#I'm so sorry for my grammar

[ladystardust147]

My Hocus Pocus 3 plot theories:

Major Traske will be the main villain because I think he really WAS the reverent who performed THE spell (he may have got from Mother Witch) to become immortal to spare Salem from witches forever. I think he just pretended to not know the sisters because he was shocked to see them alive. When he went back to the house he plans his revenge on the sisters.

He finds out that Becca, Izzy and his daughter Cassie are witches and is scared that they will be like the Sanderson Sisters. So he tries to find a spell in Book (which he stole) to destroy all magic. (Only the magic not the people but because the magic is a part of them, they cannot survive without it, what he doesn't know.)

Major Traske will probably kidnap Gilbert and forces him to make a new black flame candle. To bring back the Sisters as they are a part of the spell. Gilbert then tells him that there already is a second candle in his shop.

Cassie,of course, is shocked that her father was the one who banished the sisters from Salem and is probably over 300 y.o.

The Sanderson Sisters (who have been brought back) have to team up with Becca, Izzy and Cassie to stop Traske.

The major song for the movie performed by the sisters will be Heroes by David Bowie.

"We can be heroes, just for one day."

[tanpopomugishu]

So, yeah, I kinda made something.

I totally have @mrghostrat 's wonderful streamers au living in my head rent free for quite a while now... (@mrghostrat If you happen to see this post. Hi!!! I'm a big fan!) EDIT : Added the last page 😁

This is not based on any chapter of ATWS, and I have no idea where this sits on the timeline of the story 😂.

I just thought it would be cute to see Crowley sulking because of a bad streaming day or something and crash Aziraphale's stream for a cuddle.

Hope you enjoy this!

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter three

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warnings: coarse language, light angst

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

word count: 8.8k

[1]

Just before you turned thirteen your body, finally, began to change. 

While Alexia’d gone ahead of you a year prior—with her limbs now lanky and sinewy, and her muscles stretched close to the newly grown bones—you were left behind. She’d grown taller, yes; not by much but the two-inch difference (two and a half, as Alexia was always inclined to remind you) felt like a foot to you. So the change was welcome when it finally started, and more importantly, it happened to coincide with something that completely altered the trajectory of your life.

During the spring after your birthday, your father got a promotion at work. To celebrate this milestone, he took you and your mother for a trip around Europe. And as a gift for your hard work and for getting into La Masia with Alexia just a few months before, your parents surprised you with tickets to at least one game in the country, or area, you were visiting. 

In Gelsenkirchen, Germany, you found your destiny. 

Or at least that was how you liked to look at it. 

Before seeing the match between Schalke 04 against Stuttgart, the idea of keeping never entered your mind; you’d played forward your whole life, and you thought that would be the position you’d play in professionally. But as you saw Manuel Neuer controlling the outcome of the game with his hands, a spark ignited within you—this overwhelming surge—and right there and then, you were enlightened to the art of keeping. That spark returned home with you and, playing into the hands of fate, your journey to keeping began.

[2]

The crescendo of the cicadas’ song was this close to lulling you to sleep. It didn’t help that Alexia’d curled herself up beside you in your bed, her head on your lap while her math notebook laid forgotten at the foot of the bed, and her eyes already closed. It was a rare occurrence for the both of you and even more so for Alexia to ‘slack off’—if you were to put it as Alexia had—but this afternoon was a particularly hot one. Summer had practically bled into spring, and even someone like Alexia clearly wasn’t immune to its soporific effect. 

The numbers from the homework you were working on began to blur when you heard a knock downstairs. Out of curiosity or just surprise, you snapped awake. And so did Alexia, apparently.

“You expecting someone?” Alexia yawned, stretching out her long limbs before settling over to her other side. The movement made a lock of hair fall to her cheek which you brushed away with the back of your finger.

“No, it’s probably Mamá’s.” You hummed in answer, relaxing down on your pillow to finally chase that nap that continued to tempt you.

But then came your mother’s voice, “Guille! Hello, my boy! How are you?”

Alexia let out a startled yelp when you jumped out of the bed, now fully awake, tripping on the rug as you rushed into the closet. 

“What the hell? What are you doing?!” Alexia hissed with annoyance but you were too busy trying to get changed to address it. 

You snatched the closest pair of shorts and jersey shirt, and began to shed the ones you had on before you slipped the fresh ones on in quick succession. 

As you did, you began to explain, “I completely forgot! I was supposed to meet up with Guille today!”

When your head popped out of your shirt, you found a deep crease between Alexia’s brows. She was sitting in the middle of your bed, cross-legged, looking very much like a disgruntled cat woken from a nap with the way her hair stuck out in odd places. 

She looked adorable. 

You bit your tongue before you could say it.

Crossing her arms, Alexia retorted, “Why? It’s Saturday.” 

The tone she used made it seem that today being a Saturday was a valid enough reason for you to not go. 

“And it is because it’s Saturday—and no training, Alexia—that I can go with him.” 

At that, her frown only seemed to deepen. You had half a mind to tease her but you knew that’d probably just piss her off even more, although if you were being honest, you didn’t understand just why this seemed to bother Alexia so much.  So instead of teasing, you tried a placating tone, “You could come with if you want?”

Alexia opened her mouth, “I—”

Your mother’s shout cut through the air. 

“Honey? Guille is here for you!” 

You sent Alexia one last apologetic glance. 

“I’m really sorry! Please stay for dinner! I’ll be quick!” 

And with a quick hug goodbye, you rushed out of your room and practically flew down the stairs. At the bottom, you found Guille leaning against the bannister, hands in his short pockets, with a small rucksack on his back who, upon seeing you, gave you a bright smile.

“Hey! You look—” He began but then suddenly, his eyes darkened and the quirk of his lips turned upside down, his tone flattening, “Oh. You’re here.”

In the same second you noticed Alexia beside you, Alexia’d slung an arm over your shoulders.

“Lovely to see you as always, Guille. And I could say the same about you.” Alexia deadpanned, flashing Guille a smile full of teeth, her eyes void of any warmth as she stared at him down her nose. Then she turned to you, her face lighting up as she asked with a little too much excitement, “So, are we going or not?”

“Wait, she’s coming with us?” Guille blurted out, but before you could even answer, Alexia left your side and ran down the steps. 

“Of course, Guille! Come on, keep up!” Alexia exclaimed on her way out of the door, tapping Guille’s stomach as she did—not without force apparently with the way Guille expelled air out harshly. 

When you got to him, you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?”

He let out a strained, “Yes.”

You gave Guille an apologetic look, grabbing your ball bag. 

“I’m really sorry for the last minute change. I’ll make it up to you.”

Still clutching his stomach, he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

The three of you got to the field near your place—which you were glad to find empty—without any more incidents. You were faced with another problem as it was only after you’d begun warming up that you realized that in your haste to leave, you forgot to bring water with you. When you told Alexia, she offered to go to the nearest corner store to buy some.

You stretched as you waited for Alexia’s return when Guille suddenly said behind you.

“Here.”

Turning, you found him holding a paper parcel bag. You considered his outstretched hand with curiosity before you met his eyes, taking the bag from him slowly. “What’s this?”

“Just a little something to get you started,” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “You said you wanted to keep, so I thought you’d need them.”

Peering into the bag, you gasped at what you found inside. 

A new pair of keeper gloves.

“Guille, you didn’t have to!”

He shrugged, smiling, “Yeah, but I wanted to anyway.”

“Thank you! Come here, you big baby!” You laughed, throwing your arms around him. Unlike Alexia, Guille was only taller than you by mere centimeters so it was relatively easy to ruffle his hair as you pulled away. 

“Mess up my hair again and I won’t teach you anything,” He threatened with a faux glare as he swept his fingers through his curling locks in an attempt to tame them. 

You rolled your eyes, grinning at him. “Okay, Antonio Banderas. So, what are the basics?”

He imitated you, rolling his eyes before he shook his head slightly, his smile never leaving his lips. Then he pointed to a spot by the goal line. “Put your gloves on and stand right there.”

You did, noting the way your new gloves fit perfectly over your hands and fingers. It felt different—stuffy—and you could already feel your palms beginning to sweat from the trapped heat. When you stood where Guille pointed, he walked around you all the while he instructed you to correct your posture: he told you keep your feet shoulder-width apart, to bend your legs slightly so that your chest was just past your knees, and to hold your palms facing out. 

“The main thing to worry about starting out is your stance. It will take time to get the balance right but once you get it down, you’re set.”

“Is this alright?” 

Guille took a step back and he gripped his chin as he hummed. After a moment of scrutiny, he nudged you back suddenly. It wasn’t quite forceful but it made you tumble down on your rear all the same. 

You smiled at him sheepishly, getting up. “I guess that’s a no?”

“Yep. It looks like you keep your weight on your heels too much.” He crouched down at your feet, drawing a square over the front half of your foot. “Keep your weight spread out around here and you should—”

Guille scrambled back suddenly, yelping as a football went flying past where he was just a second ago and into the net. Turning to the direction where the ball came from with your mouth agape, you found Alexia there with water bottles clasped to her chest, an eyebrow raised, while one corner of her mouth was set in a bemused droop, another ball rolling beneath her left foot.

“What the hell was that for, asshole?!” Guille shouted as he stormed his way over to Alexia. He was in front of her now, looking up at her with flame in his eyes but Alexia remained unfazed. She put the water bottles down before she settled her hands on her hips, cocking her head slightly to the side. 

“I’m sorry, Guille. I didn’t see you.” Alexia said flatly, “And aren’t you supposed to be playing keeper?”

“Really. You didn’t see me? Besides—”

“Ale, I asked Guille to teach me.” You huffed, running in between them and separating them with your arms before things got out of hand—again. 

This wasn’t the first time this… row between them happened. In fact, you noticed it’s been occurring more frequently lately. For all their similarities—the main one being their short tempers—the two never got on well together for reasons you never really understood and the only thread that tied them together was you. 

They weren’t always like this though; they were nice with each other the first time they’d met. Guille transferred to your school not long after you’d joined Sabadell, and if you and Alexia were inseparable there, it was always you and Guille at school. And when an opportunity arose for your two favorite persons to meet, you took it. It went well; they were friendly with each other. You only noticed things had changed after you and Guille’s school team started playing against Alexia’s so you were never sure when this all started, and by that point, the friction between them was too great to smoothen out which both saddened and disappointed you.

And it wasn’t like you never tried to get to the bottom of it. You’d asked them what happened, they both gave similar answers. By that, you meant completely avoiding answering. 

Guille’d assured you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re friends? Don’t worry.” 

While Alexia’d said with a confused frown, “What do you mean? Nothing happened.” 

