#chapter; alive and well

[iobartach]

@gazelessmenagerie [🥦] asked; " How is it your aquatic food chain hasn't outright been decimated with a mass extinction from the mines in your ocean? " Came the bored voice of the Brute currently mingling on the couch as he nourishes himself on the bribe of his favorite fruits for his continued cooperation, " Much less if I were to destroy them all out of pure satisfaction.. I'd imagine a great wave would no doubt decimate your coastal cities.

Some were quick to call it a miracle, that a single, costly mistake hadn't imperilled such a vital ecosystem. In truth, that had been by design, rather than any act of providence. Instructions that had fortunately remained intact as the self-replicating mines increased in number exponentially, littering Earth's oceans. "Because the rouge AI controlling them is geared to only target anything made of metal, wood and other such materials." Or at least, that was the latest rumour he'd heard making the rounds. Shared to perpetuate the possibility that over a million years of maritime travel wasn't going to be wiped out.

"Life finds a way to adapt and thrive." Overcoming long odds to achieve the impossible, Miguel himself hadn't given much thought to the problem, preferring instead to deal with what came out of the water and onto land, as part of a coordinated attack upon Nueva York. "Good luck trying. They're like a virus, and will replicate and spread as fast as your attacks destroy them." Not that there was any doubt in his mind that Broly, with his incredible amounts of ki and stamina, could purge enough of the mines for humanity to establish a watery foothold, beginning the work that's needed to remove and dismantle such dangerous hazards once and for all. There were simply other matters to consider first, including...

"That might upset the Atlanteans, though. Plus, they've already tried to destroy this place." Bringing with them surging tides and massive waves, as well as a beast of such size that it dwarfed a few of the buildings surrounding it. "So you'll need to think of something else if your intention is to cause me considerable concern."

[onewingedangels]

SOUTH OF MIDNIGHT (2025) dev. Compulsion Games

[oddberryshortcake]

As sad as it is that we don’t get that classic maleficent/aurora dynamic, its pleasantly heartwarming to know that Malleus has always loved Silver, didn’t care about who his biological parents were, was never jealous of him, was basically his ‘older brother’ from the very beginning and Silver was probably the first ever human to make a place for himself in his heart (obviously long before Malleus befriended the prefect)

It was like what Maleanor said to Lilia, ‘there’s no way you wouldn’t love our child’ about Malleus

There was no way he wouldn’t love Lilia’s child.

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter four

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

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

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

word count: 13.1k

[1]

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

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

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

Tap tap tap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you waited. 

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

This was it.

“I–I want to apologize!”

You blinked. That… was unexpected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was so stupid. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guille––”

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

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

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

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

You gaped at him.

“It’s that easy?”

He shrugged, still smiling.

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

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

“Besides, we’re friends. Right?”

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

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

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

It was Guille who spoke first. 

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

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

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

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

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

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

Blood thundered in your ears, and your heartbeat tripled. 

“No! I–That’s ridic–”

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

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

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

“You–you’re not angry?”

His brows rose.

“Why would I be?”

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

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

A brief pause as his eyes wandered. 

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

“Oh.” Your cheeks felt warm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[2]

“He’s studying what now?” 

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

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

“Well, we are talking about Guille here.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guille is a friend and only that.”

“But you were so close,” she commented.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

A pause.

“Do you miss him?” 

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

After another moment of silence, Alexia continued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, her lips broke into a grin.

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

“Do you really think we’ll make it?”

“Yeah. We will, you’ll see.”

And you did.

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

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

[3]

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

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

And it did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You picked at your thumb. 

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

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

“I just saw them yesterday.” 

Okay, maybe that was a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

“Dragging you to my place, of course.”

“What about my things?”

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

“But we have training!”

“It’s only a light session tomorrow.” 

“But—”

“Alexia.” 

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

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

“How’s Papá?”

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

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

You nodded.

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

Eli smiled at you, “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

And with that, you and Alexia headed out. 

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

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

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

Alexia only nodded.

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

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

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

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

A sound of recognition came from Alexia.

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

Softly, you coaxed, “Hey.”

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

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

“Ale, talk to me.”

Silence.

A breath.

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

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

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

Her eyes flashed with something red then and she growled.

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

She continued, each word exhaled with urgency. 

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

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

A scoff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She has no need to worry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Alexia.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry”, came the whisper.

“What for?”

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

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

“And I’m sorry for—”

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

A pause before a deep exhale heated up your neck.

“Thank you, then.”

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

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

[4]

“Alexia! Can you please—Shit!” 

It was too late. 

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

“Oops, sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But of course, she did the exact opposite.

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

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

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

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

“You’re so annoying.” 

“I carried those boxes for you.” 

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

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

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

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly right, yes.”

See? You didn’t have to tell her. 

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

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

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

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

You knew then: you were utterly and irrevocably gone.

You were in love.

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

[5]

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the world never felt bigger than it was now. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Alexia?” 

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

“What—”

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

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

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

“She’s yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nona.”

“Nona?”

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

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

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

“Your family of nine?”

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

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

“Does Guille need to be there?”

“Alexia!” 

[6]

It was raining when Alexia told you.

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

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

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

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

Alexia eyed you. 

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

“No, nothing. Why do you ask that?”

A pregnant pause.

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

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

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

“Alright,” she mumbled before her footsteps receded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She said softly, “Just think about it.”

Silence settled—heavily. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ached at the sight but you remained silent.

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

Another pause.

“I like women.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[7]

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

And then, you jumped in.

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

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

Your father barely caught you in time.

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

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

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

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

And the aftermath? 

A drowning of a different kind.

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

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

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

And the worst part?

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

And Alexia sank. 

[8]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You haven’t heard anything from them?”

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

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

Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

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

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

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

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

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

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

And then, “What about you?”

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

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

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

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

[9]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you playing with your food?”

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

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

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

She pouted but she did what you asked anyway.

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

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

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

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

A chill ran through you, and you shuddered internally.

