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yamumsyadadd · 16 days ago

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Sometimes all you need is a little love

At 5, you were loved. Your mum and dad adored you. Everything was about you and your parents. They worked hard, and in return you got to fulfil your dream of being a footballer.

At 8, things started to change. Sundays that were usually filled with church in the morning, and Barcelona games in the afternoon slowly started to disappear.

Your mum and dad were fighting. She was looking frail, unwell, a shell of herself. He looked angry, distant, with marks on his arms, coming home smelling like cigarettes and flowers. It was a weird smell, it would linger in the air for hours to come.

Gone were the days when they would both come to your football. It was one or the other, sometimes even none of them.

At 10, you found her. Hanging. You just sat there, watching her. Eventually going to the neighbours you thought you knew. Turns out they moved out and there was a new family. An older lady, Eli. She let you come inside and called for help while distracting you with cookies and her white fluffy dog.

From that day, things changed. Your father’s love became less and less. His violence and drinking became more. He had a new girlfriend every other month. Barely lasting the entire calendar month.

By age 12, La Masia came knocking. A full scholarship was on offer. It was your dream. Something you and your parents had worked hard for, together. Expect now it was just you. Forging your dad’s signature, you dropped the forms back off. Transferring to their academy the week later.

La Masia was hard. Harder than you expect. Maybe it was because things at home were worse than ever before, your dad lost his job, the random woman continued however now there was random men added into it. Home wasn’t a safe place for you or anyone in that case.

At 14, things hit an all time low, bruises and marks were becoming harder to hide with your promotion to the Barca B team. They were all so close to each other, hanging out after training, getting food or going shopping, their weekends were all spent together. But not with you. As much as they tried you shielded away from it. School and football were the two things that matter - there was no time for anything else, no time to worry about anything else.

The closest thing you had to a parent was the lady across the hall, every few days there would be a plate of food at the front door when you arrived home. On Sundays it was a bigger meal, you’d divvy it out so it would last a few extra days. The limited money you did have was given to your dad, you’d keep some of it but it wasn’t enough for the bus fare and food. It was one of the other.

Every morning you would make the one hour trek from your home in Mollet del Vallès, using that time to do your homework, study plays or rewatch games, sometimes even catching a few more minutes of sleep. Every evening, after training you’d stay and help pack away the equipment, sometime just relishing in the warmth of the facility, the endless hot water, the feeling of safety.

One night, after missing the last bus, you hide in a supply closet. Knowing there was no way you’d get home that night, you huddled around the spare clothes and clean towels. It oddly was one of the best sleeps you’d had in years. The constant security that would walk around the facility made you feel safe.

After that initial night, there were many more nights of sleeping at the facility. Was it the best idea? Probably not, but it was the safest, and the warmest.

15 was when things really changed. At some point, your dad just stopped coming home. He’d be gone for days at a time. This time though, he was gone for almost three weeks. You bloomed in the silence. The apartment was clean, airy, in contrast to the dark, stuffy air that usually resides.

On Christmas Eve things came to ahead. There wasn’t much food left. A few eggs, some bread and some cereal. No milk, vegetables or anything fresh. Biting the bullet, you made your way across the hall to the older ladies door. She had told you before that if you needed anything, to just knock. So you did, rocking back and forth on your heels, you were shocked when the door swung open and none other than Alexia Putellas, captain of the Barcelona Women’s team, 2 time Ballon D’Or winner, was standing there with a smile on her face.

“Hola pequeña, are you ok?”

“Oh, um, hola? Is Eli here?”

“Si, come in.” You stood there for a moment, staring at her, “mami a pequeña is here for you!” Eli, the nice, caring older woman was Alexia Putellas mother. Of course she was.

“Neña! To what do I owe this visit?”

“I am very sorry to interrupt and be rude, but I was wondering if you had any milk I could please have? My papi has gone away for a bit and forgot to leave some money.”

“You’re alone? You’re no older than 16?” A smaller but almost identical person chimed in.

“Si. I am 15”. A shy nod was all you could muster, the energy you previously had disappeared.

“Well where did he go? Are you alone for Christmas?”

“Uh, um a work trip? Si, si, a work trip! He will be back at some point, I’m sure.” It was a lie, a terrible horrible lie and everyone in that room knew. All three older women shared a look.

“Here is some milk Nena. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“No no that’s okay. Thank you for the milk, I will give you money when I get some!”

“Nonsense dear. It’s just milk.”

Silently you grabbed the milk and started to walk towards the door, leaving the three women staring at you. Eli’s eyes expressed sadness, Alexia’s were confused, she knew you from somewhere but she couldn’t place it, Alba was bewildered, she remembered being 15 and there was no way in hell that Eli would’ve left her home alone, but especially not over the holiday period.

“She is a good girl. She studies hard, she’s at La Masia. Always very polite but something is off in the house.”

Alexia’s head whipped around, “she’s at the academy?” Eli nodded, “how does she get there? it’s a 40 minute drive and she’s not old enough?”

“I don’t know Alexia, tonight was the most she’s spoken to me since she came asking for the ambulance when her mami died.”

“That was her?” A nod was all alexia received. For the rest of the night they were all silent, you went to bed with a small amount of food in your stomach. The 8 pieces of French toast were enough to get you through until the farmers market opened on the 26th.

A dread washed over you the following afternoon when there was a knock at the front door. Opening it slowly, and only half showing your face, Alexia and Alba (you learnt her name after googling Alexia), were standing there.

“Hola pequeña. Mami asked if you and your papi wanted to join us for dinner?” Alexia voice was firm, almost as if there wasn’t room for you to say no.

“Um, sure. My papi isn’t back yet, but what time does she want us?”

“Now-“

“An hour-“ both girls spoke at the same time. Alba wanting to give you time to do whatever you needed, but alexia wanted you father to show himself. Unbeknownst to you, she had reached out to the La Masia staff and a few of the younger girls.

Vicky and Martina had told her the little information that they knew. You were young, talented and a hard worker. You’d catch the bus to and from training, never really talking to anyone and certainly never hanging out with them. They’d offered to help you with your homework, Vicky realising very quickly that you were both in the same grade despite you being two years younger. Both Vicky and Martina felt that there was something off, never seeing your father or anyone supporting you at games, not even at the international friendly with the under 17s that you’d been called up too.

“Okay? How about half an hour?”

“That works. See you soon pequeña!” Alba grabbed her older sisters arm, pulling her away from the door. You slid down the back of yours once it was firmly closed. You needed to think of the perfect lie. Maybe you could say he was too tired, or stuck in traffic. No that wouldn’t work, if he was stuck in traffic they’d wait. The truth wasn’t an option. There’s no way you could just blurt out that you didn’t know where he was.

The dinner was uncomfortable, the food was delicious but the unasked questions were making a lot of tension. You didn’t miss the way Alba and Eli continued to glance at you, or how their eyes went wide when you asked for more. This definitely cemented that something was wrong.

The loud clattering of Alexia’s fork and knife, stopped you from shoveling more food in your mouth.

“This is ridiculous. Pequeña, where is your papi?”

“Don’t know.” You spoke nonchalantly, putting more food into your mouth. Confused looks where thrown around. Eli’s head slowly reaching for yours and taking the fork, “sweetheart, what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know. He could be stuck at work, or in traffic or asleep.” I shrugged. It was a semi decent lie.

“Does he leave for long periods often?”

“No. It’s usually just a few days.”

“Where does he go?”

To get high, to fuck hookers, to steal, “work trips.”

Thankfully the subject was dropped as Eli gave you back your fork. It didn’t feel like Christmas, no gifts were exchanged, no decorations or Christmas movies. It felt like a Sunday after church, all that was left was a trip to Camp Nou to watch a game but that wasn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever again.

Eli sent you home when a lot of leftovers, ignoring the comments from her own two daughters that they would’ve liked to have some too. It was enough food for at least a month. You’d eaten plenty at dinner so the need for food tomorrow would be less.

The following week was a blur. There was only two training sessions and school was off until after the New Year. Your father had yet to make a reappearance and due to the holidays, you were hiding in the house so you wouldn’t have to see any three of the Putellas women and answer questions.

It worked, for three weeks, until the night you had planned to sleep in the same storage room as usual. Alexia appeared, fresh out of the shower.

“Pequeña? What are you still doing here? It’s late.”

“I lost track of time. I was studying.”

“How are you getting home? Is your papi coming?”

“No. I’m catching the bus.” You felt guilty lying to her, but it was the best option. No one would get hurt this way.

“Let me drive you home. It’s late and you really shouldn’t be catching the bus.”

Before you could argued, she’d grabbed the straps of your bag, dragging it and you along to her car. It was an awkward 40 minutes. Her car was much more comfortable than the bus, warmer and safer. You were still on high alert, especially when she was asking you questions.

For the past five years you didn’t let anyone get close. It was easier that way. You didn’t have to explain the tiredness that was evident on your face, the random bruises that happened, the obvious weightless from the lack of food.

From that moment on you silently agreed to keep everyone further way. You had to be more careful, no more roaming the halls after training. No more asking Eli for milk, or bread, or anything. Leaving extra early in the morning or as soon as training ended. No more being vulnerable.

The day of your 16th birthday was supposed to be a good one. However your father had other plans. You’d been training with the senior team due to some injuries and then needing players, Jona had told you last night he would play you after halftime. A senior debut on your 16th birthday.

That night you’d come home so incredibly happy only for it to come crashing down when your extremely intoxicated father decided to start a fight over the lack of money. He didn’t stop hitting you for what felt like hours. You weren’t sure if you passed out from the pain or from the exhaustion but you knew the following day it would be hell.

The house was littered with used needles, smashed and empty bottles, and it smelt of cigarettes and stale booze. Your arms and legs were covered in bruises as well as a shiner on your face. That one would be the hardest to cover. it took an hour and large amount of makeup before you were confident about leaving the house. The bruise was mostly covered. You didn’t think it was that obvious though. The looks you received on the bus, and even as you walked through the halls, didn’t make you question your makeup job.

True to his word, jona put you on in the 75th minute, subbing Salma off. It was electrifying, a rush you’d never felt before. Then game ended with a win, of course, there was a lot of praise from the older girls. Mario was incredibly impressed and offered to work with you more if you were interested. Something you immediately said yes too. Your bubble was burst when Alexia came over to tell her Eli was there and wanted to see you.

The moment you were within arms reach of Eli, she could tell something was wrong. So could Alexia’s girlfriend, Olga, who she had just introduced you too. After chatting a bit more, Eli demanded she would take you home, making you hurry to gather your belongings in the locker room, forgoing a shower as you didn’t bring makeup to re-cover the bruise on your face.

“Olga you need to help her with makeup.” Alba joked before hugging her sister goodbye. Olga and Eli shared a concerned looked.

“Why is she wearing make up?”

“Mami she’s 16. Teenagers wear makeup all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.” Eli shook her head, there was something wrong but she didn’t know what or how to ask you.

“Ale, keep an eye on her yeah?”

“Olga she’s fine. She’s just a teenager.” Olga’s eyes pleaded with her, “si fine. I will watch over her.”

Two weeks later things came crashing down horribly. You’d been moved into the senior squad officially, that came with perks. More money was the main one. It would only be a few months until you’d officially graduate high school, that meant you could pick up a part time job as well as football. What you didn’t account for was your father.

When you walked in the door you were greeted with a random lady and a little boy, no older than 3, your father was very quickly shoving things into boxes and taping them up.

“What’s going on?” Neither of the adults spared a glance at you.

“I’m leaving. Thea and I are moving to Madrid.”

“I can’t leave papi! The season is still going and i haven’t finished school yet!”

“Good thing you weren’t invited then.” The last scoffed, flipping her son to the other hip. Your eyes were wide. Not believing what you were hearing.

“Tomorrow, the moving truck will be here. You need to be gone by then.”

“Wait! Where will I go? You can’t leave me here!” You yelled after them as they left the apartment. No longer caring who heard or who saw.

“You’re not my problem anymore. I couldn’t care less about what you do or don’t do.” He turned to leave, “you could do the world a favour and hang yourself like your mother did.” With that he was gone. The apartment was mostly empty.

You found the two biggest bags that you could carry. Filling one with all your football stuff, the other with you clothes, the few jumpers of your mothers that you had left, a sleeping bag and pillow. In your school backpack you packed your laptop and all the school work, plus your important documents (birth certificate, photo IDs, passport.)

Though you had no idea where you would go, you knew you’d figure it out. What you didn’t account for was Eli. of course she would notice the moving vans, and the lack of you.

