#I'm planning on writing this soon! :>

[papercuttragedy]

WELCOME HOME PLAYFELLOW AU!!!!!

It's the year 1969, The Playfellow, a product known to make sentient puppets that serve as human companions spread like wildfire. Here this story is told through the eyes of Wally Darling, a dashing little fella who has been under the protection of his 'papa' (Playfellow Creator, Ronald Dorelaine) and longs to find a life for himself, as well as a whole cast of characters who try to adjust to life in The Big City coexisting between man and puppet (how are they able to live? Who knows, who cares.)

CHARACTERS (So Far)

THE PLAYFELLOWS (puppets who were made sentient and serve as human companions)

• Wally Darling – A Playfellow puppet that was adopted by the founder of the Playfellows, Ronald Dorelaine, who has taken care of Wally since his purchase date. He isn't the only puppet Dorelaine takes care of, as he has Home, an older prototype model who takes the role of a wise caretaker/friend/mentor for Wally. Wally often is taken to places by Ronald to annual events to meet and make children happy, but doesn't really have a lot of friends other than Home. Wally is also going through an existential crisis and longs to find out who he wishes to be. His Gem Heart is Blood Red.

• Barnaby B. Beagle – A Playfellow puppet that takes the appearance of a large, laid-back, blue dog who's serves as a roommate/bodyguard to a divorced comedian who happens to be friends with Dorelaine. He adapts his comedic jokes from his handler but also has a lonesome feeling of wanting something more than the life he lives, but feels trapped with feeling responsible for his handler. He becomes very close with Wally. His Gem Heart is Steel Blue.

• Frank Frankly – A Playfellow puppet who at first appears as a grumpy know-it-all, but is a secret softie with a love for books and bugs. His handler is a librarian who wanted to share his love for books to someone who had a similar interest. Frank deeply cares for his handler and helps out around the library. He's in a secret relationship with Eddie, to which only their handlers (who also happen to be in a relationship) seem to know about. He's best friends with Julie and would visit her whenever his handler goes for a haircut. His Gem Heart is Mustard Yellow.

• Julie Joyful – A Playfellow puppet with a bright, happy, and cheery personality who was purchased by a big, rowdy family along with her siblings (Franny, Bea, and Jonesy) as Christmas gifts for the little children, with Julie's handler being the youngest daughter. She and her siblings work in a salon that's owned by the mother. She's best friends with Frank and loves to have all sorts of styles. Her Gem Heart is Rose Pink.

• Poppy Partridge – A Playfellow puppet that has always had a paranoid personality. She mostly stays at home with her handler, an old woman who recently lost her husband and is looking for an emotional support friend. She often goes out with her handler, usually for grocery shopping, to the park for picnics, or visit her son's theater. She happens to be quite close friends with Sally, who likes to have her in rehearsals for plays, despite her stage fright. Her Gem Heart is Emerald Green.

• Sally Starlet – A Playfellow puppet who surprisingly isn't really owned by a handler but rather a theater known for its stunning performances. The owner of the theater wanted to try out new opportunities, and when the Playfellow puppets got really popular worldwide, he had to have one be in his theater. Sally lives for the stage and has made the theater her only home. Her determination for the spotlight has always made her eager for ambition and to bring newbies along, specifically Poppy. Her Gem Heart is Tangerine Orange.

• Howdy Pillar – A Playfellow puppet that's one you can say "married to his work." Ever since his purchase day, Howdy was always into some sort of marketing business, first with his previous handler (a door-to-door salesman), to his next handler (a happy-go-lucky retail owner), before finally being handed to an old man who owns a run-down grocery store. Howdy is practically a partial owner of the store and helps around with anything. Before his purchasing date, he had a huge family that was ultimately chaotic, which probably encouraged him to be a businessman and a businessman only. His Gem Heart is Turquoise Teal.

• Eddie Dear – A Playfellow puppet that has been taking the job of a mailman and works alongside his handler, a woman named Jen, who also happens to be a mailman. Eddie has a sweet country-boy charm that's hard to resist, yet can be quite forgetful at times (Jen and Frank often reminds him.) He's in a secret relationship with Frank, to which only Julie, and their handlers (who also happen to be in a relationship) seem to know. His Gem Heart is Eggplant Purple.

