#my parents are amazing and i know they'd react as well as could be expected but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cable-knit-sweater · 2 years

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Hello Miss Amazing, Incredible, Show-Stopping, Breathtaking, Wonderful Writer!! 💕💕💕

I'm here for my stucky prompt! ☺️☺️

Given how i'm forever in love with the way you wrote Steve and Bucky as parents, i would like nothing more than to read thousands of fics written by your sweet self about their day to day life as the world's best dads!

But for now, i'll settle for just one 😉

If you feel like doing it and if it sparks your imagination, can you plz write something about Stucky and their teenage daughter after her first heartbreak. Like how would they comfort her and how would they react. Maybe how the way they do deepens the love and connection they have for each other even more. I'd love to see how you think they'd be about someone breaking their little girl's heart. I can already sense that it will definitely break mine in the best and most glorious ways! 🥺🥺🥺

May by the time you answer this, you would have gained a million follower for your blog is almost awesome as you! (Cause nothing and no-one can be as awesome as you, bubbie 💙💙💙)

OULA, bubba, my love 💖💖💖 Thank you so so much, for this wonderful message and your constant support and all the love you send my way every single day, I’m so grateful for it and for you 💕💕💕

I’m so happy to hear you loved my earlier stucky kid fic. I just love the idea of them as parents, you know? I just know they’d be the best dads, and your enthusiasm as well as Tej’s might have inspired me to think about writing more of them as parents 💛💛

I love your prompt, even if it’s a little more than just a word + ship 😂 and I did my best to write you a little something I hope you enjoy. Thank you again sweetheart, hope you’re having a lovely Sunday, and I love you a whole lot 💕💕💕

Stucky + Heartbreak, 2.6k, T

Read on Ao3 or below

Steve almost drops his keys, trying to open the front door while juggling a couple of bags of groceries. It’s a Thursday, late afternoon and he just dropped the twins off at Sam and Nat’s, picking up food on the way back, leaving the evening free for Bucky and his date night. Ever since Emma and Ben were old enough for them to feel comfortable leaving them alone with friends or a babysitter, they’ve made sure to have at least one evening for themselves on a semi-regular basis. They love their kids more than life itself, sure, but sometimes they need a night just for the two of them.

He finally manages to open the front door, calling out for a little help when stepping inside. While he’s toeing off his shoes, Bucky shows up in the hallway and takes two of the bags, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek in the process. “Everything go alright with drop-off?”, he asks over his shoulder, slowly making his way to the kitchen, Steve following right behind.

Steve sighs. “Yeah, if I didn’t know better, I’d think they were glad to see me leave so they could spend some quality time with their aunt and uncle. When did they get so big? I still remember Ben clinging to me, not wanting to be left with anyone else”. Bucky gives him a sympathetic smile. “Beats me. But you know it’s just because they rarely get to see Sam with all his Cap duties. Don’t worry, they still love you.” Steve wraps his arms around his husband’s waist, leaning his forehead against Bucky’s.

“You think?”, he asks, a little self-pityingly. “Yeah pal, I’m sure. What’s not to love?”. Steve smiles, feeling a little better. “Oh”, he starts, taking a step back, “have you heard from Nat? Lily was supposed to make her way over right after track practice, she should be there by now.” Bucky frowns at that. “No, she hasn’t texted me. But give it like half an hour, you know how she is, probably still hanging around there somewhere. I’m sure she’ll get over there soon enough.”

He can’t help but grumble a little. “Hanging out with Noah you mean.” Bucky chuckles at him. “Probably, but what did you expect? She’s 16, almost 17. We at least know where she is, do you think your mom knew what we were up to at that age? And Noah seems like a great kid.”

Steve knows he’s being a little unfair to the kid. He’s met him a couple of times now, since they started dating about 9 months ago, and he seemed polite, nice, like he thought the world of Lily and would treat her right. But you can’t blame him for not liking it. She’s their first child, his baby, and even if he’d never stop his children from dating anyone they liked, he just…worries. Bucky can probably see the wheels turning in his head. “Come on honey, stop worrying so much”, he says softly, grabbing one of Steve’s hands and running his thumb over Steve’s knuckles, “why don’t you go take a shower and get ready? We have about an hour until our reservation.”

He knows he’s being a little dramatic, and Bucky‘s not wrong. He really shouldn’t worry so much. He sighs, pulls Bucky in for a quick kiss. “Yeah, I know. You’re right.” He’s about to make his way upstairs and take a shower, but before he’s even out of the kitchen, the front door swings open. “Lily?”, he asks, but he gets no response, just hears the front door slam shut and feet stomping up the stairs.

Looking back at Bucky, he sees a concerned frown on his face, one that must match the one on his own. “I’ll go see what’s wrong?”, he offers, and Bucky nods. “Let me know if you need back-up, I’ll tell Nat that she’s with us.”

Steve goes upstairs, softly knocking on the door. “Lily, sweetheart, everything okay?” he asks, but he gets no response. When he’s about to knock again, he can hear that Lily’s crying, the sound tugging at his heart strings. “Sweetheart, please open the door”, he tries again, still getting nothing in return. He slumps down against the door, willing to wait a little. He hates to hear any of their children cry, but he also respects their privacy, so he’s not gonna go barging in there. He’s gonna wait a couple of minutes, see if she changes her mind. Even if it’s hard, and he’s worried.