And when you pestered her, asked her if the reason was because she liked Guille as a joke, she looked at you without reply, and when next practice came, she made a nuisance of herself enough to let you know the answer to your question and more. 

And here you were again, with them acting like this–always at each other’s throats. 

At your answer, Alexia looked at you, confused. “Why would you ask him to teach you how to keep?”

Your gaze lanced away as you bit your lip.

Maybe you should’ve told her after all… 

Mustering up the courage to meet her eye again, you replied, low and serious. “I want to start playing keeper, Alexia.” 

Alexia blinked, and then she crossed her arms before she eyed Guille who was scowling at her in return. She looked at you again. 

“Have you told Alejandro about this?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” A pause. “What did he say?”

“I’ll still start as a forward. But he said he’ll put in some extra technical sessions for me starting next week which was why I asked Guille to help me get started. Alejandro said if I get good enough, he’ll see if I can start as keeper for the team.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over you three. 

You caught Guille’s eyes darting from you to Alexia and back again from the corner of your eyes but you remained focused on Alexia’s face. At a glance, Alexia might seem calm—impassive with the way all of her features remained flat. But her eyelids drooped just so they hid more than half of her pupils, how her lower lip was slightly concealed beneath the upper one; she was pissed and even worse, she was hurt. And knowing that you’d hurt her was enough to compel you to reach out and touch her arm, apologetic.

Alexia regarded you for a moment longer. Another word of apology was on the tip of your tongue when she finally sighed, the corner of her lips tilting up to a half-smile as she spoke softly. “Okay. How can I help?”

You couldn’t help yourself. You threw your arms around her and it felt like a weight was lifted from your chest upon hearing the chuckle she let out.

The next couple of hours were spent with the three of you working together: Guille by the goal who continuously gave you notes and instructions, while Alexia—upon Guille’s signal—would send some shots to the net so you could try and stop them. The first… fifty or so shots went right past you—going easy was never exactly Alexia’s strong suit—but the more you focused on getting the timing right and reading the language of Alexia’s body to anticipate the direction of the ball, you ended the session with a few decent saves. 

It was a rough start but you were satisfied with it.

You’d left to use the restroom but upon coming back, the two of them were bickering once more.

Oh, no. What was it now?

You heard more of their words the closer you got, but you didn’t have to move too close with the way they were shouting.

“Come on, dude! Please, don’t tell me you’re still pissed off about that? It was a fair match!”

“How was that fair, Alexia? The two of you playing together is never fair! You’re both in La Masia for crying out loud! And even more importantly, she was supposed to be on my team! That was the original plan, but you went ahead and took her away!”

“What made you think I took her away?” Alexia crossed her arms, scoffing. “Let’s face it. She likes to play with me more than you.”

“You don’t know that!”

That was the moment Alexia spotted you and before you could even get a word in, she said, “Why don’t we just ask her who she’d rather play with?”

Two sets of intense eyes looked your way and without meaning to, you gulped, taking a step back.

“So? Who would you rather play with: me or her?” Guille asked, eyes wide and pleading. 

Suddenly feeling like you were backed into a corner, you stammered in your panic, “Umm, I—”

[3]

Alexia stayed over for dinner that night. That was normal; what was unusual was she left you alone to do the dishes. You had a feeling where she might be, especially since she’d been mostly quiet throughout the whole evening.

After you put away the last dish in the cupboard, and when your arms were finally free from suds, you took a peek into the living room. She wasn’t there—a confirmation of her whereabouts.

Putting on your flip flops, you headed out of the back door. 

The light from the living room casted a faint glow that dissipated the darkness around the garden when you opened the door that led out to it, aiding you just enough to see Alexia on the swing, sitting still with her back hunched forward. Once you were just a few paces behind her, you saw the contours of her headset, but even with them on, there was no way she didn’t know you were there—the fact that your shadow stretched to reach her before you did was a dead give away. Yet still, she made no move to acknowledge your presence.

Okay. That was fair.

“Ale,” you said softly. 

She gave you a glance before she went back to looking down at her clasped hands. 

“Alexia, come on.” 

Still no response. You fiddled with your thumbs as the moment dragged on. 

You sighed, sitting down on your heels next to her.

“I should’ve told you about the keeper thing,” you muttered. “I wanted to get a feel for it first, to get a bit better at it before I told you. But I didn’t consider how that would make you feel… and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel that I didn’t want or need you by my side, Alexia. I wanted you to think I was good enough for this.” 

Finally, Alexia turned to you, taking her headset off, the movement barely above a whisper. And softly, she spoke, “What made you think that I’ll think you’re not good enough for anything?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted, pulling at the grass in front of you. Your mother would probably see the hole you’d made on the lawn and berate you for it in the morning but you needed something to keep your hands busy. “I just wanted to go through this without too many expectations. And it’s not like I don’t want to keep our dynamic going. I love playing forward with you, Alexia, but I think keeping is my calling, just like midfield is to you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I completely understand. You didn’t want any added pressure. I’m not going to hold that against you.” 

“Thank you,” you smiled at her. Then, “So, tell me why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking!” Alexia huffed with indignation. Then she looked away again, working her lower lip between her teeth.

You put a hand on her knee. “Alexia, what is it?”

“I…” Alexia sighed, brushing the bridge of her nose with her thumb. You gave her another moment. She heaved another breath before she began.

“That thing you said… Did you really mean it when you said you’d rather play with him than me?”

Oh. So that was what this was about.

“Of course not. We both know it’s always going to be you, Alexia.”

“Then why did you tell him that?”

“I feel like if I didn’t, I’d lose him as a friend.”

“And you’re not worried about losing me?” Alexia cried out, her tone inflected while her eyes reflected her hurt.

You blinked at her. 

There were moments—just like now—where you’d feel a sudden urge to shake Alexia. For all her sharpness and unmatched awareness, she sometimes failed to see even the most obvious of things. Couldn’t she see that you loved her and that you’d follow her to the edge of the earth if she asked you to?

At the absurdity of her question, you really couldn’t help but laugh. You stood up and shuffled behind her before you threw your arms around Alexia’s neck, draping yourself over her broad back, which made the swing move forward. The dampness of her hair felt cool against your cheek, the scent of your shampoo that clung to them filled your senses as you chuckled into her ear. 

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

“Because, Alexia, do you hear yourself? I love you, you idiot!” You giggled again. “I know our friendship isn’t that shallow that I’d lose you over this. Or am I wrong?”

Alexia turned her head and you saw a hint of a smile on her lips. “No, I suppose not.”

A pleasant silence blanketed you both. And then Alexia hummed.

“But if there was something that could break us, what do you think it would be?”

You stopped to ponder, twirling a lock of Alexia’s hair with your finger, noting her hair was nearly dry now. When your mind drew blank, you replied nonchalantly, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Good.” Alexia leaned away so she could give you a lopsided smile—an earnest one. “Because me neither.”

[4]

“—you okay?”

You blinked and turned to Alexia. “Hmm?”

She glanced at you for a moment before she turned back to what she was doing, sleeves rolled up as she scrubbed a plate in the soapy water in the sink.

“I said, are you okay? Is there something wrong? You’ve been out of it since practice.” When a moment of silence lapsed, Alexia added, “And don’t think I didn’t notice you on your swing the past few days, too, because I did.”

You looked out the window and watched how the rain sluiced down the glass pane. In the darkness behind the window, you saw glimpses of soaked, curly locks and heard the hasty confession all over again.

You sighed, blinking the memory away.

“Guille asked me out.”

The sound of glass shattering and metal clanging made you jump, and you watched as a casserole pot twirled like a top on the hard, kitchen floor, while fragments of a broken plate skittered out to different directions. 

“Oh, shit!” Alexia cursed, looking down at the mess, while a voice called out from the living room. 

“Alexia, is everything alright in there?'' Came Eli’s voice. A few seconds later, Jaume’s head popped into the kitchen. He glanced at you then his eyes settled on Alexia who was crouched down, looking up guiltily at her father.

“Are you okay, girls?”

“Yes, Papá. I just… dropped some stuff.” Alexia said. You crouched down, too, about to pick up a fragment when Jaume spoke.

“Don’t pick that up, love, you might cut yourself. I’ll do it.” 

Jaume shooed the two of you to a corner he deemed safe and the both of you watched as he picked up the pieces, throwing them in the bin by the back door. Afterwards, he gave Alexia a kiss on her temple, and you a hug and a ruffle to your hair, as he retired for the evening, leaving the two of you again in your own company. Alexia went back to the sink to finish up whatever was left, and you returned to your place on the counter beside her. 

The silence that intruded was cut short by Alexia when she cleared her throat, “So… what did you say?” 

“I haven’t said anything, yet,” you sighed again, looking back out the window, the questions coming back full force. In the eight years you’d known Guille, how long had he harbored those feelings for you? When did it happen? What did you do to make him feel that way?

“Do you like him?” Alexia’s question brought you back to the present.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want him?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” You laughed slightly, glancing back at Alexia who shrugged her shoulders in answer.

“No, I don’t think so. Desire is a drive, like it makes you want to act. Attraction is just… I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s a weaker feeling. And they complement each other but they’re not the same.”

“And you know this how exactly?” You asked her teasingly, a brow raised.

Alexia averted her eyes, and shrugged your question off with a laugh.

In the moment of silence that followed, you traced Alexia’s profile, and your gaze ended at the elegant curve of the bow of her lips. She looked so pretty casted in the candescent glow of the kitchen light that it made your chest ache just by looking at her. You dropped your eyes to your feet as your mind ran faster than before this entire conversation happened.

Clutching your arms tightly across your chest, you muttered, “I don’t know what I want.” 

[5]

Maybe hoping it would all turn out fine was a bit naive because naturally, Guille didn’t take your rejection well. It was your fault really for expecting otherwise but nevertheless, the inevitable discomfort of disappointment settled like lead in your gut. 

The thing was, you were ready to give Guille the space he needed to accept your boundaries—friends, or nothing at all—and to heal. But accusing Alexia of making you turn against him? Now, that was something you couldn’t let pass. 

He knew he’d crossed a line, too, with the way he kept avoiding you. At first, the silence didn’t bother you; he was hurt, after all. But when the apology never came, you understood that you’d be going through your last year of high school without your closest friend there by your side.

A fortnight passed without any word from him so it surprised you when he showed up at the local meetup that the three of you used to go to. He refused to meet your eyes but he had no problem leveling with the glares Alexia kept giving him. And when you ended up in Alexia’s team, the only sign of his distaste about it was the way his lips flattened to a line. He looked like he was about to say something, but with a slight shake of his head, he turned around and made his way to his teammates.

