#sorry if there's any spelling errors

[fellowshipincynicism]

When Abby Langdon (nee O'Connell) met Frank Langdon she thought he was weird. Technically, she knew him already - they were in the same AP Chemistry class and she walked past the picture of him holding the debate team trophy aloft in the trophy case every day, but she didn’t meet him until they were sat side by side as they were bussed over to the county mathletes final. She was pulled onto the team last minute when Jessica Cox came down with mono, and was now trapped next to this awkward, lanky guy who was very passionately explaining the points system of the competition. He spoke with his hands, his elbow catching her more than once in the 20 minute ride, and he was incredibly loud but… there was something about his never ending excitement, his self-confidence, and total lack of filter that formed a ball in the depths of her stomach that (regretably) she had to recognize as a crush.

They hung out a lot from that point onwards, pairing up for labs and presentations, discussing theories about their favorite shows during free period, complaining over the phone when Mr Watson docked them points on a history pop quiz even though they were both technically correct. Abby wasn’t… unpopular, but all this attention from a boy was totally foreign to her

And then over summer break between junior and senior year he shot up 3 inches, his braces came off, his acne cleared up, he let his hair grow out from the awkward buzz cut he’d always had. He got… hot. It wasn't even fair, he didn't try! He didn't even seem to notice the way people stopped to gawk at who he’d become, seemingly overnight. He was exactly the same dork he’d always been, just repackaged.

Abby had known she liked him for years but this? this wasn’t just a crush, this was love. The kind of love that made her blush and trip over her own feet and turned her brain to mush whenever he was near. The kind that made her consider dropping her grades slightly like she was in some cheesy teen movie if only for an excuse to ask him to explain things to her over lunch and maybe dinner and maybe forever.

She thought she was hallucinating when he asked her to prom. Couldn’t believe he asked her, the girl with weird fitting sweaters and coke bottle glasses, dirty blonde hair always scraped back to avoid anyone seeing how frizzy it could get under almost any condition. When they kissed in the parking lot as they waited for their parents to pick them up and take them to their respective homes, Abby’s world ended and started in one, splintering moment.

When they started as freshman at UPenn she thought she’d locked him down as hers forever, but every time they were out together she felt people staring. Bleach-blonde sorority girls hanging off his arm at parties, tall european exchange students that begged him to tutor them. Not that he ever paid them any mind. He wasn't bothered by the attention - sure he liked being liked but other than being polite he never gave those girls the time of day, brushed them off every time. Abby was bothered. Abby was very bothered. She’d always been competitive to a fault and seeing other girls fawn over her boyfriend? Unacceptable. She had the brains, she was funny, but for all she was worth the one adjective she could never shake was cute. Frank probably didn’t even realise he was doing it - ‘you look cute today’, ‘you’re so cute’, ‘cute cute cute’. Abby hated cute. The one thing those other girls had, the one thing Abby was missing, was hot.

So she decided to do something about it. She'd always been skinny but she started eating less and working out more, desperate for an ass and abs. got contacts, whitened her teeth. bleached her hair lighter. when her friend asked Abby to accompany her to a botox appointment, Abby said fuck it. did anything she could to make herself cooler, show those girls that they weren't even close to being competition against her.

All that to say, when she sees the way Frank looks at his coworker at a shitty 4th of July barbeque in some run down suburb of Pittsburgh, her blood freezes in her veins. The ghost of a girl she was 15 years ago stands in front of her husband, her laugh loud and bright as she lays a hand on Frank’s bicep. She’s cute.

Abby is convinced some sick cosmic trick is being played on her. ‘Mel’ is not totally a surprise, God knows Frank talks about her enough so that Abby feels she practically knows the woman. And she's never been concerned - what could she possibly have that Abby lacks? She spent her 20s turning her insecurity into spite, fuelling her transformation into the Perfect Woman, the Perfect Wife. But she sees it now. The girl she used to be, the one who no longer exists. The one she drowned in hot yoga and peroxide. It's clear to her from the way he looks down at her, that fond, slack-jaw gaze, that the thing Abby lacks, is his love.

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter four

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warning/s: coarse language; mentions of: grief, death, drowning; not proofread

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three, four]

word count: 13.1k

[1]

‘Can you meet me at the playground?’ was Guille’s message the night after your graduation, casting a blue streak over a relatively warm summer night. The short hand of the clock hovered over eleven when you got it, and you had half a mind to ignore it–because how dared he do this now?–but you sent him a reply before heading out of the door.

The playground was less than ten minutes away but you took the corner; the one that led around the block. He could wait, you thought. After all, you’d been giving him just that: the luxury of time. But he never did anything with it did he, so why would you rush? And what could he possibly want now after months of ignoring you? Was this a final goodbye? After everything you’d been through together, was this really how it’s going to end? 

You sniffled and ran the back of your hand over your eyes as you walked the last few yards to the park.

Tap tap tap.

The distinct sound of football-to-shoe brought you back. Ahead under the yellow glow of the lone streetlamp that lit the playground, with his back turned to you, was Guille juggling a football. A breeze brushed your cheek and it carried the familiar sweetness of Guille’s body spray. You remembered when he started using it—it was around the time you’d complained to him about how you found the scent of guy’s deodorants repugnant, and that you could only stand the new scent that he bought. And after that, it was all he’d ever used. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was around the time he started liking you, and the thought made you recoil. 

The ball reached another high, this time going over Guille’s head, making him turn, but it never connected to a touch. Instead, it landed on the ground. Its momentum carried it to a stop just a few paces away from you but you made no move to kick it back. You dragged your eyes away from the ball and found his finally.

For a moment, it was as if the world stood still. You soaked in the state of him: there was a heaviness that swelled in the skin beneath his eyes which were devoid of their usual light; his arms sagged heavily by his sides, contorting the contours of his silhouette to a shape that displaced the confidence you’d seen him wear so easily growing up. Even in the low light, the jagged cut that interrupted the line of his left brow remained prominent, but it was gone from view when dark curls fell to cover it after Guille ran his fingers through his hair.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, yet his voice still broke over his words. 

“Hey. Uh–thank you for coming,” he smiled a little. “Can we talk?”

You eyed him carefully, letting a moment of silence settle in the air as you crossed your arms. Only after you noted a slight movement in Guille’s throat did you skim the sole of your foot over the ball, sending it his way. When you met his eyes again, something akin to relief shone in them––or maybe it was gratitude?––before he kicked the ball towards you again. That went on for a while; back and forth the ball went during which no one said a word. From the way Guille kept clenching and unclenching his hands, you doubted he knew what he even wanted to say, least of all how to say it.

Still, you waited. 

Another moment, he stopped the ball, wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt before stuffing them in his short pockets, his posture awkward and stiff. He opened his mouth and in the breath before he spoke his first word, your heart dropped to your stomach and you braced yourself.

This was it.

“I–I want to apologize!”

You blinked. That… was unexpected.

“I know it’s probably too late, but I don’t think I can live without saying it, you know?” He shrugged as he smiled, but it was too crooked, and his eyes shone. 

“I’m really sorry. For what I did, and what I said. Those hurt you… I hurt you.”

He released a shaky breath, bit his lower lip as he swiped a thumb at the corner of his eye.

“I’m not expecting to be forgiven and I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I just–I’m sorry. And I want you to know that I had the best time with you.” 

His lips curled up to a smile but the quiver of his chin broke the curve and his tears spilled. 

He looked so young then, so much like a lost little boy who looked nothing like the boy you met when you were eight: newly-transferred Guille who became the smallest out of all the boys in your class yet, with his quiet confidence, he towered over them with his head held high. You remembered him as he was then when he first introduced himself to you, his cheeks rosy from playing too much under the sun and just a little out of breath when he asked you to be in his team during recess. He did it too without any snide remarks, something you’d gotten used to from playing with the other boys in class. He never brought your being a girl up even when your team lost, and it was the first time you were treated as an equal on the field at school. 

And he just stuck with you, and you with him; all the shared lunches, the laughter, the late night banters… there was no way you could let this friendship go. 

This was so stupid. 

“This is stupid,” you choked as you hastily wiped a tear away but it was quickly followed by another. “Come here, you idiot!” 

You surged forward and wrapped your arms around him, the force of it nearly knocking the both of you over. It took him a second but when the weight of his arms settled on you––when his comforting warmth finally seeped in––you were hit by just how much you’d missed him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” were the strained words spoken against your ear as he hugged you tighter. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled on his shoulder. “It’s going to take some time but we’ll be alright, I forgive you. And I want us to remain friends, under two conditions if you’re up for it.” 

He pulled away slightly to wipe his cheeks, and gave you a small smile. He was a bit breathless when he said, “Anything.” 

There was a light lilt in his tone and you understood he meant it, so you nodded, returning his smile. He followed you when you went to sit on one of the benches, situating himself so there was enough space between you for one person.

Looking him in the eye, you started, “I know it’s a lot to ask but if you have any plans to wait for me, I want you to forget about it. I love you and I care for you, but I need you to understand that a brother and a friend is all I will find in you.” 

His eyes strayed downwards and they clouded over. He closed them with a sigh and when they opened, he looked at you and you found a lightness in them that comforted you; his face bore a friendly warmth that you haven’t seen in a while.

“I understand, and you don’t have to apologise.” 

He scooted closer so he could bump his knee against yours, now grinning. His playfulness made you smile.

“And one more thing,” you added after a moment, and he nodded for you to continue. “You… you have to make amends with Alexia.” 

The grin fled from his face and you didn’t miss the way he flinched. His knuckles whitened and tension brewed in his muscles. And when his eyes darkened, you couldn’t help but frown at the change in his demeanor. You reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Guille––”

Then, like a spring, all the air of rigidness left him. He threw his head back and released a laugh that caught you off guard. When he regarded you again, the curve of his lips remained.

Then he said in a tone filled with mirth, “You know, if she hadn’t knocked some sense into me that night, I’d probably still be wallowing in self-pity like an entitled prick.”

At the reminder, your eyes wandered to the scar on his left brow but they lingered only for a second.

“And yes, done. She hates my guts,” you opened your mouth to protest otherwise but when Guille gave you a pointed look, you closed it immediately, “but I will patch things up with her. Besides, I need to thank her for straightening me out.”

You gaped at him.

“It’s that easy?”

He shrugged, still smiling.

“I mean, yeah? It’s either those or losing you, and I know I value you more than I do my pride and ego.”

There it was again, his quiet confidence. It diminished though when he brushed a finger over the bridge of his nose, eyes darting down to his feet briefly before meeting yours again. And when he spoke, there was more than a little uncertainty that bled into his tone, and maybe a little bit of hope. 

“Besides, we’re friends. Right?”

You scrunched your nose at him in answer as you grinned.

“Damn right,” you confirmed. Then you punched his shoulder for good measure. His jaw dropped open in an offended gasp. He sat there wide-eyed for a moment before he locked an arm around your neck, his free hand mussing up your hair in an instant, and you could only shriek and chortle at the action. 

In that moment, you felt as if a weight had finally been lifted off your shoulders. And there was no better way to truly feel the lightness of being than having somebody to laugh with. Then a comfortable pause washed over you both as you caught your breaths. In the silence that settled, you leaned back on your hands and kicked your feet up idly in the air. 

It was Guille who spoke first. 

“You don’t have to answer, but do you like someone?”

Your feet stilled. And then, without bidding, a series of images flashed through your mind of brown hair, freckles, hazel… Warmth coiled and gathered in your chest as if the ghost of a hand hovered over it. 

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

A distinct pop went off somewhere in your neck from the speed by which you gaped at him. Guille’s eyes remained trained ahead and his face was relaxed, void of any judgement… Surely, he didn’t say what you thought he said, right? 

You swallowed, throat dry, and choked, “What did you say?”

“Alexia.” He turned to you then, and smiled; small but not unkindly. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Blood thundered in your ears, and your heartbeat tripled. 

“No! I–That’s ridic–”

Warmth over your hand; Guille had taken yours into his, and the ice in your skin thawed instantly. Only when Guille tightened his grip to still your hand did you know just how badly you were shaking. 

