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xo-hugs-n-kisses-ox · 3 months ago

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Rumination

Ruminate

(v.) to think about something deeply

After Edward left her, Bella Swan fell apart. Desperate to try and save his eldest daughter, Charlie brings his youngest daughter to Forks to see if she can bring her sister out of her depression.

Now, y/n must try to help her sister find her way back to the light while also trying to navigate her Junior year of high school in the odd town of Forks.

Chapter Four: The Wolves

Now Playing: Heavy In Your Arms by Florence + The Machine

I followed Jacob’s instructions down a dirt road for a few miles before he told me to pull off the road.

I pulled over, cutting the engine as he and Bella jumped out of the truck. My sister pressed closely to his side as he came to stand at the front of my car, and I slowly made my way to his side as well.

Bella was visibly nervous, and I felt an unnerving sense of calm. I knew that, rationally, I should probably be afraid. But I just wasn’t.

I saw the four boys step out of the tree line, and I watched as Sam made eye contact with Jacob.

My eyes narrowed on him, but I couldn’t resist Turing my gaze to Embry. When I looked at him, he stared back. His lips pursed together as I watched him, my gaze accusatory and unrelenting.

He looked away first.

I swept my eyes to Jared, and finally to Paul. Both of them looked about the same, but my heart stuttered for a moment when I met Paul’s gaze.

He was as handsome as I remembered him being. His expression was still grumpy, but his eyes held more light in them. His hair was loose around his head again, much like Jacob’s. His eyes flickered from me to Jacob, then Jacob to Bella, and his face pinched with anger.

“What have you done, Jacob?” Sam demanded, his deep voice drawing my attention away from where I was transfixed looking at Paul.

My eyes were drawn back to him, however, when he pushed past Sam to yell at Jacob, “Why can’t you just follow the rules? Is she more important than everything—than us, than our people, than the people getting killed?”

His voice was accusatory, and my eyes narrowed on him. He started to shake, the trembling staring in his hands and moving up his arms.

“They can help—” Jacob tried to argue, but he was cut off by Paul’s mocking laugh.

“Help?” He demanded, “I’m sure the leech-lover is just dying to help us! And bringing her sister into this mess is callous, even for you and your tunnel vision!”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Jacob snarled, reaching out to push Bella behind him.

I took a step back towards the door of my truck, watching everything unfold with a critical gaze. Paul laughed again, his eyes flicking to me.

“Yeah, protect Bella and not her sister, right?” He said viciously, “I suppose you’ve only ever had one sister in your head, huh?”

I won’t lie, his words did hurt, but I shoved the feelings aside as best I could.

Jacob said something, setting Paul off further. I watched in horrified fascination as he fell forward, his body shaking. Half way down, his body made an awful noise and dark, silver fur exploded from his body and he grew to the size of a bear.

My breath caught as I recognized him, and I swear that my heart stopped as Jacob rushed him and transformed into a massive black wolf.

“Oh my god,” I choked out, moving without realizing.

I grabbed Bella and shoved her into the truck, sliding over the hood and to the driver’s side to hurriedly get in. I locked the doors as Embry and Jared hurried over to us.

“Y/n, please let us in so we can take you to Emily’s and explain everything,” Embry pleaded, and I stared at him defiantly. Bella, making the choice for me, unlocked the doors.

I reached back to slap her arm, Embry getting into the back behind me and Jared hopping into the bed of the truck.

Embry and Hared made jokes as they directed me to someone’s house, Emily’s house? I didn’t remember whose name they said.

When we got there, I parked the truck and turned it off.

Jared hopped out of the back quickly, reaching out as he passed to open my door. I followed him and Embry towards the house, reaching out to hold hands with Bella.

Before we got too close, Jared stopped and turned towards us.

“Don’t stare at Emily’s face,” he said, “It bugs Sam.”

“Why would we stare..?” Bella asked, looking increasingly nervous.

“She’s Sam’s fiancée,” I said flatly, remembering what Jared and Embry had said on the ride here, “And baddies, it seems like hanging around werewolves has its risks.”

Jared’s lips thinned at my tone, but he nodded.

“Ok, well,” Embry said awkwardly, “Come on in. We don’t bite.”

It was a weak joke, and I wasn’t so easily amused by him anymore.

“Speak for yourself,” Jared joked back, glancing at me. I sighed, pulling Bella along and into the house as Embry held the door for us.

We got inside the house, and it was full of the smell of pastries. It smelled good.

Beside me, Bella was stiff. As we were led to the kitchen, I saw the silhouette of a woman. We got closer, and I saw that she had rich, warm toned skin and shining black hair that fell to her hips. When she turned, I saw her scars first.

On the left side of her face were three jagged, ruddy scars that curled around her face. One ran over her eye, cutting her brow in half and making her dark eye cloudy. Another ran from her hairline to her jaw, cutting roughly through her cheek as the final one ran down to her lips, crudely pulling the corner taught. Her scars were vicious, but she was beautiful to behold.

I observed her for a moment only, but Bella made a point not to even look at her.

“We’re sorry for intruding.” I said calmly, my eyes falling to the muffins in her hand.

She observed my sister and I silently before asking, “Who are you?”

“Y/n, and my sister, Bella Swan.” I answered, and her brows rose slightly.

“Leave it to Jacob to find a way around Sam’s orders,” she muttered before pinning Bella with a look, “So. You’re the Vampire Girl.”

Bella hesitated, blurting, “Yes. Are you the wolf girl?”

Emily’s face warmed, the right side stretching into a smile as she laughed, Jared and Embry snickering.

“I suppose I am,” she agreed, then glanced over to address Jared, “Where’s Sam?”

“Bella and y/n, uh, surprised Paul this morning and he and Jake got into it.” Jared responded, and Emily rolled her good eye.

“I was about to start the eggs, do you think they’ll be long?” She asked, and Embry smiled impishly.

“Don’t worry, even if they are late, none of the food will go to waste!” Emily chuckles, going to open the fridge.

“No doubt,” she said easily, pulling out a carton of eggs, “Bella, Y/n, are you both hungry? Feel free to take some muffins.”

Bella was quick to grab one, muttering her thanks, and I watched as Embry shoved his third muffin into his mouth whole.

“Try to taste it, Embry,” I said dryly, Jared muttering, “Pig.”

Emily hit him over the head with a wooden spoon, telling him, “Leave some for your brothers!”

Her word choice surprised me, but not by much. All four of them moved in such a synchronized way that if I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought that they were all related.

I sat quietly, eating bites of a muffin that I had plucked from Embry’s hands as he and Jared fought over it.

They really were good. Maybe I’ll ask for the recipe.

In the middle of my thoughts, Sam came through the door and called so lovingly for Emily. She smiled widely as her fiancé came over to kiss her tenderly, and I laughed against my will as Jared and Embry made dramatic gagging sounds.

Jacob and Jared walked in soon after Sam, both of them playfully messing with the other. Paul snagged a muffin and Jacob sat beside Bella, across from me. Paul sat beside me, looking past me at where Embry and Jared were rough housing for a muffin.

My attention was torn between trying to dodge stray limbs and paying attention to Jacob’s questions, and for the moment that I was paying attention to Jacob, Embry’s muffin slipped out of his hands and went flying towards the side of my head.

I flinched when I saw it in my peripherals, but Paul had reached around my head to grab the air-born muffin, stopping it from hitting me. He beaned it back at Embry, smacking him in the face with the dense pastry.

“Quit playing with your food, morons.” He said grumpily, and I thanked him for catching it. He just shrugged, going back to eating his own muffin.

As he reached for another muffin from the tray in front of me, I saw jagged scars on his forearm. They looked weeks old by now, but I knew they were from his and Jacob’s fight.

Without thinking, I reached out and touched them, gently pressing the skin with my finger. As soon as I touched him, he froze.

His skin was warm, like Jacob’s, and soft. The scars on his skin weren’t rough, like I expected them to be. Instead, they were only slightly indented into his skin and just as smooth as the rest of his skin.

“How…?” I asked, trailing off as I watched the marks slowly, so slowly, start to fade.

“Wolf thing.” Jacob answered, watching as I traced the angry red marks.

Paul watched me, still as a statue.

“We heal quickly. Part of the raised temperature thing,” he said slowly, “We run warm, we don’t get sick. We also burn through pain killers fast enough that they’re basically useless, since our body heals itself faster than they can keep up.”

“Huh,” I said, unsure how to respond. It was fascinating, but so, so odd.

“Jacob,” Sam starts, “Tell us what you know.”

Jake looks up, quickly swallowing the rest of his muffin. He clears his throat, then begins, “I know what the Redhead wants. She’s trying to avenge her mate, but it’s not the one with dreads that we killed the other day.”

I listen closely, my eyes fixed on Jacob as he speaks.

“The Cullens killed her mate during Bella’s sophomore year, after he tried to kill her. Now, she’s after Bella to get back at Edward.” He says gravely, and I wonder if that means that I’d be in danger, too.

“Will y/n be on her radar, do you think?” Paul asks, voicing my own concerns. Jacob sighs, and worry bubbles in my chest.

“We killed her spy before he could report back, so we don’t know that yet.” Sam replied, “She likely doesn’t know that Y/n is here, but in the event that she does, we’d have to keep a close eyes on you both.”

The last part was directed to me, and I nodded, my lips pursed together.

Jared claps his hands together, “Well then! We’ve got bait!”

I watch as Jacob, faster than I would have thought possible, whipped a can opener at Jared’s head. To his credit, Jared caught it, but he didn’t see Paul’s hand coming down on the top of his head.

“Neither of them are going to be bait!” Jacob said angrily, and Jared muttered about knowing what he meant.

Sam cleared his throat, gathering their attentions again.

“We’ll need to change our patrol patterns.” He says, serious and grim, “I don’t like it, but we’ll have to split up into groups to make sure Bella and Y/n are safe, while maintaining the safety of Forks and the Rez.”

“Quil’s likely close to changing now,” Embry muttered, “We can split evenly when he does.”

I watched mutely as each of them looked morose. How odd that they all seemed so comfortable in their own fate, yet so unwilling for their friends to share it.

“Well, we won’t count on it.” Sam said with a sigh.

“What do you want us,” I gesture between Bella and I, “To do?”

“About?” Sam asked, and I looked at him flatly. Embry snickered, having been on the receiving end of this same look.

“Where is most convenient for us to be?” Bella clarifies, her mind in the same wavelength as mine.

“It would be most convenient for the two of you to be here for as long as possible.” Sam replied, “So that we can be on our own land to trap the Redhead and destroy her.”

I nod, and Emily butts in to ask, “What will the arrangements be for patrols?”

“Three of us will be patrolling the perimeter at all times, the other two will be here to guard you three.” He answered, “We will likely have to cycle out to keep the Redhead on her toes.”

Bella worried her bottom lip before asking, “You’ll be careful, right?”

Most of the boys burst into laughter, hooting and snickering. I rolled my eyes and got up to go to the bathroom to wash my hands as Emily announced food was ready.

I got back after a moment, and the majority of the food was already being scarfed down.

“Good lord, I forgot how much food you eat,” I muttered, about to scape together any leftover food when Paul reached out to hand me a plate.

“Oh,” I said, “Thank you, Paul.”

He nodded glancing at me before going back to eating.

After a while, Charlie came down to fetch Bella and I. I said goodbye to everyone, hurrying to the truck and heading home with Charlie on our tail.