With one last look at Guille’s retreating back, you tuned back in your team’s conversation.

“—doesn’t need to play keeper. We need her more in the offensive.” Alexia said evenly but when you met her eyes, there was a clear question in them. 

You gave her a slight nod to let her know you were okay. 

She nodded back.

“How will that work? She’s the better keeper.” And then Marco added, “No offense, Julia.” 

Julia only shrugged carelessly, a gesture of nonchalance.

“Julia is perfectly fine and besides, with you, Benji, and Carmen, our backline is already strong. The four of you together lessens our chance of conceding.” Alexia paused, looking over her shoulder to the other team before she faced you all again, continuing, “Our priority is the offensive. What good is a strong backline if we can’t counterattack? That’s why I’m suggesting she play as forward in the meantime, while Martina and I will play as interiors. Does that make sense?”

A collective nodding occurred.

“So just to clarify, we’re playing three–two–one?” Benji asked.

Alexia hummed, nodding her head. “Mostly. If we find the space and some opportunities, we can easily do three–one–two.”

“No pressure on us defenders, right?” Carmen said with a laugh, if not with a hint of nerve. 

Everyone laughed but at the end of it, Alexia placed a hand on Carmen’s shoulder. “No pressure because you guys, as I said, are very strong. You got this.”

Carmen smiled at Alexia at that, nodding before she finally moved to her spot. As you and Alexia moved towards the middle of the pitch, Guille was introduced to your line of sight, and a weight pressed in your gut. Disappointment? Perhaps. Or maybe you just actually missed talking and hanging out with him.

Alexia’s teasing tone pulled away your attention from Guille.  “I hope you haven’t forgotten how to play forward from all the keeping you’ve been doing.”

“Four years of keeping against the five years of playing forward? You need to brush up on your math ‘cause I think you’ve forgotten how to count.” You said dryly, giving her a look so dirty that had her throwing her head back in laughter.

Alexia leveled you with an unimpressed look but her tone remained playful. “You are such a bitch sometimes. You know that, right?”

“Thank you. I do try, you know. It’s my only defense against your smart-mouth.”

“Stop denying you don’t like my teasing.” Alexia waggled her brows as she smirked. The way she looked just then—with both hands on her hips, the ball beneath her left boot—your throat dried, heart racing; a sensation that’d familiarized itself to you during its recurrent visits over the past few weeks. Your mind blanked out, clear as the white of Alexia’s shirt, and when no words came to you to retort back, you shook your head and just laughed. By the time the game started—or maybe it was because it started—the feeling finally went away, replaced by the adrenaline that shot through your veins the moment Alexia kicked the ball to you.

It proved to be a tight game. The main strategy of the opposition seemed to be to mark and shut you and Alexia down whenever the ball so much turned your way. Alexia was right to trust your backline: any counterattack from the other team was dealt with immediately, and Julia only needed to save a handful of shots that passed through your defense, which she handled well.

At last, your team finally made a breakthrough.

Alexia cut a diagonal through the box, taking two of the defenders as she did, freeing up the space just behind her. You knew what she was doing so you faked a sidestep, turning quickly to lose your marker, before you sprinted in towards the middle of the box. And as you anticipated, Alexia sent the ball back to you with a flick of her heel. Now, if you could just—

The ground tilted, and there was a moment where the whole world suspended. It lasted for less than a breath before everything—the sensations and sounds—came rushing back in.

You slammed to the ground. 

Air was squeezed out of your lungs from the impact, while your skull and teeth rattled within the confines of your skin; the taste of green, earth, and copper spread on your tongue. Muffled shouts and grunts filtered past the ringing in your ear but when you cupped a hand over your tender ribs, your resulting groan was all you could hear.

When you finally came to, Alexia’s face was over you, the doubled image of her finally merging into one. Her wide, hazel eyes looked on you with worry and you felt the warmth of her fingers as they grazed over your face: from your temples down to your cheeks which she took in a gentle cradle.

“Alexia?” You let out another groan as you turned on your back while Alexia helped you.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

There was a tension that constricted around the front part of your head, but you could feel the blood pulsing most on the side that collided with the ground. “My head… it hurts.”

“Okay, okay. Just lay down for now, I’ll get you…”

You seemed to have passed out after that because one moment you were lying on the fields, and the next you were beside Alexia on her living room couch. You had a vague recollection of being carried on Alexia’s back, but the feel of the strong plane of her shoulder against your cheek remained there, warm and comforting. 

And only then, after Eli gave you ice for your head, did you see the bruise that bloomed deep in the skin of Alexia’s jaw, just below her left cheek, and the scuffed knuckles of her right hand which were splotched with deep reds and purples.

You took her hand onto your lap, gently running over the ice for your head over her knuckles, while you looked at Eli sitting on the opposite couch with Jaume beside her. Eli’s face burnt redder than you’d ever seen before, while Jaume held onto her hand, circling his thumb over the top of it in an attempt to calm her down.

Alexia remained quiet the whole time, eyes casted down as she took her mother’s reprimanding words. There was the unmistakable shine of shame in them, her guilt, but also an unwavering quality that stood for what she did. At the end of it, Eli and Jaume hugged the both of you before letting you retreat into Alexia’s room as you waited for your parents to arrive.

Instead of getting on her bed with you, Alexia plopped down on the floor just by the foot of the bed, her back against the wooden bedframe. You regarded the back of her head, her neck curved downwards, and you suddenly felt the need to be close to her so you shuffled off her sheets, and got down beside her. 

“Thank you, but your mother was right, you know? You shouldn’t have done it, Alexia.” You mumbled, unfurling her fingers to rest on your knee so you could access more of her knuckles that way. Gently, you placed ice over it, but she still hissed in pain. “You shouldn’t have punched him.”

“Why not? He deserved it.” Alexia said evenly as she stared at the far corner of the room. “And before you start defending him, you didn’t see what I saw—what the rest of us saw. He didn’t even touch the ball—it was all feet. He meant to trip you up.” 

Warmth bloomed in your chest at her words—at how her action showed just how much you meant to her—but the discomfort in your gut marred the surge of your affection for her. 

You took a deep breath, sighed it out, and it tasted like disappointment. 

“Alexia, I appreciate the gesture, I do. But you can’t just hurt people just because they did something to me.” 

Alexia puffed her chest and proclaimed, “I can.”

“Stop that nonsense, Alexia. I mean it.” Firmer now, you said, and there was a hint of desperation in the intonation of your words. There was an urgent need to make Alexia understand the gravity of what she did, what future implications it held if what Eli and you told her didn’t sink in now. “Actions like this can jeopardize you, Alexia, and all the things you worked hard for. Do you understand that? What will Alejandro say when he sees you all bruised up next practice? And if I get tackled dirty during a game and I get hurt, would you risk a red card, or suspension, for behaving like this?”

Alexia became silent, the muscle in her jaw working, and when she turned to you with her mouth open and you spotted a defiant crease in her brows, you were quick to stop her.

“If the answer to that question isn’t no, Ale, I don’t want to hear it.” The sound of teeth clattering filled the air. She casted her gaze aside again, her cheeks growing a shade deeper. “Look at me, Alexia.”

When she kept her eyes glued to the floor, you dropped the ice pack to take her face in your hands. She flinched from the coldness of your fingers but as you looked into her eyes, rimmed with redness and framed by drooping eyelids, you found exhaustion and the shine of apology. You brushed away a matted lock of hair from the tail end of her brow.

“You have a good heart, Alexia, but you have to promise me. Please don’t do something like this again. Ever.” 

Alexia looked into your eyes, deeply as if in contemplation, and then she closed them. A moment later, she sighed, sagging into your touch as if a weight had left her shoulders, before she opened them again. 

“I promise.” 

This time, you believed her.

Smiling softly at her, you whispered, while you placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

Settling into the moment, you rested your head against Alexia’s shoulder, her bruised hand in yours. In the brief silence before your father arrived to pick you up, Alexia spoke in an earnest tone that made your stomach flutter.

“I know you can handle yourself, but that won’t stop me from having your back.”

At her words, your heart felt like it would burst your chest open. And you should’ve known that this was where you’d end up—with her, it seemed inevitable anyway—because the years of you’d known Alexia flashed quickly before your eyes, and the memory stopped to this person beside you, haloed golden by the warm glow of her bedside lamp, and you were hit with a realization that took what little breath you had away.

You liked Alexia.

And, even more importantly, you want her.

[6]

When you got on the field in a Barça jersey for the first time after your return, you didn’t expect to be welcomed like you did. Jona subbed you on after the first half and as you left the tunnel, you heard the crowd chanting your name. The cheers made you feel excited, accepted and seen, but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t pressure you at all.

It was originally intended for you to come on during the last twenty minutes, but seeing as Caro, Patri, and Alexia gave the team a comfortable enough lead, Jona decided to sub you on ahead of schedule. You didn’t see much action on your end though, something that you didn’t mind at all—a quiet defensive-third was the best kind. The midfielders kept the midline high to sustain pressure in the offensive-third, while the defenders maintained such a tight backline that any loose through-balls sent to the opposing runners were called offside. Of course, there were a handful of times when you needed to get out of your box to ping the ball back into the offensive, but other than that, it was quiet. When the match ended, you were satisfied that Barça had another clean sheet and four goals to add to the season tally.

For the celebration, you moved with your teammates around Estadi Johan Cruyff, and during the procession, you spied your parents, Eli, and Alba who was talking to a raven-haired woman you’d never seen before, clapping and cheering. Warmth filled you upon seeing your family in the stands again—such a scene was a luxury when you were in the States because plane tickets weren’t exactly cheap—and when you felt the familiar weight of Alexia’s arm slung over your shoulders, the fabric of her captain armband against the skin of your neck, it felt like a perfect homecoming.

Well, almost.

After you’d showered and changed to your casuals, most of the crowd had gone while some lounged about, one of which was the raven-haired woman Alba was talking to. When Alexia took her hand, you knew instantly, and your heart—damn your heart—dropped.

“This is Diana,” Alexia said after the both of them made their way to you. And if it wasn’t their intertwined hands that revealed what they were to each other, their gaze—saccharine when they met—made it all the more clear the nature of their relationship long before Alexia said the words, “my girlfriend.”

Diana beamed up at Alexia, her cheeks deepening in color before she regarded you again, sticking her hand out towards you to shake. Preceding the intention, you took her hand and when you did, Diana placed her other hand over yours, clasping your hand between her warm palms.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Alexia’s talked so much about you.” 

