#THESE BOOKS ARE GOING TO LEAVE ME NO SOUL

[wosospacegirl]

Stuck with you - part 8

Summary: Y/n’s used to Alexia’s overprotectiveness and the pressure of her career—but Kika? The shy, socially awkward teammate who’s starting to make her feel things she didn’t expect.

Warnings: Jana and Vicky are too obvious, and Salma's sick. Kika and Y/n’s book club meeting doesn’t go as planned. Y/n's upset, and Kika doesn't know how to fix it. Plus Olga’s knitting Alexia a truly terrible sweater.

Word count: 6.3k

Masterlist here

..

Y/n had hoped-foolishly-that her twenty-something-year-old best friends would act like proper adults after dragging the truth about her feelings for Kika out of her a few days ago.

But of course, that didn’t happen.

She was finally back at training. 

Her ankle was healed enough to run drills, even if playing a full ninety was still a little way off. Still, it was something–and she was itching to be back.

The moment her boots touched the pitch, she nodded goodbye to Alexia, who peeled off toward the older players. 

And just as she turned to head toward warm-ups, she felt a sharp nudge against her shoulder.

She turned. Vicky was at her side, grinning suspiciously.

“What?” Y/n asked, already scowling.

Vicky just wiggled her eyebrows and shrugged. “Nothing.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and made her way toward Jana, ready to pretend the entire morning didn’t already feel like a setup.

And then, of course, Kika appeared. 

“Hi,” the Portuguese girl said softly, her dark eyes sparkling.

Y/n felt her soul briefly leave her body. Why did a ‘hi’ make her want to kiss her? 

That wasn’t normal. That was dangerous.

Before she could fully short-circuit, Romeu blew the whistle. “Pairs!”

Y/n turned toward Jana automatically, but before she could say a word, Kika’s arm brushed against Jana’s sleeve. And then—

“Oh no, Kika!!” Jana practically leapt back. “I forgot to tell you–I’m pairing with Salma today!”

Y/n blinked.

“Salma?” Kika asked, confused. “I thought she stayed home? The flu, não?”

Jana faltered for half a second, just enough to give herself away. “Oh… right. Yeah. That’s true. Hm. I mean—I’m with Vicky! Yep. Vicky!”

And then she grabbed Y/n’s arms–both of them–and physically shoved her toward Kika like a kid pushing two dolls together and yelling kiss!

“Anyway, bye you two!” Jana called out, as if she weren’t standing literally five steps away from them.

Y/n didn’t even turn around. She could feel Vicky and Jana watching her like two vultures hovering over a potential kiss. 

She was going to kill them both.

But not now. Because Kika was standing beside her. Blushing.

And smiling.

“She’s acting a bit weird, don’t you think?” Kika asked, glancing over at Jana, who was now very pointedly not looking in their direction.

“She is weird,” Y/n replied flatly. “She was just trying to be super nice to you because you were the new girl. Now you’re seeing her true colours.”

Kika laughed, a soft sound that made Y/n’s stomach flip in the worst and best way.

“Anyways,” Kika said, smiling. “I still think something’s going on with Jana.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Why?”

“Well…” Kika toyed with the hem of her jersey, her voice dropping slightly.

“I found her in the locker room yesterday and asked if she wanted to go see Parc de l’Espanya Industrial with me. Just, you know…hang out. And she said we should go as a team. Like, everyone.”

Y/n frowned. “That’s... a lot of people. For one park.”

“Right?” Kika nodded. “I mean, the park isn’t even that big! I thought it was a bit much. But–um–would you like to go?”

Y/n blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah. I mean, not necessarily that park. It could be any park. Or anywhere. For our book club…yeah?” Kika said quickly, almost tripping over her words. “I’m almost done with A Sibila. We should gather to talk about it soon.”

Y/n blinked. “Oh yeah. Definitely.”

“You’re nearly finished too, right?”

Y/n’s soul momentarily left her body.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” she lied smoothly. “It’s a… great story. With… incredible characters…”

Kika beamed. “Right?! I know! So many layers. We should meet tomorrow, then? Since you’re almost finished and I am too.”

Y/n felt the blood drain from her face. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Kika said cheerfully. “It’s our day off.”

Y/n nodded slowly, her brain buffering. “Of course. Our day off. Yeah. We should definitely… talk about the book. That we both… definitely read.”

Kika grinned. “Perfect. I’ll bring snacks.”

Y/n smiled awkwardly while Kika began to stretch. 

Fuck.

She was already planning how many Wikipedia tabs she could open and memorise before tomorrow.

..

Turns out there wasn’t a Wikipedia page on A Sibila, or any good summaries. Or even a decent Goodreads review that didn’t sound like it came from a literature professor with a superiority complex.