• Home – A Playfellow puppet that comes from an old prototype model, perhaps even the oldest Playfellow model ever made. Home doesn't really speak in the ways the newer models do. Rather, it speaks in onomonopieas that can be translated into Morse code. Home's handler is Playfellow Founder Ronald Dorelaine. It's a dear friend to Wally and has always enjoyed his company, even encouraging him to try something new. Home doesn't have a Gem Heart, silly-goose!

• Ronald Dorelaine – Founder and CEO of The Playfellow's Workshop, a company known to make living puppets that are given sentience by the power of love, (which is contained into their Gem Hearts to give them a life force) and is currently the handler of Wally Darling and Home. His Playfellow puppet product is a very popular worldwide topic that almost every human has, with the puppets being a companion of many sorts. These puppets are in constant learning mode and adapt their knowledge similar to humans. He brings Wally to annual events and parties to show him off, (mainly because the children love him so much) but often keeps Wally within the company of Home whenever he's busy doing more serious business. Many people often ask him how he was able to create the first ever living best friend, and to which he always says, "A magician never reveals his secret. But, that secret is often helped with the power of learning and love."

[riality-check]

Viktor thinks his leg should go without saying. Everyone else seems to disagree.

He is a cripple, not deaf or blind. He is perfectly capable of hearing the whispers over the thud of his cane as he passes by, not so focused on walking that he cannot see the way their gazes track him as he shuffles down the Academy’s halls.

There are too many stairs in the Academy, he is finding. Every time he encounters another set, he grits his teeth, hefts his bag a little higher on his left shoulder, and climbs, despite the growing ache in his right hip and the inordinate weight of the tomes he carries.

There is only the work, he reminds himself.

The number of people does not shrink as he climbs up to the fourth floor. They eye him in a way he cannot easily describe. It is not… hate, that is in their eyes. It is not quite suspicion, though Viktor is sure it would be were it not for the too-loose, too-stiff, too-fine Academy uniform he is wearing. It was a courtesy of Professor Heimerdinger, who had sent it along with the books and a map of the Academy, annotated with Viktor’s class schedule.

Heimerdinger has worse handwriting than the “doctors” Viktor is well acquainted with in the Undercity. Hence the early-morning visit to his office, where he is the entertainment for the other early Academy students. The ones who are more assured of their belonging here, if he can judge by their jewelry and their shoes.

(He wears no jewelry, has never owned any, and he stapled the outsole of his right shoe back together this morning.)

The other students, congregated around classroom doorways in their impenetrable social groups, stare at him in the same way he used to look at strays back home. They were a good source of amusement, given the absence of human company that plagued his childhood. He liked those animals. He fed them when he could, pet them when he couldn’t, and learned early how to tell when one would bite.

He realizes, as he spots the plaque outside of Heimderdinger’s office, that these students stare at him like that. They smirk with bemusement or avoid his gaze altogether. They hide their remarks poorly behind their hands.

They regard Viktor as a stray. Something to pity. Something to be cautious of. Something to be nice to, if he can prove himself by rolling over enough times.

Viktor supposes he is a stray, with how Heimerdinger plucked him off the streets of the Undercity and gave him a new “home.” What, does he now need a bell around his neck? Perform tricks?

He breathes and takes a moment to unclench his right hand from around his cane before it cramps too much to be useful. He resolves to do what he has done all his life: ignore the way they make him a spectacle, though they are worse up here, like they have never seen a cripple before.

Maybe topsiders have not. Viktor cannot recall seeing anyone like him so far.

He knocks on the office door before his brain can take him too far down that path. Unproductive.

Heimerdinger answers promptly. It is odd for Viktor, at his height, to have a superior he must look down at. He supposes it is something else he must get used to.

“Viktor,” the professor says, surprised, though he does let him in. “It’s early. Very early, my boy. Classes don’t begin for another half an hour.”

Viktor stands in front of the massive, dark wood desk and waits for Heimerdinger to sit back in his chair before he says, “Your map is illegible, and there are too many stairs.”

Undercity habits beget speaking quickly and directly; in an environment in which nothing is wasted, words are no exception. Topsiders, however, can afford waste.

“Professor,” Viktor tacks on in a too-late attempt to adhere to topside standards of respectability.

Heimerdinger, thankfully, chuckles. “Terribly sorry. You’d think that after enough decades of scribbling on blackboards, I could use a pen well enough.”

Well, no. After seeing this map, Viktor began to fear for this man’s students, himself included. Professor Heimerdinger teaches his introductory engineering course.

