#there is always a light at the end of the tunnel for as much as you hurt i will always heal you im sorry ily ily ily

[eddiediazismyhusband]

Wait was edy confirmed to have been filming last night??? PLEASEE WHEN CAN SHE JUST BE GONE

I don’t think she was 100% confirmed to be filming last night or not in all honesty- I blocked her transphobic ass a while ago so the only information i get about her whereabouts on set are from what i’m told by other people, but i think the big theory going around right now is that she always posts after others post about being on set, and people think she may be piggybacking trying to make it look like she’s there when she actually isn’t… of course this is just a theory and like i said i blocked her. a while ago so i don’t see her posts to confirm nor deny the plausibility of this, but knowing her attention-seeking attitude i wouldn’t put it past her.

And i would not fear too much anon, actors are often contracted for a specific number of episodes, so her being there does not mean her days aren’t numbered. Obviously we don’t know anything for sure, but I have my own theories- we know the time that she posted herself crying on her story and then started talking about auditioning again was around the time the show was picked up for season 8, so obviously contracts would begin being discussed at that time. My personal opinion is that she was told then that she would not be returning for season 8, and that is what sparked this attempt to stay relevant in the fandom (following cast members she never followed before, constantly posting about being on set and how “thankful” she is to have a job, interacting with people bashing the show for being “too gay,” etc.) to me it all reads as someone who is desperately trying to cling to the quickly unraveling thread that is her place on that show and it’s only a matter of time before she’s gone.

i mean ryan himself called her a ‘filler’ relationship for eddie. even the plotlines she’s been involved in this season she’s barely been there. eddie was quite literally on the verge of breaking up with her in 7x5 before his advice to buck made him decide to simply start over their relationship. My theory now is that “ghost of a second chance” has a double meaning of us seeing the ghost of a past relationship that eddie is still grappling with (maybe shannon, maybe someone else…. an old “army buddy” perhaps who he had never really understood his feelings for?) while also pertaining to the “second chance” he gave their relationship being dead. I mean the man brought his grandmother who lives in texas to his coworker’s wedding, and he barely trusts her with his kid (christopher is always being watched by someone else, he says things like “she’s already babysat this week” as if watching your significant other’s children is a burden to her) and like i said he was on the verge of ending things in 7x5…. i think it’s safe to say that their relationship is bones, and there’s no other logical direction for them to take it in, considering the fact that marisol is barely a character anyway, the fans don’t like e*y (for good reason), and they know that if they try to keep her on they will receive backlash (which we know tim sees after the karaoke debacle)

i am fully preaching to the choir here, because i have massive anxiety and the constant stress of speculating about where eddie’s (and buck’s) story goes is something that always runs my nerves up a wall… for reasons i won’t get into, eddie is a character i relate to deeply and i want to see his storyline handled with care and attention, so while the idea of the show sticking him with something as lackluster as marisol (played by a problematic untalented actress) obviously makes me stress out too, i try my best to remind myself just how little sense narratively it would make sense to keep eddie with marisol, since she is a wash rinse repeat of every romantic interest he’s had before- something they keep bringing up in eddie’s story as a bad thing.

so stay strong, dear anon… the light at the end if the tunnel has not gone out— there are things happening that none of us know, and it will do us no good to focus on the possible negative outcome when the positive outcome seems so much more likely in this situation.

Sorry to completely hijack your ask into an explanation of eddie, but if you know me you know i’m obsessed w the man so 🤷

Thank you for the ask, anon! 💕💕

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Twisting - Mal de Mer

Bombshells, new beginnings and sad farewells...

cw: pregnancy, tubal ligation, generational trauma, maternal trauma

Mal de Mer on AO3

Snippet:

Mel hadn't known, then, of the real reckoning, taking root in her belly.

A tiny shape: two arms, and two legs.

A girl.

When she'd first learned the truth, the shock was absolute. She'd been on the cusp of her thirty-sixth birthday. Mysteriously, her cycle had dried up. When the nausea, the fatigue, and the cravings for salt, had kicked in, she'd thought it was the aftermath of her ordeal. It was only when the sickness didn't abate, that she'd gone to the medick.

A quick test confirmed her worst fears: a fetus, over six weeks along.

Mel had expected a bolt of lightning to strike her down. Her first thought was: Silco. What he'd do to, once he'd learnt his arch-ally was carrying his child. 

Her next: Ambessa. What she'd do, once she'd learnt her daughter was carrying a Medarda heir, and a Trencher's bastard.

At the time, she'd felt body besieged: her womb an overthrown castle. For years, she'd done everything in her power to deny a pregnancy. As a girl, she'd quaffed potions of powdered rhizomes every morning: a precaution, lest, during an attack on the Medarda household, a rival warlord captured and bred her to force a succession. As a teenager, she'd begun her first course of the Demacian pill, and kept to it for the rest of her days. As a woman, she'd taken added precautions: sheaths, barriers and all the rest.

And, always, her monthly bleeds came. Never heavy, never light. Just enough to confirm the rhythm.

Just enough to fool her into thinking she was safe.

Finally, on her thirtieth year, bitter and burnt out, she'd made the choice. To deny the tides of time, and her family's bloodline, their due. She'd consulted a doctor to get herself fixed, and the procedure had been smooth and near-painless. A minor surgery, a quick recovery, and her cycle had resumed.

Except this time, her womb, for all intents and purposes, was a drawbridge, locked and barred.

Your last avenue, she'd written to Ambessa, is a dead-end.

Ambessa's reply, two weeks later, was succinct:

Fool.

Mel refused to dwell. She'd set her mind on more pressing matters. Her city, and her work with the Council, and Hextech. It wasn't until her night with Jayce, the ease of his company, and the gentleness of his hands, that she'd remembered that word again:

Fool.

She'd wondered, crazily, if her mother was right. If she, in her quest for sovereignty, had closed the door to something sweeter.

She'd fantasized, in shameful moments, what it might be like. To have a family with Jayce. To be a mother. Except her mind's eye would conjure the wrong shape. Not a boy with a glowing bronze complexion, and his father's soft hazel eyes.

A girl.

A girl with the smooth brown Medarda skin, and eyes of a shadow-dipped blue, and a smile so sharp it could cut through shadow.

She'd put the vision from her mind. Her time with Jayce had proven an interlude—blissful, but heartbreakingly brief.  Their split had mirrored the rupture of their city. In the aftermath, they'd gone their separate ways. But they'd both held the memory close: what could've been.

If not, Mel thinks, for her own folly.

Silco, for all his sins, was no folly. He was an unmitigated disaster.

Mel cannot pinpoint, exactly, what chemically combustive balance had impelled her, after years of calculation, to give her body to him: bare, without a scrap of protection. A man who'd loomed larger, in her mind, than a nightmare: the embodiment of her city's ills, and her failure, as a stateswoman, to heal them.

He'd taken her raw, and he'd taken her hard. She'd come apart in his arms, in that lightless tunnel, the world reduced to nothing but him. Afterward, he'd confessed that he seldom made love without a sheath. A scrupulous measure, for a man who was the progenitor of so much sin.

His voice, in the gloaming, had been soft. No hint of insinuating gravel. No glint of a razor-edged smirk. 

Dizzied, Mel had thought, This is not the man who rules Zaun.

She'd returned to Piltover: her mind in a fog, the scent of him still clinging to her skin. A fortnight passed. Then a month. She'd kept her head down, her eyes on her work. But there was a new strain to her concentration.

A new restlessness to her body.

As if the world had metamorphosed, in a single night. As if she'd left her old self behind.

Fast-forward to two months later, and the truth struck home:

A little girl, growing.

How? she'd asked the medick. How is this possible? I had a procedure. They swore it was permanent. They told me I was safe.

