#lucia's answers to some of these questions

[deb-ava]

JEAN SMART and HANNAH EINBINDER during the Hacks Season 3 Collider Interview at SXSW 2024

[seleneprince]

Thanks you for answering!

NOW i'm more curious about Dick and N!D . You say that he's one shz hates the most,why? Is this because of the whole incident with Damian or is it because something else?

And i 'm really expecting the moment when everybody will finally know that N!D hate them so much (or is distant wirh a lot of them). Who will be the most hurt/angry about that? I think that will be a hard blow for Dick because it seems to me that Lucia try to be civilised with him and as he didn't pay too much attention to her ,did he think they on good terms ? How will he react with her if he know?

Sorry if there are too much question but i really love this concept/wip(?) And i'm eager to see your other ideas or blurb for this😊!

Oh boy, i'm so glad you asked that..👀😈

She feels this way with Dick for many small reasons, but the main one absolutely revolves from the murder attempt from Damian. Because Dick, although not maliciously, he handled it terribly. And I mean, terribly.

Before that, N! Daughter admired Dick, even. He was the main reason she took gymnastic classes and tried so hard on them. To impress him. To bond with him. Everyone went on and on about how he was the golden boy, such a good big brother, and she saw it too. She just wished he paid her the same amount of attention and care he had for the others..

But the thing is, Dick doesn't know how to bond with normal people. He can handle Jason, Tim, Damian and everyone else because, despite all their differences, they're the same: Soldiers. Vigilantes. All of them at some point trained and fought under Batman's shadow (some still do). They share similar stories of wounds, certain missions and the whole "risking their lives everyday at night to fight crime". That's the kind of trauma-bonding that this whole mess of a family has been built upon...and for someone who hasn't been through the same stuff as them, who doesn't understand their mission or has wore the mantles, well, Dick is clueless on how to approach them. And they might be unconsciously pushed aside because none of them know how to handle normal people. How could they, when they themselves haven't been normal in their whole lives? When they people they usually hang out with and interact are just like them?

In Dick's eyes, N! Daughter has the privilege of a safe, comfortable life, away from the danger and violence of theirs. She doesn't know the worst of it. And it's fine. But Damian, little terror, he hasn't had the same luxury. Sure, he grew up in a palace with servants, but he was also forced to train from the moment he could walk and bleed for his grandfather's approval. He was never allowed to be a child. Constantly bleeding, suffering and enduring pain to be molded into the perfect little assassin his family wanted him to be. Dick feels sorry for him, and we know he becomes very fond of Damian and sort of his guardian.

Which makes him prioritise the boy's needs and emphatise with him a lot, expecting people to do the same given his traumatic past...even if it comes out at the worst moment.

After the Damian tried to kill her and left that scar, when she was recovering from the still fresh wound, holding a bloodied bandage over her neck, Dick visited her at her room. She wasecstasic, so happy to have her big brother that she admired back then check on her. He sat beside her and told her the this:

"(Name), look, what Damian did was a terrible mistake. He didn't meant to, but he’s had a very difficult life with some awful people. It's not really his fault. I promise you that he won't do it again. Just please, forgive him."

As he spoke, a ringing began to grow and grow in her ears, until she could no longer hear him. Her mind going over and over what he said. She just nodded silently, the pain of the wound keeping her from talking (but also because she didn't trust herself to talk without insulting and cursing him) She didn't even feel when he retracted his hand from her shoulder as soon as she nodded. "Thank you (Name), knew you would understand. He's not really a bad kid, you'll see. He just needs some love and proper guidance to change his ways. We'll talk again when you're better, okay?" He said, moving away from her, obviously distracted. She didn't bother nodding again. She already knew he wouldn't come back.

That's what cemented her disgust for him. Not only the fact he spent the following days spending time with Damian (who by the way, never apologised or shower remorse for what he did), but how he just stood there and told a girl to her damn eyes who had just suffered a murder attempt in her sleep that she had to "be understanding" and basically be the "bigger person" with her attacker. With the blood still in her bandage.

That conversation didn’t just hurt, it broke something inside her. She realized then that no one in the family would choose her, that she only had her mom and the twins. And, in her mind, Dick wasn’t just complicit; he's a symbol of everything wrong with their dynamic.

The first time she tells this story is to Duke, when he gathers courage to ask her why she can't stand Dick, why she always tenses when he talks to her and avoids looking at him, despite being apparently the reliable, loving big brother of all. Needless to say, he's shocked…and angry on her behalf.

"I was holding my neck together with a damn bandage, and instead of asking me how I was feeling, instead of holding Damian accountable, he asked me to understand him."

In her mind, it sounded like:

"You’re the sacrifice. You’re the one who has to be stronger. You’re the one who has to forgive and move on. Because he’s more important"

And best part? Dick has no idea how deeply he hurt her. He thinks of that moment as a difficult conversation where he tried to make peace between his siblings, to what was best for everyone because Damian was still fresh out of the League's influence and he didn't know better. He doesn’t realize that it was the moment she gave up on him, and maybe the whole family.

He's used to be everyone's reliable big brother, the sunshine boy, so you can guess his surprise when he realises his sister avoids being in the same room as him and never smiles around him. When the little girl he remembers always lighted up when he spoke to her and went out of her way to get his attention...what happened? Where did that adorable little girl go? Can he get her back?

[420days]

GQ COUPLES QUIZ | JEY USO

summary: jey & janey test how much they know one another

warnings : none

"Sweet face, which pair should I wear?" I smiled up at Jey, my boyfriend of three years, as I held up two pairs of earrings.

"I like the silver hoops baby. They match what you have on." He looked up from his phone and over at me.

Nodding my head I quickly placed the gold hoops into my ear and then pulled the silver Vintage Alhambra bracelet out my jewelry bag.

We just finished our photoshoot for GQ magazine and now we're getting read to film our GQ Couples Quiz to help our fans learn a little more about us.

"Help me pleaseee." I stood in front of him and held my wrist out so he could put the bracelet on for me. "Thank you." I smiled and looked down at my wrist once he was finished.

"Janey, Jey, they're ready for you." One of the producers poked her head into the room.

"Thanks Kara." Jey said before grabbing my hand and leading me to where we would be having our couples quiz. Valentine's Day was right around the corner so they had the set decorated in hearts along with little candy bowls.

"You want some candy babe?" I asked him as I looked through the bowl and tried to find some chocolate.

"I'll get some after we finish." He shook his head and then went to take his seat. I sat across from him and crossed my left leg over my right, getting comfortable in my seat.

"Fix your shirt babe." I said to him once I noticed the collar was slightly tucked on one side.

"Preciate you mamas." He said before fixing his collar and getting comfortable in his seat as well.

The producer counted down and we both introduced ourselves. Being the gentleman he is, he let me ask him questions about me first.

"So our beautiful fans wanna know how we met. Go ahead and tell them." I smiled before putting the card behind the others.

"I feel like it was just yesterday but I've actually saw her at this party my brother was giving and I was eyeing her all night. Of course I saw her on Instagram because she's a well known model but in person, mmm." He said making me laugh.

"Mmm what?"

"You had on this satin, tight fitted dress and I was to nervous to say anything to you for real until I saw someone trying to talk to you." He went on explaining.

"Yeah, you knew you had to snatch me up before somebody else did. You still didn't tell me why you were so nervous?" I rested my face in my hand.

"Cause you're this big ass supermodel with a whole lot of confidence and I didn't know if you were gonna take me serious."He shrugged his shoulders and smiled spread across my face.

"Well, you were a gentleman and approached me with a lot of respect. That immediately got you sum browniepoints in my book." I smiled before moving on the the next series of questions.

"Where's my dream travel destination?" I asked him and watched as he actually had to sit and think about it.

"Baby, you don't know this?" My jaw dropped slightly as I looked at him. He ran his hand through his beard and laughed lightly.

"You gotta cut me some slack. I feel like your answer changes like every two months." He shook his head.

"You're so dramatic, it does not change every two months. There is more than one answer if that's what you're getting at."

"Yeah, cause you be on TikTok getting ideas but ima say you really wanna got to Barbados cause your family is from there." He said, still unsure.

"Mmh, and where do I want to travel with you. We literally talked about it on our flight." I twirled my foot around and waited for his answer.

"Oh! St Lucia, right?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Mmh, you know I'm an island gal."I nodded my head with a small laugh.

Of course he knew the answer to all the basic questions like my hometown, birthday, and the details of our first date. I loved how the questions went from being simple to more complex.

"What's one tradition I would like to past down to our kids?" I smacked the cards against my hand and watched as he thought about it. There was so many different answers to the question so he honestly couldn't get it wrong.

"Jey, you know this." I added while waiting for his response. "There's so many answers."

"Y'all see how she calls me Jey when she gets serious? She's applying some heavy pressure." He pointed towards me making the production staff laugh while I playfully rolled my eyes.

"Oh please, just answer the question."

"One thing I love about you is how family oriented you are. I know you would love for us to actually eat dinner together at the dinner table. Holidays are also a huge deal to you so we will be decorating for them.” He gave me a wide smile as I blushed.

"I can give him extra points for that answer, right? Y'all heard how sweet my baby was?" I asked the camera crew as I looked at the camera.

"I'm always sweet for you." He flirted with me.

Once he finished answering my questions it was his turn to ask me some questions and he was not letting up on me. Not to mention his questions matched his personality, goofy and exciting.

"Babe, I know the answer but I can't say it out loud. The people are gonna be in our business." I giggled

"I mean you can forfeit your point." He held his hands up and shrugged his shoulders.

"No, come here." I motioned my finger towards him and watched as he leaned in closer to me. I placed my hand on his arm for leverage, allowing me to whispered his guilty yet dirty pleasure into his ear.

He instantly began to laugh and leaned his head against mine as he did.  I knew his body better than him and he couldn't even deny it. I placed my hand on his leg before sitting up and fixing myself in my seat.

"Yeah, that's a point." He nodded his head, trying to control his laugh as he damn near wiped tears from his face while I did a dance in my seat.

"A point!" I smiled.

"Okay, okay, what accomplishment am I the most proud of outside of my wrestling accomplishments?" He asked me and I thought to myself a little bit.

"Mmh, I'm gonna saying being able to provide for your family but most importantly being able to give your mom the life she deserves. So buying her a house and stuff like that?"

"You know me so well." He leaned back in his seat and nodded his head. He then gave me bonus points for answering the question with multiple correct answers.

Ultimately at the end I got more questions right than Jey but he did get all the personal questions correct. He was the kind of person who knew the details that were most important and that's all I cared about.

"So this is how many points you got." I held my hands up where the numbers would appear on the screen showcasing a 23/25 in blue bubble letters.

"And this is how many you got." Jey smiled and watched as 25/25 appeared on the screen in pink bubble letters.

"Damn you know me, huh?" He looked over at me.

"Of course I know my man, silly." I leaned over and kissed his lips, sweetly.

tags: @bebesobrielo @trentybenty @amandairene88 @kiki1704 @paigereeder @uceyliyahh @skyesthebomb @cyberdejos2 @chloeijuana @tian-monique

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Arizona | On Call

part i

summary: frankie has a question.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. mostly fluff here, folks. and some (maybe a lot of?) angst. just a couple of buds chillin'. some talk of dead/absent parents.

reader is a teacher and has hair, but she is otherwise a blank slate.

wc: 5.1k

an: wow - i really did not expect this little guy to get the response it did yesterday. eternally grateful for your support and enthusiasm. i love you. hope y'all enjoy <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

That taste All I ever needed All I ever wanted Too dumb to surrender

- arizona, kings of leon

series masterlist | main masterlist

It’s quiet in the house. 

Golden, gooey sunlight pools on the living room floor, slanting through the windows. It’s warm against the arm he has resting on the edge of the sofa, not a chirp or a lawnmower whirring outside, and when Frankie closes his eyes, you’re the first thing he sees. 