He draws up a new map, humming as he works. With nothing else to occupy himself, Viktor leans his cane against the desk, placing both hands on top of the furniture to take some weight off his hip, and surveys the office.

A bookshelf, matching the dark wood of the desk, stands along the far wall. Its shelves are bowed under the weight of the tomes it contains. Most of the spines are in languages he can read, some are not, and his fingers twitch toward them all the same. He stands on a plush, patterned rug - that explains the instability of his cane, and of his leg, he should rest a little more weight on this immovable desk - that would be better used as a blanket down below. Trinkets and baubles clutter the desk, the biggest of which is a globe. It spins of its own accord, illuminated by… something.

Viktor wants to take it apart. See how it works.

He takes his weight off the desk to kill that temptation and barely muffles a hiss at the flare of pain that shoots up his right leg from ankle to hip. He stretches his right hand surreptitiously behind his back, preparing to grab his cane once again.

This office looks exactly as he had expected it to from his one previous meeting with Professor Heimerdinger. It is practical… by topside standards; it is as large as his kitchen and bedroom back home put together, and any one of the items on the desk could pay three months’ rent, though that is… “low-balling” it, as he has heard some people say.

“Here you are,” Heimerdinger says, handing him the new, blessedly legible map.

Viktor takes it and scans it quickly. His first course is on this floor, thank goodness, but the rest…

“Professor, these are,” he pauses, trying to think of how to phrase his concern. He cannot seem ungrateful, not when Heimerdinger has already helped him and when he has him later for class, and he cannot be annoying, not when he was already ignored when he brought up the stairs the first time. 

But his leg screams at him, and to prevent the pain from giving him a sympathetic headache, as sometimes happens, he grabs his cane. To hell with the hand cramps.

“Is there any way to have all my classes on the first floor?” he finally says.

Heimerdinger glances at his cane, and his furry eyebrows raise. This is not the first time he has seen it, but Viktor thinks it is the first time the professor remembered it was there, or that it meant something besides… well, he does not know. A fashion statement, maybe?

Perhaps topsiders haven’t seen a cripple before. They would see plenty if they ever went down.

“We can’t move classes this late, I’m afraid,” Heimerdinger says sympathetically.

Viktor hears the unspoken “but if you had asked earlier” and bites his tongue against excuses.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I will manage.” And Viktor will, because Undercity habits mean that opportunities are not wasted either. A little pain is worth it. It will be no more difficult than anything he has already done.

Heimerdinger hops down from behind his desk and totters toward the door. As he passes Viktor, he pauses and makes an aborted movement to reach out to him before correcting course.

At least he stopped himself, but that was probably only for practical reasons. Unless Heimerdinger wished to replace his cane altogether - and what a shoddy replacement his bouncing steps would be for solid wood - there is nothing he can do.

And Viktor can walk on his own just fine. It is why he has the cane in the first place.

He grips the map a little tighter, hefts his bag onto his shoulder, and turns toward the door.

He makes it one step (on his injured leg, cane in his right hand) before Heimerdinger asks, “Viktor, which one of your legs is the bad one?”

He grits his teeth. There is no moral attribution to his body. It is neither good nor bad. It just has parts that work and parts that do not. He has one leg that works and one that does not. If he could chastise it into functioning by calling it “bad,” it would have been fixed when he was a child. But that is not how it works, and it is wasted energy.

“My right leg, Professor,” he says because he always wishes that any and all conversations about his leg be redirected to important matters as soon as possible.

Heimerdinger hums. “You’re using your cane incorrectly. You should hold it in your left hand, not your right.”

He mimes the motion, and Viktor tries not to feel… insulted? Ashamed? Coddled? Belittled? He cannot quite put a finger on it.

But there is no time for him to articulate it. Heimerdinger checks his pocket watch, squeaks, and runs faster than Viktor estimated his legs could carry him, leaving him alone in the threshold of the hallway.

He tries Heimerdinger’s suggestion, out of curiosity. The class is on this floor, and he has more than enough time to get there.

When he was a boy, no one taught him how to use a cane. He did what felt natural and what let him move the fastest. It was awkward, sure, but anything that caused him less pain was deemed a success.

It is awkward now, with the cane in his left hand. Slower as he walks down the hallway, because it is new. But it is more stable, he finds. A little less painful, as the pain stays localized to his ankle and knee, rather than his hip.

He could get used to it rather quickly, once he stops feeling so stupid about not knowing.