Y/n was already spiralling into self-hatred.

She lay face-down on the living room sofa, limbs limp, soul leaving her body, while Olga made Alexia stand awkwardly in front of her.

“Stay still,” Olga muttered, frowning in concentration. “I need to see if I should make the sleeve longer.”

Alexia stood frozen, arms slightly lifted, wearing what could only be described as a brownish, lumpy, vaguely-sweater-shaped… thing.

“You should just undo that horrific thing,” Y/n mumbled into the cushion, voice muffled.

“Horrific?” Olga turned, her eyes wide and wounded. “This–this isn’t horrific. Right, Ale?”

Alexia opened her mouth. 

Closed it. 

Looked at Olga’s big brown eyes. 

And folded instantly.

“Of course not, mi amor,” she said sweetly, shooting a murderous glare at Y/n. “Y/n’s just sulking about her date tomorrow. This sweater is beautiful.”

Olga lit up immediately, hugging the cursed thing to her chest. “I love you.”

Alexia kissed her cheek. “I love you, too. And I love how…authentic your fashion sense is.”

Olga turned back to the sweater, starting to knit what could only look like an A right in front of it.

Y/n let out a groan and flipped onto her back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“I’m to die.”

Alexia didn’t even look at her.

“Start reading the book, nena.”

“I can’t now,” Y/n whined. “It’s too late. I need to… vibe with the theme. Analyse the metaphors. Get emotionally attached to the protagonist–know the historical content behind it.”

“You haven’t even opened the book.”

“Exactly.” Y/n groaned dramatically into the sofa cushion. “I tried to read the summary on the cover, but there were too many words and they got all jumbled, and I can’t read because I’m dyslexic!”

Olga reached over and patted her calf gently. “Cariño… why did you agree to a book club if you’re dyslexic? Or, more importantly, if you hate reading?”

“Because Kika said she wanted to start a book club.”

Olga blinked. “If Kika asked you to jump off a bridge--”

“Yes.”

“You’re pathetic,” Alexia said flatly.

Y/n lifted her head and pointed at Olga’s half-finished creation. 

“Look who’s talking. Your wife is knitting A + O on the sweater you have to wear.”

Alexia froze, eyes darting down to the cursed garment. “You didn’t.”

Olga beamed. “I did.”

Alexia stared at the sweater like it had personally betrayed her. 

“Why not just write ‘I’m whipped’ on the front too?”

Y/n let out a low, guttural groan. 

“You’re both so embarrassing. I’m gonna die alone in a failed book club and neither of you will even notice.”

Alexia blinked. 

“Okay, now you’re scaring me. I preferred your usual grumpy, emotionally constipated version over… whatever this is.”

“I don’t like this version of me either,” Y/n muttered, her voice muffled by the cushion again. “She’s soft and possibly in love. I want her gone.”

A silence stretched over the room.

Then Olga perked up. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I can knit you a sweater too.”

Y/n bolted upright. “No thanks. I’ll just… try to read this book again.”

She snatched La Sibila from the coffee table and stomped off dramatically.

Olga watched her go, then shrugged.

“I’ll knit her one anyway,” she said. “I’ll even write ‘Little Putellas’ on it.”

Alexia turned slowly. “You know I didn’t actually adopt her, right? She has her own last name.”

Olga smiled innocently. “She’s a simp like you. Might as well be blood related.”

Alexia opened her mouth to argue. And then thought better of it.

“…Fair enough.”

..

Y/n paced around her room like she was getting ready for an El clásico, clutching the book to her chest. She had run out of options.

She had no choice.

She called for backup.

Fifteen minutes later, her bedroom was full with Vicky sprawled across the beanbag chair, Jana leaning against the desk, and Salma–wearing a hoodie, two blankets, and a surgical mask—sitting weakly on the edge of Y/n’s bed like she might faint at any given minute.

“Okay,” Y/n began, clutching a stack of identical books. “I need help.”

“What kind of help?” Vicky asked, eyeing her warily.

Wordlessly, Y/n held up A Sibila.

And then… three more copies.

The room fell silent.

“You bought four copies of the same book?” Jana finally said, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Y/n said. “I’m freaking out if you haven’t noticed that already.”

She slapped the books down onto the bed dramatically. “You guys are going to read this book. With me. Technically, for me.”

Vicky stared at her. “I’m sorry?”

“It has 252 pages,” Y/n continued, ignoring the look of utter betrayal forming on their faces. “I’ll read as much as I can. Which is, like, five pages. Seven if there are pictures.”

“There aren’t,” Salma wheezed.

“Then five,” Y/n confirmed. “The rest of the pages will be divided equally among you three. I did the math. Also, you need to give me opinions, not just summaries. Smart ones. Just to be clear.”

The silence was deafening.