Evenings like this are the mirror of when your truck first rattled up the street and groaned to a halt outside your front door. He can see it now, within the darkness behind his eyelids, how he’d peeked from behind the curtains in Lucia’s stifling room, her small, sleeping body sprawled on the bed behind him. How the truck door had swung open, how your bare legs had emerged from the cool of the cab, how you’d hopped down onto the pavement and raised a hand to shield your eyes from the low-lying sun. You’d licked your teeth as you’d rechecked the address and looked up at the house - your house. Blown a deep breath out from your cheeks and then turned back to the truck to scrabble around for your keys. 

Frankie had turned from the window as soon as you’d bent across the front seat, only glimpsing the bottom of the plush of your ass peeking from below your sweat shorts before he’d swept the curtain and the image aside.

He’d given it two minutes before he’d clattered out of his front door at the same time as you’d emerged from yours, raising a hand in greeting over the fence that separated your houses. You’d answered with a wide grin and a lilting hey, neighbour as he’d looped the boundary, holding out a palm for you to shake. I'm Frankie, he’d said, shooting a thumb over his shoulder at his open front door. From across the way. You’d given him your name in return, quirking an eyebrow as you asked whether he was feeling strong.

The truth is, that day Frankie would have been whatever you needed him to be. Immediately taken by your warm charm, your glinting smile - the mischief always just behind your eyes, the way you moved through your house. Even now, he cooks you dinner during exam season when you’re up to your eyeballs in papers, mows your lawn when he’s already cutting his own. Offers a shoulder to cry on when you’re missing your dad, always your best friend with spare beers when you’re free on a Saturday night - and you never fail to return the favour. 

The way things are now, it’s like he can’t even remember what it was like to not have you next door. What it was like when he wasn’t launching your paper onto your porch, what it was like when you weren’t soaking him and Lucia with the hose over the fence as they launched water balloons at you from the other side, both your backyards filled with squeals and shouts of laughter. He’s so glad - so infinitely glad - that fate or whatever it was that had a hand in these things dropped you on the curb that evening a year ago. That he had grinned and laughed and said yes ma’am, that he had lept at the chance to be a good neighbour and started lifting the boxes from the truck bed, helped you set up your wifi, invited you in for a beer in his kitchen when you ordered food for the two of you as Lucia slept soundly upstairs. 

He remembers being shocked at how easy it was. Easy conversation, easy laughter, easy silence. Easy friendship.

How he’d looked forward to seeing you across your lawns in the morning, calling out your greetings as you clambered into your truck and he fastened Lucia into her booster in his. The catch ups over the fence when you’d finished your days, recounting stories from the classroom or cockpit, Lucia chipping in her own from nursery. The delight in your eyes when they’d knocked on your door a couple of weekends after you’d moved in, arms laden with a tub of homemade cookies. How you’d invited them in, drinking coffee and juice, how easily you’d gotten on with Lucia. She’d adored you after that first afternoon spent together, falling asleep in your lap as you’d settled in front of the TV in low evening light. You and Frankie had talked long afterwards in lowered voices, you refusing to be relieved of his daughter’s tiny sleeping body, insisting you were just as comfortable as she was. The little girl only stirred when Frankie made you snort with laughter at something one of his friends had said. 

Conversation had turned to friends, family. He told you about his brothers in arms, his mom and dad, Lucia’s mother. A woman who was jetting across the country as a flight attendant, an amicable breakup leading to easy co-parenting. You’d gladly told him about your friends, but hesitated before telling him of how your mom had disappeared from your life when you were little, how your dad had passed away a couple years back. He’d stretched an arm out, one hand settling on and squeezing your knee. Big palms warm and heavy, thick fingers gentle and understanding. When you’d followed the line of his arm up to meet his eyes again, crow's feet folded in their corners. Kindness, understanding. Someone who knew loss, too.

He asked about your dad, what he was like, and you’d regaled him with stories of growing up with ice-cream dates, summers you spent fishing on the local lake, how he’d carry you on his shoulders, his tight throat when he told you how proud he was of you at graduation. 

He’d tentatively asked if your dad had been why you moved out here, understanding the need to put physical distance between yourself and the pain and memory of your surroundings.

No, you’d said, eyes glinting ruefully, this was because of a breakup.

Frankie hadn’t pushed for anymore after that.

You’d invited them over for dinner the weekend after, and Frankie had stood by your side in the kitchen, insisting on helping you cook, immovable despite the rag you whipped at him. As you chopped and fried, you'd told Lucia about stars and blackholes and plants and bugs. She was especially taken by bugs.

You’d dug out books you’d borrowed - and never returned - from the school library for her to pore over, even giving her a magnifying glass to use to hunt for critters in your backyard as you and Frankie had washed up afterwards. The three of you then spent an hour on your hands and knees on the grass as Lucia found worms and beetles and caterpillars, a soft smile on Frankie’s face as you shouldered her never-ending questions with all the grace of a bona-fide teacher. 

Every night that week, Lucia had clamoured to go next door and see the bug lady again.

Frankie had had to explain that you were busy working (yes, even this late, mija), and then had to endure the tiny stomping of feet as Lucia explained to him - with all the levity a four-year-old could muster - that there just weren’t enough bugs in their garden; they had to see the bug lady.

Bug lady. The first nickname they’d christened you with. You’d laughed with a full chest when he told you, and assured him it would be a mantle you’d bear with honour. Bug lady. And then, with time and growing softness, it was shortened to bug, and it stuck. 

Tonight, there is a different question to can we come over and look for bugs? that he needs to ask.

He thinks - knows - you’re the right person for it. Deep in his heart. Can count on one hand the number of people he’d entrust the safety of his daughter with, and all of them are too far away to call.

He needs a babysitter. And so far, he’s gotten nowhere fast with his inquiries.

The numbers he’s tried have been polite enough, more than good at their jobs. But they have clients already, families who came way before him that meant accommodating sitting at relatively short notice would be sporadic at best and impossible at worst.

And he’s running out of time. 

His first late night flight is Thursday; some rich guy taking a date up into the skies to watch the view over the city. It’s good money, and he'd be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the sights, too. The glimmer of the city below, the ridges of the hills, flash of the ocean in the distance. The worlds and lives of so many people cradled in the bowl of the valley. It’s beautiful, humbling. It’s worth sharing.

You’d enjoy it, he knows. And every night flight reminds him of an evening not too long ago when he’d struck a deal with you, asking you to grab him a beer when you’d gotten up to go to the bathroom mid-movie. You’d wiggled your eyebrows at him, what’s in it for me?

He’d snorted at you, offering various services and items in exchange, all refused, but then before I’ll take you up in the heli if you - had even finished leaving his mouth, you’d leaped up from the sofa, grabbing his hand to shake on it before he could back out. At night. You’d specified, nodding, wide-eyed as though he’d been the one to say it.

He’d rolled his eyes at your eagerness, demanding you make sure it was an extra cold one for that, and you’d bowed in the doorway, smirking. 

‘At your service, my liege,’ you’d said, before scampering out the way of the cushion Frankie launched at you. 

He’d had to ask you to explain to Lucia why she shouldn’t call him my liege two days later, when it seemed she’d lost the meaning of Papi in an effort to be like you. You’d snorted into your soda when he told you, but had fixed Lucia with serious eyes when you told her that Papi was a very special name to call her dad, one that helped him feel loved and appreciated. Lucia had acquiesced quickly afterwards, stretching her arms out to Frankie before he lifted her from her chair, tucking her face into his neck as she apologised profusely, reassuring him that she still loved him the same, just that my liege had sounded so fun coming from your mouth. Frankie had looked over her curls at your bitten lip, your silent laughter, holding his own amusement behind his teeth as he stroked her back and cooed that he knew, mija, it’s okay.

He remembers, with a lurch below his navel, how Lucia had then asked whether you’d call him Papi to show him he was loved, too. How both your jaws had fallen slack, how something had flickered behind your eyes too quickly for him to catch before you’d told her you call him other things to the same effect. Fish, buddy, and then mouthed over the top of her head, asshole. Frankie had laughed, the jumping of his body pushing Lucia into her own giggles, and you’d soon followed.

It’s strange how much like a family you’ve become over the last year, how well you’ve slotted into their lives. One of his best friends, pulling up with the boys when it comes to ranking his favourite people. Filling gaps he didn’t even know were there, healing fissures he thought had closed. How well you fit in his arms, how well your head fits beneath his chin. How well your lips might fit with his, how well you -

A breath of laughter puffs from his nose, and he rolls his eyes at himself. He’s too old to have a crush, too old to be smiling to himself when he thinks of the girl next door, his best pal. Besides, he has a bad track record with dating friends, anyway.

He checks his watch, stills, listening for the sounds of a restless daughter. Satisfied, he pushes himself up from the orange-bathed haven of the couch with a grunt, pulls open the front door, and skips down the porch steps.

The stubble of the lawn is cool beneath his socks as he jogs across the grass, curving around the picket fence between your properties to pop back up on the other side, striding towards your house.

He takes the steps up your porch two at a time, rapping his knuckles against the sage green of your door. He waits no more than five seconds before he knocks again, earning an irritated alriiiiight from the other side.

The click of a lock, and it swings open to reveal you in shorts, a cap, and a worn cotton t-shirt - sun-warmed, soft, gorgeous. 

You grin at the man on your doorstep, and he grins back.

‘Evenin’, teach.’

You click your tongue at the nickname.

‘Way past your bedtime, Morales,’ you tease, ‘You need a warm milk?’

Frankie flicks the back of his hand against the bill of your cap, giggling as it falls to the ground. 

You smooth your hair, scrabbling for the hat, scowling at him.

‘Need a warm milk,’ he mocks, and you land a carefully curled fist against his bicep as you stand, deadening his arm. ‘Ow, pendeja,’ he pouts, rubbing at it. ‘You know, wearing a cap indoors still doesn’t make you cool.’

That pretty, playful little scowl flickers over your face again.

‘I just finished my study break, actually.’

‘Oh yeah? What are we studying today? A million ways teenagers make your life hard?’

The scowl is stolen by a bitten back smile, and you wave him off, turning on your heel down the hallway, tugging your cap back on.

‘Whaddya want? Pain in my ass,’ you call, walking away from him and back into your kitchen. He follows, drumming his fingers along your sideboard as he goes.

‘I need a favour, if you have any spare.’

Your kitchen is bathed in the same warm glow as his living room, but instead of quiet, there’s the slow turn and hum of your laundry machine in the closet, the sweet croon of a voice from the record player in the corner. Fruit in a bowl, bottles of gifted wine, pictures of friends, paintings from students. The jungle of houseplants you keep towards the patio doors, the jumble of papers, books, planners, and pens spread around your laptop on the table.

It’s so you. So like home.

You pick up the stem of your wine glass, half full, between your thumb and pointer finger, eyes turned up to the ceiling as you count on your other hand. You wince and suck your teeth, eyes falling back to his.

‘I dunno. ’S not looking good, Fish,’ you say somberly, ‘My favour quota’s already been exceeded this year.’

‘Baby, it’s March.’ 

You shrug.

‘Been busy.’

He raises an eyebrow at you, and you scoff.

‘Well, I guess I could make an exception for you, big guy.’

He smiles, leaning against the kitchen counter.

‘I need a babysitter.’

You nod, swallowing a mouthful of wine before placing the glass back on its coaster. Papers shift and whisper as you hunt for your phone, buried in the piles of essays.

‘Oh. Sure. I have some numbers -’

‘Actually - I was thinking -’

‘Now that’s dangerous for all of us.’

He points a finger at you, and you bite your lip, humour lighting your eyes.

‘Ha. Anyway. I was thinking - I know… I know you got that big car bill last month. And I know you don’t get paid enough. And you know Lucia loves you…’

You frown at him.

‘You want me to babysit?’

He bites his lip, looking over your table with clearer eyes. You’re busy. Always busy. Overworked and stressed. A heat crawls up his neck, early onset guilt.

Maybe this was a bad idea. He inhales deeply.

‘Yeah. But I’m starting to realise that might be a lot to ask.’

Hm.

He watches as you pull out a chair and sit at the table, studying him.

‘If it makes it any better, you’re my last resort.’

He’s relieved to hear a flutter of a giggle in response, and you clap your hand over your heart.

‘Ouch. There I was, thinking I meant more to you guys than that.’

He crosses his arms, shaking his head, smiling.

‘You know you do, bug.’