Sometimes, the medick said, the procedure doesn't take. The body finds a way. Even when it shouldn't.

Mel wanted to tear out her hair. Is it—viable? Can I—can I have this baby?

It's early yet. But the scans, by all indications, show the fetus is stable. There's a strong heartbeat. As a first-time mother, you have good chances of carrying full-term.

Mother.

Mel, in a numb haze, had barely crossed three steps before vomiting into the wastebasket.

Afterward, she'd made an appointment to have the pregnancy terminated. It'd seemed the best, and least messy, option. Her family line was a bloodbath. And Silco had a well-earned reputation for holding a grudge. Nothing—not even a child—would compel him to lay his animus aside.

Mel had already let her body be breached, and her psyche be compromised.

A child would be the coup de grace.

Yet, she'd seen again, in her mind's eye: the figment of a girl with her skin and his smile.

This time, though, the figment had stayed: a haunting refrain, night after night. And, in Mel's body, the figment took life: her curves filling out; her appetites fluctuating. The need for salt, and sleep, and sex: an unquenchable thirst. She'd wondered, for the first time since Jayce, if she could be a mother. If she could have a child with a man, who was her match. It'd seemed impossible.

And yet, impossibly, she'd told him.

Silco's reaction was not what she'd expected. Not even close.

He'd stared at her, as if his world had been toppled upside-down. Then he'd said, very softly: You're certain?

Mel nodded. Her voice came uncharacteristically small.  Nearly two months certain.

Are you certain... it's mine?

The question ought to have stung. Except his eyes were not doubting, but desperate.  Mel, reading the subtle tides of his face, was shaken by the revelation: this, too, was not the man who ruled Zaun.

This was someone else.

A man who'd long forsaken the idea of fathering a child. A man who'd never believed, in a million years, that he could kindle a life inside a woman in his arms. Could have the chance to know, intimately, a piece of himself: living, breathing, and blooming into being.

Now he was.

And she was.

Mel, in a rush, said: I've not been with anyone since... since the tunnel. Since you. It shouldn't have happened. Not after the procedure. But the medicks confirmed it. There are scans. There... there is a heartbeat. And I can feel her, Silco. Feel her growing, inside me. And I don't—I don't know what to...

Lights popped behind her eyes: the first burn of tears.

Reflexively, she turned her face away.

Silco's palm, cradling her jaw, stopped her short. His mouth hovered inches from hers. He was not a man given to softness. But his voice, in that moment, was the softest she'd ever heard it.

I'll tell you what to do, he said. You're going to take my hand. And we'll go, right now, to one of my own doctors. We'll have you looked over. We'll find out, for sure, whether the little one will last. And if she will, then—

Then?

Then we've arrangements to make. Because I'll be damned if my daughter is born not bearing my name. And I'll be damned twice, if I let Topside claim her for its own.

Heart in her throat, Mel stammered. Are—are you—?

He'd smiled. A strange smile, like a knife turned over. Shall I get down on bended knee, Mel?

I—I'm not asking for your hand. We've ended the arrangement between us. We both agreed—it was too risky, and—too much was at stake, and—

I know. His fingertips ghosted her chin. Now, it seems, the stakes have changed.

Silco, I'm not asking you to change the terms. I am not asking—or hoping for—anything at all. I only informed you as a matter of principle. You have a right to know. You are her father. But the choice to bring her into the world... is mine.

His fingers stilled. His eyes darkened. For a moment, she saw the monster resurfacing in their depths. 

You don't want this child? he asked.

I'm not saying that. Only—

Only what?

This—this was not in the plan. Mine or yours. To put the burden of expectation on our shoulders, when our cities are still fragile—

Mel.

What?

Cupping her chin, he tilted her gaze up. Do you want this child?

His stare was fierce, but not unkind. It was an invitation: to look the truth in the eye. To not complicate it with speech, about herself, and him, and whatever else was tangled between them.

The admission lodged in Mel's throat. I—I don't know. I've never wanted—never planned—

He said, again, Mel.

What?

Do. You. Want. This child?

The query in his eyes threatened to sear her. Mel wrenched her gaze away. There was no answer. Not an easy one. She'd had her entire life planned out. It did not include a baby. It did not even include him.

Now the lines were blurred: the future, a cipher.

What she did know, in her marrow, was this:

The choice is mine.

A choice between a life of conflict, and a life of certainty. A choice between a hollow peace, and the hardest battle.

The choice between the world as it was... and the world as it should be.

She'd taken a ragged breath. And, in the space between them, she'd felt Silco's heartbeat, racing in time with hers. Hoping, against all hope, that her answer would be the right one.

Mel, matching his stare, had given it:

Yes.

Yes?

I—I want her.

With me?

Silco—

His thumb touched her bottom lip, stilling the words.

You understand, he said, this child will change everything. Our cities. Our places, in them.  She will inherit more than the Medarda name, or my machinations. She will inherit the bad blood between us. All the ghosts, and the grudges, and the wounds. She will not have an easy life. It'll be a struggle, every step of the way. She'll face prejudice. Scorn. Disdain. She'll have to fight, every day, to justify her existence. And if she fails, the world will chew her up, and spit her out. It'll grind her under its heel, until there's nothing left. Do you understand?

Mel, throat working, nodded. I do.

Will you take the risk, all the same?

For a moment, she stared at him. This man who, for four years, stood as her most ruthless nemesis—and yet her staunchest ally. The man who'd dared to drag the darkest parts of herself into the light. Who'd shown her, in the space of a night, what it might be like, to lay herself bare. To be seen, and known, and taken as she was: without pretense.

Without fear.

And, in the heart of herself, Mel felt the full force of her bloodline resurge: the legacy of a hundred warriors, who'd faced the worst the world had thrown, with their chins held high. Who'd never let anything come between them and their desires. Who'd allowed neither war, nor death, to dictate the course of their lives.

This child—half Zaunite grit, half Piltovan guile—would be no different.

Yes, she'd answered. I will.

He'd kissed her then. She'd felt the monster's lips yield like velvet to her own. Felt the monster's palm span her belly, to where their child was nestled safe. And she'd sensed, beneath the ferocity of the possession, his pledge:

So will I.

In the weeks that followed, Mel's life became a series of contradictions—and revelations. For a woman who'd built her career on knowing the rules, and playing them to the letter, it'd been a heady ride to flout every single one. From her decision to step down from the Council in favor of an ambassadorial title, to the announcement of her engagement among her close circle, to the bombshell that she'd conceived out of wedlock: all a series of landslides that, one after another, knocked the foundations of her pristine persona off-kilter.

She'd not expected Silco, for all his cutthroat ambition, to prove such a steady harbor throughout. He'd taken over, with an almost alarming zeal, the practicalities of her pregnancy: doctor's appointments, nutrition plans, and, when it'd been confirmed that the baby was progressing smoothly, a list of the most reputable midwives in Zaun, vetted for their discretion and competence. 

Between them, they had finagled a way to remain in contact: a secure channel of communication, so that Mel could keep him apprised of any changes to her condition. Silco, in turn, had pulled strings to rent out a private condominium near Mel's own, in the heart of Piltover's upper district. There, when their schedules aligned, they'd meet: once a week, to discuss matters related to the baby, or their strategy for disseminating the news, or simply to make love.

And each time, Mel felt something burning bright inside her: an incandescent hunger that she had no choice but to feed. Not because Silco had willed it, or she'd ceded, but because, for the first time in her life, she wanted.

Wanted to feel his lips on hers, and his hands on her, and his body inside hers. Wanted him, too, in the aftermath: breathless and sweat-sheened, his skin decorated with her love bites, and that strange, soft glow in his eyes, that made her feel like a conqueror.

Like a queen.