I went to my room and grabbed a notebook, writing down all my questions to ask tomorrow.

1. Is there a way to mask our scent so Victoria can’t track us?

2. Does it hurt to change? What causes it?

3. What’s it like being a wolf? And what does it mean that you can hear each other’s thoughts? Is that always?

4. Why do you all turn into grown men after you change? Second puberty?

I wrack my brain to think of more questions, but I’m so tired from this emotionally draining day that I can’t. Instead, I take a long shower and go to sleep.

As I fall asleep, I wonder about Paul. I wondered about his words before he had changed, in the forest: why was he so sore over Jacob protecting Bella and not me? She was the one he had been angry about, after all, so it would make sense to protect her over me. I wasn’t the one in danger, not that she really had been.

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multifandom--mess · 2 months ago

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Hannigram Fic Recs! pt.3

part 1 | part 2

here's some fic recs for youuu (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆ definitely took me way too long to add a part 3 to this but whatever, enjoy a variety of fics in no particular order that i've read the last few months that deserve to be shared and enjoyed ♡

old-fashioned divinity candy [series, ongoing]

Explicit, 115k+ | the relationship between old money, med student hannibal lecter and his newly rich sugar daddy, will graham

Like a Lucid Dream

Explicit, 75k | In the days following Will's fateful fall from the bluff, Molly Graham begins to understand the extent of her ignorance regarding Hannibal and Will's relationship. The discovery of her husband's deceit leads her to seek refuge and escape in their cottage in the mountains. There's only one problem: she's not the only one who is looking for a place to hide.

you swallow my heart and flee (but i want it back now)

Explicit, 65k | After they killed Francis Dolarhyde, Will was certain he pulled Hannibal off the cliff with him, but when he wakes up, he’s still on the edge of the bluff, surrounded by FBI agents and paramedics. It’s apparent Hannibal got away safely, and Will is put on the job to help find him. When Will finds Hannibal’s journal in his old cell, filled with entries about, and drawings of, himself, he sneaks it into the waistband of his pants and takes it home. It forces Will into dealing with his own feelings, and figuring out what he wants. Will can only hope the journal gives him the answers he seeks.

And the Winter Sheds His Grief in Snow

Mature, 4.5k | On a car ride, Will spots something... abnormal. And it somehow breaks the normality of their relationship, in ways neither of them expected.

According to Winston

Mature, 7.9k | Winston this, Winston that — everyone in Will Graham’s life is now privy to his new stray, the lucky seven of his pack of dogs. It comes as a surprise when Winston isn’t what anyone expected, and this new light sets a backdrop to Hannibal’s carefully manipulated plans to make Will into his full and whole self.

Mundane Madness

Explicit, 104k | After a traumatizing experience, Will decides that maybe he deserves a shot at a normal, healthy life. It just might be nice to have Hannibal at his side too.

Leviathan

Mature, 24k | Three years after they fell into the Atlantic, Hannibal and Will have made a new life for themselves in the sun-soaked Douro Valley. But old hurts and unaddressed fears lurk beneath the idyllic pretense, threatening to consume all semblance of peace.

Between Black and White: Crimson

Explicit, 9.6k | After surviving the fall and undergoing a proper treatment, Will and Hannibal moved to a place from the past to start their future together. Till death knocked at their door...again.

Suffer A Sea Change

Mature, 29k | Hannibal meets Will, a fisherman with something oceanic lingering behind his eyes, one stormy summer in coastal France.

Omnipotence Paradox

General Audiences, 14k | The trap springs too quickly in Florence. Will and Hannibal adapt.

There's Something So Lonesome About You

Explicit, 90k | When will Graham is released from the BSHCI, he realizes that there is little left for him with the FBI. He packs up the essentials (and Winston, of course), and leaves. Hannibal has to deal with the sudden loss of Will, and he is not very happy about it.

Leila Isabella

Mature, 11k | Will has been utterly miserable in the long months since Hannibal turned himself in, but he gave Hannibal an unexpected gift in the last hours before everything fell apart.

Hidden Place

Not Rated, 5.5k | Two years after the fall, Will and Hannibal share a heated evening in Cuba.

More Myself Than I Am

Explicit, 9k | Everyone has a soulmate. Someone they will connect with on such an intimate level that they are like one mind in two bodies. It comes on the cusp of adulthood, a shared link between two minds. It will start with feelings, emotions shared across the connection. Some people claim senses; smell and sound. Those who are thoroughly, intensely intertwined can claim to send their very thoughts towards each other, although it’s generally considered bad luck to use the connection to find each other sooner than you are meant to. It is a wonderful thing, to know that no matter who you are or what you’ve done, somebody out there will understand you. Or at least, it’s supposed to be.

In the Darkest Recess

Mature, 12.7k | As a child, Hannibal has problems making friends. A therapist gives him a doll to practice social skills on. Hannibal calls him Will, and quickly becomes obsessed with his new best friend. He never leaves it, even when he begins to hear Will's voice in his head, promising that he will never leave Hannibal, as long as Hannibal is willing to give him 'life to live'. Great love, after all, requires great sacrifice.

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal lecter #murder husbands #hannibal fanfiction #hannigram fanfiction #fanfic #fic rec #ao3

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lunemai · 6 months ago

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L I K E ?

Honey!Y/n x Luke Castellan

Summary: Luke likes honey? okay believable, but still, Luke liking someone? so impossible.

Luke realizing he likes you.

Warnings; the term y/n is almost never mentioned in my writings so her widely known nickname is honey in this, it's HEAVILY implied this isn't her real name. she/her pronouns, fem!y/n, sweetness all over, physical touch, third person view at first, and that's it I think.

•••••••••••••••••••••★•••••••••••••••••••••

i. the reading thing

"How do you even read that?, I mean you do know nearly all of us suffer from something you might not know about called dyslexia, don't you find it prideful?" Luke was nearly tired of the girls who nagged you on and on mad about your skill in reading even with dyslexia.

"Yes, I do find pride in my reading skills. It's no different than the way you find pride in your archery abilities, Florence," you responded, never with irritation or sadness, you always lived up to the name granted to you.

They call her Honey. She's always been sweet and kind to everyone around her. Luke has known her for a while now, but he never really thought about her deeply. She's just always been there, like a steady presence in his life. Sure, he's been noticing things about her that he never really paid attention to before.

The way she smiles when she greets you, her infectious laughter, and how she never seems to have a bad word to say about anyone.

He doesn't know why he's suddenly seeing her in a different light, but there's something about her that's drawing him in. Maybe it's because she never spoils in a mood, or maybe it's because she's always been there for everyone without ever asking for anything in return. Whatever it is, there should be a proper explanation for it.

"Maybe you should stop staring and just walk up to her," Chris says nudging Luke as he moves his stare anywhere that isn't you.

Luke uncrosses his arms and turns to walk away, "I don't know what you're talking about man." Luke mumbles as he starts to walk away, where? don't ask him where he doesn't know, yet.

Chris walks along Luke matching his fast pace, "Okay, so you wouldn't mind if I asked her out?" Luke stopped in his tracks and turned his body towards Chris "Why would I? At least two guys ask her out, a day." Luke says nudging his head towards a son of Ares already moving to approach you.

Luke doesn't blame him, you're stunning, always glowing brighter than the sun, and somehow no daughter of Aphrodite draws attention like you do. Yet that's not all, you're smart, ambitious, and determined, how can someone be so amazing all the time?

After minutes of Luke staring off into space, Chris lets out an audible huff, "Wouldn't mind my ass."

ii. flowers

No, it's just a joke, he wouldn't actually be right. Why am I even thinking about this a day later?

Though I mean seriously, a son of Ares? pfft, as if.

He's not good enough for her.

Are you?

an ugly voice said.

Maybe not, but I do know I'm willing to try, for her at least.

Honey knelt in the wildflower field, her slender fingers delicately plucking vibrant blooms from the earth. The sun bathed the meadow in a golden glow, casting a radiant halo around her as she gathered the colorful blossoms, her focus entirely on the beautiful task at hand.

My eyes widened in awe at the sight of Honey amidst the sea of wildflowers, her quiet grace juxtaposed against the lively landscape.

I approached her with cautious steps, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

"Hey, Honey right?" I ask, my voice is filled with fake curiosity. Startled by my sudden presence, Honey looked up, her cheeks flushed with surprise.

A soft smile graced her lips "Erm- yeah, but you already knew that Luke..." she said, yet there was no hint of judgment in her voice.

"Oh right, yeah I did." I rub the back of my neck, okay what? I've never been this nervous. Where's overly confident Luke when I need him?

"I was just wondering- I mean I've seen you around you know and I was wondering if you wanted to like go apple picking with me tomorrow or something? I don't know we've never even talked so we don't have to." yet again she gave me another soft smile, maybe in sympathy. I'm not sure.

Fuck this. I'm not a nervous guy.

I knelt down and plucked a wildflower, just as beautiful as her.

Her gaze shifts from the flower in my hand, to me.

"I know I'm being weird, of course, I know who you are." slowly just in case she wants to protest I reach up and pull a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Every time you walk into the room, I can't help but watch you. It's like you have this light around you that draws me in, and I find myself captivated by everything you do. The way you smile, the way you laugh, even the way you get lost in your thoughts- it's all so intriguing to me. I just wanted you to know that you've been on my mind a lot, and I can't seem to shake this feeling of wanting to know you better." I say softly.

placing the flower there on her ear, I couldn't help but admire how the vibrant flower complements her natural beauty. The vivid petals of the flower stood out against her soft skin, creating a striking contrast that accentuated her loveliness.

feeling overwhelmed by the sight of her, awestruck by her beauty that outshone even the most exquisite bloom, I look away only looking back up at the sound of her soft laugh.

"Oh Luke, please don't feel embarrassed; if anything I'm flattered really," she gives me that smile again, gods I like the feeling of being the one who makes her smile like that.

"If it helps I've been thinking of you too, the way you carry yourself with such confidence, I've caught myself looking for you in a crowd, hoping to catch your eye and share a smile." Relief urges itself through my body, and hope swims in my eyes.

I nod with a smile on my lips,

"I'd love to go apple picking with you."

This felt like it took me YEARS to complete, I'm on summer break so i'll be on here more often. Thank you guys for reading and remember to follow me!! 😼

should I make a tag list?

REQUEST ARE VERY MUCH OBLIGED.

#luke castellan #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fic #percy and annabeth #percy and luke #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan oneshot #pjo series #the last olympian #percy jackson #percabeth

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miryum · 4 months ago

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"The Red Arrow"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy's relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

Mp/n: mispronounced name W/n: wrong name N/n: nickname

I combined two episodes- just a heads up

Y/n stood next to Cass behind the two-way glass, carefully watching a redhead sitting in the interrogation room. Jason stood silently in the corner. The redhead was a burly man, feet thrown up on the metal table, causally singing. “What’s going on?” Y/n scrunched her nose.

“Picked him up on more than a dozen counts of identity theft,” Cass said. “His name is Roy Harper. Ever seen him?”

“Nope. Although, I will admit, he’s one of the hotter perps. Definitely smash.” Jason grunted at Y/n’s words.

From inside the interrogation room, Roy sang, “Cassandra…. Cassandra…. Caaaassandraaaaaa…. oooooh yeah….” Y/n snickered and Jason couldn’t hold back a smirk.

Ignoring Roy, Cass said, “he said he wanted to talk to a Mp/n or W/n L/n. Whatever.”