You take your cap off, throwing it away from you on the table, rubbing at your forehead.

‘I’ve got a lot of work to do, Frankie,’ you say softly, eyes gentle.

He sighs.

‘I know. You can say no. It’s just - all the numbers I’ve called are kind of booked up, that’s all. And I guess - I wanna leave her with someone I trust. Someone I know. At first, anyway.’

You stare at him still, thinking.

‘What are we talking?’

‘Once or twice a week. Three at the very most. Just for late night flights.’ He pauses. ‘I’ll pay you top dollar.’

You make a disapproving noise.

‘You don’t have to pay me, Frankie.’

‘Of course I do, don’t be ridiculous. It’s on your time. And if it helps you out…’ 

You frown at him, but he fixes you with a look. No negotiating. You turn your gaze out to your backyard. 

He watches, nervous, as you chew your thumb.

Your eyes find his again.

‘Can I take work over? To do round yours?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Do I have to cook?’

‘No. I’ll make sure there’s food. For both of you.’

You nod slowly.

‘And Luc is in bed by…?’

‘Six.’

You nod again.

‘I’m not expecting the whole nine yards,’ he says, shifting. ‘No cookies or playdough, nothing like that. Just someone to look after her. And I’ll still be making calls.’

‘When would you need me?’

Frankie’s mouth twitches. 

‘Thursday this week. Tuesday and Friday next week.’

You take another drink of your wine. 

‘Can I sleep on it?’

‘Of course, bug.’ He smiles. You return it.

‘Then I’ll sleep on it. I’ll see what the schedule’s like and let you know tomorrow.’

His smile widens.

‘Alright. Thank you. Really.’

You stand from your chair, holding up a palm.

‘I ain’t said yes yet, Morales.’

The smile turns goofy.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

He steps away from the counter and pulls you into his arms. Holds you there for a minute, rocking, enjoying the warmth, the closeness, your smell. Reminds himself that it’s weird to think about your scent as much as he does.

You untangle yourself from him, hands on his biceps where you give a little squeeze.

‘Alright,’ you say, ‘Off you go. See if the kid hasn’t burned the house down yet.’

He chuckles as he retreats, backing down your hallway to the open front door.

‘See you tomorrow, teach.’

‘Get lost, Francisco.’

You sign off by flipping each other the bird as he pulls the door shut behind him, just as you usually do.

And as he steps back into his still-quiet house, he tries to tamp down his grin and his fluttering heart, just as he usually does.

You text him two hours later, when he’s fresh from the shower, clad in only his boxers.

Alright, I slept on it. I’ll be round Thursday.

Along with the swell of relief in his chest, this time the grin and the flutter are much harder to smother.

The night before you left for college, you’d had a nightmare.

You weren’t the type to scare easily; eighteen years old and free from any of the real worries the world could bring. And you were so fucking excited for this next adventure, so ready to begin the rest of your life. Still, you’d found yourself doing something you hadn't done since you were a child.

You’d knocked first - softly, so softly. Waited for a come in that never came. Your dad had stirred anyway as you closed the door quietly behind you, turning, half asleep, to see you stood twisting your fingers in the middle of the carpet.

‘Y’alright, sweetheart?’ he’d asked, all gravelly and tender, threatening tears to spill over your lashline.

‘Yeah,’ you’d mumbled, ‘Just had a nightmare.’

He’d simply lifted the covers on the other side of the bed, and you’d slipped into their warmth, scooching into his side, breathing in his smell. He’d cradled you in his arms like you were still a kid - afraid, vulnerable - and you’d let him. Let the tears soak into his shirt. Felt his grip tighten on you, the kiss he pressed to the top of your head. The promise within it, within the cool moonlight bleeding through the curtains. 

If you don’t wanna do it, all you gotta do is say.

He’d known you didn’t need to hear it, knew it was all you’d worked for, dreamed of. So instead, he’d murmured something else.

‘I’m so proud of you.’

You’d nodded into his chest, and he’d waited until the tears stopped falling before he asked if you wanted to talk about it. You hadn’t at first. But he’d always promised that talking about a dream broke it.

‘I dreamt you weren’t here.’

The vision had hung in the room for a moment, lapping against your dad’s quiet breathing.

‘I am. I’m right here, sweetheart.’

You’d nodded again, that deep, swooping panic of being completely alone in the world threatening to claw through your chest and sweep away his comfort. You couldn’t say anything else. Nothing about the empty house you’d seen, the dust sheets covering lonely chairs.

‘Always gonna be here. Can’t get rid of me.’

You’d both known he was wrong. That one day, this night would be a memory. That one day, you’d try to remember what it felt like to be held like this, known like this, try to remember the scent of his sleepshirt, and not be able to. But that would be years - decades - away. Tomorrow you start the beginning of your real, grownup life. Tomorrow, he’ll drive you across the state. He’ll haul your boxes up to your dorm room, and he’ll sit on your bed and look around and smile at you. The smile will be small, full of love, pride, grief. The grief of letting his little girl go, of looking at you and seeing you at all ages at once. Newborn, tiny in his big hands. On his shoulders, laughing at the sky. Nervous on your first day at school. Shy at the gate of highschool. Flying through the years, surrounded by friends, now landing here. 

And when he stands to leave, to tear himself away, the tears will fall again. You’ll say you’re not sure, your whole world rocking, tilting. And he’ll tell you that you might not be, but he is. You’re gonna be great. You’ll be amazing. And his most favourite line of all.

A ship in a harbour is safe. But that’s not what ships were built for.

And you’ll laugh, and you’ll hug him, and you’ll wish you could for a little longer. But you’ll walk him downstairs all the same, out to his car. You’ll shield your eyes and wave until his license plate disappears, and then you’ll cry in the sun until you have a headache. By the time you’re out with your roommate that evening, you’ll feel better. 

You won’t think about whether he cried on the way home, whether his body shook with sobs. Whether he’s sat in front of the TV now, unable to focus on the movie that’s playing because the house is too damn quiet. Won’t think about how, when he tries to sleep, he can still feel that little girl curled up into his side. How he contemplates his own mortality, hopes it won’t come for him for decades, hopes he’ll see you graduate, meet someone, be happy, achieve all you want to.

For now, there is only the blue moonlight, the deep breathing, the warm arms.

And four years later, your nightmare will come true.

You’re awake, though barely. Faintly aware of the wet on your cheeks, of the ache deep in your chest. The memory, the dream. You try to burrow your face into him, try to breathe in his scent, recall the way he talks. And as the same moonlight from the dream floods your vision, you remember. 

Four years later, and the hurt is still as raw. 

You curl into yourself, folding your arms around your body, holding it in, holding it together. Breathe through it - in through the nose, out through the mouth. I love you. I love you. Your voice and your father’s blending together. You try not to let it overwhelm you. Try not to recall all the moments, all the last moments. The hospitals, the treatments, how he wasted away before you, how you could do nothing about it. But it’s hard. So hard, alone, in the middle of the night like this.

When the burn in your throat eases, you reach for your phone. 3:32am. You unlock it out of habit, texts still open. The conversation you’d had with Frankie earlier - times, dates, what he’d make you for dinner. 

You wish they could have met each other. 

You’re sure Frankie would have loved him. Would have loved his laugh, would have shot the shit about baseball, would have clapped him on the back and joined him for beers on the porch like he does with you. And you’re sure your dad would have loved Frankie. Would have seen his kindness, his patience, his humour. A good man, just like he was.

Sometimes, when the younger man leaves your kitchen, your dad appears, sat at the table across from you. 

‘You like him.’ He says. 

‘Come off it, dad,’ like you don’t both know you’re lying. He gives that knowing little shrug. 

‘Whatever, kid,’ he says, ‘I see the way you look at him. Like you looked at - who was it - Jordan, in seventh grade?’ You always throw something at him then. A marker, a highlighter. And he always laughs at you.

You click your phone screen off, bathed in half-darkness once again. Stare at the frozen ceiling fan, the divots and shadows on the ceiling. Tired, but too awake to sleep. 

You grumble as you swing your legs out from the covers, standing from the bed. Pad downstairs in the dark, flick on the kitchen light, fill the kettle and set it to boil. Through the window, across the way, Frankie’s kitchen light is also on. Your brow furrows - this isn’t a time either of you should be awake - but then he appears in the window, shirtless, busying himself with something by the sink, and you quickly avert your eyes. Something you’ve gotten good at doing since you moved here.

Good at desperately trying not to notice his soft curls, the way his biceps stretch his t-shirts, the way his shoulders fill doorways, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. The way he says your name, the golden skin you’ve glimpsed, the noises he might make -

You roll your eyes at yourself. Crashing out of an engagement, skipping town and developing a crush on the DILF next door is so… you. 

Annie would have gotten a kick out of it, that’s for sure.

The kettle finishes its boil, and you reach for a mug, a tea bag. Watch the tendrils of steam curl from the clutch of the ceramic as you brace your hands on the marble either side of it. You chew the inside of your cheek, head hanging between your shoulders, startling when your phone buzzes, furious-sounding as it crawls across the countertop. 

You know who it is before you see the caller ID. 

‘Hey, neighbour.’

‘Hey, bug.’

You smile into the receiver, holding the mobile to your ear as you move to the sink, adding cold water to the tea. You look up through the window to find Frankie also stood before his, looking back at you. Mercifully, he’s found a shirt, but his bed head still has your stomach turning in cartwheels. 

‘What’s up?’

‘Saw your light on. Wanted to check you’re okay.’

You hold up your mug, cheersing him through the glass. 

‘I’m good. Just having a little drink.’

You watch as he cocks his hip against the counter. 

‘Yeah? What kinda drink you got?’

You exhale through your nose, rolling your eyes. 

‘Chamomile.’

There’s a beat, and then his voice is soft, tender.

‘Y’had a nightmare, too?’

You shake your head.

‘Not a nightmare, just a dream.’

‘Dad?’

You nod, sipping.

‘Yeah. You know how it is. Lucia okay?’

You watch him flick his gaze to the hallway, the stairs beyond your line of sight. Hear the scratch of his whiskers as he rubs at his beard.

‘She’s alright. Nothing a warm milk and her night light can’t fix.’

You smile at him.

‘You remind me of him, you know.’

Frankie pauses his scratching, peering out at you, surprised.

‘You’re a good dad. The best. He was, too.’

Your voice is low, affectionate. Something pulls deep in his gut, something that forces a tight bubble up his throat. He swallows a couple of times, closing his eyes to the kindness.

‘Thank you, bug.’

‘I mean it.’

He nods, voice crackly and deep when it comes to you.

‘I know.’

You watch each other a moment longer, separate rooms, separate houses, such closeness bridging those gaps. Frankie breaks the quiet.

‘You sure you’re okay?’

You smile, nod, sip.

‘I’m sure. Should head back to bed, anyway.’

Frankie hums down the line, thoughtful. A breath whistles through his nose.

‘G’night, bug.’

‘Good night, Fish.’

You wait for the beep of the disconnected line, Frankie’s wave through the window. The hard lump in your throat as you watch him retreat to the doorway of his kitchen, the darkness that stares back at you, the ache of being alone again on this moon of grief. 

And something quieter, more selfish. Creeping and tidal that laps at the edges, a want for a man you have convinced yourself you cannot have. A sadness that buzzes deep in your skin, curls back layers of your being, tells you that you cannot afford to be broken again. Not like your dad. Not like Annie. 

But you like him, your dad says. What’s so wrong with that?

You cocoon yourself tightly in your duvet, your back to the moonlight, the reminders. Tired eyes blinking at the door. Waiting. Waiting, in a different life, different house, different state, for eighteen year old you to tiptoe in and tell you about her nightmare. 

Waiting for you to tell her that her dad is right there.

That she should hold him a little longer before he drives home tomorrow. 

[babyseraphim]

1910's music: Edwin Payne style

Hi ya’ll! Friendly music teacher/opera singer here to answer a question that pretty much no one has asked (except me): what music would Edwin have listened to/enjoyed when he was alive?

I’ve separated this into three different genres (classical, jazz, and pop), so the entire thing is pretty long. I've also tried to give references for any additional information provided, but most of it is coming straight from my brain after years of music history classes, so feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong.