“Hey, look at me. It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” his voice was soothing and he squeezed your hand for good measure. “I think, deep down, I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why I treated everything as a competition because I felt threatened by her. And I never understood why you always gravitated towards her like she’s your own Earth. But now I know. If… If I ever made it difficult to come to terms with your feelings for her, I’m sorry.” 

His words and their sincerity brought a calm with them, stopping the surge of panic in your veins. And, like a tide, it receded. Finally finding your voice again, you spoke. 

“You–you’re not angry?”

His brows rose.

“Why would I be?”

Then he gave you another smile. You understood it was meant to reassure you but you couldn’t help but notice that the corners of his lips were somewhat weighed down with sadness. Still, judgement made no home in his eyes. 

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. And if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

A brief pause as his eyes wandered. 

“I–Maybe not for a while. It’s not that I want to, but I think some distance will do me some good. I want to respect your boundaries, and for me to do that, I need to get my feelings sorted out. I’m… I’ve made up my mind anyway. I’m leaving the city.” 

“What?” You choked. “When? Where are you going?”

Then a spark of anger went off. You jabbed at his shoulder. Guille yelped suddenly, his eyes became wide with surprise. 

“You jerk! Is that the reason why you’re finally saying sorry?!” 

“I–No, of course not! I mean, yeah, but no!” He gestured in the air. “What I’m trying to say is… I’m here because I want to make amends, not because I feel like I had to. Besides, I won’t be leaving for another two months.” 

Oh.

“Oh.” Your cheeks felt warm. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He repeated with a sarcastic note but a playful spark lit up his eyes. 

You apologised sheepishly. Then, “Where are you headed? And what are you going to do?”

Guille shrugged, leaning back against his arms as he looked up at the night sky.

“I don’t know yet. I was thinking of travelling for a bit, maybe go around Europe first? Do you remember how Aunt Aloma lives in London? Yeah, she told me I could stay with her if I ever planned to go there for university.”

When he mentioned London, a lead sank into your gut. Logically, you knew it wasn’t too far away; the three-hour long flight would be a small price to pay to see Guille again. The fact that he wouldn’t be an arm’s reach away like he was right then—that childhood was departing—made your chest ache. You didn’t know you’d teared up until you felt Guille’s hand on your shoulder and the consequent squeeze there. 

“Don’t cry on me now, I haven’t even left yet.” He said lightly but his eyes were glazed over, too. “Hey, don’t worry, it won’t be for good. Before you know it, I’ll be back here to annoy you. And you know, maybe once I’ve settled in London you could even visit.”

You took his hand and squeezed it back, saying, “Just say the word and I’ll be there. 

[2]

“He’s studying what now?” 

“Sports Psychology. Pay attention.” You swatted at Alexia’s hand but she ignored you. She continued to pinch some more grass from beside where she was laying and let them get carried by the breeze as she threw them into the air. The blades of grass flew freely but some of them landed on her chest and stomach where a bunch of them had begun to pile up. Still, she continued her endeavor. She looked ridiculous but warmth filled you nonetheless, and you smiled as you leaned over to pick them off her jersey. 

Alexia hummed with a note of surprise, “He works fast. He’s only been away for four months?”

“Well, we are talking about Guille here.” 

“Hmm, I always thought Lover Boy would end up in physio–Hey!” 

Alexia yelped when you jerked your thigh that her head was resting on.

“Stop calling him that,” you reprimanded with a light flick to her forehead. At the reminder though, your cheeks warmed. 

She rubbed her forehead as she narrowed her eyes at you, then with a huff and a pout, “Fine, fine! No need to get defensive. Why is it such a big deal anyway?”

“Because, Alexia, we’re all trying to move on.”

“You make it sound like the two of you broke up or something.” She snickered before adding, “Which begs the question, why didn’t you ever go out with him? Minus the fact that he gave you a concussion, of course.” 

Her tone changed at the end, an inflection of something bitter—a bit of her protectiveness showing through—that you chose to ignore. Yet you found yourself unable to answer her anyway. 

You recalled the conversation you had with Guille that night, the way he figured out who held your heart so easily. Ever since, a question gnawed at the edge of your mind, the same one that whispered to you now: were your feelings so transparent? So obvious? 

A brush against your jaw pulled you back and, upon looking down, you were met with the question still in Alexia’s eyes. You shrugged, pulling away from her touch as nonchalantly as you could. 

“Guille is a friend and only that.”

“But you were so close,” she commented.

“Proximity doesn’t always mean intimacy, Alexia.” You were grasping for straws, you knew this. Your eyes wandered before you admitted with another shrug, “Besides, I can’t really see myself in a relationship. Not right now, anyway.”

“Oh.” The sound Alexia made was gentle, barely audible, that you thought it was the wind’s whisper. And then in a tone so soft, “Really? You don’t like anyone? Anyone at all?”

There was something in the way she asked that beckoned you to look back down at her. The scattered rays of the sun dappled her freckled cheeks with flushed amber, and her eyes that were normally a deep shade of ochre shone golden in the light. There was a softness in them that made your heart stutter, and another thing you couldn’t quite figure out, almost a plea, but about what?

You dragged your eyes away from her lips to meet her eyes.

“No, I don’t think it’s for me,” you murmured.

She stared at you for a long time. It felt like being swallowed into their depths and you could do nothing but be swept away, keep the contact somehow, lest she’d find something she shouldn’t see. So you stared right back. 

Eventually, she whispered, “Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet.”

The lump in your throat remained even after you swallowed. Finally looking away, you hummed out in half-agreement.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

A pause.

“Do you miss him?” 

“I do. I really do.” You admitted with a sigh. 

After another moment of silence, Alexia continued.

“Would… would you join a club in England?” 

Your gaze flicked back down to her, frowning a little.

“It’s either Barça or Bayern for me, Alexia. You know this.” 

At that, Alexia averted her eyes, picked a fallen leaf, twirled it between her fingers, and then looked at it as if it held the mysteries of the world. 

Carding a finger through her hair, you prompted softly, “Why would you ask that?” 

She shrugged, quirking the corner of her lips downwards. Then she met your eyes with barely concealed vulnerability, voice hesitant when she asked, “So, you’re staying?”

“I am,” you said firmly, smiling at her. “Besides, we’re in this together, aren’t we? Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” 

Finally, her lips broke into a grin.

“I can’t wait to play with you when we get on the first team.” She said with such certainty you couldn’t help but grin back.

“Do you really think we’ll make it?”

“Yeah. We will, you’ll see.”

And you did.

There reflected in her eyes the vision of a future. That familiar splendor of passion—that unwavering resolve—shone untarnished, and the mere sight of it filled you with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Instead, you leaned down and pressed your forehead to hers.

Alexia accepted the contact with a sigh, and then she whispered, “Sorry to say, but you’re stuck with me, too.”

[3]

You got into Barça’s first team—the both of you did. 

There was a moment where you thought it was too good to be true, and that surely the other shoe would drop any time soon. 

And it did.

Maybe deep down, you hoped otherwise; that the universe would prove you wrong. But the universe had a wicked sense of humor, and you would’ve laughed at the cruelty of the joke if anguish had not choked your laughter tight into tears. The taste of achievement was still fresh on your tongue, still on your way to relishing it, before that same sweetness quickly soured to bitter disappointment. 

Not a year after joining Barça’s first team ranks, the news reached you. Our funds were not enough, they said, and they were sorry they had to cut the women’s team. There was no other way, the club didn’t have enough money to keep the team in the league.

The fact that you got a taste of your dream only to have the rug pulled beneath you was maddening, and it made the pain from the fall all the more worse. The news hit you hard, but Alexia took it the worst.

There was a thin line between perseverance and obsession, and some would even go so far to say that the two were opposite sides to the same coin. You know this. And you also know that Alexia had tossed that coin so many times now that she’d probably forgotten what each of those faces meant, progressively confounding one for the other until they were now one and the same.

Looking back now, the signs were all there: you were blinded by your own loss and your admiration for Alexia that you failed to see it or what it really was—a festering obsession. The signs were there in your time with Espanyol, especially during the first few months after the news of Barça’s restructuring broke; they were present in the way Alexia behaved compulsively, always seething with barely concealed hunger, her tenacity both on and off the field magnified to the tens. It waned somewhat during the season but now with the both of you facing another move—to Levante this time—her obsession resurfaced with renewed vigor, corrupting each knot of her muscle to constrict to their breaking point.

“Ale, do you want to come over to mine?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe of Alexia’s bedroom, while Alexia remained hunched over a folder filled with formations, the same one she’d been studying since last match day.

“Why?” She threw over her shoulder, not even turning to look at you.

You picked at your thumb. 

“I don’t know. Just come and sleep over? Mamá and Papá have been asking about you, you know?”

Finally she turned and her eyes found you. They were flat and the skin under them looked darker than they were yesterday. A slight crease was present between her brows, and her lips drooped slightly at the corners, seemingly unimpressed.

“I just saw them yesterday.” 

Okay, maybe that was a lie.

You shrugged it off, “Doesn’t matter. Come visit anyway.”

“I have other things to worry about,” Alexia grumbled with annoyance, turning around to assume her previous position.

“That’s not going to run away from you, Alexia. Come on.”

 Without letting her get another word in, you took her wrist in a gentle grip and tugged her away from her table. Although you had to admit, it was difficult not to remain unfazed when Alexia got like this, especially considering what she’s going through. Another part of your brain was saying the opposite; that it was because of what she’s going through that you had to intervene like this.

“Hey, wait! What are you doing?!” Alexia protested halfway down the stairs.

“Dragging you to my place, of course.”

“What about my things?”

“You have clothes there. Or, you can just wear my stuff.”

“But we have training!”

“It’s only a light session tomorrow.” 

“But—”

“Alexia.” 

You fixed a stern eye at her over your shoulder and she opened her mouth, as if to say something, before she shut it, sighing in defeat.

The both of you just made it down the stairs to see the front door swing open. Eli entered first, Alba trailing in after. At the sight of her family, Alexia strode to where they were to greet them; she kissed Eli on her temple, and Alba on top of her head.

“How’s Papá?”

Eli gave her daughter a small smile, but the skin around her eyes remained taut, weighed down by something inexplicably heavy. 

“He’s stable, love. The same as when you saw him this morning.” Eli’s gaze flicked to you. “Are you girls heading out?”

You nodded.

“I’ll be stealing away Alexia for the night. Is that okay?”

Eli smiled at you, “Of course.”

“We made some food for dinner. They’re on the stove top.”

“Oh, thank you, my girls.” Eli said, hugging you goodbye after you’d put on your shoes. Then she whispered in your ear, “Thank you.”

In response, you only hugged her tighter. Without meaning to, your eyes fleeted over to Alexia who was having a hushed conversation with Alba. By the end of it, Alexia embraced her little sister, placing another kiss atop her head only this time, Alexia’s brows were deeply creased. 

When you pulled away, you said, squeezing Eli’s hands. “Get some rest, Má. I’ll bring her back first thing after practice tomorrow.” 

And with that, you and Alexia headed out. 

The transit to your place was punctuated with a vacuous silence. Alexia sat beside you, less than an arm’s reach away, but her eyes were trained at somewhere far on the horizon; and she, even farther. But you let her be, there was plenty of time to talk later after all. 

By the time you got home, the lights were already off save for the small night light in the hallway so the both of you climbed the stairs on your toes, making sure to avoid that one creaky spot by the corner.

“You can clean up here, I’ll use the other shower. “ You said, jutting your chin to the direction of the shower. 

Alexia only nodded.

When you returned to your room, the bathroom was empty, a fresh glass of water stood by your night stand, and Alexia was nowhere to be seen. You were just about to head downstairs when she padded into your room with a towel draped over her head and a damp spot from her hair on a shirt you recognised to be yours. 

She must’ve seen the question in your eyes because she muttered, “Double-checked the door lock.”

You hummed as she walked past you, back into the bathroom, and you heard the tap run. 

“Thanks for the water,” you said while taking a sip from the glass she put there.

A sound of recognition came from Alexia.

When Alexia finally finished her business in the bathroom, hair slightly ruffled and almost dry, you were already settled in bed, the sheets on her side pulled off in silent invitation. But Alexia remained standing there, by the golden cast of your night lamp, looking a bit lost for reasons you understood.