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

You relaxed and you found breathing easy again. 

Maybe you were just being paranoid.

But really, you should’ve known better.

[10]

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

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

For now though, rest was due. 

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

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

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

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it a guy with curly hair?”

“Yeah.”

At that you let out another small laugh.

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

“Oh.” Micah’s cheeks flushed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dance with me.”

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

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

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

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

And in the heat, you lost yourself. 

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

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

[11]

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

“Alexia? What’re you doing here?”

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

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

She nodded.

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

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

“Fuck you.” 

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

“Rough morning, huh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You froze. 

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

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

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

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

“Please, don’t insult me, Alexia.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I said leave.”

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

“Get out, Alexia!” 

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

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

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

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

Your face fell into your hands, and you sobbed. 

Stupid.

You were so fucking stupid. 

[gothic-mothic-topic]

Holy fuck, I arted some art! Can you believe it!? Doey, my beloved muse, you've given me unlimited power.

[Alt Version w Playtime Co. fucking exploding in the background bc I thought it'd be funny↓]

[freyafrida]

💌 walter/una fic recs 💌

once again @batrachised reminded me of a thing i was working on and was being lazy about finishing, oops. here's the walter/una fic rec list i mentioned a while back!

Keeping Faith by m_shell - An incredibly lovely, thoughtful Walter lives oneshot, this is one of my fave fanfics of all time, for any fandom. I remember finding this a while after reading Rilla of Ingleside and finally breathing out, it made me feel so light and hopeful after my baby heart had been totally destroyed by Walter's death for the very first time. The writing is so perfect -- melancholy and wistful, sweet in a painful sort of way, and sensual at the end (there is a sex scene, in case anyone tries to read this at work). It handles Walter's PTSD and healing with a gentle touch -- the whole thing, as the author themselves writes, throb[s] like a wound. I've seen the occasional criticism that 'Walter lives' fic cheapens the tragedy of WWI and his death, and while I don't agree with that myself, the ache and vulnerability of the story absolutely makes the happy ending feel earned. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The Piper and Reflections by Una-Blythe - Another Walter lives AU, this one a multichapter fic (and its coda). The story is set far after the end of Rilla, and Walter is more outwardly cynical and Una less romantic; it actually feels quite prescient for the series (big TBaQ vibes) and very right for the older characters. I love that it's more realistic about what Walter and Una's future would be like after the tumult of his survival -- neither Walter nor Una are the person the other remembers, but they grow and are content despite it all. It also brings in characters from LMM's other books as side characters -- I particularly love the Valancy+Una friendship; it's esp. delightful considering how Valancy feels a bit like an AU version of Una. admittedly shirley gets done a bit dirty in this fic but such is the life of a shirley fan

The World Beneath the Water by Lefaym - A quietly beautiful, introspective oneshot set while Walter's overseas. I love how it talks frankly about the realities of being a soldier, but touches on Walter wanting to hold onto himself, and the romance and poetry he has left. The writing is delicate and gentle, which always feels so right for Walter and Una. The use of fairytales also feels very true to canon, and the world beneath the water gives the story a bit of hope even though the reader knows how it has to end. I think about this story a lot.

Tiny Quick Breath by melwil - Oneshot reflecting on the kiss Walter gives Una before he leaves. I always love fic that digs into what brings Walter to think of Una the night before he goes over the top -- the connection they have across distances, the thinking of each other without knowing what it means. It's captured beautifully here in just a few words.

People Will Talk by Alinya Alethia - A sweet little oneshot wherein Walter dances with Una. Some really lovely character details -- I love Una being musical always -- and Walter noticing Una but not quite like that. 💔

bonus: walter/una one-sentence fics by maniacalmuse - This is a set of 50 self-contained sentences, each based on a theme (though they do form a loose narrative). Canon-compliant, so lots of classic Walter/Una angst here, but also some flashes of sweetness, as well as Una-centric characterization which I'm always here for. I also wanted to link it here since it's not on any of the main fic sites, for anyone searching for more Walter/Una content ❤️

[everymeloneveryday]

chapter 163 page 1

[anto-pops]

The Serpent's Paramour CH 15 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: While some people might say the truth will set you free, you were convinced that those people had never been faced with truths like this. Your long awaited discussion with Sebastian finally transpires, and to say it goes poorly would be putting it... mildly.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit language, miscommunications, lots of angsty feelings, dialogue heavy

New early update is also live on Ao3

The inn, for all its less desirable qualities, did in fact have running water. It wasn’t particularly hot, but a quick swish of your wand had fixed that problem before you had time to dwell on it. You’d conjured up a rag and a bar of soap, then stepped into the warm, soothing water and got to work without a sound. The tub had been emptied and refilled twice, and you’d scrubbed your skin raw about four separate times, but once the soapy water ran clear, you decided you had stalled for long enough. 

The clothes you had magicked up for yourself weren’t pajamas. The pants were snug, thick, and the interior was lined with wool. You’d slipped a grey shirtwaist on, the top button reaching just below your clavicle, and the long dress coat you had conjured up was lined with fur and pearly buttons. It was currently hung up in the chifforobe for later, along with a pair of laced leather boots. 

Maybe it was overkill, but you weren’t about to be caught dead out in the cold in such thin clothing a second time. If you were lucky, you would go the rest of your life without seeing snow ever again. 

Your hair was slightly damp still, but there wasn’t much you could do about that presently. At the very least, you had been able to detangle it with an ivory comb instead of your fingers. Gathering it off the nape of your neck, you sighed and leaned back against the headboard of the bed. The hot bath had helped with the lingering soreness radiating from your bruises, but what you really wanted was another vial of Wiggenweld. One or two more would do the trick, and then the evidence of what had transpired in the castle would be a distant memory. 

At least, you hoped it would be. 