Classical Music

So, the first thing to know about me is that I’m a big pianist!Edwin truther, and I'm going to be talking about it a lot in this post. It was extremely common for families (especially wealthy families) to have their children train in some sort of instrument from an early age back then, so learning music was something that Edwin likely would have been forced to do.

There are some classical pieces that I have already heard mention of amongst the fandom, so I will stick them in the 'honorable mentions' section, but I want to feature some music that I haven't seen mentioned in conjunction with Edwin's character yet. 1. Erik Satie's Trios Gnosiennes (1893)

So, I've always associated the first three Gnosiennes with Edwin not only because they're so hauntingly beautiful, but also because they're rhythmically very different than a lot of other classical music of his time. The Gnosiennes are largely played in 'free time' (with no time signatures or bar lines), which is a bit unusual for the genre (though modern classical music has a lot more of it). Satie's music really pulled away from a lot of musical customs, spurning traditional forms and tonal structures in favor of more creative options, and I think Edwin would have really enjoyed it.

Edwin's possible interest in breaking musical customs will come back a lot throughout this post, but given that he is often characterized as going against the social grain (whether he was trying to or not), I think he really would have enjoyed Satie's works as a whole. However, Trios Gnosiennes just really speak to me for his character.

2. Igor Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring (premiered in 1913)

The Rite of Spring was a Russian ballet that Stravinsky was commissioned to write for the Ballet Russes company. The work was known for its dissonance and barbarity, and the dancing was described as 'jerky' and 'hedonistic'.

Now, do I think that Edwin would have particularly enjoyed the sound of the the Rite of Spring? Maybe not, but I imagine he likely would have respected its departure from the musical decorum of his time (the piece later went on to be considered one of the the earliest examples of modernism in music). The first public showing of The Rite of Spring caused the theater to break out into a riot partially due to the fact that they thought the music/dancing was a work of blasphemy, and I just think Edwin would have found that hilarious.

3. Gaetano Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor (1835), particularly Spargi d'amaro pianto (the famous 'mad scene' aria)

I don't think Edwin would have been a fan of opera as a whole, but I do think that this work's entertaining twists, literary origins, and technically challenging composition might have caught his eye (I even went so far as to sing through this aria a few nights ago because I was curious, and yeah, its really fucking hard).

Lucia di Lammermoor is a tragic opera based on the 1819 novel The Bride of Lammermoor by Walter Scott, which was based on the real life story of a woman named Janet Dalrymple. Lucia was performed at the Met nearly every season from 1903-1972, and I imagine that if it was doing well in America, it must have been doing numbers in Europe.

Honorable Mentions - Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune and Deux Arabesques - Frédéric Chopin's Noctures (particularly Op. 9, No. 1) and Études (particularly Op. 25, No. 11) - Erik Satie's Trios Gymonepdies

Jazz Music

So, this is where my pianist!Edwin headcanon starts to diverge from the pretty much all of the other music-related headcanons I've seen.

Technically speaking, 'jazz' as we know it didn't really exist when Edwin was alive; he died literally one the cusp of the the Golden Age of Jazz, which is a huge fucking bummer. Jass (as it would've have been referred to in the 1910's) mostly consisted of ragtime and early blues, and was considered to be a 'fringe' style of music (pretty much entirely due to racism). As far as acceptability went, being a teenager with a love for 'jass' in the 1910's would have been the social equivalent of being a teenager with a love for ska or punk music in the 80's (the parallels!!!)

I think its pretty well argued within the fandom that Edwin is a bit rebellious when it come to authority and societal standards, and even though I think he was probably less of a little shit while he was alive, there's no way he was just totally fine with living inside the lines. I posit that, as a rebellion, he would have spurned classical music and became a ragtime pianist (which was one of the main precursors to jazz as we know it today). I actually wrote a fic about this way back when I first joined the fandom, for anyone who's interested!

1. Scott Joplin's Sugar Cane Rag (1908), Fig Leaf Rag (1908), and Paragon Rag (1909)

Scott Joplin (the King of Ragtime) was the most famous ragtime pianist of all time, and one of the driving forces behind creating the jazz genre as we know it. I guarantee that you guys have heard his most famous song, The Entertainer, at least once, and have probably heard his Maple Leaf Rag as well. If Edwin was into ragtime, then its a sure thing that he would have been a big fan of Scott Joplin's rags. I picked the three that I thought suited him best.

2. James Scott's Frog Legs Rag (1906) and Sunburst Rag (1909)

James Scott was also a famous American ragtime composer, and both of the listed songs would have been released when Edwin was pretty young. He probably wouldn't have been old enough to play them for a few years, depending on his training, but thinking of a little 12 year old Edwin learning to play these (as well as Scott Joplin's rags) in his free time just fucking tickles me. I love it so much.

3. Davy Peyton and Spencer Williams' I Ain't Got Nobody, recorded by Marion Harris in 1916

I Ain't Got Nobody was an early jazz standard from 1915 that eventually developed into a multi-genre standard (meaning that it was considered a standard for multiple genres, ranging from jazz to pop to country). I don't have a lot of reasoning for this one other that I think that Edwin would have just really liked Marion Harris' voice.

Honorable Mentions - Euday L. Bowman's Twelfth Street Rag (aka the Spongebob song) - Artie Matthews' Weary Blues

Pop Music

So, a disclaimer here. My music degree required me to take jazz and classical music history classes, which did not cover pop music of the 1910's, so I have fewer historical insights to offer about this genre. However, whenever I think about these songs, I always picture Edwin listening to them through a phonograph while doing homework on his bed, like a teenage girl listening to Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan while studying (I know that's silly, but I think its just such a fun visual). 1. Leo Friedman's Let Me Call You Sweetheart, recorded by the Arthur Clough in 1910

Let Me Call You Sweetheart was one of the highest charting songs throughout the early 1910's, and the most popular version was recorded by a group called the Peerless Quartet. Edwin doesn't really strike me as a quartet enjoyer, though, and this version by Arthur Clough was released the same year. I think he would have enjoyed the tonal quality of Clough's voice much more.

2. Grace Le Boy's The Good Ship Mary Anne, recorded by Nora Bayes in 1914

Nora Bayes was a very famous vaudeville performer of the 1920's, and lot of her biggest hits were recorded shortly after Edwin died (like, literally 1917-1925). I wrote a snippet for a fic that got left on the cutting room floor a while back about the song itself providing a positive association with the term 'Mary Anne', and I still stick by that. In this song, the name 'Mary Anne' only refers to a ship.

3. Irving Berlin's Alexander's Ragtime Band, recorded by Arthur Collins and Byron G. Harlan in 1911

So, this song could technically go under the jazz section, but I'm going to put it here, and I'll explain why. Jazz is an art from that was created and popularized by black musicians, which is why it was seen as such an undesirable art form for such a long time. People liked the music, but they didn't like that it was made by black artists. Alexander's Ragtime Band originated in Tin Pan Alley and was one of the top charting songs for much of 1911 (first in America, then overseas), but it was created by a white artist that was simply 'jumping a trend'. Strictly speaking, genre-wise, its not even a ragtime song—it's a march. It's just about ragtime.

I honestly don't really even like this song that much, and I'm not sure Edwin would have very strong feelings about it either. However, it was an extremely pivotal song for the time period, and likely would have been inescapable (or as inescapable as music could be back in the 1910's, given that music required either records or live performances). Think of it as the equivalent of a pop song that you could really do without, but its so popular that it keeps winning awards and playing in every Forever 21 and H&M within a ten mile radius.