As he gets to his first class - it is in a room bigger than most big Undercity shops - the thump of his cane and his slow pace prompt more students and even his professor to stare at him. Viktor takes the closest open seat and is briefly, ludicrously, tempted to bark at them.

If they are going to treat him like a stray animal, should he not act like one?

No. He should not. Nothing is wasted, least of all this opportunity. He ducks his head down and opens a book on subjects he knows, matters he gets right, instead of wrong, like how to use his own cane, apparently.

Viktor thought he knew the comprehensive list of all his nonworking parts: the leg, of course, but also the childhood rickets, his lungs, his spine, the calcium deficiency that left his teeth stained slightly more yellow than topsiders’, whatever made him bendier than the average person, and not always in a good way.

Evidently, topside is intent on adding more to that list. Like the cane.

It does not matter. When he is the only one in the lecture hall who can answer the professor’s question - a leading one that she said they will know by the end of the semester - as a largely self-taught trencher, he relaxes. He even smiles.

There is only the work.

Read a continuation here. And another one here. And even more here. And another.

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter three

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warnings: coarse language, light angst

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

word count: 8.8k

[1]

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

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

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

In Gelsenkirchen, Germany, you found your destiny. 

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

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

[2]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked adorable. 

You bit your tongue before you could say it.

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

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

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

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

Alexia opened her mouth, “I—”

Your mother’s shout cut through the air. 

“Honey? Guille is here for you!” 

You sent Alexia one last apologetic glance. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

He let out a strained, “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

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

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

A new pair of keeper gloves.

“Guille, you didn’t have to!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this alright?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really. You didn’t see me? Besides—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your gaze lanced away as you bit your lip.

Maybe you should’ve told her after all… 

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

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

“Have you told Alejandro about this?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” A pause. “What did he say?”

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

An uncomfortable silence settled over you three. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, no. What was it now?

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know that!”

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

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

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

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

[3]

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

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

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

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

Okay. That was fair.

“Ale,” you said softly. 

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

“Alexia, come on.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. So that was what this was about.

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

“Then why did you tell him that?”

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

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

You blinked at her. 

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

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

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[4]

“—you okay?”

You blinked and turned to Alexia. “Hmm?”

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

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

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

You sighed, blinking the memory away.

“Guille asked me out.”

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

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

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

“Are you okay, girls?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[5]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded back.

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

Julia only shrugged carelessly, a gesture of nonchalance.

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

A collective nodding occurred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At last, your team finally made a breakthrough.

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

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

You slammed to the ground. 

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

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

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

“Tell me where it hurts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I promise.” 

This time, you believed her.

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

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

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

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

You liked Alexia.

And, even more importantly, you want her.

[6]

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

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

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

Well, almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lies!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey! I’m not—”

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

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

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

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

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

[7]

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

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

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

 And your chest ached a little.

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s just me here.”

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

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

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

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

“She still doesn’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“She loves you.”

A pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You choked on your words. 

After all this time, it was still too painful.

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

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

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

Guille kept quiet, too.

The both of you knew just the reason why.

[8]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jona blinked at you.

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

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

Jona gave you another questioning look before speaking again. 

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

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

“Use me.”

[clovariia]

i finally finished designing the side characters for my g5 mlp au!! i'm sure i'll adjust these designs more later, but for now, here are my visions. now i can finally start drawing more stuff for this au!

(you can see my designs for the g5 mane 6, sparky, sprout, opaline, allura, and twitch in this post!)

[elliesbelle]

texts with domestic girlfriend ellie

part 2

more texts between gf ellie x reader, but this time the reader takes forever to respond which summons protective but also paranoid ellie ♡︎

content warnings: cursing, mention of death, slight nsfw content, mention of reader getting potentially harmed, minors do not interact

part 1, part 3

texts with college gf dealer!ellie: part 1

texts with gf!abby found on my masterlist here

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

author's notes:

why are making text posts SO fun omg, i especially love protective ellie. love making my girl paranoid in a sexy way ♡︎

(are these more text fics inspired by even more real-life events between me & my gf and me & my ex? no)

[mering]

even the dogs!