“Okay. I’m here, I’ll be here. I just want to know if you’re okay honey, but you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to”, he says, hoping that maybe the worry in voice will get her to at least tell him something . He texts Bucky, telling him to maybe try to push up that reservation. He’s not going anywhere until he knows she’s okay, and he knows Bucky will feel the same.

After a couple of minutes, he hears some movement on the other side of the door, and then the sound of the bedroom door unlocking. Good thing he didn’t try to go inside. He can hear Lily walk away from the still closed door. He opens it a little. “Can I come in?”, he asks quietly, and in between sobs he thinks he can make out a “yeah”, so he opens the door a little wider. His heart sinks when he sees his daughter on the bed, her face pressed into the pillows, body shaking a little with her sobbing.

“Oh baby”, he whispers, rushing over and sitting down on the bed beside her, carefully moving some of her long blonde hair from her face. “What’s going on huh? Can you tell me?”.

Lily doesn’t stop crying, but does try to get some words out. While he hates seeing her cry, it’s not the first time he’s tried to figure out what she’s saying through tears, so he’s at least grateful he can make out some of what she trying to say, which comes down to “Noah”, “not anymore”, and “break up”. He felt a little guilty for speaking badly about Noah earlier, but now, now that guilt makes way for anger. But he knows that’s not what Lily needs right now, so he breathes in deep.

He quickly shoots off a text to Bucky, telling him what’s going on and asking him to come up, before dropping his phone. “Oh Lily, I’m so sorry”, he says, taking his daughter into his arms. She goes willingly, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing her face against his chest, and he can feel his shirt getting wet with tears. He softly cards his fingers through her hair. He’s not sure what to say right now, thinking she probably needs a little time.

He looks up when the door opens again, Bucky walking in, a stormy look on his face. He’s about to open his mouth, probably say something about Noah, something along the lines of “where is this kid” - Steve knows, because that thought is running through his head too - so he quickly shakes his head, hoping his expression is enough to tell Bucky not to. When he sees Bucky take in a deep breath, he knows he understands, and he’s never been more grateful for the fact that they know each other so well.

Bucky makes his way to the bed, sitting down next to Steve, running his hand up and down their daughter’s back. They sit in silence for a while, letting Lily cry, exchanging worried looks. Even if they have had their fair share of heartbreak, and a little on top of that, this is different. Steve hopes Bucky knows what to say, because he feels a little lost. Lily’s life couldn’t be more different than theirs growing up, so even if he knows what it feels like to be heartbroken, he’s worried about saying the wrong thing.

When Lily’s sobbing starts to die down a little, Steve presses a kiss to her temple. “You feel up to talking?”, he asks softly. She shakes her head, then nods, slowly removing her face from where it had been buried against his chest. Her eyes are red and puffy, tear tracks visible all over her cheeks, her skin splotchy red. Steve bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to cry at the sight of it. That’s the last thing they need. He feels Bucky’s comforting hand on his back now, tries to pull it together. This is not about him.

Thankfully, Bucky takes over. “Want to tell us what happened honey?”, he whispers, wiping some of the tears from Lily’s cheeks with his thumb. She swallows roughly, closes her eyes, but finally looks ready to talk. “He, he said he, I”, she starts haltingly, but when she starts talking again it all comes out in a rush.

“We finished practice and we were talking about summer plans and he said he got his college acceptance letters and he’s gonna move away, and he said he didn’t really like me like that anymore, that we’d be better as friends, that he wanted to break up because he didn’t want to do the long distance thing, so that he was ending it”. Before either of them can respond, she says, voice sounding a little angry now “he said he was sure I’d understand , what does that even mean??”

Steve can understand something all right - that Noah kid is a little asshole. He balls his fist up, but Bucky’s hand wraps around it to get him to relax. While Steve is contemplating murdering an 18 year old, or at least severely maiming him- not that he would actually do that, he’s just angry with the kid for upsetting his daughter so much - Bucky’s the voice of reason. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry. What did you say?”

“I said fine, but it’s not fine, I don’t understand, I thought everything was going great? And people stay in long distance relationships all the time, why didn’t he even want to try? I just… I don’t get it papa”, she rushes out, sobs starting up a little again. Bucky moves her into his lap, grabbing her hands and squeezing them a little.

“I know it doesn’t make sense sweetheart. It doesn’t. He wasn’t very nice for just dropping that on you like that. And I know it must hurt a lot huh? You really liked him?”, and Lily nods. “Yeahh I know sweetheart, I’m so sorry you’re feeling like this. But I promise you’ll feel better eventually. You really will”, Bucky continues, and Steve just looks on in awe as he can see Lily’s starting to calm down.

“How about for now, we just get some ice cream and put on a movie? Just a movie night with the three of us. We can talk some more, or we don’t have to talk about it at all. It’s okay to feel those feelings”, he pulls Lily in for a hug. “But if you do want to talk, just know you can always come to daddy and me, okay?”, and Steve can see Lily nod against Bucky’s neck. “Can we watch an old movie?”, he hears her whisper. “Yeah baby, anything you want”.

Bucky stands up, Lily still clinging to him. Even if she’s a tall 16 year old, he carries her easily, that super-soldier serum helpful at times like these. “You wanna go downstairs or our room?”, Bucky asks, and Lily mumbles out a quiet “yours”, so they make their way out of the room, but Steve stays where he is. After a couple of minutes, Bucky comes back. “You wanna go get the ice-“, he starts, but Steve must look a certain way, because he stops talking and makes his way over, cups Steve’s face in his hands. “Hey, you okay?”