Honorable Mentions - Gus Edwards' By the Light of the Silvery Moon, recorded by Ada Jones - Percy Wenrich's Moonlight Bay, recorded by Dolly Connolly

~~~~

I hope you guys enjoyed this! I also made a playlist, if you'd like to take a look (I couldn't find all the songs, and not all of them are time period accurate, but I tried my best).

If ya'll liked this, I might make one for Charles and dive into ska and Rude Boy culture a little bit. Feel free to send me any questions or ideas you have about all this stuff, too! I love talking about it.

For the people who asked to be tagged: @likemmmcookies @edwinspaynes @asnottoldbyginger @rexrevri

@l-nightmare @ricebees @aroacespacerock @haledamage

(plus i'm tagging you, @laiqualaurelote, because I feel you would appreciate this)

[carnalhaus]

Hi Lucia! I was wondering how you got so good at drawing anatomy. I’m struggling

hihi i actually answered a question sort of like this a while ago, right here, so a read through of that might help some.

i’ve been doing traditional a lot lately since it’s easier on my body right now, and it really just comes from referencing images and years of practice. i know a lot of people find “practice” to be unhelpful advice but it’s genuine, you just need to learn how practicing works best for you and that skill will build up over time. i mention this in the linked post, but i spent years doing figure drawings for fun whenever i had free time. if you draw from real life long enough, you’re going to start learning where things go more easily. reference pictures are like the best thing in the world on all fronts, and people who think only drawing from memory somehow makes you a “better artist” are lame. i hate people who do that.

im not a teacher don’t take anything i say seriously i just do this for fun.

[brewing-radianite]

WHY WE FIGHT MUSIC VIDEO LORE THOUGHTS

-killjoy got royally FUCKED, ggs (presumably a bullet wound probably to her abdomen? we never see the wound itself, but she has trouble standing and is coughing up blood before she gives in to her injuries)

-traumatized nanobomb <3

-I know we see clips of Reyna with Lucia, Brim with His BoyToy* (*unconfirmed, but more than likely KAY/O), Phoenix with Mary (make her playable you cowards, we have so few black agents in this game...), and Sage using her res.

-Sage's res was kinda teased for years to have unknown consequences. It seems she sacrifices her own life force and strength, crystalizing and exhausting herself to bring others to life. That being, it's very unclear and poorly portrayed what repeated or long term use of this may lead to. Could Sage one day petrify herself? Does the crystallization go away on its own, just with enough rest between resurrects? Either way, it spares a good reason why Sage does not use her res often in canon and it's better to keep someone alive to begin with; she pays the price and could one day be permanently lost.

-We see Mary and Phoenix on a rooftop, seemingly witnessing the First Light. Highly unconfirmed, such is Riot's style of story-telling when they feel like story-telling, but I'm willing to bet. She's also seen inside the school burning to the ground at the time it happened, though I'm not sure if this is purely a visual transition or to imply Mary was in fact trapped in the fire to some degree.

-i love nanobomb and love seeing them but i can't say much was added or changed in terms of lore. they're exactly the same, save for a little more trauma of KJ having died, and come back. not really a whole lot to dissect there!

-Reyna and Lucia are together on a beach shoreline, seeing the First Light pour through their horizons as well. At this time, Lucia immediately drops to the floor and presumably enters her comatose state. Is her body too weak to accept the rush of Radianite in the air and in her veins? We know Radiants of a variety of strengths exist, and VALORANT employs some of the strongest. Could she have unknowingly "inherited" (for lack of a better word) a power too strong for her own body to handle?

anyways banger song and banger video but in the grand scheme of things, it just raised more small questions than answered any big revelations. that being said, always love this cast and always love the music videos. happy 5 years of valorant!

[thewosoway]

Give up Luce // Lucy bronze x reader

If there was one way you could describe Lucy bronze it would be that shes determined. Lucy gets what she wants and no one can tell her no. Except for you. Lucy would move the earth for you if u told her to. She was smitten. There was one problem, you said no.

There was no way on this earth that you would go out with a teammate. Lucy wanted to change that. She was very determined to get you to say yes to a date. For the past 3 months Lucy had asked you every single day to go on a date with her.

“Lucia Roberta I’m saying this for the last time. No. I won’t go on a date with you.” It was funny at this point and all your teammates knew it, they made jokes and laughed about it to themselves. Lucy just wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

She followed you around at training like a lost puppy. Continuing to ask you out, each time the answer was no. Lucy refused to believe that you weren’t interested.

So a few days after the last time she asked you when you were next at training you agreed to be her partner and eventually when she asked you to go on a date with her you agreed. “If I say yes will you give up Luce” she nodded and smiled “if that’s what you want” you were going on that date just to shut her up. Well that’s what you thought was going to happen.

A few days later there was Lucy outside your apartment with a bouquet of flowers, tulips to be precise, smiling dressed in her best outfit. “Claudia and patri said you liked tulips so I got them for you. They said you weren’t a roses kind of girl so I had to get the ones you liked” she handed them to you “ oh lucy they’re beautiful thank you” her eyes lit up as you took the flowers and kissed her on the cheek.

Putting the tulips in a vase with water before grabbing your bag and walking out with Lucy to whatever location she had chosen for you both.

When you got there it turned out to be a small restaurant down one of the back roads of Barcelona. Simple but cute. The food looked delicious and you were so excited to try it.“Order what u want, it’s on me” Lucy smiled and took u to a small table with a tag that said miss Lucy. “Lucy I can pay for myself” she shakes her head No and hands you a menu.

You order some kind of pasta with cheese sauce and garlic bread while Lucy orders pizza and breadsticks complete with a bottle of white wine to share between you.

After eating and having a little to drink while talking you and Lucy took a walk along the beach and went around the little shops that were still open. “Lucy this was so lovely”

She just smiles as you start to walk back to ur apartment. Something about being with Lucy feels right but you can’t think of what it actually means. You enjoy being with her but you can’t figure out weather you want to be with her or not.

When you get to your apartment you invite Lucy in and have a few drinks which ends up with both of you sleeping in the living room but not before the question lucy has been waiting to ask.

“Would you wanna go out again, maybe as girlfriends?”

“ I’ll have to think about that Luce” you give her a cheeky smile and she shakes her head

Maybe things will be ok with Lucy… maybe you could be together

——————————————————————

This might be part one of a few. Let me know what you think and anything you want me to write x

[mavrintarou]

[4:38 PM] Oikawa Toru [9]

I'm 89% sure the next part will be the last. This chapter is filled with heavy angst but comfort and understanding.

Warning: implied mild smut, angst & comfort but cliffhanging ending

Eighth part Tenth part

.

Toru glared at the new wall that had been replaced between his and Y/n’s unit. He acknowledges his disdain for it. He detested both the physical and emotional distance that had arisen between him and Y/n.

Within a day, maintenance repaired the wall between their units, putting this unbearable space between them.

In the blink of an eye, everything changed, or more like in a heartbeat, everything changed for him and Y/n.

His heart has been numb since the moment Y/n announced she was pregnant and felt like it had stopped beating when she said the baby may not be his.

Everything became a blur at that moment.

“P – plea – se le – leave… I need sp – space…” she struggled with her stuttering and hiccups from her cries.

Toru was reluctant to leave her alone but to his best judgment, he needed some time to process what she just told him.

How had he not realized the changes? Especially when he had first-hand experience with Lucia when she became pregnant with Mateo.

As he recalled the brushed memories… it all began to piece together.

“Don’t – don’t suck too hard…” Y/n whimpered, blushing from watching Toru and feeling the suction he had on her sensitive nipple.

Another time when he was buried deep inside her, Y/n cried with tears pooling in her eyes. “You feel… you feel so deep…”  

Toru immediately stopped his movements and caressed her cheek, “am I hurting you?”  He wiped her tears away and only smiled when she shook her head, telling him he made her feel good.

These were tell-tale signs he remembered going through with Lucia.

It had been 48 hours since he last saw her but it felt like an eternity.

She has not returned his seven missed calls nor the numerous text messages. He knows he should respect her space but he couldn’t help but feel the distance between them is only pushing them further and further apart.

For an hour, Toru and Mateo hung out in Mateo’s large playpen together. The baby kept himself occupied with the toys Y/n had purchased him and Toru could only wonder what was running through his son’s mind.

Did he miss Y/n too?

It was two short nights but Toru spent every second of it going over the scenario.

Y/n was pregnant.

There was a probability that the baby could not be his.

That meant… it was that man that had visited her weeks ago?

“Woojin?” the name fell off his lips  

All he could remember from that first and last encounter was that this person was tall like him, a slightly smaller physique but he and this man had the same dark hair and body complexion.

Toru couldn’t help but feel jealous of this Woojin person. Who was he to Y/n and what was their relationship? How long have they known each other?

All questions attacked him and he groaned, making Mateo look at him confused.

“I miss Y/n,” he told Mateo, who instantly perked up at the sound of her name. “You miss her too?” His son stared at him as if waiting for her to appear. “Should we go see her on the other side?” He picked up his son and together they headed towards the door.

The moment his door swung open, Toru’s eyes widened seeing Y/n leaving her unit as well.

With a suitcase beside her.

Y/n called his name softly, yet he heard the sadness and pain in her tone.

“Are you… going somewhere?” He shifted Mateo in his arms, who was squirming at the sight of Y/n.

He sensed the hesitancy as she quickly shut the door to her unit before letting out a deep breath. She approached him with her luggage left by her door.

“Where… are you going?” The question weighed heavily on him, as difficult to utter as it was to bear. His heart throbbed with discomfort, reluctant to confront the truth.

“I’m – I’m going to Ko… rea… to Korea for a few days,” Y/n answered, looking at him directly in the eye. She hesitated but reached for his free hand, holding it gently. “I will be back, I promise.” Y/n gazes into his eyes, “I’ll come back to you, I will come back to you.”

Toru untangled his hand from hers and drew her into an embrace, murmuring, “what is the reason?”

Despite knowing the reason, he understood the rationale behind it and knew that it would only inflict pain upon himself by asking, but he felt compelled to inquire regardless.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, and he felt her fist a handful of his shirt. “I should – I should tell him.”

Toru clenched his eyes tightly shut. He anticipated it, and braced himself for it, yet why did it sting even more?

“I understand,” he sighed, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Okay, have a safe flight and please come back to me.”

“I will,” she pressed her lips over his heart.

.

Mateo slept soundlessly in Toru’s arm for his afternoon nap. Their large living room seemed larger and too quiet than usual. Even for a short period, his living room was filled with Y/n’s laughter, her singing to the wrong lyrics of Mateo’s lullabies. It felt so lively and filled with lots of comfort that warmed his heart.

After ensuring Mateo wouldn’t wake up, Toru laid him in his crib. He reached for Y/n’s wool cardigan that had been in his crib and placed it beside the sleeping baby who found comfort in it.

 He closed the door to Mateo’s nursery and turned on his baby monitor. Toru was about to help himself to a cup of tea to calm his nerves when he heard something strange outside his unit.

If Y/n was on her way to the airport, who would be outside?

Without looking at the camera that pointed out to the lobby shared between him and Y/n, he pushed the door open and was ready to confront whoever it was but froze halfway.

Y/n looks up, startled and half crouching. Her luggage was lying flat on the ground as if it slipped from her hand.

“Y/n?” He blinked a couple of times, even rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands to make sure he was truly seeing her and that she was not just a hallucination. Over an hour ago he had made a tough decision to let her go, how was she… “Aren’t you supposed to be at the airport? Or on the plane to Korea?”

He walked towards her when Y/n quickly stood up and closed the distance between them, throwing herself at him, and wrapping her legs and arms around him.

Toru caught her, his arms naturally wrapping around her and supporting her weight. He sighed and hugged her tightly.

“I couldn’t do it,” Y/n finally whispered, she leaned back to look into his eyes. She quickly explained how she sat at the gates contemplating the situation and made the decision not to get on the plane. “I couldn’t go through it. Woojin deserves to know but I think I’m being too impulsive right now.” She cupped his face and pressed her lips against his. “I should have talked to you, figure this out together… that’s if you… want to figure it out together.”

“I do,” he confirmed quickly. One of his hands snaked behind her head, bringing it down to his. “I want to figure this out with you.”

Y/n brushed her nose against his, “I love you. I love you so much Oikawa Toru.”

Toru sighed, and a soft grunt came from his throat. “I love you too, Y/l/n Y/f/n.” Without putting her down, he walked over to pick up her luggage and towed it behind them into his unit.

.

They lay in the middle of Mateo’s large playpen.

“I want to get a paternity DNA test done.”

Toru rolled onto this side and supported his weight on his elbow. “Okay, I think that’s a good start too. Should we start with me?”

Y/n looked at him confused, “you?”

Toru nodded, a hand reaching out to palm her flat belly. He couldn’t voice how badly he wished and hoped that the baby that was nourishing inside Y/n’s body was his.

