington and he rarely ever responded to you in a timely manner.

You heard the sound of footsteps racing down the stairs and you looked up from your phone, after checking it for probably the hundredth time in the past hour, to see Olly and Maddie coming into the kitchen.

“Can you convince my dad to get me a fish?” Maddie asked as she and Olly joined you at the small dining table.

You smiled and nodded at her. “I can try.”

“Thanks,” She said, smiling back at you. “The only time I get to see any pets is at my Aunt Robin’s house. She has a golden retriever.”

“Oh, that’s really cool. What’s its name?”

“Willow. She’s a girl.”

Oliver looked at you. “Can we get a dog next?”

“Let’s just worry about Barnaby for now,” You told Olly, giving him a small smile. You could only imagine how much more hectic your life would become if you two got a dog anytime soon. “I was thinking about doing dino nuggets and french fries for you guys for dinner. How does that sound?”

They both perked up at that and nodded and you got up to turn on the oven, purposefully leaving your phone on the table because you wanted a break from impulsively checking it every few minutes. It slightly annoyed you that you heard nothing from Steve yet, and it annoyed you even more that the lack of a response felt personal. You wondered if he actually hadn’t seen your message yet, or if he was simply being an asshole and not responding with a simple “Okay” or even a thumbs up to it on purpose.

It wasn’t until the time was a little after six, and you still hadn’t heard anything from Steve, that your initial annoyance toward him not responding to you and not giving you any sort of updates on what was happening with him over the past few hours, morphed into something that resembled worry.

You walked out of the living room and into the kitchen and pulled your phone out of your back pocket so that you could call him. Your gaze moved toward the window as you pressed your phone to your ear; the weather outside still looked pretty shitty. The call went straight to voicemail and you sighed as you waited for the beep.

“Hey, um, it’s me. That’s probably very obvious. Um, anyway, you said you’d be done with work around five or six, but I haven’t heard anything from you in the last couple of hours… I hope everything’s fine. Um, any sort of update would be really nice. Call, or at least text me, whenever you get this. Okay… Bye.”

You hung up and slipped your phone back in your pocket.

It was an obvious fact that you didn’t like Steve Harrington, but that didn’t mean you wanted anything bad to happen to him.

The only thing that managed to not make you feel completely worried was that Maddie seemed okay and not worried at all. Instead, she and Olly were in the living room playing in the fort you made for them out of couch cushions and throw blankets.

You went back into the living room and sat down on the small loveseat that was the only piece of furniture that still had its cushion left.

“You guys okay in there?”

“Yup!”

“Yes!”

Hearing their chorus of happy “yeses” made you inwardly sigh in relief and lean back into the chair, letting your eyes shut just for a second and muttering to yourself that everything was and would be fine.

Your phone was still glued to your hand as you grabbed the remote with your other and turned on a random Disney movie for the kids to listen to as background noise and for you to take your mind off of Steve, even though all you were waiting and hoping for was for your phone to vibrate in your hand with a call or text from him.

You didn’t realize that you’d fallen asleep in the chair until you were startled awake by the sound of the doorbell ringing. The abruptness of it actually managed to scare you, so much so that you could immediately feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears when you opened your eyes.

The second Lilo & Stitch movie was now playing on the TV and through your half-awake haze, you found the remote to pause it. You then peeked inside the fort and saw that Olly and Maddie were asleep.

As you rubbed the slight tiredness out of your eyes and got up from the couch, you checked your phone and saw that the time was 8:11pm. The doorbell rang again as you unlocked the door and the first thing that you noticed when you opened it was that it was no longer raining, you were unsure when it had finally stopped.

“Hi.”

Seeing Steve standing in front of you managed to immediately wash away the worry you had been feeling for the last couple of hours. And it was quickly and completely replaced with the annoyance you’d initially felt. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Hearing a genuine apology come from Steve Harrington’s mouth actually managed to baffle you. “My meeting at work ran over, and there was no way to get out of it, not even for a second. And then there was a ton of traffic because of the rain, so a drive that typically only takes thirty minutes took longer than an hour. Also, I have the worst and probably oldest phone in the world because it never holds a charge anymore, and it was plugged in during the entire drive but didn’t turn on at all. So, I’m really sorry that I haven’t been able to call or text or anything. These past few hours have been hell.” He let out a sigh and then looked at you, concerned. “How’s Maddie? Is she okay?”

There were a lot of words that had been thrown at you during Steve’s ramble, but hearing his full explanation and how apologetic he was made your annoyance with him dissipate into nothing just like your worry did. Instead, you felt a little bad for him because of all the shit he had to endure in the past few hours. You pushed the door open further to fully let him in.

“She’s good. She’s okay. She and Olly are sleeping in the living room. I made them a little fort,” You told him as he walked in and you pointed to where the kids were in the living room, and he nodded when he saw the construction of couch cushions and blankets.

You looked at Steve and hesitated for a moment. You knew that this was where the goodbyes for the night should’ve started, but it didn’t feel right to have him leave just yet; he still seemed sort of frazzled and stressed about everything that happened. You started heading toward the kitchen and he followed you. “Do you maybe, uh, want something to drink?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, I have water and juice boxes,” You told him and turned around to meet his eyes, he was leaning against the small island. “It’s moments like these where it sucks being the “good influence/leading by example” parent because I can’t offer you something fun, like a soda.”

Steve laughed a bit; it still felt so foreign hearing that sound from him. “A juice box is fine. That’s probably all that lives at my house too.”

You grabbed one from the fridge and then closed it. “I hope you like apple.”

“My favorite, actually,” He said as you handed the drink to him, and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but you didn’t have enough time to really ponder that before he completely changed the subject. “How was Maddie when you picked her up? When I told her about it this morning, she seemed excited about it and about hanging out with Oliver after school too, but was she really okay?”

You nodded at his question. “She was great. They both had fun at the park and didn’t even mind the rain because they really wanted to come here and see the fish.”

He smiled and you could see the immediate relief wash over his face. “Okay.”

“She also wants me to try and convince you to get her a fish.”

“Of course she does,” He said before taking a sip from the juice box. You had to admit, it was a little funny seeing a man wearing professional clothes, that were probably so expensive, drinking from a tiny juice box meant for little kids.

“I’m honestly kinda surprised that you pick her up every day,” You told him as you turned and went back into the fridge to pull out a water for yourself. “Given your job, I thought you’d just have a babysitter or someone pick her up most of the time. I had no idea it was half an hour away.”

“I didn’t used to do it… Her, um, her mom would,” He said and you could tell by the way he said those words that whatever happened involving Maddie’s mom was a touchy subject. It sounded similar to how you’d usually sound whenever you talked about Oliver’s dad— a little sad and a lot like you’d rather talk about anything else.

Your mind started desperately trying to think of a way to change the subject; it was what you would’ve wanted him to do for you if the tables were turned. But, before you could say the first thing that came to mind, which was, “So, I wonder if it’s gonna rain tomorrow too,” Steve started talking again.

“It had become a routine because of how hectic my job is. She’d always drop Maddie off and pick her up. But, she, uh… She left last year, so that changed everything,” He told you. You closed the fridge and turned around to face him; you forgot to grab your water but that was the last thing on your mind right then.

This conversation suddenly felt like completely uncharted territory between you and Steve because you two did not talk about touchy subjects— you and him barely talked about anything at all. But, for some odd reason, you didn’t necessarily mind the serious turn to the conversation because maybe it was a shit ton of honesty that was needed for you two to actually, finally, not dislike each other.

Steve ran a hand through his hair and pulled his eyes away from yours. He instead fixed his attention on his juice box in hand. “It happened around this time in October. She dropped Maddie off at school, but didn’t pick her up.”

Hearing him say that surprised you as much as it confused you because you had absolutely no idea that happened last year. But with how busy you’d been then, and since you weren’t friends with any of the “gossipy” moms that somehow always knew everything, it did make a little sense why you knew nothing.

“Maddie was waiting in the office for about two hours after school was over before I could get there because I was in a meeting and didn’t see the calls coming from the school. She didn’t really know what was happening, but she was still so sad and I think that somehow a small part of her did know.” He shook his head and sighed, a look that could only be deemed as melancholic crossed his face. “I never want her to feel abandoned like that again, so I always make sure to drop her off and pick her up now.”

As he said his last words, something managed to shift inside of you in a matter of a split second. Suddenly, his name was no longer “the worst person in the world” in your mind.

In all of your months of having this “nemesis relationship” — as Eddie would call it— with Steve Harrington, you never thought that your opinion of him would ever be able to change. However, in this moment of you two standing across from each other at your small kitchen island as Steve held a freaking juice box in his hand, it finally did. He was a good person, a really fucking good person.

You were able to see it so goddamn easily then— the exact ways that he and Maddie were just alike. She got her personality from him, you were now quite literally certain of it. And you immediately felt bad for ever thinking differently.

“I’m sorry about what I said last year during conference week,” You told him, suddenly ready to give him your own burst of honesty. “I was pissed that you spilled my coffee all over me, and I was even more pissed because it was you, and you annoyed me so much. Because even though we’re kind of in the same boat with the amount of “active” things we do for the school, all of the moms love you so much and I swear they hate me, and it’s just so annoying.” You let out a small sigh and then met his gaze before saying the words that you didn’t think you’d ever say to him. “Anyway, you’re a really good dad, and I’m so sorry for telling you differently.”

“I’m sorry for what I said that day too. You’re a really great mom,” He said, giving you a small smile, and it slightly shocked you how much hearing that meant to you. Aside from Eddie, you couldn’t remember the last time someone said that to you. “And I don't think the moms at school actually like me. I think they just pity me because of everything that happened, and how they basically saw it all blow up in real time. Since pre-school, Maddie’s mom was dropping her off and picking her up, and suddenly one day she was completely gone. I swear the number of times I got phone calls that were a bunch of them saying, “We’re here for you,” but they really just wanted to get the full story about what happened, was insane during those first few months.”

“Jesus, small town moms are the worst,” You said as you shook your head. “Or, at least, ours are.”

You looked away from Steve and turned around, finally going back to the fridge to grab a water. “Oliver’s dad was kind of the same way. He left too. Or maybe it’s actually not the same because I made him leave— he was having an affair with his coworker. But, he also wanted to leave and be with her, so maybe it actually is a little similar. Sorry, now I’m just rambling about that asshole,” You said and rolled your eyes at yourself. You weren’t sure why you even decided to circle the conversation back to your exes.

“Do you and Oliver ever see him anymore?” Steve asked, and when you closed the fridge and turned back to face him, you shook your head at his question.

“Not since we moved here. He does the bare minimum and sends Olly checks for his birthday and Christmas. Which I think is dumb because no kid wants a check as a present; even I would rather get an actual gift than a stupid check,” You told Steve as you opened up your water. “Does Maddie ever see her mom, or does she ever come around sometimes?”

With the way she left, you were almost certain that the answer was no, but you were still curious.

“No, she hasn’t, and I don’t think she would ever want to,” Steve answered and you gave him a small nod of understanding before he continued. “I remember about a week after everything happened, and after avoiding my many calls and texts, she finally called me. She was really apologetic about the way she decided to leave, but she said that she just couldn’t do it anymore because none of this life that we had here was making her happy, and she didn’t want me to try and convince her to stay. When she said that, it made me realize that the smallest part of me knew that this would eventually happen. Maddie was completely unexpected and our relationship had already gotten pretty bad before we found out, so neither of us was remotely ready to be parents, but we still decided to do it and try to make it all work. Right when I saw Maddie for the first time I knew that she was the best thing that ever happened to me and I couldn’t imagine my life without her, and that never changed. But, it wasn’t the same way for her mom, and sometimes it seemed like she felt the complete opposite way. So, in a way, I can understand why she knew she had to leave. I hate the way that she did it, but ultimately I understand that this wasn’t the life she wanted, and she’d never want it.” A sad smile took over his face.

“We don’t have to keep talking about this if you don’t want to,” You told him, suddenly feeling bad that you had been the one to bring the conversation back to this in the first place. “We can change the subject to anything else. Maybe the weather? I wonder if it’s gonna rain again tomorrow…”

“No, it’s okay,” Steve said. “I really never thought I’d say this because we’ve never had a real conversation before, but I think I actually like talking to you.” He shook his head at his words. “I’m sorry, that probably sounds fucked up.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I feel the same exact way. Ten minutes ago I couldn’t really stand the thought of having any sort of conversation with you, and now I feel like an idiot for hating you all this time. So, this is insanely fast progress,” You said and then immediately thought of something. “Wow, I really wish I had some alcohol for us to drink right now because us actually not despising each other anymore is a milestone that truly should be toasted to.”

Steve laughed a bit; it was nice hearing that sound after all the sad stuff that had just been shared by both of you. He raised his juice box toward you a bit. “This will have to do, I guess.”

You raised your water and “clinked” it with the juice box. “Cheers to… whatever we are now.”

It didn’t feel entirely like a friendship, but it, at least, felt like you two could actually be nice to one another and not feel pained to do so.

“Cheers to that,” Steve said with a quick nod and then finished off the rest of what was left in his small juice box. “I should grab Maddie and head home. She has dance class at eight in the morning. She hates it for the most part, but she has a recital next week and I told her that she should push through until that and then we can quit. A part of me is kind of glad that she hates it, though, because classes are insanely expensive.”

“Olly’s starting soccer at the end of the month,” You told him. “It’s for boys and girls. You should see if Maddie wants to do that.”

“If Oliver’s doing it, she’ll probably say yes.”

You nodded at that and how true it was on both sides. “I’ll text you the information.”

“Thanks,” He said and smiled.

You followed him as he walked into the living room to get Maddie. She was still fast asleep as her arms circled around his neck when he picked her up. You grabbed her bookbag that she and Oliver left by the front door and helped Steve hook one of his arms in it.

Somehow something was silently exchanged in that last look shared between you and him before you said your final goodbyes for the night, and you softly shut and locked your door behind him. It was a look that expressed that you both were glad about what happened in the past twenty minutes— the honesty-filled conversation that led to you two finally understanding one another and realizing how you were actually more alike than either of you had ever thought.

It was a realization that was simultaneously surprising and refreshing.

“Goodnight,” You said, giving him a small smile and he smiled back at you.

“Goodnight.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

PART TWO

let me know ur thoughts<333

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #dad!steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things series #steve harrington series

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ebongawk · 30 days ago

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number 5 for the meme

5. A firm kiss

They were friends.

Best friends, actually.

Like, the best of friends.

And Eddie had never been so goddamn remiss about something in his entire life.

Don't get him wrong, he loved being Chrissy's best friend. She was smart and funny and brave and drop-dead gorgeous.

He also just kinda loved Chrissy, so. Y'know. There was that.

And yeah, okay, so maybe he'd been carrying this little torch for nigh on fifteen years now. So, like, over half his life at this point. And, yeah, alright, sue him, he'd never told her that, but what was he gonna do, drop to his knees and profess his love? Squash the friendship they've worked so hard to build when she laughed in his face?

Nah. Fuck that.

They'd only reconnected post-high school in the last few years. And so what if Eddie hadn't, like, looked at another girl since Chrissy unexpectedly stumbled back into his life in fucking Philadelphia, of all places? So what if he spent his free time away from the studio with her, watching movies and cooking meals and doing all the cutesy date shit he'd seen other couples doing without actually dating her? So what if the guys ribbed him constantly for being a rocker on the verge of stardom who was whipped by a girl he'd never even kissed?

So fucking what?

He would probably move on someday. Once Chrissy ended her years-long dry spell and found some nice guy to settle down with, solidifying the inevitable depths of their friendship that he hadn't quite come to terms with yet. Then he could dive headfirst into the women who were constantly hovered around him like bees around some extra-pollinated flower without feeling this insane sense of guilt for cheating on the gorgeous, eternally-out-of-his-league girl he wasn't even dating.

Someday.

Maybe today?

They'd just played a fucking phenomenal show. Put their entire souls into it, actually, because Jeff had on good authority that the label they'd just signed with had some bigwigs in the crowd to observe them. Find out just how much potential the band had so they could promote them properly.

There was a girl in the crowd that kept making eyes at him. Pretty enough, he supposed, with dark makeup and dark hair. Tall. Standing on the edge of the stage with a little smirk designed to hide the type of unspoken promises that had his gut curling.

And, y'know, not with guilt. Of fucking course not.

He and Chrissy were the best of friends. And, he reminded himself as he slipped his way backstage, if something was gonna happen, it would've happened by now.

This girl just happening to be Chrissy's polar opposite in every conceivable way was meaningless.

They packed up their gear into the van over whoops and hollers. Talking at length about how fucking incredible they just were, because vanity had no jurisdiction amidst their accomplishment. Once that was loaded up, Eddie bid the guys farewell with every intention of going to find that girl.

When he got back inside, however, he felt like he got socked in the fucking gut. In the bad way.

Chrissy was there. Sitting at the bar, sipping on a drink. Legs crossed under a little pink skirt that made him lose his fucking mind as she leaned toward the person sitting next to her.

The guy sitting next to her.