She did? Your eyes flitted to Alexia but when she shied away from that, you focused back on Diana’s face. She was stunning: with her high cheekbones carved to elegance, her brows following the perfect line of her temple, her full lips painted with a terracotta shade made deeper by the bronze of her skin, while her loose, straight, raven hair framed her face in such a way that accentuated the sharpness of her jaws. Her eyes were dark but still light enough to see the outline of her pupils, and they had an amiable shape that reflected her warm nature. And for some reason, her light brown eyes looked really familiar—

“Ah! My favorite cousin made it, after all! Although I’m not sure it was me you went to the game for!” Tori’s playful voice resonated in the near-barren corridor. Diana’s eyes flicked somewhere behind you—to Tori, you supposed.

“Don’t be like that, Tori, of course I came to see you, too!”

“Lies!”

Diana shook her head, laughing, as she took Tori in her arms. “Come here, you!”

In response, Tori said something in Portuguese that made Diana laugh. When they broke apart, Diana said, “Forget you? Never. Especially when I owe you one.”

“Owe her what?” Alexia asked with her brows creased with curiosity.

Diana took Alexia’s hand and squeezed it, looking up at Alexia with a gentle expression. “For giving us the chance to meet.”

“Damn right!” Tori exclaimed, putting both hands on her hips, as she grinned so wide that her dimple showed. Tori must’ve seen your confusion because she leaned in to whisper, “I brought Diana as my plus one for last year’s Ballon D’Or ceremony.”

You allowed your mouth to drop open before you smiled, letting out a small laugh that made your chest ache. “Ah, I see.”

“She kept complaining about going but now, aren’t you grateful I took you away from your precinct, Detective Beauregard?” Tori teased.

“She’s never going to let us live this down, will she?” Diana muttered dryly to Alexia but it was deliberately loud enough for all of you to hear. In response, Alexia threw her head back laughing. 

“You’re a detective? That’s amazing!” You said, impressed.

“Please, Tori’s exaggerating. I work in forensics. DNA analyst is the correct title.” Diana threw Tori a dirty look to which the other woman raised her shoulders in response. “It’s a whole different world compared to yours so—and please don’t let this get to your head, Tori—I am grateful I was able to step into it.”

Her eyes, still locked with Alexia’s, grew all the more soft.

“Get a room, you guys,” Tori said with a mock sound of disgust, and then she continued to mutter, “And to think that you’ve only been going out for four months… I don’t even want to think about how it will be like in another three months.”

At that, Alexia raised a brow and then, “Want to do some extra laps tomorrow?”

You and Tori knew Alexia was joking, but Tori being Tori, she spluttered, “That would be a hard no, Captain. I’ll just—Have a great night!” 

With that, she ran away, arms flailing behind her in an exaggerated manner as she hastily made her exit. The sight drew laughter from the three of you.

“We’re having dinner at Mamá’s, want to come over?” Alexia asked.

You shook your head, flashing a look at Diana, before you told Alexia,“Not tonight. I’m just about to head over to my parents’ as well.”

“Alright. But Alba’s going to ask about you, you know? I think she wants to hang�� out with you.”

You laughed. “Tell her to text me. She’ll know what that means.”

“Is that something I should know about?” Alexia smirked.

Flatly, you retorted, “If it’s something that concerns you, I’d be telling you by now, right?” 

“You see what I have to deal with?” Alexia told Diana, almost whining.

Inching backwards, you said as dry as you could manage, “I’ll take that as my queue to leave, Alexia might start crying. She’s a crybaby, you know?” 

“Hey! I’m not—”

“No need to be embarrassed about it, Alexia. Be proud!”

Diana only laughed, saying, “Alright, kids, I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Nodding, you grinned at Alexia while she mouthed the word ‘bitch’ to you. In kind, you mouthed ‘smartmouth’ back. With a shake of her head and a smile, she gave you one last hug, and after a pleasant goodnight from Diana, the three of you parted ways.

You sent them a look over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the watch around Alexia’s left wrist. It glinted as they walked together down the corridor, hand in hand, looking as in love as any new couple would. 

The sight made you smile, but it felt heavy, and as if the universe wanted to rub salt to the wound, you found Patri outside the locker room when you turned around with a look akin to pity in her eyes.

[7]

The next day, Guille stopped by at your place. He’d given you notice a few days prior but even still, the moment you saw him behind the door, you squealed like you were ten again from your excitement. After you hugged him tight—he made a choking noise when you did to tease you—you held him at arm’s length to see what changes the last few months had done to him.

He looked different. Gone were the long, dark curls; now sheared close to his scalp that left only about an inch of length, his hair retained their luscious shine, their color still as dark as night. 

His scar—the one just by the tail end of his left brow—that used to see little light from the obstruction of his hair, now stood apparent and without meaning to, the day he got it came back to you: the bruised knuckles, ice-cold fingers, and the warm blush of a lamplight.

 And your chest ached a little.

Leading the conversation to the living room, the two of you ended up ordering takeaways—mostly for Guille’s benefit because you weren’t about to subject him to your football diet—and as you ate, the two of you caught up.

Guille was close to finishing his dissertation—the biomechanics of concussion in sport and its neurocognitive implications—and he was both excited and fearful about what would come next. He then talked about his girlfriend, Iris, smittenly if you might add. She was actually with him in the city, but his mother insisted she steal Iris for the day for some quality bonding, and you laughed at the repertoire of stories he’d relayed in great detail about his mother’s teasing of their relationship.

“When am I going to meet Iris?” You asked with a teasing tone.

He rolled his eyes, “Well, since you’re actually staying in Barcelona this time, we can arrange that.”

A pause, and then, “Is Alexia staying here, too, or are you here by yourself?”

“No, it’s just me here.”

“Oh. I thought the two of you’d be rooming again like—” Probably seeing your change in demeanor, Guille cleared his throat as he ate his pasta a bit too eagerly. “Speaking of, how is she?”

The question was casual but you knew it was anything but.

“She’s doing good, if not a little stressed. Our first Champions League game is just around the corner after all and it’s against Chelsea, so.” You shrugged to complete your thought. You knew what he was asking but you’d rather not talk about that.

His eyes could burn a hole on the side of your head by the way he stared at you in the silence that followed. Then he sighed deeply.

“She still doesn’t know.”

Tension filled every inch of your body and you shrank tight as a coiled spring. You stood up as you felt a sudden urge to get away from him, taking the used plates on the coffee table as a pretense to move from the couch to the sink.

“What’s it to you if she doesn’t know, Guille?” You asked flatly, rolling up your sleeves after you turned the tap on.

“I just want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

“And who says I’m not?” Your tone was flat and when you glanced at him over your shoulder, Guille only gave you a pointed look.

Then he said softly, “She could make you happier and you know it.”

And there it was again, that look in his eyes that you just couldn’t stand. Gritting your teeth, you gripped the edge of the sink and your voice quaked when you spoke. “Please stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” you tried to find the words but when they evaded you, you huffed and threw your hands up in the air. “Why are you making it sound like I have a chance?”

“Because you do! You’re the one who’s not giving Alexia a chance by not telling her.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“She loves you.”

A pause.

“That’s bullshit.” You shook your head, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. As much as your heart wanted that to be true, you knew otherwise.

“It’s really fucking not.” Guille countered.

“If she did, she wouldn’t have said what she did.” 

“People say stupid shit when they’re drunk.”

“That can go the other way, too. Alcohol has a way of loosening what’s been bottled.”

“Oh, come on!” Guille scoffed. “You’ve known her since you were eight. You’ve been through thick and thin together! Do you really think she wanted you to leave?”

With the reminder, the memory sprung up on you and you could hear Alexia’s voice, grating and wrenching your heart raw again when you heard the words from her lips. You whirled around to face him, eyes burning.

“You weren’t there when she told me, Guille!” You breathed out sharply and then you continued, in a lower tone filled with resignation, you whispered as you buried your face in your palms. “You didn’t hear the way she said it. You didn’t—”

You choked on your words. 

After all this time, it was still too painful.

Darkness filled your vision but the tears escaped nonetheless, branding tracks down your cheeks. You heard the rustling of clothes followed by soft footsteps. Before you knew it, Guille’s arms wrapped around your shoulders and his familiar, comforting scent made you sink into the embrace.

“You’re right. I wasn’t there. But if you could forgive me for being an asshole and what I did to you, why can’t you do the same with her?”

You didn’t say anything after that, only clutched at his shirt a little tighter.

Guille kept quiet, too.

The both of you knew just the reason why.

[8]

“Did you see the news?” Jona asked as he kept the door open for you to an empty meeting room, closing it as soon as you’d gone in. 

Sitting down on one of the cushioned chairs, you said, “I did.”

You saw it this morning and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t faze you. 

Jona nodded, taking the chair across the table from you. He put his clasped hands on the wooden surface and the way he tapped an erratic rhythm with his thumbs didn’t help your nerves.

“Lyon paid a hefty transfer fee for her and that makes me worried. I don’t know what Bompastor is planning to do with her but her transfer to the European league will be a concern for the club.” With a pensive crease appearing between his brows, he continued. “You probably know why I asked you to come in.”

“You want me to tell you what I know about her.”

He nodded, leaning forward as if to emphasize his point. “She’s a lethal forward and you’re the only one in the club who’s ever played with her. In fact, you two seemed very close during your time in Angel City.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back into your chair, frowning slightly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

Jona blinked at you.

Then slowly, “Surely you must’ve trained closely together considering she’s a forward and you’re a keeper? Unless training was vastly different in Angel City, then I’m sorry for the assumption.”

“O–Oh, I thought you were implying—” You shook your head, uncrossing your arms as you waved the rest of your sentence away. “Never mind. But yes, that’s right.”

Jona gave you another questioning look before speaking again. 

“She’s going to be a big problem. And that’s why I’m going to change things up a bit. I want to put you in the starting lineup as soon as possible—put as many games with our current team under your belt. We’ll most likely face Lyon in the Quarters and that’s unfortunate but what is great is that you’re here: the best counter to what Lyon acquired. If we could eliminate Lyon early, we have a higher chance of winning this year’s Champions League. The question is, are you ready for it?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Jona.” You said seriously, ignoring the pressure that pressed in the periphery of your mind.

“Use me.”

[polvsketchbook]

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[snezario]

Sub-Optimal; Ala/stor & Vo/x

based from an idea that @sneezingfetishftw posted. I kind of want to expand on that beginning part with a prequel ficlet of Alastor being sick but idk if I'll actually get around to it... I think this is the longest one-shot I've ever written... somehow this turned out to be 1.7k words?

Alastor leans against the headboard of his bed and takes a sip from his mug, grimacing as the hot liquid travels down his throat. Coffee was probably not the best choice right now. The warmth of it was nice against his sore throat. Of course that wasn’t the only unfortunate telltale symptom of illness he had awoken with a couple days ago.