It never crossed his mind that he would want another child after Mateo, he’ll be honest that he didn’t want any more children and would be content with just Mateo. But since his rekindling with Y/n and the current situation, would he be so bold and willing to help her raise a child that was not his own?

“To rule it out,” he answered quietly, “it’s a small possibility… but I’m willing to hold my breath that this child could be mine.” He reached to touch her hair, “if it’s my baby then you wouldn’t have to bother talking to Woojin.”

Y/n sat up and motioned for him to sit up and as soon as he was upward, Y/n crawled on his lap and hugged him.

“Toru,” she uttered his name quietly under her breath, “I need to – need to know…” she paused to take a deep breath, “will – will you still want to be with me… if – if this child is not – not yours?”

No matter how many different scenarios he thought in his head, the one that weighed heavily on him was the high possibility that this child was not his. He asked himself if he would be able to raise a child that was not his own and the answer was yes, he would be able to raise another child that was not his.

If it was Y/n, who was also willing to love another child that wasn’t her own, Toru could also love a child that was not his own by blood.

Toru pulled away enough to see her face, he waited until she finally looked into his eyes and he smiled. “Yes, I will still want you even if this child is not mine. I will love them just as if they were my own.”

Y/n smiled, her shoulders relaxing as if his response had blown all the anxiety that burdened her. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to…”

A lingering, unidentified fear gnawed at him, compelling him to seek answers.

“If…” he took a deep breath. “If this child is not mine and is… his… what – what will you do?”

Please don’t say you’ll go back to him, he repeated over in his head.

“Woojin and I have agreed to go our ways a few weeks back and I have contemplated on either telling him or not.” Her face bore the unmistakable mark of guilt. “If this child is his, I know I should not keep it away from Woojin.”

“No, you should not,” Toru concurred, though inwardly he wished she wouldn’t have to confront that man. Yet, he acknowledged that Woojin deserved to be informed about the pregnancy and the child; he deserved to be included in the journey even if he and Y/n had no preexisting relationship. “I encourage you to tell him. If he decides not to be involved in the baby’s life, then that’s his decision. You’ve given him a choice.”

Toru would have been at a loss if Lucia had concealed her pregnancy and the existence of Mateo from him. Despite the life-altering revelation, being a father to Mateo brings Toru immense pride and joy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He has no desire to return to his life before Mateo came into it.   

Y/n pressed her forehead against his. “If this child is Woojin’s, then we will have to figure out how to co-parent but it’ll be a bridge we’ll cross when we get there.”

The weighty burden he had carried for the past few hours finally lifted. “But regardless of what decision he chooses, I will be beside you.”

Y/n leaned to press her lips to his forehead, “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve me because I deserve you. We deserve each other.”

.

Three weeks later, Y/n was scheduled for the testing.

Toru squeezed her hand, assuring her that everything would be okay. “The nurse said many have gone through this test and there is nothing to worry about, no risk to you or the baby.”

Y/n nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. “We’ll be okay.”

Sometime after they were separated, they reunited again. The same nurse who took Y/n away brought her back. As if sensing Toru’s presence, she looked up and smiled tiredly while sitting in a wheelchair. She reached a hand out to him, which he took and squeezed it lightly.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, “let’s go home.”

.

Toru gently pulled the covers up to her chin and carefully got off the bed without disturbing her.

Y/n groans, curling up into a fetal at the loss of his warmth. Once they reached home, she began experiencing cramping shortly after they got home. They were informed that cramping and light spotting was expected and normal. Toru wanted her to stay with him at his unit so he could monitor her.

He swallowed hard, despising the sensation of helplessness and his inability to alleviate her pain. Plating a gentle and light kiss on her forehead, he allowed her to rest while he stepped away to make a brief phone call to his mom to check on Mateo.

“Hey mom,” he greeted quietly over the phone, “how is Teo?”

When Toru and Y/n had dropped him off with his grandma, Mateo displayed signs of distress. He appeared apprehensive in the unfamiliar surroundings, clinging tightly to Toru. When his grandma attempted to reach for him, Mateo recoiled, refusing to go to her – a behavior that shocked both Toru and Y/n, as he had never exhibited hostility before.

They had to ease him in and get him comfortable before leaving him for a few hours.

“Teo is just like you. The moment you and Y/n disappeared and he noticed it, he looked everywhere for you two.” His mom explained, “you were just like that when you were a baby. But how is Y/n? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s okay, she is resting,” he felt slightly guilty for not telling the truth to his mom about Y/n’s appointment, only saying she was not feeling good and he was going to take her in. “I’ll be there soon to pick up –“ Toru loses the rest of his words as he turns his head towards his unit door. “Mom, I’ll call you back in a second.”

Walking towards his door, he pressed the button to turn on the camera outside his unit.

His eyes narrowed when he saw someone standing at Y/n’s door, ringing her doorbell and knocking repeatedly on her door.

“Y/n!”

Opening the door, he faces the man head-on. “Can I help you?”

Woojin wiped around, his disheveled hair and ruffled clothing told Toru something didn’t feel right.

“Y/n, where is she?”

Stepping out and closing his door behind him, Toru stood tall, “she is resting.”

Woojin marched across the lobby and grabbed Toru by his collar. “You bastard, is she in there with you?”

Toru emitted a bitter chuckle, “it is none of your business if she is with me, you guys are nothing.”

Woojin shoved Toru against his door, growling, “it is my business when she is my woman and carrying my child.”

Toru’s smile dimmed as his eyes narrowed, and then he shoved him away. “Leave before I have security kick you off the premises and banned.”

Running a hand through his messy hair, Woojin chuckled coldly. “You know it too, is that right?” His silence confirms his assumption. “I will not back down – “

“Toru?”

The two men turned their heads as the door slowly opened revealing a pale Y/n who gripped her abdomen. “Toru?” Her voice shook, “some – something doesn’t feel right…” her legs trembled as she looked down at her feet, her white ankle socks soaked with redness.

. . .

E/n: I know... I know :(

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @rukia-uchia-98 @anejuuuuoy @tooruchiiscribs @mommyourcall420 @haikyuubiggestsimp @lilguycoded @random-734 @ghostlyneckoaftoad @abcde12345 @shotenvinsoot @princess-sunshyn @anonymoussimper @junglewoos @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @mih311 @m1nt-3lla @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whatamidoing89 @ssc7514 @lupita97lm @ushygushybaby

[arthur-dearest]

Mouthwashing OC!!!! YAY!!

Ok so random scattering if notes bc I’ve been thinking of her forever and ever <3

- she’s designed after one of my favorite ladies in Horror <3 Paquita from Dead Alive I love you <3

- she’s an intern like Daisuke, but instead of being a mechanic, she’s interning to be a pilot! She wants to be a pilot for ships carrying people, but figured the pony express was a good enough place to intern at before she properly gets started <3

- she’s very light and bubbly, and her and Daisuke are usually squirreled away somewhere causing mischief.

-she’s spooked by Swansea, but knows he’s more bark than bite. He thinks Daisuke is foolish for idolizing him, but doesn’t fight him too hard on it. Mostly Swansea just reminds her of her nagging uncle and she left earth to get away from all that.

-she looked up to Curly and Jimmy for a while, seeing them both a good pilots and Curly as a good leader. She was starting to notice Jimmy’s incompetence, but attributed it to accidents or the ship being old.

- she learned a little before the crash about what Jimmy did to Anya, and there begins to be a rift between her and the men quickly, as she realizes that Curly is trying to sweep it under the rug.

- after the crash, Lucia locks herself in the cockpit. She’ll open the door when Anya asks, but is too scared of Jimmy to answer to any of the men on board. For most of the game if Jimmy talks to her, she’ll respond through the locked door, but if he needs something from there (the scanner) he needs Anya to get it.

-the door can be forced open, but Lucia claims to have the ship’s gun with her, and threatens to shoot a hole in the hull if they break in.

-as time goes on she won’t even open the door for Anya, and slowly responds less and less to Jimmy’s questions

- a lot of Mouthwashing characters have some sort of character flaw that ends up being their downfall, so I think Lucia’s would be her fear and stubbornness. She’s so afraid of Jimmy that she slowly starves in the cockpit, and when Jimmy finally forces the door open during the Swansea chase, he has to fight against the weight of her body on the door.

[bookie-bookdust]

HELLO THERE:

You can call me Bookie, Bookdust, a simp - I don't care. I am happy to brain rot about many things, but the little demon in my head makes me hyperfixate over Hogwarts Legacy, metalcore/alt/emo music, and writing. Feel free to reach out to me and say hi! My inbox is open.

Ravenclaw - INFJ - Gemini sun, Cancer moon, Libra rising - Tired

I'm an adult and share NSFW content. That being said, I write a variety of teen to explicit-rated stories/posts. You should always assume my characters are 18+ unless stated otherwise. I'm also on tiktok at bookdust_

FAN FICTION (the literature🧐):

Where you can read my deranged writing:

ao3 - I am most active here. This is also where I post all of my chapter fics and one shots.

Wattpad - I'll post all chapter fics and some of my one shots here. I hate WP, and I don't have the patience for it.

That's it lol. If you find my garbage anywhere else, let me know because then I'd have to go break some legs.

✨Chapter Fics:

Sebastian Sallow Fucking Sucks (SSFS) - Taking place after Sebastian calls MC ignorant following an emotional and tumultuous night at the Yule Ball--and Merlin, she is fucking pissed // Definite canon divergence, extremely morally gray chaos couple, unhinged female lead, merciless flirting, forced proximity, goofy humor, hurt/comfort, a lot of angst, and dark magic being addictive. // ao3 - wattpad

✨One Shots:

How to Defuse a Ravenclaw - Seb finds himself violating his newest rule - do not think about fucking the Ravenclaw // porn with plot // ao3 - wattpad - tumblr

Secret for One - In which using some anti-cheating ink reveals what you and Seb were up to (kissing – the answer is kissing) // teen-rated cute and secretly conniving // ao3 - tumblr

Pass the Ring, Not the Potatoes - Seb gets the flu on Christmas Eve, the night he plans to propose, and starts...hallucinating // holiday explicit comedy // ao3

Little Sis - Anne Sallow POV where Dark Seb attempts to use the relic to heal her // Horror // ao3

When You Were His - Sebastian had this dream—he never told you—of you resting your head on his shoulder in the rain // quick sad read // tumblr - ao3

A Fucking Proper Hogwarts Welcome - The famed DADA duel of how they met // humorous one shot // ao3 - tumblr

✨My FMC:

Lucia Compari

Backstory/Facts

More here eventuallyyyy

✨Game Screenshots/Edits:

Screenshots ⬅️

✨Other fanfic related material:

Resources for FREE images, character creators, and software for your edits, book covers, and banners

Shitty Sebastian headcanons

Shitty Ominis headcanons

Stupid things Sebastian would do to get you to talk to him after a fight

Stupid things Ominis would do to get you talk to him after a fight.

Sebastian Sallow Fucking Sucks Playlist

HL characters breaking you out of detention (unhinged edition)

Where HL characters would work (unhinged modern au)

MY CREATOR POLICIES:

You do NOT have my permission to repost my writing, photos, art, and other creations without my permission especially to other websites, for your own personal use, for cover art, banners, etc.

I'm very strict on AI. You do NOT have my permission to feed my work into any form of AI software for any reason whatsoever.

I am a bookbinder myself, and you're welcome to bind my stories for personal use. I'd love to see pictures if you have pleaseeee!!! BUT keep in mind that selling books, typesets, etc is strictly prohibited for ALL fanfiction. Respect it if you want to keep fanfiction safe.

If you have any questions, my DMs are open! If you're ever unsure, you should always reach out and ask. I will answer lol. I don't get out much hahahaha.

OTHER STUPID SHIT:

Seb and MC are my OTP. I know it's boring, but if you're judging me for pixels idk what to tell ya, babe.

I do love Ominis, but Sebastian just rots my brain.

Poppy is a sweet baby angel who will smack anyone as needed. And I will smack anyone on behalf of Amit.

I have a tendency to write Anne as semi-antagonistic (swear I don't mean to idk why it keeps happening).

I love the morally gray zone of dark magic and how it affects characters. I tend to write it as an addiction.

I don't like Draco Malfoy lol.

WE NEED MORE RAVENCLAW REPRESENTATION!!!!

My female characters are gonna be messy. Always. They don't jog for fun. They have constant bedhead. Poor impulse control. Love to torture themselves. I'm on the complex female character bus, and I will run over all pedestrians.

I don't tolerate rudeness, bullying, misogyny, racism, or homo/transphobia. I will find you and eat your bones if you try shit. (I'll actually just ignore and block you, but you never know). Also fuck JK Rowling lol.

If you read all of this, then you've earned a tiny shard of my soul in thanks, friend. Here's to more delusion and fanfiction.

Thanks for stopping bye! 🥰

[naturalswimmingspirit]

sannabjorkebaum

When there is 34 degrees, you are sweating away and then finding this!!! 😍🙏🏽 A magic, cool river with super white sand entrance at the side and nice sand bottom all of it! I have never seen this before! Amazed. So refreshing! 🥳👍🙏🏽😅🌎 When I was 19 and applied to become the Lucia of the small town, there was a jury lined up asking questions. One question were “What do you dream about?” My answer came very spontaneously (This was before all body and emotional liberation stuff I have done later in my life) “-To be naked in the jungle”. I got some nice, slightly surprised response to my answer and today I am very happy for how many times after that I have been able to tell myself “I am here now. I am living that dream. Naked in nature, naked in the jungle, naked in my heart and soul…” I simply love that. ❤️🙏🏽

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 71)

Alexia Putellas x Character (28) &

Lucy Bronze x Reader (58)

Masterlist (other parts here)

((2k))

I recommend getting up to speed on the last few parts first!

Alexia POV