Softly, you coaxed, “Hey.”

Alexia’s eyes flicked to you and your heart ached at the sight of them so dulled and weary. It took her another moment but she finally slid in next to you, the warmth of her finally arriving home and seeping into your bones. When her feet brushed over your legs as she shifted beside you, you joked with a hushed giggle to lighten the mood, “Get your cold feet away from me.” 

It worked because her lips quirked up slightly, eyes rolling in jest, but not a second later, her eyes dimmed again, and she looked away. You propped yourself up on your elbow to see her clearly but she refused to meet your eyes. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, you whispered, the words cracking under the weight of your emotion.

“Ale, talk to me.”

Silence.

A breath.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” came the hoarse reply.

Breathing deeply, you buried your fingers in her hair to try and soothe her. And again, you spoke in whispers. 

“You know, it’s okay to grieve about it, to be angry about it. You don’t have to be strong all the time, Alexia.”

Her eyes flashed with something red then and she growled.

“And what will grieving get me? The way through is forward and only forward. Do you think the world will stop to give you enough time to grieve? To be angry?”

She continued, each word exhaled with urgency. 

“No. The moment you stop, you will be left behind. And I can’t stop. Not now. Especially not now.”

“Having a moment for yourself isn’t stopping. You can’t expect yourself to go on like this forever. Sometimes, you have to do what’s good for yourself, Alexia.”

A scoff.

“It doesn’t matter what’s good for me. What I need is to get back to Barça. Then, and only then, will I feel at ease.”

“At the expense of what, then? Killing your passion for the sport by making it your duty?”

Alexia startled you when she ripped herself away from you, sitting up so abruptly that the headboard banged against the wall. And when she glared down at you, you found a look in her eyes similar to that of a desperate animal’s; a look where the distinction between fear and anger blurred into something wild. 

Then, through her teeth, she hissed in a low voice.

“It is my duty! It always has been. Don’t you see? It has always been more than a sport to me. It’s not the same for you and I don’t expect you to understand because you—”

She stopped herself, facing forward in an instant, pinching the bridge of her nose as she setted her arms over her folded knees. 

Slowly, you rose, and only the sound of sheets settling around your waist filled the air. This momentary reprieve was mainly for Alexia’s sake—she was overwhelmed, that was clear to see—but maybe you needed a moment yourself because what she said hurt you. Still, you soldiered on because this was for Alexia. 

She tensed upon your touch, her muscles rippled beneath your palm as you dragged it from the small of her back, tracing the contours of her spine to the nape of her neck, but by the time your hand finally settled on her opposite shoulder, some of the tension had melted away.

“No, you’re right, I don’t understand,” you began, voice strained. “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant in destroying yourself. This—this shutting your family out with what’s happening with you. Your mother is worried sick. She’s asking about how you are, Alexia, do you know that? Your own mother!” 

Alexia released a weary sigh and then said in an even wearier tone.

“She has no need to worry.”

You almost scoffed at that, but stopped yourself although you couldn’t help the severity that bled into your next words.

“How could she not when you’re working yourself to the bone? Tell me, how do you expect us not to worry?” 

Silence. Then the murmur of folding fabric when Alexia curled into herself, head buried in the arms folded over her knees. In that cavern of her own making, a ragged breath echoed, followed by the shuddering of muscles. You ached at the state of her, and there was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow. 

And barely above a whisper, you breathed, “You cannot carry the whole weight of the world by yourself. You’re not Atlas, Alexia. Let your family in.”

“Ale,” you tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Red eyes peered from the darkness of her arms and it broke you, but you had to plead, “Talk to me. Please…”

“I–I’m scared,” she choked out finally. “He’s getting worse. It’s the second attack this month and I—”

Her fingers dug into her arms when she tightened her grip.

“I thought winning the Copa de la Reina last year would give us enough exposure but it wasn’t enough. So, I wanted to do it again this season to prove that we belong in Barça but instead, we lost to them.” A ragged breath. “And now we’re going to Levante. I just–”

She looked up at you, lips quivering with a whimper, “I just want us to go home.”

“Oh, Alexia.” 

Without saying another word, you put your arms around her, forehead pressed close against her ear and the hitch in her breathing resounded loud and clear.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it, how far we seem from getting back?” Alexia’s back tensed in answer but you only hugged tighter. “But that’s not true at all.”

You felt Alexia lift her head and you moved away just enough to see how she eyed you with confusion. You gave her a small smile as you grazed your knuckles over her tear-stained cheek.

“On top of your club activities, your national performance has been nothing short of exemplary. Those matter. And with all the articles they’ve been writing about you, it’s only a matter of time now.” Brightening your tone a little, you added with a playful smile, “you probably won’t finish your season with Levante before Barça gets their hands on you.”

A corner of her lips lifted up upon your remark so you pushed on.

“I know it’s not the same as being in Barça, but what you’ve achieved so far has got to count for something, Alexia. Your father… he’s so, so proud of you.” Your tone shifted, now firm. “And I doubt he’d be happy to know that his daughter is pushing her body past the point of injury to get into Barça. You know your mother and sister have been covering your ass, right? Uh-huh, yeah, I thought so.”

“You need to let yourself breathe,” you kissed her temple, then her shoulder. When your eyes met again, you found a soft look in hers that reminded you of when you were younger. Smoothing her hair again, you asked, “Can you do that, Alexia? Not for us, but for yourself?”

Alexia regarded you for a long, silent moment. Then she closed her eyes, opened them a breath later, and nodded, her lips curling up to a sincere smile. In response, you couldn’t help but grin back at her.

Sensing that her mood had elevated, you placed one last kiss on her temple before you reached over her, towards the lamp to turn it off, leaving your room illuminated by the blue glow of the moon. Alexia needed no guidance to rest her head against your chest and immediately, you wrapped your arms around her. She sighed deep in the crook of your neck and you were filled with a sense of belonging—of wholeness.

Your eyes fluttered shut to the rhythm of  Alexia’s heartbeat pressed against your side.

“I’m sorry”, came the whisper.

“What for?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did, about you not understanding. That was wrong, and I know all of this means everything to you like the way it means everything to me.”

“I appreciate that, Alexia. Don’t worry about it.” 

“And I’m sorry for—”

“Ale,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss on her crown, “you don’t have to apologise for anything.”

A pause before a deep exhale heated up your neck.

“Thank you, then.”

You hummed, already halfway to dreaming. And with one last reassuring squeeze at her hip, you found yourself murmuring, “I got you. Good night, Ale.”

“Good night,” Alexia said with a kiss to your neck and you slept with a smile on your lips.

[4]

“Alexia! Can you please—Shit!” 

It was too late. 

The box on top of the one you were carrying slid and fell, and all you could do was cringe as it spilled all of your toiletries by the front door. 

“Oops, sorry.”

You turned to Alexia with a glare of slight annoyance, but when you saw her sheepish expression, with the corners of her mouth pulled down and an eye twisted to a flinch, you let it go. With a roll of your eyes and a slight shake of your head, you signaled for her to proceed ahead as you held the door open with your weight. Once inside, she settled her boxes down on the tiled floor, letting out a small grunt as she did so, before she took yours. 

You’d just finished picking up the toiletries when Alexia asked, “That’s the last of it, yes?”

Turning to face her, you saw her wipe the sweat off her temples before settling her hands on her hips. She scanned the would-be living room occupied by some stacks of boxes. Apart from the couch and mattresses, almost everything else needed to be unpacked and organised.

You placed the toiletries on the nearest counter and made a beeline for the couch. On your way, you patted her back and replied. 

“Yep. Just let me take five, and then we can open ‘em up.”

You face-planted on the couch with a groan, which then turned to a sigh not a second later. Those boxes took more from you than you’d anticipated, making the stiffness of the couch feel as soft as clouds to your bones. 

The strain from your eyes began to dissipate the moment your eyes fluttered shut, and you could feel the peace that awaited you in that velvet darkness when you were ripped back to wakefulness the moment a warm, crushing weight pressed onto your spine. 

Alexia had taken it upon herself to drape herself over you like you were the couch itself. 

“What—Alexia!” You yelped, “Get off me!” 

But of course, she did the exact opposite.

“Why? I was just getting comfortable,” Alexia deadpanned. 

She shifted on your back and she at least had the decency to prevent her elbows from digging into your back as she did. The next thing you knew, her front followed the curve of your back, blanketing you in her warmth, while her arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

Your heart thundered in your chest and you tried not to think too hard about it so you snorted out, “I hope you’re comfortable.”

“Since you asked, yes. I very much am, thank you.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

“I carried those boxes for you.” 

“You didn’t have to if you didn’t make me drop the toiletries.”

“I told you to tape up the box, but you didn’t listen to me, so whose fault is it exactly?”

You rolled your eyes. She was right, but you weren’t about to tell her that. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly right, yes.”

See? You didn’t have to tell her. 

You scoffed, “Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because you love me,” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone that made your heart jump. “Now shush. Let’s nap for a bit and then unpack.”

Alexia yawned, snuggling closer into you. If she heard the way your heart pounded, she didn’t comment on it. As you drifted into a warm slumber, there was weight that pressed against your chest—a realization of some sort—but about what, you didn’t know. 

Only after you woke to find Alexia had unpacked the boxes containing essential items and ordered a bag-full of takeaways; only after the both of you finished dining on paper plates, crossed-legged on the tiled, living room floor, laughing with your mouths full when Alexia made a mess of her food because of her inability to use chopsticks; only after Alexia found her Polaroid camera and took photos of the two of you, her arm slung casually over your shoulder, her lips pressed against your cheek. Then, and only then, did you recognise what that weight was for what it was. 

You knew then: you were utterly and irrevocably gone.

You were in love.

And you could only pray that the heat from your cheeks wouldn’t sell you out. 

[5]

With all the changes that came with moving shelters and clubs, there was no time to think about home. Between getting used to your new club schedules, being acquainted with your new coaches and teammates, and familiarising yourself with the local area, your mind had no energy left to ruminate by the end of the day. And the difference between staying over at Alexia’s—or vice versa—for a few nights and living under the same roof together for the foreseeable future became increasingly obvious as you settled in your apartment in Buñol. 

It was all new but the both of you managed and even somehow established a sort of routine. While you did most of the cooking and half of the cleaning, Alexia did the groceries and, thanks to her natural affinity for the sun—her words, not yours—she insisted on doing the laundry. You teased her about it but more often than not, her weather predictions proved accurate to the forecast, saving the both of you the trouble of dealing with damp clothes. 

But as routine fell into place, so did the yearning for home.

The thing about missing home was that it brought on a different kind of longing. It was the kind that burrowed deep, the kind that dug a gaping hole in your chest and left you at a loss for how to fill it. It provoked the desire to turn back the hands of time, live in a memory, and step back into a moment already gone by. 

Yes, there was a sense of freedom that came with living apart from your family, and sure the distance between Buñol and Mollet was only a three-hour drive or a five-hour train ride away. All of those things are true, but you’d be lying if you said being away from home didn’t feel heavy. 

No more was the comforting presence of your parents at hand nor the jovial company of Alexia’s family nearby; it was just you and Alexia.

And the world never felt bigger than it was now. 

You were lucky, though, to have Alexia with you. She was a piece of home that you took with you, and just having her by your side helped ease the ache somehow. But you have to admit, living with her brought on a different kind of pain. 

Ever since you realized just how deep your feelings for her ran, being around her had only gotten more difficult. Everything and everywhere reminded you of her, and everything she did would send a jolt to your heart that left you breathless. Something as simple as her running her fingers through her hair, or a small smile; a brush against your cheek, a hand against the small of your back—you were sure you were this close to going mad.

The intensity and frequency of these… stutters had only seemed to increase by the day, and frankly, it was beginning to scare you. That, and the questions that had been nagging you lately.

What would Alexia do if she found out that you liked her way more than a friend should? That you liked women? Could Alexia like women? She probably didn’t. She would hate you for this, wouldn’t she? What about your parents? How would you even go about telling them? Would they still love you? What if—

The sound of the key being slotted into the lock, followed by the opening and closing of the door cut your thoughts short. And then came a soft sound, barely audible.