Every second night you’d leave the training facility, set on finding somewhere that was semi safe to sleep. Even though it was the start of February, you knew the beach would be ok. There was enough light to keep you safe, you also had a little knife you stole from your father along time ago.

The last morning before it all went to shit, you were sitting with your bags, still in your sleeping bag, watching the sunrise. Barcelona was quiet at this time of the morning. A few runners or cyclists around but other than that it was peaceful.

“Pequeña? What are you doing here so early?” A semi familiar face dropped in front of you, startling you out of your thoughts. Unable to talk, you just stared at her. “I’m Olga, Alexia’s girlfriend. We met a couple of weeks ago. Do you remember?”

I nodded, she continued on, “what are you doing here? Did you sleep here?”

“What? No! No I just like coming here in the mornings!” I hurried to get up, quickly shoving my things back into my bags, that’s when the knife dropped on the sand, right in front of Olga. We both stopped and stared at it.

“Pequeña-“

“I better go. Enjoy your day.” I quickly picked it up and all but ran towards the bus stop. My thoughts were spiralling. She was going to tell Alexia. I wouldn’t be allowed to play, I’d be sent away somewhere else.

Training was hell. No matter how much you tried to avoid Irene, Marta or Alexia they always appeared. It didn’t seem that Olga had told Alexia or that anyone else knew but it was only a matter of time. All you needed was a few weeks, just to get through the Copa de la Reina final and then you could figure it out.

Thankfully the week went fast and the game on the weekend was a success. There were no more run ins with Olga, or any of the captains of the team. You went as far to complete ignore Eli, Alba and Olga after the game. Quickly running into the locker room and showering before anyone else.

It was harder to hide in the facility after home games. It was busy with trainers, medical staff, admin staff, basically everyone but you figured it out. It was a restless sleep, the close call with Olga playing in your mind on repeat.

Unbeknownst to you, Eli had mentioned it to Alexia at their usual family dinner post match.

“Nena moved.”

“To where?” Both Alba and Alexia’s head shot up.

“I don’t know. She didn’t say anything. I heard her papi say Madrid. I’m assuming she isn’t joining since she’s still playing here.”

“I’ll find out.” Olga knew in that moment she needed to come clean about finding you on the beach. Clearly you didn’t have somewhere safe to stay. Later that night, when it was just her and Alexia cuddled in their bed she did just that.

“I saw Nena at the beach the other morning.”

“Likely place for her to be. She has mentioned loving the beach in the past.” Alexia dismissed what Olga was saying, not particularly understanding why that was important.

“No ale. I think she slept there. She had a sleeping bag and heaps of stuff.”

Silence encapsulated the couple. “I’ll deal with it.” was all the captain said before rolling over and going to sleep. Expect, she didn’t sleep. She played through every interaction she’d had with you, every imagine of you in her mind. You looked tired, the light behind your eyes was gone, you had fully retreated back into your shell, barely talking at training or games, only answering questions when directly asked.

Something was definitely wrong, very very wrong. Enlisting the help of Irene and Marta and Olga, they would find out exactly how wrong it was.

It was evident when you came into training that you hadn’t slept, the truth was that the beach no longer felt safe. Not after that creepy man was watching you. Staying at the facility every night wasn’t an option, neither was staying with a teammate. So you stay at the train station all night. It was relatively safe, but the thought of that man kept you awake.

You’d gotten half way through the day when you snapped. Usually you’d try and stick to Caro or Keira’s sides. Caro because she was quiet and Keira because she couldn’t exactly understand you and you couldn’t understand her. Unfortunately the gym groups were assigned differently today, meaning you got stuck with Mapi, Pina, Patri and Cata. The group of people you hated being around the most. There was never a quiet moment, they were always loud. So incredibly loud.

It was after Mapi had ruffled your hair for the third time that you mumbled for her to stop.

“We can’t hear you gallina. Speak up.” Patri laughed.

“I said, don’t touch me. And don’t call me gallina.” Your patience was thinning, and fast.

“Cheer up gallina. We are just playing.” Mapi went to ruffle your hair again, your hands landing on her chest and shoving her back into Cata.

“I said don’t fucking touch me Maria!” Everyone stopped, turning in horror to see the scene unfold. Tears welled in your eyes, you bolted as fast as you could.

“Nena-“ Ingrid tried to grab your wrists but you dodged her.

Alexia, Irene and Marta all stopped what they were doing. It was extremely unlike you to be so aggressive and rude. No matter how shy you were, you always used your manners. They all shared a look before following you to the locker room.

You rushed through the locker room trying to get your bags packed as fast as possible. You had no idea where you would go, but you needed to get out of here. Far away from the sympathetic looks of your teammates. You were so far in your own head that you didn’t hear the cleats on the floor or the door to the locker opening.

“Nena? What’s wrong?” Irene’s hand on your shoulder startled you.

“Nothing I’m fine. I need to go.” You shrugged her hand off you, putting your backpack on and grabbing your duffle that contained your pillow and sleeping bag.

“Please let us help Nena. We want to help you but we can’t if you don’t let us.” Marta spoke up next, as you looked up you saw that Alexia was standing between you and the door, the only route out of the locker room.

“Please move. I want to go home.”

“Home? Where is that Nena? It’s not in Mollet del Vallès. I know that much.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath, yelling at your captains was a horrible idea, truly horrible. Even in this mental state you knew that, “I do not want to be rude Alexia, but it’s none of your business. I come here, I train, I play, I do as I am told, I don’t make trouble or do anything wrong. Please let me leave.”

Alexia looked troubled. You needed help, that much was clear, but you were right. You did everything that was asked of you, never complaining or whining about it. She looked to Irene for help, Irene simply nodded and alexia moved.

“If you need help, somewhere to stay, you have my address and you know where Mami is.”

A curt nod was all she received and then you were gone. As fast as you could walk without causing any attention to yourself. You spent the next few hours walking around. When it was dark and late, the train station was where you headed. It wasn’t until you were comfy that you realised you grabbed the wrong bag. You left your sleeping bag and more importantly your phone charger at the training facility. There wasn’t much that could be done now, you just had to wait it out.

As you walked into training, you could feel everyone’s eyes on you. You were late, never have you been late before. The lack of proper sleep, nutrition and your body always on high alert was getting to you. By the end of training you were exhausted. Barely having the energy to walk into the locker rooms to shower. Usually when someone was late without giving a proper warning, they’d run laps. No one told you to run laps so you didn’t.

A few days later, at the beach, Olga saw you again. This time you looked worse than before. She made her way to a local bakery, getting water, coffee and something for you to eat before making her way back towards you and hoping you wouldn’t run off.

“¿Niña? Can I sit with you?” She startled you, that much was obvious but you nodded and she handed over everything she bought.

“Why are you here?”

“I like the beach.”

“You’re sleeping here?” She could tell you were scared, it took a while for you to reply.

“Only sometimes.”

Olga nodded, the silence settling over the both of you. “Let me take you to training?”

The drive seem to take forever. It was uncomfortable, Olga wanted to get more information out of you, you wanted nothing more then to be swallowed into a black hole.

“Niña? If you don’t have anywhere safe and warm to stay, please come to mine and Ale’s? We won’t be mad, or disappointed. We want to help you. Okay?”

You gave her a small nod, moving to wipe your tears and get out of the car. Unbeknownst to the both of you, Alexia was in her own car a few metres away watching the whole thing.

It took a day for Alexia to coax all the information out of Olga but when she finally did, she was heartbroken. The thing she had hoped wasn’t true, was in fact true. You were living on the street. Sleeping wherever you could, your papi had left you to fend for yourself. It’s not that you were doing a horrible job at it, but it was obvious you weren’t eating or sleeping enough.

The night of the El Classico is when things went truly horrible. Alexia had told Irene, Mapi and Marta what had happened but any time they tried to talk to you, you literally ran away.

The streets of Barcelona were well and truly alive. The Madrid fans had left the Johan feeling annoyed, angry and disappointed. Anyone would when their team lost 7-0. It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to sleep on the beach that night, but there truly wasn’t anywhere else. The train station would’ve been worse, the facility wouldn’t be quiet until after midnight, and there was no way you’d go to a teammates house.

You’d only just drifted to sleep when you heard the group of guys approaching. They were drunk, that much was obvious. Pretty quickly you woke yourself up, but you didn’t dare to move. Maybe they would just keep walking. Your back was facing the sea, and them but as soon as they laid their hands on you, you turned around.

“Oye, it’s the Barca puta.”

“You’re the reason we lost.”

“We should break her legs!”

The fear set it. As soon as the hits started, they ended. Not only had they assaulted you, but they had stolen your school bag that contained your laptop, water bottle and phone charger. It look a while for the pain to become tolerable. you could recognise that you were bleeding, your ribs hurt, along with your arm, head and leg. You were scared and alone.

Abandoning the beach, you made your way to the one place you could think of. The two women who had urged you time and time again to let them help you, you had refused but right now you needed it more than anything. With the help of your phone maps, you managed to get to their apartment. It took a lot longer than it should have, having to stop every now and then to take deep breaths when the pain was too bad.

You weakly raised your fist to the door, the energy was zapped out of you. It felt like forever before someone answered.

“Hol- holy fuck. Alexia! Come here neña. Let me help you. ALEXIA!” Olga answered the door, annoyed that someone was knocking so late at night. The minute she opened it, she wanted to cry. You were stood there, bloodied and bruised. Seemingly out of it, looking so small and frightened.

She starting leading you to the kitchen when alexia finally came, “what? Oh my god, pequena! What happened?”

“Hurt.”

“Where hurts neña?”

“Head bleeding… arm broken, I think… maybe ribs… leg too. Stole my school bag.” Alexia was freaking out, the usual calm, stoic captain was on the verge of tears.

“We need to call the police Olga! And mami and Irene and-“

“Ale stop. Neña, drink this yes? Alexia is going to get the first aid from the bathroom and we are going to clean you up. We will need to take you to the hospital, but that can wait for a few minutes.” She gave alexia a pointed look while she opened the water bottle and helped you drink.

Their apartment was soft. Very homey and not clinical like you imagined. There were photos of Alexia and her family, Olga and hers, then of them both. There were plants scattered around, a few awards here and there but not many, the one thing that seemed out of place was the dog bed and toys.

“Dog?” Olga’s eyes followed yours, confused as to what you were asking.

“Nala. She died last year but we haven’t been able to get rid of her things.”

“Sorry”. Alexia arrived back with the first aid kit, phone to her ear and a lot less panicked but a lot more mad. that stressed you out, Olga picking up on it straight away. Things moved fast from that point. Alexia and Olga cleaned you up the best they could but ultimately decided that you needed the hospital. It was all a blur. One minute you were in their apartment, the next you were in a hospital gown sitting in a room.

Alexia was non stop pacing, you sat there, wide eyed waiting for her to say something.

“You can say it.” You whispered.

Both girls stopped and looked at you confused, “say what pequena?”

“I told you so’ or ‘you should’ve let me help’, whatever you have planned just say it.” You could no longer look at them, staring down at the floor. You missed the look of heartbreak sweep across both their faces.

“No no pequena. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. There’s no ‘I told you so’ to be said. You came to use when you needed help, we are here now to help that’s all that matters. Okay?” Alexia slowly reached out to wipe the tears from your face.

“I’m sorry.” That was it. All three of you were holding each other crying. Time seemed to blend into one second. You got stitches in your eyebrow and on your leg, your arm was in fact broken and a cast was put on. The doctor seemed to talk and talk, none of the words making any sense. It was until you saw the two police officers standing outside that you seemed to snap out of it.

The doctor left the room, seemingly to talk to the police officers and give them a run down. Olga noticed how on edge you were very quickly.

“Hey, neña, they are only here to ask what happened okay? You aren’t in any trouble.”

You stood up quickly, grabbing the bag with your blood stained clothes, “no I need to go. This was a mistake.”

“Go where pequena?”

“They are going to take me away! I don’t have anywhere to live Alexia! Papi left. He got rid of the house. Mami is dead. I have no where so I’m going to leave before they can take me.”

“Neña no.” Olga moved to block the door. She is small. You could take her, you thought. “You’re staying with us. They aren’t going to take you because you have a home, with us. You will stay as long as needed.”

Alexia and Olga hadn’t exactly had the conversation about it, but they both seemed to be able to read each other’s minds. They were going to take care of you, love you like your parents should have. Sure you’re 16, almost an adult. But everyone needs a parental figure, no matter the age.

“No. You two have your own life, I’m not your responsibility. I can take care of myself, I have been for years.”

“But you can’t neña. You can’t get an apartment, or a phone plan, or your drivers licence. If you’ll let us, we will take care of you.” You were considering it, really considering it. Having a proper bed, proper meals, somewhere safe? It sounded like heaven.