Steve nods, closes his eyes. “I just… I was useless just now, I didn’t know what to say, and I would’ve just said the wrong thing, what kind of parent am I?”, he shakes his head, feeling disappointed with himself. “I would’ve just made it worse, and you just, you knew what to do and I just, I just sat there.”

He can feel Bucky tilt his face up. “Come on, open your eyes, look at me baby”, he says, and Steve complies. “You’re a great parent Steve. She trusted you to come in, you let her cry and try to process her feelings, you stopped me from saying something stupid.” Steve shakes his head, unconvinced. “No, no listen to me Steve. You’re an amazing dad. You did everything you needed to do for her. You were there for her when she needed it. And you calmed me down enough to do my part. Because we’re a team, aren’t we Stevie?”

Steve feels a tear run down his face. “Yeah”, he says roughly, “yeah, we’re a team”. Bucky presses a kiss to the top of his head, and removes his hands from Steve’s face. “Good, because as the captain of this team, you’re in charge of ice cream procurement”, Bucky grins, taking a step back. “Make sure there’s cookie dough”, he calls out over his shoulder, making his way back to their bedroom at the end of the hall.

Steve gets himself together, goes downstairs to get the ice cream and makes his way back up, seeing Bucky and Lily cozied up against the headboard. He puts down the spoons and ice cream tubs, and sits down on Lily’s other side. They watch a couple of comedies and rom-coms, and eventually, Lily falls asleep with her head on Steve’s shoulder, a smile on her face. Bucky gets rid of their trash while Steve carefully carries Lily back to her own bed.

Both of them are tired, not just because it’s late but also because of the evening’s high running emotions, so they go to bed not too long after. They settle down on their sides, facing each other. Steve must have a dopey look on his face, because Bucky smiles and asks “what’s that face for?”. Steve smiles back, reaches out to push a lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear, his finger lingering on the side of his face, caressing it slowly.

“Nothing. I just love you. You’re amazing, you know that? God, I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone other than you”. Bucky raises an eyebrow at him teasingly. “You better not, pal”, he says, in faux-offense, before sobering up. “I hate to see her, any of them, get hurt. Wish I could change it.” Steve pulls Bucky closer to him, tightens his hold around his waist and back. He knows Bucky kept it together for all of them earlier, but just one look at him now and he can see how he’s struggling with it just as much as Steve is. “I know sweetheart. But like someone very wise told me, you did everything right. She’ll be okay.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, I know you’re right. Still.”, he mumbles, hiding his face against Steve’s neck. They stay like that for a while in silence, both processing everything but trying to offer each other some comfort. Steve’s about to fall asleep when Bucky whispers “Stevie?”, which he responds to with a hum. “I couldn’t ever imagine doing this with anyone else either. And I love you too.” Steve smiles, presses another kiss to Bucky’s temple, squeezes him close. “I know baby.”

They might not always know what the right thing to do is, might not be able to protect their kids from ever getting hurt. But they have each other. They’re a team. They both fall asleep still a little worried about their daughter, but comforted by the knowledge that at least, they’ll always try to figure it out together.

#maya’s follower celebration #maya tries to write #stucky #kid fic #fic

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silverspectre · 4 years

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en garde, pret, aimer! || lockwood & co.

pairing: light florence bonnard x anthony lockwood

genre: fencing(?)ish!au and also maybe straying away from canon bc what iS canon at this point, fluff, platonic main relationship, eventual angst, pre-canon??? aka beFore the series takes place

words: 3.8k

tags: fluffy!!, young lockwood nd flo, fencing stuff, apologies for the french (literally lol), i wrote this like half a year ago i’M SORRY-

what to expect: “’Why else would I be here? Tea time?’”

a/n: so this was beta-read and edited by two lovely people! i appreciate their help so much, as they’ve made this story what it is now. thank you so much @piratekingimogen and @willowwisk for your help! is this canon-compliant? someone ask jonathan stroud. this will be my last fic for a while, unless i have a spontaneous bout (pun intended) of inspiration. thank you all for your support!

translation: en garde, prets, allez = on guard, ready, go (used to start a fencing bout) / en garde, prets, aimer = on guard, ready, love (used to start this story)

The train ride from London to Paris is a particularly long, arduous journey. There's not much to see; reading a book 50 times or twiddling your thumbs is perhaps the most productive thing one can do. However, though a subjective opinion, it's a great deal less dull when in the company of a pretty girl whose name you learn through one piece of black licorice.

Florence Bonnard. It was elegant and flowed off the tip of your tongue. She was pretty; her teeth shining white and her long, blonde hair practically another shade of gold, shimmering in the sunlight. Anthony Lockwood could only stare at her.

To Anthony, Paris was a dream of any fencer. It was hailed as the fencing capital of the world, home to countless famed swordsmen and agents. He could merely wish to be like them. He was sure he was on his way, however. He'd been invited to a DEPRAC-sponsored competition in France, and of course, he absolutely had to go. His supervisor, Nigel 'Gravedigger' Sykes, forced him anyways.

He made the acquaintance of Florence Bonnard only a few minutes ago, when she huffed into the train compartment that was otherwise empty except for Anthony's doe-eyed presence. Looking upset, she plopped herself down diagonal from him. She didn't even acknowledge his existence.

"Hi?" he squeaked out. His voice was a little scratchy. He coughed, then repeated the word in a much more confident tone.

"Well? What are you?" This was the first he'd heard the girl speak.

She spared a glance at Anthony.