“Alexia?” 

You called out but there was no response so you padded over to the living room. Just before the end of the corridor a small movement caught your eye. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips even if you tried.

“What—”

The kitten mewled softly again, rubbing itself against the beige tone of the walls as it took you in with those large, yellow eyes. Its coat looked bright and pristine, nearly as white as the petals of the tree heath flowers that bloomed at home in spring. The same flowers that filled the garden of your home with their sweetness. 

“Hey, there. How did you get in here?” You cooed, crouching slowly, before you reached out your hand towards the kitten. It took a cautious step back but you waited patiently, keeping your hand where it was. A moment later, it seemed to have found the courage, stepping forward tentatively to sniff at your finger, before it licked your knuckle. Then it ducked down, nuzzling its head against your palm, its eyes closing from the contact. 

Warmth flooded your chest and you whispered, “Oh, you’re so adorable!”

“She’s yours.”

Your eyes flicked up to find Alexia leaning her weight against the wall, her arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side; her eyes lidded with something you couldn’t quite recognise but you felt their warmth. The soft smile on her lips made her face look radiant and beneath her gaze, you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your cheeks.

As an excuse to hide your face, you dipped down your chin to pick the kitten who only yawned in response. 

“Mine?” You asked as you stood up and walked over to where Alexia was, stopping just an arm’s length away.

Alexia only hummed in agreement, her smile still as soft as ever.

At that, you reached and draped your free arm around her neck, whispering against her ear, “Thank you.”

She moved, finally, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“You’re welcome.” Her words, murmured though as they were, curled through the smile you knew she still wore and made their home in your heart. 

“What are you going to name her?” Alexia asked.

“Nona.”

“Nona?”

You hummed in confirmation. You pulled away just enough to make space to look at Nona, and you tried hard not to focus too much on how Alexia had settled her hands on your hips. 

“Mamá, Papá, me” you began, putting up a digit on your free hand as you listed each one, “You, Alba, Eli, Jaume, Guille…”

“And Nona,” Alexia finished for you, smiling down at Nona. Alexia met your eyes again.

“Your family of nine?”

“Mine,” you nodded, “And yours, too.” 

Alexia beamed down at you but then she scrunched her nose. 

“Does Guille need to be there?”

“Alexia!” 

[6]

It was raining when Alexia told you.

On a damp Monday night, a few months following your move to Levante—after the both of you found an apartment in Buñol, and after that fateful day of realisation—she said something that changed everything. 

Throughout the day, you couldn’t help but notice how strange Alexia was behaving. She’d twisted and fiddled with the hem of her jersey during today’s practice enough that she’d torn a hole through one spot. She’d twirled that loose lock of her hair so many times that you’d already lost count, and on the drive home, more than once, sped through a yellow sign. Even now, she was silent beside you as she helped cook the meal for you two tonight when usually, she would have gone over what happened at practice twice at this point. 

And at the rate she was going, she’d end up gnawing off the skin of her lower lip. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and clean up first?” You said as casually as you could, taking both of your plates off the table and moving towards the sink.

Alexia eyed you. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked. You caught a sight of her over your shoulder, sitting up, more alert than a second ago. 

“No, nothing. Why do you ask that?”

A pregnant pause.

“Because you normally let me help with the dishes.”

You shrugged, turning back to the sink. “Seriously, Alexia. It’s nothing. You just look tired. Now go so I can shower. We can put on AHS after.”

Another pause and then finally, you heard the scrape of her chair against the tiles.

“Alright,” she mumbled before her footsteps receded.

Much later, when you’d finished cleaning up and showered, the two of you wounded up on the couch, wrapped in each other with an episode of American Horror Story playing in the background. Alexia’s head was tucked in the crook of your neck while you played with a loose lock of her hair when you finally asked her.

“Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been worrying about all day, or should I keep pretending that I haven’t noticed?” 

You kept your tone light, almost teasing, because you had a feeling that whatever Alexia was about to say had weight to it. And surely enough, as soon as the question had left your mouth did Alexia stiffen against you and her breathing stilled. It took her another moment to pull away, untangling herself from you, before she reclined against the couch. 

Without so much as looking at you, she countered, “Could you hate me?”

The question jarred you and you couldn’t help but frown in confusion. What kind of question was that? You looked at her—searching for answers as to why she would ask such a thing—but Alexia kept her eyes fixed to the TV while the flashing images made shadows play on the smooth neutrality of her forehead and cheeks. You found no answer, so you replied truthfully. 

“No. Disappointed maybe, but hate? I can’t think of anything that would make me hate you.”

At that, her shoulders curled forward, arms crossing over her chest, and her chin dipped down so low it almost looked uncomfortable. 

She said softly, “Just think about it.”

Silence settled—heavily. 

You gnawed your lip, turning over everything in your head, as you tried desperately to come up with something. But nothing.

“Honestly, Alexia, unless you killed someone, I really can’t think of anything else.”

“I—” Alexia started but a choke cut off the rest of it. 

The sound came out so suddenly that it seemed to reverberate, bouncing off the walls and resounded loud in your ears. You sat up, alert, fully facing Alexia who now had her hands over her face, shielding her eyes from your view. She drew in a breath, and what she released was something shaky. 

You’d never seen her like this before, and you’d faced more than a handful of adversities together. What could possibly be making her hurt like this? Your gut twisted at the sight of her and you were filled with an overwhelming urge to take her in your arms. Instead, you settled for a light touch to her knee.

“Alexia,” you began softly, “What is it?”

Under the shield of her hand, you saw her lips quiver. Then a tear ran down her chin.

You ached at the sight but you remained silent.

“I’m—” Her lips twisted to a grimace. “I—I don’t know how it happened I just—”

Another pause.

“I like women.”

For a moment, the air stilled; almost like a vacuum had swallowed up all sounds. And then something swelled: blood rushed into your ears, and, as if life had broken a shell, a flood washed over you, filling each and every bone; and it felt a lot like hope. 

The raw sob that escaped Alexia’s throat broke you from your epiphany. She must’ve misunderstood your silence because now, she’d curled even further into herself, palms digging into her sockets. You shook yourself, mentally scolding yourself for getting distracted, before you moved closer to her.

“Oh, Alexia.” She flinched away when she felt your arms around her but you only clung tighter. “Thank you, Alexia, for trusting me with this. I want you to know that you don’t have to hide from me, that this doesn’t change anything no matter how that voice in your head might tell you otherwise. You’re still Alexia, and I—I love you all the same. I don’t hate you, I promise, and I won’t. I’ll always be here.”

When you whispered those words into her ear, she finally sagged into your embrace, turning her head so it rested, again, in the crook of your neck where she released a sob. This time, it sounded more from relief than from grief. 

There, on the couch, you held her until she fell asleep. 

“You know,” you whispered in the dark, tucking a lock of Alexia’s hair behind her ear long after she’d fallen asleep. Alexia didn’t stir, and you continued to no one in particular, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And there with your whole world in your arms, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to hope.

[7]

When you were seven, just a few months before you met Alexia, an idea dawned on you. Sick and tired of the kid’s pool, with its small and, if you were being honest, slightly unkempt water, the large one next door offered freedom—a tantalizing concept for a child. You stood at one end of that pool and found a face of determination reflected back at you. You were going to do it; you would swim across the length of the pool and make it to the other side. 

And then, you jumped in.

It took about a minute or two before your muscles started burning, hardening to a cramp with every stroke, and yet the other side didn’t look any closer. That was when it sank in; the pool was far too large. There was a brief moment when you gasped for air and remembered to swim towards the nearest edge, just like your father taught you, but by that point it was already too late.

Water rushed into your nose and mouth, bringing stinging hopelessness in their wake, clogging your throat with a muffling silence that stifled your scream.

Your father barely caught you in time.

Yes, you remembered all too well that burn in your lungs. 

If that pool was a frozen lake, what would drowning feel like? 

In Barcelona, the lakes never froze in winter. Even the westerly winds that brought the Atlantic squalls slithering under each door in the city in cold February weren’t enough to make the chill settle in. The only time your bones truly felt the bitter meaning of winter was when you’d gone to Norway to attend a relative’s funeral, and the occasion did nothing to lessen the cold. It was also the first time you’d ever stepped foot on ice, and the fear that lanced through you at the sound of the first crack—seemingly almost like a thunder out of the blue—left you rooted to the spot, fearful that a breath could put you under.

Waiting for death felt just like that; like walking on a slate of ice. 

And the aftermath? 

A drowning of a different kind.

Every phone call was a step on that thin slate of ice; every step a space closer to certainty, each one a crack on that fragile surface, another moment closer to a falling in. The thing was, death was as true as the ice giving way but no matter how inevitable the end may be, or how slow the unfurling of that mortal coil may seem, the force of the fall was no less devastating. The ice would shatter and there would be a split-second when you’d feel suspended, held by a single thread of hope for one last miracle—the only miracle that mattered—but there was no saving you from the freezing waters. 

And nobody ever told you about how quickly you would sink under; about how the cold would bite their way down to the bones while your blood sang that familiar rhythm of life, a bitter reminder of the clear division between past and present—the antecedent and the aftermath; and just how painful it would be to be stuck in-between remembering what once was and what could have been.

In that space, in that frigid depth, no amount of screaming nor air could prevent you from drowning. Without the arms of a father to save you, how could you not drown?

And the worst part?

There was no bottom to grief; you either float or sink in that frozen lake.

And Alexia sank. 

[8]

Days passed, weeks, then months; the world kept turning. Life demanded you to be present and compelled you to move forward like everyone else. And yet still, even after changing everything in its wake, grief lingered as it always did. 

There were still times when you’d catch Alexia turn from every mirror, eyes casted down almost out of fear of what she’d see. How could you look at your reflection when every bit of skin there held the reminders of what you’d lost? Every reminder brought with it a memory, and what were memories if not a mouth full of teeth? It was a mouth that took every opportunity to bare its teeth, to gnaw at that hole in your chest until the edges were raw again—like they never healed to begin with. Again and again, it bit; its teeth, painting themselves red.

But if anything could transcend time itself, it was the resilience of the human spirit. Even if her father was never far from her mind, Alexia pressed forward; now for two hearts instead of one. 

Winter ended finally, and the sun rose again. And when summer arrived, so did the news. 

“Llorens spoke with me today,” Alexia spoke over the running of the tap. You looked at her over your shoulder, she was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. She said the next part in a tone so soft that you barely caught it.

“He said… They asked me to rejoin Barça.”

Your eyes widened and it only took you a moment before you ran to her, wrapping your arms around Alexia’s neck, while Alexia returned the embrace by putting her arms around your waist. 

“Holy shit, Alexia! That’s amazing!” You practically screamed into her ear. Pulling away to look at her, you found pride shining in her eyes but for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, there was a weight that burdened the corners of her lips. You knew just how much this meant to her, getting back into Barça, and it worried you that she wasn’t celebrating like you’d expected her to.

You asked gently, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

At that, she sighed heavily, tightening her hold around your waist as she did. She gnawed at her lower lip, brows creasing.

“You haven’t heard anything from them?”

“No,” you admitted, ignoring the twinge in your chest. “It doesn’t matter, Alexia. This is your opportunity to go back. When are you due to leave?”

“I—I told them I’d get back to them tomorrow.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“What! Alexia, what’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Finally, you recognised what it was that was casting its familiar shadows in her eyes: worry. Although you were grateful that she was, it was completely unnecessary and borderline irrational. She shouldn’t throw away what she worked hard for because you couldn’t perform at the same level, and no way in hell would you let her feel bad for your own inadequacy. 

You took her face into your hands, looking into her eyes as you enunciated each word slowly.

“Alexia, listen to me. You will meet with Llorens first thing tomorrow, and you will put that pen to paper, do you hear me? And then you will leave Levante without me—” when she opened her mouth, as if to protest, you pressed a finger to her lips. “You will leave Levante without me, and you will play for Barça come this season. There are no ‘buts’ here, Alexia. You have to do this. You owe yourself that much.”

Alexia remained quiet but she looked at you with large eyes that made your heart ache the way it always did for her. 