By the month's end, they'd agreed to publicize their engagement at the upcoming Gala for the Progressive Arts. They'd gathered their respective contacts in the media: the Baron's Bugle, the Sun & Tower, the Harbor Herald. A carefully spun narrative was concocted to soft-launch the scandal: a romance, kept under wraps, that'd blossomed into a love-match, and was now culminating in marriage.

During the gala, they'd appear as the couple: arm-in-arm, exquisitely turned out in black-tie finery, the ring on her finger a spark of green fire, his lips on her cheek a tender, lingering kiss. Afterward, there'd be the press conference. Photographs, interviews, a formal statement from both parties.  Then, they'd return: Mel to her city, Silco to his, and await the fallout.

It had come, not a week later, with a vengeance.

Once the story broke, the media devolved into a feeding frenzy. The progressives were riveted: the traditionalists, aghast; the youth, aflame. The rumor-mill had churned into overdrive. The Eye of Zaun, engaged to a Councilor: a Councilor! The last surviving scion of a war-mongering bloodline, no less. The tabloids were rife with speculation: Did Medarda, after a decade in power, finally buckle under pressure, and choose a political match? Was the Eye bewitched by her beauty, and no more than a pawn in her schemes? Or, worse, was this a sinister conspiracy on both sides, to destabilize their respective spouse's city, and being its people to heel?

In Zaun, the hardliners were a hotbed of dissent. Their future was in the hands of the Undercity's most controversial leader: a statesman, who'd ruled by a razor-sharp brand of ruthlessness. His marriage would mean a shift in the power balance. A new set of rules, not just for his people, but his neighbor: a city-state he'd notoriously kept at arm's length.

In the more moderate quarters, the news was greeted with cautious optimism. The middle classes were more concerned with the economic ramifications of the union. What, exactly, was being negotiated behind closed doors? Would Silco, forsaking the autonomy of his nation, sacrifice Zaun's future on the altar of peace? Or did the marriage bode a true partnership: with trade, and prosperity, and a lasting harmony between their cities?

The Firelights were the only party who'd spoken out directly: a pointed critique on the optics of an Undercity statesman marrying a woman from a privileged background. How could a couple, who'd each benefitted from playing two vastly different systems, hope to improve the lot of those born on the losing end? How could their union, and the profits it promised, serve as anything but a symbol of the status quo taken to its most degenerate extreme?

To those questions, Mel had no ready reply. Silco, too much a realist to deny their merit, made no reply at all.

What, he'd sneered, draped across the settee in Mel's office, did you expect? We are not their heroes. We are their villains. They will not see us as we are. They will use us only as a cautionary tale: a moral lesson on how things ought not be done.

She'd not answered. Only crossed the room, to sit on the arm of the chair, and stir her fingers though his hair. A caress to gentle the monster back into the man, and into her arms.

It will take time, she said, to earn their trust. We cannot undo the past. But we can write the future. In our time.

On our terms, you mean, he retorted, even as his lips found the inside of her wrist. And those terms must be set in stone.

Whose stone? she said archly. My finger has yet to see a ring.

Soon, petal.

Soon?

His lips, against the pulse of her wrist, stilled. As soon as I've ironed out the fine print.

It was a crumb, and yet a confession.

The Eye, for all his prowess in the political arena, had to tread cautiously in his private life.

Jinx has taken the news badly. So badly, she'd torched a building down, and nearly shot Silco through the skull when he'd tried to enter the Aerie. In the aftermath, there was the usual round of threats and ultimatums. The usual litany of names: liar, backstabber, traitor. The usual fallout: smoldering glares and radio silences, eased only by patient words, and the love borne of years.

Jinx, a girl whose trust had been violated so many times, needed to be reminded that she wasn't going to be replaced, or abandoned, or cheated out of a father. She'd be the big sister, and the best friend, to the child they'd soon bring into the world. And though Silco, in the past, had been less than aboveboard in his private affairs, she would be the one exception.

The truth, always.

 In the end, they'd reached an armistice: tenuous, but holding.

Sevika was a tougher nut to crack.

Silco's XO had gone to the mat, tooth and nail, to protect her leader's interests. She'd been a loyal second-in-command for the better part of a decade. Her allegiance to Zaun was the only constant in her life. Her loyalty, her trust, were Silco's to command.

And yet, by keeping his liaison with Mel a secret, he'd betrayed her.

Sevika's anger wasn't like Jinx's. It was an older, colder fury: the rupture of decades-old faith. After the dust had settled, she'd gone to ground, and stayed there. Her absence had lasted two weeks. Silco's network had spun it as a work-related sabbatical. Privately, Silco had called it a shitshow, and blamed himself for the fallout.

In the end, he'd brokered a stalemate. His business affairs, thereafter, were to be run solely through Sevika, and no one else. It would act as surety: that Mel would not compromise his position, and he would not compromise her own. As for the rest—the fractured trust, the promises fallen to the wayside—only time, and work, would heal the rift.

Even so, Mel sensed, deep in her gut, that Silco would always look at Sevika—and see a stillborn story. One, that, for the sake of his predicament, he'd cut short.

Mel empathized all too keenly.

In Piltover, her declaration was met with dumbstruck silence.  In a city whose politics, like a kaleidoscope, revolved around the status quo, the union had sent shockwaves. The Council, as a unit, had balked. Silco's suitability was lambasted from all quarters. His reputation was unsavory; his methods unconscionable. Mel's own frame of mind was called into question; her motives put under the microscope, her judgement savaged, and her political acumen questioned.

Yet, as the dust settled, and the furor faded, the prevailing sentiment was:

 How can Piltover profit from this union?

Mel, ever the pragmatist, had laid out the bottom line. She and Silco had spent evenings in his office: drafting deals, and ironing out terms, and laying out blueprints. Now she'd made a case for a joint-investment consortium between their cities. A skyway, linking Zaun's harbor, and Piltover's Hexgates. Zaun's mines, rich in ore and minerals, would be brokered wholesale to Piltover. In turn, Zaun's infrastructure, overdue for an upgrade, would be financed, courtesy of a generous influx of foreign capital.

The Council had hemmed and hawed, and put the scheme to a vote. They'd done their due diligence. The numbers had checked out.

In the end, the accord was passed: unanimous, and binding.

Mel, in her office, began to receive a slow trickledown of congratulations for her upcoming nuptials. Most were happy for the promise of coin. Others were intrigued by enigmatic choice of spouse. Still more were wary of a coup. But her tactical approach, paired with a patient charm offensive, had paid dividends:

It should've been a triumph. And, in some ways, it was.

But one look at Jayce's face, and all she'd felt was the hollow ache of loss.

She'd thought, eventually, he'd reach out for a talk. But, even after the news broke, and the days stretched into a week, then two, he'd remained silent. Then, by the month's end, she'd received a request: a meeting at a private garden where she and Jayce had picnicked, long ago, and made love in a patch of sun-dappled grass.

The same patch of grass where, the first time, she'd realized she loved him.

Mel had gone, braced for the worst. What she'd found, instead, was a Jayce she'd not seen in years: a boy, stripped of all pretense, with his heart laid bare. 

Why are you doing this, Mel? he'd said without preamble. You know the score. You've known it from the start. He's a monster.

Carefully, Mel replied, I'm not denying that.

Then why? Why give him a chance?

Because the chance was offered. And I had the option, to either seize it, or walk away.

And you couldn't just walk away?!

No.

She'd said it simply, without artifice. Hurt darkened in Jayce's eyes.

He's the father of my child, Jayce. My child, who deserves to have both parents in her life.

Jaw flexing, Jayce said nothing.

I'm sorry. Truly. I never planned for this. But... it happened. And we've made our peace.

Peace? he scoffed. You mean the bastard's blackmailed you.