“It won’t be easy pequena, it’ll be hard. For all of us. We’ll have to learn to trust each other, and learn how to live with each other but it’ll be worth it. You can decorate the room however you want, we will buy you whatever you need.”

Before the could continue, the police came in. It took a while to answer all their questions. You could see Alexia and Olga holding hands tightly, wincing slightly when you go into detail.

“What about my school bag? It has all my school stuff and my laptop?”

“We will look for it, but there’s no promises it’ll be found. Do you have somewhere safe to stay?”

“With Alexia and Olga.” You could visibly feel the tension leave both the women. The officers asked Alexia and Olga to step out with them to talk, you took a few moments to gather your thoughts. How had things changed so much. You were just a kid, yet you were forced to look after yourself like you were an adult. You wanted to be vulnerable, to have someone take care of you. Sometimes all we need is a little love.

Maybe in time, things would get better.

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lexithwrites · 1 month ago

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i can't read remus lupin as anything other than the most gentle soul, and im not trying to make him 'boring' by doing this but he just,,,isn't mean. he isn't a pushover or naive, but he will never raise his voice unless he has to, he's never aggressive or nasty or bitchy, he probably covers his ears when other people are gossiping. he's a gentle giant that walks around with a cane and a knee brace on his worst days and the sweetest smile on his best, he loves listening to music and playing video games and reading and writing and he LOVES learning even if he isn't the best at paying attention and has to take countless notes. he's the most loyal friend, he loves buying people gifts and is so shocked when he gets a gift in return, he remembers every little thing about sirius and uses it for birthdays and anniversaries, he likes tidying his flat and humming songs to himself, he likes taking the bus, he likes serving elderly customers at his cafe and helping kids carry over their cakes and drinks, he carries change for the homeless, he will always offer to walk someone home, he gets giggly and sleepy when he's drunk, he's so attentive during sex he will always want to do better and he's addicted to making sirius feel good, he's an AMAZING kisser to the point that everyone is jealous of sirius tbh, he wears too big jumpers and folds the sleeves up because otherwise they get in the way, he loves coffee and hot chocolate and baking the recipes his mum showed him, he visits his parents every sunday for a roast dinner and always brings over flowers for them to put on the table, remus lupin is an angel.

#the marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar

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cumikering · 7 months ago

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Neighbour Ghost x reader 8 (end)

1.6k | fluff The stray and his forever home (part 1)

“Bone apple tea.” You placed the cup of camomile in front of Simon.

“What?”

You pointed at your skull-printed shirt, the apple pie patch on his hoodie and the tea on the table. “Bone. Apple. Tea.”

He’d missed that brilliant smile too much. It was impossible to not want to kiss you. He chuckled as he pulled you to stand between his thighs.

That Sunday with your help, despite the pounding of his head, he packed the rest of his stuff and managed to move out. In the last few days he had before he left, he spent any possible moment with you, mainly eating his favourite Chinese takeout or cuddling on the couch.

Two months later when Simon came back, things crawled to how they were, with him visiting for dinner and leaving before midnight. Eventually, he stayed more and more nights a week, leaving more than a few of his shirts behind.

The divorce was finalised and his childhood home was sold. The city of Manchester didn’t mean gripping the straps of his backpack after school as he walked up the dreaded front steps anymore, nor sleeping restlessly lest someone barged in the door with another bizarre creature. The house was gone, along with the memories that breathed within the walls. He didn’t miss them.

His mum got a flat near Tommy’s and a job at a flower shop in the neighbourhood. ‘Not as nice as working with Ben’, she said. She had to buy her own bread, and none she’d found in the area tasted remotely close to how grand his were. She still cooked too much, but Tommy didn’t mind the extra whenever she dropped by. Little Joe always loved seeing his nana anyway.

Back from his next deployment, Simon held you at the door as he inhaled the warmth he’d missed terribly. After his shower, you showed him his shirts in their own drawer, not jammed between yours anymore. He smiled, pulling you in for a kiss.

In spring, he came with to visit your dad, insisting on wearing one of his dress shirts, even when you assured it was a regular lunch. He stood rigid on the porch, the neck of the wine bottle about to snap in his grip.

Your dad was taking too long. Was he arming himself before opening the door? Should he tackle and disarm him or take the shot like a man? He should have worn a tac vest.

“Si, relax.” You rubbed his back. “You’re already too tall. You’re going to scare my dad.”

Is that not a good thing?

Your dad (obviously unarmed) tried making small talk with him at lunch, but he sucked at it as much as Simon did, leaving you to do almost all the talking among the pauses. You only received short answers from the men who avoided each other’s gazes.

Also, who the bloody hell put the coriander in the chicken stir-fry?!

“Your dad hates me,” Simon declared as he drove home, the phantom taste of soap persisted on his palate despite the hours between.

“He doesn’t, I promise. He doesn’t even really like Chinese, but picked the place because I told him how much you love it. He really tried, but just doesn’t talk much with new people.” You stifled a laugh. “You should have cracked a few jokes.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “When we get home, I’m going to tickle you until you pass out.”

Home.

You’d made your flat Simon’s home too. You cleared another drawer for him, and another, and another, even when he didn’t have so many possessions. But you let him expand and take up the space he needed. He reordered a set of his ID discs for you to keep on your nightstand.

Things were… easy. Simple, like getting out of bed a little later on weekends. With his nose buried in your hair, arm around your waist pulling you flush to his chest, he held you in silence from dawn until you woke. Listening to your quiet breathing filled his chest heavy with warmth.

You’d asked multiple times if it bored him to be doing nothing, as if he didn’t lay prone behind rifle scopes for hours on end for a living. It didn’t, because being in your presence wasn’t nothing. You were real, and you were his.

You woke with a stir, a smile gracing your lips when you realised he was with you before your eyes opened.

“Good morning, my love.” He slipped the strap of your tank top off before peppering kisses on the nape of your neck down your exposed shoulder.

“Morning, Si.” You reached back to scratch his scalp.

He rolled you onto your back before crawling on top of you, kissing the column on your neck making you giggle with his weekend scruff. He pulled away to admire your eyes, always striking in the warm sun.

“Love looking at you.” You cupped his cheek, tracing the healed cut with your thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Si.”

He leaned in, and you stayed in bed a little longer.

In his shirt, you placed more toasts on the table.

“Two goldfish are in a tank…”

He handed you a buttered toast. “Don’t steal my jokes, luv.”

“It’s too lame to forget.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause I remember you howling at Tesco when I told it.”

“It was your first ever.” You smiled. “My favourite.”

“Why didn’t you tell me I was scary, luv?”

“I’m not sure they teach you to tell the scary bloke he’s scary in self-defence class.” You took a bite of the toast.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “Are you out of jam?”

“Forgot to grab some yesterday, but I didn’t forget your limes.”

Simon became a bit of a pie connoisseur. He figured baking was better than sparring with the intention of beating someone up to a pulp. He tried different fruits (even declared himself a pro at peeling) and techniques, and eventually other varieties. That late Saturday morning, it was key lime pie.

“Why’s the cat so small?” you asked as you tied your kitty apron around his waist.

“Why?”

“Because it drank condensed milk.”

He liked that you were becoming more like him. “You too, it seems.”

You mock gasped. “Rude! You know I can take you, Si.”

“Not in a fight.”

You slapped his chest playfully earning a hearty laugh from him.

Volunteering at the soup kitchen became a regular occurrence too, along with his sergeants. Sam ended up dating one of the volunteers’ daughters, the one he was introduced to. Unfortunately, his two other sergeants hadn’t had as much luck on their side. ‘Does your birdie have sisters or friends, sir?’ Eric joked, but it barely masked his hopefulness. You assured you’d ask around if they promised to keep each other safe while deployed.

It got hard at times, when things went sideways and the missions lasted longer, or when he had no way to contact you or wipe the tears off your face.

Somewhere along the way, Simon listed you as his emergency contact. You weren’t supposed to find out this way. Not this soon, not from his captain calling you about how he was unconscious, dying from blood loss from getting his leg slashed.

The first thing he did when he astonishingly woke was to call you. He could ignore the sear on his thigh, or the fact that his eyelids weighed like lead, but not the guilt that sank into the pits of him when you were in a mess of tears.

“I’m so sorry, luv,” he croaked out of his throat that felt like sandpaper. “I mean it. I’ll leave this all behind if that’s what it takes to keep you. You just have to say the word.”

“Si, you don’t... always have to bend yourself backwards for others. I chose you for who you are, and I will keep choosing you, as long as you don’t give up on this. On us.” You sniffled. “Please come home soon. I need you with me.”

Simon was glad you stood by his decision to stay, because that afternoon a year after, as the major pinned on the new insignia onto his uniform, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when the mass erupted in applause.

Captain Simon Riley.

Among the crowd, next to Tommy and Beth, her belly carrying his niece, you had your arm around his mum, Joe’s hand in yours. From across the room, your sincere eyes made him feel like a hero, the most desirable man. He knew he wasn’t, but you looked at him like he was sunshine, and maybe, he was to you a little bit.

Nothing changed. Simon was still fatherless, still missed out on the memories a child deserved to have, but was never granted. Still bound to a past that wouldn’t go, but he was more than that.

He thought his dad was the only thing standing in the way of happiness, whatever it meant. He knew now. It wasn’t what he thought he wanted, wasn’t what he imagined, but it was perfect. This was what it was supposed to be like all along.

“For you,” he mouthed.

Simon Riley never wanted to be an oil painting admired by many, but he was, and always had been, a love note sealed with a kiss.

Line art from part 4

Masterlist

Thank you so much for sticking around until the end :) I greatly appreciate the support and kind words this little story has received. Take care!

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @eve-lie

@luvecarson @jaguarthecat @knight4xmas @unwrittenletter

@cmbghost @mxtokko @reaperxxxxzz @footyandformula

@opalesquegirl @audisive @sparrowgalaxy @fanficreblogs

@strawberrystargal @damalseer @onlineoutcast @vxnilla-hxrddrugs

@astraluminaaa @mehjustalasshere @corruptowlette @youllgetafuneral

@lyenera @kcmizzz @s-rinaldi-18

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fisshbones · 3 months ago

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Hcs of some Hoyoverse characters!!

ft!! Heizou, Sunday, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Furina, Sampo, Xiao, & Pela

Genre: fluff/crack!! No warnings that I can think of besides of being mildly ooc and some being shorter than others. Could be read as platonic. Modern Au Gn! Reader.

Heizou ->

Has thousands and thousands of screenshots, pictures, and videos saved on his phone. Refuses to delete them because “you never know, they might come in use later.” Once in a VERY LONG while does his habit actually pay off. He’s paying for the cloud subscription service 1000% If he doesn’t his phone is borderline useless. If you go through it you’ll wonder how he finds jack sh*t in that phone, there’s no organization on/in that thing. That being said he doesn’t need to put things in separate albums because he had absolutely no issues with finding what he needs. (he’s literally me)

Sunday ->

Sunday likes to tend to his multiple gardens back where he lives. There’s two green houses back at his home. One is his and one belongs to his dear sister. If you want one too, he’ll gladly make some plans for yours next. When him or Robin can’t tend to the flowers, he has a gardener come tend to them in the meantime. While all of them brings joy to him he has a special soft spot for (white) calla lilies and spider mums.

Scaramouche/Wanderer ->

The definition of an annoying menace. He’ll put sticky notes with (sometimes with writing) on your back without you knowing. He used to do this to Childe too, only when it was Childe it would be way meaner. One fool read the ‘kick me’ note on his back and actually did it. Poor idiot guy learned a lesson that day. The worst he’s put on your back was a note with a stupid face on it. And if someone makes fun of you for it, he’ll give them a black eye! He’s the only one allowed to be an ass to you. :)

Furina ->

Does catwalk struts in her mirror when no one is home. She gets wayyyyy too into it. She’ll start on one side of the house and when she gets to her mirror she’ll strike a pose. One time you walked into her standing in front of the mirror doing pose 28. She couldn’t look into your eyes for a week afterwards. If you ask her to give her a lil show, she’ll do it but don’t laugh cause she might cry. lol. (she’s so me coded)

Sampo ->

He plays those driving games with the steering wheel and all. Sampo started streaming it too to make some hot cash$$ This man is DEDICATED to the act he preforms while streaming this game. If he gets into an accident in the game he makes it look like it happened irl too. He’s given himself whiplash from how fast and hard he slammed himself in his chair. think this.