Alexia woke to the smell of food and then as her brain remembered, a feeling of dread took over. She’d hoped it were all just a dream, but it wasn’t. Her eyes opened and spotted the breakfast that Benjami had laid on her bedside table – untouched. She’d not been hungry, and the overwhelming emotions had put her straight back to sleep. She saw her phone and already knew that she wouldn’t have messaged her, yet there was still that faint bit of hope.

A missed call each and several messages from both Lucia and Blau, her agent, and a few of the Barca girls, yet no Ridley. Ona’s messages stood out first, and that’s when Alexia had realised that she’d answered her call before she’d gone back to sleep and had been in a very, very emotional state and needing to vent. She cringed at herself and ignored the messages, instead skimming over the other notifications, only finding interest in Blau’s messages about the open day at Lumos.

She pushed the decision whether to go or not from her mind and dropped her phone, uncaring, as the realisation started settling it.

Alexia turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She was so very good at cutting off those feelings of hers, yet as she tried to hold back the sinking feeling and come to terms with the loneliness, her lips trembled a little and tears pricked her eyes. She refused to let them fall, instead locking her jaw and blinking away the sadness.

Alexia had never needed anyone. She was always strong and independent. Ridley was no exception for her.

It’s not meant to be. She thought to herself like a chant. Over and over. She was Alexia Putellas. She didn’t need anyone or anything.

Alexia swung her legs to the edge of the bed and forced her discipline to help her stand, as she had done most of her career. Discipline was everything for an athlete. She truly believed it was the difference between being good and being great. Even on the hardest days, such as today, she rose.

Her legs were a little unsure and she was sore but nudged both feelings aside. It would have been funny, being sore from sex, but today it wasn’t. It was just a reminder of her. She wanted to hate her, she truly did, but she couldn’t. Ridley had given her what she’d asked for, because Alexia had done the one thing Blau had told her not to do. She’d pushed her.

She told herself to stop thinking about what could have been as she stood, wincing a little. She moved on autopilot, taking the tray of now bad food to the kitchen, picking at the fruit which was still okay and then dumping the rest in the bin. She stared around the penthouse from her view in the kitchen. It was Ridley’s place, not hers. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she followed her to London because she had. It had only partially been about needing a break, and mainly about wanting to explore what they were. Now, all alone in the penthouse Ridley had built out of a promise to her brother, she didn’t feel uncomfortable, in fact quite the opposite; it was comfortable to her still; however, she knew that leaving would be the right thing to do.

Ridley would never tell her to leave. She’d let her stay there for an eternity without any questions. She knew that. But still, it wasn’t right.

Her eyes wandered the penthouse and she couldn’t stop her thoughts of each interaction they’d had in the different places. The kitchen, making dinner. The lounge, when Ridley had laid her there after she’d hurt herself, her hand gently and expertly massaging her knees. The terrace and the pool where they’d spent time topless and having fun teasing each other. Her body moved to each spot, thinking it over, though this time she was a little more emotionally withdrawn, trying to understand if she were too biased at the time and had missed some hints. She hadn’t. It had been perfect. All of it.

Her fingers rode the railing of the stairway as she ascended, finding the gym, where they’d allowed themselves to get close with the excuse of Ridley teaching her to defend herself. She’d grown muscles in places she’d never known she needed, and her confidence had grown tenfold. Perhaps she would continue in Spain.

She moved onto the library where her painting of Chiquito was now complete. She never was happy with her work; however this one was different. She looked at it and was proud and in that moment, she knew she’d leave it as a gift for Ridley. She would appreciate it for much more than Alexia ever could.

She exited the room and looked to the end of the hall – to Ridley’s studio. She hadn’t been in since they’d been spending more time together, and now as she entered, she felt hesitant. She flicked on the light switch and walked over to the desktop, her fingers hovering over the mousepad.

They hovered there for an age before she realised she wasn’t ready to hear her voice, and perhaps… perhaps she’d lost the right to do so anyways. Pulling her hand away – Alexia retreated from the room, flicking the light off as she did so.

She walked back towards the staircase, deep in her thoughts and as her foot found the first step down, she froze on the spot. It took her several seconds to gather her thoughts and emotions as she stepped back up and turned towards the doors of Ridley’s bedroom. That wasn’t what had caught her interest though. It was the small pile of grey fur curled up at in front of the door that twisted her heart. Chiquito was laying there patiently and almost a little sad, as if he knew she were gone, and that he wouldn’t see her for a while. Clever, just like his mum.

Why had she left him? For Alexia? For company? She knew that he was the most important thing to her besides Blau.

Blau… perhaps she’d have some answers for her. Like where did she go? Will she be coming back? Did she say goodbye? Did she know where she’d be going? Why did she leave Chiquito?

Chiquito lifted his head as she came closer, kneeling down to pet him. He leaned into her as she did so and allowed her to pick him up. He was in a mood for cuddling. She held him close to her chest and laid a palm on Ridley’s bedroom door, sighing.

“I’m sorry, baby Chiquito. I don’t know when she’s coming back..”

She kissed his head and walked back downstairs to the bedroom. Should she go back to Spain? If she did, should she leave Chiquito here with Benjami and Richard, or should she take him with her? What would Ridley want?

Her best option to answer her questions was Blau.

Alexia sat on the edge of the bed and held Chiquito close to her with one arm, taking her phone with the other and calling. Amusingly, she answered almost immediately.

“Hey… did you get my messages?”

“Sí,”Alexia responded, holding her emotions together. “I would like to come.”

“Okay… um…” Alexia heard her hesitate, presumably with worry or having been caught unawares. It told her that she was aware that Ridley was gone. There was another pause that she presumed involved Lucia and then, “Okay, Lucy is on her way to get you. She’ll be there soon!”

Just as she’d thought. “Okay. Can I bring Chiquito?”

Another hesitation. This time, longer. That told Alexia she was also unaware and shocked at that information, just as she had been. “Uh… yes of course you can bring Chiquito. Everyone has brought their pets actually. I’ll be doing pet and player interviews if you’d like to but we’ll discuss it when you get here.”

“See you soon, Blau.”

“See you Ale.”

She allowed herself a small smile at the nickname she’d adopted for her as she hung up and she just knew that she and Lucia would be the perfect people to talk to right now.

Alexia laid Chiquito onto the bed and instead of looking up and being inquisitive like he usually was, he stayed cuddled in his little ball near the pillow where Ridley had laid. Her heart twisted and she leant forwards, her cheek finding the same pillow, unable to not inhale the smell of her. Ridley.

The tears were close again. She pushed herself up and stripped her clothes, headed for the shower. Alexia washed the stress and anxiety away as best as she could, dressing for potential interviews. She didn’t really know if she could be in front of camera, but she prepared for it nonetheless.

By the time she was dressed, a knock came at her bedroom door which startled her a little. Surely not Lucia that quickly?

“Come in,” she granted.

The door swung open and it was in fact, Lucia. She must have driven like a mad woman just to get there in the time that she had. From the look on her face, she was worried and very aware of any expression on Alexia’s face. Truth be told, it was calming to see a familiar face.

“Hi,” Lucia said warily.

“Hola Lucia,” she replied, trying to keep her emotions even.

Lucy paused, leant up against the doorframe as if deciding whether to press a conversation or not.

“Ready to go?”

Clearly not. She nodded. “I just get Chiquito.”

She picked up the little grey cat and cuddled him to her as she followed her teammate to her car. She didn’t say anything at first, instead opting for chivalry with the doors etc. Usually it was something Alexia didn’t enjoy, as she could do those things for herself, though today, she didn’t mind.

They started talking on the drive about the apparent chaos at Lumos and what she had to expect when she walked in. She was trying to make her laugh… and only succeeded some of the time as Alexia’s depth of joy just wasn’t able to fight the pool of anxiety and heartbreak she was trying to hide. Lucia was persistent, though, and she appreciated the effort.

“Are you going to do any content?”

“I am not sure yet. I want talk…to talk with Blau mainly.”

Lucia nodded, her thumb tapping on the steering wheel.

“Well good for you, she can’t move very fast so she’s not going to be escaping you anytime soon.”

Alexia rolled her eyes and gave her friend a look. She knew she was really trying if she was making jokes about her being injured. She knew just how much guilt she harboured over it.

Just as she opened her mouth to respond, her phone buzzed a few times. Her stomach dropped at the Catalan messages she’d avoided.

Ona Batlle: Just landed in London.

Shit, had she asked her to come when she was crying on the phone to her earlier?

Ona Batlle: Where are you?

Ona Batlle: I’m here to help you… don’t push me away. I’m here for whatever you need.

Ona Batlle: Headed to the Lumos event the girls have been talking about, hoping you’re also coming. Five minutes away. See you soon.

Although they hadn’t been an actual item, everyone in the team knew of Ona’s crush on Lucy. Especially Alexia as she’d been there for Ona to vent to on several occasions, and on the other hand, she knew just how protective Lucia could get of Blau and her feelings.

Alexia looked at Lucia with a look of guilt.

Her eyebrows raised. “What?”

Alexia sighed. “Ona is on her way to Lumos.”

Lucy’s face dropped.

[myreia]

In the Company of Sorrow

Rating: Teen Pairings: Wolmeric Characters: Aymeric, Aureia (WoL) Word Count: 2,767 Summary: The loss at the Vault has left its mark. But who is to blame? Who is responsible? Aymeric, for his recklessness? Aureia, for her inaction? One night of finding answers may only leave them with more questions. Prompt: ii. hurt | comfort Notes: Heavensward spoilers. Read on AO3

Aureia finds him in the baths.

It is well into the evening when she slips through the heavy door. Like most of the High House residences, the House Fortemps manor has its own private hot springs, fed by the same roiling rivers that run beneath the mountain upon which the city is built. Like most other baths of its kind, it is set into a marble pavilion at the back of the manor and kept open to the air. The waters lap gently against the edge of the pool and steam dances across its surface, turning thick and hazy in the lantern light. Some curls higher and escapes out between the pillars and vanishes into the night beyond.

A sanctuary in the middle of a city in chaos, protected from the Heavens’ Ward and their allies. He likely has one of his own, but Lucia deemed his manor no longer safe for him until his serving staff have been questioned thoroughly. He has nowhere else to go.   

Aymeric sits cross-legged at the edge of the bath, head bowed, hands folded in his lap. A thin undershirt lies crumpled some distance from him, as if removed and thrown aside with force. His back ripples with the musculature from a life spent trained for war, but softened by the demands of his office. Stark white bandages wrap his torso, splayed across his back like clay holding broken porcelain together. He has insisted that his time in the gaol has left no permanent marks, but…

A lump forms in her throat. She is the last person who should be seeing him like this. She should go. She doesn’t know why she came here.

“What do you wish me for me to say, Aureia?” Aymeric whispers to the night.

She closes her eyes. Snapping the door shut as quietly as she can, she enters the pavilion and slowly approaches him. “How did you know I was here?” she asks, her footfalls echoing across the large, vaulted room.

“A change in temperature. You opened the door and it all but sucked the heat out.” He arches his neck to stare at the ceiling, dark hair falling across the nape of his neck. It’s longer than she thought, the length hidden by his high collars. “I suspected it would not be long before someone was sent to find me. After this week’s events, it is imprudent for me to disappear for more than a bell lest Lucia’s suspicions be raised and she take up arms to turn all of Ishgard upside down.”

“She has every reason to be worried about you.”

“Her concerns are suffocating.”

“Aymeric—”

He glances sharply over his shoulder, blue eyes burning raw. “Loyalty as unwavering as hers makes for both a blessing and a curse. If she had not been so quick to act and rally our allies, perhaps we would have faced a different turn of events.”

“Don’t blame Lucia. She did what she thought was best—”

“I do not. There is only one whom I blame. But I cannot help but wonder if her actions had been delayed, if I had had more time…”

“Aymeric.” Aureia kneels beside him and meets his gaze. “If you had had more time, you’d be dead by now. They would have killed you.”

“You do not know that for certain. My father—”

“—will only ever see you as a threat. Never as a son.”

“You do not know that. He—”

“Aymeric, listen to me. You never gained the Archbishop’s respect. The fact that you’re alive is a stain on his reputation. You’re a liability in living form. The only reason you were allowed to climb as you did is because you proved yourself useful to him in maintaining the status quo—”

“No—”

“The moment you were no longer quietly fulfilling that purpose without complaint is the moment he needed to be rid of you.”

“Is that a fate so horrible for one such as I? If there was but a chance he would reconsider? Besides, I sealed that fate myself. If you had but left me there, perhaps Haurchefant would not have lost his life!”

The words echo across the silent waters, filling the pavilion with the thunder of his voice. His brows draw together, drawing out the sharp angles of his face, and his body stiffens, his hands curled into fists against the marble floor. He sucks in a rasping breath, his bare chest moving up and down, droplets of sweat and water shimmering on his skin. His eyes glint in the lantern light, a darkness burning there she has never seen before.