"I'm, uh..." He thought fast. She didn't

know him; no one on the train, as far as he knew, knew his name. He could reinvent himself, banish the name used so fondly by his parents and sister. He could be...

"I'm, uh... Lockwood. Just Lockwood. Yes. That's me."

"Lockwood... classy," she commented. She paused, in thought. "Though... I think I'll call you Locky."

"L-Locky?" Lockwood stuttered. This was not how she was supposed to react to his name.

"Locky. It practically rolls off the tongue, don't you think?" She smiled, slightly exposing her white teeth. It was a pretty sight. He could've stared at her for a second or an hour before he registered her answer.

Lockwood was caught off guard. "W-well, what's your name, then?"

She smiled a pearly white smile. "Wouldn't you like to find out," she said slyly.

A sweets trolley rolled down the aisle, pushed by a plump old woman. "Anything you'd like to buy?" She popped her head in the compartment.

The girl scanned the trolley, then made up her mind. She turned to Lockwood. "You'll have to buy me a liquorice to find out my name."

"I'll have a bag of liquorice, please," Lockwood immediately said to the lady, pulling out two pounds and exchanging it for a bag. He didn't know why he complied so easily - maybe he'd fallen under a trance for her.

He handed one to the girl, who looked momentarily startled before recomposing herself. "So, what's your name?" Lockwood asked.

"Florence Bonnard," she simply replied. It matched her, Lockwood thought. Prim and proper, it matched her perfect posture and neatly combed hair.

"You fence?"

"Why else would I be here? Tea time?"

"O-of course not, but you're just so pretty-"

Oh no. He'd let it slip.

Florence Bonnard's lips curled upward. "Thanks, Locky. I'll remember that on the piste."

He was suddenly scared to imagine Florence Bonnard on the piste, with her blonde hair tied up and her body in first position, sword ready to attack. With her confidence, double of his, how good could she be? Lockwood felt his stomach turn queasy. How good were the others on the train?

She poked Lockwood lightly. "Worried?" she teased. "En-garde," she mimicked a referee, "prets-" she made a face, "allez!" She pretended to poke Lockwood with her rapier, then laughed.

Lockwood couldn't help but laugh with her at her imitation.

"What's your agency?" Lockwood asked.

"That'll cost you a liquorice," she stated.

He handed her one.

"Sinclair & Saones. 'm an apprentice for 'em. You?"

"Nigel Sykes."

"Really?" she drawled. "You seem like the Rotwell type - well, then again, you weren't sitting with the lot in the first place."

"Rotwell and Fittes agents always win, don't they?"

"I'll give 'em a run for their money. How old are you?"

"Ten."

She looked up and down. "Alright then."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She smirked. "Nothing... When's your birthday, then?"

He told her.

"I'm older than you."

"So what? That doesn't mean you'll be better!"

Florence Bonnard smiled. "We'll see about that."

Nigel 'Gravedigger' Sykes, or just Sykes, was Lockwood's mentor. He was a bit scraggly, but not enough to make him incompetent with a sword. He was on the slightly mad side, yes, but was an extremely skilled swordsman. Lockwood was constantly amazed by his ability.

"You rely on remises too much. Practice on your footwork, you're doubting yourself too much.”

They'd been practicing for two hours - maybe more. Lockwood didn't even bother trying to count the bouts. His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, his breaths hot in the mask. Lockwood's legs were sore and his arms hurt from all the attack, parry, and riposting he'd done.

The competition started in three days - Sykes had decided Lockwood needed to cram in as much practice as he could. On and off the piste, Lockwood could hear Sykes' voice in his head, telling him to Parry quarte or Eat your breakfast, it's free food! Food was accommodated at the hotel which sponsored DEPRAC for the competition. The rooming was nice as well, Lockwood being lucky enough to get a room to himself rather than most participants in the tournament who had to share a room.

When the competition finally rolled around, he'd won the first bout easily - almost too easily. Regardless, a win was a win, even against some Bunchurch agent with half a brain.

The real competition - or so he'd heard from rumours - was Quill Kipps of Fittes. He was apparently a prodigy fencing-god in his mid-teens, favoured by the majority of the crowd. He was tall and ginger, from what people had been telling him. Easy to spot in crowds. Lockwood was curious to see the famous Kipps in practice - rather, he was curious to see what any Fittes or Rotwell agent could bring to the table.

Lockwood had yet to see the mysterious Florence Bonnard do her bout. He was eager to do so after showering and slipping into the stands to watch the next bouts. After a win from Alexander Fawley, and another from Emily Schreiber, Quill Kipps was up. The teen was fast, and his every move was clearly calculated. It was everything Lockwood could aspire to be.

Florence Bonnard was fast as well, to Lockwood's surprise. She was extremely quick on her feet and could get a touch faster than the referee could blink after saying allez. It was impressive, being younger than a lot of contestants- and she wasn't even a Fittes or Rotwell agent.

Lockwood considered what he'd do if he was ever tasked with being her opponent, but only for a split second. It was too unrealistic he'd make it that far. But still, he had a vivid image of her lunging, ponytail swaying and rapier thrust as the tip of her blade touched his side. Now was not the time to daydream.

The second bout passed, 14-15. Lockwood had won in a landslide, attacking the split second his opponent hesitated.

After, as Lockwood chugged a bottle of water on the side, still sweaty and clad in his fencing gear, Florence Bonnard approached him. "Good bout, Locky," she said in her sly way. "Although, your footwork could be better." His gaze was stuck on her, even as she stalked off in true Florence fashion.