There is no blackmail, Mel said, with a touch of steel. We've both agreed to this. I know you find him disagreeable. I know he's the last person you'd want to ally with. But if you'd look beyond the past, and focus on the present, you'd see how much good can come of this partnership.

Jayce shook his head. You're talking like this is a business merger, Mel. It's not. It's your life. And you'll throw it away, for the sake of a lie?

A lie?

Yes! You think, by pretending it's for the good of the city, I'll believe it's worth the price? That I'll let you walk down the aisle, and be married, to a man who's done nothing but spread poison everywhere?

Against her will, Mel felt a flash of anger. I'll remind you, Jayce, that I belong to neither you, nor him. If I walk down that aisle, it's because I choose to.

Jayce flinched, but held her gaze. I don't expect you to belong to me. But I do expect the truth.

That, you already have, Mel said, and her voice held a quiet conviction. I chose this, Jayce. I chose him. I'm going to make it work.

At the cost of your happiness? Softer, more ragged. At the cost of love?

Mel didn't falter. But she was aware of the wedding ring, heavy on her finger. Silco had presented it last night: a band of twenty-four carat gold, inlaid with a square-cut emerald, and flanked by twin rows of baguette diamonds. On one side, the Medarda crest; on the other, Zaun's chem-shield. 

The symbolism was plain. Not a shackle, but a pledge of fealty, freely given.

A promise, in time, of something more.

Mel took a breath. Jayce. This isn't an affair of the heart. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up on love.

What's that mean?

It means... The truth, treacherously slippery, wouldn’t slide off her tongue. It means I must look at the bigger picture. Our cities need each other. And Zaun's citizens deserve a second chance. They've been left out, and left behind, for too long. At least, with this marriage, they'll know that Piltover sees them. That they're part of the same family as us.

A family built on politics.

A family built on progress.

For a long moment, Jayce stared at her, as if memorizing the shape of her face. Finally, he said, You deserve more, Mel. Not because you're the daughter of a House, or the Councilor of a city. You deserve more because you're kind, and beautiful, and brilliant. You deserve it because you push us all to be our best selves. You're the heart of us, Mel. You always have been.

Mel, eyes stinging, said, Jayce—

I won't stand here, and pretend to be happy for you. I won't try to understand why you'd choose him. And I won't deny, right now, that it doesn't hurt to think of the two of you together. To know there'll be a little girl, and that man will be her father, while I'll be a stranger. But if that's your choice, Mel, then...

Then?

Then I'll support you. His lips made a tight angry smile. Just—be careful, all right. For the love of god, be careful. Because if he ever hurts you, or your baby, or the future we've worked so hard for, I swear on all I've held holy, I'll burn him, and everything he's built, to the fucking ground.

And, just like that, the boy was a man. In his stare, she saw, refracted through the prism of experience, the same fierce idealism, and the same bright-burning ambition, and the same unflinching readiness to change the world.

It was that stare, above all else, that had first attracted her to him: an untarnished faith in the face of adversity, and the willingness to lay himself on the line, and fight till his last breath, for a better future.

That would not change, no matter how far they strayed apart.

Nor, she understood, would her feelings for him.

He was gone, before she could speak. But his words lingered.

Like the depth of his pain—and his promise

Mel, alone, twisted the ring on her finger. And vowed, that whatever else she might lose, she would not lose sight of her own.

A week later, the wedding date was set. The venue was chosen: a secluded enclave, set deep in the woodland hills, overlooking the sea. Invitations were sent: Piltover's elite, and Zaun's top brass, and a few vetted journalists.

And Mel's ring, on her finger, twisted, and twisted, and twisted.

In a fortnight, she'd be a bride. Then, a wife, wedded to a monster, and the mother to his child. There'd be no turning back. Only a lifetime of choices: made, remade, and unmade.

In the end, no matter the price, she'd have to pay it in full.

Melancholy, Silco breathed, as they lay folded in the darkness, and each other's arms, suits you ill.

Shivering, Mel couldn't meet his eyes. I was just thinking.

About?

About how fast things have moved. It's not what I'd planned. But then, nothing in my life has gone according to plan, since I met you.

Second thoughts?

She heard no challenge in his words. Only a question posed with a quiet gravity. As if her answer—her truth—was the only currency that mattered. 

She'd mistrusted that gravity, at first. Had wondered, often, if it was a ruse. Her lessons about men and power were hard-won. Playing both was a matter of illusion, and required the right balance of fact and fiction.

But, in the night, Silco was different. His gravity was no trick, but a force: raw, relentless, and compelling her closer. Inviting her to seek out, and surrender, to the dark. To allow his eyes to drink her in, and his body to fill hers, and her heart, at last, to be stripped bare.

Here, she could be his petal, his darling, his treasure. Here, she could do anything, be anyone. Or be nothing at all but a string of sweet syllables: Yes, Gods, please, more, harder, until she could think no more, and all her words became a gasping, drawn-out sob that was his name.

And when it was over, and the darkness settled again, she was someone else: a woman, who, without fear, could ask for anything, and be answered. Who, for all her beauty and guile, wielded the power to lay waste to a monster, and remake him into a man.

She'd not understood then, that the monster was all too real.

And so, too, was the man.

Now, she felt his hand on her cheek. He was studying her: watchful, wanting. As if, at any moment, she might turn herself away. Or vanish altogether, like a figment, and leave him alone.

A fate she'd once thought was hers.

No second thoughts, she promised. No regrets. Only... it's happening so fast. Too fast. It's like a dream, and I'm afraid that, when I wake, I'll find it wasn't real. Everything will be gone, and I'll have to pay for my folly. Just like before. Only this time, I'll have no one to blame but myself.

His thumb brushed her bottom lip, still swollen from his kisses.  You think... what? You'll say, ‘I do,’ and have to live with a monster, and his curse, for the rest of your days?

I think, she whispered, I've already been cursed by monsters. What matters is... a way to break the curse.

The barest smile cut the corner of his mouth. Break the curse—or the news?

Mel bit her lip. Both. I've been so preoccupied, I'd not considered... how I'm going to tell Mother. About the baby. I don't want her to be blindsided. When she is, she can be... volatile.

You think she'll cause trouble?

I think she'll see me as the trouble. A marriage she doesn't approve of. A baby with a Zaunite. And, in the same stroke, a deal that's put her interests in Hextech at risk. She'll try and use any leverage to dissuade me from going through with this. Any leverage at all.

Silco's smile faded. A hard gleam entered his good eye. Including the child.

Mother is capable of it. More, if it suits her agenda. She's a warlord. She doesn't care if she has to play dirty, or pull every nasty trick, to get her way.

Silco's bad eye flared with an ugly red light. In the gloaming, Mel saw his thoughts pivoting: one calculation, then another. The lines etched on his face told a story of his own battles: won by playing the dirtiest tricks and executing the narrowest gambits.

Yet, even an old hand like him knew: sometimes, the best strategy was to hold your cards, and let the game pan out.

It would be risky to alienate her, he conceded. Our networks are too closely twined. And there've been times when our interests have aligned for the best. But... he stroked her bottom lip again, as if the feel of it, of her, might ground him. Just—be careful.

Careful?

With her. With yourself. I know Ambessa, and she is no fool. She'll sniff out, in a heartbeat, the weakest point. And, once she finds it, she'll go for the jugular. If not yours, then mine.

And Mel, feeling the truth of his words, could only nod. Reflexively, her fingers went to her wedding ring, and twisted again. Already, it had become a fixture: a talisman to keep the ghosts of the past at bay.

But no talisman could stave off the inevitable.

Ambessa.

Rather than by missive, Mel chose to break the news in person. She'd invited her mother to her private apartments, and dismissed the staff. That way, if the walls rang with shouts of maternal strife, at least her paintings would be the sole witness.