[pretentiouswreckingball]

tuesday snippet!

ty for the tags @fruityindividual & @kaaaaaaarf <3

this is a little something some already read about the About Time Wolfstar AU, but since I'm planning to start posting it again next year, it seems a good time to bring it back now, specially since this story begins in December <3

From Chapter 1

With all the seriousness Remus has never seen in him, Lyall Lupin says something that will irremediably alter Remus’ life, even if he is not aware of it at the moment.  “You can travel through time.” He blinks at his father. Once, twice. And then, he loses it.  Remus doesn’t mean to laugh at him, truly, he doesn’t. But come on— it’s utterly ridiculous. His stomach aches a little at the effort. What’s the protocol when your father gives you a family heirloom wrapped in a tiny ribbon of pure nonsense?  “Did James put you up to this? Because it’s a little far-fetched, even for him,” Remus asks, wiping the tears at the corner of his eyes. To his credit, his dad doesn’t seem offended; if anything, he looks entertained. “Why would I lie to a person, let’s say, I mildly tolerate?” Lyall teases, lips twitching.

np tags: @static-radio-ao3, @lavenderhaze, @messymoony, @ecstarry, @emlovessid,

@rae-lune & @shoopsthereitis let me know what you guys have been working on lately, OPEN TAG!!

[pigeonstab]

Me showing up in your inbox every other day to ask about the vampire and werewolf au lol

Are there people who know about vampires and werewolves and shifters? Like is it a known and normal thing or are they trying to keep it secret? If it is/was known would it be dangerous for them? Like people hunting them?

Also you said they know Killer’s been hurt before, what happened to him? :o

Also also do you have any ideas about what Killer and Cross are studying at college?

AND— how are you?? I hope you’re having a nice day \(^-^)/

Thank u!!! Very nice getting these hehe

1) This is like THE world building element I wasn't really sure about. I've thought about it and I think like, people know about vampires and werewolves and there are still some modern day hunters but they're a minority? (In a drawing I made you can see Killer has a AHAB (all hunters are bastards) sticker lol). I really don't know yet. I think society accepting them is like out of the question lol, you lose a lot of adversity and interest doing that I think. It's also just sort of weird to me? Idk that's just not a story I'd like to read.

Maybe it's more of a 'we saw a werewolf attack in this little village outback' and people are worried and stuff but it's always out in the middle of nowhere and it's not happening to them so they don't really give it that much thought. It's the news you see horrors all the time right? Mostly they just... Don't think anyone in their college classes would even be a vampire/werewolf. Maybe there aren't that many creatures out in the city at all. Like a hiding in plain sight thing. i think that's something I like more already. It's probably not going to be a huge part of the story at all. Maybe a few mentions that can leave the characters feeling like outsiders or a little anxious but not a major plot point y'know?

2) I Imagine someone who's like twenty something and already a vampire hasn't had the best circumstances lol. He definitely was not turned with his consent, I haven't really thought of specifics yet but when Nightmare found him he was not laughing and being cute. He was closed off and depressed. Didn't talk much at all. (He's better now y'all

3) wahhh I haven't thought about that! That's a good question. I don't... Actually know how American colleges work but I think Killer would probably be in like history or english? Cross maybe in computer science? Maybe audio-visual stuff. Is that cinematography? Idk what it's called. Maybe they can be like. History of arts+cinematography so they have classes together maybe. Again this is without knowledge of how any of it works. I'll get back to you on that.

I'm good! Pretty tired. College maybe isn't.......... As cool.... As I first thought....... But it's chill! some of my classes are still super interesting and I love learning. And anyway I have plans and ideas and stuff on the side that make me happy! And my Kitty is drooling on me so really what more can I ask for?

And how are youuuu?

[miyamoratsumuu]

post may or may not be cringe, but we're rolling with it 🤙🏼

I dreaded having to do this (again) all year long, but guess who's going on a semi-hiatus!!!! hint: me ☝🏻 (I'll call it semi bc I'll prob be lurking around here and there still, lmao)

most of you may know, but I've been super busy with school lately given that I'm graduating this year, sooo I'm predicting it rn I won't be able to write anything for a while 😞

it's not that I don't have free time at all, it's just that everything that's been on my mind lately is shoolschoolschool, and I almost never think of anything else 😭 + I can't find it in myself to have the mental capacity to balance everything I have going on here and aiming to be at the podium once graduation comes around

though I will be posting chapter 6 of push & pull this week, AND maybe a teaser for score his heart?? but idk, we'll see! if I do end up posting both of those, I think that'll be it for a while

I'm so sorry to be letting anyone down, especially those who have been enjoying my ongoing series so far</3 I promise that once I make the time to write in between school and my social life outside of tumblr, I'll be back to writing/posting better than ever!!