Vicky slowly pointed toward Salma, who was curled up against Y/n’s pillows, looking very, very sick.

“You called Salma, who has pneumonia, to read a book for you?”

“I have tissues she can use,” Y/n offered, gesturing vaguely toward the half-used box on her nightstand.

“I can’t breathe,” Salma muttered, voice muffled through her mask.

“Exactly,” Y/n nodded. “You can’t breathe, but you can read. Let’s do this.”

Jana groaned and covered her face with both hands. 

“You’re torturing Salma. And us. We didn’t sign up for book club or, or yout literary meltdown.”

“Jana,” Y/n said, deadly serious. “You made me confess I have feelings for Kika. I did. I came to terms with it. And now….” She shoved a copy of A Sibila into Jana’s hands, “You’re going to help me not look like a complete idiot in front of her.”

Vicky crossed her arms.

“So just to recap… you’re exploiting your flu-ridden teammate, your actual best friends… because you panic-lied to a girl you’re in love with about reading a Portuguese modernist novel.”

“Wait, what?” Y/n said, suddenly alert. “Say that again, Vicky.”

“Say what?”

“What you just said!”

“About you lying?”

“No–about the book!”

Vicky blinked. “That it’s… modernist?”

“Yes!” Y/n scrambled for a crumpled sheet of paper on her desk, grabbed a pen, and scribbled furiously. “Modernist. Perfect. I have something real I can throw in if Kika starts talking… themes or whatever.”

Jana leaned over and peeked at the paper.

“…You wrote mopernist.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes at her. “Jana, next time you open your mouth, I expect to hear something about the emotional depth of the characters. Or–or the role of the nationalist narrative in Portuguese history. Step it up.”

Jana blinked slowly. “I haven’t even opened the book.”

“Then do better,” Yn said dead serious, squinting her eyes.

..

Y/n stood in front of them like Alexia usually did before a big game.

“Okay,” she said, pacing. “We’re doing a drill. One by one. Tell me something, anything, about the book. Impress me.”

Vicky straightened up, cleared her throat, and delivered in a confident tone.

“It’s set in a rural environment in the first half of the 20th century. The characters are portrayed in multiple dimensions, with both strengths and flaws. It’s… realistic.”

Y/n blinked. “Did you just read that off the back cover?”

Vicky shrugged. “Yes.”

Y/n turned to Jana. “You. Go.”

Jana looked at her, a bit dazed, then clutched the book to her chest.

“The rural life, the customs, the use of certain terms… are all substantiation parts of Quina’s personality, as if she is the place she was born.”

“Good, Jana!” Y/n said, smiling. “Anything more?”

“Hm… Quina’s mother kinda reminded me of my grandmothers. It brought me back to my childhood in my parents’ village–very touching.”

There was a long pause.

“…Jana, you grew up in central Barcelona.”

“Yeah,” Jana said, unbothered. “But emotionally? It resonated.”

Y/n opened her mouth to argue–then caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

Salma.

The girl was curled up on her side with the book open on her chest, completely asleep, mouth slightly open, the mask hanging from one ear.

“She took her antibiotics and passed out mid-sentence,” Vicky whispered. “A lost soldier.”

Y/n stared at Salma in silence. “She died doing what she loved.”

“Which was?” Vicky asked.

“Helping a friend in need.”

..

The next morning, Y/n woke to the sharp buzz of her alarm.

The book was still clutched in her hand.

She had fallen asleep holding it, her logic being that maybe –maybe –if she kept it close enough, she would dream about it. 

It didn’t work.

Still, the girls had helped.

She knew a bit now, enough, maybe. 

The story, the historical context, and why it mattered for Portuguese literature. Quina, the main character. The rural imagery.

She had scribbled down a few talking points on a scrap of paper last night, just in case.

But as she sat on the edge of her bed, anxiety started clawing at her again.

What if she blanked? What if Kika started quoting the book, and Y/n forgot what' modernist' even meant?

With a sigh, she grabbed a pen from her nightstand.

Very, very carefully, she started writing tiny keywords on the inside of her hands. Barely visible. Just enough to help. Just in case.

She examined her palms.

“Quina – complexity/she represents rural life”

“Rural Portugal – 20th c.”

“Modernism = introspection? self-awareness”

“National identity – mother figure? Quina’s mom”

Discreet enough. Kika wouldn’t notice… probably.

Y/n got dressed slowly, carefully–but not so that it looked careful.

Nothing too fancy, because they were just going to a park. But nothing too slack, either, so Kika wouldn’t think she hadn’t put any thought into it.

She settled on baggy jeans and an oversized t-shirt –the kind of outfit that said, I didn’t stress about this, even though she absolutely had.

After a long, silent moment in front of the mirror, she gave herself a curt nod.