He had been pretty good at hiding the whole illness thing under wraps for the first half of the day, that is until he had to sneeze. Usually he was good at stifling them into oblivion, but this particular cold seemed hellbent on disrupting his ability to control his faculties. The first unstifled sneeze caused all the lights in the hotel to flicker, which wouldn’t have caught much of anyone else’s attention. It was the second, third, and fourth ones that well, almost destroyed it.

It was after that whole fiasco that he was banished to quarantine in his room because according to Vaggie Who the fuck knows what other chaos his sickness will wreak havoc on the hotel? Normally he’d be holed up in his radio tower, but his quarters within the hotel are not half bad. Hence, him still being in bed to begin with. A sharp prickle in his nose reminds him how miserable being sick makes one feel.

hih'ZZSSHHhue!

He tries to keep it contained, lest he face Vaggie’s wrath. Not that she’s much of a threat to him really. As Alastor recovers, he’s interrupted by a loud BANG! His bedroom door swings open to reveal Vox standing dead center in the door frame. Alastor rolls his eyes at the other Overlord.

“Do you mind?”

Vox ignores Alastor’s question and breezes past the threshold, plopping himself on a red armchair by the fireplace. 

“I was just passing through the area and a little birdy told me you were feeling a bit… under the weather.” He scrolls on his phone as he speaks, although the wide grin on his screen makes it obvious how much he’s relishing this moment. Alastor narrows his eyes, an unlikely story— Vox would never pass up the chance to taunt him, especially in a case like this.

“Well, I’m not quite on my deathbed as you can see. I didn’t realize that you missed little old me so much that you just had to come by and visit. It is flattering that you stopped by, in any case.”

Despite how awful he’s feeling, Alastor flashes Vox a cheeky grin, knowing full well just how to push the other demon’s buttons. The entertainment value of seeing Vox absolutely lose his cool is almost limitless. Although the pesky tickle is urgently becoming more than a mere annoyance. Alastor would much rather listen to Pentious’s Egg Bois spew nonsense to him for hours on end than be seen like this. Vulnerable and weak, in front of Vox no less. But it’s not something he can avoid at the moment.

Vox wasn’t someone who shied away from physical contact. He never denied himself the opportunity to encroach on someone’s personal space when he saw fit, it was mostly a tactic he employed to assert dominance or to emphasize a point. Or in this case, threaten his rival. Leaping off the chair, he’s in the radio demon’s face in a heartbeat, clenching the collar of Alastor’s pajamas in his hand.

“You arrogant prick, you think that I give a flying FUCK where you’ve been—”

Vox pauses when Alastor inhales sharply, no doubt to make a scathing retort. The radio demon raises a fist to his face and angles himself away from the other Overlord.

hhzh—hhh’ZTCHhiew! hih! ihĨ̴̢̛̘̠̪͍̠̣̪̪͗͒̓̃̎̀̓̕͜Z̵̪̝̱̪̘̺̣̗̘̍Z̷̡̜͔̱͖͉̰̭̽̽̎̆̿̉͝͝T̴̨̧̼̫̜̤͈̖̬͈̈́̄̒̓̾̀̎͠͝S̷̨̱̭͚̬̻̬͐̑̐̏͆͝ͅḨ̵̣͍͈͙͈̝̜͑̓͋̉͊͛̀̑̚H̵̤̯͔̱̓̎̈͘̚̕uu!

The space around them crackles with Eldritch energy, tendrils of which encompass the room. Vox’s screen glitches and completely shuts off.

“What the actual fuck?” The lights flicker back on and Vox’s screen illuminates again. He gives in to a full body shudder (not of his own accord though) as the static shock between them fizzles out. He jumps back from Alastor, his eye spiraling intensely. Alastor sniffles into a plain cloth handkerchief.

“Oh dear, pardon me. I’m not quite in control of my faculties at the moment.”

“I hope you fucking choke on your own mucus,” Vox snarls at him before storming out of Alastor’s room.

It’s humiliating but because the hotel has Alastor as its facilities manager, there is very little modern technology at Vox’s disposal. Meaning, he has to walk… out the front door like a common sinner. The hotel is located quite a bit away from the main hubbub of Pentagram City, which is both a blessing and a curse, depending on who you talk to. Vox makes his way to the edge of the city, a chaotic and desolate area and at the first sight of a screen (an old television set sitting in the window of a dilapidated pawn shop), he transforms into electricity and travels back to the Vees’ penthouse.

What kind of weird voodoo magic did the smiling freak do to me? Vox sits alone in his penthouse suite, glaring at nothing in particular as his eye dilates as he fumes about the outcome of his interaction with Alastor. One day, that pompous bastard would find something more than coffee in that stupid mug of his.

He idly rubs a hand down his screen as a fleeting fuzzy sensation runs through the circuitry in his head, almost like an itch he can’t quite reach. He proceeds to take a long sip from his mug, the coffee in it is only lukewarm but it’s the caffeine boost he wants anyways. Vox is feeling more drained from engaging with Alastor than he thought. It’s not entirely out of the question, but it does surprise him a little. Nothing a little caffeine wouldn’t fix. He downs the rest of the drink and settles into the sofa, turning the plasma screen television screen across from him on with a simple thought. The ambient sound immediately soothes him and the incident with Alastor floats into his memory archives to be forgotten.

An hour passes and Vox is sleepily scrolling on his phone. He could nod off right there. That is until a buzzing in his head catches his attention. It almost feels like tiny feathers caressing his internal wiring, not so much caressing as tickling. Similar to before, he can’t seem to reach it and quell the sensation. But unlike before, it’s not just a momentary annoyance. His deliberation is interrupted when his breath hitches once, then twice before he pitches forward.

“ih…ih'DZZSHHH!”

He blinks in confusion. That’s it? He just had to fucking sneeze? Again, he finds his thoughts disrupted by a familiar sensation. Vox tries to rub the tickle away but given his… specifications he realizes he doesn’t even have a nose to—eh'TZZSSHIEW! hih’IZZSHuhh!

What the fuck is happening? He sniffles. Ugh, gross. 

Between the sneezing, the developing tension headache, and the exhaustion it feels like—Vox’s screen lights up as it dawns on him. He fucking has Alastor’s cold. That motherfucker. His blood pressure skyrockets and sparks shoot off his frame, threatening to short out the electronics in the room (of which there are many). Before he knows it, he’s already electro-teleporting across the pentagram to confront the radio demon.

“ALASTOR, you pretentious manipulative fucking son-of-a—”

Although Alastor can’t determine the actual content of Vox’s plethora of insults and cursing, they do steadily increase volume as he approaches Alastor’s room.

“Hmm?” Alastor turns his head as Vox barges into his room for the second time that day. He is sitting in one of the red armchairs by the fireplace, with a book in his grasp. He wears his deceptively inviting smile as always, although it is slightly dulled down by his current illness. Vox breathing is heavy and ragged, his rage undeterred by Alastor’s placid expression actually seems to intensify as he stands face-to-face from his rival.

“YOU… you did this to me!” He jabs a finger in the radio demon’s face, mere centimeters away from stabbing him in the eye. Alastor calmly pushes Vox’s hand down.

“Careful now, unless you want to cause another city-wide blackout.” Alastor teasingly reminds him of their previous on-air encounter.

“Whatever stunt you phhhulled this m-morhhn—” Vox’s voice falters, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He sharply turns away as he succumbs to the persistent itch.

“hh—hHEHh’IZZSH! Fuh—hih…h’KSHHHIiiue! ih’Z̷͖̥̩͕͒́ͅZ̷̩̲̯̠̺̘̟̆̕T̴̛͔͆̒͌̄̚͘Ć̷̘̒̌͐͝͠H̶̥̦͖̰͙͙͙̩̠̋͛ͅH̶͍͕̪̙̦͎́́̋͝uu! ”

The lights pulsate with each sneeze from the television demon. Vox groans, leaning against the wall. That last one hurt like a bitch. 

“Oho! I see the problem. Apologies, old pal. Snf! I thought someone so advanced as yourself would be immune to such trivialities.” Despite his flippant tone, Alastor is genuinely surprised. He wasn’t actually certain the static shock would have affected Vox when he did it. He is, however, quite entertained by the development.

Before Vox can respond, Vaggie throws the bedroom door open.

“Alastor, what the fuck are you even doing? I thought we told you to—” The ex-exorcist jabs her spear in his direction and is about to go off on him when she notices Vox is slumped against the wall. Spinning her spear, she redirects the point towards him. “What’s he doing here?”

“Oh him? He’s no threat, at least not in his current condition,” Alastor makes a dismissive motion with his hand, a mischievous smile on his lips. Vaggie scowls at him, her hands crossed over her chest. Her gaze flits between Alastor and Vox.

“What did you do—Actually, wait I don’t want to know. Just… stop fucking with the lights.” She swiftly turns around and shuts the door behind her. Still smiling, Alastor turns his attention towards Vox, who’s looking quite pathetic. Well, more so than usual.

“You hear that, my dear Vox? Get a hold of yourself. Now if you’ll exhhcuse me I hh-have— (dang it, now it’s his turn) hh’iZTSHHuu! eh’D̴͚̼̊̂̒Z̵̳̥̈́̀̐͊̃̊̄͘̚Z̵̻͓̖̪̤͊͒̄̓͗́̂͑͜͝͝S̵̼̖͌̔̚HHHiew!” Unfortunate timing, but can’t be helped, Alastor thinks. He scrubs a finger under his nose and proceeds to pore over his book.

Vox narrows his eyes, adjusts his bowtie, and stands up. Vox glares daggers at Alastor, who appears to be ignoring him now. As he heads to the door, he feels an unfortunately familiar prickle at the back of his screen. NO! Not aga— heh’DZZSHHuh! Fuck. He catches Alastor smirking in his periphery.

“Gesundheit!” The radio demon calls out after Vox’s retreating figure.

[wilsonsmcgillsweatshirt]

This is more a self analysis than a House one, just FYI. But I think it's interesting that I want House and Wilson to die together in the end. With almost every other fandom, I will fight tooth and nail over the idea that my ship somehow survives. Like with Hannibal, for example, yes, it's been confirmed they survived the fall, but even if it wasn't, I would still die on that hill. Because I can not accept that their story just... stops. It would be so incomplete. On one hand, I see how it could be a poetic ending for them, I really do. In fact, contrary to what most people feel like, I'm happy with the show ending where it did and relying on fanfiction to finish their story. But I have never accepted the fact that they died. They just didn't. Another example would be Brokeback Mountain. I can accept they die in canon and how it's important to the story, but I prefer fanfiction that revolves around them both surviving. Because while I can accept that they die, I don't like it. With House... not only can I accept that Wilson and House (in my mind) die, but I prefer that ending. I don't necessarily even like fanfiction that follows the canon story and then has them both miraculously live. I think their ending is so fitting, I think it's perfect for them. I can't imagine House going on after Wilson is dying, and I feel like while the situation where Wilson dies from cancer is ironic and depressing, I think it's perfect. House faking his death to spend their last 5 months together and then dying with each other, I think it's the best way they could go. I love the ending. Everybody has to die sometime, and I feel like that was the perfect situation.