Xiao->

BIG CONCERT FAN!!! Hates the crowds so much though (T ^ T) He’s so not a people person. Always manages to get great seats for you guys. He’s willing to see any performer if it’s for you, even if it’s not someone he likes. I personally see him as liking every genre of music, so there’s a fat chance he’ll still like the music being played. Xiao would put you on his shoulders if you ask him too. But I can’t guarantee you’ll be able to see any better this way because of how short he is.

Pela ->

Pela makes a crap ton of edits and fanfics. Any where between thirst edits and angst edits of anime characters. She’s got over 50k followers just waiting for her to drop the newest robin or satosugu edit. She’s also got of followers on the platform she posts her fanfics on. She’s big on x readers AND ship fics. That girl puts in work making sure both her edits and fics are absolutely perfect.

If you enjoyed likes/reblogs/replies are appreciated!!

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brummiereader · 1 year ago

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PREVIOUS PART

Hopelessly Devoted (PART SIX)

Summary: Tommy has to reluctantly learn a lesson in boundaries after his heated confrontation with you about his foolish plan to get you to talk with him. Will Tommy finally throw in the towel and back down from his relentless refusal to let things play out at their own pace? Or will his stubbornness get the better of him once again?

Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining, fluff

"Archie?" Polly said quirking a brow as she looked over the documents in her hand at the young boy stood at the betting shop door. " Finn's at school" she added as she turned in her chair, a tight smile gracing the corner of her lips as she beckoned him forward with her hand. " Does your mum know you're here bunking off?" She said removing his peaked cap as Archie looked down at the plate of shortbread next to the steaming cup of tea on Polly's desk. "Go on" she said nodding to them with a smile as his eyes lit up and he reached out for the biggest one on the small porcelain plate.

" Mum said I didn't have to go school today" he replied, mouth half full, his rosy red cheeks nipped by the bitter winter air ballooned with the entirety of the biscuit he had managed to fit in his mouth. "Doing deliveries for Mr Patterson at the flower shop, need the extra money now dad's been sacked by the rail works" he replied wiping his mouth as he looked down at his muddy boots, one missing a shoe lace, the other with a patched up hole on the side. Archie was one of many Small Heath children that had found themselves having to help provide for their families, forgoing education over the necessity to eat. The great war having taken the lives and jobs of many men of Birmingham had also taken the joys of childhood from their children too. Times were hard and sacrifices had to be made. Polly was not one to judge any parents decision to pull their son or daughter out of school, she only wished Archie and those like him had the chance to be children for a little while longer. For what was a summers days without the sound of kids playing outside in the street?

" Go on, have another" she winked as Archie replied with a grin that only deepened his enviable dimples whilst he picked out a second shortbread." Well I know I don't have any secret admirers Archie..." Polly said rubbing one of the rose petals between her fingers within the bouquet of flowers under the small boys arm."...so who's the lucky lady?"

" Mr Shelby" he replied brushing the crumbs of the newly stitched winter coat his mum had lovingly made for him.

" Tommy?" Polly said furrowing her brow as she looked over his shoulder to her nephew sitting at his desk in his office when Arthur and John walked in, slamming the betting shop door behind them. Five minutes peace, that's all she ever prayed for every Sunday at mass. Was it really too much to ask?

" Archie boy!" Arthur's voice boomed as he strode over, rustling the ten year old hair with his large calloused hands. " What you doing here ay? Skiving?" Arthur chuckled as he sat down on the edge of the desk pinching a biscuit from his Aunt, earning him a sharp glare and a irritated huff.

"Working" he replied standing up straight with his chin up. He was one of them now, a grown man or at least he thought he was, his muddy knees and youthful face begged to differ.

" Working ay, good lad" Arthur winked patting his shoulder as he reached for his Aunt's cup of hot tea, earning him a second glare and this time a smack on the back of his hand. No one was too old for a good hiding in Polly's eyes, something her grown nephews had learnt over the years as they continued to test her patience.

" Schools a bloody waste of time anyway Archie" John said turning his toothpick between his lips.

" Yes, a lot of good it did you and your crooked handwriting" Polly quipped back, a small smirk etched on the corner of her mouth as she returned her gaze to the documents on her desk.

" It's called doctors hand writing, alright?" John replied with a scowl on his face.

" Esme tell you that?" Arthur chuckled watching his brothers frustration at being the brunt of his families teasing.

" No it's, it's how doctors write. You know intellects" he replied pointing to the side of his head.

" Aright John boy whatever let's you sleeps at night" Arthur sniggered as he looked down at the bunch of roses in Archie's hand. " Who are these for then?"

" His Royal Highness" Polly said nodding to Tommy's office door as she picked up her now lukewarm cup of tea.

" Tommy ay? Come on then lad, let's not keep Mr Patterson waiting on any more deliveries" Arthur said as Archie nodded his head following him and John into Tommy's office.

"Arthur, John...Archie?" Tommy said, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as he looked up from his desk, surprised to see his Finn's friend standing in the middle of the room with the bouquet he had picked out for you in his hand. And was that the card he had written for you, torn up? " She erh, she wasn't home? Tommy said clearing his throat as he stubbed his cigarette out, his eyes glaring at the handwritten note between the flowers. It was definitely ripped. Shit.

" She told me to..." Archie said as he looked to John and Arthur stood next to him trying to hold back their amusement. Their poor attempts not enough to stop the small snorts and sniggers they hadn't bothered to muffle from escaping.

"Yes?" Tommy said, his jaw tightening at the sight of his brothers clear enjoyment at the whole situation.

" ...to send them back" Archie said as Arthur John burst into a fit of laughs.

" Bloody hell Tommy, what woman sends flowers back? How many did you give her? John laughed as Arthur let out a loud snort.

" Seven" Archie quickly stated on behalf of him, not realising the further embarrassment it would cause the notorious gangster who had now sunk into his chair, his thumb brushing along his brow as the laughs of his brothers resonated through the betting shop.

" Alright, thanks Archie" Tommy said rubbing his hand down his face as the young boy left, leaving the bouquet of red roses with Arthur with a tip of his peaked cap.

" Seven bouquets ay" Arthur said inspecting them as Tommy looked out the window, his grandiose gesture now looking like a pathetic plea for forgiveness.

" She won't fucking talk to me will she" Tommy said lighting another cigarette as John and Arthur hunched over the table puzzling the pieces of card together you had ripped in a clear message directed at Tommy to fuck off.

" Roses are red, violets are blue..." John laughed before Tommy reached over and grabbed the note before his brother could read any more of his feeble attempt to be romantic.

" Sir Edmund Spense" Arthur said nodding to the card as he leaned against the wall, his thumbs resting in the pockets of his waistcoat.

" You what?" John said his face scrunched up as he turned to look at his eldest brother.

" It's a poem, by Sir Edmund Spense" Arthur sniffed as Tommy and John looked at each other, bewildered by the mere idea Arthur did anything other than beat their enemies within an inch of their let alone read or to be more specific read poems. Even Tommy hadn't scaled through a copious amount of books in order to find the romantic passage, the back of yesterday mornings paper had been enough. " I read" Arthur said as his brothers continued to stare at him, perplexed by what they had just heard." In me spare time"

" You're going soft" John said pointing to his brother as Tommy raised his brows shifting in his seat. " Never put Y/N down for a fan of poems"

" She's not, I was running out of things to say weren't I. Tommy replied looking over to the glass decanter of whisky calling to him. Was it too early to drown his sorrows for the billionth time that week?

" Yeh, wouldn't let her hear you say that" John chuckled placing a new tooth pick between his teeth, the other having been chewed to death by the ribbing he received from Polly and Arthur. "Why don't you just say I dunno, sorry. Like normal people do"

" She's avoiding me John, she won't give me a chance" Tommy replied as he looked out the window wishing himself into next week or better yet, next year. Maybe then you'd be more willing to talk to him.

" Well you're in luck Tom, 'cause here she is. With a face on her like thunder" Arthur smirked, nodding to the glass separating his office and the betting shop floor.

" Where is he, where is the rat bastard?!" You shouted storming through the building not stopping for anyone.

" Oh hell, what's he done now?" Polly said looking above her tea cup as you marched over to her, waving your arms erratically in the air, incoherent rambles leaving your mouth about her seconded born nephew as the three brothers watched on from behind the glass.

" I'd say you've got about five seconds" Arthur said as he looked out the window onto the back of the house.

" Jump and roll, don't land on your feet" John added to Arthur's observation as he peered over his brothers shoulder out the window.

" Else you'll do your knees in, but I reckon that's the least of your worries" Arthur said as he looked over to Tommy brushing his hands through his hair, bracing himself for the bollocking coming his way. "Shit, she's clocked you" Arthur announced turning around as your head snapped in the direction of the three of them. This was more than about the flowers, Tommy knew that. He had pried into your life for a second time. The only thing he could hope for was you didn't know about the first. And with the absence of a lethal weapon in your hand his hopes were optimistically high.

" Thomas fucking Shelby!" You shouted marching through his office, grabbing the flowers from his desk and launching them straight at his head, silently hoping Mr Patterson had left the thorns on. "You bastard! You bloody bastard"

" Look, I know you're angry but let me explain" Tommy said with his hand out as he watched yours clasp around the bronze sculpture of a horse sitting on his desk that was sure to knock him out if you threw it. After having a variety of household items thrown at him in in the past week he knew you wasn't bluffing, your face said it all you were pissed off, really pissed off.

" No I'm not angry Tommy I'm fucking furious!" you said, your face scrunched up in anger as you stared him down, waiting for him to admit what he had done.

" Arthur, John can you...can you give us a minute?" Tommy said as he walked forward only to stop when he saw your grasp on the bronze ornament tighten. " Lads, please" Tommy said gesturing to the door as he watched you in the corner of his eye. Sighing heavily Tommy turned to his desk as his brothers walked out leaving you alone together, leaving him to face yet another stupid idea he was responsible for. "Cigarette?" he offered holding his silver case out for you to take which you did, and then threw on the floor beside you. " Right" Tommy said as he sat down in his chair pinching his bottom lip together as he looked back at you, furious as the the night he had drunkenly embarrassed himself in front of the whole of Watery Lane. "You won't talk to me Y/N" he said lighting his third cigarette in the space of fifteen minutes.

" So you decided to force me to talk to you by sabotaging not one but three potential job offers"

" I didn't sabotage them. I merely informed them that you already had a job here, as my secretary" Tommy replied pointing his finger into his desk.

" But I dont do I Tommy? You fired me, remember?" You scoffed, a scoff you hoped would not only distract him but you from the tears welling in your eyes.

" Sweetheart look, can..." Tommy was about to say when your eyes narrowed in on him and he stopped himself before he infuriated you any more than you already was. " Y/N, can we talk as adults? Sit down without, throwing anything?" he said gesturing to your hand still resting on the statue.

" Are you patronising me?" You replied, your voice going up an octave at his suggestion you were being immature when for the past five years he had been far from mature himself.

" No I'm just...fuck sake, I can't win with you" Tommy replied throwing his hand up in the air as he leaned back into his chair shaking his head.

"No you can't, so stop meddling in my life Tommy. Stop ruining every chance I have to move on"

" And that's what you want? To move on?" Tommy reluctantly asked as he looked back to you, the uncomfortable weight now sitting on his chest making him wish he never asked the question at all.

" Yes" you replied turning your head, unable to face him and the truth that you couldn't and wouldn't ever be able to stop loving him, stop wanting him.

" You're lying Y/N, I could always tell when you're lying" Tommy said as he stood up slowly walking over to you like you would a wild horse.

"You need to let me be, let me move on" you sniffed back as your eyes cast down to the floor. " Isn't that what you've been doing, moving on? I gave you space Tommy, I gave you what you wanted for five years even though it was breaking my heart and all I wanted you to do was hold me in your arms" You said wiping your tears, furious at yourself for letting him see you this way.

"Then let me ey, let me hold you" Tommy said moving closer, his hand reaching out for you. " Sweetheart..."

"Stop calling me that!" You cried brushing his attempts away as you walked past him to his office door. You weren't his sweetheart, you weren't his childhood love, you weren't his girl. It was over, all of it over. " Boundaries Tommy, you need to learn some boundaries. Learn to leave me alone" you said opening his door looking back at the defeat on his face as you recomposed yourself. " And Tommy?" You said turning one last time before shutting the door. " If you call me sweetheart one more time I swear to god you'll find the sharp end of that ugly horse ornament aimed straight at your cock, and this time I promise you, I won't miss" and with that you left, shutting the door behind you as Tommy watched you walk past the glass on the opposite of his office, your head held high as you brushed your hair to one side not giving him a second glance. He had been told off look a naughty school boy, and just like a child he was in for the biggest lesson of his life, patience.