Soft voices filtered through the crack beneath the door, and you knew Sebastian was likely still waiting for you to call him inside. You needed to talk to him– to get the discussion over with before you lost your nerve and ran off into the sunset. Where you would go, you didn’t know, but you were in self-preservation mode to the nth degree, and sticking around to run into Victor Rookwood was the last thing you wanted. 

Everything was such a fucking mess. 

You stayed on the bed for a few extra minutes, inhaling deeply through your nose and exhaling slowly through your mouth. It was one conversation. You could have one conversation with him, and if you didn’t like what you heard, you could leave. Curing Anne was a valiant goal, but it seemed secondary to keeping yourself safe, especially considering Ominis had been dutifully taking care of the younger twin this entire time. 

The mere thought of going back on your promise to Sebastian made you bristle, though. 

Lifting up your wand, you cast Lumos and stared at the pulsating orb for a couple seconds, then flicked it towards the door. The ball of light broke away from the tip of your wand, rising and falling listlessly as it took itself to where you willed it to go. It plunged down towards the thick gap beneath the entrance, slipping under and disappearing into the lobby of the inn. You knew it had reached Sebastian when the orb zinged back into your room, reattaching itself to your wand before the glow steadily faded, then vanished entirely. 

On cue, there was a soft knock of arrival. Sebastian’s head poked through the doorway, his eyes scanning the dim room in search of you before spying you atop the bed. He flashed you a small smile as he let himself in, but it was tight, stiff, and  obviously forced. 

“Feeling better?” he asked as he strode across the room, his usual swagger absent from his gait. 

You nodded as he sat down on the edge of the bed, your hackles rising against your will at the close proximity. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, but that didn’t make any of this easier. “I’m surprised this place has any functioning plumbing. It’s decrepit.” 

Sebastian huffed out a dry laugh, turning to look at the missing strips of wallpaper above the bathroom door. “Yeah, it’s not exactly fit for a king. We’re still in France– in some backwater village. Colmar, I think. It was the best place we could wait while Ominis went to get you. It’s been mostly abandoned for a long time since the whole town is still recovering economically from some muggle war.” 

Well. That explained the lack of people, at the very least. 

“And Anne? Is she really here?” Sebastian looked back at you, nodding once as the corners of his lips pulled down into a grimace. “Have the two of you seen one another since you escaped?” 

“Only from afar, and it was always a one sided affair. I never wanted her to know I was around. Hanging out near St. Mungo’s didn’t seem wise, which is why Devlin and I put a few implants at the hospital. They keep an eye on Anne and update me with any news of her.” 

“That must have made for an awkward reunion then,” you muttered, training your gaze down at your hands. Your palm was sweaty where it was curled around your wand, but you refused to put it down. Truthfully speaking, you’d had your fingers coiled around the thin handle from the moment Devlin had handed it to you. 

Sebastian watched you for a moment, his eyes roving over all of you in a nano-second. “You didn’t call me in here to talk about my sister, though. What’s happening in that pretty little head of yours, princess?” 

The way your heart fluttered and your resolve weakened in response to the nickname wasn’t ideal. This was serious, and you couldn’t let yourself be distracted by his suave one-liners or that playful glimmer in his eyes. Sighing, you rolled your shoulders back and lifted your chin to stare at him head on, and when he caught sight of your resolute expression, his half-smile vanished. “Henri made a comment while I was with him. I don’t think he expected for me to hear it since I was– well, I shouldn’t have been able to pick up on it, but I did. He mentioned something about you.” 

“About me?” Sebastian cocked his head to the side, “I suppose I should be flattered that I have fans talking about me all the way out in bumfuck nowhere.” 

You furrowed your brows and frowned, “This is serious, Sebastian.” 

“Obviously. You’re kind of scaring me here. Just tell me what he said.” 

“That’s just it,” you admonished with a groan. “I can tell you what he said, but I don’t think you’ll be able to tell me if there’s any truth to it.” 

Sebastian’s expression turned grave, and he pivoted so he was facing you fully before scooting forward slightly. “You can talk to me about anything, princess. Yes, there are some topics I can’t go into graphic detail about, but I wouldn’t be outright deceitful. You can trust me on that.” 

“I know. But you told me before that you couldn’t say much about your escape from Azkaban because of an Unbreakable Vow. What Henri said… I’m sure it has to do with that.”

It was barely perceivable– just a slight narrowing of his eyes at the same time his lip twitched– but you still caught the movements. He was nervous. “Tell me. If I can’t answer, then you’ll know you’re right.”

Fair enough. You anxiously ran your fingers along the wood of your wand, your eyes boring into Sebastian’s as you gathered the nerve to say what had been eating you alive for days now. “Henri said you’re Victor Rookwood’s protegee. Are you?”

Sebastian visibly paled, and his lips pressed firmly together. His eyes skirted away from yours to widen at the wall, and then there was silence. Loud, deafening silence as his answer, and your chest tightened uncomfortably. 

It was true. 

“Why? What the fuck, Sebastian?” Your voice was tight and cracked when you said his name, which only served to make him close his eyes entirely. “There’s no way. I killed Rookwood– he’s been dead for five years.” 

He shook his head before letting it sag between his shoulders, leaning away from you completely since that was apparently easier than looking at your crestfallen expression. “He’s… well, he’s not exactly at his peak anymore.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“I–” he swore under his breath, sitting up to rake his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what I can tell you. I’m not able to be as transparent as you might like, but believe me when I say I wish I could tell you everything.” 

“Well that’s reassuring,” you snapped, bitter sarcasm dripping from every word as your hands trembled with anger. “That makes all of this so much better. You want to tell me, but you can’t, but you wish you could. Real sound arguments there, Sebastian.” 

“For Merlin’s sake– what do you want me to say?!” Standing up quickly, Sebastian took to pacing along the length of the bed, his body coiled tighter than a spring. “You know I’m sworn to silence. Everything about my arrangement with Rookwood pretty much falls into the ‘do not mention’ category. The hows and the whys– I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, princess.”