I'll just take this opportunity to thank everyone for supporting me and my works this past summer vacation!! I truly believe I wouldn't have been able to survive the summer heat without you all 🤕

thank you all so so much, I hope you understand!! as I mentioned, I'll still be lurking around the app and answering asks/messages if necessary!! I LOVE YOU ALL SOOO MUCH, I'LL BE BACK BETTER THAN EVER, I PROMISE!!<33

[coollyinterferes]

The unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching begins to fill the air. Whoever is coming seems to have brought some company along…

They are getting closer… and closer… and closer…

…and closer…

……until..................

"Goooooood evenin'!!" Comes the loud greeting from a certain blond man. A big smile on his face and all.

"We beg your pardon for our prolonged absence. It was completely beyond our control..." Then adds the gentleman standing by his side, apologizing on behalf of both, offering a genuine smile along with the apology.

"...BUT! We're back!" And hopefully for good this time…

[whatwooshkai]

2?

(important context in tags)

Dani sucks in a breath, and prepares for the worst. "There's no way you're fitting in that."

Blades gives her a blank look, the dress halfway up his thighs. "Huh?"

Even if there weren't love handles spilling over the waistband of his boxers, there's no way in hell Blades is fitting into anything Dani owns. He's taller than her, his shoulders are broader, and he's far more filled out. "You're not fitting in that."

"Why?" Blades asks, seemingly genuinely curious.

Because you're fat, is on the tip of Dani's tongue, but she holds it. Blades isn't even human on most days, she shouldn't subject him to human problems like body image issues. "We're not the same size," she settles on, tapping a beat on her arm. "You're bigger than me. And I'd rather you not rip that dress."

Blades' frown gets deeper, but he shimmies out of the dress and pulls back on the old tshirt and jeans from her dad, the only clothes they had that would fit him. "I could get smaller?" he offers.

Dani shakes her head. "No, you can't," she tells him. "You're not... y'know."

"Right," Blades mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. Dani can see the outline of his stomach through the shirt. How can he not be insecure about that? "But I don't like these clothes, I like your clothes. Your dad has no sense of style."

Dani cracks a smile at that. "No, he doesn't. But, uh..." she shifts, staring at the dress crumpled on the floor. Maybe she should've let him stretch out that dress. She always looks a little off in it... "I could take you shopping," she offers, and Blades absolutely lights up.

"Really?" he says, grabbing her hands. "Can we go to the mall? Oh, I've always wanted to do that-" he cuts himself off suddenly, eyes growing wide. "Oh my Primus. You have to buy me a pretzel."

Dani bites the comment on her tongue and forces herself to match his energy. "Of course!" she promises, squeezing his hands back. "You should enjoy your time as human!"

Blades' grin lights up the whole room.

Dani sighs when he turns away, babbling about all his plans and gathering up the clothes scattered on the floor to get an idea of what he wants. He's so excited, Dani wishes she could genuinely match that energy.

Maybe I could stand to learn a thing or two from him.

[vi-138]

[omori-in-odd-places]

My omori plushie finally came!

[soaps-mohawk]

Hey! I love your story so so much and I always look forward to new chapters!

I do have a question though. Is the whole General Shepard cameras thing still is part of the story? I feel like the buildup was so good and then it just disappeared and became unimportant. Like if the guys never find out about it, it's whatever.

I dont mean this as an insult to your writing at all, but I'm just wondering if it's gonna come back at all since it's been so long since it's been thought about by the mc.

Again, I love your work

You'll have to wait and see

[memento-morri-writes]

More dnd writing because it's all I have but I here's a snippet from a vignette I did of Rook's past (from Zara's POV), because Rook and his mentors never fails to make me sick (/pos).

[transcript under the cut]

Taking a coin out of her pocket, she rolled it across her knuckles, back and forth. It gave her hands something to do, and prevented the urge to bite her nails, something she hadn’t done in years. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Zara began to pace as Rook’s breathing grew shakier and the color drained from his skin. Where the hells is Jay? she wondered. The room was so quiet that she could hear every tick of the small clock on her bedside table, and each one echoed in her head. How many ticks does he have left? She didn’t want to think about it.  She’d had crew members die before, of course. You don’t go as many years as a captain as she had and never lose a soul. But all the others who had died had died quickly, in combat. She’d mourned for all of them, even shed tears in private, but there was something different about watching the life drain out of a person right in front of your eyes.