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Part 1 sorry this took so long, the heatwave melted my brain

It took far longer than either of them intended to make it to breakfast, mainly because once Eddie had finished making a mess of the both of them, he had insisted on washing Steve's hair for him, which honestly was the most blissful out-of-body thing that he'd ever experienced; but as the two of them walked down the boulevard together, brushing shoulders and for a lack of a better word, giggling, Steve couldn't remember feeling happier. 

Eddie had the most gorgeous smile and every time he directed it at Steve, god! he felt… lighter, like he could float away any second, but at the same time, just by that same smile, he knew without a doubt that Eddie had him tethered safely to the ground. 

And holy fuck if it wasn't just the best feeling! It wasn't something Steve had ever experienced before, because yeah, he's got Robin, but she's a steady kind of safety, he knows beyond doubt that they're two halves of a whole, she's his rock as much as he's hers and the day they met something just fell into place for both of them. And he has his little found family, he knows he can go home to them (or they'll come to him) any time, he knows he's safe in their embrace, like they're his shelter in a storm. 

But this is different, he barely knows Eddie, hasn't spent more than a few hours with him, but it's like Eddie has this protective bubble around them both, like they're floating along together in this impenetrable shield and the outside world means nothing when he's held in Eddie's gaze, and he just knows he's safe, he can feel it deep in his bones.

And jesus! when they kiss! He's never felt anything like it. It’s like he's filled with bubbles that not only pop but fizzle, like someone's dropped a bathbomb into his chest, letting it froth and effervesce, like it's rolling and twirling around churning up his insides in the most spectacular way, and he almost can't breathe because of it. 

It's fucking weird and glorious all at once. 

Too much and not enough and he never wants it to stop because he knows he's never felt this way about anyone before, hell he hadn't even known it could feel this way and it's kinda scaring the living shit out of him because what if the last few hours were all Eddie wanted, what if Eddie's here for a fun time and not a long time and Steve has to go back home and learn to live without feeling like this.

Eddie nudged him gently, snapping him out of his spiral into the abyss, his eyes landing on Eddie's warm affectionate grin, following his pointing arm to where Robin and Chris were in the cafe across the street, sitting in a booth by the window, leaning into one another across the table, deep in conversation and grinning brighter than the Nevada sun. 

Robin blushed deeply as Chris tucked a stray piece of her hair behind her ear, and Steve had seen that look before (usually aimed at him) but he'd never seen her look like that before, not with Jamie or Izzy and certainly not with Sammi ("Sammi with an 'i'", god he'd really hated her), because yeah she was blushing, that was nothing new, but she looked comfortable! She wasn't ducking her head, becoming all flustered and shy, no, she looked relaxed, confident even, like she'd known her forever. 

The pair were so engrossed in each other that neither of them even glanced up as the bell above the door jingled when he and Eddie entered. Robin completely missing the way Eddie’s hand fit so naturally into the small of his back as he guided him gently over to their table. Steve felt giddy from it, like he was floating on air! It was so incredibly intimate and a little bit possessive, like Eddie couldn't keep his hands off of him and Steve just knew it was going to be his main topic of conversation for at least the next century. 

Honestly, he couldn't even be that mad that she'd missed it, not when he saw how content and engrossed she was with Chris. He hadn't seen her smile that much since Vickie, which now that he thought about it was far too long ago for his liking. Normally on first dates she went for this cool, aloof thing, trying to push her real personality down for reasons Steve had never understood, but Robin was genuinely smiling, her real toothy, goofy grin as she chatted animatedly. 

And Chris seemed equally spellbound, eyes wide and nodding, giggly and captivated. Not that it was surprising to Steve, Robin had always had this otherworldly quality about her; his best friend was beautiful, anyone could see that, but if she was passionate enough about a topic, she seemed to glow and her voice alone became sort of mesmerising.

Like the one time they’d actually got to work early, during a particularly cold snap, and while they were waiting for Jeremy to open up, Robin had started to tell Steve all about Yetis and the difference between Bigfoot and the Abominable Snowman. Only what neither of them realised was that instead of having a ten-minute chat, they’d actually sat there for three hours. Unfortunately, they were already on their last warning for being late, so it had got them fired, but they weren't too bothered, the worst thing about it was trying to find a new job in below-freezing weather.

The girls only really looked away from one another when he and Eddie slid into the booth next to their respective best friends, both still dressed up to the nines, Robin's mascara all but gone, bits all down her cheeks from where she'd rubbed at it. But it was her beaming smile told Steve all he needed to know, she was elated, she'd had a brilliant night, she couldn't wait to relay every detail to him later, and oh my god, Evie, she's amazing, I think I'm in love!

That sent Steve's attention across the table, the two best friends seemed to be having a similarly telepathic conversation, their attention quickly turning away from each other back to Steve and Robin. But it was funny how Chris and Robin had almost precisely timed Steve and Eddie’s arrival because no sooner had Steve been reintroduced to Chrissy, "Eds' BFF, platonic soulmate and personal cheerleader!", the waitress arrived with food for the four of them.

Steve was kind of glad for the distraction of plates and cutlery and condiments because shaking Chrissy's hand had sent another vision into Steve's mind of meeting her and Eddie the night before and as far as he could remember he was being so embarrassingly obvious in his attraction to Eddie, that he'd barely taken his eyes off of him long enough to have the common decency to even glance in her direction. 

Being pathetically obsessed within the first five minutes, real smooth Steve!

They ate silently to begin with, happily just enjoying their meals; the food was delicious, and it had been far too long since any of them had had any proper nourishment. And Robin, his heavenly, wondrous Robin, had ordered his favourite dish, which with every mouthful was soothing the lingering aches of his hangover and given the blissed-out little moans slipping out of Eddie every now and again, he was clearly enjoying whatever meaty, eggy, goodness Chrissy had ordered for him.

Eventually though, sitting across from Eddie started to become just a tiny bit tortuous, especially when one particular groan, resonating from the back of his throat, brought forth a very clear vision of Eddie on his back in bed, making that very same sound as Steve kissed his way down his body. Fucking hell! 

Suddenly Steve wasn't all that embarrassed about whatever he'd done that'd attracted Eddie to him because he truly was a sight to behold, in bed or otherwise.

Steve's attention was snapped away from thoughts of naked-Eddie back to the cafe when Chrissy giggled, at what he wasn't sure, he could only assume it was an inside joke when Eddie elbowed her playfully, snorting and mumbling a whined "shut. up!" even though she hadn't said a word. His pretty dimples coming out as he shoved more food in his mouth, keeping his gaze on his meal and smiling reluctantly around his fork as she cackled beside him.

Robin nudged him under the table with her foot and gave him a look that said "this dork, really?" And Steve couldn't help but grin because yes this dork and his adorable cheerleader, if it were up to him they'd keep the pair of them forever because watching the two best friends tease each other was just too fucking cute! Almost like looking through a picture book filled with their rich history, their deep adoration etched into the smiles on every page.

Steve didn't know what it was about them, they just both had that something; Robin would call it an aura, but it just felt good to be around them. The happiness they shared together exuded, pulling you in rather than pushing you out and Steve just wanted to bask in it, like he was Yurtle and Eddie and Chrissy were the heat lamp.

Steve knew he hadn't always been the best judge of character, he'd been duped a time or two, but he trusted Robin's instincts, if she thought Chrissy was a good person, good enough to spend all night with, good enough to maybe be in love with, then Steve believed it unquestionably, because in all the time he'd known her she'd never been wrong about someone. 

She'd never liked Ashley and quite right too given the little rat was the one who'd been feeding HR all the reports that'd got them both fired. She'd hated Billy from the minute she met him, and well the less he thought about that the better. She’d felt the same abhorration for Carl, the electrician who as it turned out was wanted in several states for crimes he didn't like to think too closely about, given he'd left Robin alone with him. 

When, in a fit of desperation, Steve had joined a dating service and met Angel (or SheDevil as Robin liked to refer to her as) who as it turned out was one of his dads "business associates" who (for some sick reason neither of them could fathom) had wanted to sleep with Steve; Robin had gone berserk, they’d had a massive fight before he’d left for his date but even when he came back shaken and tempestuous, she never said I told you so, she just wrapped him up in a blanket, made him a hot chocolate and let him cry into her shoulder until he felt better. 

That was the day he decided he was always going to trust her gut unconditionally because it was clear she would always just know better than he did.

So Steve knew Eddie and Chrissy must be something truly special for Robin to be so comfortable around them, for her to let Steve get married because as much as she claimed she was powerless against his determination, they both knew that wasn't true. He was well and truly wrapped around her little finger and if she'd said no and meant it he would've trusted her intuition implicitly. She was his soulmate for a reason, not only because he wasn't entirely sure he could survive without her, but because she was the brains of the pairing; he still wasn't entirely sure how he’d managed to stay alive for the first two decades of his life without her.

He'd been so deep in thought that he started when Robin began chatting perpetually again; it was uncanny how she always did that, like she could almost sense that was thinking about her, so she’d just start talking, about anything and everything. He'd missed the white noise of her voice, like he always did when she was quiet, mainly because if her voice wasn't filling the space, his mind just had this tendency to run away with him, like a train on a track heading downhill. 

Although, he could’ve lived happily without the vicariously embarrassing blow-by-blow of the night before.

Apparently, the four of them had met each other in the third club Steve and Robin had been in, Steve had spotted Eddie across the room and immediately started his five-drink-Steve ritual of making it his mission to keep Eddie forever. 

No-one was more surprised than Robin when Steve's tactics had actually worked, her and Chrissy clicking over their mutual love and mortification they felt for their, platonic with a capital p, soulmates.

Apparently, nine-drink-Eddie had decided to ask twelve-drink-Steve to marry him, Steve, somewhat unsurprisingly, gave him a teary yes before he'd really had the chance to finish asking.

They were married by a man Robin was convinced was actually Elvis (nobody had the heart to correct her).

No-one could decide who should hold the bouquet, so they had one each, both girls caught Eddie's, whereas Steve, for all his sporting prowess, managed to hit the receptionist in the face with his, getting them promptly thrown out of the chapel.