“Why would he want me? And, should I change my name to W/n L/n? Cause it sounds super badass.”

“He said he has some info about someone with arrows?” Cass shrugged.

“Arrows?” Y/n’s eyes widened. She muttered to herself, “he knows the Red Arrow.” She grabbed Cass by her shoulders and demanded, “listen to me. He specifically said he knows someone who uses arrows?”

“Yeah. I literally just said that.”

“Right, right, sorry.” A laugh bubbled out of Y/n. She practically ran into the interrogation room, Jason following on her heels. He wasn’t about to let her be alone with a criminal. Cass sighed and marched after them.

“So, I used to work in a pawn shop,” Roy explained after introductions. Y/n sat forward, hanging on to his every word. “Chill hours, absent boss, perfect place to snag jewels and stuff. Uh, not that I’ve ever done that,” he hurriedly added. Cass’ jaw twitched. “Anyway, this guy came in a lot, selling rubies.”

Y/n gasped. “Just like the Red Arrow!” she exclaimed.

“I mean, we called him Miguel, but whatever.” Roy shrugged.

“I’ve been chasing this guy for six years!” Y/n turned to look at Jason and Cass, explaining her passion for this random thief. “He always steals red rubies from high tech jewellery stores and spray paints a red arrow before he leaves, hence the name. He never left any evidence and he’s never been caught on camera. He’s a ghost!”

“Super ghost,” Roy whispered, eyes gleaming.

“Super ghost!” Y/n yelled out, agreeing.

“Before anything else happens, we need to know this guy’s legit,” Jason said. “Describe him.”

“Uh…” Roy hummed. “Mexican dude, maybe 5’8”? He has this pointy little beard and always wears a purple tie.”

“So would you say he looks sort of like,” Y/n whipped up a drawing of the man Roy was describing. “This?”

Roy winked. “There‘s that sexy motherfucker, Miguel.”

“This is a composite sketch from ten interviews I've done,” Y/n said in awe. “A perfect match.”

Cass wasn’t satisfied. “So all you know is what a bunch of other idiots have said over the years. Big whoop. Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Roy sat back and his teeth flashed as he grinned. “I know how to get in touch with him.”

Y/n gasped and emphasised, “Roy Harper!” Jason clicked his tongue, unimpressed.

“Ah, Brown. Just the woman I was looking for.” Captain Wayne stopped by Stephanie’s desk, looking down at her. “Clark has accepted an offer to teach at the University of Florence for the next six months.”

“Oh, I love Italy,” Steph said, still unsure as to why her Captain was telling her this.

“Clark and I belong to the Park Slope Racquet Club, where we've established a squash doubles dynasty.” Bruce explained, “we've taken home the trophy two years in a row. Unfortunately, he’ll be flying to Florence this year during the tournament. I remember you told me you played in college…” he trailed off and glanced at Steph hopefully.

“Three-time intramural champion at Sarah Lawrence,” Steph said proudly. “Would have been four, but senior year I played Lord Farquaad in our school's production of ‘Shrek.’”

Wayne hummed, unsure of how to respond. “In any case, I would be honoured if you would take Clark’s place so that I could still compete.”

Stephanie blanched, yet offered a thumbs up. “Absolutely! I would love to do that!”

“Fantastic,” Wayne said.

“Yup! That is great. This is great.” She slowly stood and manoeuvred over to Dick’s desk before collapsing in a seat next to him. “This is terrible.”

“Why? You’ve always said you wanted more quality time with Wayne.” Dick set down his pen.

“No, not like this,” Steph shook her head. “Squash brings out my competitive side. Breaking racquets, cursing, excessive use of the bird.” Her eyes widened in fear. “One time, just to psych a guy out, I locked eyes with him and ate a squash ball.”

“That's not possible.”

"I can still feel it rolling around in me, Dick.”

“Look, the point is to have fun,” he tried to reassure her. “So just relax and have fun.”

“Right, right, right, yeah. I mean, it's just a game. It's fun. There's no need for Wayne to see me unleash the beast.” She laughed nervously. “Okay.”

“The burner phone that Roy uses to contact the Red Arrow is at his house.” Y/n pressed her hands together and pointed at Captain Wayne, a hopeful look plastered on her face. “He's agreed to help us catch the Arrow if…. We drop all charges against him,” she said quickly, almost as she hoped her superior didn’t hear her.

Captain Wayne sat behind his desk, analysing his detectives. “How many rubies would you say this Red Arrow has stolen?”

“Fifty-eight, that I know of.” Y/n said, “but the real number could be in the thousands!”

Wayne squinted at Y/n. “You’re not very good at maths,” he stated. Turning to Cass, he asked, “what are the charges against Harper?”

“Thirteen counts of identity theft, but I’ve been chasing him for more than a month.”

“A month?” Y/n scoffed. “I’ve been chasing the Red Arrow for more than six years. Do you know how many months that is?”

“Seventy-two,” Wayne answered instantly.

Y/n pursed her lips and murmured, “Ten…? Five and seven… and four years… wait, months?”

“Do you need a maths tutor?” Captain Wayne asked. “Because the department will provide one.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious,” Y/n muttered.

“I’m on the fence,” Wayne admitted, returning to the matter at hand. “Cain, you caught him. It’s your call.”

“Cass,” Y/n turned to her friend, practically begging. “This guy is for real. One thousand pushups.”

Cass’ eyebrows shot up. “One thousand pushups? Alright. I’m in.” She shrugged.

“What’s one thousand pushups?” Bruce asked.

Y/n explained, “we were in the academy together and hated the drills. So now, when we're on a case, if one of us says one thousand pushups, it means ‘I'm so sure I'm right that if I'm wrong, I'll do one thousand pushups.’”

“It’s a pact we made,” Cass added. “It means ‘trust me.’ And I do,” she added with a smile.

Wayne nodded. “Make the deal.”

Y/n cheered, “yes! I’ve got you now, Red Arrow! Wow! It feels good to say that in front of actual people instead of the mirror. Okay! Let’s grab the burner, contact and catch the Arrow, and become police legends.”

Later, Roy stood in front of his house, flanked by Y/n and Cass, the latter in her signature leather jacket. “Babysitter’s car is here,” he said. “They’re home.”

“Babysitter?” Y/n scrunched her nose. “You have a kid?”

“Yeah,” Roy beamed. “Little girl called Lian. Can I take my cuffs off?”

“No,” Cass deadpanned.

“Lian doesn’t know I’m a criminal!” Roy protested. “She thinks I own a construction company.”

“Why stop there?” Y/n shrugged. “Tell her you’re an astronaut.”

“Nah, man,” Roy shook his head. “Space is scary. You saw what it did to Matt Damon. I don’t wanna staple my skin together.”

“You got a point.” Y/n shot Cass a look. “Come on, Cain.”

Cass huffed and rolled her eyes. “You can play-act with your daughter for three minutes until we get the burner. One false move and I tase you in front of your daughter,” she threatened.

“Geez, dude. Harsh,” Y/n sucked in a breath. She mouthed towards Roy, “Don’t worry, she loves me too much to do that.” Roy nodded back dramatically.

He unlocked the door and a small voice shouted out, “Daddy!” A tumbling mess of toddler came barreling down the hall and into Roy’s arms. Y/n cooed, heart melting. Roy grunted, picking Lian up and spinning her around.

“Hey, baby! How you doing?”

“Good! Lois and I were playing Veterinarian.”

“Ooh! Sounds fun. Where is Lois?” Roy looked around.

“Cleaning up!” A voice shouted from down the hall.

“Why aren’t you at work?” Lian asked. “And who are they?” She pointed at Y/n and Cass and Roy gently reminded her it’s rude to point.

“They’re my coworkers!” Roy snickered, “Cass is a director on my board of directors and Y/n is my financial planner.”

Y/n winced and hummed, “yes. Stocks and numbers. Money. Very important. Did you know that four twenty-five dollar bills equal a hundred dollar bill?” Cass simply sighed and rubbed her temples. “Speaking of which,” Y/n said, noting her friend’s expression, “we should find that phone. So we can get back to building… buildings.”

“Right, right.” Roy let Lian down and said, “it’s in the spare bedroom.”

“I’ll go with you,” Y/n volunteered. “Cass can stay here with Lian and Lois.” Cass glared at her, but agreed.

Roy led Y/n through the house, waving to Lois and asking about Lian’s day. The spare bedroom was filled to the brim with toys and stuffed animals from Lian and memorabilia from Roy’s younger days. Roy dug the out burner phone and presented it to Y/n who quickly typed out a message. “Back in the game,” she narrated. “When can we meet up?”

“Ooh, you’re good at this criminal thing,” Roy commented. “If you ever wanna quit your cop thing, I could use your intelligence.”

“Aw, thanks man. How long until he usually responds?”

“Like, ten minutes?” Roy shot her a look. “Chill, dude.”

“I can’t chill!” Y/n bounced up and down. “I've never been this close before.”

“I gotta admit, your enthusiasm makes me want you to catch him.”

Y/n placed a sincere hand to her heart. “Thank you.” She noticed a pile of DVDs in the corner. “You still have those?”

“Yeah. I robbed a store a couple years back and kept my favourites.”

Y/n crouched down and scanned the titles. “Goonies, Princess Bride… The Sandlot! Dude! You have the best taste in movies!”

“Gotta have the classics,” Roy said. “Yes, ma’am, the American stories of promise and inspiration.”

“Inconceivable,” Y/n muttered, grinning.

“I’m not sure that word means what you think it means,” Roy said in a stilted accent.

“Hey, you guuuuys!” They crowed together.

“Hurry up, Benny! My clothes are going outta style!” Roy quoted.

“They already are!” Y/n cried back, both giggling.

“Hey,” Cass stepped into the room. “You guys having fun?” Lian gripped onto the detective’s hand, smiling brightly. Cass’s eyes screamed, 'Cause I’m not. Her hair was decorated in braids and she looked as if she wanted to rip them out.

The phone suddenly chimed and Y/n practically dropped it trying to see the Red Arrow’s response. “Parking lot on Flatbush and Vanderbilt in 15 minutes. Let's go.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Roy held up his hands. “Cain looks like a dirty criminal. But you,” he pointed accusingly at Y/n who still wore her GCPD jacket, “look like a cop, man. You can't go over there like that.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “...What'd you have in mind?”

A couple minutes later, Y/n stepped out of Roy’s house wearing a striped shirt and jeans with a white suit buttoned in the middle, sleeves rolled up. Y/n giggled, a moment away from breaking out into laughter. “I don't look like a cop now.”

“No, you look like Backstreet Boys meets Jonas Brothers,” Cass said.

Roy laughed, “Burn!”

Y/n shook her head, “Nah, that's not a burn, that's cool.” As they walked to the parking lot, she commented, “Not gonna lie, the suit is kinda growing on me.”

Cass grunted, glaring out the parking lot. “There’s no one here. L/n…”

“A thousand pushups,” Y/n said softly. Cass took a slow, deep breath and nodded once.

“Incoming,” Roy hissed, eyebrows up and hands in pockets. “Who the hell are you?” he cried to the man walking towards them, very clearly not Miguel. “Where's Miguel?” Y/n frowned and eyed Cass.

“He hadn't heard from you in a while, so he sent me to make sure everything was cool,” the man said, shrugging.

“Apparently it's not,” Y/n muttered, kicking the pebbles at her feet. She had been so close.