"I wasn't really going to throw it" you said sat beside Ada in the Garrison as she rocked Karl back and forth in his pram. "I mean, I was tempted" you added unable to hold back your laugh as Ada giggled into her glass of gin. " Ada I don't know what's gotten into me. I just want to kill him...all the time. And the worse part is I think he was trying to say sorry, and I didn't let him" you sighed bringing your hand up to your face as you closed your eyes, having recounted what had happened in Tommy's office and everything else in the past month to his younger sister at lightening speed. The rapid pace of your account of events clearly fuelled by the anger still lingering within you.

" Hey" Ada said moving your hand away, her face scrunched up with concern. "Nothings gotten into you, more like what's gotten out of you. Five years worth of pent up anger would drive anyone to the point of wanting to wring my idiot brothers neck" she said as she looked at the bags under your eyes, Tommy always did have a knack for making people feel as sleep deprived and knackered as him. "You've been bottling it up for far too long locked away in that flat.." she said as she raised her brow ready to give you a bitter reality check. "...not living"

" What...I've been living" you scoffed leaning back into your chair as you crossed your arms. " I'm breathing aren't I?"

" Right, tell me then. When's the last time you let your hair down and you know, had some fun?" she replied mirroring your actions, crossed armed ready for whatever lie you had convinced yourself of.

" Well, there's..." you said furrowing your brow trying desperately to think back to the last time you actually laughed, did Arthur's endearing jokes count? " Well I can't, can I? Not with him gallivanting about with god knows who stealing the fun from everyone else" you pouted, resolving to the fact you hadn't had a proper nights out in years.

" If you call moping about day and night complaining about you, then sure he's had as much fun as you" Ada replied taking a grizzly baby Karl out his pram as she lifted her blouse to feed him. " If it bothers you that much then kindly bugger off " Ada said turning to the group of workmen shaking their heads seated a few tables away as they took their glasses and moved to the bar. "And before you even say anything, that barmaid was all for show, he was angry. I'm sorry he picked the worse way possible of showing you babe" Ada said reaching her hand out for you giving it a gentle squeeze. " Why don't I set you up with someone, one of Freddie's friends, for a date" she suggested nudging her arm with yours, a mischievous glint in her eye.

" But Tommy...his your brother..I"

" Y/N stop. You're allowed to go out even if it's just for a bit of fun" She cut you off as she brought Karl up to her shoulder, gently patting his back.

" Ada Thorne, why do I get the feeling you just want me to piss him off" you squinted at her as a smile formed on the corner of your mouth. It wouldn't hurt to give him a taste of his own medicine. You thought to yourself knowing he had his henchman still keeping their eye on you.

" Hm, whatever made you think that?" she winked to you as the Garrison doors blew open and the very man who had been the topic of conversation for the past hour walked in. "Speak of the devil. Here he is, tail between his legs" Ada nodded to the door as she placed Karl back into his pram.

" More like a dog with a bone" you huffed as you turned to see him walking straight for you. God, what did he want now?

" Boundaries" Tommy said standing beside you as you sipped on your drink, crossing one leg over the other.

" Yes and? " you replied bluntly as you diverted your eyes elsewhere, the stained-glass of the Garrison windows for one.

"Well, I need some clarifications" he said as he walked around the table, now directly in front of you. Fuck sake.

" Clarifications, what do you want me to do write you a list?" You scoffed as Tommy carefully considered his reply. A list would make his life easier.

" Y/N, you gotta give me something. What do you want me to do?" he replied with a huff, abandoning the idea of a catalogue of what he could and couldn't do as he placed both of his hands on the table looming over you. Fuck you look tired. Was that his fault too?

" Fuck off Tommy, that's what I want you to do" you said scraping your chair back along the wooden floorboards as you got up and left the Garrison, leaving him for a second time that day clueless on what to do next.

"Oh Tommy, you won't be able to bring her around with your charm this time. I'm afraid this is something a quick fuck down by the cut won't fix. You need to try harder" Ada said as she stood up putting her coat on.

" I'm trying Ada, but she'll barely talk to me"

" Yeh I heard about your attempts to win her back. Seven bouquets of flowers, her place looked like a bloody graveyard Tommy, hardly romantic" she said rolling her eyes as she turned the pram to the door.

" How was I supposed to know she didn't like flowers any more?" Tommy huffed as he followed his sister out the Garrison. Maybe Ada knew something he didn't that would win you back...he hoped.

" You know Y/N better than anyone Tommy, you must have known she wouldn't have liked that tacky show of wealth. And don't even get me started on your attempts to get her attention" Ada said struggling to push the pram through the thick mud and dirt of Small Heath. " Do you not remember the flowers you used to pick her and how long you'd spend doing it?" Ada stopped, looking up at her brother as the realisation finally hit him. That over the top plea of forgiveness may have cost him a day's wages but only now did he realise how it must have come across. A cop out. And as Ada so rightfully said, tacky." She didn't fall in love with this Tommy, the Tommy that has to show everyone his worth, his status. She fell in love with this one" she said pulling out the gold pocket watch you had gifted him ten years ago from within his waistcoat that had been back in its rightful place for over a week. " Stop being the worst version of yourself and show her who's she been missing, who she fell in love with. And for the love of god stop being a bloody idiot" she said before turning onto watery lane as a glimmer of a smile played on the corner of Tommy's lips at his sister brutal but well-deserved parting words.

How many more people was it going to take before he let his stubbornness slide and took their advice. It would admittedly be the hardest thing he had ever had to do, no doubt driving him mad in the process. Tommy thought to himself deciding to call of his men from keeping an eye on you or as he corrected anyone who dared to challenge him on the matter, keeping you safe. If he was going to do this he would do it the correct way, without the grand displays or need of theatrics. For the first time in a long time Tommy was going let things play out at their own pace, relenting all control over the situation his was so desperate to resolve.

Tea why did you offer him a tea? You thought to yourself climbing the stairs with the friend of Freddie's Ada had set you up with. The evening had been a disaster. Henry, your date, had spent the entirety of the night talking about his one and only passion politics, something you had little to zero interest in. Opening the door to your place you mentally reminded yourself to have words with Ada about the complete bore she had set you up with and clarification as to what she considered a good night out, because this certainly wasn't it.

" Nice place" he said entering your small bedsit. Was he joking? It was the pokiest flat in Small Heath, nothing worked and you was pretty sure a small family of mice had moved in and made it their life's mission to steal any form of food you left out for more than five minutes.

" Thank you" you said gesturing for him to sit at the small table by your window as you turned to make the tea you was reluctantly going to have to prepare whether you wanted to or not. Desperate to get him to leave and as quick as possible you decided to forgo boiling any water and instead planned on making him the coldest brew of tea known to man. That would do the trick, wouldn't it? " Here" you said placing the small mug in front of him as your mind wandered to what had really been occupying your thoughts all evening. Tommy.

" That was quick" he replied scrunching his brow as he looked into the murky water, a few tea leaves floating on the top. "You not having one?"

" Oh no, not a fan of...that " you said twiddling your thumbs on your lap as you looked at the less than delightful concoction you had created.

" Did you even boil.." he started to say causing your cheeks to turn bright red as your brain scrambled to come up with an excuse when, as if you had been saved by a higher power there was a knock at that door.

" Excuse me" you said walking away, grateful for the opportunity to leave any further interrogations about your tea making skills. "Tommy..."

" Hey" he replied softly, a smile appearing on the corner of his mouth as you opened your front door. " You've company" he said clearing his throat looking over your shoulder to see a man sitting at your kitchen table as he threw the small posy of flowers he had been holding behind his back along the outer wall of your bedsit.

" Tommy, I mean Mr Shelby. I...I thought you two weren't erhh" he stumbled, fumbling to grab his coat, abandoning the cold cup of tea he was sure you didn't boil any water for. "Together" he said swallowing harshly as he stood at the door beside you both.

" We're no.." you replied before Tommy cut your off.

"We are" Tommy said moving out of the way of the exit as he gestured for him to leave, irritated by the mere fact he had taken one extra second to do so. With the biggest scoff you could muster you crossed your arms as you stared him down. We are...is that what the past five years had been then, a bump in the road a bloody break?

"Thanks for ruining my date" you said marching over to the cup and throwing it's contents into the sink as Tommy shut the door behind him.

" What with Henry Coggs? Interesting choice for a date. Did he not bore you to death with his political crap?" Tommy chuckled as he watched you potter around your place trying to avoid any conversation with him.

" No, I found it really interesting actually" you lied and badly. " Tommy what do you want? I thought I told you to..."

" Fuck off?" he said sitting on the edge of your table as you stood in front of him.

" Leave me alone" you rephrased as he cocked a brow at your forgetful or intentional lack of memory as to what your actual parting words were to him in the Garrison a few days ago.

" And I have. I wanted to come here and say that you're right that..."

" Oh so you don't have to be a complete drunk to admit when you're wrong" you cut him off, your guard up ready for an argument you was sure would happen.

" You really want to start?"

" Ok then, let's hear what Tommy Shelby has to say? Actually no, forget it. Please leave" you said turning to the door when he grabbed your arm and span you back around to face him.

"Y/N can you just.." Tommy huffed as he tried to keep you in place. " Will you just hear me out?" he added as he placed his hand on your other arm, holding you in front on him. " Please?" He said as you found yourself nodding, stumped for words, slightly taken aback by his willingness to open up. " I..." Tommy said wetting his bottom lip with his tongue, his mouth suddenly going dry. Could he really do this without drinking a whole bottle of whisky beforehand?

" I've been an idiot" he said pausing as you rolled your eyes. Well that was the biggest understatement of the year. You thought to yourself as you turned to walk away again. "I broke my own heart Y/N, you didn't do anything wrong, you never did anything wrong" he said the words you never expected to hear causing you to stop. " I've..shit, I'm fucking this up" he said looking up at the ceiling, shaking his head as his mind uncomfortably replayed all times he had hurt you.

" No you're not, keep going. Please" you said turning around to face him.

"I made your life miserable Y/N, all because I couldn't stand how miserable I'd made my own. Pathetic aren't I ?" he said placing his hand back on your arm his thumb gently rubbing over the soft fabric of your blouse. " I don't expect you to ever forgive me for the five years of hell I put you through, I'd be a fool to think you would. But I need you to know that I regret everything, everything I've ever done that's hurt you, that's made you cry. It's all been my fault darling, I should have never made you think it was yours " he sighed, the words he had been wanting to say for the past week if not the past five years spilling out of him as if they had been patiently waiting there, waiting for him to break down the iron wall he had built around himself. Speechless you stood there, not knowing what to say, what to do as you let his words sink in. This was possibly the first time you had ever heard Tommy admit to anything let alone his own wrongdoings. And yet he had, and as you stood there staring at eachother in silence you finally came to realise what the other had endured, had regretted. The heartache you had both thought was your own had been a heartache shared, one that was now enveloping you both in a warm hug as you finally understood each others pain. " Its getting late I should probably go" he said breaking the silence and the small bubble you had both momentarily found yourselves in. "Goodnight Y/N " Tommy said as he leaned forward pressing a kiss to your cheek, the small embrace feeling the most natural thing for him to do in the moment as his lips lingered on your soft skin for a few seconds longer in hopes you would say something, do something. But you just stood there, his unexpected confession keeping you frozen in place as a rush of emotions that you had pushed to the side for five years came hurtling towards you.

"...night" you managed to coax from your lip's as you turned your head to watch him leave, listening intently to the sound of his heavy footsteps walking down the stairs as you desperately tried to think of something to say. " Tommy wait" you called out as you ran to your door only to see he had was already left, the gate at the bottom of the stairs swinging open and close as a gust of wind blew a scattering of leaves onto the steps below you. Leaning against the door frame you brought your hand up to your head as you closed your eyes, pushing your thumb into the skin between your brows as you cursed yourself for not saying anything in response to his attempts at making amends. Was that all it took? Had you forgiven him already? You thought to yourself as you opened your eyes and looked down at the rickety wooden stairs to see a posy of flowers with a small card buried within them sitting on the weather beaten wood. Wrapping your arms around your body from the cold you sat down beside the small bouquet held together by twine. One, two, three flowers, you smiled as you counted them within the various leaves and foliage. How long had it taken him to find possibly the only three flowers still alive in Small Heath after the deluge of rain and bitter weather the whole of Birmingham had endured for the past month. You thought to yourself knowing exactly who had abandoned them on the steps in front of your home, the small gesture tugging at your memories of times before when Tommy had gone out of his way to do the very same thing. Pulling out the small card your heart skipped a beat, your eyes welling with tears at the two words staring back at you, the two words you never felt you deserved, that you felt worthy of from the very man who had written them.