What the fuck. What the fuck? He hadn't even known she was coming tonight. And who was this fucking clown looking at her like she was the most charming person to ever grace his presence? She was, of course, but who fucking gave him the right to look at her like that?

Taking a deep, slow breath, Eddie reminded himself through a little mantra that she wasn't his. She was just his friend. And she was allowed to sip her drinks and bat her lashes at whoever the fuck she wanted.

Even if the thought made steam blow out of his ears.

"Hey," someone called over his shoulder. Eddie whipped around to see the girl from the crowd there. Sauntering up to him with swaying hips and that same smirk that made his uncomfortable stomach roil. "You're the guitarist, right?"

Fuck. Fuck.

"Yeah," Eddie responded. Puffing out a breath and pulling his best nonchalant grin out of his ass, he said again, "Yeah. That's me, honey."

He leaned up against the nearest table, putting Chrissy in his periphery. Watching her from the corner of his eye as she laughed at probably the worst joke known to humankind, as told by a clown.

The new girl looked him up and down, appreciation obvious, and her grin grew. Showing off sharp canines and a knowing glint in her eye.

"You guys played really good tonight," she continued. "Though I've been to a few shows now, and you're always pretty fantastic."

"Oh yeah?" Eddie responded, crossing his arms and popping his eyebrows. "What, you consider yourself a bonafide fan, then?"

She giggled, introducing herself with a name Eddie immediately forgot. Glancing over right as Chrissy looked at him, finally seeming to register his presence.

Was it just him, or did something in her face drop all at once?

The girl continued talking to him, but Eddie could not reiterate their conversation if someone held a gun to his head. Instead, he watched curiously as Chrissy left her half-finished drink on the bar and said something to Bozo before getting up and bolting out the front door.

Huh. What the fuck was that?

"So," the girl said, tilting her head to one side and catching his attention. "Are you gonna buy me a drink? Or should we just get out of here?"

"Yeah, uh, gonna have to pin that shit right here, actually," Eddie responded as he jumped to his feet. When did this girl get so close to him? No wonder he felt claustrophobic and a little nauseous. "Sorry, kid."

"Another time?" she asked, pouting a little. The snort Eddie stifled came out as a cough.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Eddie said before giving a meager salute and taking off after Chrissy. He heard the girl shout something at him, maybe trying to entice him back, but Eddie's ears were no longer open to the voices of anyone else in existence.

Chrissy was a full block away already. Brisk pace making her little skirt swish back and forth in time with the rapid beating of his heart.

"Chrissy," he called as he jogged after her. Watching her shoulders freeze, her gait coming to an unexpected halt. She didn't turn around, her body curling away from him as he caught up to her. "Hey! What, uh. What're you doing here?"

Why'd you run away?

"Hi, Eddie," she replied, her voice soft. "I, um. I just came to see you guys. Jeff said it was supposed to be a big show."

Ducking down, Eddie tried to catch her gaze. Something caught in his throat when she resolutely turned away from him.

Swallowing it heavily down, he stood up straight again. Fully taking a step back.

"Yeah? What'd you think?"

"You guys played really well," she said, though not with the enthusiasm with which she normally praised the band. "You, um. You really blew the roof off that place."

God. He'd never heard her sound so... lifeless. Why the fuck was she so upset?

"Yeah, uh, thanks, sweetness." She didn't respond outside of a brusque nod, and Eddie cleared his throat. Grasping at straws without understanding why he was reaching for nothing when conversation had never been so stilted between them. "I wish you'd've told me you were coming out. Coulda, like, I dunno, made a night of it or something."

"Seems like you had your night pretty well figured out," Chrissy shot back, something dark and viscous replacing the absence of emotion in her voice.

"Uh?"

"Why did you even come after me, Eddie?" Chrissy spat, finally, finally reeling on him. Anger blazed brightly in her eyes, taking Eddie aback so fully he flinched. The abrupt change in her demeanor had him so goddamn confused his mind whited out for a second. "Like, what's the point? Why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" he volleyed back, unconsciously matching her tone. "Huh? Why didn't you tell me you were coming? Or did you even come to see us?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

Eddie scoffed. "I saw you with that fucking clown in there."

"What does that matter?"

"What do my evening plans matter?"

"Because you were flirting with that girl!"

"So were you!" Eddie fired, fully stepping into Chrissy's personal space. "You were acting all coquettish and shit, I saw you! And it doesn't even fucking matter if I was flirting with her, because I fucked off as soon as I saw you run out! Which is so damn stupid on my part, because you don't even want me!"

"Of course I want you, you moron!" she practically screamed in his face. Bringing him entirely up short, all of the upset she still displayed draining out of his bones. "That guy in there? I was playing you up for him! He's with your freaking studio! I've wanted no one but you for years! You just don't even see me!"

That brought the anger right back. Completely disregarding her admission of trying to cozy up to the bigwig Jeff had mentioned. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Cupping her cheeks in his hands, Eddie pressed closer. Forcing her to grab the lapels of his jacket to hold her balance. "I don't see anything else, Chrissy. You live in the back of my brain, hovering around with your pretty pink nails sunk into the membrane. Every–– Every time I close my eyes, every time I blink, it's with your imprint behind my eyelids. And then I go to bed at night and fucking dream about you and me and all the shit I fucking wished we had and––"

He didn't get to finish.

She pushed up onto her dainty little toes and cut him off with a kiss.

It was firm. Warm. A little hard, still stuck on the leftover vestiges of her anger. The slight click of teeth, but Eddie was already holding her. It took nothing, nothing at all, for him to kiss her back. To hold her in place and fucking devour her with every piece of himself she already held in her palms. All of the soft, gooey pieces of him she could smush into the fucking concrete beneath their feet if she so chose.

She didn't do that, though.

Instead, she threw him straight into the void of space. His body coming to rest across a bed of stars that fizzled and popped across his skin. Bursting on contact, the sparking pieces embedded themselves into his skin. Burrowing beneath flesh and muscle and wrapping like vines around his bones.

The buzz of his starry new veins didn't fade until she slowly lowered herself back to the ground, then ignited anew when Eddie chased her lips. Slowing the desperation of their kiss until she was the soft, gooey pieces he had no choice but to hold aloft.

As though he ever wanted anything else touching his hands.

Finally, after an eternity in the stars, he pulled back to let her breathe. Resting his forehead against hers so she was nothing but a blur of flushed cheeks and stormy blue eyes.

"I've wanted to do that," he began around a stuttered exhale, "for so goddamn long."

He watched her eyes flick back and forth between his. Felt the expanse and collapse of her chest as she took another slow, deep breath.

"I was afraid," she admitted after a moment. "I was terrified, actually. That you'd... That you didn't want me the way I wanted you. And that, if I told you how I felt––"

"It'd ruin us," Eddie finished. Chrissy nodded.

"But I've wanted that, too," she said. "I've wanted you, Eddie."

The next kiss was a slow evolution. A soft, exploratory expanse of new beginnings hidden in the uncharted depths science couldn't possibly discover alone.

"You have me, sweetness. You have me."

kiss roulette!

#hellcheer #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #stranger things #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #chrissy x eddie #ebongawk ask #ask meme #cunninghamchrissie #tricia writes #alcohol mention

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bueckers-sturniolo · 7 months ago

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i have literally been begging for someone to write a paige fic based on “Slut!” by TS like the parts that’s like “if i’m all dressed up, they might as well be looking at us” where reader is famous and gets like hated on for being a “slut” 💁‍♀️💁‍♀️

“slut!”

paige bueckers x female!reader

a/n: hi guys!!! sorry it took me so long to edit this and actually post it. i don’t have much to say but THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON THE ALCHEMY!!! i promise part 2 is coming soon!!! ps: this may suck a little but i wrote it in an hour and a half so im sorry!!! also, this hasnt been proofread bc its 6 am and i havent slept! hope u somewhat enjoy!!! love uuuu!

warnings: naur, just swearing :)

word count: somewhere around 1k-ish

got love-struck, went straight to my head. got lovesick all over my bed. love to think you’ll never forget. we’ll pray the price, i guess.

you had been dating paige for 5 months, now. she was the best person you had ever met, and an even better lover than you could have ever imagined. but, being in the public eye isn’t necessarily ideal, especially when you’re queer. paige was a basketball player at uconn, and you had been famous for a few years. you had been famous before you knew paige, and even before paige was famous. it’s awesome, and you love it. the lifestyle can be very rewarding and enjoyable.

but, being ‘famous’ comes with its faults. as most things do. over the years, you had developed this sort of…. title. this title being that you are some kind of insane serial-dater. it was pretty ridiculous. of course, paige loved you for you, and didn’t really give a fuck as to what people had to say about you. but, it’s still obviously hurtful, and paige gets that.

present day, the epsy’s were coming up. this is something that meant a lot to your girlfriend. and, quite frankly, you’d do anything to make her happy.

until that thing was going as her date (or +1) to the epsy’s. not that you didn’t want to, not that it was because you were gay. but, because you knew how much this could mess with both of your careers. you didn’t really care about your own, cause people are gonna talk about you regardless, but paige’s social presence made it hard to just come out and do whatever you guys want.

“i mean, i’d just really want you there. we can like…. coincide outfits ‘n shit.” paige says, looking over at you, eating a bite of her cereal.

“yeah, p. i understand.” you say, sighing. you look down at your hands, acting like you were paying attention to anything to distract her (and yourself) from the fact that you really just do not know how it would go, and that fact is stressful in itself.

“baby, if you don’t want to go, it’s fine. im just saying it would be cool.” she says, and you meet her eyes again.

you know she’s right. it would be really fuckin’ cool. but like, at the same time, you really didn’t want to have to receive all of the texts from your publisher of news articles with pictures of you and paige where they essentially just put your name in bold letters then talk about how much of a slut you are for dating 4 people in your approximate 5 years of being famous.

yes, it may seem like a lot. but, also, most of these relationships only lasted a few months. you never necessarily wanted them to go public, but, they almost always did. that’s why you and paige took extra precautions.

obviously, one day, you wanted to tell people about you and paige. but, you wanted it to be when you guys had atleast made it past the new relationship stage.

but, if im all dressed up, they might as well be lookin’ at us. and if they call me a ‘slut,’ you know, it might be worth it for once. and if im gonna be drunk, i might as well be drunk in love.

you couldn’t help but give in. there was exactly a week before the epsy’s, and even though you’d kept telling paige you really didn’t think going was a good idea, you felt so bad for saying it that you randomly changed your mind.

“p, come here.” you say, calling from the couch in your living room. she walked in the room, hands on her hips, sleeves rolled up. she was loading the dishwasher for you, as the ‘gentleman’ she was (in a world of boys, (s)he’s a gentleman.)

“yes, baby? what’s wrong?” she says, walking toward you and sitting down, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind your head. “i wanna go with you, p. ill go with you to the awards.” as you say this, you fiddle with the hem of her basketball shorts.

“you wanna go with me? seriously?” she perks up. her whole face immediately lights up. this was the reason you were doing it. that reaction right there.“yes, love. i want to go with you.” she grabs your chin, pulling your face closer to her and gently pressing a kiss to your temple.

“you know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. i know you don’t want to read about all of the stupid shit men online say about you. they don’t even know you and it’s so infuriating that they think they can talk about my baby like that. my sweet, sweet girl...” she rubs your side, kissing your temple gently a few more times while babbling a few more sweet names in your ear.

“i know, p. but, i also know i don’t owe anyone shit, and if i want to go out in public with you, i shouldnt be scared. i mean- it’s just…. like, i don’t want to keep hiding us because of the fact that people always have some stupid shit to say. you know, if they call me a whore or if they call me a slut, it might be worth it. it may just be worth it this once.” she smiles ear to ear as you say this. seconds after this, she tackles you onto the couch, pecking all over your face as she tickles your sides.

half asleep, takin’ your time in the tangerine neon lights. this is luxury. you’re not saying you’re in love with me, but, you’re goin’ to. half awake, takin’ your chance, it’s a big mistake. i said, ‘it might blow up in your pretty face.’ im not sayin’ do it anyway, but you’re going to.

the night finally arrives. you guys are both getting your hair done. paige is wearing a lilac suit, and she looks ridiculously attractive. you were wearing a white dress with lilac heels, to coincide with her.

you guys get to the carpet, and it feels so surreal. you guys are finally out together and it’s just fucking insane. she does a few interviews, and they even ask you for your own pictures (even though you’re not an athlete)

the awards themselves are good, paige presents and even changes suits. she looks fuckin’ phenomenal.

but, then the after-party comes. the lights are tangerine and kinda dim, everyone’s drunk, and some people are even outside in a swimming pool. (???)

you had been to award shows yourself, but this was so cool. paige grabs you guys drinks throughout the night, careful not to get too wasted, but enough to get a little tipsy. by the end of the afterparty, so many pictures of you guys had been taken you felt like it was kinda too hard to hide your relationship from the world anymore.

while this wasn’t the main goal of tonight whatsoever, paige decided it was time to make your relationship social media official. she thought you deserved to be loved out loud, and honestly she couldn’t give any less of a fuck who said what. you loved her. she loved you. that’s all that mattered.

@paigebueckers

liked by kamoreaarnold and others

paigebueckers: Cats out of the bag I guess 🐈👜

view all 2,405 comments

kamoreaarnold: Photo creds on slide 3

> paigebueckers: @kamoraarnold Best photographer 🙌

yourusername: wow she’s cute who is that

> paigebueckers: @/yourusername Idiot

>> yourusername: @/paigebueckers 😁

#paige bueckers #paige x reader

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kathlare · 21 days ago

Text

threads of the past

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie reflects on the success of her performance at the Greek Theatre, surrounded by friends and family in the aftermath of the event.

Wordcount: 1.1 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

April 20th, 2023 - Los Angeles, CA

The applause still echoed in Amelie’s mind as she stepped out of the shower, her body finally relaxing after the high of performing at the Greek Theatre. It had been a career milestone, one she had dreamed about for years, and she had given everything she had to the performance. The crowd had been electric, and seeing her friends and family scattered among the audience had made it even more special.

She slipped into a pair of comfortable sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, her damp hair tied back into a loose braid. The glamour of the stage was behind her now, replaced by the quiet comfort of being surrounded by the people she loved. The catering team had set up a cozy dinner spread in the backstage area, and she could already hear the chatter and laughter from the next room.

When she stepped into the room, her heart swelled. Her parents were there, her sister, Rodrigo, and a handful of her closest friends. But her gaze instinctively found Charles, Alex, and George, who were sitting at a table, waving her over. The three of them had flown out to see her perform live for the first time, and their enthusiasm throughout the night had been infectious.

She greeted everyone warmly before grabbing a plate of food and settling at the table with the boys. Rodrigo was deep in conversation with her parents across the room, giving her a rare moment alone with the trio.

—You were fucking incredible out there,— Alex said, shaking his head in disbelief as he shoveled food onto his fork. —Like, I knew you were good, but seeing it live? Insane.—

—Agreed,— George chimed in, raising his glass of water. —That voice... You’re a star, Amelie. No doubt about it.—

Charles, always the most reserved of the three, gave her a small smile. —You’ve worked so hard for this, and it shows. We’re proud of you.—

Amelie blushed, looking down at her plate. —Thanks, guys. It means a lot that you were here. Really.—

The conversation flowed easily as they ate, their banter reminiscent of the countless nights they’d spent gaming together during the pandemic. It felt almost normal, like a slice of the life she used to have before everything got complicated.

But the knot in her stomach wouldn’t loosen. The presence of Charles, Alex, and George made her think of someone else—someone she hadn’t spoken to in months but couldn’t seem to shake from her thoughts. She hesitated, the words forming in her mind before she could stop them.

—So... how’s Lando doing?— Amelie asked casually, keeping her voice light, but her eyes flickered between her friends, trying to gauge their reactions.

The three of them paused mid-bite, and Amelie immediately felt a shift in the air. They exchanged looks, but none of them seemed uncomfortable—more surprised, like they hadn’t expected her to bring up his name.

—Lando?— George echoed, a confused smile tugging at his lips. —He’s good, I guess. You know, always up to something. Same old, really. You’d have to ask him yourself, though. You guys don’t really talk anymore, right?—

Amelie forced a small laugh, nodding as nonchalantly as she could. —Yeah, I just... I don’t know. He’s been kind of off the radar lately. And with everything that’s been going on, I’ve sort of... I don’t know. Just curious, I guess. You guys still hang out with him, though?—

Alex chewed thoughtfully before replying, his voice casual. —Yeah, of course. We still see him at the races and stuff. And when we’re all in Monaco, we hang out sometimes. Honestly, though, he’s been kind of... well, distant lately. Not really his usual self. But I think that’s just Lando being Lando, you know?—

Charles nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was pondering something. —He’s been fine, I guess. A bit off, but he always is. You know how he is, he’s kind of... unpredictable. One minute he’s fine, the next he’s rolling his eyes at whatever random thing Magui says. It’s like... he’s not even interested in her, to be honest.—

Amelie’s heart skipped a beat at Charles’s words, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning in, her voice dropping slightly. —Magui? Is that... is that still his thing?—

George shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. —Yeah, I mean, she’s always around. I don’t think it’s anything serious, though. He’s not exactly head over heels for her. It’s more like, I don’t know, she just... fits the role of whatever distraction he needs. But it’s definitely not what it looks like.—

Alex chuckled, shaking his head. —Yeah, it’s actually kind of funny to watch. Like, he’s just going through the motions, but you can tell he’s not really into her. You can see it in his face. He’ll roll his eyes at something she says, or he’ll look off into the distance when she talks. It’s like he’s physically trying to avoid her. It’s hilarious.—

Amelie felt a strange sense of relief flood through her, though she hated that it came with a twinge of bitterness. —So... nothing serious, then?— she asked, trying to keep her tone casual despite the flood of emotions rising within her.

Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the underlying tension in her voice, but he didn’t comment on it. —No, nothing serious. He’s just... I don’t know. Lando’s always jumping from one thing to another. But that’s all I can tell you. You’ll have to ask him yourself about anything more.—

Amelie forced a smile, though her mind was racing. —Right, right... I guess I’ll have to do that.—

The conversation shifted after that, the boys easily returning to their jokes and casual chatter, but Amelie couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all skating around something they didn’t quite understand. They didn’t know the whole story, of course—they didn’t know how badly things had ended between her and Lando. They didn’t know about the texts Magui had sent, the angry messages that had shredded her already fragile confidence. They didn’t know how much she had cared, and how much she still missed him, despite everything.

As the night wore on, Amelie smiled and laughed with her friends, but inside, she felt like a different version of herself—someone who was trying to convince the world, and maybe even herself, that she was okay. But deep down, she knew she wasn’t.

The more she thought about Lando, the more the anger and hurt that she had buried beneath her professional life bubbled back to the surface. She didn’t want to feel this way. She wanted to move on, to let it all go. But every time someone mentioned him, every time she thought about what had happened, the raw pain returned in waves.

But for tonight, she could bury it, just for a little longer. Tonight, she had her friends, her family, and the music that had been her escape for so long.

The conversation shifted again, and Amelie tried to focus on the now, letting her friends bring her back to the moment. Still, in the back of her mind, Lando’s name lingered, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of her, too.

But no matter how much she missed him, no matter how many times her heart screamed at her to reach out, she knew it was too late for them.

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crackedpumpkin · 2 years ago

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Cole with a girlfriend who has a passion for singing and dancing. She has a beautiful voice mixed with natural talent for dancing.

One day while they’re both slow dancing as a cute way of showing affection to one another, Cole’s father sees and gets emotional cause it reminds him of himself and Lilly when they were Cole and Y/n’s ages.

|| ꜱʟᴏᴡ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴛᴜɴᴇꜱ || ᴄᴏʟᴇ ʙʀᴏᴏᴋꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ||

Hello lovely! I hope you enjoy this, he's such an adorable bean :")

“Cole,” You laugh, setting down the dishes you were drying after he cracks an inside joke. You shake your head with a playful roll of your eyes and a chuckle, and he nudges you, clearly pleased with your reaction.

Soft tunes play from the speaker you had set up for your at-home dinner date. Much to your surprise, Cole had cooked and even lit up some candles around the dining table.

You and he had made small talk, and you were touched by how sweet he was being. You didn’t know he had such a romantic side, but you liked it.

He was always busy with patrol and saving Ninjago City, which meant many a time when he was off on missions, and helping civilians. Oh, and of course, saving the world. You promised yourself to not be too clingy, but it was hard when your dates were constantly interrupted.

Especially when he had to go save the world. You would wait every night at your window, a promise you had made to each other that he’d stop by your place first as soon as he returned.

The constant gnawing worry of whether or not he was safe haunted you every night he was gone, but Nya had relieved your concerns by providing a radio set to a specific channel just for the both of you.

He was sweet; he really was. But physical distance definitely played a part in the loneliness that fills your chest, particularly on cold nights when you longed for his presence.

So imagine your surprise when he texted you to come over in your comfiest clothes, and you enter his home only to be left breathless by the romantic atmosphere he had set up just for you.

Candles line the hallway, leading a rose-scattered path to the dining room, where the lights are turned down low. There your boyfriend sits, dressed in a collared shirt (ironed, no less). You gasp in delight at the dining table, your favourite food plated prettily opposite him.

You glance down at the jeans you’re wearing, feeling embarrassed that you had dressed down. He had said to wear something comfy, after all. You walk over, and he stands up from his seat, moving to give you a sweet kiss.

“Hey,” Cole breathes out, gentle hands on your waist.

“This is amazing, Cole. I feel underdressed, though,” You gesture to your clothes, insanely impressed by everything he had set up.

“I’m glad you like it,” He pulls out your chair for you to sit, “and for the record, you look just as beautiful as the day we met.”

You share a chuckle at the memory, fondness in his eyes as he recalls how he had accidentally stumbled into your rehearsal room. You weren’t very composed at the time, stuck in figuring out lyrics for your next song.

You had glanced up, defeat displayed all over your face before surprise flickered in your eyes, surprised by the sudden presence. Cole had then asked you what was wrong, and since you weren’t feeling the most motivated, you grumpily told him about your songwriting struggles.

He had stayed and brainstormed with you, even choreographing a short dance together with you. It was the most fun you had in a while, and thus exchanged numbers. He’d show up for all your gigs, and you, in turn, would be his rock, keeping him grounded and a safe space for him to confide.

You had since grown close, soft and tender smiles exchanged when you were performing on stage, be it a self-choreographed dance or singing your heart out.

And now, you’re in the kitchen with him after the romantic candlelit dinner, doing the dishes together. It’s usually a tedious chore, but it suddenly became the exact opposite with Cole around.

“Heads up,” Cole calls out before tossing a cluster of bubbles at you. You squeal in response, swatting it away and back at him.

“Cole!”

“Hey, I said heads up,” He shrugs with a cheeky grin. You lightly punch his shoulder with a playful glint in your eyes. You recognize the next song playing through the speakers, nudging Cole to get his attention.

He hums in response with a quirked brow, looking at you questioningly. “Remember this one?” You ask.

“Of course, it’s the one we danced to during our first date.” He grins, quickly rinsing his hands and drying them.

“Remember when I asked you for a dance?” He takes your hands in his, holding them up and placing a soft peck on the back of your hand. You smirk, fighting back the blush that threatens to coat your cheeks.

“Of course, though, I vaguely remember it being more of a waltz.” You point out.

“As if I’d forget,” He scoffs teasingly, pulling you close and resting his head on top of yours as he gently rocks your body side to side in a small sway. You nuzzle your face into his shirt, breathing him in and relishing the moment.

God, this cologne smells so good on him, you realize, humming along to the music. You can sense his smile as he hums along with you, enjoying your melodious voice.

He draws back briefly to twirl you out, and you oblige with a pleased smile.

“Zane was the one that made dinner,” He confesses as he moves to dip you. Your eyes shine with amusement, tilting your head.

“I know,” You admit with a smile, and his brows raise in surprise before pulling you back into his arms.

“Oh?” He murmurs, a tinge of curiosity in his words at how you had found out.

You nod, “I figured it out during dessert,” You tilt your head with a sweet smile gracing your lips, pressing a short kiss against the corner of his mouth.

You’re briefly interrupted when you hear someone else enter the kitchen, separating from Cole, suddenly shy. He grasps your hand before you let it fall to your side, holding it firmly in his.

“Hey, pop,” He greets his dad, who has a sheepish grin on his face.

“Hi Lou,” You say with an underlying tone of embarrassment, bashful at being seen with his son in such an intimate position.

“Hey, Y/n, sorry for interrupting you both. I just came out to get a cup of water, but I couldn’t help but be entranced by your voice! It’s absolutely lovely.” He praises you, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you thank him.

“Good job, son.” He gestures to the candles with a smile, and you can feel Cole stiffen from beside you. You can practically feel him holding in an embarrassed groan.

“It reminds me of when I was your age, you know. When I first met Lilly,” Lou reminisces, leaning against the counter.

“Oh?” Cole’s interest is piqued, and so is yours.

“We often danced on the terrace, a place special to us. And to me even now. When she passed….” Lou looks back down, sadness clouding his eyes. He masks it with a smile, setting down his now empty cup and walking out of the kitchen.

“I hope you youngsters have fun! Don’t stay up too late,” He calls out as he exits, Cole draping his arm around you and pulling you close.

“You know, if it’s anything I’ve learned,” He watches his dad round the corner, the soft click of the door shutting, “it’s that I’m lucky to call you mine.”

You let out a small awww, reaching up and pressing your lips on his in a short but loving kiss. “And I’m lucky to have such an amazing boyfriend.” You confess with a goofy smile.

He resumes the slow waltz from earlier, the two of you dancing into the rest of the night in each other’s embrace.

#Cole Brookestone #cole brookestone #Cole Brookestone x reader #cole brookstone x reader #ninjago cole x reader #ninjago x reader #cole x reader #asks #requests #x reader

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ballet-symphonie · 8 months ago

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There's plenty of criticism for the young generations, the likes of Denisova, Sergeenkova (from BT), Khoreva, Ilyushkina (from MT), etc, and saying how they don't compare to the old(er) generations, Zakharova, Obratsova, Krystanova, Kaptsova,Novikova, Kondaurova... etc etc. So I'm wondering, how did the old generations do when they were new graduates around 20 years old? Were they having the same issues back then as these new dancers are having now (technical sloppiness? lack of artistry? lack of preparation for big roles?...) How do these young gen dancers compare to them when they were young?

The obvious comparison is Zakharova, this is the woman who was admitted directly into the graduating class at VBA and never spent a second in the corps. She has still set the record for speed and made principal at 18. Absolutely ridiculous. But then again, she came out of school looking like this. While she certainly didn't have the emotional depth and soulful lyricism that she developed later, she had beautifully sustained lines and nearly impeccable turnout.

Many of today's graduates have similar body types to her, but nowhere NEAR her precision or control of those extraordinarily long legs. The level of emotional depth perhaps wasn't quite there, but the technical proficiency is simply insane. But even then, that's her Nikiya at age 20...we've seen far worse in recent years.

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Kondaurova is a totally different case. It's difficult to find old performance videos of her...likely because she wasn't doing anything that people deemed worthy of filming. She was not considered a prodigy at graduation, at 26 years old she was still a second soloist and it took her 12 years to get to prima- with some serious lobbying by her coaches and outside choreographers. Today's 'star' grads aren't fighting like Kondaurova. No one wanted to give her classical roles, she and her coach, then Chenikova had to battle for her to be given chances. It's maddening because we have 20-year-old first soloists and 22-year-old primas and no one bats an eye. Ratmansky was quite impressed with her, "She is more spontaneous on stage than most of her colleagues. And everything that often looks like improvisation is actually well rehearsed." That's a key difference between her and a lot of today's grads, she put in the work to appear so spontaneous and carefree- not to look technically perfect.

While there are minimal videos, I can definitely see how much she improved in the early years of her career. The clarity of pointework, stability of turnout, and general presence are much improved in the later video.

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Krysanova is someone who I think had a well-paced career, but by today's pace, it looks like she was sleepwalking. She graduated BBA with a handful of prizes, and she had attention from the start. She did 3 solid years in the corps and then took another 5 years to get to prima under the detailed preparation of one of the Bolshoi's best coaches: Svetlana Adyrkhaeva. Again, Ratmansky pushed and praised her along with Osipova and she was a principal at 26- the youngest at the time. She was and continues to be, the go-to ballerina at BT for new choreographers, featured in premiere after premiere because everyone wants to harness her versatility, but that took time to develop. The older videos of her are quite good, but not mind-blowingly so in my opinion.

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Obratzsova did indeed graduate to a big fuss and her star only continued to rise. She is similar to the current age of graduates, as she got loads of big roles early. By reading old reviews, there's pretty much an overwhelmingly positive consensus. She was a sensation to audiences with her Juliet, the youngest ever to dance it at MT, expertly guided by Ninel Kurgapkina. Her confidence and lightness was just irresistible, you couldn't not fall in love with her. From day one, she had the charm, the poise, and the style. Her presence was what got her roles, despite being a bit undersized. If she graduated today, I'm not sure she'd have the same opportunities. Similarly to Iliushkina, she won the gold medal at Moscow, and while reports suggest she went against administration in doing so, she proved that she could handle herself in a huge variety of repertoire. Only three years after graduating, people like Carla Fracci and Pierre Lacotte were creating work specifically for her, inside and outside of Mariinsky. This current young generation is definitely less sought after, with the exception of Khoreva, for freelancing/media/creations- although a lot of that can be blamed on COVID and then the war.

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Marina Vasilyeva really struck gold in 2002 with both Novikova and Obratsova in the same class. Novikova arrived at the theatre with splendid port de bras and an organized presentation, in addition to snatching the top prize at the Vaganova International Ballet Competition in her graduating year. Additionally remarkable is her phrasing, looking blissfully effortless in addition to the intricacies of her upper body even from a young age. Every step was always clear, although not quite as luminous as she later became. I think today's graduates should be watching more videos of her and taking note of her fluidity. It took her far too long to get to principal, but she was a first soloist in 6 years, a well paced timeline in my opinion.

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Nina Kaptsova really had a strong start to her career. She was dancing solo roles from her first season at the Bolshoi. In 1999, only 3 years after graduating, she was nominated for the prestigious Benois de la Danse prize. A year later, she won it. Even so, she wasn't named principal until 2011. These dancers are simply part of a different timeline, it seems like it's becoming more and more common to see dancers graduate and become principals in 5 years or less, particularly at the Bolshoi.

#nina kaptsova #evgenia obraztsova #svetlana zakharova #ekaterina krysanova #ekaterina kondaurova #olesya novikova #bolshoi ballet #mariinsky theater #bolshoi theatre #ballet #russian ballet #ballerina #ballet ask

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defectivevillain · 8 months ago

Text

this winding labyrinth, ch8

chapter eight: excarnation

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 8, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-7, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: mentions of cancer (stage 4 lung), chronic illness, self-deprecating thoughts; typical blood/violence. Gore!!! A LOT of gore. This cannot be overstated. Please take caution!!!!

Nothing haunts Jack Crawford. The criminals he places behind bars (with the assistance of his team) fade from his mind’s eye the moment they’re confined. He doesn’t have time to dwell on memories. His attention moves from one threat to the next to the next; he is purpose-driven and rarely distracted. The few nightmares he does have hit far closer to home—with Bella’s Stage 4 lung cancer suddenly spiking and causing her immense, unlivable pain. Jack’s deepest, darkest fear isn’t a serial killer ripping him apart—it’s the thought of looking into Bella’s eyes, hazy with pain, and feeling completely helpless as she suffers.

Even so, there is one exception: one killer who will break through Jack’s barriers in the quietest of moments, when he least expects it. Yes, Jack supposes, Hannibal Lecter is a special case. He isn’t an average psychopath—he is charismatic and incredibly composed. And what eludes Jack most is the undeniable fact that the only reason they caught Lecter… was because he allowed them to. His surrender was tactical, pointed—and grounded in his conviction that he would be able to escape whenever he desired. Jack can only hope that Lecter was incorrect; can only hope that the man will rot in a cell for the rest of his life. (But he knows, deep down, that Hannibal Lecter is rarely wrong. And that troubles Jack far more than he’s willing to admit.)

In the time following Lecter’s “surrender,” Jack does not think of him. For several months, his mind palace is thoroughly guarded against any unwelcome intrusions. His attention is devoted to: 1) Bella, whose condition is slowly but surely worsening; and 2) his work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Admittedly, there is something else that occasionally crosses his mind—but it isn’t necessarily related to Lecter’s seemingly countless murders. Instead, it is the nature of Lecter’s affections for you that consistently bothers him.

The look on Hannibal’s face that fateful night often flickers before Jack’s eyes, and he feels a strange sense of guilt at the memory. Because Jack was the reason Hannibal met you—he was the one to introduce you both, all those years ago. He needed you to pass a psychiatric evaluation and Hannibal seemed intelligent enough to understand that—to understand how essential it was for you to return to the field. Jack hadn’t thought that he had made a misstep until he saw the two of you together at the crime scene the Minnesota Shrike left behind—until he saw Hannibal practically latched to your side, looming over you like a menacing, all-encompassing shadow.

Now, as Jack stands before Hannibal Lecter in his cage at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he feels as if he’s drowning in déjà vu. Those brown-crimson eyes pin him in place before the glass enclosure. Frederick Chilton’s interest in Hannibal is abundantly clear, Jack realizes, as his eyes wander across bookshelves, a writing desk, and other amenities that the other prisoners certainly do not have. Chilton has always been annoyingly self-serving, and Jack isn’t even sure if a conversation with him would change his behavior. It is clear that the administrator is painfully aware of the kind of opportunity Lecter’s captivity presents: a once-in-a-lifetime chance to study someone who defies all existing research. Jack personally can’t see the appeal; he is instead concerned with the lives the man has taken and the families he has torn apart in the process. He is instead concerned with the inexplicable feeling burrowed deep in his chest—the one that suggests that, despite their positioning, Jack is the one trapped in walls of glass (the pawn) while Hannibal looks on (forever the chessmaster).