Steam rises around them ready to burst, hot and boiling like the chambers beneath Sohm Al. A feverish chill runs through her; she can feel the sweat threading through her short hair and dripping between her shoulder blades. Her damp tunic sticks her skin, clinging to her breasts and hips. If he were anyone else—if they were having any other conversation—she would pull it off and dive into the pool to find relief.

But now is now, and she can’t do anything to change it.

She is the one who sought him out when no one else did. She needs to see this through.

“Heat’s not good for you, you know,” Aureia says finally.

He blinks, puzzled. The darkness retreats. “I—what?”

“The heat. It’s not good for your wounds.”

“I am here on my chirurgeons’ orders. Ishgardian hot springs have many beneficial properties and are a core part of many of our healers’ treatments—”

“Well, ignore them.”

“Aureia—”

“I swear to Halone, Aymeric, if you get in that bath I will never speak to you again.”

He pauses, staring at her with wide eyes. Then he crumples, shoulder shaking, a hand pressed to his mouth to muffle his full-bodied laughter. She sighs and shifts her weight, sitting cross-legged beside him as she waits for it to run its course.

“Very well,” Aymeric says after a moment. He coughs awkwardly and lowers his hand, sucking in a breath as he tries to contain another laugh. “I suppose I will have to acquiesce. My life would be far lesser without you in it.”

She wets her lips and looks away, drawing her legs into her chest. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Your friendships is dear to me, as it is dear to many of us.”  

In the silence that follows, she is certain that his thoughts have gone to the same place as hers. Haurchefant, rushing ahead to push her out of the way and bracing his shield against Zephirin’s strike. Protecting her until he could protect her no longer.

Grief twists within her, her fragile heart shredding like the skin on her knuckles when scraped against stone. She may have walked away from the Vault without physical wounds, but Haurchefant’s loss strikes at her more deeply than she can put into words. A hollow ache, a void that cannot be filled. Never again will he offer her a wink and a smile behind his men’s backs, a moment of levity made private just for her. Never again will he show up when she least expects it, offering aid she never asked for but sorely needed. Never again will his calm presence steady her, pulling her back from a thousand poor decisions.

She never told him how grateful she was for him, for the kindness he showed her and the faith he placed in her. He had no reason to, especially when she first came to Ishgard. She was surly and rude, quick to anger and even quicker to walk out, considering her position as a ward of House Fortemps as an unwanted obstacle to be overcome.

He continued to help her all the same. By rights, he never should. She didn’t deserve it.

But he was perhaps the sole person in Ishgard who understood exactly what she was and loved her all the same. The way family should. A better brother to her than her own flesh and blood.

And now it is too late.

She rests her chin on her knees, her eyes glazing over as she watches steam ripple across the pool’s surface. The calm, repetitive lapping of the water resounds in her ears, lulling her into a haze. She could have acted when Zephirin struck. She should have acted. He was right there, high above but not out of range.

She is a black mage. She could have blasted him off that tower and into the abyss.

So, why didn’t she? Why did she hesitate?

Aureia inhales a slow breath, the steam searing in the inside of her nostrils. She was so close to drowning her grief with drink tonight; Gibrillont would have indulged her. And yet instead of buying all the bottles of his worst wine off the long-suffering tavern keep, she trudged back to House Fortemps with the intention of seeking one man out.

The one sitting here, slowly unravelling beside her.

Aymeric bows his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead. “Aureia,” he begins slowly. “If I misspoke—”

She jolts, startled, and her gaze flicks to his bandages. “Have you dressed them recently?” she asks.

He pauses, uncertain what to make of her directness. “No. I was to do it myself tonight, though admittedly it is somewhat difficult to manage. I simply have no desire to be fussed over by my chirurgeons anymore than I already have—”

“Let me.”

“I—”

“Let me. Please.”

The steam rises around them, curling through the air, hot and heavy and thick as fog. The candlelight dances, engulfing them in a golden haze. For a moment, she is certain that she can hear his heartbeat and hers, thumping in tandem in her ears. It would be so easy to take his hand in hers, to feel one small comfort in this vast void of loss. There is no one else here. There is no one but them. They are masked in vapour and light, and for now nothing exists beyond this pavilion—not even the dark and distant silhouette of the Vault that overshadows the city.

Ishgard, for once, has come to a standstill.

“By all means,” Aymeric murmurs, meeting her eyes. “Do as you will.”

Aureia bows her head in relief and rises to her feet, grateful to release the cramping in her legs. He must have intended to redress his wounds here, for he points her to the spot where he left a collection of fresh bandages and ointments. She collects what she needs and returns to the pool, kneeling down behind him.

When she puts her hands on his back, he flinches, drawing away from her as if scalded. Then he sighs, his breath rising with the steam around them, and relaxes into her hands, surrendering to her touch.

She works quickly, unwinding the old bandages. He stiffens as she pulls the last one free, whether from pain or embarrassment or the sheer vulnerability of this moment, she doesn’t know. Beneath the white swaths, his skin is red and angry, puckering around shining blisters and pulling back from a tapestry of deep, seeping cuts.

Rage simmers within her and she bites down on her tongue to keep it contained. She expected burns—Charibert’s work, no doubt. He is the First Inquisitor and fire is his domain; she can imagine the gleeful pride with which he would unleash it upon his victims. She met him near the top of the Vault, matching him flame for flame.

She can’t help but wish she had tossed her staff aside and punched him in the face instead.

Aymeric’s remaining injuries are indicative of more mundane torture methods. She swallows hard, determined to proceed despite her shaking hands, and forces herself not to think about what has been done to him. He is young and strong, and no corruptive aether lingers in the wounds. They will heal. If cared for properly, he will likely see no scars.

“You know more about such things than I expected,” Aymeric says quietly, speaking for the first time since she began this work.

Aureia shrugs, carefully applying ointment to his back. “I’ve been burned before. I know how severe this type of wound can get. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“Ah, of course. A natural hazard, I suppose, in the line of duty for a black mage.”

The scars on her back prickle. “Not much of a mage these days,” she murmurs, moving onto the second ointment. She presses her tongue against her teeth, a wave of nausea rushing over her as she looks too closely at the lacerations in his skin. “Destruction is supposed to be my area of expertise, but I couldn’t even manage that much that day. Maybe this is why mages should be healers, and healers alone. If I had known some form of conjury, if I hadn’t been so fucking proud about refusing to learn, maybe I could have—”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I could have—”

“It’s not.” He reaches behind him, his fingers grasping hers and squeezing them tight. “Even Alphinaud said that he was beyond his skill to save. Haurchefant’s death is not your failure, Aureia. It is mine.”

“Aymeric…”

“Why do you think I am here, hidden away and out of sight? I cannot return to my own home, and I cannot look my guests in the eye. It was my foolishness that dragged us all down this path. My recklessness that led to Haurchefant’s death. If there is anyone culpable, then it is I.”

She unthreads her hand from his and picks up and clean bandage. “No, you’re not.”

He falls silent, his breath shallow as she leans in close and gently wraps it around his torso.

Aureia works around him gently, binding his wounds as best she can. Fabric slithers against fabric and gauze pulls against gauze, the sound muffled in the suffocating steam. Sweat trickles across her brow and she wipes it away with the back of her hand, keen to finish up this work. Her legs are beginning to cramp. “Edmont sees you like one of his own sons,” she says quietly after a moment. “I’m certain of it—”

“I fail to see how that does not make it worse.”

“It doesn’t—because Edmont doesn’t blame you. You didn’t know where your actions would lead, none of us did. And Haurchefant acted in the line of duty. What do you think he would have done if we had chosen to sit still and do nothing while you wasted away in that gaol? If Lucia hadn’t acted, Haurchefant would have assaulted the Vault alone.” Her fingers press against his back and she pulls the final bandage tight. “The only one culpable is the one who killed him. And I promise you, Aymeric—we are going to hunt the Archbishop. We are going to hunt the Heavens’ Ward. And when I meet them again, there will be a reckoning. I will kill Zephirin and Charibert and all the rest if I have to.”

Her voice echoes across the water, dark and resolute.

Aymeric looks away. “I do not know if that is a promise I can willingly accept.”

Aureia closes her eyes, exhaling a long breath. Stubborn fool. Idealistic fool. Even now, a part of him still believes he can bring about change. Perhaps he will always continue to believe it, long after the time for idealism has passed. “You don’t have to accept it. It is simply what I am going to do.”

“Do not do it to avenge me or Haurchefant, Aureia. Please.” His voice breaks. “I would not have you kill in my name. Not even our greatest enemy.”

“I won’t do it for vengeance.” Liar. “I’ll do it because I must.”

Slowly, she unfurls her aching legs and rises to her feet. He turns unexpectedly, his movements fast and sharp, and seizes her hand, drawing her to a stop. He stares up at her, his intense blue eyes searching her face for some kind of sign—something that eludes her, something that has completely passed her by. Something she doesn’t know whether she has it in her to give.

“Would you sit a while?” Aymeric asks. Not an order nor a demand nor a beg, just an honest question between friends made without expectation. “I could use the company tonight.”

Her heart pounds. The seconds tick by one by one, and with the passing of each one she feels herself pulled to say yes.

Aureia pulls her hand free, smiling gently. “Perhaps another night.” 

[bacchanal-if]

I don't believe E would ever act on it, but consistent suspicion from their partner would plant the "what if I did, since they are already convinced that I do" thought in their head.

Hello??? Why does E have to be so messy??? Oh E the person that you are...

To prevent this blog from turning into an "Ask anything about E" blog, I gotta ask another question: When in the book will we meet the other ROs?

🔊 Because I wrote them to be the villain! 🤣 I believe the messiness stems from the fact that I gave them some good qualities as well as the bad. I honestly don't mind answering so many questions about E, but it does make me happy to answer for the less popular ones!

Spoilers:

For the named/potential mask ROs:

Chp. 2: Tamsin/Thomas and Edith/Edward

Chp. 3: Henrietta/Henry and Lucia/Laurence

For the masks:

Chp.5 (The Bacchanal) Although it is not guaranteed that you will formally meet The Uninvited Guest.

[cryingpariah]

OC Ask Game!!! (Aka my personal questions)

The rules are you need to answer the questions concisely but with detail.

1. Out of your OCs, which one do you like writing for the most? And which one wracks your brain trying to think of?

2. Is your style to give your OCs just a funny little haha thing or are you serious about them? (Or how about both like me?)

3. What were some original names for Jackie?

4. What were some original names for Urpi?

5. If you could canonize 1 which one would you want to be real?

6. What were the inspirations for Jackie?

7. What were the inspirations for Urpi?

8. Who’s the best cook of your OC’s?

9. How thought out is your Pantheon of OP Gods and Goddesses?

10. If Urpi had a Pokémon team, what would they be?

11. If Jackie had a Pokémon team, what would they be?

HEHE OK LET'S GO!!

1. All of them have their difficulties but Jackie is by far the easiest since she’s the most relaxed and casual of the bunch so her lines come out a lot easier. Duelua is probs the hardest because she speaks the most formally and haughty and I have to search up a lot of word synonyms for her dialogue 😭😭!

2. Middle but leaning more towards silly. I’m more of a silly person by nature so most of their stuff is at least 35% silly at all times!

3. You may not have figured this out but I’m not great with names (I completely stole her name from her main inspo but we'll get to that). I knew I wanted a more nickname-y name if that makes sense so ones like Andy were in my head a lot.

4. I did not name Urpi, all credit to that goes to Taurus, but the idea of Mother of Dragon/Wife of Garp rattled around in my head loooong before I started yapping on Tumblr.com. I toyed around with a lot of Latin names based off Dragon's influences and Luffy's real world ethnicity. Names like Lucia and Helena for example. Urpi fits her best though!! I would change nothing about that lovely dovely lady!

5. DINO WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THIS?? I CAN'T PICK BETWEEN MY GIRLS LIKE THAT 😭😭😭! If I must pick I’d say Urpi or Jackie since they’re the most fleshed out?? Maybe ultimately Jackie since she’s my baby…

6. Jackie inspos - Hermes (generally like the idea of hermes, the messenger that also works for the underworld), Jack Kelly from Newsies (stole his name, stole his job, stole his songs for the Jackie playlist I’m still making, highway robbery atp), Katherine Plumber from Newsies (journalist who has an asshole of a journalist father hmmmm), Princess Bubblegum from AT (Girls who try their hardest to find better means to ends, also a little evil), Young Queen Charlotte from Queen Charlotte (She’s also sorta a voice claim. Jackie is British reminder jumpscare).

7. Urpi Inspirations - My actual mother (gotta think like the mom to write the mom), Kate Sharma from Bridgerton (a younger Urpi's lethal face claim), Wonder Woman (the gal of all time), the Unicorn from the Last Unicorn (mmm angst), Captain America (yes I’m mixing Marvel and DC, no I don’t care).

8. Mimi would happily take the crown…and give it to Urpi. She knows when she’s been beat. In order from best to worst it goes Urpi -> Mimi -> Jackie -> Duelua (moon lady does not understand cooking food. New races sure but dishes don’t compute in her head).

9. They have names…I should really iron them down but Due has all my focus on that front lol. I come back to them eventually (I say, thinking of a new OC completely).

10. Her team is varied but she’s a Flying, Fighting and Metal type of gal! She’s got a Metagross, Scizor, Lucario, Altraia and an Ho-oh!

11. Again, varied team but she def has a preference, for Jackie that’s Flying and Physic! She has a Delibird, Decidueye, Pidgeot, Reuniclus, and a Lugia!