[thelastspeecher]

Anyways the other day I got this idea of Olympian Falls AU Stan teaching Angie a bit of hand-to-hand combat. And that turned into...this.

(As a frame of reference, Ford, Stan, and Angie are about twelve in this.)

——————————————————————————————

              In hindsight, Stan should’ve asked Angie why she wanted him to teach her how to throw a punch.  Not that he would’ve refused to show her.  Unless she wanted to punch him.  But it would have been good to have a heads-up for what she had planned.

              The Hermes cabin was doing arts and crafts when the commotion started.  Lewis, their head counselor, tried to tell them to disregard the noise coming from near the basketball court.  Stan and Ford ignored their older half-brother, immediately jumping from their seats.  A few of the other cabin members followed.

              By the time Stan and Ford got there, a small crowd had gathered.  Stan stood on his tiptoes in a futile attempt to see what was going on.  Ford, however, tapped the shoulder of Arlo Gustafsen, one of his friends in the Athena cabin.  Arlo looked over.

              “What’s going on?” Ford asked.  Arlo grinned.

              “McGucket punched someone and it turned into a full brawl,” he said.  Stan and Ford’s jaws dropped.

              “Angie McGucket?” Ford clarified.  Arlo raised an eyebrow.

              “Is there any other McGucket at camp?” he asked.  Stan let loose a string of colorful swears in Ancient Greek.

              “We can’t just stay at the back,” he said to Ford.  Ford nodded.  Together, the two pushed through the crowd.  They reached the front just in time to see Angie, already sporting a black eye, slam a fist into a teenage boy’s gut.  The crowd let out a collective “ooh” as Angie’s opponent stumbled backwards.  Ford turned to Stan, frowning.

              “I recognize that fighting style,” he said sternly.  Stan held up his hands.

              “She wanted to learn how to throw a halfway decent punch!” he said defensively.  “That’s important for a demigod to know!”

              “She’s best at ranged warfare,” Ford said.  “She even says so herself!”

              “Which makes it extra important for her to learn how to fight if she gets backed into a corner.”  Stan scratched his cheek.  “It’s not like I gave her boxing lessons!  I just showed her how to not break her hand and, uh, gave her tips on how to hold her own against someone bigger than her.”

              “Stan!”

              “Hey, I didn’t think she’d use it for evil!” Stan said.  He squinted at the boy Angie was fighting with.  The boy slammed Angie into the ground.  “Hang on.  Oh, that’s Tim.  Okay, so she’s not using it for evil.”

              “Ugh.”  Ford frowned at the fight in front of them.  Angie was getting to her feet, dirt, grass, and blood on her knuckles.  “What in Hades could have provoked Angie into getting into a round of fisticuffs?”

              “Fisticuffs?  Really?  Just call it a fight,” Stan scoffed.  Ford elbowed him.

Angie’s ankle suddenly buckled under her, sending her back to the ground.  Tim advanced on her.  A quiet gasp sounded from some of the audience.  Stan clenched his hands into fists.  Ford quickly put his hand on his twin’s shoulder.

              “Don’t get involved,” he whispered in Stan’s ear.  Stan grit his teeth.

              “Tim’s a son of Ares, Sixer.  Do you know what he could do to her?” he snapped.  Ford gripped Stan’s shoulder tighter.

              “I guess we’ll just have to hope you did a sufficient job teaching.”

              “She’s so tiny, though,” Stan mumbled.  He frowned.  Something seemed a bit off about Angie’s behavior.  She wasn’t even trying to get up.

              She’s like me.  She doesn’t know when to quit.  Why’s she just laying there?  Stan’s eyes widened.  Angie had gotten more than just good aim from her godly parent.  She had also gotten a knack for performing.  This is a performance.  But what’s her plan?

              Stan’s question was answered when Tim took another step towards Angie.  Lightning-fast, Angie’s hand shot out, wrapping around his ankle.  She yanked his leg.  Tim let out a shocked yelp as he fell.  Angie sprang up and straddled Tim, pinning him to the ground.  The knife she’d chosen from the armory rested right next to his jugular.  Tim swallowed nervously.  Angie’s blue eyes were steely as she held the dagger steady on his neck.

              “Don’t ever talk about my father like that again,” she spat.  The acid in her voice could have melted through concrete.

              “Okay,” Tim mumbled.  Hoofbeats sounded.  The crowd parted to let Chiron through.