Steve was already half naked before they'd even made it back to the hotel, it was undecided who'd undressed him. A mystery only Vegas knew the answer to. They’d made it across the hotel lobby by the grace of god and because Chrissy had played her "help the pretty blonde card" with the guy at the front desk as a distraction. 

Robin had no more details for their night, but Steve was pretty sure he could piece the rest of that together himself, he was just glad the lift had been empty after all. 

And the girls had had a whale of a time after they'd ushered the newly-weds off to bed, they'd carried on to several venues, including a drag show, another wedding (one that was actually planned for longer than five minutes!) a concert, three more bars, and finally headed back to the hotel.

"And then Chrissy rang Nancy! Oh my god, Steve! It's such a small world, right, 'cause Eds and Chris are from Indy too. It's crazy we've never met, huh? But anyway, we were thinking how funny would it be if Eds' dickhead ex opened the paper this morning to find out he's already moved on, and not only that, moved on with the King of Hawkins High himself! 'Cause Eds' ex is from Hawkins, like you! I bet you knew him! But yeah, turns out Chris knows Nancy, you know, your Nancy and well..."

Robin was definitely still speaking, but Steve's ears had started to ring again, not because his head was hurting but because he was pretty sure he was about to throw up! Nancy had put their wedding announcement in the Indy Independent, the very paper everyone he'd ever known read, including his parents! Not that he cared what they thought, but going from fired to married in a little over a week was a twist even for him. And Hop and Claudia! They were going to go absolutely mental! And the kids! At least they’d probably find it a little funny, unlike Hop who’d blow his top for sure.

Well, that's one way for everyone to find out! And no doubt Nancy found it beyond hilarious.

He and Nancy hadn't parted on the best terms. They'd broken up during a massive argument two days before their first anniversary, apparently he'd wanted more than she could possibly give him because she "just couldn't imagine staying with the same guy forever", only for her then to start up with her photographer boyfriend a few weeks later and as far as Steve knew they were still together all these years later, so that was obviously utter bullshit. 

When Steve had continued babysitting the kids they'd tried to be friends, well given how little time they ever spent in the same room together, he supposed that classed as them trying to be civil, mainly for Will and Mike's sake, but Steve was grateful when Jon and Nancy had moved away after graduation.

And Steve didn't see them again for a long time, it was just sods fucking law that he happened to bump into them right after everything had imploded with Billy. 

Robin had finally convinced him to go with her to a club she knew, he hadn't really wanted to be there in the first place and seeing Nancy again was the last thing he needed, feeling far too sore for the pitying look she gave him, he'd kicked off big time, trying to get her to admit that the real reason she'd left him was because he was just unlovable.

It wasn't his best night, and given she'd left in tears, it probably wasn't hers either. So he's no doubt she found it laugh-out-loud pathetic that the only way he'd eventually got married was to a total stranger while off his tits on holiday.

Steve glanced over at Eddie to see he'd gone white as a sheet, he gently called his name a couple of times, but he seemed to be in a world all of his own. Steve wanted to reach for his hand, but he wasn't sure how Eddie would react to that, and he didn't want to freak him out more, so he left his hand palm up on the tabletop next to Eddie’s hoping it was enough, leaving him a clear indicator that his comfort was there if he wanted it.

Eddie stayed in his trance for a few more minutes before a car drove past the restaurant, bouncing light through the window, causing Steve's ring to glint in his vision. That seemed to snap him out of it, Eddie all but throwing his hand into Steve's, gripping it tightly.

"Dan knows?" Eddie's voice shook with what sounded like disbelief. Steve, worrying he might burst into tears any second, started rubbing his thumb soothingly along Eddie’s knuckles.

Steve thought back to all the Daniel's he'd known in high school, couldn't think of a single one of them good enough for Eddie, and although King Steve wasn't good enough for Eddie either, at least he'd made the effort to become a better person.

A person who could maybe be good enough for someone like Eddie, with his resplendent smile and his inspirational laugh, his wondrous voice and wicked tongue. But clearly Dan hadn't bothered to grow, he'd stayed the same small town jumped-up dickhead that thought he was too good for the remarkable man in front of him.

More fool him! 

Dan's loss and hopefully, if he played his cards right, Steve's gain.

Steve brought his other hand up to join the first, so he was cradling Eddie's hand in both of his, trying to be as comforting as he could from across the table, but then Eddie had started to laugh, deep and brilliant and merry, as though it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"Oh, ho, ho! I wish I could've seen his face! I wonder if Jason took a picture? We could get it framed! OH! Album cover!" Eddie was practically vibrating in his seat, Chrissy joining in with his raucous laughter.

Steve looked at Robin, she looked equally baffled, oh good it's not just me! 

As much as Steve wished he had a clue, it was nice to see how easily Chrissy matched Eddie's energy, bouncing up and down next to him, waving her arm frantically, "Oh, no, no, no! Stage backdrop!" she managed between peels of laughter, making Eddie laugh so hard he started banging the table with his free hand, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Chrissy looked across the booth, quickly catching his and Robin's confusion, sucking in a deep breath and jumping right into regaling them with stories of Eddie's early music career. Of Corroded Coffins' humble beginnings, practising in Jeff's garage and playing to disinterested patrons of their local bar. How they'd caught a break getting a regular gig in Indy, how they'd been discovered by a scout who just happened to be passing through. How they'd been on the edge of stardom, only for Eddie to have his dreams squashed with the promise of forever that never came to fruition, no matter how much Eddie conformed to Dan's every demand.

Steve listened in awe, Chrissy was an excellent storyteller and Eddie turned a beautiful shade of crimson whenever his best friend praised him, but Eddie's demeanour changed as the story became heartbreaking and all Steve could do was squeeze Eddie’s hand tighter; he knew what it was like to live with a dream squasher, someone who wanted to mould you into what they wanted you to be, instead of loving you for who you are. Not that he could understand how anyone would want to try to change Eddie, or how anyone could want to take anything away from him; or how anyone could see how happy his dreams made him and not want to do everything in their power to make them come true.

He could tell Robin was equally fascinated, but Vegas was clearly catching up with her, she was desperately trying to fight sleep, nodding off and shifting, staying awake for a few minutes to keep listening to Chris' stories but nodding off again. When Robin nearly face-planted her empty plate, Chrissy interrupted herself to suggest they head back to the hotel. 

Not that Robin wanted to leave their company, she whined and protested, but quickly settled as soon as Eddie suggested they all meet up in the evening to go to a concert. Steve didn't quite catch the name of the artist, but from the way Robin bounced on the balls of her feet, he could tell she was excited about them. Steve didn't care if they were going to see the Queen of England's attempt at a comedy gig, Rick Astley repeat Never Gonna Give You Up for two hours straight or an elderly man give a talk about growing tomatoes, he was just happy to be spending more time with them.

It was hot out on The Strip, the sun high in the sky, bathing them in light and making Eddie look almost ethereal as he walked quietly by Steve's side. Eddie wasn't looking at him like he had been when they'd set off to the restaurant, he was glancing around at all the sights of Vegas, so Steve felt free to really look. Even looking at Eddie's profile knocked the breath out of Steve like a smack to the chest, he was just so beautiful, Steve felt more like he was looking at a piece of art than a human being. 

Eddie’s hair wasn't just brown, in the sunlight Steve could see it was a mix of every colour, blondes and reds and browns all intermingled in his little ringlets. Neither were his eyes, they were speckled with gold and amber flecks that shone and sparkled as the light reflected from them. His pale skin was slowly turning pink in the midday heat, making a multitude of tiny scars on his face and neck shimmer. Steve wanted to kiss every one, he wanted to know the stories behind each mark, wanted to heal the past hurts with gentle caresses. 

How could anyone ever want to hurt you?

With that thought, Steve's mind couldn't help but wander to Eddie and Dan's relationship, he just couldn't get over how endlessly unfair it was that Eddie had had to go through a relationship like that. Being in love with someone who didn't love you back was terrible enough, but being with someone willing to manipulate you into giving up your dreams, into becoming a whole other person out of desperation to be a good partner then to have the nerve to publicly blame you for the demise of the relationship, was just horrific. 

Eddie didn't deserve that, he deserved someone willing to hang the moon and the stars for him.

And as much as a sick part of Steve understood the desire to want to keep Eddie all to himself, to keep his voice all for himself because when he thought back to the way Eddie had drawn him in without even making a true effort, Steve knew that if Eddie sang with intent the whole world would want a piece. But he supposed the difference was, he understood how selfish it would be to do that, to stand in Eddie's way of making his dreams come true, to not actively help him to actualize those dreams, to stop him from sharing his gifts with the world! 

Eddie drew him out of his musings by bumping his shoulder into Steve's, a warm, playful smile on his face that Steve couldn't help but respond to, gesturing behind them with his eyes. Eddie seemed delighted when Steve snuck a glance over his shoulder at Chrissy and Robin; they were holding hands, Robin, getting more drowsy with every step they took in the intense heat, was practically being held up by Chrissy, not that it had any effect on the dopey smiles they were directing at each other. 

"Adorable" Eddie mouthed when Steve's gaze flicked back to him, he couldn't help but agree, even if he did feel that little twinge of jealousy that the two of them could be so freely wrapped up in one another. Apart from when he was dating a girl, Steve never felt confident being openly affectionate in public, he always felt like it needed a big conversation about what the other person was comfortable with, and then he was accused of overthinking everything and making it weird.

He knew it was down to the way Billy had treated him and the thing was it made sense back in Hawkins but when they'd moved to Indy they lived in a safe part of town, he saw couples just being themselves all the time but the one time he accidentally grabbed Billy's hand during a thriller at the cinema, he'd acted like it was the end of the world, like Steve had doomed them somehow and when something so small causes your partner to temporarily move out it's bound to make you self-conscious.

Steve was glad when they arrived back at the hotel, he was fine in the sunshine, other than the time when he was fifteen and he'd fallen asleep in one of his sun loungers for eight or so hours, he never burned, but Eddie's cheeks already had a permanent pinkening and Robin may as well be a vampire she burned so easily, Chrissy had rosy cheeks now too, but he wasn't sure whether that was down to the sun or Robin's affection. 

The lobby air conditioning had perked Robin up like a slap to the face, she was back to chattering easily with Eddie, telling elaborate stories of her marching band days, waving not only her own hands about but Chrissy's too where she hadn't realised she hadn't let go, not that Chris seemed to mind. Steve couldn't help but smile at them, they were too cute; even Vickie eventually became tired of Robin's rambling, she’d learned ways to discreetly quieten her, but Robin noticed, of course she did, it was the reason for the first time he'd ever seen Robin cry, but Chris just seemed enchanted, it made Steve's heart happy.