"Th-thanks?" It was already too late; Lockwood just watched her straw-colored hair swish away. She was one interesting girl. He sighed, staring at her back.

Lockwood's days consisted of eating, practicing, and sleeping. He would occasionally watch other agents practice, to pick up on faults and techniques they used. That's, at least, what Sykes had told him to do. Half the time Lockwood just drifted off, staring at a wall corner or, as a current example, a blonde ponytail. ...Blonde ponytail...? It was Florence Bonnard in the flesh, practicing. Of course, Lockwood just assumed this fact, judging by the fencer's posture and hair. It was unmistakably her.

Lockwood hadn't seen her much, either because their schedules didn't match up or she barely practiced. She was very good, sharp on her feet and maneuvering like she was on ice. It was scary the way she got a touch so fast. He assumed she'd practiced a great deal privately; at least, that's how he comforted himself at the sight of her skillful rapier patterns.

Lockwood's eyes jumped to a tall ginger-haired fencer - no doubt Quill Kipps, practicing a couple metres away. He, too, was skilled. Close to Florence's level, but not quite. This could be the year someone from a small agency won - though, Lockwood couldn't keep his hopes up. Being the crowd favourite, who was to say he didn't have a couple tricks up his sleeve?

Bouts three and four passed, and just somehow, Lockwood had survived into the quarterfinals. The numbers were dwindling down; Florence Bonnard, not much to his surprise, was in strong.

The quarterfinals passed, but now that he'd won, more pressure had been draped on him. Practices stretched late into the night, leaving his muscles incredibly sore and eyelids drooping on their own accord. He almost forgot to shower one day, planning to sleep in his fencing gear. Sykes had been drilling into him much more. The lineup for the semifinals was posted; Lockwood would be fencing against Quill Kipps.

To say he was nervous was an understatement. He sweated at the thought of fencing the teen. No matter how much he analyzed Kipps' fencing, he never felt ready. Sure, he wasn't as good at Florence, but she was substantially better than Lockwood - as was Kipps. The day of the bout, Lockwood almost froze before walking in, trying not to look at the crowd. It was bigger than any he had fenced for before. He sucked in two deep breaths then pulled the mask over his face. Sykes patted him, whispered quick advice in his ear. Lockwood wasn't paying attention, more focused on the judges, rhe referee, and the feeling of his feet on the ground. He and Kipps did the salute, like any other bout.

The referee started to speak, also like any other bout. The words were muffled in Lockwood's jumbled mind. His thoughts were racing at 100 kilometers per second, tumbling around each other, unlike any other bout - but he didn't need to hear the words regardless. He knew what they were.

"En-garde."

Lockwood stared at Kipps.

"Prets."

He took a deep breath, readying himself.

"Allez!"

The bout began.

Immediately, swords clinked and clashed against each other as the agents attempted to protect themselves. Lockwood's mind went pure blank, and his body went into autopilot.

1-0. Sure, a rough start, but he could catch up.

1-1. Tied, that was okay.

2-3. Lockwood was in the lead-

5-7. Halfway there!

11-10. No, losing wasn't an option-

13-14. His sword was a blur in front of him, basically acting of its own accord. Parry, riposte, attack-! It was all too quick. Kipps had lost his balance, and Lockwood took the opportunity. He lunged, slashed with his blade just to earn a point. His blade felt something soft - he got a touch! - but then Lockwood actually looked at the tip of his blade.

Quill Kipps was stunned entirely. He'd fallen on the piste and stared up at the younger agent. The moment was silent; practically in slow motion. The crowd held their breath in disbelief.

Lockwood had struck Quill Kipps with his rapier on the bum. The judges were in shock. It was a touch, though, right? It... counted? The referee gestured, and Lockwood pulled his raper away.

The bout ended.

Lockwood won. Lockwood won, against the star of Fittes agency. Quill Kipps, meanwhile, fumed. His cheeks were redder than his hair, which was matted with sweat.

"I'll beat you next time, Anthony Lockwood..." he murmured.

The crowd was having its fun; booing in disappointment or cheering in amusement, Lockwood couldn't tell. He convinced himself it was the latter. He didn't mean to stab Kipps in the bum. It just happened. It's not like anyone ever goes into a bout thinking, "Oh, yeah, I'm going to riposte a clean one up his bum."

Sykes was impressed, though he seemed more pleased by the last touch Lockwood earned.

"You'll be going up against that Bonnard girl, so you better clean up that footwork of yours. Her bladework is quite fine, too, I'd say. Sharpen yourself up, Anthony - no pun intended."

Practice, as always, lasted to the evening - Lockwood had just gotten out of the locker room, hair wet from his shower when he heard a familiar rasping tone.

"Locky~" Florence Bonnard sing-songed, conveniently leaning on a pillar outside.

He approached her.

"Finals are tomorrow," she said, smiling. Her teeth glinted - it was charming. Her eyes shimmered a bright blue - when had he missed this feature of hers? She was breathtaking. He didn't react, dumbly nodding as he stared at her.

"Oh, and by the way? Stop staring at me sometimes, it's creepy, Locky. I know you like me, but you're too... you." She tapped his nose, ignited a blush across Lockwood's cheeks.

"Cute," she commented. "See you on the piste." She walked away in her typical manner.