“Hello, Jack.” Hannibal greets him, looking up from his book. His eyes are twinkling, Jack notes with distaste.

“Lecter,” Jack responds carefully, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice. Hannibal notices this and a slight smile rises on his lips. “You requested to speak with me.” And while Jack’s instincts screamed at him to ignore the request, he knew he really had no choice. If there’s a chance, no matter how small, that Lecter has information on the Tooth Fairy… Well, Jack will endure the man’s mind games.

“I did,” Hannibal acquiesces, clasping his hands and crossing one leg over the other. Even in a nondescript white jumpsuit, he makes the gesture look elegant. “How are you, Jack?” Immediately, Jack is annoyed. He doesn’t have the patience for this. As the Head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he has never had much time for meaningless conversation. Every second wasted is another second for a knife to be lodged between someone’s ribs—another chance for innocent lives to be taken.

“I struggle to believe you summoned me to engage in casual conversation,” Jack says, not bothering to hide his irritation anymore.

“Perhaps not,” Hannibal admits with that infuriating smile. Jack has never been a particularly violent or confrontational person, yet he can now see the appeal of wrapping hands around someone’s neck and choking the life out of them. He shakes his head to clear himself of the uncharacteristically violent thought. This place—this façade of a hospital—has always brought out the worst in him. “How are you, Jack?” Hannibal asks persistently. He isn’t dissuaded by his nonexistent answer. “How is Bella?”

White-hot fury rises in Jack’s chest. He is immediately thrown back into the past, into a time when Bella felt as if she couldn’t burden him with her condition (as if it was somehow her choice, as if Jack was so selfish as to prefer ignorance over assisting his partner). He has never fully recovered from Bella’s lie of omission—and the worst part is that he understands her decision. There have been times, across the course of his career, where he concealed his own injuries so that he didn’t cause her unnecessary stress. And while their situations are entirely different, Jack still can find the commonalities in them—can still understand the need to keep your partner from experiencing any undue stress.

Jack isn’t sure how long he stands there, lost in thought, until he remembers that Hannibal asked him a question. He takes a slow measured breath. “She’s fine,” he settles for saying.

Hannibal arches a brow. “And I suppose you’re fine , too?” He asks, his voice devoid of emotion. Yet there’s a fraction of a second where Jack sees the man’s shoulders tighten in irritation.

Jack makes a point to take another slow, measured breath, before clenching his fists at his sides. He will have to play into Hannibal’s hand, if he wants to learn anything about why he’s been called here today. And while he wants nothing more than to lie, he knows the man in front of him will discern the truth in an instant.

“Bella is… not well.” Jack admits. Her health is getting worse—to the point where she is mostly bedridden. Jack hates that his work keeps him from her during the day, hates that he returns to find her with a smile on her face—as if he’s not letting her down. He feels his jaw clench at the thought.

“I am very sorry to hear that, Jack, truly,” Hannibal says. Jack suspects the sentiment is genuine—Hannibal shared dinner with the two of them, after all. Bella then reached out to him and had several meetings with him regarding her disease. And while Jack is grateful that Bella felt empowered to speak to someone about her situation, he selfishly wishes that she had just sat down and spoken to him instead. After all, her meetings with Hannibal created an awkward gap in their relationship—as Jack was forced to come to terms with the fact that the psychiatrist knew more about his wife’s condition than he did. “How are you faring?” Hannibal asks, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“I don’t see how this is relevant,” Jack says, gritting his teeth. This idle small talk is making him more and more restless with every passing moment.

“It is painfully relevant,” Hannibal asserts.

“Fine,” Jack repeats angrily. He feels like a broken record. “Very well. I’ve been better.” That’s the under exaggeration of the century—he feels as if he’s falling apart, as he is forced to stand by and watch as Bella’s health deteriorates. Jack wants nothing more than to help her, but he doesn’t know how. Bella maintains that his presence is enough, but Jack still feels the visceral need to do something more than sitting silently at her side .

“How much longer does she have?” Hannibal asks.

“A few weeks, she’s told,” Jack answers habitually. Everything about the disease is horribly cruel. Jack wishes he could share some of Bella’s pain—or, even better, take it away entirely. But he’s not a miracle worker—he is only her husband. Jack is not a religious man—someone like him, who has chased criminals for decades, will lose faith as they see fresh horrors that question their very mortality. Yet recently he has found himself close to praying for Bella’s recovery.

“It must be difficult to make time for her,” Hannibal says. “The FBI isn’t an accommodating employer. Not that I would know.” He says coyly. Jack feels any of his remaining patience promptly disintegrate into nothingness.

“Enough with the small talk,” Jack demands. This is taking much longer than he would like it to. “Why did you ask for me?”

“As I said, I have information for you,” Hannibal states.

“On the Tooth Fairy?” Jack presses.

“No.” The man responds. Jack nearly loses it right then and there. He turns around and is about to make his departure when Hannibal continues. “I have information on someone close to you.” Someone close to you. If it were Bella, then he would’ve said so. Who could this be about?

“How did you come to possess this information?” Jack asks guardedly. He still doesn’t necessarily believe the other man. Hannibal could be deceiving him. But Jack’s already here now, so he might as well at least hear him out. At worst, the information will be useless and Jack will storm out of the building in annoyance.

“Observation,” Hannibal answers ambiguously.

“Who might this person be?” Jack asks, despite being fairly confident that there’s only one reasonable answer. He hopes his suspicions are incorrect.

“Your best agent,” Hannibal responds, confirming his suspicions. Unease prickles along Jack’s skin. “Don’t distract my best agent,” Jack had said to Hannibal all those years ago. If only he had known how much of a distraction the man would prove to be…

“I don’t believe you,” Jack immediately remarks. The words crawl up his throat and wrench themselves out of his lips, clinging to the tense air like a vice.

“I think we both know that baseless conjecture would not benefit me.” Jack just remains silent. Eventually, Hannibal continues. “I have a defined sense of smell, as you know,” he says. He’s dragging this out on purpose. Jack has to resist the growing urge to snap at him. The man must sense his quickly declining patience, because he continues. “During our first conversation, I smelled smoke.”

“Must’ve been a fluke,” Jack interjects. If Hannibal is bothered by the interruption, he doesn’t show it. But Jack is certain that he’s annoyed—after all, he abhors rudeness.

“That’s what I thought,” Hannibal agrees. “Then we spoke again—and I recognized the scent as the same one I smelled before. I assume there is no significant other in the picture, therefore… your best agent is a smoker.” That last remark almost sounds like a question. Jack tries to dispel it from his memory, but he finds that Hannibal has ensnared him in a verbal trap. In order to get the truth, he must divulge information that Hannibal does not deserve to know. But, when it comes to your safety…

He decides not to answer, despite knowing deep down that his silence is enough of an answer. Instead, Jack asks the man to recount what happened in detail and Hannibal obliges. As he claims, he first smelled smoke when you approached him and asked for information on the Tooth Fairy. He wanted to inquire about it, but he wasn’t convinced of his theory. After all, the odor could’ve come from a visit to a friend’s house or a windy day downtown. The next time you visited, however, Hannibal smelled it again. He confronted you about it and you didn’t deny his accusations. Apparently, he also expressed his concerns—citing that smoking can cause lung cancer and other adverse effects. You didn’t seem to care.

Jack isn’t sure he believes Hannibal wholeheartedly, but he also knows that the man has no incentive to lie. That begs the question, however: why would Hannibal say something in the first place? “I don’t understand how telling me this benefits you.” Jack confesses, watching him warily.

Hannibal smiles knowingly. The gesture is fleeting. “I find myself worried,” he admits. “Smoking is terrible for a person’s health and can cause lifelong, irreparable damage.”

“You want me to intervene,” Jack realizes aloud, immediately discerning the real reason Hannibal summoned him.

“I believe you are in a unique position—one that gives you the authority to curb such a habit,” Hannibal proposes. A dark expression flickers across his face as he stares ahead. “I pray it hasn’t become an addiction just yet.” He supplements, appearing vaguely troubled.

Jack knows the danger of making a promise to the man standing in front of him, to the Chesapeake Ripper. But he feels it is necessary. After all, if he can manage to follow through, then he’ll likely receive some good karma and cement Hannibal’s trust in him. Jack could then exploit that trust later on. Knowing that, he decides to go for it. “I’ll see what I can do,” Jack guarantees.

“Thank you, Jack,” Hannibal responds sincerely. “You are unfailingly reliable, as always.”

“...Thank you,” Jack responds. The compliment doesn’t mean very much to him, considering the entire situation. He takes a deep breath and tries to settle the sudden onset of his nerves. Jack anticipates that you will bristle and withdraw if he tries to intervene. But Jack doesn’t really have any other option—you’re a vital component of the Behavioral Analysis Unit and he won’t see your physical or cognitive abilities impaired by anything, let alone something as harmful as smoking. “I’ll be departing now.” Jack announces.

“Very well,” Hannibal nods, regarding him one last time. The smile on his face sends a shiver down Jack’s spine. “It was good to see you, Jack.”

Jack doesn’t bother echoing the sentiment, instead turning on his heel and walking away. He got what he needed and will leave entirely unscathed. So why is his heart racing so thunderously in his chest?

Jack soon understands when he finds himself standing before you, attempting to decide how to best confront you. Because this is, ultimately, a confrontation—an intervention that you will likely not appreciate. But it’s a necessary evil, Jack tells himself.

Eventually, he just decides to cut to the chase. He’s never been one to sugarcoat things. “You’ve been smoking.” Jack says cavalierly.

You stare at him, eyes widening for the briefest of moments before the emotion is being reigned in and suppressed. Jack can’t help but think of that emotional control written on someone else’s face—in the brown eyes gleaming with crimson and the wry turn of lips. “No, I haven’t,” you respond smoothly.

Jack is not fooled. He has considered everything he’s seen—has digested the evidence (or, in this case, the utter lack of it). “Don’t lie to me, Agent,” Jack sighs, exasperation and irritation battling for prominence in his voice. He’s a bit disappointed that you think you still have the ability to lie to him—that you can hide such things from him.

“How did you know?” You then ask suspiciously, shoving your hands in your pockets. “I haven’t been smoking at work.” And somehow, Jack knows you’ve been taking meticulous showers—and ensuring that the smell doesn’t reach your work clothes. That’s the only explanation for the complete lack of sensory input.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jack eventually settles for saying. How he became privy to that information isn’t important. What is important is the truth of the matter: that you’ve been putting yourself at risk.

“Who told you?” You demand, ascertaining what Jack fails to utter. He locks eyes with you and, somehow, you seem to find the answer in his gaze. “It was Hannibal, wasn’t it?”

Jack is still quiet. It’s cowardly, but he doesn’t want to utter the words—that will usher in a whole new horrifying sense of finality. He knows you’ll get an answer from his silence anyway; indeed, you study him for a moment before nodding resolutely and walking away. He watches you depart with a tight feeling in his chest, inexplicably convinced that he just crossed a line he can’t come back from.

Standing before Hannibal Lecter’s cell, you’re overcome with the knowledge that you shouldn’t have visited. Irritation, anger, and (unjustified) betrayal prickle along your skin and pull your hands into clenched fists. You can cope with the former emotions, but the latter? You should not feel betrayed—because betrayal implies that, to some degree, you trust Hannibal. Even after everything he’s done to you.

You shake your head and take a deep breath. It’s too late to go back now. You’re already standing in front of his enclosure. He has already seen you, even if he gives no indication that he has noticed you.

“You told Jack.” The accusation crawls from your lips before you can attempt to stifle it. It’s raw, pained, emotional—in all the worst ways. You’re wounded prey before a hungry predator—tempting it with what it desires. Hannibal wants to see you affected by his actions, and you’re fulfilling that desire. After all, you’re not so foolish as to think that Hannibal genuinely cares for your physical wellbeing. You’ve made that mistake—assuming the best of him—far too many times in the past. Even behind this glass wall, Hannibal is the puppetmaster. But you refuse to be his puppet.

“Hello,” Hannibal responds. He closes the book he’s holding and looks up at you. You’re not convinced that he just now focused his attention on you; no, the moment you stepped into the hall, he sank his teeth into you. “You must know it’s polite to start a conversation with a greeting. And I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” you seethe. You’re not feeling very charitable today, so you don’t bother to pretend that you’re composed. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” you remark, finding it increasingly difficult to be patient. He’s drawing this conversation out on purpose. He senses that it irritates you, so he keeps doing it. You try to stay focused. “You told Jack that I was smoking.” Your teeth grit at the memory of your conversation with Jack, at the disappointment hidden in his words. Lately, you can’t shake the feeling that you are nothing more than a problem to Jack.

“You presume Jack didn’t know before,” Hannibal assesses.

“I was doing a rather good job of keeping it hidden from him,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest. Indeed, you went to extraordinary lengths to ensure Jack didn’t notice your new habit. You only smoked outside your home, in casual clothing that Jack wouldn’t see you wear. Not to mention, you always kept your lighter and cigarettes concealed in your pockets discreetly. No, you made sure that Jack wouldn’t notice.

“Were you?” Hannibal questions.

“Stop doing that,” you snap, abandoning pretense. He’s parroting your words back to you—asking questions that don’t advance the conversation. “It’s annoying.”

“Very well,” Hannibal says with an amicable shrug. Something about the nonchalance dripping off of him is both non-threatening and sharpened to a fine point. Everything about the man before you is a contradiction. He is nothing but a twisted, tangled mess of paradoxes. Hannibal Lecter is companionable but lonely; compassionate but cruel; deceptively ordinary but horribly, dangerously different. He is only noticeable when he wishes to be. Nothing about him is as it seems.

You stare at the man before you: the Chesapeake Ripper. He is a killer who has upturned your entire life—ripping the rug from beneath your feet and ensuring that you will never know stable footing again. Rage bubbles and froths beneath your skin, compelling you to itch at your forearms in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the overwhelming feeling. This match’s players were decided long before the game even began. Are you forever doomed to be his victim? Do you stand a chance against fate?

“Do you remember?” Clark Ingram croons. “Ripping apart the skin, digging your hands into the matter that gives an organism life? Do you remember that your hands didn’t shake? Do you remember washing away the blood? Is it still on your hands?”

Spots float across your vision. You blink them away; when you open your eyes again, you see Abel Gideon standing behind the glass wall in front of you. His eyes are hazy and unseeing, yet he seems to stare into your very soul. He reaches a hand out, then another, and you instinctively bring your hands to your neck, if only to wrench his grip away-

“You.” Garret Jacob Hobbs whispers. “You’re just like me.”

And suddenly Gideon is reeling back, a bullet carving a neat path through his temple. Blood slips down his face in crimson rivulets; his eyeballs slip and roll in their sockets, before falling out—leaving them to dangle ominously, with only the optic nerves to keep them anchored. Gideon opens his mouth and his teeth crumble and rot, blackening and decaying to dust in his mouth.

Suddenly his visage shifts, and you’re staring at Miggs—who is staring back with wild eyes. He lets out a truly bone-chilling laugh, his jaw extending further and further until it’s snapping off and ripping through his skin. His tongue slithers down his chin, traveling down his body and resting in a scarlet puddle on the floor. His eyes are bloodshot and frozen as they spin faster and faster-

A blur of motion draws your attention to the left, and you watch in muted horror and shock as a pale hand reaches towards you, beckoning you closer. You lock eyes with Franklyn Froidevaux; a pained noise leaves your lips as you watch his hand snap and break, bending and curling backwards in a manner that is not physically possible. With clawed fingers, Franklyn brings a hand to rest in the air near his chest and you hear ringing in your ears. In a fluid motion, he impales himself. His free hand mimics the motion and your stomach stews as you see him grasp adjacent ribs in each hand, before brutally ripping them apart to bare his chest cavity and free his heart. The organ pulsates in the open air, and past the disgusting squelches of blood, tissue, and biological matter fleeing further down his chest and hitting the ground, all you can hear is his heart pounding in your own ears-

There is a hand on your shoulder. You inhale sharply and immediately turn around, prepared to fight off another criminal—another one of your victims—when you lock eyes with Frederick Chilton. It takes you several moments to come back to your body and ground yourself in the present moment. Your breaths are arriving and leaving far too fast; there’s sweat collecting at the back of your neck; your hands are trembling; your throat is extremely dry.

When you can finally move past these physical sensations, you realize that Dr. Chilton is staring at you with glittering eyes. The concern on his face almost seems genuine, which is all the more concerning.

“Time’s up.” He says, a modicum of sympathy in his voice.

You cough to clear your throat, wincing at how tight and scratchy it feels. “I just got here.” You answer raspily, trying to shrug his hand off of your shoulder. Chilton’s grip only strengthens.

“I gave you an extra ten minutes,” He says softly, looking at you worriedly. His grip on your shoulder is tight and you quickly shake it off. This time, he lets you. “It’s been an hour.”