"I'm sorry"

NEXT PART

Tag list: @cosniffee @jonsncws @powellssaturn @jessimay89 @bruher @riseandreigns4u @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @chimchimjiminie16 @gaslysainz @calicoootalks (unable to tag) @weaponizedvirtue @vlryexsworld (unable to tag) @shittyprofilebutfuckit @peakyswritings @kammsinn @mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @cherryslyce @esquivelbianca @taliawz (unable to tag) @answer-the-sirens @dielgonacoffee @cicilysgrace @nadloves @fanatics30 @httyd-marauders @beeposstuff @yeppaweshallsee (unable to tag) @ja-4-leyvam (unable to tag) @xmariakx @slighltyaboveaverageiq (unable to tag) @fairypitou @youngbananamilkshake @call-sign-shark @peakyltd @jeysbae @muhahaha303 @mornixgstar18 @adaydreamaway08 @atomicsaladapricotcreator (unable to tag) @1lellykins @duckybird101 @warrior-of-justice @amberpanda99 @ @mrstargayen09 @synx-h (unable to tag) @gypsy-girl-08 @in0320 @sherbitdibdab @vizzzashley @cinematicdilfs (unable to tag) @twlegit

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

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imtryingbuck · 1 year ago

Text

Possible Happy Ending

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, past Steve x fem!Reader

Summary: It’s been three years since Reader left Steve, after bumping into someone she might have the chance of a happy ending.

Word count: 1,156

Warnings: swearing, self-doubting. I’m pretty sure that’s it.

Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Three years have been and gone since you finally decided to leave Steve it hasn’t gotten any easier but you’re doing okay. Your mum rang you a few days after you left panicking saying Steve had showed up that you and your stuff had gone. A month after you left Steve and Sharon went public with their relationship, you were devastated so you went to the local shelter and got two kittens why? You’re not entirely sure but you love them both so much.

Four months after you left, you’re walking to the local cafe when suddenly you bump into someone straight away your spluttering apologies when your name is suddenly said. Bucky is standing in front of you with a big smile on his face asking where you have been; how you’ve been. You both head to the cafe to talk and it’s going amazingly well. He tells you he missed seeing you around and that Steve looked for you everywhere. You exchange numbers with him promising not to tell Steve, even though he’s with Sharon now you don’t want him showing up as you just simply can’t deal with that anymore.

In the following weeks and months after meeting Bucky again he becomes your best friend (your only friend too) he comes to the apartment every Friday and even sometimes stays until Sunday. He truly is the sweetest man ever, his favourite thing to do is wind the cats up and getting them hyper just before he leaves. It drives you crazy you complain with a smile on your face as you can’t even imagine to be mad at him not when he has that stupid beautiful smile on his face.

Now you’re not exactly sure when it started but the feelings for Bucky were starting to get out of hand, you knew yourself it would be so wrong to say anything to him about how you had this butterfly tingling feeling in your stomach which has now turned into pterodactyls trying to break out of your stomach every time he looks at you. It’s wrong. He’s your ex-boyfriends best friend. Plus he’s James Buchanan Barnes he’s not going to like you the only reason why he’s here at your apartment every weekend ordering pizza or Chinese and talking to you about anything and everything for hours is because he feels sorry for you. Idiot.

A year after you left it went public that the it couple known as Steve and Sharon had broken up. From what Bucky told you Steve apparently walked into the apartment he shared with you and caught Sharon cheating with a guy Steve had been suspicious of. According to Buck Steve was crying out your name and begging up at the ceiling for you to come home.

A few days after that Steve was seen with a new woman on his arm. Your sister.

Your heart shattered, ringing your mum she told you that everyone thought it was okay for your sister to date you ex because he was your ex. You hung up and cried. The tears didn’t last long though as Bucky let himself into your apartment and found you in bed crying so he climbed into bed with you and cuddled you. You’re pretty sure you both ended up watching The Big Bang Theory but couldn’t remember as you were too busy watching Bucky laughing and stroking one of the cats.

Your sister and Steve didn’t last two months because every time they had sex it was your name finally spilling from his mouth.

It’s your birthday and the plan was to have a nice hot relaxing bath then order yourself a Chinese and curl up on the couch with the cats and watch your favourite show. Simple and plain. That was until your favourite person knocked on the door with a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers, Chinese food and a bag with ‘happy birthday’ written across it. He tells you that you shouldn’t be spending your birthday on your own, so you point to the cats and with that he lets out that sound that makes your heart flutter. Halfway through the fourth episode of the series he suggested, you notice him looking at you, so you pull a weird face which again makes him let out that sound. You mentally scold your idiotic heart to stop fluttering.

“Y/n I need to tell you something” he speaks so softly and instantly you can tell he’s nervous.

“What’s up Buck” trying to hard not to stumble over three simple words.

“I-um w-well I need y I-I need to tell you s-s-something” he’s struggling and that gets you scared.

“B-Bucky you can tell me anything you know this” God if you’re real please kill me. Now.

Taking a deep breath, he says “iminlovewithyou”

“What? Say that again Buck but slower” did I just hear correctly? No. He didn’t just say that you idiot. Wishful thinking though pal.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since you stitched up my arm even though I heal fast six years ago. W-when he told me you two was dating, I was crushed and I knew it was wrong your was my best friends girlfriend but I couldn’t help it. You’re an angel absolutely perfect. When you broke up with him I was more devastated than him because I knew I wouldn’t get to see you again but then we bumped into each other a-and them feelings was still ther - oh shit Y/N shit I didn’t mean to make you cry im sor-“ he didn’t get to finish that word because you kissed him.

You kissed him.

Holy shit.

What do you do?

Do you stop?

Do you continue?

Oh.

He’s kissing you back.

Took you long enough Bucky, jeez.

After what felt like an eternity you both pulled apart breathless with huge dopey smiles on your faces.

“Are you sure Bucky? Are you sure that this is how you really feel?” Shut up! Why are you asking?

“Baby I’m in love with you. My heart aches when I’m not with you. You’re the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last thing when I close my eyes and even then, you just follow me into my dreams” There isn’t any hesitation or hint that this could all be a wind up.

“I’m in love with you too. I know it’s terrible since who your best friend is but I can’t hel-“ this time he cuts you off with his perfect plumb lips on yours.

Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing and carries you to bed. He kisses every stretch mark, scar, beauty mark on your entire body as he makes love to you, he tells you how much he loves you. Laying in his arms sweaty and breathless you can’t help it when a few rogue tears slip onto his chest.

Tags: @bruher @cjand10 @themotherof10 @spngingerbread21 @behindmygreyeyes @hnnhbananananana @reguluscrystals

~ banners credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

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pfhwrittes · 9 months ago

Text

okay this has sat in my drafts long enough so i'm posting it so i don't have to think about it any more.

everyone talks about how simon would be the biggest mama’s boy if his mum was still alive but what about captain john price?

captain john price who sets his mum up in a lovely little two bedroom accessible bungalow with a beautiful back garden and a well tended rose bush on the front lawn.

captain john price who doesn’t dare swear in front of his mum because he remembers the clip round the ear he got at eighteen when he called one of his mates a fucking moron in her hearing.

in that similar vein, captain john price who wouldn’t dare smoke in front of his mum. in fact on the days he drives over to her house he doesn’t touch a cigar, cigarette or vape once. admittedly he does have nicotine patches (yes plural) high up on his upper arm hidden from her shrewd gaze under the polo shirt she bought him for christmas last year.

captain john price who is only ever called jonathan by his mum. or when he’s in the deepest of shit, jonathan andrew in a tone that he’s sure would cause even makarov to stop and reconsider his next course of action.

captain john price who buys his mum flowers for every occasion. pink tulips for mothering sunday, yellow roses for her birthday, daffodils for easter, blue stars and forget-me-nots on the day of her wedding anniversary to his late father, sunflowers for his birthday, poinsettias at christmas.

captain john price who takes his mum out to cafés or garden centres on sunday afternoons. captain john price who does any little job she mentions in passing. his dear ol’ mum mentions that the lawn needs mowing? on it. that the lightbulb in the hallway has gone out? on it. that the front door could do with a little spruce up? on it.

captain john price who loves his mum.

#jp #early inspired this many many moons ago #and now i'm posting it because i just want the thoughts out #as always my work is barely edited #pfh headcannons

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tellmeallaboutit · 2 months ago

Text

knock knock (Raphael x Player), THE ENDING

Chapter 18, In Which You and Raphael Live Happily Ever After

read on AO3

Luca Signorelli: detail of The Deeds of Antichrist

The second year of the Coming of Prophet Raphael. Holy See, Rome. Do not let anyone deceive you in any way, for that day will not come unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction, who opposes and who exalts himself over every so-called god or object of worship, so that he sits down in the temple of God, proclaiming that he himself is God.

“Such a blessed day”, your mum said.

“It is”, you said.

A lovely midsummer day. The sun beat down on the Vatican gardens, dappled shadows through the trees. You and your mum were having coffee in the gazebo, you with your phone, she with her newspaper, enjoying the sweet scent of flowers and freshly cut grass.

Not much changed in the Holy See. The Family of the Prophet Raphael moved in where the late Pope used to reside; crosses were banned and called a heresy, replaced by a symbol vaguely reminiscent of the double horns, but otherwise, not much.

Your mum gasped as she read something, and you had to shoot a quick glance at the headlines as well…

…a tactical nuclear strike… the Holy Army of Prophet Raphael…

You quickly looked back on your phone before you could catch the rest.

“Well, there has always been trouble in the Middle East”, your mom said after some contemplation. "God willing, Raul will bring about an end to it all."

“Raphael”, you corrected. “And be careful with your phrasing”.

"I prefer to call him by his baptismal name, the one he bore before the Resurrection," she responded with a soft smile. “Old habit”.

“Those are two different people”, you said. “The one who got resurrected was not the one who died”.

“Anya, you got more religious than me”, your mum laughed. “Who could have known?”.

You held your tongue and continued scrolling through Reddit, the subreddit dedicated to the Prophet.

“You should go out”, your mum said. "You should visit Rome someday; it's been reborn. The streets are pristine, people dressed in their Sunday best every day, crime rates at their lowest since records began. It’s heaven on earth. Reinstating capital punishment was truly an act of divine wisdom. We are blessed indeed to have witnessed His Second Coming".

And he will speak words against the Most High, and he will wear out the holy ones of the Most High, and he will attempt to change times and law, and they will be given into his hand for a time and two times and half a time.

You did not need to go out.

Nothing existed outside of this house anyway.

It’s just you and this house. And the gardens.

As for your mum, she was the necessary evil.

Raphael was busy with his Crusades, you were busy battling Asmodeus, and since Raphael could not stand the idea of nannies, your mother looked after your son around-the-clock. It was her own personal mission from God, to raise the son of the Great Prophet, so she said.

“If you ask me,” she said as she sipped her tea from a china cup, “those who turn a blind eye to Raul’s miracles are simply reaping what they've sown. God knows who they truly serve.”

Oh, damn! They finally dropped the new update to the Conquest Of Nessus. At long last, you flagged these bugs a month ago.

“Anya, pay attention to your child. What’s so interesting on your phone?”

Three new re-worked romance scenes with Raphael and a new boss fight, that’s what's interesting on your phone.

“What?”, you asked as you scrolled through the release notes. “He is happy. Michi is a very happy little boy”.

Your little boy sat in his stroller with his jet black hair and blue eyes; angelic except for those little double horns and tail. So well-behaved and sweet you sometimes forgot about his existence. Michi was short for Michael, and Michael was short for Archangel Michael - nomen est omen after all.

Couldn't ask for a better baby.

“Anya, you need to be present for your son”.

You never spoke with Raphael of Michael’s blue eyes; with your mum, of his horns. She never brought them once either; but she would often knit small hats for him, carefully including two holes on each side.

Some things you just don’t talk about in a family.

“Present where?”, you tore your eyes off the phone screen. “Mom, I wish you would refrain from criticizing me all the time—I'm doing my best here.”

Your mother’s face softened into a serene smile.

“I know, sweetheart," she said warmly, "I am proud of you. I love you—you're the most wonderful daughter anyone could dream of."

That’s all you ever wished for.

****

The remainder of your day was spent immersed in beta-testing, just like in your pre-Raphael days. As midnight loomed, you'd squashed enough bugs to warrant a serious chat with Larian.

"Thanks for the latest patch," you began as the newly appointed development lead appeared on your Teams call screen. "There are a few areas I want to discuss, particularly this bit where Tav and Raphael liberate Nessus from Asmodeus' tyranny and celebrate their wedding."