And then, “What about you?”

“I will work twice as hard. And I will meet you there,” you whispered, losing yourself in the depth of her eyes. “I promise.”

Alexia nodded and slowly, a smile made its way onto her lips.

“You better.” She mumbled. Then she added playfully, “Now get your hands off of my face, you’ve made it all wet.”

You flashed her a devilish grin before you wiped one of your hands down her face. 

[9]

It wasn’t until a month after your first game with Barça that you saw Diana again. 

With her line of work, it was no surprise that she was an incredibly busy person. That meant her stays in Barcelona were brief enough that she couldn’t make it to any friendly hangouts the way your other friends’ partners could, only ever having the time for Alexia which was the most important thing. So when Alexia messaged the group chat last night that she and Diana would be lunching with you, Patri, Tori, and Mapi today, everyone received the news with barely hidden enthusiasm. 

And this was how you found yourself sitting at the head of the table with Patri sitting on the other end, Alexia and Diana to your left with Alexia’s arm draped casually over the back of Diana’s chair, while Mapi and Tori sat to your right. As you all waited for your food to arrive, you engaged in a light and friendly conversation. Mapi and Tori were a lethal duo when it came to jokes, almost having all of you keel over from laughter, causing the eyes of the other patrons in the restaurant to flit to your table, and you were sure you saw barely hidden amusement on the face of the waiter that served you. 

Lunch was going well—for your part especially—with all things considered. So you took this time to appreciate Alexia and Diana together just like this because you never got the chance to. And it was clear that the both of them made quite the pair; so beautiful that they almost looked untouchable. They kept their displays of affection sparse and yet the smallest of gestures held a thousand words. In Diana’s presence, Alexia seemed so happy and she had an air about her so light she was almost like the sun. 

You couldn’t help it, you smiled at the sight. Seeing Alexia like this was enough for you, and you knew this. She deserved this. If only Patri could stop eyeing you with worry, you could keep pretending that twinge in your chest didn’t exist. 

Everything was going well, but the universe—as it seemed to become accustomed to lately—was adamant to prove you wrong. Or, maybe you should’ve just crushed your feelings under foot once and for all. It was when the food arrived that things took a turn for the worse. 

When the last dish was delivered by the waiter, Tori, Patri, and Diana fell in a conversation. Mapi, you spied, was not so subtly texting someone beneath the table—Ingrid, you guessed, by the way her eyes shone and her nose crinkled in delight. Alexia on the other hand was left to fend for herself… against her food. 

After all this time, Alexia still couldn’t eat properly with chopsticks. It was definitely the bulkness of her hands that made her clumsy with the delicate tools; you’d told her as much before. You bit your tongue before you could tell her that again. Instead, you teased her.

“Are you playing with your food?”

Alexia glared at you but still, color rose to her cheeks as she grumbled. 

“Shut up. You know using these things is difficult for me.”

“Stop sulking. Besides, I already taught you before.” You rolled your eyes. Then you instructed, “Open your palm.”

She pouted but she did what you asked anyway.

“Your hands are too big so you have to hold them at the very end. Let the bottom one rest in the crook of your thumb, yes, that’s it. And hold the top like you’re writing with a pen. Loosen up a bit, you’re too tense.”

You adjusted the placement of the chopsticks slightly, “Just close your thumb over the sticks and move your—That’s it! You got it, you got it.”

With a triumphant smile, Alexia finally succeeded at her attempt to pick up her food. And when her smile curled over the food she put in her mouth, a warmth flooded the cavity of your chest. The sparkle in her eyes just then somehow made you feel like a teenager again. 

You didn’t know what it was that drew your attention to her, but your gaze flitted over to Diana. You weren’t sure what you expected; maybe that she was still talking with Patri or Tori… only she wasn’t. She was staring at you with a face set in a stoicism so neutral—her lips drawn to a careful line—that you had this unsettling feeling that she was everything but impassive. Her eyes betrayed her the most: they were sharp, barely narrowed, and there was an attentiveness in them that made you feel transparent—exposed—as if she could see right through you; as if she’d found something. 

A chill ran through you, and you shuddered internally.

Quickly, you averted your eyes back down to your meal. Developing an excessive interest in your food, you receded into yourself and tried to school your face to what you hope was impartial nonchalance. A little later when you finally felt brave enough to chance a look at Diana, you saw her talking to Patri and Tori again, laughing and smiling as if the moment between the two of you never happened.

You relaxed and you found breathing easy again. 

Maybe you were just being paranoid.

But really, you should’ve known better.

[10]

Time, with its infamous predisposition to fly, had snuck up on you. 

A blink of an eye found you stepping out of a plane in the middle of August and the next thing you knew, December only had days to breathe. Ending the year at the top of La Liga, together with your clean sheets, was nothing short of a relief. It was a testament to how you’ve integrated yourself with the team so far, but you knew enough that this shouldn’t call for complacency. In fact, it demanded the opposite; you needed to work harder especially with the match against Lyon looming closer in the horizon. 

For now though, rest was due. 

Most of your teammates had either flown themselves home or somewhere far warmer than Barcelona’s dropping temperature. For those who stayed, like you, you needed to find a way to amuse yourselves without freezing. Tonight, it seemed that the club was the unanimous choice: what better way to stay warm and have fun than to get drunk and dance? 

That was how you found yourself under flashing lights nursing your own glass while you watched the rest of your team get their freaks on from the bar. You knew Patri was already four shots down—you all had only been here an hour; Mapi and Ingrid were getting a little too cozy in a secluded corner, which you couldn’t fault them for since it was Ingrid’s last day in the city before she had to go home; Alexia had vanished with Diana to do who knew what, while Aitana and Ona were losing it on the dance floor. 

Aitana and Ona spotted you hanging out at the bar so they began to wave you over with enthusiasm. You shook your head at the display, smiling, and made to move off the counter you were leaning on when a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. But before you could turn to see who it was, a familiar voice pierced through the music. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Standing behind you was a woman; the stewardess that ushered you off your plane. Out of her work clothes and the dull setting of a plane, her beauty shone through untarnished. Gone was the sleek hairdo and instead, she’d opted to leave her hair down. Her short hair barely grazed her collarbones, you noted, and as you traced their outline, you found the piercing in her sternum glinting in silent invitation. She was wearing a simple black dress that revealed just enough of her chest to entice, the thin fabric of it accentuating the curves of her waist, and it stopped just halfway down the length of her thighs to reveal the intricate lines of floral tattoos on her side. 

Finally catching yourself, you tore your eyes away and found her gaze. What you found reflected in them was amusement and you tried to stop your cheeks from burning. 

As casually as you could, you said, “Oh, hey, it’s you. I… actually never caught your name.”

“Micah,” she replied, extending out a hand. You took it as you told her yours. She leaned on the bar, waved the bartender over who gave her the drink she asked for, and took a sip. Then she turned back to you. 

“You know, I never expected to see you again. And in a gay club, of all places.”

“Why not a gay club?” You asked with a small laugh.

She shrugged, one corner of her mouth quirking up almost sheepishly.

“I may have searched your name up after I met you. No history of relationships, just multiple pictures of you with the same guy. I thought he’s your boyfriend, so.”

“Is it a guy with curly hair?”

“Yeah.”

At that you let out another small laugh.

“That’s Guille, my best friend. He’s like a brother.”

“Oh.” Micah’s cheeks flushed. 

You gave her a grin, “Yeah. But just to clarify, I am, in fact, into women. Exclusively.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Micah’s demeanour shifted, eyes now smouldering. The change affected you in ways you didn’t anticipate and with your slight height over her, it became difficult to keep your eyes where they should be, especially when the silver glint of her piercing tempted your eyes downwards. But just as the alcohol had thinned your blood, your self-control frayed all the same; your eyes roamed down to her cleavage which you admired briefly, before you met her gaze again.

That seemed to be the signal Micah was looking for because she stepped into your space, her drink now sitting forgotten on the counter. She dragged her fingers up your arm, all the way to your exposed collarbone where she traced the skin there while she watched you with dark eyes, her plump lip between her teeth. 

You shivered; she was so close now that the heat of her body washed over you. 

“Really? Prove it, then.” Micah whispered, ghosting her lips over yours.

You leaned forward when she pulled back slightly, as if magnetized to her lips. Then you asked, “How?”

“Dance with me.”

She dragged you to the dancefloor and you let yourself be swept away in the sea of bodies moving to the same rhythm. And then the both of you danced, her body against yours, your hands tracing her outlines as you pulled her closer as she did the same to you. 

Time blurred into a singularity after that but it existed again when, at one point, Micah took your cheek into her palm to pull you down for a kiss. Her lips were searing hot when they branded yours that you couldn’t help but gasp and moan into them, a sound which Micah gladly swallowed. 

It had been a while since you’d been touched and you didn’t realise just how much you missed it: the skim of skin over skin, the languidness of your blood turning to molten rush; how you missed the deprivation of air from your lungs and the delicious ache that came with it. And how you missed touching another. Your hands sought the exposed skin of her back, relishing the softness beneath your palms as you settled them there, respectfully just above her ass, to pull her in, flushed to your body.

She sighed and she looped her arms around your neck; deeper, hotter.

And in the heat, you lost yourself. 

You couldn’t remember how the both of you made it to your apartment, only that she ended up on top of you, head between your legs as you gasped out her name in the dark. And when she braced herself against her elbow, her other hand working you over the edge once more, you couldn’t help but note how beautiful she was with her curtain of brown hair, her lips slightly parted, eyes shining in the dark.

And when you came on her fingers with her lips on yours, you had a nagging feeling that this felt a lot like when you were nineteen. 

[11]

Clutching your head, you tried to soothe the remnants of your hangover as you headed over the door. You squinted at the light that shone through when you opened it and when the blob in front of you assumed a semblance of familiarity, you croaked out a question.

“Alexia? What’re you doing here?”

“Wow, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” Alexia teased but when you glared at her, she finally answered your question. She lifted her hand and that was when you noticed what she was holding. “Got your jacket. You left it at the club last night.”

You blinked at her, eyes still squinted, and enunciated each word slowly. “You drove all the way here. To drop off my jacket.”

She nodded.

“And you couldn’t have waited until dinner tonight?”

“Nope. The jacket was of utmost priority, obviously. Second priority, of course, is to check that you haven’t dropped dead yet. Third, to make sure you show up at dinner on time.” Alexia stepped back and gave you a once-over. “And by the looks of it, you need more than just a check up.” 

“Fuck you.” 

At that, her brows only creased as she threw her head back to laugh. 

“Rough morning, huh?” 

“I’m glad you find my hangover amusing.” You grunted, turning to shuffle back into the kitchen to make the coffee you were about to prepare before a clown interrupted you. “Close the door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Okay, Grumpy.” Alexia said behind you and you heard the door close. A rustle of fabric, and then, “Go drink some water and maybe then you can actually hold a conversation.”

You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see your face. 

“Shut up. I’ve only been awake for an hour.” 

“Sure.” Alexia dragged out her answer like she believed what you just said—she didn’t.

You turned on the coffee machine and pressed the button for a double shot. The sound of whirring filled the air.

“You want some coffee?” You asked, looking at Alexia over your shoulder who you found was not-so-subtly craning her neck to look down the hall. When she saw you looking at her, Alexia flashed you a questioning look.

“Are we alone or… ?” Alexia trailed off but before she could finish the question, you nodded. She walked to the counter and picked an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Oh, okay, good. And no, thanks, I already had a shot before I left home this morning.” 

You returned to your coffee, placing the cup aside so you could prepare the milk. 

Beside you, you heard the running of the tap and then a rustling of clothes followed by a slight thump. From the corner of your eye, you spied Alexia leaning against the counter. 

You just finished pouring the milk into your cup when you heard Alexia hum before the unmistakable bite to the flesh of an apple. Lifting the cup, you took a sip and welcomed the bitterness of caffeine on your tongue. 

“You know,” Alexia started, “you never told me you liked women.”

You froze. 