An hour? Surely that’s not right. You glance at your watch, only to find that it has indeed been an hour. Sensing a gaze boring into you, you remember Hannibal’s presence. Glancing at him, you find that he has a blank expression on his face. Have you really been standing here, rooted to this very spot for an hour, with the Ripper right in front of you? What did he do, while you were lost in phantom worlds? Did he observe you with a sick fascination, reading through research in his head? Your stomach churns at the thought of being so vulnerable in front of Hannibal for such an extended period of time. The security in this place is not nearly enough to make you feel safe in front of him. Hannibal can overcome any obstacle, if he desires.

You take a shuddering breath in and nod at Chilton, turning towards the door. Hannibal utters a goodbye, but you’re too lost in your thoughts to hear it. This meeting was an entire waste of time, but, then again, what were you expecting? Did you hope to have a reasonable conversation with the Ripper? You’re not sure why you bothered showing up in the first place. A small part of you wonders if this is all an act of elaborate self-sabotage—if you’re setting yourself up for further pain with every new conversation with Hannibal.

Regardless, the events of today serve as a reminder: Hannibal is confined within these halls, but he still has enough power to manipulate the outside world—enough to manipulate your life. You dig your nails into your palms and walk down the hall, your footsteps echoing throughout the space. You’re so rattled that you don’t notice Chilton’s grip remaining on your shoulder, nor do you notice the malicious glare Hannibal sends him in response.

next chapter

endnotes: Avoiding pronouns here was very difficult, so apologies if the conversation between Jack and Hannibal is a bit awkward. But I’m still committed to ensuring the reader’s gender is ambiguous, so… awkward phrasing it is.

Here was the original dialogue I was going to use for the conversation between Hannibal and the reader. I ended up scrapping it, but I still think it’s a fun idea:

“You’re a bastard. You know that?” “I’m afraid that’s a new one,” Hannibal says, a small mirthful smile slipping onto his face.

Jack takes a bit more of a *proactive* approach to combating your addiction in the next chapter.

I am proud of myself for the gore. Heehee.

thx for reading! hope you enjoyed :3

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light-yaers · 2 years ago

Text

Take Care: Chapter Three

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: Have another one because I can’t stand not posting chapters when I have them written. Thanks for all the love, seriously! Absolutely insane that this has blown up so fast. I’ve written 30k in a week. God damn.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Chapter Three

“Fast and painless, right?” you said, looking at Roy. The two of you stood at the end of the red carpet, before the entrance to the charity ball. Paparazzi yelled at players on the carpet, snapping pictures incessantly.

“That’s the plan. I’ve been doing this for too fucking long. Trust me,” he replied, and just for that brief moment, you found that you trusted Roy Kent wholeheartedly. He stuck his arm out for you. “Come on.”

You laid your hand on his forearm, slinking it together with his own, until you were secure. Roy peered down at you subtly, just for a second, before he started walking. You had no choice but to follow him and match his pace. The two of you booked it down the red carpet, ignoring the sudden flashes of cameras, and the way they were practically begging Roy for a photo.

“No, no, no, no,” he whittled off, and when that didn’t work, he transitioned to, “Fuck off! Fuck off! Fuck off! Fuck off!”

Inside, it was much more subdued. You were thankful for Roy’s support beforehand, even if you felt so fucking silly now that you’d made it. People mingled happily, shaking each other’s hands in introduction. It was easier than you expected. You sat at a table with the guys, alongside Ted and Keeley. Roy placed two beers in front of you, before he dropped down into the seat next to yours with a sigh.

“Made it in one piece,” he said, picking up a beer and bringing it to his lips.

“I’ll definitely be using that method in future,” you replied.

“What, when you become a professional footballer?”

You scoffed. “Exactly.”

You all quietened when Rebecca took the stage. She looked positively frazzled, but you couldn’t deny that she still held such a presence over a room. You admired her, truthfully. Taking over the football club, ignoring whatever shit the tabloids wrote about her, still taking charge where she could.

As she welcomed everyone to the charity ball, a sinking feeling hit your gut in the form of a man in a white fucking suit. He waltzed into the room like he owned it, whispered hello’s to people who recognised him. Suddenly, it was as if no one was listening to Rebecca, instead replacing their gazes onto the man in white, who chose to stand directly in the centre of the room.

“Rebecca, darling!” he announced suddenly, and that’s when your face soured.

Rebecca stopped, frozen. “Rupert,” she said, gobsmacked.

As they kept up their back and forth, you leaned closer to Roy. He shot you a side-eyed glance, taking in the utter confusion on your face. “Who the fuck is that?” you asked him in a whisper.

“Fucking hell,” Roy whispered in reply. “You don’t even know who that is?”

You shrugged, catching his eye. “I told you, I know fuck all.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Roy let out. “That’s Rupert bloody Mannion. Ex-owner of Richmond, and–”

“Rebecca’s ex-husband,” you finished his sentence, before grimacing to oblivion. You’d never seen his face until now, and you silently thanked some god out there that you hadn’t. “I think he’s the biggest sleaze I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Roy choked on his drink loudly, alerting the room to his presence suddenly. Rupert stopped gabbing over Rebecca’s speech to look at his old team Captain, and let out a sickening chuckle. You elbowed Roy in his ribs abruptly, and he looked up instantly.

“Is that Roy Kent?” Rupert asked, projecting his voice around the room. He spread his arms out in welcome. “Oh, how good it is to see your face! And the rest of you boys, too.” He addressed the rest of the table, strolling closer to all of you.

The guys stayed where they were, silent and glued to their seats. You, however, wished you could leave immediately.

“I swear, Roy,” you whispered frantically, as Rupert continued to approach. “If this man so much as looks at me I’m going to whack him in the–”

“And do my eyes deceive me, Roy, or is that a lovely lady that you’ve brought with you?” Rupert continued. You wanted to vomit.

Quickly, you looked to Rebecca on stage. She was utterly frozen, dealing with both the shock and anger of having Rupert arrive out of the blue, only to upstage her in the middle of her welcome speech. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that Rupert was a narcissistic piece of shit, just from one bloody look. You’d been around men enough to spot a red flag in a sea of blue and red Richmond shirts.

Roy straightened himself out, as Rupert placed his hand on the top of his chair. He peered down at the pair of you, smiling in a way that could only be described as utterly disgusting.

“Rupert,” Roy said plainly, ignoring his prior question. You kept your eyes forward, ignoring the sickening look that Rupert was flicking between yourself and Roy.

“Nice to see you again, Captain.” He slammed his hand down on Roy’s shoulder once, before he went back to addressing the entire room.

You let out a pent up breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding. Beside you, Roy relaxed back into his seat the further Rupert walked from your table. At the same time, the both of you reached for your beers. You both downed the remainder of your bottles, dropping them, utterly empty, back onto the tabletop afterwards.

“Another beer?” Roy asked, and you got his message immediately. He was saying let’s get the fuck out of here.

“Please.” You stood immediately, not giving a shit when you sauntered past Rupert, with Roy on your tail.

The two of you stayed at the bar until things had died down, which by all accounts, was a long fucking time. The room had gone back to its normal level of stardom, and Rebecca had managed to finish the rest of her welcome address. A few empty bottles covered the bar where you and Roy stood, gabbing away as if you were at the fucking pub, instead of at a prestigious charity event.

You clutched your fingers over your mouth, trying to hold in a colossal laugh. In front of you, Roy kept digging deeper into the story he was telling you, and it was only making it worse. You were laughing so hard that you were sure you’d burst, and when you got a few seconds of peace to glimpse at him, you were happy to see the smallest curl of a smile on his lips, too. You’d been talking about boy bands for an hour and found yourself thinking– if it stayed like this for the rest of the night, then you’d be happy.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you burst finally, letting the last of your agonising chuckles trickle from your mouth. You clutched your middle, feeling the welcomed pain of too much laughter. “I used to be a massive fan of them growing up, you know?”

“One Direction?” Roy questioned, almost like he was offended, until he skidded his eyes down you quickly. “Oh, well, that makes sense. You were a teenage girl at one point, surely?”

You scoffed, actually offended. “What do you mean surely?” you let out. “Incase you forgot already, Roy, I do happen to be a woman.”

“No fucking waaaay,” he breathed out, faking amazement. “That’s insane.”

A few trickles of laughter erupted between the two of you, but were abruptly cut off by a flustered Rebecca. She bombarded towards the bar, as if on a warpath. “The auction is in a minute, Roy. Back to your seats,” she directed, leaving both of you with a scolded look upon your faces.

“The auction?” you asked. “I had no idea you were such an… art curator.”

Roy picked up two new beer bottles, as the two of you started heading back to your table. “It’s not a bloody art auction.”

“What kind of auction is it, then?”

As if on cue, Rupert emerged onto the stage to a round of applause from the audience. You couldn’t help your scowl, but you perked up when you saw Jamie follow him onto the stage. “Now, now, it’s time for the best event of the night– the auction! And first up, we have none other than Richmond striker, number nine, Jamie Tartt!” Rupert announced, and your quizzical look turned into full on disgust.

As you and Roy sat back down, you erupted. “Are you fucking kidding me? They’re auctioning off you guys?”

“It’s a tradition,” Keeley said, though she didn’t look any more impressed as you.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just when someone says charity that doesn’t usually bring trafficking to mind.” You leaned back in your chair and crossed your legs. Roy handed you a beer, but you were so annoyed that you didn’t even think to thank him.

“Shall we start the bidding off at one thousand pounds?” Rupert continued, and an all-out bidding war began– just not with Keeley.

For a moment, it was only an older woman who was interested, but when a different woman- younger, blonder, fitter– got involved, Keeley could barely contain her anger. She cleared her throat, looking at you sternly. “Not fucking today,” she said, before she raised her own paddle. “Five thousand pounds!” she bid.

“Eight thousand!” the blonde behind her said, and all it did was piss Keeley off further.

“Ten!” Keeley said.

“Eleven,” the other woman said.

It was constant, and as stressful as it was sat next to Keeley herself, Jamie was lapping up the fight for himself on stage. He stuck his tongue out arrogantly, taking in the bidding war with nothing less than the smile that he wore on the pitch, right after scoring a goal.

“This is vile,” you commented, and Roy perked his brow at you.

“Even worse when you think about her,” Roy added, pointing to the older woman who had been adamant to snag Jamie for herself. “She wins me every year, and each date has been worse than the fucking last. I had to leave her on the street in Hammersmith last time, ‘cause she’d booked us a cab to go back to hers for dessert.”

You grimaced. “You’re footballers, not fucking escorts.” For a second, Roy casually contemplated a career as an escort. He shrugged, almost like he didn’t mind. You scowled immediately. “I hate this.”

When Jamie’s bidding war finally ended, going to Keeley for a steep fifteen thousand, Roy readied himself to go on stage. He did up the middle button of his jacket and cleared his throat, before he stood. You had the strangest urge to protest, to stand up and say that this was all fucking weird, but you kept your mouth shut.

When Jamie returned to the table, Keeley was sharp with him. The blonde sat behind you had obviously got to her, and for good reason. You didn’t know the extent of Keeley and Jamie’s relationship, but you knew them individually, and that was enough to know that Keeley definitely deserved more. You could appreciate his talent, his skill, his work ethic, but the way Jamie Tartt treated people didn’t match up.

You peered back at the older woman; she licked her lips as Roy made his way onstage. It made you feel somewhere between sick and angry. “Next up is Richmond’s Captain, number six, you all know and love him– Roy Kent!” Rupert announced, and Roy reluctantly took the stage.

“God, don’t let her bloody win,” you muttered, and Keeley let out a small laugh beside you.

“She’s always on a rampage,” she said, smiling, but you saw a glint in her eyes– she was hurt, and Jamie had done fuck all to make her feel any better.

“Shall we start the bidding off at–?”

“Five thousand pounds!” the older woman interrupted Rupert, booming her shrill voice over the room.

Onstage, Roy mouthed fucks sake. On Keeley’s other side, Jamie started laughing. You wanted to whack him because of his overly obnoxious behaviour, but instead settled on rolling your eyes. Keeley froze next to you, and you felt like something was brewing within her.

“Five thousand going once,” Rupert said. “Going twice!”

“Six thousand!” Keeley erupted suddenly, and you snapped your gaze onto her.

You weren’t naive. As Keeley and the older woman got into another bidding war, you knew exactly why she was getting involved with Roy’s auction. It was to piss off Jamie. She wanted to spite him by bidding on Roy– his obvious fucking enemy. You let out a silent groan, sending up a prayer to whoever was listening for this shit to end. It was like you’d been sat at a table for secondary school kids instead of professional athletes.

“Eight thousand!” the older woman said.

“Ten thousand pounds!” Keeley yelled louder, and that was your last straw.

Quickly, you grabbed her by her bicep. “Keeley,” you whispered harshly. “Stop it. This is childish. And this isn’t fucking fair on Roy.”

Keeley turned to you, looking thoroughly chastised. It took her a moment, but when she breathed out, you saw her true nature return. “Yeah,” she said sullenly. “You’re right.” She sighed, and put her paddle down. Sending an angry look at Jamie, she got up and left the table.

“Eleven thousand!” the older woman countered.

Rupert perked his brow. “Oh? Is that it, then? Eleven thousand going once…”

You peered over at Jamie, who didn’t look happy at all. The atmosphere on the table had dropped significantly, but you were just glad that it was almost over.

“Eleven thousand going twice!” Rupert continued, and you looked towards Roy onstage.

He caught your eye as you looked towards him, and there was something that switched within you. Almost instantly, you held the determination of your whole table– all of whom were tired of being paraded around and bought, even if it was for fucking charity. You weren’t going to let the old bat win another year in a row.

You stood up quickly, grabbing your paddle and raising it to the sky. “Twelve thousand pounds!”

Rupert’s grin was practically off the charts. “Oh, we have a new bidder! Twelve thousand for the Richmond Captain!”

“Thirteen thousand!” the oldie hit back.

“Fourteen!” You peered back at her, shooting her a death stare.

“Fifteen!”

“Sixteen!”

She stood up, her knees creaking as she did so. “Eighteen thousand!”

“Eighteen thousand for Richmond’s Captain!” Rupert exclaimed over the mic.

You hesitated just for a moment, before taking another look at Roy. He must know you didn’t actually have eighteen fucking grand to give away. He must know that you were only doing this to save him from another god awful date with that geriatric nymphomaniac.

You smacked your hand on the tabletop suddenly, scaring Jamie out of his skin. “Twenty-five thousand!” you practically screamed it, and in response garnered a huge round of applause and cheers from the other guests.

“Twenty-five going once!” Rupert said, and the oldie behind you finally started to falter. “Going twice!” he added, as tension stuck itself to every corner of the fucking room. “Gone!”

The crowds erupted even further, with a few actually coming up to shake you by the hand afterwards. Rupert’s laughter reverberated around the entire hall, and when you looked at Roy, you were happy to see relief all over his face.

Rupert whacked a hand down on Roy’s shoulder. “Well, well, well, Mr. Kent,” he began. “It seems to me that you’ve found yourself a real keeper.”

As the hall died down to a better level, Roy returned to the table. Ted and Rebecca had disappeared off somewhere, and you were biting back the adrenaline that coursed throughout your whole body. You could see now why people got hooked on gambling.

Roy sank into the seat next to yours, picked up his beer and downed the contents. When he put the empty bottle back on the table, he leaned closer to you. “I’m assuming that I’m forking up twenty-five grand, right?”

“Yep,” you said immediately. You gulped back your own beer, copying him by placing your empty bottle next to his.

“Another beer?” he asked, and you sent him a surprised look. You’d just forced him into giving up twenty-five grand, all to avoid a bad date, and he didn’t seem angry in any way.

“Why aren’t you pissed at me?” you asked.

Roy draped his arm over the back of your chair and crossed his legs comfortably. He leaned towards you, looking so relaxed now that you wouldn’t have been able to recognise the man he was on stage. “Do you want me to be pissed?”

“No,” you said, crossing your arms. “I was just wondering why not.”

“Because you just saved my fucking skin, that’s why,” Roy said.

“Yeah, and lost you twenty-five fucking grand, Roy,” you whispered harshly.

Roy scoffed. “I’m a fucking footballer.”

You shrugged. “Fair enough.” The two of you rose together, headed for the bar again, leaving Jamie and Keeley to their awkward silence.

The rest of the evening seemed to run smoothly, until the abrupt announcement that Robbie Williams was sadly not performing. You frowned from the bar, while Roy silently rejoiced by downing another beer. The atmosphere had mellowed to something you were better suited for, but that all went to shit when Jamie approached the bar. Keeley was nowhere to be found, but the immediate daggers that shot between Jamie and Roy were more than noticeable.

You tapped your nails against your beer bottle, waiting for either of them to speak first. It seemed to be a running theme, you noticed, that Jamie and Roy fucking hated one another. You could understand why– Jamie was overly arrogant, on and off the pitch. Roy had dealt with all kinds of people throughout his career, and simply didn’t have the tether to put up with them anymore.