“Too cheesy? We hoped you’d like it”

“Um, I appreciate the sentiment”, you said. “But I had a feeling it was too much. Like, unrealistic. Can you schedule me a call with the chief writer? Besides many other minor points. Raphael doesn’t talk like that. But you will receive my full feedback in an e-mail”.

"Certainly," he agreed with a nod. "We'll make sure everything is according to your preferences. After all, Lady Prophet, you're our exclusive client."

Nobody else was allowed to play the game.

“Anya”, you corrected. “I really cannot stand when they call me Lady Prophet. But just so you know, I really appreciate the hard work you do for me”, you said.

“How is the Prophet?"

"Oh, well... The Middle Eastern conversion isn't exactly going as smoothly as anticipated. South Asia isn’t looking much better".

Russia was in the drenches of a civil war between raphaelists and orthodox. China bought itself some time.

"Here's hoping there will still be some folks left for him to convert," he joked without a smile on his face. "Just so we're clear though - we are all followers of the Prophet here at Larian Studios. In hoc signo vinces. No heretics among us, Lady Prophet. Anya. Sorry. Anya".

You could feel your cheeks turning red. There were heretics, yes. A lot of them. Especially in northern Europe.

They did not live long before they were put on trial in hellfire. Raphael had his own inquisitors (there were about ten thousand applications for a place, a favourite career choice for young men of Catholic background).

Raphael did not burn the inquisitors for their crimes back then.

He burned them because their crimes were not in his name.

For false messiahs and false prophets will appear, and will produce great signs and wonders in order to deceive, if possible, even the elect.

“Don’t hate me”, you muttered. “I did not… You guys created Raphael. Not me”.

There was a long silence.

"We'll have that update ready for you ASAP," he finally said.

***

You used to hate the spotlight, and you still do.

Unfortunately to you, you were the most discussed woman in the world; and your marriage was the item of every gossip. Which meant you had to do public statements from time to time. This time, on national news, live stream from the papal enclave, you and Raphael sitting on the sofa, the entire United Christian nation's eyes on you.

He was dressed in pristine white and blood red; the two colors he hailed now to be his signature. White shirt, scarlet waistcoat, pristine white cape over his shoulders. Not quite the papal robes, not quite his devilish attire; something quite in the middle.

"Lady Prophet," the reporter began, her face magnified on the giant screen behind her before switching to yours. “How challenging is it to be the spouse of the Chosen One?”

“It is what I wished for”, you said simply.

“My dear Anya and I are striving to give our utmost efforts in making our relationship flourish and serve as a model for other believers to follow”, Raphael said as he held your hand and kissed it gently.

Raphael was trying his best, you were sure of it. He never raised his voice at you, nor did he ever harm you in any way. Everything was wonderful in the bedroom.

Both of you were putting in your best effort. Because that's what marriage is all about: work. It’s hard.

Not without it’s lovely moment, of course. Raphael read you poetry before bed: from Milton to Eliot to Keats. And you would go to the theater every other weekend, and to the opera once every two months. Not last month, though, as he was away managing the conflict from his war room in Zion.

"Can you tell us how both of you were resurrected alongside the Prophet? Lady Prophet, is it true that God commanded you to end both of your lives so that you could be reborn?" another reporter piped up.

“The details are hazy, if I am honest”, you said. “I am not sure it was God who commanded me, but it seemed the right thing to do”.

Most of the details you yourself got from the press. You were dead for three days. They held a lavish funeral for both of you, despite you being the murderer. The Family wished for it (and kept the details of your deaths hush-hush), you learned later. There was a lot of press, a lot of crying. Both caskets were open, a scarf around your neck, a suit jacket covering Raul’s gun wound. They made this whole “and then, both were dead” thing oddly romantic.

So, half of the world witnessed you both coming back from the dead on a live stream. That part you remember. Chaos. Some went straight into religious hysteria, some ran, some just stood there shell-shocked. Raphael delivered his first speech within the first hour.

Therefore, stay awake, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.

"Anya chose to sacrifice herself for us all," Raphael added smoothly. "Her bravery knows no bounds."

“I did not feel so brave at the moment”, you said.

You killed yourself and you were dead for three days.

Three days of nothing.

Absolute darkness.

Not a single memory or feeling.

“Your actions triggered the Second Coming, Lady Prophet, for which are eternally grateful”, the moderator said as she clutched the double-horned pendant on her chest. “God guide your hand, Prophet Raphael. In hoc signo vinces”.

For the powers of the heavens will be shaken. And then they will see the Son of Man coming bearing the Holy Light and great glory.

“Tell us, what of your son?”, she continued. “You were pregnant at that moment, were you not?”

“I did not know that”, you said. “Everybody but me knew, but I did not”.

Raul knew. Jens knew. Camilla knew. Your mother knew. Nobody told you. Angus told them that you had a high risk of miscarriage, so it would be wise not to tell you until the 10th week, when the chances decrease rapidly. You killed yourself at nine weeks and four days.

Yourself and Michi.

“And if you knew”, the reporter asked and took a little pause. “Would you have had the courage to?..”

Would you kill Raul and then kill yourself?

Would you?

Michi (he would be called something different, for sure, Marco or Alessandro or something) would be playing with Raul now. Raul would have dreamt of such a kid. You’d be living in his villa while the king of Blackrock would be turning the world into an even more capitalist hellhole than it was. You dreamt of this scenario too, recently, and woke up screaming and not knowing what’s real and shook Raphael awake to check what colour his eyes were.

Brown.

The only dream of Raul that came true was that Italy became the powerhouse of the United Christian Union. Raphael kept hold of Blackrock, too. He did not use the infrastructure and power and money to generate even more profits.

He used it for entirely different purposes.

“Every “if” is a different story”, you said. “I don’t know the other one”.

“Your words are full of wisdom, Lady Prophet. Oh! Such beautiful blue eyes your baby has”.

She gestured towards the photo projected on the screen, taken on Michi's first birthday - there were fireworks and a parade in his honour. The horns were carefully photoshopped away and his black hair slicked back.

Raphael said nothing to the comment, his jaw set tight, his lips slightly twitching. You didn’t have blue eyes either.

Nobody in your family did, all green and brown.

“Plans for more?”, she asked.

“Naturally”, Raphael said. “for as they say, one child is no child at all. I lead by example”.

You said nothing.

“Can the little one already summon the Holy Fire?”, the moderator said, immediately spotting unease between the two of you.

“Not yet,” Raphael said and stood up, facing the cameras. “But in due time, he shall be able to, as will all those who have faith in me. In hoc signo vinces”.

He produced Hellfire in his palm; the parlour trick that converted the first ten million, and it still worked wonders.

The cameras captured every spark.

For false messiahs and false prophets will appear, and will produce great signs and wonders in order to deceive, if possible, even the elect.

“You never get used to it, do you?”, the TV show moderator said, trembling, her mouth agape with awe. “The miracle of the Holy Fire. The miracle of God”.

“I did”, you shrugged. “You get used to everything, really”.

***

After the interview, Raphael came out on the balcony to greet his flock in St Peter's Square, a smile on his face; you were standing next to him, hand in hand.

The crowd applauded him, their faces absent, possessed, not a trace of humanity in him, chanting his name, chanting your name, chanting something in Latin, shaking their fists, raising the symbol of the Prophet.

"In hoc signo vinces!" They chanted the motto of his Crusades. "In hoc signo vinces!"

All beautifully dressed. White and red robes, gold emblems, guns at their belts. Former citizens of the European Union, now known as the United Christian Union (including the Commonwealth and Latin America). Raphael preferred the Holy Empire, but it never stuck.

"Hail Archangel Raphael! Hail His Lady Prophet!".

Raphael did not forbid to call him archangel, but he humbly asked to be addressed as prophet.

You dropped your eyes and reached for your phone. You haven't checked your emails for a while. It's high time you did.

"Anya," Raphael chided gently. "Your flock needs its Lady”.

Emails. Emails. Who knows what's there? You must know.

"Give your worshippers some recognition," came the email.

You looked up and waved to the crowd, and they waved back in delight, shouting your title. Raphael raised both arms to the blackened sky above. The sky responded in kind; clouds gathered into pitch-black formations, fires flickered. They knew what Raphael was summoning, and so did his flock.

The hellstorm was coming.

***

"I keep thinking, Anya."

You watched as Raphael unbuttoned his shirt and prepared for the night's rest. Soon he'd be brushing his teeth and lathering his skin with moisturiser before changing into blue silk pajamas.

You wondered how much of this nightly routine was a remnant of his Raul days and how much was just Raphael. In moments of that, the reality of one blurred into the memory of another.

"What about, my love?" you asked as you combed through your hair.

"The devil," he said. "The one you mentioned in Dr Bambauer's files. The one you lied to me about. It was not Asmodeus, Anya. I am sure of that now. Who was it, then, and why did he choose to reveal himself to you instead of me?"

You knew that little encounter would come to bite you one day.

"I wish I knew”, you muttered. “Let the old dogs lie. I rubbed his horns, nothing more happened".

"Well, I should be grateful that our child does not bleat," Raphael said, arms folded over his chest. "You've only seen this creature once, have you?"

"Yes," you said, very eager to drop the subject.

"I thought I would finally succeed when Mecca was converted," Raphael said, clenching his fists and relaxing. "Yet I am no closer to true divinity. The powers I know are there have never shown themselves to me. Why?"

"Why do you ask me?", you sighed as you laid yourself to rest.

"For the same reason I chose you, my dear consort. You seem to see more than anyone else".

And yet he never asked you about the things he decides to do on his crusades.

"Why the tactical nuke, Raphael?" you asked, closing your eyes and pressing your cheek against the silk of the pillow. "You can summon hellstorm and hellfire to make them worship you. Why?"

Raphael and tactical nukes should have never coexisted in the same sentence.

Whips, hellfire, infernal magic, yes.

Nukes, segregation, jihad, no.

"I can summon hellstorm and hellfire," Raphael nodded. "Yet there are those who continue to dismiss it as psyops and propaganda and deep fakes. The use of tactical nuclear weapons has proven to be a more efficacious method for conversion."

For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, “There is peace and security,” then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.

"You don’t like guns, but you like nukes? Was it Kötter's advice?", you asked. Raphael said nothing, so that meant "yes". "Why have you never fired him? He is Raul's man, and Raul was a piece of shit".

That was the first time you said his name out loud in ages.

"Raul was competent in choosing advisors," Raphael snapped back. "I shall not speak of the man again and neither shall you. I have enough reminders, thank you".

You read recently that parents with green and brown eyes have 12% to produce blue-eyed kids. It’s possible, just unlikely.

But you said nothing as Raphael creamed his hands. Some things you just don’t talk about in a family.

"It's just... I wish you could have asked me," you said, emphasising the word "wish". “I would not have allowed that”.

No, your magic never worked on him.

He never let it work with him. You have all the power in the world, but not with him, never with him.

"I didn't wish to distract you from your reverie," Raphael whispered as he lay on top of you, ready to commence the next part of the evening programme. "Or disturb your beautiful dreams."

My sweet. My darling. Little mouse. Apple of my eye.

Never, never, "my love".

Not even once.

***

Behold! I tell you a mystery.

You didn't have to do anything but enjoy yourself, day after day, week after week. Michi was growing up all by himself, a poster child in all manners conceivable, your mother took great care of him, Raphael was away on crusades.

Life was idyllic behind the high walls of the Holy See, guarded by the carefully selected Prophet's Guard. Nothing ever happened inside. Perfectly orderly, perfectly lawful, clean and utterly, utterly beautiful. One thing Raphael did right (one of the few) was bringing back classical art with a vengeance - sculptures especially.

You didn't have to work, you didn't have to think about the future (what future?), you didn't have to worry about money or health - you had everything. Everything there was to have.

And the world outside was what it was: the world outside.

And the stories of others were what they were: the stories of others.

Do they exist, even? Maybe all that exists is you.

Or maybe all that doesn’t exist is you; maybe you never came back from your suicide.

Be it as it may, nothing ever disturbed your reverie, your own little world. And you dreamed, every day. Of how things could be different. Should have been different.

Of other worlds, other people, other places, other stories.

And you played the game, of course, daily. You killed Asmodeus a thousand times, a thousand ways. You asked for three rewrites. None of them mattered. Raphael was getting more and more frustrated, so you searched for new ways to defeat Asmodeus.

“Lady Prophet?”, the servant girl knocked on your door when you and your party were casting poisonous clouds on Asmodeus’ guard. “There is a visitor waiting for you at the entrance door”.