He was right, but that didn’t make you any less resentful. Scowling, you crossed your arms over your chest, watching ruefully as Sebastian threaded his fingers together behind his neck. “Well, is there anyone who can tell me what I want to know? Or are all of your lackeys under the same gag order?” 

He shot you a biting look in response to the petulant way you spat the word, but you saw the gears in his head turning all the while. His hesitation confirmed that there was absolutely someone else you could talk to. Around a heavy sigh, Sebastian finally said, “Devlin can fill you in. I’m the only one stuck with the unique circumstances. But I need to be there for the discussion.” 

The words had barely left his mouth before you were standing, already storming over to the bedroom door with purpose driving your every step. You heard him say something along the lines of ‘hold on’, but you were done waiting. You wanted the truth, and you wanted it now. 

Devlin was still seated at the long table in the middle of the lobby. He had moved so he was closer to the firepit, his head bowed over a strip of parchment, but it snapped up at the sound of your thundering footsteps closing in on him. His brows furrowed when he caught sight of Sebastian jogging to keep up with you, and the question he had aimed at his boss was cut off by your harsh bark of, “You. Talk.” 

“Come again?” Devlin scooted his chair out and braced his hand on the back as though he were about to stand and make himself scarce. Apprehension was visible on his face, and you didn’t doubt you looked to be ten different kinds of pissed off. 

Sebastian sighed behind you as you yanked on the chair across from Devlin, the legs scraping against the floorboards as you aggressively threw yourself into it. The older man’s eyes jumped from Sebastian to you, then back to Sebastian as he hesitantly turned around to settle into his seat once again. “I’m a little worried here, Sallow.” 

“I would be too,” Sebastian muttered, and you didn’t bother looking at him as you made a particularly vulgar gesture at him from over your shoulder. 

“Talk,” you repeated. “Tell me about Rookwood. Tell me everything.” 

Devlin’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open as he turned his full attention to Sebastian. “How did you– what the hell did you tell her?” 

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Sebastian hissed. “Henri and his fat, French mouth did, though.” 

“Well. Shit.” 

You were seconds away from lobbing chairs at both men. “If I have to ask again, I might start breaking things.” 

A long, drawn out groan came from Sebastian, and he moved to sit down in the seat next to you. You tensed uncomfortably but otherwise said nothing. Now wasn’t the time to get pissy about his close proximity to you. Devlin, for all intents and purposes, looked to be on the verge of soiling himself, and it wasn’t until Sebastian gave him a stiff nod of confirmation that the elder Ashwinder looked back at you. “What do you want to know?” 

Thank the gods. “How about you start with how he’s alive? He wasn’t exactly in great shape when I saw him last. I honestly thought I’d killed him.” 

Devlin looked puzzled at your words for a moment before something dawned on him, and then the confusion was swiftly replaced with surprise. “You’re the one who messed him up five years ago?” 

“If by ‘messed him up’ you mean I broke damn near every bone in his body and left him for dead in a field, then yes. How do you know about that?” 

Sitting back in his seat, Devlin chanced a look at Sebastian, who still looked incredibly put off by the circumstances. “Everyone knows about that. Victor was as close to dead as they come after that whole ordeal. Medics tried healing spells and potions, but they could only do so much to help. The damage was too severe– everyone was stumped by the magic that had done it because it ran deep enough to scar his soul or something. I’m no doctor, but I can tell you that no one expected him to live. To this day, he’s what you might call a shell of the man he once was.” 

Perfect. So you hadn’t actually killed Rookwood– you’d just crippled him for life. For some reason, that didn’t make you feel any better. “I should have thrown him around harder, then. How does Sebastian factor into this? Why is he working for Rookwood?” 

The almost casual way you spoke about murder made Devlin gape at you, but he recovered fairly quickly, rubbing his temples as he got to work dredging up the past. “Right… well, the short version of the long story is this: it took a long time for Victor to recover from his fight with you. By the time he was functional– or, uh, somewhat functional– he knew he needed a replacement. Someone to take up the mantle and act on his orders. He might have been weaker physically, but he didn’t want to relinquish control of his position entirely. He had heard about Sebastian ending up in Azkaban and decided that he had potential, so he orchestrated the whole breakout from the sidelines.” 

That made next to no sense to you. Glancing at Sebastian, you saw that his spine was ramrod straight. It looked like he wanted to say something, but it wasn’t like he could insert his own opinions on the matter. At least, not without keeling over and dying at the hands of that damn Vow he’d foolishly made. Idiot. 

“Why Sebastian?” you asked, turning to look back at Devlin. “Why not a dark wizard he was already familiar with? You’re telling me he went out of his way to break a teenager out of Azkaban instead of just passing the reins to someone closer?” 

Shrugging, Devlin began toying with the corners of the parchment in front of him. “I honestly don’t know. Plenty of people objected to the decision, but he was dead set on getting Sebastian for some reason.” 

“Even immobile, old men can’t resist my wit and charm,” Sebastian deadpanned beside you. The joke fell flat, however. 

“Rookwood saw Sebastian with me in Hogsmeade years ago,” you recalled cautiously, the memory of that day vivid and clear as though it had happened yesterday. “In The Three Broomsticks– he cornered both of us with Harlow. He already knew the two of us were friends… could that be why he wanted him?”

Devlin’s puzzled expression told you that he didn’t seem convinced by your logic, which only served to frustrate you further. “Maybe, but I doubt it. You were both totally unassuming kids at that time. It’s more believable that Victor didn’t even recognize Sebastian after getting him out of Azkaban.” 

Your scowl deepened at the same time your nails began to dig into the table. It was too big of a coincidence for you to overlook. Devlin didn’t understand– he hadn’t been there to witness Rookwood’s desperation as he’d stared you both down in the middle of the pub. He had to have known that you and Sebastian had history. Why else would he have gone to such extreme lengths to break a random man out of prison, just to sic him on your trail?

It was too convenient. Too perfect.

