The people who go "well who's going to look after you when you're old?" when you say you're not having kids are breathtakingly naive. Our next-door neighbour, somewhere in her mid-80s, has a son, grandkids, and a grear-granddaughter, and who's the one she calls when she needs help, and checks that she's not spending christmas alone? Me and my boyfriend.
Having kids is irrelevant if the answer to that question is still going to be "the mentally ill faggots next door."
no thoughts. just the idea of langdon achieving something (a fellowship, a promotion to attending, another year sober that he's openly proud of) and mel wanting to celebrate her friend. so she writes him an extremely nice note and then thinks, flowers? is that weird? and she asks samira, so wise in the ways of special sauce, if it's weird to non-romantically give a guy flowers, and samira is like 100% more men need to get flowers! (not totally realizing mel is asking abt langdon, who spent 20min groaning abt how Down Bad he is for mel the last time they went out for drinks.) so mel gets langdon a $12.99 bouquet from trader joe's, nothing special, leaves it in his locker with the note, and goes home quite happy with herself. and langdon, who has never been given flowers before, ends up crying in his car on his drive home
i don’t think we’ve addressed that langdon runs marathons and takes 13 minutes in an ice bath yet. that’s fucking crazy. it also shows us how devastating a back injury would’ve been for him if he went from running marathons to not being able to run at all. kill one healthy coping mechanism and an unhealthy one develops in its place maybe.
Why are all the fics about Frank returning having the Pitt super cold to him about Mel’s relationship with him and doing it behind her back - nah, give me Mel king whose spent the last however long working the fucking room, accidentally of course, but she’s got everyone wrapped around her finger. So when Franks back and she defends him once everyone realises she’s actually happy about him being back not a single person wants to risk making her upset in anyway so they’re all just suffering with being professional towards him because that’s Mel’s favourite puppy, even if it has rabies
And this all only ends with Langdon pulling his hair out in despair in the middle of the ER going “IM LITERALLY BI, I HAVE AN EX BOYFRIEND” and Robby just claps him on the shoulder like “no one cares frank”
watching spain play is so funny cause alexia, irene, jenni, salma and mariona are cooking and the rest are acting like they’ve never seen a ball before
Your actions on the field are a product of your childhood idol
Barça Femení x teen!reader
pt. 2 masterlist
Warnings: reader suffers from the scrubber trait. 🥹
A/N: #yanited (not proofread as always x)
It was the last few minutes of the semi-final against Chelsea. If you kept the clean sheet at Stamford Bridge, you were sure to win it. If you didn’t… well, Fridolina tried explaining to you that you’d still win, but you weren’t willing to see for yourself.
“(Y/N), watch the wing!” yelled Mapi, who pointed to the flank. Lucy had overlapped and when the possession switched, you were left to take on Macario.
You glanced in the direction of the left wing, feeling slightly — no, very scared to go against Macario… on your own.
You could tell just by looking at her for a split second that Mapi was a bit worried for you too, and if she could deal with Macario she would, but unfortunately you were closer.
Nevertheless, you ran towards her side-on, trying to anticipate her next move. You knew what Mapi would say; hold her off until Lucy’s back in position, just delay her.
At the same time, you knew what Nemanja Vidić would do, and that is knock the living daylights out of her with a slide tackle. Guess what path you decided to take?
You sent yourself flying feet first towards the ball. As you slid across the grass, pushing the ball out of play. The last thing you saw before getting to your feet again was the distraught expression of Macario as she tumbled over your body, seemingly going headfirst towards the ground.
You could barely hear the groan she let out, because soon you were stood up and Mapi was at your side, patting you on the back for your tackle. Lucy ran to retrieve a ball and quickly toss it in to resume the play.
You hadn’t even registered your tackle until the side of your thigh started to hurt a little. A short glance beyond your shorts helped you discover that it was a bit red, but the tackle was worth any bruise that was sure to form in its place.
The game only started to pick up again when the red card was shown to Buchanan. Holding down the back line when the through balls and dribbles kept coming felt like a real Vidić-esque thing to do.
If it wasn’t already super obvious, Nemanja Vidić was your idol. You bled blaugrana in every shape and form, but that didn’t stop you from taking inspiration from the former Manchester United defender. If you hadn’t been a lifelong Barcelona fan, you would’ve trialed for the Manchester United academy and played for them just to say you played at your idol’s former club. You always had a pen and paper on hand in case you happened to come across him, and if that ever did happen you’d immediately get it tattooed (legal or not, you’d find a way).
The team found your love for Vidić very endearing. It was obvious that you admired his fearlessness because of how you tried to imitate it on the field by putting your body on the line, and Lucy loved that; she called you a ‘little brick wall’. Irene was a more solid defender than you, though. Your tactic was to just throw yourself at the ball whenever you were in doubt. She actually had tactics.
So, when Lauren James was at the edge of the box, winding her leg up to take a shot, you couldn’t find the time to think before flying in, cutting her out. You were smart enough to face the other way, and the ball deflected off your back instead of your face.
“¡Así es!” Ona yelled from the other side of the pitch, running into the box to defend further until Lucy cleared it down the wing.
The match ended with the scoreline being 2-0 to Barcelona. Everyone said your tackles were the defining factor that kept it that way, but you thought it was all thanks to Aitana, Frido and Cata. Regardless of who did what, you were happy your team were into the finals. You were happy you did something to keep them up on aggregate.
You ditched the celebrations a bit early to go sit down in the locker room and get your daily logins on Hay Day. The adrenaline wore off almost immediately after you sat on the bench, and your attention was brought to the minor grazes and bruises scattered along your legs. You felt one on your abdomen and somehow, you had a scratch on your shoulder.
You were glad. Vidić would never come out of a big match like that unscathed. You did your idol proud on the field, or so you hoped at least.
Most people often asked why you wanted to be a defender and subject yourself to the most physical parts of the game. Truth be told, you just really loved denying people of a goal. Lucy said you ‘played for the badge’ and despite not knowing what that meant, you hoped it was good.
You were also really bad at aiming and every time you cleared the ball or made a pass up field, you hoped and prayed it would at least go straight. You could never be a goal scorer like Caro or Aitana or Mariona.
“(Y/N),” a voice called out. You looked up from your phone to see Lucy. “Why aren’t you out celebrating?”
“I almost missed my Hay Day login. Have to do that before anything,” you replied. Lucy laughed, walking closer and sitting down on the bench beside you.
She put an arm around your shoulder, the way she always did. It felt older sister-y, and you liked that. “You really know how to tidy up back there,” she remarked. You smiled slightly, your cheeks burning up. Lucy was an insane defender so her praise meant the world to you. “Thanks, Luce.”
“They’re looking for you to give you the Player of the Match trophy, but you ran away too fast,” Lucy laughed, and your eyes bulged out of your skull.
“What about Aitana? She was the one that scored.”
“And you’re the one that kept out almost their entire team. You deserve this!” Lucy added, shaking you. You were a bit confused because you didn’t think your tackles were that vital, but you were proved wrong.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go out in a bit, after I put my slides on,” you responded. The woman smiled and gave you a tight side hug.
“Nemanja would be proud, scrubber. Good job today,” Lucy added while she stood up and began to walk away. Your face couldn’t help but form a smile of its own.
“But, don’t start slide tackling in every game. The last thing we need is for you to get hurt trying to wipe someone out with a Brexit,” she said sternly, suddenly turning around with a finger pointed at the plotting expression on your face. You raised your hands in defense.
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