Ambessa had listened, stonefaced, to the whole saga. When Mel was finished, she'd stared at her daughter with the full measure of her unyielding eyes.

Then, she’d shaken her head.

You absolute fool.

Mel stiffened. I fail to see how—

Ambessa forestalled her. Did I teach you nothing, child? Medardas are not slaves to their loins. We make our own fate. And we do not, under any circumstances, allow another soul to dictate our destiny.

I'm not letting Silco dictate anything. I'm doing what's best. For my city, and his, and the child between us.

A Trencher's bastard.

She'll be born in wedlock. She'll be a Medarda, by blood, and a Zaunite by birth.

So: little better than a savage.

Mel's spine straightened. So: your grandchild. The only legacy you have left.

Ambessa's eyes narrowed. Do not threaten me, Mel.

That is not a threat, Mother. That is a fact.

Ambessa loomed in; a monolith of muscle and bone. Mel held her ground, and her gaze. And something—some irrevocable shift, like the turn of the tide—came to pass. In that moment, Mel was no longer the girl haunted by her mother's lessons. No determined to eclipse the shadow of her past with a superficial surfeit of light.

She was, instead, a woman grown into her strength. A statesperson, a Councilor, a survivor. A woman whose mind, and heart, were her own.

And, soon, a mother.

The change in her bearing must've shown. Ambessa's eyes widened, then shuttered. Mel, with a hint of irony, smiled.

You cannot win this argument, Mother, she said. Nor can you intimidate me. I've chosen to go through with this. My marriage to Silco, and the child that comes of it. My legacy—if you call it that—will be a better future.

Better for whom? Ambessa snapped. For those damned Trenchers? For that man, who'll stop at nothing to spread his poison across the world?

If we were truly honest, Mother, is it a poison? Or merely the opposite side of a coin?

Ambessa's lip curled. Do not play the fool, Mel. He peddles freedom, and sells death. His hands are stained as red as the battlefields my armies have left behind. And your child will bear the taint of that legacy. Whatever your high hopes—for a blank slate or a better future—you've doomed her as surely as you've doomed yourself.

That is not for you to decide.

It is not a decision. It is a fact. And you'd do well, to remember: the line between our kind and theirs is as old as the sea. Your Hexgates and your golden spires and your lofty goals of progress are but a few years old. Our blood is centuries. And any weak link— Her eyes flicked, once, to Mel's belly, —should be excised.

Mel's fist closed, protectively, over her womb. In her voice echoed an edge of steel. If that were true, Mother, then why did you let me live?

Silence fell: the first in a lifetime.

Ambessa's expression didn't shift. But her eyes did: a crack, shining through the facade. A mother, too, staring at the daughter she'd lost. Would have lost, in full, had she not, against all her instincts, cast her out, and cut the cord. A jettisoning that was yet a mercy—because otherwise, Mel would've been dragged down by the weight of her bloodline.

You were no weak link, Mel, she said, and her voice was the closest thing to gentleness that Mel knew. You were meant to be the torchbearer. The living proof of our triumphs. You—and Kino—were to inherit our family's light, and raise it high, so the rest of the world could see.

Mel's throat ached. And now?

Now you are the last of our line. Your brother is gone. My own days are numbered. And you've chosen to throw in your lot, not with the living, but with the dead. Because that is where that parasite will leave you: six feet under, and forgotten. As for the child? Ambessa took a breath. Yes, she is a Medarda. But a poor one, if he is her sire. If the gods are just, she'll die in the womb, and your ties to him, unravel. If not—

Mel's jaw hardened. If not?

Then her best hope is to be raised in Noxus. In her rightful place. Yours, too.

This was a clubbing blow to Mel's equilibrium. You—you'd take her away?

I'd take her home. And you, too.

But my banishment—

Has expired. Ambessa's smile was mirthless. I'm growing old, child. All my wars, my victories, will come to nothing, if they're not remembered.  Our bloodline, and our legacy, must endure. And I will not see them fall, because my daughter is playing house with a deadman walking. I'd have you back home, with me. Both of you.

A piercing pain lanced Mel's ribcage. Her secret, most shamefully cherished wish, made flesh. A life, once torn from her, now offered on a golden platter.

But not because her mother had changed her stripes. Because the future she'd fought so hard to secure had turned against her. Because, after years of war, Mel's gift for honing peace had become the weapon of last resort.

A peace built, not on hope, but a hunger for everything.

Off Mel's silence, Ambessa came closer. Her hand settled, heavily, on Mel's shoulder. It's not an impossible choice, Mel. It's the only choice. The only place where you, and your child, will thrive.

And, in the pit of her soul, Mel wondered: What if it's true?

And her fingers, finding her wedding ring, twisted, and twisted, and twisted...

[skyward-floored]

Whoever somebody mentions how they really appreciate how I try to always end my whumptober fics with at least a little hope I get very happy and kick my legs and make this face :]

[boxwinebaddie]

omg, so re: a sad sweet anon in my box who was worried that i divorced the boys forever; they're FINE, baby!!!! i promise </3333 it was just a really bad, fucked up month and they're Fine after that (unless i create some other problems, but for now i will spare you)

BUT THEY ARE FINE, MY LOVE!!! SWEARSIES!!!!

i promise you that that on the night jerseykyle gets in that nasty bar fight defending ravenstan's honor (in his absence) against a band of idiot incel transphobes and shows up on their old apartment door step all broken and bloodied before he gets reluctantly tended to and patched up by punk rock nurse ravenstan via several hello kitty bandids...at the end of that exchange, they get back together. c':

kyle also says i love you. <3333

it's kind of a lot for me to speed run entire scenes because they take so long, but just for you, petal, i'm gonna try and get you the sparknotes on the ravesey reunion asap. and please know that as emotional compensation, in lieu of the jersey can't say i love you ask that i was never able to finish/threw into other answers...

i will instead be writing you...

the jersey CAN say i love you ask!!!!! eeee!!!

it's very cute; i'm excited about it.

tldr; ravesey is fine, i'm sorry for scaring you. :'c i promise!!!! i am a hurt comfort writer even though no one believes me!!!! i'm just so much better at the hurt part than the comfort, but i'll comfort you!!

so please hold darlings, and rest easy knowing that.

-mean nasty evil sea witch neen

[derpinette]

i have a weird relationship with weight because i hated eating more than anything the moment i was ready for solids ( i hate chewing with my entire life always have & will ) which made me underweight for most of my life ( to this day ) & during late primary-middle school this made me actively suicidal because i felt like something was wrong with my sex because i just was not developing whatsoever prompting me to have a years long phase of trying to gain weight in any way i could ( #EPICFAIL by the way ) & i was already insecure but i felt seriously so unforgivably ugly after bullying not just at school but by adults of my entourage. but then i did in my late 15s which prompted the pendulum to swing in the other direction & suddenly i FREAKED OUT & thought well being skinny is pretty much all i have & know myself to be & clearly it is not going to last forever so i Better preserve it i was delusional about how skinny i thought i was actually i look stumpy & weird i have to prove myself. But now i am normal again kind of

[titansarmy]

i’m going to take it a step further. nico’s healing journey not involving will solace and/or a romantic partner would be a much better story

[leonardalphachurch]

i think it’s really funny that all the people in the tags of that poll saying to vote chucker are people who are still active participants in the fandom meanwhile there’s like one person saying to vote lolix who’s still active. it’s what i’ve always said felix girlies are NOT loyal you’re coming crawling back to vote on a poll well we all know where your loyalties lie.