The lingering euphoria from last night—along with the excitement from Micah’s proposal for a next time when she left early this morning—immediately vanished. There was something about the nonchalant way that Alexia got you; it cut you deep. And the wounds you thought were long healed now bled through their stitches. A dot of coffee stained the white countertop, followed by another, and before your cup slipped from your grip, you put it down and pressed your shaking hands flat on the countertop. 

“What?” Your tone was tame but you were everything but. Pressure rose in your veins because how dared she. How dared she.

“I’m not mad or anything, I’m just surprised that’s all.” Alexia laughed lightly but the sound grated at your ears. 

“Was that a recent development? Did you find that out in the States?” Then she continued with a bit of guilt seeping through her voice. “If you found out before you moved to Angel City, I hope I never made you feel as though you couldn’t share that with me. And if I did, then I’m—”

“Please, don’t insult me, Alexia.”

As if finally detecting the ice in your tone, you saw her head turn towards you from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to look at her. 

 “I’m not insulting you. It’s just–I’m a terrible friend for never seeing the signs and that I couldn’t be there for you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scoffed but it sounded more like a choked sob than anything. The world blurred before you and you watched as your tears mixed with the coffee stains on the counter. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Came Alexia’s concerned voice before you heard a rustling of clothes, and then the touch to your shoulder. The reaction of your body was visceral: you stumbled back as you slapped her hand away as if she’d burnt you.

“Don’t touch me!” Heat pricked around the skin where she’d touch you, and you felt as if something was crawling beneath. “Get out.”

“What?”

Finally, you looked her in the eye and the force of the movement made your tears fall. Alexia stood there frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide and brows knotted in horror. You couldn’t care less; looking at her hurt and you wanted her out of your apartment—now. 

“I said leave.”

Alexia ran a frustrated hand through her hair and she pleaded, “Tell me what I did!”

“Get out, Alexia!” 

She opened her mouth, stopped midway, and finally shook her head. With one last look at you, she turned for the door but before she stepped out, she turned back to you. She sighed then said in a small voice.

“I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry anyway. I… I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, the door closed. At the click of the lock, you slid down to the floor; your back against the surface of the cabinets with Alexia’s half-eaten apple by your feet. 

She really did forget, didn’t she? And you were the only one who remembered because between the two of you, it was only you who cared enough to latch onto the memory. She didn’t care, and you doubted she ever did to begin with. Why did you think otherwise? Why?

Your face fell into your hands, and you sobbed. 

Stupid.

You were so fucking stupid. 

[posts-from-pluto]

Humans are strange - willing hosts? (pets)

(This is just me exploring the idea of how it would go if someone requested permission to get a dog) (ft no names again bc I can't be bothered rn)

Edit: upon rereading this in the morning I've realized that the idea was floating around my head bc the post I reblogged before this so credit for inspo to them

----

Alien: Human.

Human: Yes?

Alien: Why have you requested permission to obtain a parasite?

Human: ....I haven't????

Alien: Ooh have I perhaps been mistaken? You were not the one who requested a small lifeform of the Canis lupus familiaris classification from your home planet be brought aboard?

Human: ....What's the common name for that classification?

Alien: Domestic dog

Human: Wait yeah that was me then... but they're not parasites?

Alien: There is no need to lie to me human for I have done the research.

Alien: You poor creatures have been subjected to harrasment from these lifeforms occupying your homes for far too long and I have been lead to understand that your species does not benefit from them.

Human: .... no wait we do benefit

Alien: Some of you do, having the creatures assist you with minute tasks, but the majority those who are being subjected to their exist are in parasitic relationships simply providing them with food and housing.

Human:.... Actually they do provide a essential service to all the people housing them.

Alien: And what is that???

Human: They make us happy

Alien:.... Is this the stockhold symdrome I have heard of?

Human: What no

Human: where did you even hear about that haha

Alien: That is unimportant. What is important is that you are safe here human, there is no need to return to a parasitic relationship.

Human: No I was being serious about them making us happy

Human: well, to explain it better they generally help us be more emotionally stable which is positive for our mental health

Alien: Oh I see, I will have to ensure that no occupants aboard the ship would be harmed by sharing the space with a 'dog' first, but I may approve your request then.

[snail-noodle]

eternal sugar cookie x reader

"what has you lost in thought?"

eternal sugar cookie observed you as she played a gentle melody on her harp. she layed next to where you sat, her large wings provided you shade from the sun that was set high amongst her eternal paradise.

you had been separated from hollyberry cookie the moment you had reached eternal sugar cookie's territory. you had foolishly followed the sound of a sweet melody in the distance, unaware that your path would lead you right to the arms of the slothful beast.

from what hollyberry cookie had been told about the beast cookies in pure vanilla cookie's letter, the beast cookies were dangerous and ruthless beings. they would show no mercy to gain back the other half of their soul jam.

your queen had warned you to stick close, but that sweet melody was too hard to ignore. now here you were, in front of the beast of sloth.

you were expecting mockery to slip from her mouth, for blindly following what was clearly a trap set for you. you even expected to be captured as a way to lure hollyberry cookie towards her.

what you weren't expecting was for eternal sugar cookie to welcome you with open arms to her paradise. a table full of sweet desserts and rare fruits awaited you as she beckoned you forward.

and you did.

you weren't sure how many days have passed since you separated yourself from hollyberry cookie. eternal sugar cookie and her loyal subjects would find every opportunity to distract you from thinking about her.

you didn't go a day without eating a good meal, eternal sugar cookie would always have the time to play you sweet melodies and sing her heart out, and your sleep would be filled with nothing but pleasant dreams and honey-coated whispers.

and now here you were, sitting next to the beast as you watched her servants attending her garden or talking amongst eachother. you couldn't help but mull over hollyberry cookie. the guilt of having left her behind gnawed your mind and heart.

"what has you lost in thought?"

eternal sugar cookie's sweet voice broke you from your thoughts. you looked at her, her eyes were full of warmth and curiosity. you hesitated to ask her, but your guilty conscience ended up winning.

"where is hollyberry cookie?"

silence.

a chill ran down your dough as the garden and its many colors turned dull. the servants amongst you had grown still as stone, their eyes locked unto you, but their faces showed no emotion.

even the sun itself seemed to have lost its' warmth.

what unsettled you the most was eternal sugar cookie's face. the gentle smile she once held had turned to a frigid frown. her eyes, once full of warmth, were now as cold as ice.

"do not bother thinking about her. she's exactly where she needs to be."

and just like that, her warm smile returned, continuing on playing that gentle melody. the garden's vibrant colors returned and the servants continued on as if nothing had happened.

you were the only one who remained the same.

you stared wide-eyed at her with terror, despite the colorful atmosphere. before, you felt content in her blissful paradise, but now?

now you felt nothing but dread.

the beast lazily looked at you, her smile growing just a bit. "come now, my dear, there's far more pleasant things to think about than that silly, little thief."

she put aside her harp to stretch, her wings spreading out at the action. a yawn escaped her as she started to grow drowsy. without wasting a moment, she stood up and summoned one of her fluffy clouds.

you knew what was about to happen. this has become a routine ever since you were placed by her side. you couldn't utter a word as you found yourself being picked up bridal style as she placed you upon her cloud.

the two of layed together as the cloud slowly rose, the voices of her servants slowly becoming distant until there was nothing but silence.

her wings had wrapped around you as she started to doze off into her usual slumber. the wings that once felt warm and soft to you now felt like a cold cage. the unease within you refused to leave, even as she slept peacefully next to you.

you had to get out.

you need to find hollyberry cookie.

your mind raced with ideas on how to leave this dreadful paradise that you had fallen into. you couldn't stay here while your queen is in danger.

fear started to claw and tear at your heart.

how can a prey escape the jaws of a beast?

[solmire]

Overworking yourself for a dream job wasn’t unfamiliar to you, and especially to your bf!Sukuna.

Nowadays, late nights you spend among stacks of books, trying to memorise everything for your upcoming exam, but it more feels like wasting your time because a terrible headache cannot give you any mercy.

Anxiety keeps creeping up on you, always staying right behind you, making you suffer insomnia without any help to study and comprehend information.

Sukuna is too tired to see you like that.

“You do this every day and I can’t see any type of improvement in your knowledge.” He grumbles while sitting next to your right. He can see how your eyelids are trying to not to close and your head keeps moving in every direction just to feel some relief. Bags under your eyes are darker, hands are too shake to hold pen still and he just takes it from you.

“You know, you are not preventing dementia by fooling around with your health. You are probably gonna die earlier than hitting your middle thirties with that lifestyle.” At that point, a sneer is the only expression he can manage to show. But under all that babble you can notice the way his hand is reaching for you, squeezing your thigh in supportive manner, showing that you are not alone here, he is always by your side.

“Do you even know how to support your partner, kuna? Last time when I checked you were the one not sleeping for some stupid game.” The memory of him staying up for almost 3 days in a row just to beat Gojo and Toji in a game still lingers right in front of your eyes. Especially how he made you sleep with him for 15 hours in a row after that. He lost to Gojo but he would never admit that the asshole has managed to do it.

“And what? I can do that, but you do not have the right to do that too.” He stands from his sit and tugs your arm in direction of bedroom. “Stand up, playtime’s over, right now you need to go to sleep.”

You lost all your ability to go against him, and the way he puts his arm in your back and starts rubbing cyrcles also leaves you without any choice.

“Kuna, do you know that I am not a child and I can do what I want?”

“Stop saying bullshit. Just go to bed and shut your mouth.” His voice is too heavy in a room, but you find comfort in it. He knows you might have a terribly headache right now and if he starts to speak in his comfortable volume it will only leave you to suffer and not having sleep at all.

He helps you to get under the blanket, the hand that was patting your back now slowly massaging your head and temples, lips are leaving soft kisses all around your face. “Kuna, I want to be a big spoon tonight.”

The man doesn’t give you the answer right away. Sukuna walks around the bed and lies down to his side. Still without any word he turns his back on you.

“I told you to shut up.” He says and lets you to hug him from behind.

You are not ashamed of a smile that creeps on your face. Be leaving small kisses on his back and squeezing his muscles you are trying to show the love you feel for him.

“Kuna, I love you.” It was the last thing you mumbled before falling asleep.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He says and lifts one of your hands to kiss the palm and to hold it tightly so you will never leave him.

[lon3rlife]

Dating Rick Sanchez Headcanons

Mostly fluff. I’m going to ramble a lot because I love him sm

He’s extremely overprotective and would do absolutely ANYTHING to keep you safe, even if it means putting his own life on the line.

He comes and goes to your house as he pleases. You’ll come home to see him on your couch or stealing your food. He’ll also portal to your house in the middle of the night and get into bed with you without saying anything.

He’s not huge on pda, he’ll have an arm around you on the couch when you guys watch tv with the family and will hold your hand and give you a reassuring squeeze when you get anxious, but he won’t hesitate to get extremely touchy if someone is looking at you wrong.

In private though he’s a hugeee softie and will never let anyone know. If you’re working on something or cooking something in the kitchen he’ll come behind you and hug you from behind (you usually don’t even know he’s there and he scares the living shit out of you). He loves when you lay on his chest while he plays with your hair until you fall asleep, and in bed he’ll pretty much melt into you holding you tightly.

He loves your hair so much. If you’re brushing it he’ll stand there admiring you, and he just loves tangling his hands through and and playing with it while you guys cuddle.

You guys always get into the dumbest fights like if pancakes are better than waffles or that he needs to do dishes if he comes to your house and eats your food without cleaning up. They leave you frustrated and Rick pouting like a child for a few hours until you guys kiss and make up.

I think this is canon but he’s actually a really good cook. Once a week you guys make it a habit to cook a homemade meal together to get a short break from the stress of everything and spend quality time together.

If you leave for a trip for work or with friends he will be EXTREMELY clingy the days leading up to the trip because you guys spend so much time together he doesn’t know what to do with himself when your gone. (He ends up portaling to your hotel at night because he isn’t able to sleep without you)

Kisses you anywhere. On your lips, your forehead, your neck, chest, arms, you name it.

He’s definitely a bad influence 100%. He will get crazy alien drugs and take them with you, he won’t force them on you but if you don’t want to take them he’ll be like “come on baby you’re missing out don’t be lameee.” He will also take you to parties on different planets just to get completely shitfaced.