Florence Bonnard beat him the next day, 13-15. It was completely fair. Her attacks were clean and precise, and she hesitated not a second. It was a blur in Lockwood's head; one second her blade was against his torso; the next, her blade had touched him 14 other times and the referee proclaimed her the winner. He wasn't disappointed, however - she, from a small agency, had won, not a Fittes or a Rotwell agent. He decided it was well-earned on her part, completely ignoring the way she had so softly put him down the day previous. She was just so attractive.

She gave him a toothy smile after the bout and patted his shoulder. "Don't be too upset, Locky." It was safe to say he wasn't.

2 years later.

It was terrible. It was one of those moments in your life where you can recount every detail of where you were and what you were doing exactly when it happened; heck, you could even recite the exact seconds.

Lockwood was reading the morning newspaper, sipping his pulp orange juice (the joys of being a blue whale!) when he read the news.

Both Sinclair and Saones (of the Sinclair & Saones agency) had died on a case, with poor Florence Bonnard being the only survivor. Florence Bonnard - the name reminded Lockwood of so much; mainly, his puppy crush on her when he was younger. He failed to see the appeal now, but platonically, she was wonderful, despite how much she demanded liquorice.

He visited her on the shorelines of the River Thames; it was mainly where she resided, to the most of Lockwood's knowledge. He slipped a bag of liquorice hidden under his coat for her.

Her appearance was slightly disheveled and a straw hat covered the half of her face.

"Locky!" she croaked, but her voice lacked its usual mirth. In fact, it was incredibly fragile; to put an exclamation mark after it would never properly do it justice. She looked cold, shivering in what appeared to be her agent clothing. Her rapier was still attached to her side.

"You're shaking." Lockwood sat beside her.

"A-am I, Locky?" she hiccupped. She took a deep, shaky breath, then laughed, an echo of bitterness and a sore throat.

"I heard what happened," he said softly. "How?"

"How else, Locky?" she said, less of a question than a horrible revelation. Her voice was terribly sad, full of pain and memories. "It was ghost-touch. I protected myself with an iron cross 'til dawn against the Limbless." Her fists clenched in her skirt. A tear dropped down her cheek - which Lockwood noticed to have fresh, small scars and what looked like to be traces of tears on her slightly muddied face. It was the exact opposite from the pristine, composed Florence he'd known for so long.

"I'm sorry."

"You needn't be."

"Did you get hurt anywhere?"

She shrugged, wincing as she touched her cheek.

"I could-"

"Don't. It'll heal on its own." He wanted to tell her to clean it as well, but he could tell she'd turn down the advice in the same manner.

"Well," Lockwood said, "what are you doing next?"

Her grip tightened on the fabric of her skirt. "I don't know."

"You could train with me," Lockwood offered gently. "I don't have an agency or anything, but-"

"I-I think I'll try that. Thank you, Lockwood."

"Also, I brought these." He handed her the bag of liquorice.

A slight smile appeared from under her hat.

Her swordsmanship was still intact. Lockwood could for sure confirm this after she'd disarmed him 5 times. She'd lost her will, though. She looked pained picking up a rapier and could barely glance at salt bombs. Lockwood didn't ask. It seemed too personal. Over the course of 3 months, nothing had changed. If anything, it seemed to be harder and harder for her to fight properly.

"Locky... I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?" Lockwood knew perfectly well what she was referring to. "You're amazing with your rapier, still."

"This whole... 'agent' thing. I-I don't think I can go back." She was incredibly vulnerable with no snarky remarks or sarcasm in her voice. It hurt him to see her like this. He'd once felt similar, in his pain-filled rage when Jessica died. He couldn't look at ghosts, couldn't bear to think of them. Unlike Florence, however, he'd had rage to direct toward ghosts; she just felt pain.

Lockwood nodded. "You're sure?"

"It's been 3 months. Every time- every time I can still see their bodies next to me. Hear the screams, see the Limbless. I can't do it."

He hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder. "I understand. But- what will you do?"

"I'll find something, I'm sure."

"I'm always here, Florence. I've been thinking about starting an agency, so if you need anything..."

Florence Bonnard smiled her classic grin. She patted his hair - he took so long gelling it in the morning.... Her blue eyes shone like the sea. "Don't worry yourself, Locky. I've got this."

For months, Florence wandered from thing to thing in search of replacement for being an agent. She hadn't found much. With the Problem raging, agents were in the highest demand, and it was hard to ignore all of the flyers and inquiries looking for one. Lockwood had been concerned she'd find nothing, constantly reminding her of his offer. One thing was clear, though: she was never becoming an agent again. She didn't need to say the words, but it was mutually understood even as Lockwood asked her to train with him.

Slowly, she gravitated toward relic collecting. It exercised her Talent, yet comforted her. She could be free from expectations, and not have to be perfect or clean; she could collect the relics on the River Thames and sell them. It would sustain her and calm her. Most importantly, it was an environment she was comfortable in.

As time went on, her straw hat became faded of color and gained splotches of mud on them. She traded her agent fit for a padded jacket and Wellington boots. It suit the job. For once, maybe she was happy.

"So, you're sure you don't want to become an agent?"

"Locky, the only reason I came was because you said you had liquorice. I'm perfectly happy as a relic woman." She smoothed down her padded jacket and adjusted her signature straw hat.

"I have my license now. I'm recruiting-"

"I'm happy where I am, thank you very much." She took a sip of tea and plopped a liquorice in her mouth.