[moderndayamymarch]

hawkeye pierce is a roman coded kendall.

he has the outward court jester attitude of a roman (and roman’s frequent use of sexual jokes to deflect actual emotion) while containing the inner melancholic guilt caused by being haunted-by-the-narrative like kendall (i.e. a hamlet complex). not to mention he has the kendall trait of being written off as “screwy” by the other characters and has an addictive personality.

margaret is a shiv (ofc) as a woman working within a man’s world, often feeling like they have to sacrifice their femininity to be taken seriously, resulting in them feeling isolated from the women around them

bj is a tom because they seem like the all-american hometown boy but there’s just a lot going on under there that often surfaces through completely unhinged behavior- behavior that targets a person that they fear they’ve been too vulnerable/honest with, hawkeye and greg (i’m so sorry to even put you in the same sentence as that man, hawkeye <3). idk what’s wrong with them but boy do you like to watch ‘em spiral.

nobody else really fits any succession characters (and truly, neither do these three) bc the shows kinda exist as opposites. mash is about finding love, comfort, and hope in those around you as you survive absolutely horrific circumstances. succession is about the way wealth corrupts and corrodes a person’s inner-self and the way that that poison “drips through” (to quote kendall) to the next generation.

like the roys would never do a tenth of what hawkeye & co. put up with. bc the roys (i say this with love) are just straight up awful people.

[sisterdivinium]

Think "necessity" of evil in the ultimate doing of good ("For God judged it better to bring good out of evil than not to permit any evil to exist"); sin/failure for the sake of elevation, personal and otherwise, and how each of the characters "falls" so that good may come of it somehow, be it in general knowledge, assistance in pursuing good or personal enlightenment.

I'm far too lacking in dogmatic understanding to pursue this specific angle of investigation the way I'd like to and it's driving me crazy.

[savageday6]

.

[queertemporality]

had to spin up a fair number of last-minute application essays recently for various things and the persistent grain of truth at the center of them all around which the rest all pearled is the fact that if I can do one thing, i can fucking endure

[whorangel]

why would you let me get a taste of it if i can't actually get it . why would you give me hopes of something better and then break my heart into a thousand pieces? is this bound to happen forever? is yearning where my life stops?

[cosmiicfairy]

🗑

[arachine]

something about non-traditional family dynamics with gojo just speaks to me…

includes :: co-parent!gojo, rich boy!gojo, mentions of pregnancy + leaky nips hehe

note :: this is just pure brainrot, started thinking about him in class today and i needed to get this out of my brain!

link to part two + link to part three

i’d like to think that after he knocks you up in college, the two of you take it upon yourselves to get married because, “‘it’s the right thing to do.’” and so, for a few years, you do the whole marriage thing—the family thing.

no longer were you the twenty-something-year-old who partied hard every weekend, and studied until the break of dawn every school night.

no, now you were the twenty-something-year-old who fixed bottles at odd hours in the night, whose nipples leaked through all her favorite tops, who had a husband that paid a mortgage and kissed her goodbye before he went off to work for the company passed down to him.

and after some time, things finally start to fall into place—your little family.

the baby gets bigger. you go through the terrible twos, of course, and the teenage-threes, but once she hits five, it’s suddenly pie in the sky—and god, it feels like you can finally start to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

so, you and gojo have one more. one more girl that’s precious, and smart, and quick-tongued, and every bit of her dad as she is you.

things are touch and go for awhile, but for the most part it’s...easy, smooth. that is, until married life starts to feel like a task, and your husband starts to feel like your roommate instead of your companion.

conversations becomes brief, the bed becomes colder, morning kisses are exchanged for nods of acknowledgement, and you can’t even remember the last time either of you desired each other…

one day though, the two of you come to a mutual decision to separate. you spend the night talking, and talking, and talking. you talk about things. memories—before and after. you even talk about your mis-comings, and if things could’ve gone differently had either of you did ‘this, this, and that’.

when you tell the girls, you’re half expecting them to be upset, but all they can think about is how, “‘they’ll get twice the amount of gifts during holidays’” — at least, according to your oldest who heard that from a kid in her class with separated parents.

a few years pass after your separation and now the both of you have come to a place where you can just be...friends. it was weird, at first—dropping your kids off to their 'other home'. walking them up to the grandiose sky-rise apartment building that's always bustling with people who've got places to be, and working class people to probably torture—but that's neither here, nor there.

gojo's waiting in the lobby. he's leaned up against the side of the elevator, dressed down in all black athleisure, and he's sporting that damn cheesy grin that you find yourself missing lately.

"hey girls," he greets, lowering down to his haunches and opening his arms for hugs, "oof—big hugs, almost knocked me over! missed me that much, huh?"

while the three of them get their hugs out of the way, you stand there idly watching, rocking back and forth on the balls of your heels.

"hey," he finally acknowledges you, "how was the drive? they got everything they need?"

"it was fine, and yep! they insisted on packing their own bags like big girls but i checked them," you say, before whispering, "and then repacked them."

he laughs at that, and then grabs their suitcases.

"but yeah, i should get going before traffic hits. if you need anything, let me know, and if you need anything," you drop down to your knees, "mommy's only a call away, okay?"

the two of them nod, "okay, mommy!"

"good...now come on, hugs and kisses!" you pull them in, getting enough kisses for two-weeks time. eventually, you pull away—albit, reluctantly, and wave your goodbyes.

the three of them watch you walk away, and when you're finally out of ear-shot, gojo utters a 'miss that'.

"miss what, daddy?"

"uh-huh," he clears his throat, "daddy didn't say anything..."

"liar, you miss mommy. don't you?" the youngest grins, all cheeky and knowing. gojo rolls his eyes—not out of annoyance, but because of how much they reminded him of himself. much like he, nothing ever got past those two...and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. right now, though? it's gonna be a good thing because he needs to know if-

"does mommy have a new boyfriend?"

"why?" the oldest answers, squinting her eyes in suspicion.

"jeez kid, just answer the question."

she ponders for a second, then extends her hand out, opening and closing it in a fast manner. gojo pouts, then takes out his wallet to put a five dollar bill on it.

she doesn't budge.

"oh, c'mon! i'm your father!" he pouts, but acquiesces and pulls out another five, "fine, you little brat."

with a smile on her face, she stuffs the bills in her front pocket and nods her head.

"wha-really?" he gasps, "is he better looking than me? how old is he? is he younger than daddy? is he richer than daddy? what's he do for work?"

ignoring his questions, she only extends her hand out again.

"i'm not giving you any more money, so we can settle this with some ice cream or nothing."

she ponders for a second time before nodding. "ice cream works for me."

"you little...c'mon get on the elevator."

20 floors in and the questions never stop coming.

[girlgenius1111]

might just love you 'til the end

post... that match. a bit of angst, mostly fluff. alexia is not pleased after her performance against chelsea. you aren't quite sure what she needs from you. you decide to give her space, but that isn't really what she needs. alexia tells you... eventually.

-------

It was a long day, a tiring and difficult match, and Alexia probably would have resorted to one of her coping mechanisms, if she hadn’t missed that last shot on goal. It seemed to take something out of her, and even from your place sitting on the bench, you could see how angry she was acting. Underneath that, though, you could tell that she was really just disappointed in herself. 

Watching her blink back tears as she made her way around the pitch was almost too much for you. You wanted nothing more than to grab her hand, pull her into the tunnel, and hug her until she wasn’t sad anymore. You knew better than to try to comfort her now, though. Alexia hated nothing more than seeming weak, especially in front of the team. Anything she needed or wanted from you would have to wait until you both got home. And even then, you weren’t sure what to expect. Sometimes she’d just shut down after a bad game, go to sleep, and wake up with a new passion the next morning. Sometimes she’d shut down, but her fury at herself would linger for days. Very rarely did she talk about it. Only when she really reached her breaking point, which was admittedly a lot harder to reach than other people’s were, would she let you make her feel better.  