Even though he’s a night owl and stays awake most nights, his favorite time of day is the morning. He loves the intimacy of laying with you just talking about anything without any specific plans for the day, the sun hitting your face just right still sleepy and you playing with his fingers is the most special time for him.

PETNAMES 1000%. He will use the most obnoxious ones as well, usually he’ll call you baby, sugar, honey, or a shortened version of your name.

You get along very well with the Smith family, especially Morty which makes Rick sooo happy. Also you help Morty with his homework because Rick sure as hell doesn’t, and Morty looks up to you so much and trusts you enough that he’ll talk to you about anything he needs to get off his chest.

Omfg writing these are sooooooo much fun if anyone wants me to write more I will cause I have so many more but it’s like 1am and I’m tired

[why-am-i-simping-for-a-train]

Things in The Lost Boys novelization that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I read it.

First of all Marko’s name is spelled Marco the whole book. I have zero clue why.

The officer that kicked them off the boardwalk at the beginning has two children and failed police schoool.

He also wishes the boardwalk would give him a gun so he can shoot at the gangs to scare them off

One of the reasons Micheal hates the move to Santa Carla is because he was in the beginnings of a relationship back in Arizona

Lucy ran away from home when she was a teenager and hichhiked all the way to the Golden Gate park where she spent the night.

Micheals father and Grandpa got into a fistfight at his grandmothers gravesite during her funeral

Dwanye likes to skateboard and is really good at it

Micheal thinks that he is hallucinating his rice and noodles as maggots and worms because he ‘smoked too much weed’ (Now i’m no marujania expert but I’m pretty sure that’s not how weed works, sir)

Sam tries to smoke weed by rolling up a single leaf, not by rolling a leaf into a blunt, just lighting a leaf on fire basically

There’s a scene where Nanook won’t stop licking Micheals feet because they’re covered in salt for some reason???

One night after Lucy gets off of work the Lost Boys corner harass her until Max steps in to save her (this is actually a deleted scene that you can find on youtube)

Star used to live in an abusive home before she ran away to Santa Carla where David found her sleeping on the beach.

At one point, Micheal tries to take a shower, but the running water feels “boiling hot” and causes rashes to appear on his skin (it’s an old myth that vampires can’t cross running water) this is only one of a few things that I use to back up my headcanon that the lost boys smell like dog shit

Micheal eats a rat

According to Star, Dwayne is “A bit awkward” (socially inept Dwyane save me).

Paul is the newest vampire in the group and because of that Star assumes he still remembers what its like to be human, and because of that he tries to cheer her up when she is upset.

When Marko dies black sludge strats to come out of his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth and his body rapidly decomposes turning into a “mound of clothes and decomposing flesh”

When all The Lost Boys are dying in the house Star can hear them all dying from the upstairs room and it greatly upsets her. Omg it’s honestly such a sad moment because she realizes that if they don’t die she and Laddie will be stuck with them literally forever but she’s still kinda close to them and hearing them die is traumatic. Dear god someone get that woman a quiet life and a ton of therapy.

[aspenous]

As an absolute sucker for A/B/O Au's I love the idea of Kim Suho getting thrown into that kind of verse.

Imagine living your life, dying (?) And waking up to the concept of alpha, beta & omegas being the norm???

Plus the number of changes he'd have to deal with in his new body (omega!Lloyd hc).

This naturally brings only trouble for Javier (ノ^o^)ノ

It turned into a ramble more than anything tbh. Don't mind that <3 if there's anything plot vise I forgot/overlooked thru this it's cause my memory is A s s)

Javier POV lowkey:

Lloyd couldn't get any weirder. To add onto his sudden change in demeanor, he'd begun to get reckless with his scent as well. A scent similar to a Clementine or Tangerine that wafts in waves whenever Lloyd is particularly pleased with himself or got his way with another contract. Its a sharp contrast to the smell of booze everyone was used to, and it more often than not left a few townsmen sputtering when they spoke with him. Javier was left to deal with this change too, except he was beside his master 24/7. When that scent would hit him full force every morning, leave his nose twitching when Lloyd gets into the rhythms of his new work and when it calms into something comforting around noon; when the days almost gone and Lloyd decides to rest.

Javier first chokes up this lack of scent control to Lloyd's cold turkey sobriety. But it's been weeks now. Almost two months and Lloyd still hasn't tried to restrain his scent. Worse, others seem to be picking up on it as well. Loitering around the young master when they get the chance, chatting it up now that Lloyd wasn't defaulting to throwing chairs and yelling. Lloyd himself doesn't seem to enjoy it either; after a few minutes of chatter his lip would start to twitch and that scent of Tangerine (it was definitely closer to tangerines than clementines) would sour. Javier learns to take that as close enough a hint to pry his master away from the crowd, spill a white lie about how he's needed elsewhere and get Lloyd some air. He tries not to be pleased about how Lloyd visibly relaxes when it's just the two of them.

"Master Lloyd–" Javier is at his wits end. He's a patient man. Strong willed and resilient when it comes to most obstacles. His Master however? His loud , arragont, obnoxious at times master being this stupid? Javier is a patient man but he's a man nonetheless. A Knight who's had to deal with his masters turbulent scent that just doesn't want to leave him alone. And worse, Lloyd turns back to him with a genuine look of confusion (as genuine as it can be). Javier ends up questioning his master through a locked face and Lloyd in response looks bewildered. "The drinking must have hit me worse than I thought" is all he gets. Javier refuses the sleeping spell that night, throws a hand over his masters mouth before he can get a word in and declares to help him control his scent again. From then on they spend an hour every night before bed going through the motions, and Lloyd (after months) finally learns to control his own scent. Javier sighs in relief, and tries not to think about how he misses that familiar tangerine scent.

Master Lloyd seems to loose his filter as well. Not when around the staff, count or contracted men he's hired no. Only when it's just the two of them, in a moment of what Javier could've hoped was peace before his master opens his mouth. "You smell like mint." he says unabashed. "I'm safe when you're here aren't I?" He laughs with no shame. "I trust you." He declares. Javier understands this is comradery of some kind. A trust and faith in him that no one else has given him before. His master is far too good at feeding that quiet voice in the back of his mind, and Javier let's him. (Alpha instincts have low standards lmao)

It's after they get back to the estate that Lloyd gets his heat. It's not hard to notice. He asks for seconds during meals, sleeps late into the mornings, speaks more with his summons than with anyone outside the estate and avoids half the staff like the plague. It's rather obvious when that overripe scent of tangerine clings to his skin and his expressions screams dazed more than anything. The count had noticed, Javier had as well, but Lloyd hadn't. Despite being days into Pre-heat, his master still drags himself out of bed and goes about the motions, despite how miserable he looks. It ends up being Javier's job (once again) to pull him aside and question him. "My what-" is all he gets before Javier realizes he has more on his plate than he expected.

(+I like to think heats can be sexual and non-sexual given the circumstances!)

His pillow is missing. Javier turns his room inside out and still can't find it. He assumes he'd left it where he last slept; Lloyd's room. When he enters said room however, he doubts he would've found it if he tried. The beds drowned in pillows and blankets. The summons are jumping around in their own world until they notice Javier and greet him with small chirps and sounds. Javier ends up smelling Lloyd coming before the door opens. Sweet Tangerine and hints of earth that hit him when the door opens. He finds his pillow then, tucked under his masters arm as if it belonged there. Javier blanks out for a moment. "Ah Javier! Great timing. I was just looking for you." Lloyd smiles. Something often quiet in Javier's gut comes to life then and there. He doesn't end up on the chair that night. Lloyd doesn't let him. Spouts nonsense about how the chair isn't comfortable and how important sleeping positions are and only shuts up when Javier relents. He ends up in Lloyd's nest, the only barrier between him and the other being his own damned pillow. He falls asleep without the sleeping spell that night.

That's it for now? That's a lie my brains rattling with more HCs but I should stop here lmao. If people like this word vomit I'll make a part 2.

[rick-on-the-run]

for library rick: do you read to your grandchildren? what sort of stories do they like?

Warning: Library Rick likes to yap...

[nabaath-areng]

" What a pitiful child... so thoroughly trained in the art of curse breaking, yet not once has your teacher taught you however you shall break your own. Did she ever tell you why? Has she ever allowed you ask the questions you have, rather than coldly shut you down for being nosy? Wouldn't you like to know why you were born like this? Why you consume that which corrupts others without harm to yourself? Wouldn't you like to know why those beyond the rift are so heedful to your call? Wouldn't you like to know how much your teacher has kept from you? And lastly, perhaps most importantly, Wouldn't you like to know about me? The sun is rising, and so I shall bid you farewell for now. Whether you will remember our meeting upon waking up or not, it matters very little, for as surely as you are alive and air flows through your lungs, I would never lose sight of you. "

[esosage]

I need a stobotnik fic where robotniks called to HR for "fraternizing" with his assistant. Because naturally, robotnik would be confused about it, because he and stone arnt dateing. But then HR come at him with an itemised list of all the freak shit he's done with stone, and i mean ALL of it. So while he does proves he and stone arnt fraternizing, haveing everything him and stone have done laid out like that, he cant help but wonder if he and stone ARE dateing. Or at least have feeling for one another.

Initially he dissmises the thought, blocking it out due to being a stubborn basterd who's terrified of the thought of being able to care for another person in the first placre. But then it starts to keep him up at night. Then he begins to notice the patterns when going throughout his day with stone. How much he relies on the other, how close they are.

Everything that he did mindlessly before: pinning stone to walls, sticking his fingers into stones mouth, putting a tracker watch on stone, how much he touches stone compared to other people, the innate trust he puts in stone every time he drinks one of his coffee's, he now notices it ALL. His brain takeing note of it, and graphing it all with horrible accuracy. And of course robotnik hates it, and tries to go back to the way things were before, but, he cant. He cant stop noticing it now that its been brought to his attention, and its eating him up alive.

So he begins to avoid stone in a vain attempt to stop whatevers going on with him. He doesnt pin stone up to walls anymore, he doesnt call stone in for late night at the lab anymore, he doesnt jab him in the gut anymore, hell he doesnt call stone in for latte's anymore. But to his horror, it makes whatevers happening to him worse. Every soft touch, every adoreing look, it makes him squirm. It makes his gut flutter with a feeling he isnt framilar with and terrifies him.

So he doubles down, going out of his way to push stone away, to get his agent to leave him so that whatever this feeling is will leave him aswell. And yet stone stays, refuses to go until robotnik says resolutely that robotnik says he doesnt want him anymore. And when robotnik does, stone leaves.

And thats what robotniks enemies had been waiting for. Because of him pushing away stone, it creates an opening for anyone who wants to get their hands on him. And so they take it. They shut down his badniks, tie him up, and hull him off to god knows where.

And robotnik begins to genuinlly regret pushing stone away. Of course, he had already regreted it the moment stone had left the lab, the moment he called for stone only for his assistant to never come, but now he's going to die alone and thats more painfull than anything else. Sure, he was content to die alone before, but its hard to have a taste of heaven and want to go back.

Thankfully for him though, he isnt going to die alone, as stone comes back to save him. And seeing stone do so warms something in robotniks cold heart. Because it confirm to him that stone really does care for him, that he likes him enough to put his life on the line for robotnik, and even if ivo has a hard time saying it outloud, that means the world to him.

Additionally, it also makes him unable to deny that stone cares about him. Like sure, stone had shown it before, but ivo was to enwrapped in his own self hatred to notice, too scared to admit that maybe he can be loves, and what that sentiment might imply about his life leading up to now, to ever do anything but dissmiss it. But now he cant dissmiss it, he cant ignore it, he is forced to admit that stone cares about him and that he cares about stone back. And that he hurt the only person who cares about him.. the only person who gave enough of a shit about him to actually look for him when he went missing. The only person who, despite not needing to anymore, went to save him not because he wanted his inteligence or his stature, but because he wanted him... because he wants and cares for ivo. And so its safe to say robotnik starts to feel very guilty about how he treated stone, if he hadnt before.

Oh and he also begins to let himself admit that he may have a slight attraction to stone, because god, watching his scyophant bash his enemies skulls open before carrying him out bridal style does something to him.