“Who are they?” The man nodded to Y/n and Cass, glaring.

“They're with me,” Roy said. “This is the buyer. Rosa Santiago.” He gestured towards Y/n.

The man shook his head. “I don't know ‘em, I don't trust ‘em.” He stated his terms, “He meets with you alone or it's off. I'll text the address.”

The man walked away, not giving them another option. Once he was out of earshot, Y/n groaned, “Come on! I promise you this: they have not heard the last of Rosa Santiago!” She shook her fist at the back of the retreating man. She pivoted to face Roy and Cass and announced, “Okay, it's worth the risk. We send him in alone.”

Cass argued, “no, we don’t! Something doesn't smell right to me.”

Roy shrugged. “Could be my dad's suit. He died in it.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. “He died in it?! Wait… this is a man’s suit? Why does it fit me so well…?”

Roy’s burner phone pinged and he said, “they just sent the location.” He studied his phone and exhaled loudly. “Man, this dude is cautious. If I show up one minute late or I'm not alone, he is done with me.” He pursed his lips and said to Y/n, “this is your last shot.”

Y/n shook her head and picked at her skin. “I can't let the Red Arrow get away.” After a moment of contemplating, she decided, “put a wire on him, get a tactical team in as backup.” She begged Cass, “please, it's the only way.” When the older detective didn’t look impressed, Y/n tried to convince her. “Harper and I know this guy. You have to trust us.”

Cain scoffed. “Do I? One of you is a criminal, and the other one is dressed like a knockoff of fucking Steve Harvey.” She poked her tongue in her cheek and decreed, “it's over. I'm ending this now.” She sighed. “Sorry, Y/n. Truly, I am.”

Y/n stared at her and couldn’t help but cross her arms. ”Seriously, Cain?”

“Yeah.” She repeated the words Y/n had promised earlier, “one thousand pushups.”

Y/n’s chin jutted up. “Well, I raise you. Two thousand pushups.”

“What?” Cass frowned. “That's not how this works. I said "one thousand pushups.” You have to back me up, L/n. That's the pact; end of story.”

“Well, I break the pact,” Y/n said abruptly. “Cass, I hope you understand how serious this is to me.” She whined in a deep voice, “Can't you read between the lines, man?”

“Don't quote Die Hard.”

“Sorry. But we're still sending him in alone.”

Captain Wayne wore shorts and a t-shirt, something Steph was still getting used to seeing. She, however, was on the sidelines, fiddling with her racquet. “You ready, Brown? Psyched up?”

“No, why?” she asked. “Do I seem psyched? 'Cause I'm definitely not. I- I just want to have fun!” She ran a hand through her hair.

“And to win,” Wayne reminded her slowly.

“Hey hey hey!” Steph shrugged dramatically, pulling at her shirt. “If we all have fun and don't throw any racquets and don't eat squash balls, then we're all winners.”

“What?!”

“Nothing. I'll serve.”

The game started with Stephanie serving and after a couple hits, their opponent called, “out.”

“What?” Steph shouted. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Then, as if a switch flipped in her head, she gave a high-pitched chuckle and gritted her teeth. “That was... fun. That was a fun call. You're a real fun guy, fun guy. This is fun! This is fun! Right?” Her knuckles turned white on her racquet.

Y/n prepped Roy Harper in the back of a police van. “We need evidence, so get him talking,” she encouraged him. “Ask questions about money, jewels, specifics.”

Roy clenched his jaw and shook his head. “I'm getting kind of nervous, man. This dude is for real. You sure you have everything covered?”

“Yeah. There's a guy on the back door, eyes on the side door, and two dudes on the corner. You'll be fine.”

“What about choppers?” Roy asked. “Do you have access to choppers? With snipers and rockets and shit?”

“No one has rocket choppers,” Cain deadpanned.

“Although that does sound amazing,” Y/n added, eyes lighting up with the possibilities.

“We got eyes on the Arrow.” A voice announced through a walkie talkie. “He's a block and a half away.”

“You ready?” Y/n asked Roy.

Roy nodded. “You and me, N/n. We were born ready.”

“Yeah! Go, Roy, go! You got this! Show me your game face! Whoo!” Y/n hyped him up as he exited the van, clapping him on the shoulders. Once the doors had closed behind Roy, she turned to Cass and stage-whispered, “his game face makes him look constipated.”

Y/n leaned over the audio transmitter and muttered, “we meet at last, Red Arrow. For six years I've tracked you. And today I'm taking you down.” She said into the microphone, “Roy Harper, can you hear me? Say something to test the wire.”

“Hey, Cain, after we put the cuffs on this guy,” Roy waggled his eyebrows. “I'll be free for dinner. And I’m sure Lian would love another playmate. What do you say?”

“The mic works,” is all Cass said.

“Miguel! What's up?”

Roy called out and another voice filtered through. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Roy rambled, “let's talk about jewels. I’m working at the shop again. I can deal with anything you want. Red jewels, blue jewels, one jewel, two jewels. Jewels are really great, aren't they? Real pretty.”

“What is he doing?” Cain asked in disbelief.

“Talking about jewels,” Y/n said as if it was obvious.

“You know what else is great about jewels?” Roy continued, “The way they look. They’re just so pretty.”

Cass shook her head. “That's it. I'm calling it.”

“No!” Y/n shrieked.

“Move, people, we're going in now.” She banged open the door and the other officers ran onto the scene. “On your knees! Hands on your head!” In the basement where the deal was going down, they surrounded a man who was Mexican, maybe 5’8”, had a pointy little beard, and wore a purple tie. He was clutching a thick briefcase and nervously complied with their demands, dropping the briefcase.

“Gotcha, Red Arrow,” Y/n’s chest bloomed with excitement and pride, having finally caught her prize. “Wait, where's Roy Harper?”

“Uh, he went to the bathroom.” The man stammered, unsure if this was all a trick. “I- I'm just here to cut his hair. I don't know what's going on.”

Y/n hummed, “A likely story, Red Arrow…” She bent down and opened the briefcase, revealing scissors, razors, and other supplies. “But you actually do have a lot of hair products.”

“He's gone. He ran,” Cass confirmed.

“Why would he do that?” Y/n exclaimed. “He helped us catch the Red Arrow. That was the deal. This doesn't make any sense unless…” Her mouth fell open and she realised, “Roy Harper is the Red Arrow.”

As Y/n stood there, shocked, Cass immediately jumped into action. “Put out an APB. Seal off everything for a 20-block radius.”

The audio transmitter beeped and Roy’s voice said, “Yeah, don't bother looking for me. I'm in the wind.” He made a ‘whoosing’ noise into the microphone.

“If you're close enough for me to hear you, you're close enough for me to catch you!” Y/n called back.

“Nah, I got a relay set up, sister.”

“So if you're the Red Arrow, who's this dude?” Y/n asked.

“Well, a couple of years ago you were getting really close, so I started telling all my peeps that if they ever get caught, they should say I’m Mexican, 5’8”, have a pointy beard and always wears a purple tie.”

Y/n nodded stoically. “So then you hired a guy who matched that exact description….”

Roy laughed. “No, no, no, no, no, no. That's my barber, Miguel Barragan. He gave me the idea.”

Miguel was cutting Roy’s hair and commented, “you know, if you can't come in, I do house calls. You just text me a location and I could be there in half an hour.”

Roy beamed. “Good to know.”

“You know, you should actually use him while he's there. He'll give you a crazy good fade. Lian says he… layers her hair? I don’t know.”

“I get crazy good layers from my current barber, thank you very much.” Y/n deduced, “So you dragged us over here, went in there, pretended to talk, and then snuck out the basement. Am I right?”

Roy squealed. “The basement connected to another basement! Which connected to a garage, which is where my boy picked me up with Lian.”

“Your boy? Oh, that guy from the meet-up. He works for you.” Y/n rolled her sleeves up and tugged at a strand of her hair. “He pretended to be spooked by me and Cain in the parking lot to make sure we let you go to the next meeting by yourself.”

“Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! You win a prize!”

“You lied to me, Roy Harper,” Y/n whispered dramatically, somewhat hurt and somewhat impressed.

“You brought your daughter along?” Cass mumbled.

“Gotta be honest, I'm pretty disappointed right now,” Y/n shook her head.

“Sorry it had to go down this way, L/n.” To his credit, Roy sounded a little sad. “Maybe we could've been friends in another world.” He paused then cackled. “If I hadn't just fooled you like a little- Lian, cover your ears- bitch!” An engine revved in the background. “Bitch!”

Y/n shouted back before the line when dead, “You use that mouth to kiss your daughter, Harper?!”

“Brown.” Captain Wayne approached his teammate after a particular gruelling and unfortunate match. “Is everything okay, uh, with your brain?”

“Yeah yeah. I'm great,” Steph said. “I am having… a lot of fun.”

“Yes, I’m sure, given as you’ve said that one hundred and forty three times today.” Wayne pulled her aside and reminded her, “you do realise that if we lose this next match, we're out of the tournament?”

“Yes, but the important thing is we had a good time.”

“No!” Wayne yelled. ”The important thing is that we win the trophy! I promised Clark before he left for Italy that we would do that.” He sighed before admitting, “do you know why I chose you as my partner?”

“Because I'm the most athletic person you know?” Steph’s voice ended in a high pitched question.

“No, otherwise I would chose Todd. I chose you because of an article I read in the "Sarah Lawrence Phoenix" about a young woman they called ‘squash's unhinged lunatic.’” He pokes her in the chest for extra measure.

Stephanie swallowed harshly. “I- I haven't a clue what you're talking about, Captain.”

“According to that article,” Wayne said, ”that lunatic was 27-0. I need her on my team. I need you… to unleash the beast.”

Steph’s eyes grew wide and she inhaled sharply. Captain Wayne’s smile was just as sharp.

“Whoo!” Steph paraded into the court. “You butternuts ready to get squashed?” Their opponents stared at her and she mocked them. "’Huh? What? Duh?’ That's gonna be you guys while I smoke your butts, because Brucie and the Beast don't even give a what.” She sang the last word and waved her arms dramatically.

Bruce repeated stoically, ”we don't give a what.”

“Unh-uh. Whoo! Let's do this.”

The matches went on, and with the Beast unleashed, Stephanie and Bruce won every single one- not without earning a reputation.

“Boo-ya-kah, suckers!”

Whenever someone called her shot out, Steph had a few choice words. “You kidding me? Are you kidding me?”

But when they won a point, she was enthusiastically crazed, even to the point where she slapped Captain Wayne on the butt. “Way to go! That's it, baby!”

Y/n approached Cass’s desk. “Hey,” she mumbled. “So… I went back to his house. Unsurprisingly a dead end.”

“I have a lot of work to do, L/n,” Cass said firmly, standing up to leave.

“Wait. I want to say something.” Y/n sighed and began, “we've worked together long enough to know that you hate apologies. So, I just wanted to ask you to join the Roy Harper case. Officially, as partners. I wanna catch this guy and I can't do it without you.”

“No, you can't,” Cass agreed.

“Now I believe I owe you one thousand pushups.” Y/n grimaced.

Cass gave her friend a small smile. “I don't care about the pushups, Y/n. I care that you didn't honour our pact. I've always trusted you, and when you went against me, it made me feel like you don't trust me.”

“I know and I'm sorry. It won't happen again,” Y/n promised.

“No, it won't. Now get down on the floor.”