“Anyway, Sebastian has been running the show in Victor’s stead ever since. It was agreed that he would take over in exchange for help curing his sister. It was Rookwood who suggested using the relic to do it, and it was his idea to track you down to get it open.” 

Oh. 

Oh.

If you’d been reeling before, now you were spiraling. It was as if a rug had just been yanked out from under your feet. Your heart fell into your stomach, and your head suddenly felt fuzzy. The repository’s magic buzzed to life beneath your skin, reacting to your emotions and making your hair stand on end as it charged the air around you. Sebastian heard your strangled intake of breath and side-eyed you warily, obviously feeling the dark power rolling off of you. Devlin looked like he wanted to be anywhere other than here. 

Sebastian had lied. He had looked you right in the eyes and lied about everything. 

It had never been his idea to come find you. The map you’d found in his office littered with dates and ancient magic sites was a direct result of Rookwood sending him after you, because of course he would. There wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that Victor wanted vengeance for what you’d done to him. Since he knew you and Sebastian had been friends, he must have figured that using him would make it infinitely easier to accomplish that feat. Maybe Sebastian was just a tool for Rookwood to utilize, and maybe he really was none the wiser to his mentor’s true motives, but he had still played you. 

He had fooled you. He’d cozied up to you and gotten you to lower your guard. He had kissed you and wooed you and made you feel things you had never experienced before, all while fibbing through his teeth. His silver tongue had simultaneously crafted the finest of flattery alongside the most convincing of lies, and you’d gone and believed all of it. The betrayal you felt in that moment cut sharper than any blade, and you truly didn’t think you’d ever been so hurt in your entire life.  

Sebastian said your name, pulling you out of the suffocating pit of aggrieved thoughts you found yourself drowning in. Slowly, you twisted your head to the side to stare at him. There was nothing but vast emptiness in your gaze– an impassive coldness that brought a crestfallen expression to Sebastian’s face. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his brows pinching together as he reached out to take your hand in his, but you yanked the limb away before he could touch you. He winced as though he’d been burned, then let his arm fall back to the table. “I would have told you if I could. But none of this changes the fact that I need your help.” 

He couldn’t possibly be serious. You scoffed harshly, curling your hands into tight fists. The power rippling through the room intensified in that moment, and you could have sworn you heard Devlin gag. 

“It changes everything! I’m not nearly as stupid as you think– Rookwood sent you after me because he hates me. He probably wants to kill me himself when the time comes, and he knew that you would be the perfect little delivery boy. Breaking you out of Azkaban, sending you after me, then promising to help you with Anne– it makes no sense! That loathsome cockroach could have probably cured her himself if he really wanted to! But no! This?” You gestured wildly at the room, broadly referring to everything about the situation. “All of this is about him getting revenge. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Devlin sat forward, holding his arms up and fixing you with a stern look that left little room for argument. “I know you’re worried, but Rookwood couldn’t cast a simple charm if you paid him to do it. His magic isn’t what it used to be. He’s more like a squib now than ever before, and he’s definitely not a threat–” 

“What do you mean he could have cured Anne?” Sebastian interrupted. You and Devlin both turned to look at him, and you pursed your lips as you took in the frantic gleam in his dark eyes. The flickering light from the firepit cast a foreboding shadow all across his face, and his voice wavered as he asked, “What makes you think he would have any ability to fix her curse?” 

“…You don’t know? Ominis never told you?” Some of your righteous anger evaporated as you realized what you had thought in your cell was correct; Sebastian wasn’t aware of Victor’s role in Anne’s suffering. 

His jaw hardened, and the paranoid glint in his eyes amplified. “No one has told me a damn thing. What the hell are you on about?” 

“Victor is the one who cursed Anne,” you murmured firmly, taking care not to sound boastful about the whole thing. It wasn't Sebastan’s fault he’d been fooled by his apparent mentor. It was kind of tragic, really. 

It was also incredibly predictable. 

He was up and out of his seat in a heartbeat, his fingers buried in his hair as he planted himself directly in front of the firepit. Between your dark magic filling the lobby and Sebastian’s palpable fury joining it, the inn suddenly seemed five times smaller than before. With his back to you, the tension in his posture was visible, and you and Devlin both cast warning glances at one another. The modicum of disbelief on the older man’s face told you he hadn’t known that tidbit of information either. “When did he tell you?” 

You stammered for a moment, “He didn’t exactly admit it outright, but–” 

“What did he say?” 

Shit. That was the voice of a man on the brink of erupting. Despite your justified anger at him and the situation as a whole, you willed your body to calm down, swallowing thickly as you stared at his back and psyched yourself up to break the gut-wrenching news to him. 

“Before he brought me to that field, he tried convincing me to work with him. When I refused, he got angry and started yelling about how he should have known better than to try reasoning with a child. He…” Your hands shook as you momentarily relived the terror you had felt in that moment. Outside of that wand shop in Hogsmeade was where you’d realized that Victor Rookwood was capable of evil, demented things like cursing a child just for crossing his path, and you had genuinely believed that he would do the same to you. Not your bravest moment, certainly. “He told me, ‘I’ve always said children should be seen and not heard’.” 

The silence that followed your statement was the anxiety-inducing kind. No one moved. Devlin looked confused, but understood enough of what was happening that he kept his mouth shut. Your eyes were glued to Sebastian’s back. He was eerily still– enough so that you couldn’t be sure if he was even breathing. Tiny tremors danced down his arms, which had fallen away from his hair to curl into iron-tight fists at his sides. You’d never been one to invade other people’s privacy, but in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to listen in on his thoughts. What was he thinking? 

“I’m going to kill him.” 

Ah. He was voicing his thoughts. That helped. 

“Hold on,” Devlin chimed in, ignoring the six foot tall mass of vibrating wrath behind him. “You’re telling me that Victor was responsible for this whole mess? The curse he promised to help break was his own doing?” 

“It would appear so,” Sebastian growled. The rough timbre to his voice promised violence, and you weren’t sure if you found it worrisome or reassuring. 