What?! He may be a geuise, but he's still a, ugh, PERSON at the end of the day. So as much as he hates to admit it, he has his own weaknesses. And one of them just so happens to be stone manhandling him around while soaked in their enemies blood.

Anyhow, i'd imagine when stone drops robotnik off at the lab and goes to leave again, is when ivo gives him an apology. Of course, its not a good one since this is probobly the firsr apology he's ever given out ever, but the fact that he's giving one out at all is what matters to stone. And so they make up, and stone stays. (Maybe even kiss, not sure. Ivo already had to admit that he cares about someone, and that someone is capable about careing about him, which is already big for him. He might not be ready for the kissing step yet.)

Not sure if they would date after that, but ivo would deffinetly be a lot more open to concider that he might have feelings for stone. So cue a million "how to know if i am in love" google searches, and quizes. Maybe in a fit of desperation he even vaugly asks walters after announceing his un-kidnapping to the old man too, since walters is like, the only person ivo kinda knows enough to feel comfortable asking that. He would still try to make it vauge enough that walters wouldnt suspect that its about himself, or that he might have feelings twards stone.. but, lets be honest, walters reads this man like a book, he knows exactly whats going on.

After a bit of robotnik figureing himself out, i'd imagine him and stone would start dateing. Of course, robotnik would have a time figureing out how to confess. Probobly cycling through and scrapping MANY ideas before he lands on one he's comfortable with. But even then he's still akward as hell trying to go through with it. Talking about emotioms isnt his strong suit, so neither is confessing, thankfully though, atone was thinking of confessing at the same time so ivos burden is lightened. He still cant say "i love you" yet, though he manages to get the message across regardless.

After that, theyre relationship would progress slowly, after all big changes are scary to ivo, aswell as emotional intamacy, but they manage. Getting their way through with light hand holding, gentle touches, and maybe even a forehead kiss or two if theyre lucky.

So yeah, thats all i have, feel free to pitch in any ideas if you want to though.

Also, sorry this is so long, i meant to make this breif but the ideas kept flowing as i wrote lol.

[teaandcheckmates]

Percy lets out a sound that might once have been a syllable and now more closely resembles a slow-motion wheeze. Something between “oh no” and “my spleen,” but with the rich timbre of a man whose life is flashing before his eyes—and it’s all just failed attempts at social grace and dropped tea cups.

The moment Merry reaches down, he flinches—not away, but like a startled cat unsure whether to trust the offered hand or bite it. His fingers twitch feebly in Merry’s grasp.

Then— crack.

“OH MY GODS.”

It’s not a scream, not really. It’s too dignified for that. More like a horrified gasp with the velocity of someone trying very hard not to throw up or cry or both.

His face goes stark pale. Sweat dots his brow. And when Mourn steps in, when those cursed seven feet of elegance and terrible timing gently scoop him from the bush—

“Ghhhnh—okayokayokay—” he gasps through clenched teeth, face contorting somewhere between a wince and a panicked grimace. “I-I am definitely not made for this. This being physical contact. Or existing in three dimensions. Or being hoisted like a wilting bouquet of bones—GOTT IM HIMMEL—”

His whole body goes rigid, breath catching sharply in his throat like he’s just been unplugged from the wall. His legs dangle awkwardly. His good arm clamps down on his stomach, the bad one trembling and tucked at a disturbing angle.

But he doesn’t squirm. Instead—

He presses the back of his head against Mourn’s shoulder like he’s trying to disappear into it, and speaks in a tiny, breathless voice:

“…I’m so sorry.”

His chest rises and falls too fast. His lip trembles. There’s something deeply broken about the softness in his tone—not just from pain, but panic, like he’s about to spiral.

“I—I didn’t mean to make it a thing, I—I just got thrown, and then the bush, and then—” he swallows hard, breath hitching again “—and I tried to be helpful, I was just existing, and now my elbow’s facing backwards and everything’s gone to shit..UHH SWEAR WORD ANYWAYS- and—”

His good hand flails slightly in the air, searching for something to cling to for stability and emotional support—he catches a fistful of Mourn’s coat, which helps in neither of those departments but does stop him from having a full psychological collapse.

The cracked elbow dangles off to the side like some sort of poetic injustice, and Percy turns his face away from it in open horror, cheeks flushed pale.

“…I really am quite breakable, aren’t I,” he mutters, almost to himself, voice suddenly softer and strange.

There’s a tremble in it—not panic this time, but something else. A brittle sort of resignation. His legs have gone stiff; not with pain, but tension, like every nerve is bracing for something worse.

He blinks fast. He’s not crying. He’s just leaking slightly from the corners of his eyes.

“I swear I’m not usually this much of a disaster,” he adds quickly, voice pitched high and thin with embarrassment. “I mean, alright, I am, but usually not in public. Or with witnesses. Or in bushes.”

His head lolls slightly against Mourn’s shoulder, utterly defeated.

“…I was going to go to the library today,” he mumbles, and there’s genuine sorrow in it. “Now I’m going to the infirmary. Possibly the morgue. Or prison, depending on if the bush files a report.”

He sighs. It’s the sigh of someone who has finally accepted that the universe hates him specifically.

“Tell Dolly I don’t like needles,” he says, eyes closed now.

A beat.

“…And thank you,” he adds, after a moment. Quiet. Honest. “For pulling me out.”

*throws u out the window*

👋

There’s a moment of weightlessness. Just a flicker of sky overhead—blue and far too smug about it—before Percy hits the hedge below with all the grace of a Victorian tea tray hurled down a stairwell.

The impact is… spectacular. Bushes part like curtains at the opera. A single dove explodes from the branches in a dramatic flap of feathers, utterly traumatized. Somewhere, a lawn gnome loses its hat.

Then— A groan. Not dignified. Not even remotely human-sounding. More like a strangled “hhrghhnk—” followed by dead silence.

And then: "Welp." A dry, cracked wheeze of a voice from the crumpled mess of limbs among the hydrangeas.

"Fuck."

Percy stirs. A single arm flops upward at an angle that God never intended. He stares at it like it personally betrayed him.

"My arms turned the wrong way," he croaks, voice climbing wildly into a kind of unhinged sing-song. "That’s just dandy!! Fantastic!! Jolly good show!! Everything’s peachy keen in Dislocated Joint Land—"

He tries to sit up. Instantly regrets it.

"Ow—nope—fuck you, spine."

The curse comes out strangled, like it physically hurts him to say it. Which, maybe it does—Percy curses like someone raised in a museum. Even now, he winces faintly, like he’s expecting his grandmother’s ghost to materialize and scold him for blaspheming the Queen’s air.

A pause. One trembling hand claws through his hair, dislodging bits of leaf and possibly a bird feather. His breathing’s shaky now, rapid, like the panic is finally catching up to his body.

"Why is it always me?" He laughs—no, barks—dry and furious and too loud for how empty the garden is. "Why is it always me getting yeeted into shrubbery like some cursed garden gnome?! I have a degree, for god’s sake! I can recite Virgil from memory but apparently can’t exist in a straight line without being LAUNCHED—"

He punches the grass beside him. Immediately regrets that too. "OW—okay, okay, calm down, don’t pass out—"

He curls in slightly, breath hitching as the weight of it all drops back on his chest: the embarrassment, the useless limb, the fact that the bush is starting to smell like mildew. And underneath all that, something sharper—old fear, the kind that comes whispering when he’s not fast enough, smart enough, safe enough.

He bites down on the inside of his cheek hard—hard, until he tastes metal—and whispers low and fast through clenched teeth:

"I’m fine. I’m fine. I am going to kill them but I’m fine."

He lies back again, flat against the grass, eyes fixed on the sky now—wild curls spread out like a halo around his head, chest heaving.

[08-47]

i saw the terminal glow

okay,, merry late christmas whoops and goodnightt !! ALSO, thank you everybody for the insane reception on the first post!!, and also check out the donations/gfms on my main page for people in palestine/gaza who are in need! i cant donate, so spreading it around's the best i can do to help <3 ! donate if you can n share it around!

[bowandbrush]

sorry for patronizing you mutuals with my sudden avatar fixation!

having rewatched the series, I decided to check out the live action series out of curiosity (I jumped straight into the Kyoshi island episode, to see what the interaction between Sokka and suki was like. Yeah)

In the new series we have much more screen time with Suki and more story on her past, but it’s not written half as well as the original. I understand they’re trying to change some things up and erase sexist Sokka, but that was the entire point in the original story.

in the new version, Sokka just…stares a little and tries talking to her. Which is fine I guess. He’s impressed with her skill in fighting and devotion to being a warrior. It’s understandable, as he develops a bit of a crush after watching her in combat. Later discovering her training dojo, Suki just decides to train him. Out of nowhere. There are a fair amount of scenes and dialogue that insinuates she has a thing for him too, a lot. The entire training segment is just them standing close, tripping over each other, staring, etc. basically the same formula so many writers use to build tension between two characters.

It lacks substance. There isn’t much reason for them to like each other here. And for Pete’s sake, we don’t get to see Sokka wearing the traditional Kyoshi outfit!

In the original, Sokka saunters in with prideful arrogance, dismissing and underestimating the female warriors. Y’know, because they’re girls. This scene wasn’t being sexist, Sokka was. I still don’t understand why they erased this, because it was a very important character development.

When Sokka ‘demonstrates’ his combat skills, Suki sets him straight without a sweat. In humiliation, Sokka realizes how much how wrong he was about women and their strength. How disrespectful he was.

that gives him a reason to ask for training. For forgiveness, and to better himself. It’s also a great scene when we see Suki sharing her culture with him. Although she wouldn’t normally “train outsiders, much less boys”, she still gives him a second chance.

There is so much authenticity here. He grows to admire Suki as a fighter and as a person. For her kindness and forgiveness too, not just strength.

we can see Suki grow on Sokka, appreciating his unbreakable loyalty and bravery. As well as his silly demeanor. We all like funny guys!

It’s a really nice Strong and brave woman + smart and silly idiot duo, and I love it.

live action is just,,,watered down a lot. I don’t know what the live action series will do in the future. I don’t really care anyways. BUT what I really appreciate with Suki and Sokka is their vulnerability with each other.

nowadays, every “strong” girl is defined with outer works/action. That usually means no crying, no soft side, no fear. Especially if she’s in a relationship with a man. She has to be tougher than him. Because I guess vulnerable and defeated girls can’t be strong. At least, that’s the trope I see most often.

Suki is very strong, brave, and tough. But when the appropriate time comes, she lets herself be open and exposed. She can let her guard down and expose her inner pain, because she knows Sokka is there for her.

it’s perfectly normal and healthy for a man to be able fall apart in his girls’ arms. But I feel like that’s suppressed the other way around, because it displays weakness. And I guess we’re cancelling weakness in women now. Because of woke

[casualavocados]

I want you to tell me the truth in person, or I'll burn your mouth with chilies!

AI DI, our 小辣椒 (little chili padi)🌶️🎉 KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Bonus: Cayenne Auto Shop

[punchratt]

Nadia learning how to be a human being with human emotions again after her upright ending is something I wish we got to see so badly. We get to see bits of it during her route, with her crying again for the first time since she was nine, and going out to the field to scream, along with a few other examples. Still i wish we could have seen more!

I want moments like getting to bathe with her, this time without the stress of the fate of Vesuvia weighing on her shoulders. Same with getting to cuddle her in bed in the morning! Even the more sensual moments in the gazebo, the woods, or in the mirror maze (still pg tho, gotta keep the target demographic in mind lol). Experiences cut short because the world was potentially ending and there just isn’t time!

Her route feels so fast because there realistically isn’t any time to properly slow down and breathe for more then a minute, which to the games credit feels appropriate given the story. Still that doesn’t mean I don’t yearn for an expansion similar in style to the tales. In a perfect world where Nix Hydra are still in charge of the game I would have loved one or two companion tales to Lost in Prakra. One where we get to explore Nadia’s relationship with her family more, perhaps even getting into the details of why she left Prakra/married Lucio, and another where we get to see more about Nadia as a person. I loved the snippets we got from her route and tale, but they only left me wanting more lol-