What?” Y/n yelped. “You just said you didn't care about the pushups!”

“I changed my mind.”

Taking a long breath, the detective said, “Fair enough. A pact's a pact.” She nodded at Cass, knowing she couldn’t back down. Y/n shed her jacket, stared Cass in the eye, and stooped to the ground, beginning to honour her deal. “One, two, three…”

“Two hundred and sixty nine…”

“Heh. Sixty-nine.” Damian chuckled as he sauntered by, snapping a picture of his best friend. “I’m using this for blackmail,” he shouted back at her.

“Okay!” Y/n gave him a weak thumbs up before going back to her pushups.

“Five hundred and thirteen…”

Jason walked past her, calling out, “Night, L/n.”

“Night. Five hundred and fourteen…” she panted.

“Hey, Derek,” Y/n greeted the night janitor. Derek waved back. “One thousand…” she did one more pushup before whining the rest of her sentence. “Is so many pushups! I'm never gonna make it.” She shouted out, “What am I at?”

Captain Wayne marched by. “Nine hundred and one.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“You said two thousand, remember?”

“Argh! I should've trusted you, Ca-a-a-in!” she sobbed loudly, a stripe of sweat staining the back of her shirt.

“Clark, there's something we'd like to show you.” Stephanie and Captain Wayne day in front of his computer, face-timing with Bruce’s husband, Clark.

“Ta-da!” Steph held up the trophy proudly.

“Ah, magnificent.” Clark said from Italy. “The trophy is ours! I look forward to getting number four next year.”

“Actually, we've been banned for life from all future tournaments.” Wayne sucked air in through his teeth, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, geez. What happened?”

Stephanie popped back into screen. “My fault, Clark.” The bruises on her arms and legs confirmed her words. “I snapped the second-place trophy over my knee and threw it in a toilet.”

“...Oh, my.”

“Yeah.”

“But the important thing is, we had fun,” Bruce smiled softly.

“Yeah,” Stephanie agreed.

“I don’t want to do it,” Dick said. “She’s not my problem.”

“She’s literally your problem,” Steph rolled her eyes. “You’re her sergeant.”

“And as your sergeant,” Dick said. “I command you to take care of L/n.”

Stephanie glared at him. “You’re abusing your powers, Grayson,” she whispered ominously. “Get Todd to do it!”

“Todd’s already taken care of her,” Dick nodded to Jason who had placed a doughnut and a cup of coffee on Y/n’s desk and a blanket over Y/n’s sleeping form. He had attempted to place a pillow under her head, but when he tried, Y/n had grumbled and whined. Jason didn’t want to disturb her, so he just left her on the floor. Every moment or so, Jason would glance down at Y/n to make sure she was still sleeping peacefully and a loud noise hadn’t roused her.

“They really are idiots,” Steph muttered.

“Yeah,” Dick sighed. “They are.”

#title of your sex tape #jason todd x reader #jason todd #dc x reader #dcu #detectives au #brooklyn 99 #b99 #b99/dcu #slow burn

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blueiight · 7 months ago

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“…i was haunted by my brother’s death, by the abandonment of my sister…”

majority of the conversation around paul in the amc setting revolves around the question of whodunnit, jokes about him at the second dinner table scene of the pilot, or paralleling his mental illness to louis [a parallel the show admittedly draws upon - with louis stopping his suicide attempt bc “paul forever ruining grace’s wedding night, and [louis] not wanting to do the same to claudia on the anniversary of her escape”] what i intend to focus on, is the specific nature of paul’s complaints with respect to levi, and what paul and claudia represent to louis.

in the book, paul wants louis to sell the plantations & town homes they own in new orleans, and give louis the money so that paul could travel and become a missionary saving france from the godless jacobins. the paul that we’re introduced to in the show is… similar in motivation, but fundamentally divergent. tithe the money over to st. augustine’s so the house dont fall in on them, but the first dinner table goes as this after he says that:

whats of note too is the divergence of the draft v the pilot release. the show excises the freniere family w the exception of levi himself to drive home how paul’s objections to levi’s religious and ethnic background are overruled by the lingering shadow of jim crow.

paul is also reminded that his autonomy is conditional in this first dinner scene here: louis quips back to his point about sugarcane with “if daddy was still here, you’d be locked up in that asylum over in jackson”. its a reminder of the earlier point, but also speaks to something else.

bc of paul’s profound mental illness, he would never be allowed to live an autonomous life, much less hold authority over anyone: whether its the man of the house [as louis was in the du lac family], or as a bride [grace] or as the mother [florence].

this is strongly reminiscent of claudia — someone whos personal autonomy is entirely dependent on the purview of physically mature vampires by nature of permanently being trapped in the body of a preteen. it is also reminiscent of claudia in that louis in both cases plays a sort of savior in relation to them — whether its louis taking paul out of the asylum, or louis taking claudia out of the burning rooming home. louis views paul and claudia, especially claudia, as people that save him from his own self-loathing.. claudia somehow possessing this redemptive quality re: baby jesus…

louis loves both of them deeply, but as iwtv has established, love as a feeling does not exempt someone from enacting violence toward you. in fact, the very loved one that harmed you has an entire framework of rationalizing that violent act as being ‘for your[my] own good’ as is.

the title of this little post comes from the season one finale, where louis collapses in on himself to try to make sense of why he spared lestat, invoking paul and grace to create this red herring to the ‘murder of lestat’. but truly, the thread is false. louis did not abandon grace, and lestat’s death was only an attempted murder sabotaged by louis. modern day louis in the season finale triggers himself through daniel in order to provoke armand, the “protector of his pain”, to reveal himself + question him on the death of claudia, just as he questioned lestat on the death of paul in s1e6.

#yn.#iwtv #louis de pointe du lac #claudia #paul de pointe du lac #tldr: he ended on a good note w paul but a bad one w claudia & thats why hes so regretful/did the 2nd interview in 2022

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mimsillustrations · 2 months ago

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dearmantis · 2 years ago

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So I stayed in the darkness with you

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x wife!Reader

Summary: When you finally wake up and the joy of seeing your husband alive and well dies down you have a conversation you've always wanted to avoid.

Warnings: mentions of death, murder and violence, mentions of grisha persecution, this is not a healthy relationship but they love each other very much, slight gaslighting, mentions of human trafficking

Word Count: 3.6k words

Authors Note: I really thought I would never write this, but I'm having a rare moment where I crave comfort. Also, a few people asked for this (and apparently, some people cried after part 2??? I'm so sorry about that I hope you guys are alright now!). I think this is the end of this? Its not the ending I expected when I first wrote the A lost embrace one shot but it is where we ended up. I hope you guys like it :) I'm not a native English speaker and this isn't edited.

The title of this part (and the name of the series) is from Cosmic Love by Florence + the Machine

Previous Part | Masterlist

When you wake up, it's to the sound of a few birds chirping outside and waves crashing against rocks. You don't open your eyes for a while, instead choosing to enjoy the soft atmosphere around you, letting yourself glide into consciousness slowly and carefully.

It's warm and soft, wherever you are. You feel safe.

Your arms and legs still feel a bit sore even without trying to move them, so you simply breathe in and back out, enjoying the fresh air that faintly smells of lavender, salt and rosemary.

With every minute you spend laying there, eyes still tightly closed, you notice more things around you.

A weak breeze moves the leaves on a tree outside. Occasionally, you can hear muffled steps coming from somewhere other than wherever you are right now. Someone other than you is in the room, fabric rustling quietly when they move. You're not afraid.

It takes a while until you feel ready to try and open your eyes, and when you do, your gaze imediately and instinctively move to the chair next to your bed where your husband is waiting for you, his dark eyes glued to your face and a glass of water in his hand. He's not wearing his kefta, you notice. Just a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Not a single speck of gold is visible on him.

A small smile charms itself onto your lips before you can stop it.

"Do you feel ready to rejoin the world of the living?" he asks quietly, waiting for your nod before reaching over to hold the glass of water against your lips.

You empty the glass quickly, your dry throat desperate for any kind of liquid. He takes the glass away slowly, moving to fill it up with more water before placing it back against your lips.

You drink three glasses of water that way. That's how much you need to drink to banish the itching from your throat. Damn those soldiers.

"How long... how long was I asleep?" You ask after Aleksander places the glass back down on the nightstand next to the bed. He doesn't respond for a while, instead moving carefully to check if your body is fully tucked in and warm under the thick blanket covering your body.

"Two weeks," He answers finally while he shuffles around. "You were woken up a few times to make sure you eat and drink, but I doubt you remember that. Fedyor thought it was best if your body got time to recover energy on its own. The two weeks in the cage, the torture, the starving and dehydration, lack of sleep, and even the healing took a huge toll on your body."

The Shadow Summoner moves back to his chair, but before he sits down, he checks if your pillow is fluffy, his gaze awfully serious considering his current task.

Letting the information settle for a bit, you look around in the room you're in. You don't recognize where you are. The old, dark wooden floors are new to you, just like the walls decorated with small drawings and letters you're too far away from to read. When you look outside, you see the ocean.

"Where are we?"

Your hand moves to grab Aleksanders wrist before he can step back to sit down on his chair again, carefully pulling him closer towards you. He looks tired, deep shadows visible below his dark eyes. He needs to rest, probably more than you do, considering you apparently slept for two full weeks. A small, amused smile finds its way onto his lips before he carefully moves to sit down next to you on the large bed you're occupying. You move to give him space, encouraging him to lay down instead of sitting.

"I'll be more relaxed if you're next to me," you reason when he tries to argue, and the mighty, dangerous Darkling gives in, slipping under your blanket and resting his head next to yours on the pillows. You're still mad at him, a deep-rooted hatred for him burning deep in your chest, hotter than the sun itself, but feeling him next to you is nice. It almost feels safe.

Once he settles down, he answers, his voice even quieter and softer than it was before.

"In Fjerda. Kenst Hjerte, to be exact."

Ulla. You're with Ulla. Outside of Ravka. Away from everything he has built. Away from his sun summoner.

"Ivan is still in Ravka with a few others to make sure that no Grisha are left in cages. The rest is up here."

You want to say something, like acknowledge the fact that it must've been almost impossible to move a large group of Grisha through Fjerda undetected, but you don't want to interrupt him. He has that far away look in his eyes, and you assume this must be the first time he's letting himself actually work through and think over the events of the past month.

"Ulla wasn't particularly excited to see such a huge group, you can probably imagine. She has never been fond of company, after all, but she accepted it as long as she could stay away, and I don't tell anyone about her presence."

A smirk appears on his lips, and his eyes find yours. "The last bit that convinced her was the absence of Baghra, of course. As soon as she found out that she was still in Ravka, she was suddenly alright with everyone staying as long as the group doesn't pull attention towards the islands, and no one get's close to her."

Mirroring his smile, you watch him for a few seconds, carefully turning your body to lay on its side.

"So we're hiding again."

Aleksander opens his mouth to respond, probably ready to justify his decision, not realising that he doesn't have to. You're glad. Disappearing back into hiding is arguably the first sensible decision he has made since the sun summoner showed up. You're just surprised that he got to this decision himself. He's usually not someone who admits defeat, at least not without you forcing him to. You expected him to do something stupid, like try to fight the entire First Army and the Sun Summomer on his own and get killed in the process.

"I've never really been in hiding before, not since I was a child, at least. Most of the others never had to be. This will probably be really weird, but I'm excited to learn. Are we going to stay here or move somewhere else?"