Devlin sighed, sitting back in his seat and pinching the bridge of his nose. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up completely gray by the time the conversation was over. “So… what then? He’s been using Sebastian this entire time?” 

“To get to me,” you surmised quickly. 

“No offense, kid, but not everything is about you and your special magic.” 

You were about to send a bolt of said special magic right at Devlin’s exasperated face. “That’s rich, coming from the Metamorphmagus. Do you have any other bright ideas?” 

“Well no, but yours is just insane!” Devlin threw his hands up, “You’re saying that Victor spent the last five years orchestrating this whole plan to get a relic for Sebastian to cure his sister– the very sister he cursed himself– all for the sake of getting you in front of him so he could, what? Kill you? Get one final lick in before he kicks the bucket? I wasn’t kidding when I said the man can barely hold a wand anymore, much less cast with one.” 

“How should I know what that demented loon has planned? You’re the ones working for him. I’m just telling you what I know,” you scowled, the urge to scream and shout leaving you abruptly. This discussion… it hadn’t gone at all like how you’d anticipated. “Rookwood always wanted the repository for himself. He always planned on crossing Ranrok to get it, but obviously I beat them both to the punch. Maybe whatever prompted him to send his people after me has to do with that, or maybe it really is as simple as revenge.” 

“He’s not getting a fucking thing from any of us.” Sebastian turned away from the roaring flames of the firepit, backlit and the very definition of menacing. From where you sat, he looked massive. His stiff, broad shoulders cast a shadow across the table, and his eyes glimmered with deadly rage. “This whole thing is over. I’m done. Three years of my life spent answering to the man who cursed Anne– Victor isn’t getting another fucking second from me.” 

Devlin started to turn in his seat, looking incredibly neurotic in the face of Sebastian’s ominous glowering. “Look, we can still cure your sister–” 

“How? By playing right into Victor’s hands? Who knows if the relic will even do what he said it would. I won’t take that chance, not with Anne, and certainly not with you.” 

Realizing he was speaking to you then, you looked at him anxiously, surprised to find fierce determination etched across his dark features. The stubborn tilt of his chin left you reeling, and you couldn’t help but shift uneasily in your chair. “I don’t need you to protect me. I can take care of myself.” 

“Tell that to the bruises you were wearing earlier,” he snapped, and you audibly gasped at the same time Devlin swore under his breath. The way Sebastian recoiled immediately after told you that he regretted the words as soon as they’d left him. He pinched his eyes shut as he deflated, “I didn’t mean– fuck. I’m sorry.” 

Oh, hell no. He wasn’t going to weasel his way out of a remark like that with a pitiful apology. You braced your hands on the table and stood, the legs of your chair scraping loudly against the floor and nearly toppling over from the force of the movement. “Let me make one thing abundantly clear; if I ever see Henri again, I will kill him. Not you, not Devlin, me. I’ll do to him what I did to Victor, but this time, I’ll swing harder. I will make sure he’s as dead as can be before I set his corpse on fire, and then I will dance on the ashes. Then I’ll find whoever told him I was responsible for freeing his dragons, and I’ll do the same to them.” 

Sebastian held your stare, and you saw Devlin scrub his hands down his cheeks in your peripheral vision. “Gods, kid… that’s…” 

Ignoring the fear in the Ashwinder’s voice, you tsk’d in annoyance. Sebastian, on the other hand, actually smirked. “The princess has made her decree, Dev. You better be glad your daughter is in the clear.” 

That actually made you raise your brows, your surprise showing plainly on your face before you could school it. “Nora didn’t sell me out?” 

“Why the hell do both of you think she’s capable of something like that?” Devlin spat, standing from his seat to better defend his daughter’s innocence. “I get that she’s difficult to be around sometimes, but honestly this is just insulting to hear.” 

“In my defense,” Sebastian cast his second in command a sidelong look, “she did suggest I tell Henri. Numerous times.”

“I kind of buried the hatchet with her before everything happened. I didn’t want to believe she was the reason he knew, but I still wondered,” you admitted softly, and Devlin sighed, his frustration simmering down some. “This is hardly important, though. What are we going to do about Victor?” 

Everyone fell silent at that, and the three of you glanced at each other uncertainly. No one knew what to say. Where did you go from here? Curing Anne had been the only reason you’d stuck around at first, but now knowing that Victor had likely planned all of this for the express purpose of killing you, staying didn’t seem wise. You didn’t even know what Sebastian was going to do since he was acting on Rookwood’s behalf. Even though he had said he was done, something told you that parting from this life he’d created for himself wouldn’t be so simple. 

The triangular huddle in the middle of the lobby persisted for another minute. Sebastian looked at you, you looked at Sebastian, and Devlin just looked at the floor. All of you were at a loss, and you couldn’t believe that the last month and some change had amounted to this. Here you were, standing in an abandoned inn on the outskirts of France, having just been held captive by an insane Poacher for a week straight, only to be rescued by Ominis of all people. Your life was a fucking disaster. 

“Even with all those books you love to read, you can still be so thick sometimes, Sebastian.” 

The soft, lilting, feminine voice came from the back of the inn, and you turned to spot the source at the same time Sebastian and Devlin did. They were obviously less surprised to see her standing there, seeing as they had been aware of her presence for a while. For you, though, it was your first time setting your sights on the owner of the voice in almost five years. Despite being told that she was here, seeing was definitely believing, and your jaw dropped at the same time your eyes widened.

There was an easy smile playing on her lips and a teasing twinkle in her brown eyes, the shade identical to Sebastian’s. 

Anne Sallow stood in the doorway of her bedroom, gazing at her brother with a fondness that confused you and made your head spin.

[dairine-bonnet]

Lynette von Valancius (aka Rogue Trader) *rushing towards Aurora and a crazy sniper on the roof*: Taking calculated risk is my second nature!