“So,” Jamie broke the silence. “Twenty-five grand.”

Roy growled in reply. You took that as the perfect time to leave them to it. You headed to the bathroom, just from the sheer lack of where else to fucking go. You weren’t in the mood to mingle in the main hall, too afraid that Rupert would do the rounds once more. Opening the door to the bathrooms, you immediately found Rebecca and Keeley by the sinks.

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Sorry. I was wondering where you’d both gone off to.”

Keeley turned to you first, and you instantly knew something was wrong. One glance at Rebecca confirmed the fact– something had definitely happened. “What’s wrong?” You placed a gentle hand on Keeley’s shoulder. “Jamie?” Keeley nodded sullenly. “You deserve more, Keeley. So much more.”

She smiled at you sadly, but there was a finality within her glistening eyes. She looked almost relieved, even though she hadn’t pulled the bandaid off yet. Secretly, you knew this would be a reality call for Jamie, too. Just because he was young and successful didn’t give him the right to treat others like dirt. Outside at the bar, you hoped Roy was saying the same, just not in a way that would start a fucking fight between them.

You headed to a stall, but stopped before you could shut the door. “For the record,” you said, turning back to the ladies. “Rebecca, you deserve more, too.” Rebecca’s face softened into something warm. “Even looking at Rupert made me feel like I needed to take a fucking shower.” Rebecca scoffed abruptly. She raised her martini to you, and you finally shut the stall door.

You had always been good at Irish goodbyes. It was one of your top skills, and had a close to one hundred percent success rate. At an event like this, you didn’t doubt it would also work wonders. After the bathroom, you glanced at the bar to find it empty of any footballers. That was a good enough cue to finally call it a night.

You left the venue, only to be hit by a crisp Richmond breeze. Immediately, you regretted not bringing a jacket. You knew it was a matter of time before it came to bite you in the arse, but you hadn’t been thinking before you’d jumped into Roy’s Jeep earlier. Another breeze rushed past you, making goosebumps prickle against your skin. “Fuuucking hell,” you muttered, descending the steps outside and trying to remember the way home.

You stood on the pavement, looking left and right, trying to gauge where in Richmond you actually were. Your bare arms shook as another breeze hit you, but they were relieved when something warm draped over them without warning.

Peering behind you, you caught the sight of Roy’s strong jawline. He finished draping his jacket over you, before he stuck his hands in his pockets and stood next to you.

“You just ruined it,” you let out, sighing. “I was trying to sneak out without anyone noticing.”

Roy perked his brow at you. “You fucking failed, then. And, by the looks of it, would have frozen to death on the fucking spot if it weren’t for me.”

“And I saved you from a borderline unethical date with a geriatric millionaire, who only wanted to jump your fucking bones,” you hit back with.

“Yeah, you did,” Roy acknowledged. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

You shrugged. “I figured it was better me, over her or Keeley.”

“You can fucking say that again.” Roy scuffed his feet on the pavement.

“I told her to knock it off,” you said. “It’s not fun when you get unwillingly involved in someone else’s relationship problems.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience, there.” Roy peered down at you questioningly.

You scoffed, looking back at him playfully. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Oh, really? Care to tell me on the walk home?” he asked, sneaking in a quick ask about walking home together in the process.

A wall of caution sprung up within you. It dawned on you then that you’d spent the entire evening with Roy, tied at the fucking hip. He’d bought all your drinks, comforted you before arriving, driven you here, and was the very reason you’d been invited in the first place. Sure, you were a bit drunk, but not too drunk to realise that this wasn’t exactly casual.

You felt like you knew Roy well enough to know he wasn’t anything but decent, but he was also a professional footballer. His face was present in tabloids twice a week, with stories ranging from women, to messy nights out that people had somehow photographed without him knowing. There was a fine line between colleagues and friends, and an even finer line between colleagues and whoops, we just fell into bed together, didn’t we? You didn’t want to cross that line to oblivion.

That’s what you kept in mind as the two of you stumbled home. Roy’s jacket did make a world of difference, and when you slotted your arms through the sleeves they went past your fingertips. The two of you navigated Richmond neighbourhoods, commenting on the big fucking houses down Roy’s road.

“That one is far too bougie,” you said, pointing at a mansion that was entirely glass-fronted. “It’s literally a stalker's dream. From a high up window you’d be able to see every fucking thing that went on inside.”

“Sounds like you’re talking from experience about that, too,” Roy said, smiling at his own dig subtly.

“Oh, you caught me,” you said, melodramatically clutching a hand to your chest. “I’m Richmond’s biggest mansion stalker. I see a house made completely from glass and orgasm on the spot.”

Roy huffed through his nose, amused. “Who are your targets? Billionaires? Lawyers? Footballers?”

“Depends,” you said. “Is your house made completely out of glass?”

“Fuck no,” Roy said. “I do have a skylight above my bed, though.”

“Damn,” you said. “I’ll have to expand my stalking to drone footage, too.”

“Sounds like a good investment,” Roy added, before he peered down at you. You took a moment to look up at him, too, and shared a smile with one another. Inside your head, you were screaming at yourself about the wall you’d erected earlier.

Roy stopped walking suddenly, and you let out a small squeak as you tried to stop at the same time as him. It was clear you’d both drunk a lot, but it was all in good fun. “This is me,” Roy said then, pointing to the house before you.

Your eyes widened immediately. Before you stood a huge house, decorated with bushes and a large blossom tree out front. You felt the absence of his Jeep in the driveway, but it allowed for you to see the massive front door– made from solid oak, with a shining knocker right in the centre. It was easily three storeys high, and through one of the large windows, you caught a glimpse of a framed football shirt. This was definitely Roy Kent’s house.

“Fuck me,” you said involuntarily. Roy actually scoffed, which was a different kind of shock entirely. “You weren’t kidding about it being one of the big, fuck off houses, then.”

“Why would I lie about having a great fucking house?”

“No, no. I’m not judging here,” you said, keeping your gaze on the building before you. “You’re right. That’s a great fucking house.”

There was a moment of silence that settled over the two of you, only made more intense by the light of the moon, and the utter lack of stars that graced the sky in London. You sucked in a deep breath as you looked back at Roy, only to find his gaze on you already. You smiled, he smiled back subtly, and your gut lurched within you.

Roy shuffled on his spot, before clearing his throat. “Wanna come in for a drink?”

There was a feeling that descended upon you, one that was not at all mature and one hundred percent giddy. You’d been in this position multiple times, but with Roy it felt different. He was your work colleague, for starters, and that wall that you’d forced yourself to build was still erected, as much as a part of you was trying to knock it down with a fucking sledgehammer.

You sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s waaay past ten-thirty,” you let out.

“Ah,” Roy said, catching on immediately. “I forgot you were a boring uni student.”

“Boring masters student. But, yes.” You took a small step back, fully cementing that you wouldn’t be joining him for another drink this evening. “Another time,” you added, simply because you wanted to grab a drink with Roy in future. You didn’t want to ward him off, or make him feel like you were rejecting him, as much as that would be okay, too.

Roy shot you an expression he’d never shown you before. It wasn’t blunt, so to say, but it wasn’t sweet, either. It was some form of middle ground. It told you that he understood, but also reassured you that this wasn’t a big deal. It was crazy how much of an expression interpreter you became when you weren’t bloody sober.

“Another time,” Roy repeated after a moment. Gently, you started taking off his jacket, but he waved at you in dismissal. “Keep it for the walk home,” he said.

You huffed at him, but did as you were told. “Thank you,” you let out.

Roy nodded, as you took another step back. “See you on Monday?” you asked rhetorically.

“See you on Monday,” he confirmed.

You took another step back, almost stumbling into the road. Roy lurched forward quickly, just in case he needed to grab you and stop you from falling flat on your face, but you stabilised yourself. Flustered, you let out a breathy chuckle. Laughter echoed down his fancy as fuck road, before disappearing into the crisp night.

You sent one final smile Roy’s way, before you finally swivelled on your heels, headed for your road a bit further down. Roy slowly stepped towards his front door, keeping a watchful eye on you as you tread further down the road.

“Goodnight,” he let out, raising his voice a bit to reach you down the street.

You turned back to him, walking backwards for a few paces. “Goodnight!” you replied, waving your arm wildly in the air at him.

When you faced forward again, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Nothing would come from this, you told yourself, but it didn’t stop it from feeling nice. Having a genuinely pleasant night with someone that you’d never– in a million fucking years– thought you’d gel with, was oddly fulfilling. When you thought back to the month before, it made you want to cackle maniacally to yourself. It was funny, wasn’t it? How things could change so fast, how they could evolve into you having a really great fucking evening with someone you previously couldn’t stand to be around, let alone talk to.

You pulled off your shoes when you arrived home, ready to utterly collapse into bed. Your phone dinged in your clutch before you could. You picked it up, utterly surprised to see a text from Roy waiting for you.

Get home safe.

You replied simply.

I did.

Roy replied instantly.

Good.

You thought that would be it, dropping your phone onto your bed as you went to strip off your clothes. Heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed, you shut the door behind you. Roy texted you again, one that you wouldn’t see until you woke up in the morning.

Sleep well.

A week later, as you sat in the owners box next to Keeley and Rebecca, your heart was in your throat. As Ted bombarded down the steps back to the field, you were in the same boat as everyone in wondering why– Ted had decided to bench Jamie Tartt for the rest of the game, despite him scoring a goal for Richmond not two minutes before.

Rebecca looked slightly shaken, but there was also an underlying happiness to her mood. You noticed that she acted odd, sometimes. Such as when Richmond were doing well, she would join in with fake enthusiasm. When they were doing terribly, it was customary to find her with a smile stamped all over her face. It was the same one she showed now, as Ted made a show of benching Jamie, and the home crowd at the Dogtrack exploded.

Jamie Tartt was pissed off. He was seething as he went to sit down, and went as far as kicking one of the chairs for the rest of the team reserves. You winced when you saw it, alongside hundreds of other fans, but that’s when you chose to look over to Roy.

He was on the pitch with his hands on his hips, and an oddly calm expression stamped on his face. Within you, you silently relaxed. You knew that if Roy wasn’t freaking out, then he understood Lasso’s reasons for what he’d done. You leaned back in your seat casually, causing a flustered Keeley to peer at you.

“What are you so bloody relaxed for? Jamie’s going to burn this place to the fucking ground.” She turned back to the pitch, watching the remaining two minutes of extra time before half time. Despite breaking up with the ace at the charity ball, Keeley still knew Jamie through and through.

You leaned forward and pointed to the pitch. “There,” you said, and Keeley followed your finger. “Look at Roy. He’s the calmest I’ve ever seen him on the pitch.”

“Yeah, because his arch nemesis has just been benched,” Keeley said.

“No, no. As much as Roy hates him, I know he’d be equally as fucked off and confused if Lasso had pulled Jamie for no reason. But, look, he’s absolutely fine.”

Keeley turned to you. “So, you think it was the right decision?”

You shrugged. “I don’t fucking know. All that I know is that, when I’m confused, I look at Roy’s reaction. I go with whatever emotion he’s sending into the void, and somehow it all just works out fine.”

Keeley leaned back slightly, looking at you in confusion. “It’s like you guys are telepathic, or something.” She snapped her head towards Roy again. “That’s fucking amazing.”

Over the next few weeks, things start feeling like home to you. Two months down the line and it was as if you’d known the guys for years. It was normal for you to join them for team nights out, and normal for them to poke their heads around your office door from time to time. Every time you passed the gym, or the locker room, or the pitch, there would always be at least one lad who spotted you. He’d wave, and that would alert everyone else to your presence, until all of them had waved at you in greeting.

Roy was the same, but in his own way. Since the charity ball, it was clear that there was something there, no matter how small. There was a shared understanding between the two of you that was larger than what you had with the rest of the team. You couldn’t explain it, not even when you dedicated time to try and work out what it was.

You still had his jacket at home, up on the peg by your door, just waiting to be returned. There was something that halted you from dropping it around to him, however, and Roy hadn’t brought it up since the month before, either. There was some unspoken thing about it, you felt, that travelled back to when you’d both said another time.

Maybe that was it, hm? When that inevitable another time happened, you’d return the jacket then. But for now, it offered you a gentle reminder of Roy fucking Kent everytime you entered or left your flat. It was odd to think about it, but you saw everyone at Richmond most days of the week. Weekends were reserved for friends and family, naturally, but on a dull Saturday night you often found yourself with the urge to call one of the guys and see what they were up to.

Was this what having attachment issues felt like? You fucking hoped not.

Jamie had been off with everyone since Ted benched him. He was ruder, and more disrespectful, often showing up late for practice or leaving early without warning. To the team, he was still arrogant and self-serving; even more so towards Roy. Ted’s attempts at laying a stable groundwork with Tartt hadn’t seemed to stick, and everyone had been feeling it.

That was made worse by the arrival of a new striker by the name of Dani Rojas. Jamie had already been pushed into the proverbial corner, and when Dani showed off his moves on the pitch for the first time, it was clear that they were on par with each other. You spent those first few days confined to your office, trying to avoid the lot of them and miss being within firing range of Tartt’s next tantrum.

Later on, after Jamie ditched another practice session, you checked your inbox to find an intriguing email. It was forwarded from the university, but originally from the Independent. You read it silently, and after you were done, you immediately went to find Keeley. Rebecca had recently set her up with a job doing PR for the club, which made your life exponentially easier. She was better at social media, at getting brand deals and the like. You were a writer, not a publicist. You entered the press room and found her sitting at her temporary desk.

She turned to you and smiled. “Hey, babe,” she said sweetly. “You okay?”

You sighed, taking a seat opposite her, on the front row. “The Independent is running a competition for all MA students in London. Writers, journalists, sports students, all of that,” you explained. “If we write an article about a sportsman or woman, it could get published in the paper, on the front page of the sports section.” You dragged your hands down your face when you’d finished, and Keeley let out a huff at her desk.

“Babes, that’s an amazing opportunity!” she exclaimed.

“I know,” you whined, and dropped your hands into your lap.

Keeley straightened in her chair, looking at you softly. “Is there any reason why you don’t seem particularly excited about it?”

You peered at her, and it clicked instantly. She returned your stare with a knowing look, one that was warm and gentle, one that understood. After that, she furrowed her brows and sent you a soft smile. It wasn’t often that people could read you so easily, and when Keeley did it, it only made you feel more connected to her.

She let out a sigh. “There’s no harm in asking him.” Roy. She meant Roy.

“No,” you said immediately. “I said I wouldn’t ask him about any of this shit anymore, even if it is a great opportunity for me. You know how much he hates it,” you said. “I suppose I could do it about Ted, but Trent Crimm wrote a great article for him last month. And the boys, I mean– Richmond are always in the paper and the tabloids. I feel like I wouldn’t be adding to their stories.”

“That’s why you want to write about Roy,” Keeley stated.

You leant forward, finally bursting. “Yes! I do! Roy’s career has been explosive and intriguing and heart-warming. His Chelsea days were legendary, and the way he’s captained Richmond has been second to none. Why would anyone not want to write about him?”

Keeley stood up slowly, rounding her desk to sit in the chair next to you. Gently, she placed her hands over your knuckles. “Just ask him.”

“I don’t know how to,” you let out.

“Tell him the truth,” she said. “Say this is a great opportunity for you, and you can make it as painless as humanly possible for him.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to shadow him, or anything. I thought we’d go to the pub and talk for a few hours, really. It wasn’t going to be a proper interview.”

“That’s good,” Keeley said, squeezing your hands in approval. “Tell him that, too.”

“And if it all goes tits up?” you asked.

Keeley shrugged her shoulders, and let out a small laugh. “No one can know which way it’ll go with Roy. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you’re thinking right now, though.”

It was then that the anxious pit in your stomach started to clear. You looked at Keeley with your eyes large and glassy. You wondered if she knew all the thoughts that were rushing through your brain about you and Roy– how the main reason for not wanting to ask him was about not wanting to fuck up the friendship you’d both stumbled into. Especially after how things had started, you didn’t want it all to revert to that hostile environment.

“Babes,” Keeley whispered, leaning closer to you. “I don’t think you realise how likeable you are. The guys love you, and the coaches. Roy fits into that box, too.” Her reassuring words sunk into your skin, until you finally felt at ease. “And me, obviously,” she added quickly.

You huffed. “Thanks, Keeley,” you whispered. She draped her arms around you then, and you rested your head on her shoulder. Sometimes, a hug was all you needed to feel grounded.

You went back to your office to find another book from Sam, on your desk. He wrote small post-its for you and stuck them on the covers of each one he gave, and you secretly kept them all in the bottom drawer of your desk. You sat down and huffed to yourself, picking up his newest pick. The post-it read– Truthfully, this one did make me cry. Tell me if you do, too.

You stuck the post-it onto the pile of others in your bottom drawer, before you placed the book on a small shelf to your right. Shuffling in your bag, you found your next book for him. It was like clockwork, and you loved that this was something you’d started up with him. You left your office and headed for the gym, knowing it was time for the guys to do their second work-out of the day.