He seems a bit surprised by the fact that you're not against his decision, pausing for a few seconds to study your facial expressions before he answers.

"I hope to stay here as long as possible, but we have to be prepared to leave any minute. I hope that Ivans group can collect the last Grisha that don't want to serve Vasily and come up here without attracting too much attention, but it's impossible to tell if that will work out."

You nod slowly, carefully putting together a picture of what has happened in the month that you've been out of the loop.

"Do you think there's a risk that Vasily could find out that we're hiding here and tell the Grimjer family? Maybe as an offering of some kind to kindle peace between Ravka and Fjerda and end the war?"

The darkness that flickers in his eyes for just a second makes clear that he has thought about that possibility as well. It would make sense, after all. Give up the Darkling, his wife, and the Grisha that side with them in exchange for peace. You are all considered enemies of the ravkan royal family anyway, so it wouldn't be a loss for Vasily.

"The risk is always there, but I have hope that the preparation of the royal wedding will distract everyone enough to make sure that we can get everyone out of the country without anyone noticing. The people want to celebrate their sun queen and hope for a better future. It should be easy for skilled soldiers to get through and out of the country unnoticed."

It takes you a few seconds until you realize what he just said, and when you finally do, a confused frown appears on your face.

"Sun queen? Is Vasily marrying Alina?"

Aleksander nods.

"And you're not... you're not on your way to rip him to shreds and take her for yourself?"

He let's out a long, loud sigh and turns his head to look at the ceiling, choosing to stay silent for so long that you start to believe that he's not going to respond at all. The only proof that you have that he's actively thinking about his response are the shadows slowly crawling over the floor and walls, swallowing the room and covering you under the familiar blanket of his very own darkness.

You have spent many private moments like this, cloaked by his powers, including your first kiss, your first time sleeping together, and your wedding night. As long as he controls his shadows, you will always have a home.

When he finally does speak, it's soft and light as a feather, his voice drifting through the air like an ancient melody.

"In those two weeks where I was convinced I would be too late, that you were dead, I learned something very important about myself."

Behind him, the shadows crawl up to cover the window, swallowing the last bit of light in the room.

"You are part of me the same way the shadows are part of me. Even if I hate you and you hate me, I can't change that. Losing you would be like losing a vital organ. Even if you chose to despise me for eternity, to never speak to me again, I need to be around you. I'm not fully myself if I'm not with you, sweet girl. You are part of me, just like I hope I am part of you."

You can't see him, but you can hear how he turns his head to look at you. "You can hate your heart and your powers as much as you want, you can't get rid of either. You need both to survive. And I need you the same way."

If anyone else, literally anyone else in the whole world had said this to you, you would've laughed so loud that you could still hear it in the Fold, but hearing those words come out of Aleksanders mouth, especially in that tone, makes you pause.

You know how he sounds when he lies, how his tone shifts to make every word sound just a bit smoother, a bit more convincing, but none of those signs are noticeable now. It's just his voice, in the same, normal, serious tone he uses during important discussions. The same tone he uses when he marries you once every hundred years.

"I have waited many centuries for the sun summoner. I can wait a few more if that means I can keep you with me."

The shadows retreat from the window, letting sunlight back into the room, but they continue to cover the walls, floor, and ceiling.

The light shows you his facial expression, the warm smile that softens his features and smooths the wrinkles in his skin.

"And what if I don't want to stay with you?" You ask quietly, afraid that you could shatter the atmosphere if you speak too loudly. "You hurt me a lot, Aleksander. I don't think I can do this again. What do I do if you randomly decide that you actually want the sun summoner more than me? If you leave me behind? What do I do if she dies and a new sun summoner appears in 300 years and you fall in love with them as well? I can't be your little bed warmer that fills the space next to you until your sun summoner comes back. I'm not strong enough to go through this again. Not tomorrow, not in twenty years, not in a thousand years. I can't do it again."

You try to turn away from him, but before you even get the chance to move, he wraps his arm around your torso and pulls you on top of him, every inch of your body touching his. His large hands cup your face, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"What can I do to prove to you that I will never leave you again?" he asks earnestly, and you can't stop yourself from whispering as you harshly move your head to escape from his grasp, your voice so quiet that it barely makes a sound at all.

"Kill Alina"

Your husband laughs, this time louder, amusement clear in his gaze as he grasps your face once more to make sure your eyes meet his.

"What was that, little wife?"

"What?"

"What you just said. You said something about Alina."

"No, I didn't. What are you talking about? Why would I talk about her while I'm lying on top of you? You must be hallucinating because of how exhausted you are." Your face contorts with mock concern, and Aleksander scoffs, swatting your hand away when you try to touch his face the way he's touching yours. "You should really sleep, my love. This isn't healthy for you at all. Come on, let's sleep. Good night."

You lean forward to press a quick good night kiss onto his lips – more of a peck than a kiss, really – when his grip on your face suddenly tightens, a loud squeak leaving your lips as he pushes you off of him and positions himself above you, switching your positions.

For a few seconds, you just stare at each other, taking each other in for a few seconds until Aleksander slowly bends down to press his lips against yours.

It's a soft kiss. Slow and sweet with an underlying bitterness that you want to ignore but can't.

His weight on you is familiar despite the fact that he isn't crushing you into the mattress the way he usually would, holding himself up with his arms to keep the majority of his weight off of your still recovering body.

When he finally lifts his head and ends the kiss, you smile at him for a second before seriousness washes the softness from your face.

"I'm serious, Sasha. You hurt me. A lot. And I'm not strong enough to withstand this again. If you want your sun summoner, tell me now. I won't even leave, I promise, so you can just tell me. I just want to be prepared, please." Unshed tears fill your eyes, turning your sight blurry as you stare up at your husband who simply watches you, his own face focused solely on you, face blank like a sheet of paper as he listens to your words.

"You left me. After more than 200 years together, you left me for a child. You lied to me and deceived me, pushed me to the side, and ignored me. Two centuries of partnership thrown away because of her. How am I supposed to ever trust you again?"

You regret letting him turn you now. Sitting on top of him gave you a bit of strength, made you feel stronger and bigger than you really are, especially right now in your weakened state. Now you feel small, caged in by his body and his watchful gaze that you're unable to escape. Pathetic, that's how you feel. You should be stronger than this by now, yet here you are, fighting back tears like a child.

"What if you suddenly decide you want her instead of me in a year or two? Do I have to put myself into a life-threatening situation just to remind you that I'm apparently important to you? What will it take next time? All of Fjerda hunting me? Getting sold like cattle in Ketterdam? Experiments in Shu Han? Is that what needs to happen to keep you interested in me? Because that's not worth it, Aleksander. I love you, I do, but I deserve better than that."

He doesn't react for a while, his eyes simply studying your face while he thinks over his response. After a few minutes, he lets himself sink down next to you, laying back on his side, his gaze still glued to you.

Aleksanders dark eyes do not move from you for what feels like hours, taking in every pore, every wrinkle, every bit of texture, taking his time to catalogue every single milimetre of your face in his mind.

He watches how you try to blink away your tears, angry at yourself for showing weakness in a moment where you have to be strong, and he hates himself for pushing you so far away from his heart that you feel like being vulnerable around him, showing weakness in from of your own husband, is a mistake.

He watches you bite your chapped lips, tearing the flesh and covering your front teeth with a bit of blood. An act of self-punishment or a nasty habit you may have developed while he was occupied with Alina? He hates himself more for not being able to answer that question.

It takes a while, but then his hands move to cup your face, holding you like a precious gem, his rough hands suddenly softer than cotton.

Aleksander doesn't tear up like you do. His hands don't shake, and his voice doesn't break when he speaks, but you can feel his sincerity ringing in the air like a bell.

"I'm sorry."

He apologized several times when he found you. Panicked, pained apologies filled with dread and relief and more fear than anyone should be able to feel. But now he's calm. He's not scared of death ripping you out of his grasp in the next minute, isn't trying to lift some of his own guilt off his shoulders before you die in his arms. He had two weeks of processing his thoughts on his own. He had time to think over every mistake he has made, and he intends to right them, starting with you and what he has done to you.

"I'm sorry that I ever made you feel like you weren't enough. I'm sorry for acting like you aren't enough. I'm sorry for forgetting how much greater you are than me. You are and will always be the most precious thing in my life, the most wonderful thing the making could've ever given me. I am a foolish man, but I should know better than that. And you shouldn't forgive me. I do not deserve forgiveness, but I can't help but hope for it anyway. I pray that you find it in your endlessly kind heart to give me one last chance. If you do, my love, my beautiful, wonderful, perfect little wife, I swear I'll make you queen. I will end the Lantsov line and kill the sun summoner and give you the country we once called home. I will give you anything you want, I promise it."

A loud sob tears through your throat, tears running freely over your face and soaking into the pillow below you as you listen to him bear his old, rotten heart and soul to you.

"I don't want the throne," you rasp out. "I just want you. That's all I've ever wanted."

"I know. And I failed to give it to you, but I promise that this will never happen again. Kill me if it does. Stab me in the heart while I sleep, poison my food, slit my throat. I swear that I will not defend myself. Bring my head to the Apparat and let him turn you into a Saint if I betray you again, my love, but please give me this one chance to prove myself to you. I will not fail you again, I swear it."

You almost laugh at that, but the shimmering in his eyes stops you before you can even smile. It's like he's fighting himself to make sure he doesn't cry, reminding you that this is serious.

"I will actually do it, you hear me? If you betray me again, I will rally the Grisha against you. Ulla, too, while I'm at it. They like me more than you anyway. I'll chop your head off and give it to the Apparat and become Sankta Y/N of the dawn or whatever they end up calling me. I'll make sure there are thousands of paintings of how I murdered you. And I'll make it seem like it was easy, too. I'll tell them I overpowered you effortlessly and cut your heart out while you confessed your love to me or something. All of Ravka will make fun of how you died. It'll overshadow the horror stories about the Black Heretic. You will become the joke of a whole nation."

He smiles softly. "I would expect nothing less of you, my love."

You mirror his smile weakly, eyes flickering down to his lips twice before slowly leaning in. Aleksander waits for you, refusing to move while your breath ghosts over his lips.

"Are you sure?" he asks, waiting for you to decide what to do. The tension between you two is heavy, your nose filling with his oh so familiar scent with every breath you take.

"I am," you answer almost silently. "I don't forgive you, not yet. But I think I can give you one last chance. I think I can do it."

Laughing weakly, you continue, "Especially now that I'm allowed to murder you if you betray my trust again."

He hums, his nose brushing softly against yours as he waits for you to confirm your decision.

When you do, your lips pressing against his, it tastes like ash and death, like destruction and poison and chocolate and peace and promises.

It tastes like sin. It tastes like coming home. It tastes like love.