Heinrix van Calox: *deep sigh*

[iobartach]

@gazelessmenagerie [🥦] asked; Nails mig in the head with a freshly packed large snowball delivered in a suitcase by his own blood relative.

context bc yes 🤣 but also blame this too

He wonders if this is what betrayal feels like, a plan woven without his knowledge to cause amusement at his own expense. It's a thought that his mind sticks fast to as Miguel takes the thrown snowball head on, the force of impact knocking him back a step or two. Neck is seen to bend and adjust from the blow, scattering white powder everywhere as he recovers.

And glares, almost instantaneously, straight back at the pair of fools who were bored enough to concoct such a scheme together. From Broly, Miguel had come to expect such juvenal antics, that tended to occur when he hadn't a task or mission available to occupy the Brute's attention. As for Gabri, well...

That was a surprise, taken aback more by the thought of his younger brother teaming up with the alien warrior for a prank than any concerns that had a chance to fester. How curious.

"If you try that again..." He starts to say, voice as sharp as a knife's edge, whilst saying nothing at all about Broly's remarkable aim. "..I'll make you regret it."

[winterrbluess]

The trio is back!

[just-a-creep-babe]

It’s been 20 years (2 weeks) are you okay?

[lethargix]

enforcing my “nohobal as a cringe stoner couple” agenda (its their last day before laundry)

[pekoposting]

Komaeda or Mahiru, take your pick ＼⁠(⁠^⁠o⁠^⁠)⁠／ (using your love of peko-adjacent emoticons)

coy zoomer millennial

[newbatmanfan19]

Heyyyy so this is a draft of a draft of a chapter for a fic I’m writing. I did my best to make it work as a one-shot but some context for those who want it: It’s an AU focused on Helena Bertinelli. In this fic, she is the biological child of Bruce and Selina, but was given up for adoption by Selina, Bruce does not know about this kid (in Selina’s defense, she didn’t know where he was at the time.) Helena’s adopted father is not particularly fond of her so he sent her away to Saint Mary’s School for Troubled Girls, which turned out to be doing dealings with the Joker. Joker knows who Helena is (people talk in Gotham) so he kidnapped her and told her who her bio-parents were. She was eventually rescued by Batman and Robin!Jason and returned home… only to be sent to Healing Trails Academy six months later. Soooo Helena burns the place down and takes a little girl named Christina with her… hopefully you see my vision for this.

Christina is basically an OC but technically very loosely based on the Italian reporter featured in the Huntress comics. Helena is also basically an OC in terms of personality but I try to infuse as many canon elements as possible. That being said, I am going for accuracy in my portrayal of the rest of the characters (well, fanon accuracy for some, selective canon accuracy for others) I’d love some feedback/constructive criticism or even just general suggestions if anyones interested! This is my first batfam fic and I have spent almost two years getting to know these characters to prepare to write this but there are so many characters to learn :=[

CW: mentions of child abuse (I think that’s all)

…

Meeting Catwoman

Helena hadn’t meant to go following in her biological mothers footsteps quite so closely, but when the need arose, she wasn’t sure what else to do. If it had just been her, maybe she could get by on petty thievery and her wits, but it wasn’t just her. She had Christina to provide for and try to raise, even if Helena was only three years her senior. At only thirteen, it wasn’t like she could go out and get a job. No one Helena thought was worth working for would give one to her. She wasn’t particularly fond of having to resort to crime, but at least she was working for herself and not some skeezy crime lord.

It started simple, nabbing a wallet off an unsuspecting business man or snatching whatever was sticking out of a senile old lady’s grocery bags. Helena quickly found she had inherited her mothers talent for pick-pocketing, and she couldn’t deny the thrill it gave her to do so, as much as she wanted to hate every second of it.

Then, things escalated. She started breaking into some of the nicer houses in Gotham to grab jewels and trinkets, and from there…

Well, she started stepping on Catwoman’s claws.

It was fully intentional, Helena could admit that to herself. She wanted the Cat’s attention. As long as she kept up the jewel heists, it was only a matter of time before she ran into her mother. Helena just hadn’t anticipated it happening quite so quickly. She only just got her suit together, courtesy of Christina.

The moment she got her hands on the absolutely enormous diamond sitting on a nice, velvety pillow, she felt a presence behind her.

“Now, just what do you plan on doing with that after you steal it?”

Helena froze. Even with her back turned, she knew exactly who was speaking to her. After all the scheming she did just to get her mother in the same room as her, she hadn’t quite planned on what to do when she actually got face-to-face with the woman.

She recovered, grabbing the diamond and slipping it into one of the many hiding places Christina had sewn into Helena’s suit. She was certainly crafty with a sewing machine, that one. Then, Helena turned to face her mother, for the very first time in her whole life.

Catwoman was a sight to behold, Helena decided. She practically oozed confidence and charisma, even just standing there. Hands on her hips, staring expectantly at the young girl in front of her. Helena noted that her suit was remarkably similar to Selina’s, an intentional choice by Christina, no doubt. She was glad they were in the masks, Helena knew from her mild stalking of her parents that she was the spitting image of Selina, one look at her unmasked face and the Cat would know.

“Sell it?” Helena hadn’t intended for her response to come out as a question, but to be fair she never really planned on doing anything with it. She would have probably ended up returning it eventually.

The jewels she stole from houses were a dime a dozen. Expensive, but nothing precious, easily taken by the pawn shop owners who didn’t ask questions. Even if they did, she could come up with a story. But this diamond was sitting in a museum under several layers of (really, easily cracked) security for a reason. It was recognizable, she’d need to do dealings with some shady people in order to get rid of it, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that.

“Oh yeah? Who to?” Catwoman’s smirk grew even wider, if that was possible.

“None of your business.”

Catwoman sighed at that. She looked Helena up and down, crossing her arms in front of her as she eyed the girl, and for a moment Helena worried she was going to try to do something like fight her for it. She didn’t.

Instead, she held out her hand, palm facing up. “Come on, hand it over. What else are you going to do with it?”