When you arrived, you sent a quick wave to all the guys, before seeking out Sam. He was on the bike, pumping his legs hard as he kept up his heart rate. You approached him, and draped your arms over the top of the stationary handle-bars. He smiled at you hugely, and you hovered the book out before him. “Fantastic,” he said softly, taking it from your grasp. “I was waiting for the day you would share your favourite classics with me.” It was a copy of The Great Gatsby.

“Am I that predictable?” you asked.

“Very,” Sam let out.

You huffed, amused. “Well, enjoy it. I look forward to reading yours, too.”

Sam clutched the book to his heart in thanks, before you swivelled on your heels and headed back towards the door. On the way, you noticed Roy on the treadmill, doing his normal incline walk. Keeley’s words surged within you, and you told yourself not to chicken out. Now was as good a time as any to ask. It would save you the time it took to worry beforehand.

You let out a deep breath, before walking towards him. He peered down at you, as you turned yourself round to face him, and leaned against the windowsill before him. He perked one of his black, bushy brows at you. “Can I help you?” he asked. There was a running theme between you. Most of your conversations started with that same question.

“The Independent is running a competition for MA students in London. It’ll result in one of us having an article published, and run on the first page of the sports section.” You laid it all out for him, expecting him to shut you down immediately, but he stayed silent. “I know how you feel about this sort of thing, which is why I’d never force you into doing this for me, again. But…” You looked up at him strongly, almost pleadingly. “This is a great opportunity for me, Roy. I can’t just write about anyone, either.”

“Why not?” he asked. His voice croaked, like he was struggling to get them out.

“Because.” You shuffled on your spot, something that you did when you knew you were being openly vulnerable. “I want to write about you.”

Roy looked to his feet, rhythmically stomping upon the treadmill beneath him. You could hear the cogs in his brain turning and whining, and you instantly felt guilty. You didn’t want to put him on the spot, and you’d seen what he could be like when he was. You half expected him to tell you to fuck off, but he didn’t. He just kept looking at his feet, walking to nowhere.

You inhaled deeply, taking matters into your own hands. “Don’t worry about it,” you said, and Roy looked at you once more. “I just thought I’d ask. This isn’t compulsory, so don’t worry.” You smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. Instead, his mouth dropped open like he wanted to say something, but simply couldn’t get the words out. “See you around, Roy.”

You made to leave quickly, not wanting to stick around. Innately, you cursed at yourself for even asking in the first place. Keeley was right about it not doing any harm, but all it had done was make you feel bad.

“Hold it!” Roy boomed suddenly, and you turned back to him abruptly. The guys in the gym stopped working out, and you felt your stomach drop once more. Roy switched off the treadmill and jumped to the floor. “Just the one article?” he asked.

You nodded, gaining back some of your composure. “Only one.”

“How many people compete in this thing?” he asked.

“Um.” You wracked your brain, trying to figure out the average. “A few hundred, at least.”

“So, there’s a high probability that you won’t win,” Roy said, and you widened your eyes. He didn’t mean it offensively, but it still stung a bit.

“Yes. Very high probability, actually,” you said smally, feeling a tad embarrassed now that he’d explained it that way.

Roy looked at the ground, before he caught your eye strongly. “Okay. I’ll do it.” You sucked in a sharp breath.

“Really?” you asked, taking a few steps towards him.

He nodded, letting out a small growl. You let out an excited squeal, before you rushed at him. You wrapped your arms around his neck in an impromptu hug, muttering thank you over and over again. To the rest of the guys, all they saw was the shocked expression on Roy’s face, and the way his arms were tense at his sides from surprise. He didn’t know what to do with himself, didn’t know whether to wrap his arms around you in response. You pulled away too fast for him to come to a conclusion, and he peered down at you as you started towards the door again.

In the door frame, you turned back to him one last time. “Seriously, Roy,” you let out. “Thank you.” You tried to fit as much genuine feeling within your words as you possibly could.

Roy’s face softened subtly. You sent a final smile at him, before you left and headed back to your office. The gym stayed awkwardly silent as the guys laid their eyes over a statuesque Roy. He balled his fists when it all got to be too much, and let out a guff “Fucking get back to work!” to break open the tension.

The lads restarted their work-outs immediately, acting as if nothing had happened whatsoever. Roy jumped back onto the treadmill and started his walk once more. Through the window in front of him, he saw the open door to your office. If he moved slightly to the left, he could catch a glimpse of you, sitting at your desk, writing frantically on your laptop– utterly beaming.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff @ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27

#roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #roy kent #x reader #reader insert #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction #fanfiction #brett goldstein #enemies to friends to lovers #angst and fluff #long fic #update #lightyaers #ao3 #wattpad #archive of our own #writeblr

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hotvintagepoll · 10 months ago

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Propaganda

Katharine Hepburn (Bringing Up Baby, The Philadelphia Story, The African Queen)—This woman. I have been obsessed with her for years. I know the urban legend is a popular one at this point of her walking around set in her underwear when her pants were stolen and she was left with only a skirt, but the pants thing is honestly enough for her to be the hottest in the room in my book. She refused to wear anything else at a time when the public in general and especially the studios did not like that. She was independent, stubborn, and so so very capable. Competency kink anyone? Also, if you want one final way that Katharine's entire life was saying "fuck you" to the establishment, it started young! Her mother took her to suffrage events, and she never got rid of that attitude of justice. I feel like I have barely scratched the surface of all the ways she was such a badass that I'm turning into a rambling mess instead.

Gene Tierney (Laura, The Ghost and Mrs Muir, Leave Her to Heaven)— The class, the elegance. The way she walks into frame and immediately all focus is on her. She had a pretty lengthy struggle with mental health that she describes in her book, which I think made her all the more sensitive in portraying characters like in leave her to heaven. Also she dumped JFK so

This is round 4 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.]

Katharine Hepburn propaganda:

I'm sure one million people will submit her as an iconic Hollywood star but that iconicness might lead people to forget just how insanely hot she was like she had it ALL she was skilled she was funny she was smart she was beautiful AND she was likely bisexual

The single word I would use to explain Katherine Hepburn's appeal is *range*. In her acting career, that meant covering all the ground between lush period dramas and the comedies she did with Carey Grant and Spencer Tracey. In terms of hotness, it meant an uncanny ability to bring anything from a Dietrich-esque androgyny to some of the best Classic Hollywood Glamour you will ever see.

Katharine hep was so cool. The VIBES, the INDEPENDENCE,,, living life on her own terms.

she just had this.... bearing to her, this power. she could be funny, even silly (like in bringing up baby) but also so regal and elegant. she was nobody's fool and dear GOD that's so hot

Fancam link

She’s not only stunningly gorgeous (those eyes that pierce your soul! a jawline you could cut glass with!) but her delivery and physical presence in roles gives off confidence and authority in such a sexy way (truly the biggest dick energy of Old Hollywood). Her fiery energy in The Philadelphia Story? Unmatched.

God she's. She's so hot y'all. She has the range!!!!! Funny and dramatic and lovely

She IS the transatlantic accent. Classically gorgeous and such a strong personality.

She's literally one of the funniest women to ever live! She goes shot for shot with Cary Grant in Philadelphia Story and we damn well love her for it! She's the most annoying creature to ever live in Bringing Up Baby but she's so insane and funny that we simply cannot help but fall in love with her (and root for her to give Grant an aneurysm!)

i know she's accounted for but i really want to be sure someone has submitted the scene in bringing up baby where she's pretending to be a gangster

youtube

She simply stuns onscreen; you cannot do anything but be captivated by her presence. Also a non-gender-conforming icon and mild tumblr celebrity by virtue of that one picture from The Warrior's Husband (stage play).

Katharine Hepburn was out here casually changing the lives of young butch lesbians with her gender swag! She wore pants even when people said she shouldn’t, she refused to marry or have kids, and she wore menswear in at LEAST one movie!

If I start thinking about her face for too long I will cry she is so so hot. Katherine is so charismatic and charming in everything she appears in - watch her adopt a leopard and fall in love with her. Also she has the biggest dick energy ever (she and her pal Lauren Bacall share that accolade). Also had an incredibly long and varied career from screw ball comedies to serious dramas - she’s a queen of the screen and I adore her.

Someone's got to mention it, but she's won the most Oscars out of any performer and is largely considered one of the greatest actresses ever. She's got an incredible voice, an incredible presence, and she absolutely steals every scene she's in. She was private person and deemed standoffish and unapproachable, but she was also profoundly concerned for people's rights and was an outspoken supporter of abortion access. Finally, the Katharine Hepburn slacks look is just iconic. I mean look at her.

(I hope someone else submits real propaganda but just in case they don't:) Cries. Screams. Wails. The woman who singlehandedly made me realize I was bi. A real "do i want to look like her. be her. or be with her.' crisis, where the answer was all three. Holy shit please all three.

Gene Tierney:

The entire plot of Laura is that a guy has to become completely obsessed with a woman after just seeing her portrait. This only works because Gene was cast in the role. I 10000% believe anyone could fall in love after seeing her face.

Those eyes! Just look at those eyes! She’s at her hottest in Leave Her To Heaven— I literally want her to ruin my life.

Absolute grade-A babe, she is the perfection incarnate.

Gene Tierney was beautiful, poised, intense. I associate her with roles where she was murderous or an intelligent woman being patronized to - like a woman on the edge! As far as I am concerned, she deserved to do whatever she wanted.

She had a slight overbite which was amazingly sexy, and a throaty voice that was very memorable as well. She’s terrific in Laura, which reminds me I should watch it again.

EYES!! Her diabolical acting in Leave Her to Heaven is just perfect, Rosamund Pike definitely took notes for her Gone Girl from her.

Oscar-nominated and simply one of the most beautiful women to ever walk this Earth.

Absolutely stunning. In Leave Her to Heaven, she reaches Rosamund-Pike-in-Gone-Girl levels of “holy fucking shit?!?!?!” She had a fling with JFK in the ‘40s and also dated the exes of Rita Hayworth and Hedy Lamarr (Prince Aly Khan and W. Howard Lee, respectively). Sadly, her daughter was born with a disability (during a time in which there were few good mainstream options for disabled children and their parents), likely because of a fan who was sick with measles and went out of her way to meet Tierney (who was pregnant) anyway. Topical! Sure would be good if people stayed home when they were sick! Anyway, she was also a Republican, which sucks. Laura and Leave Her to Heaven are great viewing though.

#gene tierney #katharine hepburn #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4 #Youtube

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izunias-meme-hole · 1 year ago

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Top 15 Final Fantasy Villains

(In My Opinion)

Number 1. Sephiroth (Final Fantasy VII) - Sephiroth is one of the hardest bosses in gaming and a genuine horror villain. He is a tragic monster born from science, and a loyal “son” fo his alien mother, Jenova, but he’s still scary as hell thanks to his god complex, unlimited strength, ethereal vibes, years of experience, his ability to live off of pure spite just so he can make the lives of his enemies (and Cloud) complete hell. His appearance in of itself is creepy due to how beautiful, yet unsettling it is, thanks to his silver hair, green snake-like eyes, and perfect physique which is complimented by a black coat. However the most dangerous things about him are that he’s completely delusional, his strength is unmatched, and just how far he’s willing to go to distort other peoples sense reality, specifically Cloud’s sense of reality. Sephiroth a tragic character and a phenomenal villain.

Number 2. Kefka (Final Fantasy VI) - Were it not for Sephiroth’s existence, and the fact that this clown’s debut game being at the end of an era, Kefka would definitely be number 1 on here, and get more respect. Aside from that, Kefka is basically what Majora is to the Zelda series. A completely insane, and legitimately funny villain with a desire to destroy everything, however the difference is that Kefka is a mere jester with magic powers that became god! Plus he actually did send the world into ruin, but because of a little group of heros with hope, he was utterly defeated. So while Sephiroth is indeed ethereal, delusional as hell, and a horrifying nemesis, Kefka is the better manifestation of the pure unadulterated evil a person can bring, with the right tools.

Number 3. Ardyn (Final Fantasy XV) - Ardyn Lucis “Izunia” Caelum is the near perfect mixture between Sephiroth and Kefka in a way. He’s got the same “funny man wants to watch the world burn” vibes like Kefka, but he’s also a creepy, vengeful, tragic, and very personal villain, much like Sephiroth. Ardyn was once a messiah, a healer who was going to become a king, before he was betrayed by his brother, Somnus, and the gods, and cursed to be made immortal via daemons. So after centuries of imprisonment, he decides to take revenge upon his own kin, AND the gods. A simple motive, but in all honesty the amount of trolling he does in order to achieve it, is truly gut wrenching sometimes, and it gives you the motivation to plunge your blade into his chest, but at the same time… you kinda feel slightly bad while doing it too for some reason. He's a villain that you love, hate, and pity in the end.

Number 4. Kuja (Final Fantasy IX) - Kuja is one of the more unique Final Fantasy villains because of his personality. He’s a narcissist that wants to destory, which isn’t new for most JRPG villains, but he’s also flamboyant as hell, and talks as if he’s in some kind of play where the world is his stage. He isn’t funny like Kefka, nor is he as intimidating as Sephiroth, but you can feel that wasn’t the route the writers were taking with his character. If anything he’s a pitiable, destructive, and flamboyant narcissist, but the Dissida series expands upon his character a lot in a way that kinda gets you hooked. So yeah, Kuja is unique alright.

Number 5. Ultimecia (Final Fantasy VIII) - This time manipulating witch is all style over substance, but god damn her style is really terrifying. She also has quite the presence, much like Sephiroth before her, so its not like she's sitting on her ass all day.

Number 6. Professor Hojo (Final Fantasy VII) - Wow, another FFVII villain, and it's Sephiroth's piece of shit mad scientist dad, Professor Hojo. This walking mass of complexes is a perfect example of the "Greater-Scope Villain." Never taking away from the Big Bad's spotlight, yet is responsible for almost half of the shit in the narrative. Though responsible for many things, his most noticeable crimes against nature were his experiments with Jenova, and the creation of Sephiroth, whom he also experimented on throughout his whole life. Pretty easy to see why Sephiroth was doomed from the start.

Number 7. Vayne Solidor (Final Fantasy XII) - A politician who wants to give the freedom of choice back to man, and preserve his family’s status and power. Those were Vayne’s end goals, and his personality is that of the ideal of a politician. He’s charismatic, ruthless, and levelheaded, so he’s surprisingly one of the more sane Final Fantasy villains too, but that doesn’t mean he’s the least evil.

Number 8. Garland/Chaos (Final Fantasy) - The first man to go by the title of Chaos. Jack Garland was seemingly a generic princess kidnapping video game villain, and he was the first boss in the first game. Granted he did have a small bit of backstory that explains that he was a former knight of Corneria who went mad, and wanted world dominations, but it wasn't enough at the moment. A couple of hours of gameplay later, along with some buildup of the entity known as "Chaos," we find out that Garland IS Chaos, and has practically made himself immortal thanks to a time loop he created with the Four Fiends, whom he sent into the future. Granted he's still a very simple antagonist if we're talking about goals, but in terms of how he went about it, he set up a standard for other villains in the series to surpass.

Number 9. Exdeath (Final Fantasy V) - Raw menace, ham and cheese, presence, permanently killing one of the main characters, and THE VOID. Exdeath was just a delightfully evil bastard, and it's all explained by him literally just being all of the evil in the universe that was sealed inside of a tree of all things. Bro really was "born evil."

Number 10. Rufus Shinra (Final Fantasy VII) - This man is the literal definition of a "Magnificent Bastard." Calm in almost every given situation, legitimately intelligent and level headed, smug as shit, and has the occasional "pet the dog" moments. Rufus Shinra pretty much has it all.

Number 11. Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV) - He has gone by several names, led two empires, and lived thousands of lives, one of the most prominent antagonists in the entire game, but this man will forever be known as Emet-Selch, a.k.a Hades and Solus Soz Galvus. While he never appeared onscreen at first, we did know him as the founder of the Garlean Empire, and the emperor in the first 2 parts of the game, until we saw him in the flesh in Stormblood and Shadowbringers, and good lord he's surprisingly good. He does share some of Ardyn’s vibes, but compared to that glorious troll, Emet acts like a worn out and bitter old man, which is very fitting when you remember that he constantly reflects upon his great his old life was, and lived in a replica of his former home with the souls of his fallen comrades. Jesus Christ, no wonder his real name is Hades, the man is constantly surrounded by the dead in both a literal and metaphorical sense. Compared to the top picks he isn’t that great, but considering how well done he actually is, in-spite of how much people kinda oversell him, this is a decent placement.

Number 12. Sin (Final Fantasy X) - Ever wanted to see Jaws in a Final Fantasy game? Well that's what Sin was. Granted, it’s goddamn terrifying, unforgettable, and moves the plot, but it doesn’t really have much to it outside of being this eldirch whale monster that was created to destroy. Still it makes the goddamn most out of what it is.