Taglist: @budugu @purebloodwitch @hells-escapees @savagejane1 @deadunicorn159

#aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #darkling x reader #the darkling x reader

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k2ntoss · 11 months ago

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Hi Mara mind if I ask for prompt "not even being able to process the jealousy; solely that one scene of them with someone else repeats in your head" Jason Todd being painfully jealous because he sees you dancing with someone else at a wayne gala

(This is not at all required for the request, tis just a recommendation but you gotta listen to florence and the machine 'hurricane drunk' the angst of the song is so perfect for this prompt)

i'm stunned......... wayne gala jason i swear– okayyyy here we go, my dear anon, hope i get to fulfill your ask (and the song I FELT IT AND I DON'T HAVE TOO MANY REASONS TO BE JEALOUS RN)

not even being able to process the jealousy; solely that one scene of them with someone else repeats in your head

it's not the first time you agreed to go to a gala with jason, he's your friend so you'll go to the end of the world for him if he asked you to and maybe, just maybe it's like that because you've liked him for about a year and a half, half of the time you've been friends but you've convinced yourself that you stand no chance with him, jason is everything you've always wanted and for him, you're the same, all the good things on earth are nothing for him when you're around.

the green dress you're wearing matches the green from his eyes, he doesn't know you like it so much because of it but jason does know you look perfect on it and he secretly hates how it draws attention to you. walking with you on his arm he makes his way into the groups of people that are chatting and drinking, he greets them and you do the same with a kind nod from your head while both of your hands rest on his forearm, it's the routine for every gala you've gone to with him; you stay by his side, drink something and talk with him, listening to his voice soothes the anxiety that the gaze of some other people brings and jason feels good because he knows that there's something good he can do for you.

"would you mind it if i asked you if we could dance tonight?" you ask softly when he finds a table where you both can settle down, there's a small smile on your lips as you lean in just so jason can hear your words over the chat of everyone around and the soft instrumental music "mhm, i don't really feel like dancing, doll" jason is soft when he declines your request, he has never been one to like drawing attention on this kind of places and he knows that dancing with the prettiest girl on the gala would bring too much attention.

it brings your mood a bit down, he feels bad because in this years being your friend jason's has learnt to read through your emotions so when you nod with a small smile and tell him "it's okay, jay" he can see the lack of that pretty spark on your eyes, the few good things he can do for you seem to be useless when it's so easy for him to make you feel dissapointed because of simple things "but you can go dance if you really want, sweetheart, i'll be fine on my own here" he tries to fix it, his hand over yours rubbing soft circles as his head nudges towards the middle of the room and reluctantly you agree because you can notice how he wants to make you happy.

his eyes follow you as you stand, your figure walking away into the spaces between people while you make your way to the zone where couples are already dancing and it's there when jason regrets turning you down. there's a young man approaching you, a gentle smile as he bows when you accept to dance with him. he's been given a glass of wine, his fingers gripping at the neck of the cup when the stranger's hands are on your waist and yours lay on his shoulders, he's guiding your body witt smooth steps, making you turn around with a smile, he makes you laugh and lean into his touch.

one song and then another, jason's eyes are fixed on you and it looks like there are a few people clapping and cheering at the way you dance with someone else, the way his hands run over your waist and your back whe he turns you around, his hands caressing your arms when he pushes you just to bring you back in a close embrace and jason has now a glass of scotch on his hand, he sips it and he can feel the burn of alcohol on his throat but it's nothing compared to the pang on his chest when you glance at him and smile widely while dancing, he manages a small smile at you but turns around when the stranger kisses your hand.

he should have been the one dancing with you, the one to make you laugh and enjoy something so simple yet so beautiful; would he ever be enough to come closer to you? to be next to you and pamper you on kisses and sweet words? is he any good for you when he can't even please you with a simple dance when you're going with him everywhere just to make him feel safe? and everything that plays on his head is you dancing and giggling with someone else, someone you don't really know but that made you so happy even if it was just for a few songs.

#luv letters!#jason pookie you're enough ):#jason todd blurb #jason todd imagine #jason todd angst #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd #red hood imagine #red hood angst

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bluetorchsky · 3 months ago

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A couple of whiteboard doodles I did yesterday, but posting them today cause I don’t think I’ll have the energy after work to do any doodles

We’ve got Zar, @zerguette ‘s OC, and the twins, Aurelia and Florence. Ari and I have talked SO MUCH about Zar becoming the unofficial Toppat babysitter because of the twins, but he’s definitely gonna be the weird uncle that Accordion and Violin take into their family. He might not be smiling, but that’s a good thing actually (If he was, someone would be dead).

And then my version of Earrings! I had SO MUCH difficulty with her hair, cause I almost kept making it like Ellie’s hair. It took a couple of tries before settling on this one. I like her outfit, but I think I’ll cook on it a little more next time I draw her.

#bluetorchsky #bluetorchsky doodles #schedule blue #the henry stickmin collection #thsc #thsc oc #henry stickmin oc #thsc zar #thsc aurelia #thsc florence #thsc earrings #i did also want her to have some muscles too #not sure if it can be seen in her clothing #but i’ll work on that again later on

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lionmythflower · 9 months ago

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evan rosier headcanons under the cut

Twins w pandora

He has a chinchilla (its name is dusty, barty helped name it)

He's rlly good friends w remus

In a book club w lily, remus,dorcas and regulus

He's Canadian

So he kinda had a very slight American accent

Sleeps and listens to music on long car rides

Knows Canadian French

Asexual

either gay or bi

Poc

has a tattoo of "bcjr" on his neck or shoulder (barty has a matching one of "Rosie")

Would love MARINA and Florence + the Machines

Was probably more of an ABBA fan then a queen fan

lily got him into music like ABBA and Remus got him into music like David Bowie

Would also love Arctic Monkey

Would love makeup

Has those star eyeliner stamps and he absolutely rocks them

Bigender (stole this hc from someone can't remember who at that moment)

probally goes by he/they pronouns

Pandora and Evan steal each other's clothes sm that they don't know who's is who's at this point

So ppl are like " wasn't pandora wearing that the other day?" and evan will be like "idk maybe?" And vise versa

Would love Greek mythology

Has heterochromia and his eyes are blue and green so he's is looking at u like 🔵_🟢 (O_O) (pandora also has eyes like that)

"you have heterophobia in ur eyes" "...you mean heterochromia?" "no" (barty and evan)

i feel like he would be able to play like 3 instruments and would love love love music sm

Has so. Many. Ear. Piercings.

Lace and fishnet gloves

RINGS

Evan, pandora, Dorcas, regulus, and Barty all wear rings and they all js like share rings

Would love fairy tale retellings

100% read song of Achilles and sobbed

His parents are like really that mean js very strict and they don't really give him enough privacy and it's suffocating

Has sensory overloads sometimes and he will just cling to Barty or Pandora bc they both make him feel safe when it's too much

Also has panic attacks

Says things like "I wanna kms" and ppl think he's joking but he's really not

Baggy clothes

layers his clothes a lot

had like three sweatshirts/sweaters that he LOVES

eating disorder (idk which one but he definitely has one)

Constantly has a headache

Is actually rlly su!sidal but he's only told like 2 ppl (probably Pandora and reg or barty)

Either never gets sick or gets sick every month (depends on the year)

Doesn't like talking abt his problems

Will not ask for help unless he has basically given up

Is rlly smart

He's like everything smart but doesn't really care abt math or science

That one kid who's reading and not paying attention the entire class and then gets an A on every test

He's parents don't really care about grades but he does and he gets really stressed abt grades

Would 100% be that person that you wouldn't think would be a feminist and then someone makes a rude comment abt women and he would go off on them

Very pretty

Always cold. Always

Would have loved all the movies that Millie Bobby Brown is in (Enola Holmes, and Damsel mainly)

Would love ppl doing his nails (even though he's good at doing it himself)

doc martins

Would have converse and would draw on them

Has so many books (both barty and evan rant to each other abt the books they read)

Would have adhd but more of the not able to focus side

He's nail polish is almost always chipped bc they pick at it w/o even realizing he's doing it

would have so many bracelets

Hates silence but hates loud noise even more

Had earbuds in 24/7

"Look at the moon! :0" no matter what phase the moon is in (does the same thing w the sky)

Would get sooo happy when ever he was in a place where u can clearly see the stars at night bc "omg look, you can see the stars! Their so pretty!!!"

They're so energetic but also so laid back

Pretty much all or nothing for everything (emotions, activities, relationship etc.)

Really good at drawing

normally types in all lowercase so he doesn't come off as intimating

Evan and pandora probably made fun of the pure blood stereotypes so much

(I've made by point abt this hc a lot but I'mma say it again) : Evan and regulus arguing over the pronouncing of different French words bc Evan is Canadian French and Regulus is European French lol

He's an introvert you can't tell me otherwise

Was almost put into ravenclaw bc he was arguing w the sorting hat and it was like "ok valid points, ur probably a ravenclaw" and then Evan told the hat to go fuck itself and it put him in Slytherin 💀

Definition of a keyboard smash idk how to explain it

Would have loved Pinterest

wow this is really long. I'mma make one of these for Peter later :)

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cheerleaderman · 3 months ago

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[SR] Yuya Florence, Astrid Primrose and Flori Orielle- Halloween town

Fan event by- @theolivetree123

Yuya: “ This place gives off a spooky vibe kinda like Ramshackle”

Astrid: I didn’t know Briar Valley had a town like this

Flori: Halloween town, Their Mayor seems very excited that we all came here

Few lines under cut - Mention of Yukki, Silas and Constance

Yuya

The Boogie Man’s Palace is pretty lavish but I’ll just stay around the arcade, I’m not taking any gambles

Some of The spirits at the Graveyard were confused why another spirit was given them gifts…My it’s because if not from this world

Look at this Doll! We have similar outfits, too creepy? Of course that’s why I bought them

The Mayor been telling me all kinds of scary stories like the one of the Pumpkin King! We had to take a pause since he had to attend to something..he was in the middle of a good story

Yukki got chosen for the corpse bride, When we were at La Miel Boutique They were getting bombarded with different outfits to pick, I managed to help them things she liked but the final result is still a surprise.

Astrid

I was drawing in the town square and Miss.Camila came up behind me complimenting my work so I gave her one , She told me other places that she thinks I would have fun drawing as well

I gave the fountain an offer but I wasn’t sure if anything would happen…is it even possible for me to have good luck just wishful thinking

I saw some chocolate desserts at a nearby bakery and bought some for Silas, he’s eating them so I think I made the right selection.

The people at the Boutique said that the Romantic Gothic style fits me the most…

Flori

Constance been running away from her ex faster than I run from marriage offering.

When at the graveyard I swear I someone who looks like my father…maybe it’s because I wish I could’ve gotten a chance to know him more..

I bought this pumpkin lantern, it glows such a lovely color also I think it adds on to outfit.

Miss.Camila reminds me of my friend Evenly they even have similar styles.

I got some recommendations from the Mayor of novels and story books in Halloween Town, I absent reading them for the past hour

#cheer!art #cheer!flori #cheer!astrid #cheer!yuya #cheer!twstcard #welcometohalloweentown!#twst #twst oc #art #artists on tumblr #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #oc art #digital art #twst fanevent #twisted wonderland fanevent

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bonesbonesbones69 · 2 months ago

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A HARROW THE NINTH FANMIX

I know I’ve put out a number of fan mixes at this point but this is my favorite one.

Track list:

New York (St. Vincent)

Moderation (Florence + The Machine)

Heavy Cross (Gossip)

How To Be Eaten By A Woman (The Glitch Mob)

Ballad of the Thin Man (Bob Dylan)

Spent Gladiator 2 (The Mountain Goats)

Foreign Object (The Mountain Goats)

Drive It Like You Stole It (Glitch Mob)

Cosmic Love (Florence + The Machine)

Francesca (Hozier)

Wear Black (The Mountain Goats)

I'm about to get VERBOSE under the cut, join me if you want a deep dive on why I chose these songs. Or just listen to the playlist and draw your own conclusions :)

NEW YORK (St. Vincent)

You know how Gideon's death kind of haunts the entire 'Harrow the Ninth' narrative, because you can't stop thinking about it even though Harrow doesn't remember it and the book isn't mentioning it? But it's so present, the negative space in the story creating a very clear Gideon-shaped outline?