Lockwood sighed. Florence Bonnard, as always, was impenetrably stubborn. she'd started going by Flo Bones, which was catchy, and fit her relic woman persona. Lockwood respected this. He could see how happy it made her, though not particularly sanitary. He recalled the day she'd first told him of her new occupation. They'd been sitting on the banks of the River Thames, near where Lockwood had comforted her the morning after tragedy struck her.

"So... you're becoming a Relicwoman? Where will you get the sources?"

"The river has enough," she gestured to the muddy shore of the river. "My Sight's been getting stronger."

"Be careful, Flor-"

"Oh, and Locky, I've started going by Flo Bones - it's quite fitting, don't you think? I like it. It's catchy." She'd lifted her hat, just enough to wink at Lockwood before pulling it down again.

"Well, my offer will always stand, Flo. You're a spectacular agent - you know my address. 35 Portland Row, hasn't changed."

"You haven't an agency to work for, Locky, have you?" Flo mused bluntly.

"Working on the license. I plan to open my own agency, agent run. What d'you reckon I call it? I was thinking 'Lockwood and Company.'"

Flo gave a grunt of approval. "'Lockwood and Co.' It's decent."

"Thanks, Flo."

She'd nodded. "Now go. I can't be seen hanging about the lots of the upper class. See you, Locky."

He pushed the bag of liquorices to her, the memory making him smile sadly. "It's all yours."

Lockwood couldn't find any agents willing to work for him. Flo, being one of his main friends, was painfully aware of this fact, subject to his forever hanging offer of employment.

"Oh, cheer up. Don't be lonely. You'll find someone. Lockwood & Co.! It'll be known through all of England." She softened for a second. "Anyway, I have an auction to attend." She stood up, bits of dirt falling from her jacket. "Bye, Locky!" He reached out to her then restrained himself - but she'd already exited 35 Portland Row, shutting the door behind her.

"Bye, Flo." He stared at the closed door, at his slightly outstretched hand. He could only hope she was right, and he'd find someone soon.

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #flo bones #florence bonnard #lockwood #the screaming staircase #lockwood x flo #what is the ship name for them???#fencing #fluff #jonathan stroud #fanfic #angst #lockwood fluff #lockwood angst #lucy carlyle #george cubbins #*silverspectre

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leoninapelliolovesconchitawurst · 3 years

Text

ENGLISH TRANSLATION (Mandy Pitulle)

FM4 INTERVIEW with TOM NEUWIRTH

https://radiothek.orf.at/podcasts/fm4/fm4-interview-podcast/fm4-interview-mit-tom-neuwirth

Queer visibility also plays a role in the life of Tom Neuwirth, also known as Conchita Wurst. Seven years ago he won the Eurovision Song Contest. In an interview with FM4, he tells us like it is to grow up as a gay boy and experience pride for the first time.

. "Hello Tom, nice to have you here." "Yes, hello, I'm happy to be here." "It's June and that's a very special month for many people. It's Pride month and for queer people it's Pride all year. How are you feeling with that? How is June for you?"

Tom: "It's very special, it's been relatively commercialized in the last few years, which makes it special in another way. It's more visibility than it used to be. Pride has always been" The place to be ", especially when I was 16 / 17. Oh God, that I am now at an age to be able to say that. It was suddenly possible to visibly live out our sexuality, even if it was just being there, to hold hands and to have a save space and to know "Nothing will happen to you". It might sound strange, but being able to be an LGBTIQ person out on the streets was not easy back then and is still not always easy now.

FM4:" On 19th, it is the Rainbow Parade in Vienna. Do you have plans?"

Tom: " Not really concrete plans, but since the lockdown has fallen, we all feel the need to go out and celebrate. That is why the spirit to celebrate that I feel has not necessarily to do with June, but also with the current situation. I will of course be there. After 1 1/2 years where you couldn't see a lot of people and queer visibility has not taken place, I think it is important that we go out to the streets together and maybe come back to the origins of Prides . We noticed that the pandemic was not good when it comes to questioning ways of thinking, to stand up for more equality and that is why it is important to go out "as fabulous as we can".

FM4:"Do you still remember your first Pride and your first rainbow parade? How did you feel and how old were you?

Tom: "At my first Pride, I was with my best friend, Flo. We were 14/15 and told everyone we were in Graz, but secretly drove to Vienna. We then went to trendy scene bars and the rainbow parade and it was the amazing feeling of not having to hide, to not have to expect people to talk bad to me or look at me for walking in the street with my boyfriend. It was an extreme feeling of freedom. It still is a little, I have to say. I always dismissed it when you kiss in public and then get harsh comments. “I couldn't care less.” ...But then you ask yourself “Does that have to be?” “Why do you have to put people in a situation that is uncomfortable in some way. "So this year I am a little more aware of why it is important to have a rainbow parade. The first memories ... it was just Heaven ..You danced, met new people every minute and made out on the dance floor. It was "everything you can ask for".

FM4: "Do you know how old you were?"

Tom:" At my first Pride kiss? 15....*mumbles*...14/15"

FM4: "Nice. You have certainly been to many Pride events. Have you ever been to Prides outside Austria in June?"