It wasn’t necessarily a healthy array of options that she normally went with, but you couldn’t argue that it didn’t work. It worked for Alexia, and that was what was important. Even if giving her space until she asked for something else hurt, you knew it was what she needed. 

She acted pretty much how you expected her to as you both made your way into the locker room and headed for the showers. The blonde gave you nothing more than a high five and a weak smile, before she launched herself into her post match routine. You did the same, icing various parts of your body that hurt after a rather physical game. You kept your eyes on your girlfriend, though, watching the hollow way she brushed through her hair and the mechanical way she laced up her shoes. You were done before her, sitting in your locker looking at your phone, trying to figure out how bad the social media situation was going to be for her, when her white nikes appeared in front of you. You looked up at her with a smile, though it fell slightly when you took in the completely emotionless look on her face. She’d shut down, then, like you’d expected her to. You knew it was coming, but it didn’t make it easier that she wouldn’t let you help.

“¿Lista?” She asked roughly, not meeting your eyes. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” You replied, getting to your feet, grabbing your bag, and giving Mapi a reassuring look from where she sat waiting for Ingrid to be ready to go. You knew your girlfriend’s best friend worried about her, and that she had tried to talk to her after the match, but it hadn’t really gone anywhere. You were surprised when, as soon as you were out of the locker room and had walked a ways down the hall, Alexia dropped her bag to the ground and pulled you into a tight hug. 

You returned the hug, sighing into her shoulder, feeling her bury her face in your slightly damp hair. The hug was for you, you could tell. To make you feel better, even when Alexia wouldn’t allow you to do anything to make her feel better. She held herself a bit tensely, and when she pulled away, her eyes searched yours, her worry clear on her face. 

“Te amo,” she whispered, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. “I am proud of you, always.” 

“I love you, Ale,” you replied, a thousand more words on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to tell her you were proud of her, too, that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t need to deal with today all by herself, but you knew she wouldn’t accept it right now. Instead, you grabbed her hand in yours and squeezed tightly. 

The captain kept her hand in yours as you both walked to her car, and though you expected her to pull away from the contact, you were glad that she was letting herself have something to make herself feel better. The car ride home was silent, and you predicted the rest of the night to be the same.

------

You knew to let Alexia deal with it how she dealt with it, but you did put your foot down on a couple things. When she headed right for the couch, going to put the match replay on the TV and take notes, you shook your head, taking the remote out of her hand. 

“Not tonight. It won’t make you feel better.” 

“I have to watch,” she argued, but you cut her off. 

“You can watch tomorrow. Tonight we are going to watch a movie, order dinner, and go to bed early.” 

“Amor,” Alexia sighed, her brow furrowed, no doubt thinking about how she could convince you to let her do this. 

You switched tactics, knowing there was one sure way to get your girlfriend to agree with you. “Please? For me? I don’t want to watch that again right now.” 

The blonde softened, nodding her head at you. Satisfied, you flopped down on the couch next to her, grabbing her arm and draping it over your shoulder. 

Alexia smiled despite herself, leaving a soft kiss on the top of your head. She was still practically silent as you picked out a movie, but she pulled you close to her, slipping her hand up the front of your shirt and  running her thumb back and forth across your skin. 

Even if she was only letting this happen because she thought she was comforting you, it was still better than nothing. Better than the rare occasions that she’d sleep on the couch, almost as a punishment for herself when she didn’t perform the way she thought she should’ve. The blonde had gotten better since getting together with you, mostly because you pointed out the inconsistencies in how she treated you after a rough game, and how she treated herself. Some rough days sent her spiraling back to her bad habits, though, and you were glad you could pull her away from those, at least for today.

-------

“Cariño,” Alexia whispered, jostling you slightly. “Let’s go to bed, vale?” 

“Hmm?” You mumbled, barely opening your eyes. “‘M not asleep.” 

“Oh, sure. You are just watching the movie with your eyes closed?” 

“Sí,” you sighed, turning against her slightly until your head was laid on her chest. It vibrated under you as she laughed, and the sound woke you a bit more, glad to hear something even remotely joyful come out of your girlfriend’s mouth. 

“Venga, amor, it is time for bed.” She insisted, gently sitting up and easing you into an upright position. You pouted at her, wishing the smile on her face would reach her eyes. When it didn’t, you rose from the couch, grabbing Alexia’s hand, and pulling her towards the bedroom. 

You both made quick work of your nighttime routines, and you were glad to slide into the bed, undeniably exhausted from the physically and emotionally draining day. Alexia slipped in next to you, though she didn’t really get comfortable; she remained halfway sat up, staring at the ceiling above her. You tucked yourself into her side, burrowing under the covers until you were surrounded by soft fabric and Alexia’s sweatshirt. She seemed wide awake, and you laced your fingers with her, rubbing your thumb comfortingly along the back. 

“Sleep, baby. You need rest. Everything will feel better in the morning.” Alexia nodded mechanically, giving you a half smile that you didn’t buy for a second, before her eyes fluttered shut. “I love you. You’re my favorite person.” You whispered. 

She opened her eyes again at your words, softening slightly. She turned on her side and pulled you into her chest, wrapping you up tightly in her arms. “Te amo, mi niña, eres perfecta.” She whispered. 

-------

You fell asleep easily. Alexia, evidently, had not. You realized this when you rolled over in the middle of the night, seeking out your girlfriend to curl up against, and only felt cold sheets next to you. 

It woke you up, and you opened your eyes, in your sleepy haze worried Alexia had gotten sick or something. You looked around the room, and towards the bathroom, but no lights were on. You sat up in the bed, forcing yourself to wake up more. Once you had thought about it for a minute, you had a sneaking suspicion about where your girlfriend had disappeared to in the middle of the night. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, checking Alexia’s location, and sure enough, her little profile picture was at a park a few blocks away. It had a football pitch, and Alexia sometimes slipped away there when she wanted to clear her head, but not deal with seeing people she knew at the Barça training ground. 

You dragged yourself out of bed, even though you had half a mind to call Ale’s mom and get Eli to deal with her, knowing she could scold her daughter much more effectively than you could. It was the middle of the night, though, and you knew that Alexia may need a softer approach. You weren’t really sure what headspace she’d be in when you found her, and it was at this thought that you began to move faster, pulling on joggers and a shirt, and rushing down the stairs. You could visualize what she’d be doing, taking shot after shot on goal, but you couldn’t figure out how she’d be acting. Upset, or sad, or angry, or still completely blank. You grabbed your car keys, not really wanting to waste a second longer than possible by walking to where Alexia was, although it wasn’t far. 

It only took a few minutes to arrive, and you pulled into the parking lot with your attention completely fixed on the figure across the park, running down the pitch with a ball at her feet. As you got closer, you took in how exhausted Alexia looked, as if she’d been at this for hours.

“Ale?” You called, finally arriving at the pitch and trying to get your girlfriend’s attention from the sidelines. She didn’t look over at you, too caught up in her own thoughts, trying to angle her shot in just right. 

You moved closer, and finally she saw you, just out of the corner of her eye. She stopped what she was doing, turning to face you. “Amor?” She questioned. “What are you doing here?” 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her question. “Really? You’re asking me what I’m doing here?” Your girlfriend had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “It’s the middle of the night, Alexia. What are you doing?”

“I could not fall asleep.” Alexia told you, walking over to you, her ball abandoned behind her. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” You asked, brushing a few pieces of flyaway hair off her forehead. She melted into your touch, her body slouching down towards you, giving you even more of an idea of how exhausted she was. 

“I wanted you to rest.” She said quietly, and it was a perfectly believable explanation, but for some reason you had a feeling that there was more to it than that. You fixed her with a look, raising one eyebrow. The blonde sighed again, grabbing your hand in hers. “Can we go home?” 