This song is first to set the tone for the playlist in the same way. It's a good song about grieving someone who fit with you in a way nobody else did or ever could.

It's about the bits that go:

you're the only motherfucker in the city who can handle me /can stand me /forgives me

It makes me a little crazy. Especially the forgiveness bit. Kind of brings forward the depth of what Harrow lost when Gideon died.

MODERATION (Florence and the Machine)

Like a fine wine, this song pairs excellently with thinking about harrow giving herself a lobotomy.

Want me to love you in moderation? Do I look moderate to you?

I've never heard of anyone loving someone LESS moderately than harrow when she carved up her own brain about a girl. Someone said in a tumblr post somewhere that 'most people just get breakup bangs'. YEAH THEY DO. but that's our mistake for thinking harrow was going to do anything other than the most insane possible thing.

This song is ominous and heavy, evokes religion and fear, the concept of love used as a threat.

It's perfect.

Actually let's talk real quick about the religion part. This isn't going to be hugely cohesive but it's important to me and I think you'll get what I'm going for:

The lines:

Bow your head in the house of God Little girl, who do you think you are

Can be read like the narrative voice is taking on the persona of God, loving in the powerful and unknowable way God might love. Loving in a way you have no say over. Interpreting Harrow's actions with this lens is like a fucked up mirror, consider: Gideon spent her childhood beaten down by a heavily religious society, the figurehead of which was Harrow herself, beating Gideon down sometimes literally but more importantly, figuratively. Now Harrow continues the role of religiously executing power over Gideon's experience, this time with absolutely ferocious love.

Also LAST THING I PROMISE but there's a quiet vein of self-hatred in this song, lurking just behind all of it. A real judgement of the self for having this power and impulse.

So it's perfect.

HEAVY CROSS (Gossip)

Actually you know what lets have MORE songs about harrow's lobotomy. It's a rich vein.

Most of the songs on this playlist make me a little crazy, and this is absolutely one of them. The manic, dangerous, committed tone (and religious undertones) continues from moderation to heavy cross - but what heavy cross brings to the table is the CHOICE.

We can play it safe, or play it cool Follow the leader or make up all the rules Whatever you want, the choice is yours So choose I checked you If it's already been done, undo it

THE CHOICE

And also, oh my god, "it's already been done, undo it". This song made the cut just for that line, and over time I just liked it more and more on here.

I'm skipping over saying a lot of the obvious stuff as I talk about these songs - assuming you're already connecting "whatever you want, the choice is yours, so choose" to harrow making the choice to stop the lyctoral process. And choosing to undo what's already been done. Right? Are we both there already? Cool just making sure.

HOW TO BE EATEN BY A WOMAN (The Glitch Mob)

I'm not done with songs about harrow's lobotomy yet. But this one's a little about Gideon

Ok also I feel the need to say - YES I did put a six minute electronic instrumental in a fanmix, but give it a chance!! It's evocative.

I went to the glitch mob specifically when I was putting this playlist together because I wanted music that felt confusing and dark and bad (the good kind of bad, in the way music can be). Something to mirror the way it felt to read harrow the ninth.

And then I saw there was a song titled 'how to be eaten by a woman' and I added it to the playlist without even listening to it first. And then I listened to it 50 times and now it's going to be on my Spotify top 100 I just know it.

Anyways this one stayed in the playlist as an homage to the confusing and inarticulate things that happened to Gideon and Harrow, as Gideon both was and was not quite eaten by a woman.

BALLAD OF A THIN MAN (Bob Dylan)

Ballad of a thin man is my all time favorite Bob Dylan song and it is exactly the same amount of stupidly ominously confusing as the events of harrow the ninth.

Now could I go on and on about this song?

Yes, and I will.

I’ve never found a source concretely sharing what the fuck this song is actually about. To me, it’s about being confused, outside, and alone. To Wikipedia and opinionated blogs it’s about the mainstream man encountering counter-culture, maybe queer culture. Sometimes theorists think it's about sex but there's not really enough evidence to say concretely.

In the context of this fanmix it’s about not knowing what the fuck is going on because you forgot you gave yourself a lobotomy.

Also frankly sometimes the way this whole series is written feels like one of the interactions described in this song:

You raise up your head and you ask, ‘is this where it is?’ And somebody points to you and says, ‘it’s his.’ And you say, ‘what’s mine?’ And somebody else says, ‘well, what is?’ And you say ‘oh my god, am I here all alone?’

I mean what the fuck is that about??

Like you're trying to have a conversation, but the person you're talking to is clearly having a completely different conversation and is not interested in explaining themselves one bit. Which is something that's happened many times in Harrow the Ninth.

And I mean - the REFRAIN -

You know something's happening here But you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones.

I love that the song speaks directly at Mr. Jones, that he's a specifically named man rather than a general figure.

It makes the tone of the song so cruel and damning - you, Mr. Jones, are dumb as fuck and alone. You think you're smart, you're used to being smart and knowing what's happening, but you don't anymore. You're a lost idiot now. And nobody is going to help you.

Harrow is Mr. Jones that's what I'm saying. Do you get it. Do you agree. She's Mr. Jones.

SPENT GLADIATOR 2 (The Mountain Goats)

This is the title track because nothing else sums up the wretchedness of harrows existence on the mithraeum like this does:

Stay in the game. Just try to play through the pain Like a fighter who’s been told it’s finally time for him to quit Show up in shining colors and then stand there and get hit

I barely know what else to say about it.

The next song in this playlist is also a mountain goats song. As a best practice I think it’s a little gauche to put two songs by one artist back to back on a playlist, but these two absolutely HAVE to be back to back.

The reason is the joy I feel coming out of this song, and hearing the first couple notes of the next song, and thinking… yeah, it’s time to go fucking crazy.

FOREIGN OBJECT (The Mountain Goats)

This one is about the time harrow stabs someone in the eye with a foreign object

I personally will stab you in the eye with a foreign object

It's about harrow jamming her own teeth into the saint of duty's eyes, and also about the soup thing. This song is about being backed into a corner and fighting desperately with unexpected weapons.

Fun fact, the song itself was written explicitly about wrestling - which means that the term 'foreign object' should be translated in the wrestling context, meaning an object from outside of the ring. For example, a classic folding chair. So, considering this, we must admit that harrow doesn't actually literally use a foreign object. She uses her own teeth and bone marrow. Her objects are downright domestic.

But I think we can all agree she's got the spirit.

DRIVE IT LIKE YOU STOLE IT (The Glitch Mob)

OK OK I PUT A SECOND SIX MINUTE LONG ELECTRONIC INSTRUMENTAL ON THE FANMIX!!!! BUT -

really there's so much general bad feeling happening in harrow the ninth that having chaotic instrumentals feels like the only way to even START to capture it.

So here's a song about Gideon waking up in Harrow's body and trying to figure out that weird and upsetting event while also fighting some fucked up bees and learning some weird stuff about her parents and also dying like at least 4 times while all this was happening.

COSMIC LOVE (Florence and the Machine)

I like my playlists to be a bit chronological - it's an urge I can never quite thwart, I love to mirror a narrative. So all the songs about Gideon are at the end of the playlist, when she shows up. Man, we all missed her. I missed her. Didn't you miss her??

The stars, the moon they have all been blown out you left me in the dark

I don't have that much to say about this one, I find it incredibly self-evident. I'll make up for how fucking long-winded I was about 'Moderation' and 'Ballad of a Thin Man' by cutting this short.

FRANCESCA (Hozier)

Some of these songs are so exactly what I want on this playlist that I actually have LESS to say about them, because I think you can interpret the same things I'm interpreting just by listening to the song.

So listen to the song and then lets be insane about it together!!

This is about Gideon's sacrifice, and Harrow's rejection of that sacrifice. And Gideon's butthurt feelings about that.

My life was a storm, since I was born How could I fear any hurricane? If someone asked me at the end I'd tell them put me back in it (Darling) I would do it again.

I mean

"I gave you my sword. I gave you myself. I did it while knowing I'd do it all again, without hesitation, because all I ever wanted you to do was eat me."

Are you insane about it yet? I'm insane about it.

WEAR BLACK (The Mountain Goats)

The playlist is coming to an end.

Let's let ourselves be gently outro'd by the soft waves of John Darnielle sharing with us what it means to carry mourning with you throughout your life.

Wear black wherever I go Wear black wherever you are

#tlt #harrow the ninth #htn #the locked tomb #harrowhark nonagesimus #my art #should i have a fanmix tag by now #fanmix #sorry i forgot about this for a while its been a weird month and i lost some steam but its very good #Spotify

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randombush3 · 2 years ago

Text

But She’s A Stranger

florence pugh x footballer!reader

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

words: 10048

warnings: none (😮)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like that to go?”

You check your watch.

Hòstia.

Maybe you got carried away on your adventure.

It’s 3.47pm.

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

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

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

Flo snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well she didn’t mention that before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- - -

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

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

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

How embarrassing.

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

You realise why when you get there.

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

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

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

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

An odd question, but okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So this is why he’s here.

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

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

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

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

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

- - -

Florence hates events held by footballers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brother’s eyes narrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All that stress for nothing, huh?”

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

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

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

“Are you from Spain?”

What a genius.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What have you made?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He came from Spain?”

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

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

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

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

Everyone groans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shift your weight in your seat.

“I don’t know. She was just there.”

- - -

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

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

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

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

You wonder why you ever missed them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s her.

With brown hair?

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

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

“Gracias,” Flo pants, out of breath.

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

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

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

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

(Is she sabotaging you or being your wingwoman?)

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

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

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

“Bye, Y/n.”

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

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

You pause.

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

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

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

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

Laia does it for her.

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

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

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

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

Fuck you too, Ona.

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

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

“But she’s a stranger!”

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

- - -

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

And, well, Harris tells her.

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

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

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

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

(Is this what getting over someone feels like?)

Except for one, tiny problem.

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

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

Obviously.

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

Paraíso.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glare.

Many of those things are so unbelievably far from ideal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vivo en Nueva York en la actualidad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is it wrong to feel protective over a stranger?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you answer miserably.

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

“Want to get out of here?”

She grins. You take that as a yes.

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

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

You smile. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

You: no volveré esta noche

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

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

The morning comes brightly, unforgiving of any hangovers.

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t have to.”

“It was nothing, really.”

You pause.

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

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

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

There’s a stagnant silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n, you’re such a dickhead.”

Beth asks for a translation.

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

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

She nudges you when you go quiet for a bit.

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

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

“But you love running away!”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a celebrity crush!”

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

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

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

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

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

@florencepugh has started following you.

And a DM.

+44 7701 923892 xx

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

- - -

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I didn’t realise you checked.”

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

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

You’re suddenly fighting back tears.

“I’ve missed you too, Mamá.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jo sóc?”

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

“Ah. Aquesta és ella.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh. “You looked pretty panicked.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you like musicals?”

“Touché.”

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

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

“Who was she?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She said you were holding her back.

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

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

It only adds to it.

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

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

“I should have called.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart soars.

- - -

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

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

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

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

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

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

You say it back without hesitating.

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

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

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

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

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