Steve was trying to keep track of their conversation, but his brain was blanking, now they were back in the midst of the hotel he was suddenly uneasy, every second that ticked by, every step they took was one closer to having to part, but they couldn’t linger, it was check-in time so reception was manic with pushing and shoving and people vying for attention. Steve was glad when the lift dinged so they could be away from the hubbub, the doors sliding open like a welcoming embrace. 

Seeming to sense his change in mood, Eddie snuck his hand into the small of his back to guide him into the lift, immediately calming Steve; Robin noticed, falling silent halfway through her sentence to poke Steve hard in the ribs, smirking and mouthing, "adorable" at him. 

Steve let out a breathy laugh and blushed deeply, melting further when the doors slid closed and Eddie snaked his arms around Steve's waist, propping his chin on Steve's shoulder. It warmed his heart to have him so close, to think that maybe he was equally anxious to be apart. Eddie snapping out of his contemplation by laughing heartily when Robin looked at the two of them with feigned disgust, but it didn't take long for her to turn into an adorably blushing mess as soon as Chrissy did the same thing to her.

With two floors separating them, the foursome found it incredibly difficult to part from one another, Chrissy wouldn’t let go of Robin’s hand and Steve was leaning against the doors forcing them to stay open for as long as possible while they checked and double-checked and triple-checked the arrangements for meeting up later in the evening. It was only when an elderly couple wanted to use the elevator that Steve reluctantly let it go, he and Robin staring forlornly at the closed doors for several moments before sighing heavily and turning to head to their room.

Robin headed straight to the bathroom for a shower, muttering under her breath about everything being wet. What could he say? They’d had fun! He knew she didn't really care about the state of the bathroom from the amount of times she'd showered with the door open in her apartment so they could continue their conversation, she was just filling the space to ease him.

Steve flopped down on his unmade bed, sucking in a relaxing breath, thinking about how brilliantly fucked up his life had become, and half listening to Robin's grumbling, letting it soothe him. Then when he felt brave enough, he put the phone on speaker and let the messages play.

Beep. "My Little Bobbin, you forgot to call! Give us a ring before your mother has an aneurysm! We love you!" Beep.

Steve could hear Robin creasing up in the bathroom, he felt guilty that he'd forgotten to remind her but her parents knew her too well, they’d only start to really worry if they didn't hear anything after a couple of days but they’d know from the fact that they could leave a message that they'd checked in and now she'd been reminded Robin would call them back when she was done in the shower.

Beep. "Steve, honey, Dustin’s driving me insane, will you please remember to bring him that book he wanted? I can't remember the name. Earthshaker! call him, will you? he misses you. Okay, love you, bye." Beep.

Beep. "Steven. Darrrling. Having fun in Vegas? Dad's got you a lawyer all set up, so don't worry! Call us back so we can start proceedings." Beep.

Beep. "Steve, it's Hop. *sigh* Is that Steve? No, he's not there. Call me, we love you." Beep.

Beep. "Steve, honey, we saw your announcement. I'm glad you're having fun but maybe give Hop a call? El says he's pacing! Don't forget my book! Dustin! Have fun with your husband! Send our love to Bobby, bye!" Beep.

If there were more messages Steve didn't hear them, between Robin chattering over the sound of the shower and listening to the messages from his family, Steve nodded off with a contented smile plastered to his face.

Part 3

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tag list @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @adhdsummer @newtstabber

[zuiz41]

Taste in Music 🎧✨ (and Men 😏)

Iwaizumi's too stunned to speak.

[myrkkymato]

Dirty Little Animals

That song is so going to be my most listened song this year. It fits both of them so well.

Art nerd alert underneath:

If you like drawing with (waterproof) ink, you can try watering small amounts down. Dried layers don't smudge like aquarelles do but liquid ink behaves like aquarelles on wet surfaces.

[tityre-tu-scurra]

As a (wannabe) queer polyglot it's extremely important for me to understand how pronouns work in other languages and how to use them properly, but my fussiness has arrived to the point that I have chosen my preferred pronouns even in Latin and ancient Greek

[singmeyoursimpsong]

yeahhhhh feeling pretty touch deprived rn so how about some soft and sweet steddie?

like, I'm imagining exhausted grad-student Steve who is working on his masters thesis at their (his and Eddie's) little apartment kitchen table well into the night and is so focussed that he doesn't notice Eddie is home from his shift (he works at the local radio station) until he feels his face suddenly being tipped up and to the side and there is the warm, slow press of Eddie's lips on his

and Steve sighs into the known comfort of Eddie's touch, Eddie's taste, Eddie's scent, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie

and Eddie pulls away after a moment, the fingers under Steve's chin now tracing his brow and tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear

hey

and Steve is twisting in his chair to wrap his arms around Eddie's waist, Eddie stepping into the space between his knees and placing his hands on Steve's tense shoulders to start massaging. Steve looks up at Eddie -

hiiii

and he grins up at his metalhead boyfriend, stupidly in love, leeeans his body into Eddie's

how's the writing going?

and it's not going well... Steve's expression turns sour despite the way he melts into Eddie's touch

rough... but i'm glad you're here now. how is everything at the studio?

not too bad, definitely not as rough as you say your writing is going

hmmmm

Steve makes a frustrated groaning noise because it's true, he's really struggling with getting the words out in sentences that make sense... and lets out a yawn

c'mon big boy...

and Eddie is sliding Steve's reading glasses off the bridge of his nose and folding them before setting them down on top off Steve's scattered papers on the table

I think it's time to sleep

and Steve lets himself be led away by the hand, into flannel bedsheets, and finds deep sleep with Eddie's fingers in his hair

[the-lesbian-of-too-many-fandoms]

Phoenixes have to burn before they rise part 1: the prologue

(trigger warning for depictions of violence)

15 seconds after the incident

I'm looking at a live feed of the end of the world.

The static of a long abandoned earpiece echos in my ears.

I watch as governments fall in real time.

I watch as escaping agents are shot out of the sky.

I watch as the scolding remains of the agency gets searched by zor operatives.

I watch in horror as they drag people out of the ruins and shoot them in the head.

All I can do is watch and look down at my finger, an inch away from the button that would have stopped it all.

In one split second we lost.

In one split second I failed.

One split second...

cost the world.

@agent-toast @whatifijustmashedwordstogether @aaperturetestsubject @sml8180 @dawnphoenixrises @ghostlystarwanderer @vallianttreedreamland @featherrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr @kitkatyes @eodasks

[frogkingtheorginal]

[visualjyushi]

i know mika thinks he's dumb as hell (when he's obviously not but that's not the point of this post) but i like to think abt him studying french secretly in his free time and getting super into it. so one day he surprises shu with it and gives a whole speech to him and at the end of it he's like "i've been practicin a whole lot but i know that was probably terrible!!!" but shu is like "that. that was really good, actually. it sounded fluent. HOW DID YOU DO THAT?" bc mika's french ends up sounding waaaay better than shu's LMAO

[tinknevertalks]

Well, that was unsurprising.

[sisterdivinium]

(One thing I find peculiar and unfortunate in current fandom business is the seeming lack of pointed discussion, so here is a humble attempt to spark a conversation and I more than welcome commentary.)

I came across someone in the notes to a post somewhere talking of how Jillian had been better styled in season two than in season one and I agreed, already seeking the justification for it in my mind. My observations are as follows:

S1 Jillian is Arq-Tech's mastermind and public face. Even though we first meet her in Morocco, in her explorer, Indiana Jones-like garb, it's the image of her running her company that sticks with us, her statements to the press, her corporate persona opening metaphorical fire upon the Church. A "powerful woman" as mainstream media constructs for us everyday, in subtle but visible makeup so as to diminish the effects of age on her face, in heels so as to peek at the rest of humanity from above, with controlled gestures meant for the inherent theatricality that comes with introducing life-changing technology to society. It is a role she plays—well, but a role nonetheless.

The scene she shares with father Vincent is worthy of mention, for while he sits without taking up much space, his body restrained to the side of a couch, his legs crossed in what is deemed a more "feminine" posture, Jillian takes up the traditional "masculine" attitude: she commands the room, her body expanding upon her seat, in the broad pose where an ankle rests upon a knee, complete with a generous glass of alcohol in hand and talon on foot. Yet this is also for show­—it's a little too calculated, a dance that was so perfected in exhaustive practice that it lost its dynamic.

Our glimpses into the more authentic Jillian come in the scenes with Michael—not only because (coded in white and blue as the Virgin Mary of immaculate conception) she plays the part of mother, but because, in her intimacy, far from journalists and employees and the public's prying eyes, she can be more herself within the areas where she conducts her studies. Starting from when Ava asks Jillian to "science her", we never see the doctor in uncomfortable shoes again, as she retreats from entrepreneurial life and into the lab.

This is clearer in season two, for, as Kristian says, she is on sabbatical, thus isolated from general view; S2 Jillian has nobody around her, nobody to impress. Locked away in her Spanish villa, consumed by her son's disappearance, she need not wear a mask. There are no more tellingly feminine accessories, no staged stunts; her clothes and footwear are even more practical, her movements less grand but more human, more expressive (here, of course, we owe it to Thekla Reuten's underrated range). Even as the OCS invites itself into her house, making it a makeshift HQ, she doesn't fall back on the act we saw in the first season.

Jillian's stepping back from the head of her company is not just in name and contract, but in body, too; she leaves the CEO role in her office and comes home to her science and her cause, to her limited inner circle of which only Michael was privy to and into which the OCS nuns end up finding their way.

Colours also indicate a shift—we begin the series seeing her associated with light hues such as white, beige and baby blues, but when season two comes in, Jillian's striking all-white attire is nowhere to be found. The Holy Mother parallel is in shambles after Michael has gone through the ark's portal, the intangibility of this "saintly", aseptic rich genius broken down, her person brought back to Earth after flights of fancy trying to open a gate to Heaven.

We see her in a darker palette, in greys with dashes of white, yes, but never again in full white. It is not just the authorisation to be herself rather than her company's face while in her private world, but also the reflection of her inner darkness and her loss upon her very appearance.

What a more definite loss could mean, now that her son is gone for good, remains a mystery.

For instance, unlike the nun who served as her superior, our Suzanne rejects the characteristic blues of the Order of the Cruciform Sword to don a heavy all-black outfit, more reminiscent of Orthodox priests than it is Roman Catholic nuns; her resurrection through Ava does not lighten her habit, if it does lighten her burden, so we can only assume, going forward, should there be any relation between how each character expresses their inner workings through clothing, that Jillian Salvius would keep the mixture of white and grey that season two brought along... Or go darker still.