“Only if you promise to talk to me when we get there. Otherwise I’ll make you stand in goal while I shoot.” You teased, happy to see a small smile on your girlfriend’s completely drained face. 

“Promise.” She said, giving your hand a squeeze as you both began to walk towards the park exit. 

-------

You sent Alexia to shower upon arriving home, sitting on the couch until she was done, absolutely sure that if you got back in bed, you’d instantly fall back asleep. Alexia very timidly walked out of the bathroom 20 minutes later, all bundled up in a sweatshirt and sweatpants even though it was rather warm out. 

Alexia looked weirdly nervous as she sat down next to you, her eyes everywhere but on yours. She reached for your hand very hesitantly, relaxing slightly when you intertwined your fingers with hers easily. 

“What’s wrong, Ale?” You asked. 

“I am sorry about today. Really sorry, amor.” 

You opened your mouth, prepared to tell her that you forgave her for sneaking away in the middle of the night instead of waking you up, but you stopped when you looked at her closer, and found tears in her eyes. Something about the way she’d phrased it, too, that she was sorry about ‘today,’ didn’t sit right with you. 

“What are you sorry about?” You asked, frowning when Alexia chewed on her lower lip instead of answering. 

“I disappointed you today.” She said finally. 

“Alexia,” you rushed to contradict her, but she cut you off. 

“No, I know I did. I am sorry, I will do better, mi amor, I promise.” 

“Love, you did not disappoint me.” You insisted, cradling your girlfriend’s cheek and wiping away a stray tear. She shrugged, like she didn’t believe you. “You could never disappoint me, Alexia, especially not by missing a shot. Why do you think that?” 

Her eyes flicked up to yours, finding only sincerity there, as she took a deep breath, and spoke. “I told you I was proud of you.” Alexia mumbled, her cheeks flushing. “You did not say it back. And you normally give me a hug after matches in the locker room, but you did not, not until I hugged you.” 

You were sure you felt your heart crack in two. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” You said, reaching to pull her into a hug. She shrugged out of your grasp, though, and you were furious with yourself in that moment. 

“You do not need to be sorry, I understand.” She said, albeit rather miserably, looking so angry and upset with herself, when she really should have been directing that at you. 

“No, Alexia, look at me.” You insisted, gently tilting her head to look at you. She was barely holding back tears, her lip wavering sadly. “Oh, my love. I didn’t say it back because I didn’t think you’d want to hear it. You never listen after rough games, I was trying to let you have your feelings for the night, and then try to make you feel better tomorrow. I didn’t think you’d want comfort, Alexia, not today. I am so proud of you, Alexia. Every day, I am proud of you, especially today. You did everything you could do, I know that. It just wasn’t our day. Estoy tan orgullosa de ti.” You emphasized. 

Alexia nodded slowly, but you could tell she didn’t fully believe you. 

“Would you ever be disappointed with me for missing a shot?” You asked, slightly amused when the blonde whipped her head up to look at you, a frown set on her features. 

“No. Never.” Alexia said quickly, appalled at even the idea.

You smiled at her sadly. “Can you not imagine that I feel the same way about you, Ale? That I love you just as much as you love me? 

Your girlfriend swallowed roughly, reaching to pull you into her lap, and into a hug. You let her manhandle you the way she wanted, wrapping your arms around her and kissing the side of her head repeatedly once she grabbed on to you. 

“It is hard to believe sometimes. It is… too good to be true. That you love me like I love you. I do not always feel like I deserve it. Especially when I am grumpy all day after we lose, and I sneak out of our bed, and make you come find me in the middle of the night.” Alexia said, her voice dripping with insecurity. 

You pulled back just slightly, pressing your forehead to Alexia’s, threading your fingers through her hair. “You always deserve it. Always, Alexia. And I would get out of bed in the middle of the night to come find you every day if you needed me too. I’d get on a plane in the middle of the night and fly halfway across the world to find you, if that’s what you needed.” You whispered, leaning forward to press your lips to Alexia’s. 

She kissed you back, hard, trying to tell you how much everything you’d said meant to her. 

“I’d rather not, but I’d do it.” You mumbled against her mouth, feeling her smile against your own lips. 

“Okay.” She said finally, and it was clear to you that she believed you a bit more now, and that she’d believe you even more tomorrow. “I will keep my fleeing of the country to a minimum.” 

You laughed. “Good. Because I want to go to bed.” 

Alexia nodded enthusiastically, rising up off the couch with you held securely in her arms. “Me too.” 

She carried you towards the bedroom, already physically more relaxed than she’d been all day. 

“If you set an alarm for the morning, I will make you sleep at the park tomorrow night.” You told her, letting out a rather undignified squeak when she gently threw you down on the bed. 

She smiled at you mischievously, her bad day completely forgotten. How could she think about her performance when you were so perfect, and so pretty, and she was so tired.

“No alarm.” She promised, turning her light off and collapsing onto the bed next to you. It had been a mistake, not waking you up before. Because when you pulled her into you and began to scratch lightly at her back, she went completely limp, and she knew you were all she needed to fall asleep. Alexia didn’t need to practice her shots until her legs were numb. She just needed to lay her head on your chest and hear your heartbeat in her ear, and she’d remember that everything would be okay. 

------

hope you enjoyed :)

[divinesangel]

— 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

i felt called to do one of these today, enjoy!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏

your future lover will absolutely adore how authentic you are. they will feel a great curiosity about your energy and how you navigate through life. they will be able to see through you and sense that your wisdom and personality are deeply influenced by your past or the experiences you've endured throughout your life. they will admire your resilience and emotional strength, while also appreciating how mindful you are about the things that truly matter and important issues. you are someone who, despite facing many difficulties and conflicts, continues to see the positive side of every situation and sets boundaries in your personal relationships. your energy will become something quite special for them, as you will be able to help them see things from a different perspective and progress in life. you tend to do this unconsciously, so it's very likely that you won't even notice how much you'll impact this person.

your person will always want to make you happy, and they will put in whatever effort is necessary to do so. they'll have plenty of love to give you, and you'll undoubtedly feel their affection. you won't have to worry about anything or question whether they truly care about you or things like that, because they'll always make it clear through their actions. i see them working day by day to make you happy and doing everything possible to make things work.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐

you will become this person's rock.

this person seems to have spent a great deal of their life juggling numerous tasks without allowing themselves a moment to breathe. they feel like they must always be doing something and cannot pause to reflect on their feelings or internal conflicts. your arrival in their life is going to open their eyes, and they will see you as someone to trust, as that light at the end of the tunnel.

up until now, they have been feeling very lonely, and i sense that this is due to their lack of communication about their feelings. there is something preventing them from speaking about how they feel, and this only causes that pain to intensify further. however, i see that with you, they will begin to consider giving that much-needed inner change a chance.

they will adore that you are someone so stable and with such clear ideas. they will see you as a person with an organized mind who knows how to maintain composure in the most difficult moments and find a solution.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

this person will want to be with you on the spot!

they will see you as marriage material. it's highly likely that this person will want to move very quickly or that certain things will happen faster than expected. at first, it might seem a bit suspicious to you, but it's simply how this person operates. i sense that they act swiftly due to their emotions, allowing themselves to be carried away by them, which might lead them to want to marry you or commit rather quickly. they'll want to give you the world and more, although at times, they may have some doubts about whether their love is reciprocated or if you truly enjoy being with them.

this person will admire your character. you earnestly fight for what interests you and for the people you love. you have no problem defending what you believe in and anything that aligns with your values. they'll be aware that sometimes you may struggle to trust others due to past experiences, but they won't hesitate to show you their true intentions and anything else in order to be with you.