Number 13. Ultima (Final Fantasy XVI) - Oh god where do I begin? There's a great amount of stuff that the writers of this great game got right when deciding to make their main villain a literal eldritch god, and he's honestly fascinating in some areas. His buildup is similar to Sephiroth's, his terror level is 100% its own thing that's worthy of him, and good god the way he operates is honestly something to behold. Yet he falls off the mark in a lot of ways. He isn't a bad villain, and honestly is overhated sometimes, but good god a fair amount of potential was missed.

Number 14. Golbez (Final Fantasy IV) - The first Darth Vader expy of the series, and goddamn he’s surprisingly good. Keyword good, not great.

Number 15. Caius Ballad (Final Fantasy XIII-2) - Another tragic immortal, however this one is a former time traveling protector. My thoughts on this guy are mixed. On one hand, as the main antagonist of FF XIII-2, he's great on a lot of angles. On the other hand he, much like half of the FF XIII trilogy's cast, suffer heavily from its writing. Still, his stripes aren't unearned.

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beautifulpersonpeach · 1 year ago

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Hello BPP,

I've been a BTS addict for more than a year now, and I'm trying to find the reason why me (a happily married and a mother of a wonderful teenage boy) became so obsessed with a boy group. Before my encounter with these young korean lads, I only bought albums from 5 artists: Enya (all of her albums, I 💖 her since 1995), Michael Jackson (some), Backstreet boys (sue me those were my teenage years), ABBA & QUEEN greatest hits. That's not much isn'it? But since 2023, I try to buy at least one BTS album every 6 months, and that in itself is HUGE for me. Why do I do that ? What do they do, more than others, to make me want to spend money on them?

I've never been interested in fan voting before and now, I try to vote everytime I can. Even I find myself insane, but I can't help it. I want to support them all the way... 🤯

At first my husband thought my obsession was temporary, but after a year, despite of making fun of me, he's trying to find BTS albums or else for me (what a sweetheart 🥰). He supports me but doesn't understand it either.

So a simple question : what make BTS so addictive?

Their stage presence, charisma, uniqueness, talent ?

For a few weeks I tried to come up with a clear answer but I can't formulate it... daeng...

According to you, what distinguesh them from others groups or artists ?

Bisous et heureuse de vous lire!

***

You have no idea how happy it made me to read you love Enya as well. That woman is a timeless treasure. And yeah she's one of the few artists aside from BTS whose music I've invested time and money into collecting.

Part of what you're asking is: what makes us spend money, time, resources, emotional labour, and more, on seven men halfway (maybe?) across the ocean from us?

"Even I find myself insane, but I can't help it. I want to support them all the way..."

Maybe we are insane. What's so wrong with that? Maybe we're kinda nuts to be so taken by these seven guys. So what?

Or maybe we're just suckers for good marketing. I know I am. Of course, other things matter as well but good marketing is something that BTS has down pat. It's kinda easy for them too because the guys are as authentic as they come around these parts. They're solid. There's no other group that could withstand the kind of scrutiny they're under without bucking. Not one. And incidentally BTS' musical talent is peerless.

So, yeah, the marketing. :)

Or maybe it's the fandom... That's the thing about fandoms - the reason fandoms exist is not for the idol, but for other fans. 90% of what people do here is discuss what other fans are doing. Not the music, not the performance, not even the idol themselves, but other fans doing fuck all. I'm not saying this to indict you. My point is that there is constant covert persuasion within the fandom to act like the rest of the group a.k.a. ARMYs. I keep saying fandom is a pressure cooker environment, and one way that shows up is covertly forming behaviours in people within the shared space/group, and if you haven't experienced being in big fandoms before it will be overwhelming. If you constantly see people who express their love for BTS by buying albums routinely, then it's easy to see how you might want to try it for yourself.

Because you do love BTS. At the end of the day, that's what it comes down to. I don't care to try to explain why. At least not for me. It might be their "stage presence, charisma, uniqueness, talent" as you said, or maybe they're just worth the love by being themselves and giving us the music and experiences they have so far.

I still get fever dreams remembering Agust D on tour last year, you know. I still remember what it felt like to hear his music live and see him perform. He was a beast. Buying his music sounds like a no brainer lol. And he's just one of seven similarly talented men together in one group. Their music is worthy of every award it ever gets. And their performances...

youtube

(There isn't a single group active today that has surpassed this video)

I've said before I followed BTS for years before calling myself an ARMY. Sometimes when I think about it, I'd been buying their albums regularly since 2015 - three years before I started calling myself a fan of BTS. Their music was just so good I couldn't ignore it. And this is when for most groups I'm so picky with buying albums.

I have to commend you for critically assessing (sort of) your desire to spend on BTS though. If we're indeed insane as we said above, it's better to be self-aware of the fact. So again, kudos for attempting to dissect what's really happening here. But, not to be preachy, I think it's important to also just let yourself enjoy things. If spending on BTS is coming ahead of meeting your basic needs and responsibilities, then listen to your gut and pull back. Go cold turkey if you need to and spend on nothing at all. But if that's not your experience, (and I don't think it is), then just let yourself enjoy loving them. In that case, it's enough to know BTS are phenomenal artists and good people who make us happy, and some of us have the desire, means and time to support them, and that's okay.

Isn't it enough that you enjoy BTS for whatever reason and want to sustain this thing you enjoy by investing into it? So long as you're prudent and resourceful? Or maybe... not? Nobody else's opinion matters anyway. It's your money and your time and you know best how to use it.

#bts

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lizzypuppet1711 · 11 months ago

Text

things about toronto’s production of the great comet at crow’s theatre/musical stage co that i need everyone to know about because i am obsessed with this show.

as of writing i have seen this show five times.

very long under the cut:

full cast listed here. at time of writing, donna garner replaces louise pitre as marya, tyler pearse replaces lawrence libor as dolokhov, and ben carlson replaces marcus nance as andrey/bolkonsky. currently i’ve seen the og cast four times and the replacements once.

the stage is set up with seats on three out of four sides, with front rows at tables, back of house left and right sides at barstools, and a small balcony with some seats on house right. there are balconies on either side, with a revolving platform in the middle of the stage (revolving by being pushed by cast members or stagehands). seats around 200 people or so.

the actors are EVERYWHERE. it is so incredibly immersive

the music is very punchy

during prologue, everyone is taking shots as they’re introduced, except dolokhov, who drinks straight from the bottle and sprays it into the air

i’m a dolokhov girlie through and through and once he nodded hello at me during the prologue and i legit swooned

mary is walking around holding a program showing off the family tree, actors will point to them on tables etc

once anatole pointed at his face on it, pointed to himself, all in a very flirty manner

he winked at me during prologue once and i’m still thinking about it

evan buliung is acting his ass off as pierre

he is definitely is more gruff and acting focused (think dave malloy over josh groban)

at “hours at my screen”, pierre takes an audience member’s phone (from one of the tables… or once out of someone’s hands LMAO) and mimes tapping, scrolling through it etc

two stagehands move things on and offstage (such as the sofa, church props etc) and they are also in little costumes. it’s very adorable

dolokhov’s little soldier walk thing??? during moscow????? i’m sure there’s a reason for it bc both of them do it but i have no clue why it’s there???? love it tho

heeyun park as mary is also acting her damn heart out

private and intimate life has a faster tempo and is SUCH a banger as a result

an audience member gets briefly pulled up on the platform to be the cheap french thing, he typically kisses up their arm, hugs them, and sometimes sits on their lap a bit

pierre is playing the tambourine in the background during natasha and bolkonskys and it is honestly kind of funny

hailey gillis plays natasha very emotional and headstrong. her no one else has a sense of urgency, desperation, and deep longing

the platform is spinning and people are walking around and she is singing like an angel…

basically i want to be hailey gillis when i grow up

actors are rotating the platform during no one else and it ends with andrey standing behind her and pierre standing in front of her. no one talk to me i’m losing it

as the run has continued, dolokhov’s adlibs during his intro in the opera have increased drastically

lawrence libor as dolokhov had such an air and presence (rizz?) about himself i cannot DESCRIBE. the comphet he gave me… i miss him v much. he was also very much giving toronto mans. and he made SO MUCH eye contact. he loves to look at you. i miss him. i need him. who said that

tumblr theatre girlies you would go insane over lawrence libor. if this show had ANY b roll footage i know i would be seeing edits all over the place

i am president of the lawrence libor fan club and everyone should join me

tyler pearse as dolokhov has heavy frat boy energy. he is also gayer, and somehow, sluttier. gives short king energy despite only being an inch shorter than lawrence (apparently)??? don’t ask bc i don’t know either he just does. anyway thank u tyler pearse for making dolokhov bisexual for real

either way dolokhov is doing SO MUCH in this production. he is wild he is a whirling dervish he is arrogant he is a bastard he is everything to me

“YEAH BABEY LETS GOOOOOOO” -lawrence libor as dolokhov, upon his entrance

in one performance he would go YEAH BABEY three separate times in act 1. yeahh

flirting with a girl in the balcony, dabbing up a guy in the balcony, generally being hilarious

and tyler pearse leaning over the balcony, rose in his mouth, wolf howling… i can’t.

basically i can’t with this production’s dolokhov. i’m obsessed

anatole’s entrance… he’s a whore. all i can say

rita dottor (ensemble) does the high soprano bravooooooo and she always sounds so fantastic. live laugh love rita dottor

george krissa, who plays anatole, is probably the most attractive man in ontario. like if you googled hot guy he would be the first result.

“where did they find this anatole. was he made in a lab or something. he was perfect” — my friend after seeing it

tumblr theatre girlies you would also be obsessed with george krissa. like jeremy jordan andrew rannells level obsessed. please love these toronto actors with me

i’d let him ruin my life ANY DAY. it is a fact that lesbians love george krissa. i hope he knows

the way he plays it… my friend described it like “lucas steele is like an alien david bowie, and george krissa is a bridgerton man. just a very charismatic, but normal, guy”

while i would say that lucas steele’s anatole believes he is truly in love with natasha, i would not say the same for george krissa’s. some of the manipulation happening here during the opera is. quite clear

when he is entering the box natasha struggles to open her fan, fans herself frantically, under the arms etc. then when he enters immediately shifts to fanning in a cool and collected manner. hailey gillis master of comedy

“we are speaking of most ordinary things” is especially like. this is a male manipulator if i’ve ever seen one

natasha lost was added back in!! fantastic obviously

anatole checking his hair in the mirror before waking pierre up. fucker

“look dolokhov’s coming around… and we’re off to the CLEURB”

brendan wall (ensemble) walking around during the club scene with a glowstick necklace on is peak comedy to me

i’ve said it but tyler’s dolokhov is an absolute slut at this scene. and for what AND FOR WHAT!!!!

also fun tidbit but all the glasses (other than shots) and any clear bottles have real liquid in them. i am very concerned something will spill one day

when dolokhov gets right up in the audience’s face during “known only to his intimates” i LOVE it idk

during the duel, marya and rita steal off to house left directly beside the barstools and chatter about how bad of an idea this is, they’re so drunk, etc

special shout out to divine’s “he will kill you STOOPID HUSBAND” so good

dolokhov’s adlibs during the duel… i need him. sorry

dolokhov gets shot in the side rather than his shoulder, and unceremoniously rolls off the platform as it’s moving. looks painful

hélène screams when dolokhov is shot but not pierre. so much to think about here

a life changing dust and ashes from evan. i can’t describe anything more just that he’s incredible. i’ve learned so much about acting just by watching him a few times

natasha’s face at “am i guilty…” breaks my heart she is so tormented

we are canadians we are going to pronounce our french correctly! no more charmantay

hélène has started adding some very fun runs into charming as the run has gone on. divine brown marry me

anatole is shirtless during charming. btw.

again i know he’s gay and i’m gay but.

the entirety of this rendition of the ball has been stuck in my head since december

his “don’t lower your eyes i love you” that whole section is delicious i want to eat his voice

plus “BEWITCHING AND I LOVE YOUUU” UGHHH such an ear worm but only when it’s their voices

the choreo going on here is very nice btw

i love the way he says natalie at this part idk. it’s not overly enunciated and the vowel is just right <— vocal nerd

the kiss feels like it lasts forever

music gets very very loud at the end and you can feel it in your skin

also fun fact the house music before and after the show is orchestral but during intermission it’s electronic. bc. anatole. gah details

when marcus was still in the cast you could really hear his voice during letters and it sounded sooooo.

dolokhov’s stupid little thumbs up to indicate he will be ok. pleaseee. i laughed i did

generally lawrence would grab at the place he was shot at a lot; while pushing the revolve etc. loved that detail. (tyler does too but less so)

sonya and natasha just sounds so great. like they just always sound fantastic i love that song

sonya alone. yes i am weeping. yes camille eanga-selenge is everything i want to be and more. she’s phenomenal

dolokhov sitting in a big fuckin chair at the beginning of preparations just absolutely clearly regretting every decision he’s made to facilitate this. is great.

i know i keep talking abt lawrence libor but the image of him at this part is just. really great. to me. sorry

very campy and exaggerated scowling and grimacing from anatole

dolokhov is so sick of anatole’s shit

“here feel how it beats” is NOT entertained he pushes him back immediately

lawrence dolokhov’s “dawdling” business was him tuning his guitar i miss musician dolokhov sooooo much gah

balaga truly does not sing any of his lines. he is basically yelling the entire time. i don’t know how he does it. it’s chaotic and hilarious and so fun

sonya and mary hand out the egg shakers on house right and left respectfully

near the end of balaga, four audience members are brought up to dance with the cast! (i got to dance with mary once!)

dolokhov writhing on the floor during anatole’s long held note thank u

during the goodbye section, anatole comes around to said audience members and interacts with them; dancing with them, booping them on the nose etc, and at “kiss me one last time”, invites a lucky audience member to kiss his cheek. (this once, was me. yup. still processing it.)

once he accidentally knocked someone’s egg shaker from their hand, dolokhov picked it up, laughed, gave it a shake, and handed it back, and yes i’m still thinking about it

when they sit down, balaga and dolokhov will sit on the house right stairs, though once there was an empty seat nearby so dolokhov wedged his way in between two people, guitar and all. so fucking good

anatole will squeeze himself between two audience members on house left, put an arm around each, and look around at everyone sitting in that area, out into the audience, etc. if one is going to make eye contact with him, it is now

once he threw his head back to look at the people behind him, and someone, at the speed of light, took their phone out and snapped a picture of his upside down head. i scream laughed

lawrence’s BETRAYED BETRAYEDDDD was sooooo good. so so so good

hailey gillis is an absolute powerhouse during in my house

usually when “natasha’s whole body shook” she falls to the ground silently but last time i went she YELLED and i gasped so loud

at “i have refused him” louise would go NO in shock and i FREAK OUT ABOUT IT.

and i loved her “what then? would that be alright???”

“NATASHA CRIED OUT! GO AWAY! GO AWAY YOU ALL HATE AND DESPISE ME” sounds SO FUCKING GOOD!!! I LOVE YOU HAILEY GILLIS

when the call to pierre music starts i always get goosebumps

the fight choreo when pierre grabs anatole by the collar is very good

if we’re comparing to broadway, it feels less like anatole’s life is in danger here but like i’m not upset about it

at this point anatole does not seem sad or upset to me more just. pissed off that it didn’t go his way. like annoyed

as anatole leaves during pierre and anatole the staging has him stepping around/over natasha as she is choking from the arsenic and it is such a. show of his shallowness

his petersburg note is fantastic obviously. live laugh love george krissa

marcus nance (andrey) has such a deep and beautiful legit singing voice. it’s sooo gorgeous. any word that raises against marcus nance will fall.

I MISS HIMMMM ok sorry.

i am more sympathetic to ben carlson’s andrey, however. marcus was Incredibly stoic ben has a bit more emotion to him i think

i could swear sometimes hailey is actually crying during pierre and natasha

her “pytor kirillovich” sounds so tiny and fragile ugh my heart breaks

and his “…pierre” is so assuring AUGHH

it’s such a beautiful scene obviously. i love the two of them so damn much i hope only good things happen to them forever

“it was clear and cold” also. chills EVERY TIME

“having traced its parabola” and “like an arrow piercing the earth” hit me so hard i cannot explain

genuinely evan buliung gives the most effective inspiring fantastic mind blowing performance i maybe have ever seen on stage. he is such an incredible actor and he inspires me beyond belief

the end when the lights get really really bright and then fade out. god. so simple and so fucking beautiful

now this post is very long. thank u for reading it all if you did! (will update after seeing it more times if there’s things to say!!)

if you’re anywhere near toronto i BEG of you to go see it!! it’s closing march 24th :(( so if you get the chance i deeply implore you. beg borrow or steal a ticket just get there! best comet production ever in my biased opinion :)

#rbs encouraged!!!#natasha pierre and the great comet of 1812 #the great comet #npatgco1812 #tgc #great comet #great comet toronto #musical theatre #toronto theatre #lizzy.txt #aka i rant about lawrence libor more than i need to #i can’t get over this show and neither should you #watch it. and talk to me about it PLEASEEEEEEE PLEASE #if u have anything u didn’t like abt this. keep that shit to urself #sorry that you’re wrong idk what that’s like tho #live laugh love crows theatre

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