A visitor, on a Sunday morning? You haven't had any visitors in years. You personally, at least. You asked what he looked like. The girl flushed red and said she could not remember, but he was very sweet.

Huh.

You were all too aware of the sight that would greet you once you swung open the grandiose door to the Papal Palace, yet a gasp still escaped your lips.

There he was, Mr. Goat, looking somewhat dishevelled with muck clinging to his hooves and a rugged hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. In his mouth, he held a dandelion - its yellow petals slightly wilted from being gnawed on.

"That's for you, my sweetest morsel”, he said and handed you the flower. “I couldn't help but sample it myself; it was simply irresistible."

You felt heat rising to your cheeks when he said the word 'irresistible', and then he sent a little wink your way.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Goat," you replied, holding the flower close to your heart. "Raphael isn't home at the moment though. He will be back soon, though".

"The two of us have no need for him", Mr. Goat gave you a very ambiguous smile, and you blushed even harder. “May I come in?”

You nodded and watched as he clomped across Raphael's pristine white marble floors with little regard for cleanliness, leaving trails of dirt in his wake. If Raphael saw this mess, he'd surely have a heart attack.

Not that it would kill him.

“Would you be so kind and make me a cup of tea, little human?”, Mr. Goat asked. “Terribly thirsty for some good tea”.

You found yourself trailing him into the kitchen, a place you didn't frequent too often - it was more the domain of your staff. But you and your mum did have a tradition of sharing tea on occasion. Mr. Goat glided as he moved, dancing with every step, his hooves tapping against the floor.

You picked out the crème de la crème of your tea selection and fetched the loveliest cups from their repository.

"Sublime," Mr. Goat crooned as he savoured the first sip, his jet-black eyes sliding shut in pure bliss. "Just what I craved after an eternity.”

Now both of you were snuggled at your quaint coffee table, your legs almost touching underneath it. His coarse fur grazed against your skin.

"I'm glad you liked it. This blend was a gift to Raphael from the Chinese Premier when they signed their pact of non-aggression," you said, though you had doubts about how long that pact would last.

The Chinese government had never officially recognized Raphael's divine status; instead attributing his miracles to some high-tech psychological warfare tech.

"Mmm...I can detect a faint hint of cyanide in its aroma”, Mr. Goat said. “How delightful! So how fares our ambitious cambion?"

“Well”, you said. “He rules the Earth now. Well, almost”.

The Middle East, India and China remained stubborn holdouts while America had been swept up in religious fervor almost instantly; offering weapons and intelligence support. Nordic resistance had been a minor hiccup but was swiftly dealt with.

The fact that all-out nuclear war hadn't erupted yet was nothing short of miraculous.

“Oh does he now”, Mr. Goat chuckled. “My, my, ready to enter the big boys club, is he? How exciting!”

“He is not too pleased with the result”, you confessed.

"Really? With all those souls under his thumb and yet no closer to achieving godhood?" Mr. Goat chortled with an unsettling glee. “Has he pondered why that might be?”

“He had”, you confessed. “He lashed out quite… profusely recently”.

That was quite a night. The whole house had to lay low and pray for their lives. He managed to punch a hole through a concrete wall in his human form.

“Who knows, who knows why that might be”, Mr. Goat bleated. “And you, my dearest delight? Do you now have what you always wanted?”

You thought how to answer this question and decided not to.

“You know the answer, Mr. Goat”, you said instead.

“Really?”, Mr. Goat pouted his lips in dissapointment. “Why ever not? Has Raphael lost his charm after he became reality?”

You shook your head and said nothing more on the matter, looking at your nails. Still chewed to the quick. Well, at least some things do not change.

“Why did you never stop Raphael, Mr. Goat?”, you changed the subject. “Hundreds of millions are dead. There will be many more. He needs to be stopped”.

“There will be trillions more, with him or without, in the future and in the past. People live. People die”, he slipped the tea. “What’s the problem again?”

“Raphael is impersonating God”.

“Who hasn’t tried that at least once?”, Goat said. “You should as well, it is lots of fun. Why did you never try to stop him, Anya?”

“I cannot”, you said, your lips twitching in anger. “You know that very well! I can only watch what I created but cannot do anything. I stopped bothering a long time ago anyway”.

“Ha, you remind me of someone I know! He also created something, and now cannot bear to look at it. Stopped bothering a long, long time ago. Not what I imagined, he said. But that’s exactly what you imagined, I tell him, and he just won’t listen. All touchy-touchy, that one”.

“Are you talking about God?”, you blurted out. “Will he truly never forgive me for taking my own life?”

“I am talking about someone I know”, Mr. Goat said and slurped some more tea. “As for your question, ask him yourself. But I don’t think so. He cannot forgive me stepping on his foot once”.

“Well, yes, Mr. Goat”, you admitted. “My life is not exactly what I imagined”.

“Then imagine something different”, Mr. Goat suggested.

“Please leave if you are here to mock me”.

"I'm not here to mock you, sweetest morsel”, he sniffed in offence. “Quite the opposite - I find you delightful! You've rubbed my horns just right and danced with me. That’s more than most mortals have ever done."

“Are you here to punish Raphael? Kill him?”

"Would you like me to?" asked Mr Goat lazily. "Give the wicked little cambion some spanking?"

You feel silent.

Something in his voice told you he could do that with a snap of his fingers.

Probably wouldn’t even need a snap.

“No. No. I love him”, you pleaded.”He is the father of my child”.

Despite everything, you could never truly wish for Raphael’s death. You don’t know what you would be without him. You don’t know who you are with him, either.

Besides, what would they do to Michi and you if Raphael was gone?

"Oh really?" Mr Goat smiled. "Anyone in your family have blue eyes?"

You hadn’t discussed this with anyone before, not even Raphael himself.

"Well, Michie has double horns," you retorted, your body rigid with tension. "No one in my family had those, that's for sure."

Mr. Goat bobbed his head in what you hoped was agreement.

“Raphael is… He can do better, Mr. Goat”, you said. “He is half-human. He has… he can… I can… make him better. With time, maybe. I just don’t know how”.

Mr. Goat flapped his lips a bit in contemplation, and then raised a finger, as if struck by the idea.

“Anya, I bought you a present”, Mr. Goat started to pull something out of his worn and torn backpack. “You know, they say a book is the best present there is”.

“If this is a Bible, Mr. Goat, I am throwing it into the fire”.

You cannot hear quotes from the Bible anymore. There was a whole scriptorium in the Apostolic Palace where they wrote the Prophet Raphael’s edition of the Bible day and night; replaced words, edited stories.

“Oh, no, I haven’t read this one for a while. The human interpretations grew too wild for my taste. No, it’s a much simpler piece of fiction. But I thought you’d like it”.

You peeked into his open backpack; there was a black hole inside of it and a half-eaten apple.

What he drew out from his bag barely qualified as a book; it was more like a stack of A4 papers haphazardly stitched together at one end. Your eyes widened as you recognized the layout on the first page: rating information, warnings, tags and main pairing.

"Mr. Goat," you burst out laughing. "Is this an AO3 fanfic?"

Mr. Goat slowly nodded and went for a toffee on the table.

"'Knock knock'," you read aloud the title, trying to suppress another round of laughter. "I haven't read one of these in forever. Is it any good?"

“Ah, so-so. I am not the key audience”, he said. “You are”.

You flipped through to the last page and read the final line aloud: “I am not the key audience”, Mr. Goat said. “You are”.

“What is it?”, you recoiled, looking at Mr. Goat in horror. “What in the holy hell…”

"Your story," he replied calmly as if explaining why water is wet."And Raphael's too." He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully before adding, "It's still a work in progress though; one chapter left to go."

“And how does it end?”, you asked. “Please spare the child. Kill us, but spare Michi, he really is not at fault for anything”.

“Ah, Anya, don’t be morbid, I would never do something like that to your happy nuclear family. I'm asking you — how does your story conclude? Spill it. I'm all ears and ready to write it down."

He took the last page and held a pen at the ready. A very simple, blue ball pen, half-chewed upon.

"It's a happy ending," you whispered. "Please, Mr Goat, make it a happy ending”.

"Anya," he urged gently, "give me the specifics here. Remember what I told you – this is your story.”

With that prompt, you began to speak rapidly - words tumbling over each other as if they were afraid of being left behind.

"Anya and Raphael lived happily ever after," Mr Goat nodded and wrote. "He... learned to love Anya... truly love her… and their little son. He became a good father. He actually came to Michi’s crib and rocked him and fed him at night, and he got one of those babybjorns to carry him around. He loved Michi just the way he was, no matter what colour his eyes were".

Mr Goat erupted into laughter (his spit flecked with bits of caramel splattered all over the page), but he didn't stop writing.

Can Raphael even, will it even work…

Well. He has to. You changed for him, too. Not necessarily how you’ve liked, either.

Love is fucking sacrifice.

You need to think about the world, too.

You are a good person.

"Raphael stopped killing innocent people who refused to pledge their souls to him and accept him as their new god”, you went on. “Instead, he vowed to build a better world on Earth. Basic income for all. Equal rights. Stock market is banned. And... and... high living standards and affordable housing. Space exploration!”

"Communism?" Mr Goat glanced at you. "Really? How many times are we going round this merry-go-round?"

"We'll get it right this time", you said, your jaw sat tight. “We will do right”.

"If you say so, my little idealist," Mr Goat nodded sagely. "Theocratic Communism, my favourite. You are right – what's another billion souls here or there?"

"Please write that down too: Raphael loved Anya unconditionally. He would sacrifice his own life for her. She was his special little mouse. She was! And no other little mice. Ever. He was faithful to the end of his days”.

At that, Mr Goat's laughter became so intense he had to put down his pen. You didn’t think it was all that funny.

"Please write the faithful part down," you reminded him. "It is important. I was beginning to have my doubts with all these crusades. Ah! But write down that Haarlep is okay. Haarlep does not count as cheating".

Haarlep was fucking his way through the United Christian Union Parliament (sex was no longer off charts for Christians, quite the opposite; the more believers the better).

Mr. Goat transcribed your words, and he had some really sloppy handwriting, so you hoped he didn’t mess anything up.

"Duly noted," said Mr Goat. "Anything else? What about Asmodeus?”

Hm?

“What about him?”, you asked. “I never cared about Asmodeus, really”.

Mr. Goat's expression turned to one of mock-offence, his pouty lips protruding.

"You are not him, are you?" you summoned all your courage to ask the next question. "What exactly are you, Mr. Goat? You are Satan, right? Our Satan?"

Mr. Goat let out a deep sigh and rummaged through his backpack before producing what looked like a gnawed-on business card - faded grey with some dubious stains on it. Your breath hitched as he presented it to you with an expression of grave solemnity.

"Mr. Goat" was scribbled on the card in childish handwriting.

Mr. Goat slowly nodded, as if he had just revealed the greatest of all secrets.

“Now you know the truth of this world, Anya”, he said.

“Thank you”, you let out a nervous laugh. “No more questions”.

“Well then,” he slapped his thighs and rose from his seat. “Appreciate the tea and the hospitality, sweet morsel. Give my best to Raphael".

He put his backpack back on his back and pulled on a silly knitted orange hat that made his ears stand apart even more.

"That's it? Will you just leave us alone then?", you could not believe it. "You're not going to destroy Raphael for what he's done to Earth?"

He cackled, a paw on his round belly.

"Why should I, my sweet morsel?" Mr Goat's lips curved into a sly smile. "You just did, and I must say I'm no match for your cruelty. To break a man like that! To twist his very nature! I applaud you."

He paused, clapping his paws together like an over-excited spectator at a show.

"I have not destroyed Raphael," you said. "I love him."

"And I love women," Mr Goat grinned, his furry face contorted into an expression of pure delight. "God's finest creations; far superior to men, if you ask me. What punishment would Raphael have in mind? Meat hooks and eternal torture, boring, boring, boring. What punishment have you thought of? Oh! Delightful!”.

He stroked your cheek and leaned in to kiss you.

The lips that touched you were not those of a man or a goat or anything in between. What was touched was primordial; it existed before the concept of existence itself.

"Au revoir, my little dreamer," said Mr Goat, his face disappearing into thin air until only his smile was left, but it did not linger for long. "Remember, there is only one truth: what has been dreamed shall never be lost”.

You sat there for a while, lingering the taste of eternity on your lips.

Until you heard a knock knock.

"Anya?" Raphael's worried voice called from behind the closed door. "My love? Why is the door closed? Are you well?"

THE END

(NO, SERIOUSLY. THE END)

#knock knock #bg3 raphael

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