Tom: "If you're known in the queer community, people like to book you for Prides. That's how it was for me and it has increased exponentially since the Eurovision Song Contest. One of the most impressive Prides was Amsterdam when I was there for the first time. I didn't know it from Austria when you turn on the TV and the country's TV stations are flagged with rainbow flags and Pride is advertised in the mainstream. Then the canals and streets were full. The whole city celebrated this part of society. The kids were all painted with rainbow flags and these floats that drove through on the canals. It was extremely impressive. And I didn't know that from Austria. With the Europride, that changed. That was extremely cool. You really had the feeling that the whole city celebrated with us. I also think that Vienna has the potential to become a queer Hotspot. Barcelona and everywhere else too, but Vienna has such charm and courage. Vienna is so uncompromising. I love that. Uncompromising in any way and especially with this topic. I think that's cool. I would like it to get bigger in the next few years. It's Pride month and we have so much to offer. From queer history in all museums to theaters and clubs. Lectures, artists ... we talked about queer footballers today ... This city has so much potential.

FM4: You already gave the cue. Queer Visibility. Where does it start and where does it end?

Tom: "That has to be viewed individually. I think, a drag queen, for example, that is activism as soon as she steps out of the dressingroom. For me it is ... well I don't know. I've spent a lot of my life, pushing myself into the hetero norm and I don't do that anymore. So not at all anymore. I'm hysterical and loud and scream and laugh and talk to everyone and wear what I like. I've come to a point where I'm no longer afraid because you think “it has to be like that.” And that's where it starts with me. Everyone should start with themselves. Sometimes I find it difficult because I don't want to ask anybody, “Now be extra bad”. Everyone should be what he or she is. I express myself a lot ... Now I want to say, through my clothes, but that's not true. I'm just uncompromising and try to break the boundaries again and again and make people think. Yesterday we were on the Donaustrand and did a photo shoot wearing black lace underwear. The people who watched, the reactions differed. But they'd go home and say, "Well, I've seen something today ..." And they'd talk about it, it's the first step in a conversation.

FM4:"This month is Pride month. Do you remember the first time you were proud of yourself? That you "owned your space"

Tom: "I think that was already at the first Pride events. Although I still have it. Pride means to me .. that's a power. When many people work together towards one goal. Or something in common ... It has so much power. You are not alone as an individual, you are among so many like-minded people where you have the feeling "I breathe". The visibility. That makes us strong against everything queer people struggle with."

FM4: "You already talked about Vienna. You have been living in Vienna for a long time. But you grew up somewhere else, in Bad Mitterndorf. I checked, it has about 5000 residents."

Tom: "They have grown."

FM4: "How was it for you to grow up as a queer person in the country?"

Tom: "It was a bit ambivalent, I never really held back in my being. I often heard from my mother" You can't wear that now. You can't wear a dirndl or a first communion dress, none of that works. "But I'd always found my ways to portray myself and just did what I felt". On one hand, I totally demanded it, but on on the other hand, it was bad for me to get the attention because it wasn't positive. My parents run an Restaurant and they were a bit dependent on the opinions of their guests. They don't think like that anymore. I am happy about that. To do everything right for everyone is simply not possible. It was this duality of "I am there" and "It hurts" when you are insulted, laughed at. And so many queer people feel like that. And you ask yourself "Why?" For example, if it's a child and the adults react like that. You think "Get yourself together."

FM4: "You said there were painful things. What helped you?"

Tom: "Definitely my friends, but I also loved to go to the attic. I never wanted to work, there were too many people and too close for me ... I told my mother." I'll sew every button on you, but please don't let me work in service." And then I fled to the attic and did everything there. Drew, sewed, danced, sang. I sang out loud because nobody heard it. My Idol: Celine Dion ... high and loud. Of course I had to train that first. Yes, me and my friends. It was always my safe place. It is still like that today.

FM4: "That is also very important to have."

Tom: "I'm also very grateful that I can feel myself and enjoy myself ... not in all situations ... that I can love myself. And I have fun with myself.

FM4: Many queer people have queer role models. That help even in difficult times. Did you have someone there too?

Tom: "The first time to hear" I will always love you "was eye-opening. And the first time to hear" My heart will go on ", I think it was my" queer wakening "and comforting. Power balades, the 90s. .. then I could shout it out. That's why maybe I can let myself go so well when I sing emotionally. Because that was always my outlet and still is today. If I don't sing for a long time, it's still like that today. ..I'm in a bad mood and singing, the bad mood is gone. Singing does something to us ... it's like jumping. You have to grin and get in a good mood.

FM4: When we talk about Conchita Wurst, we also talk about identities and breaking the binary system, which has stood in our way for billions of years. You also show that identities can be fluid and can change and can be many things. Can you still remember when you let Conchita "wake up"? And maybe also when you first appeared as Conchita?

Tom: "The first time was ... now I forgot the club, but it was with the Saloon Kitty Revue. Kitty Willenbruch is one of the most famous burlesque dancers in Austria and I was out in drag once and moderated something. She was in the audience and then asked me whether I would like to present the revue. At that time it was every week, I think, and I said “Yes, I would love to.” And then thought to myself that I shouldn't shave. I look like 12 without beard. I let my beard grow and then the day of the revue came. I love to entertain the audience. I think that's my greatest talent. To be able to let go on stage. First was Starmania, then I finished school, and it was basically my first show business experience again. That's when I noticed. Despite all the worry about whether you can make a living from it, I want to go this way.

FM4: "When you think about your queer future, where are you going? What should change?"

Tom: "It would be nice if at some point no one asks the question," Are you into boys? "Because I think, or in my circle of friends, we sometimes also discuss that. We are just gay and that is totally one-sided and totally restricts you. What if I miss the love of my life, which is a woman. It would be nice if the understanding of the world goes so far that it just doesn't matter. Then we would all be Queer, which we all actually are.

FM4: "A good final word. Thanks Tom."

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