Helena scoffed, like she actually thought she would give up that easily.

“Finders keepers. I got here first.”

“What are you anyway? Robin’s new arch nemesis or something?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Helena complained rather flatly. “I’m nobody's nothing. I’m just… a stray.”

“I can see that. Kids with parents don’t go running around committing grand larceny.” She sounded smug, so smug. What did she have to be so smug about?

I have parents. One of them is standing right in front of me.

Helena swallowed her protests and leveled a glare at the Cat instead. Catwoman narrowed her eyes at her and if Helena wondered if she was sizing her up before, she was sure of it now.

“You got someplace to go, kid?”

Helena scoffed even louder that time. How ironic. The woman who gave her up for adoption was now trying to take her in off the streets. Not that she could accept the offer, one look at Helena’s unmasked face and Selina would know exactly who she was. Bruce may be oblivious, but she had the advantage of actually knowing Helena existed in the first place. And if she knew who Helena was, well, she already got rid of her once.

“Do I look like I don’t have a place to go?”

“Maybe. You’re resourceful, I’ll give you that. Took down the security system before I even got here.” Catwoman started circling Helena, this time she was examining the suit, as opposed to the girl herself. “That suit is something, but you should really get some kevlar if you want in on the business. I know a guy.” She stopped once she was back in front of Helena. “You’re what? Twelve?”

“I’m almost fifteen!”

Okay, her birthday was 11 months away, so maybe not almost, but still.

Selina was satisfied with that answer, satisfied she got some information out of Helena.

“So is that what I’m supposed to call you? Stray?” For the first time in their conversation, Selina dropped the smirk and seemed genuine, showing some respect for the little thief.

“If you would be so kind.” Helena responded, trying to muster up some of her mothers charisma in her smile.

The sound of glass breaking echoed into the hall they were standing in, followed by the voice of Robin chastising Batman.

Uh-oh.

Helena was not prepared to be seeing both of her parents that night. Nor was she prepared to be captured by one of them.

“Aaand that’s my cue. Sorry, gotta blast. As ‘mistah J’ likes to say, the Bat spoils all the fun!” Helena adopted Harley’s thick Brooklyn accent as she mocked the nickname. “But I’ll get back to you on that armor thing. In exchange–” Helena slipped the diamond out of its pocket and tossed it to Catwoman. “Thanks!”

Really, it was more of a survival tactic than a show of good faith, Batman was far less likely to follow Helena if she didn’t keep the jewel. She grappled up to a nearby vent and made her escape, she’d be back out on the street in less than a minute, and soon after that, she’d be far, far away from the scene. If Catwoman chose to inform Batman of Helena’s presence, she’d be long gone by the time she got done explaining. Though Helena thought she probably wouldn’t, she’d be too busy flirting.

Helena was happy, meeting her mother had gone about as well as she could have hoped for. Maybe Catwoman would be willing to take Stray under her wing, show her the ropes. It was the closest thing to a mother-daughter relationship Helena thought she could hope for. Fantasies of them working together on heists filled her mind as she made her way back to the abandoned theater she lived in with Christina.

Christina had proved herself as a valuable asset in more ways than one. She found the abandoned theater and suggested they live in it back when they first escaped from Healing Trails. Helena thought it was creepy, but seeing as they didn’t have any other prospects, she agreed. Christina loved it, and that’s what mattered. Plus it had the sewing machine she ended up using for Helena’s suit, so it was a win-win. Helena thanked God for the younger girls theater background. That and her unrelenting nosiness that helped greatly in digging up information on Helena’s parents.

When Helena got back to the theater, she found Christina in the green room asleep on the mattress Helena had bought with the spoils from her last break-in. After changing out of the suit and into pajamas, she tried to slip in beside her without waking her, but Christina always woke up. She still had nightmares about the academy almost every night, and she would wake up at the drop of a feather.

“How did it go?” A small, groggy voice asked.

“Good, I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Go back to sleep. I’m tired.” Helena yawned as she settled in next to her pseudo-sister.

“Can I see it?” Christina shimmied around so that she was facing Helena, the light coming in from the one tiny window in the room shined on her face, showing her little blue eyes and her freckles.

“I didn’t get the diamond.”

“I thought you said it went good.” Christina pouted slightly and Helena pushed a blonde hair out of her face.

“I met my mom.” She replied simply.

Christina lit up. “Really? Did she like you?”

“I think so, but that’s only because she doesn’t know who I am. Or maybe she just thought it was funny.” That time, it was Helena’s turn to pout.

“I don’t think that’s true, you know. There’s lots of reasons people give babies up for adoption. And if she’s really Catwoman, then maybe she gave you up to keep you safe.”

Helena wanted to believe Christina, she really did. But she was too young, her explanation sounding too… hopeful.

“Stellar job, that did.” She snorted. “If that's true, then all the more reason not to tell her who I am. If she gave me up to keep me safe, then she probably wouldn’t like what I’m doing right now very much.”

“You don’t even want to give her a chance? Maybe she misses you just as much as you miss her. Maybe she already knows who you are and that’s why she liked you!” Christina’s voice was practically pleading by that point. Helena understood, she was probably hoping that they’d both be taken in by Catwoman and be a proper family, complete with an actual parent.

“Maybe.” Helena conceded. “But I want to try to get to know her first. That way, if she doesn’t want me, then at least I got to spend time with her for a little while, yanno?”

“Yeah, I get it. But you really should try. You gotta give people a chance sometimes.” Christina yawned and turned back over onto her stomach. “Goodnight, Lena.”

“Sweet dreams.”

…

I hope you liked it ☺️ — I’ve been storyboarding for almost a year at this point (my timeline is air tight goddammit.) Also I did not come up with stray but I can’t find the OG post I saw about it!! If someone knows who originally came up with that idea please let me know so I can give creds!

[spikedfearn]

a preview for chapter v

nsfw, oral (receiving)