              “Angie?” Chiron said, sounding surprised.  Angie looked over.  Her eyes widened.  She jumped to her feet.

              “M-Mr. Chiron,” she stammered.  “I- I was just-”  Tim got to his feet.  Blood flowed from his visibly broken nose.

              “We were having a friendly spar, that’s all,” he said.  Chiron frowned.  “It got a bit out of hand.”

              “Clearly,” Chiron said.  He cleared his throat.  ��Well, if neither of you wish to complain about the other…”  Angie and Tim shook their heads.  “All right.”  Chiron looked at the gathered demigods.  “Get back to your regular activities, please.”

              The demigods dispersed, muttering amongst themselves.  Stan and Ford stayed, however.  Tim turned to Angie.

              “Good fight,” he said.  He held out his hand.  Angie eyed it, but didn’t shake it.  Tim grinned.  “Smart girl.”  He retracted his hand.  “You beat me fair and square, kid.  I’ll drop the stuff about your dad.  And, uh, if you ever wanna learn how to fight good enough that you don’t need to play tricks, well.  You know where I live.”  Angie nodded jerkily.

              “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said in a weak voice.  Tim stuffed his hands into his back pockets and walked away, whistling.  Angie sighed.  Stan let out a whoop, startling her.  She spun around, finally catching sight of Stan and Ford.

              “Angie, that was awesome!” Stan gushed.  Angie blushed cutely.  “Tim’s like, fifteen!  And you took him down!”

              “I did play a bit dirty,” Angie mumbled.

              “It was still a valid win,” Ford said.  “Tim acknowledged as such.”  Angie shrugged.  She looked down at the ground and kicked a small clump of dirt that had been dislodged during her tussle with Tim.  “But why did you pick a fight with him anyways?”

              “He said something about your dad?” Stan asked.  Angie winced.  “Why would he insult Apollo?  Isn’t he dating your half-sister?”

              “He didn’t insult Apollo,” she said quietly.  “He- he went after my Pa.”

              “Your mortal parent?” Ford asked.  Angie nodded.  “Why- oh.”

              “I guess word finally got out ‘bout how my Pa ain’t my stepdad and my Ma ain’t my biological mother,” Angie said.  After a couple years at camp, the southern accent she’d arrived with was beginning to fade, but it still came out when she was emotional.  Stan and Ford grimaced.  “Tim…he’s been runnin’ his mouth ‘bout me havin’ two biological fathers.  And he’s- he’s been sayin’ awful stuff ‘bout Pa.”  Angie screwed her eyes shut.  “Pa don’t- he don’t deserve that!”

              “You decided to take things into your own hands?” Ford asked.  He gestured towards Stan.  “When the best prankster at camp is one of your closest friends?  Stan could have gotten back at Tim for you!”  Angie opened her eyes to glare at Ford.

              “I have to fight my own battles,” she said firmly.

              “I’m glad that you listened to my tips and tricks, though,” Stan said.  Angie managed a smile.  “That last bit, where you grabbed his ankle?  Genius.”  Angie’s smile broadened.

              “Well, you did tell me that since I’m small, I have to make my opponent’s bigger size work against ‘em,” she said.  Stan nodded.

              “You definitely did that.”  He walked up to Angie and brushed some grass off her T-shirt.  “And if he really was saying bad stuff about your dad, he deserved a broken nose.”  Mr. McGucket visited every year for Angie’s birthday, and insisted on taking her, Stan, and Ford into the city to get lunch.  He was a genuinely kind-hearted and warm person.  Stan would be lying if he said he didn’t wish Filbrick was a bit more like Mr. McGucket.

              “Maybe it’ll even heal crooked,” Angie said under her breath.  Stan snorted, eliciting a grin from his friend.

              “One can only hope,” Ford said dryly.  Angie and Stan snickered.  “You should go get cleaned up.”  Angie looked down at herself.  In addition to her black eye, she had grass stains, dirt, and scratches all over, as well as a few smears of blood.  Whether it was Tim’s or her own was unclear.

              “Yeah, probably,” Angie sighed.

              “And then…”  Ford met Stan’s eyes.  Stan grinned viciously.  “We can plot sweet revenge against Tim.”

              “Wh- you don’t need to.  I got it out,” Angie said.  Stan shook his head.

              “You might be feeling better, but we like your dad, too,” he said.  He cracked his knuckles.  “I’ve already got some ideas.”