“You’ve got this,” she muttered. “Just talk about goats and nationalism and maybe cry about female repression in bucolic environments or whatever.”

One last breath.

Then she headed downstairs for breakfast, already dreading the knowing looks waiting for her from Alexia and Olga.

Y/n trudged down the stairs like she was heading to her execution. 

Her oversized t-shirt hung awkwardly over her jeans, hair still a little messy from sleep, and A Sibila was tucked under her arm.

She was going for casual. Unbothered. Effortless.

She knew she looked like she had tried way too hard not to look like she tried.

As soon as she hit the bottom step, she spotted them–Alexia and Olga, sitting at the kitchen table, both sipping their morning coffees.

Both grinning.

Like hyenas.

Y/n didn’t say a word. Just walked past them and went straight for the toaster, trying to pretend she didn’t feel their eyes boring into the back of her head.

She managed to spread butter on her toast twice before Olga cleared her throat with fake gentleness.

“So…” she said, far too cheerfully, “how are we feeling about your little date today?”

Y/n didn’t even blink. 

“I hope she cancels so I don’t have to go and make a complete fool of myself.”

Alexia snorted. “Stop. It’s not an interrogation or a test. It’s just a casual hangout.”

“With the girl I’ve been hopelessly in love with for two months,” Y/n muttered, stabbing her toast with the butter knife. “Super casual.”

Alexia raised a brow, unimpressed.

“It is casual. You’re not walking into a courtroom. You’re meeting Kika at a park. Probably to sit on the grass and talk about books. Calm down.”

“I can’t calm down!” Y/n snapped. “I want her to think I’m smart!”

Alexia shrugged. “You should want her to see the real you.”

Y/n whipped her head around, eyes narrowing. “So what, being smart isn’t part of the real me?”

Alexia blinked. “That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you implied,” Y/n shot back. “You’re a terrible emotional support person.”

Alexia leaned on her elbow, unfazed. “I’m just saying, you did have to repeat kindergarten.”

Y/n dropped her toast dramatically onto the plate. “I hate that I told you that. I’m not stupid, you know!”

Olga sighed, setting her coffee cup down and gently resting a hand on the kitchen counter between them like she was mediating a debate.

“Okay. That’s enough,” she said, looking from one to the other. “Alexia, be nice. Y/n, you are smart. No one here thinks otherwise.”

Y/n huffed and crossed her arms, lips pressed in a tight line.

Olga continued softly. 

“You’ve got more heart and grit than most people we know. You care. You learn. You’re clever in ways that matter. Alexia’s just trying to say you don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not. Kika will see that–if you let her.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. 

It was warm. Settling.

Y/n looked down at her plate.

“She could’ve just said that without bringing kindergarten.”

Alexia grinned over the rim of her mug. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Olga reached out and ruffled Y/n’s hair affectionately. “Eat your toast, cariño. Then go knock her off her feet.”

Y/n didn’t say anything, but a little smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

She was still terrified. 

Still kind of hoping Kika would text her ‘hiii sorry plans changed :( ‘ , but maybe, maybe she would survive it after all.

..

Y/n spotted Kika the moment she turned the corner into the park. 

A quiet, tucked-away stretch of green in the middle of the city–Parc del Guinardó, if she remembered the text right. Y/n had never come here, not after years living in central Barcelona.

In some ways, she was discovering Barcelona alongside Kika.

Parc del Guinardó was shaded, full of trees, peaceful, and for now, mostly empty except for the girl sitting under a tree near the edge of the path.

For a split second, panic flared in her chest. 

Wait, am I late?

She reached for her phone, thumb hovering above the screen, only to see the time.

Nope. She was actually thirty minutes early.

Kika had just… beat her here. 

Way too early. And judging by the checkered blanket already spread across the grass, the small cooler bag beside it, and the two paper-wrapped sandwiches laid out with almost painful neatness–it wasn’t by accident.

Kika looked nervous. Not full-on pacing or twitching, but her fingers were tugging gently at a loose thread on the edge of the blanket, her gaze flicking between her phone screen and the path like she was waiting for a call.

Y/n stood there for a second longer, watching. 

And for the briefest moment–just a breath–she liked it. That she wasn’t the only one whose stomach had been in knots all morning. 

That maybe, just maybe, Kika was nervous too.

Kika looked up, like she had sensed her. Her eyes lit up, not dramatically, but softly, like she was genuinely relieved to see her.

“Hey!” she called out, standing quickly and brushing her hands on her jeans.

“Hi,” Y/n replied, crossing the grass toward her.

“You’re early,” Kika said, laughing awkwardly.

Y/n tilted her head. “You’re earlier.”

“Touché.”

There was a pause.

“Come sit?” Kika offered, gesturing toward the blanket.

Y/n sat down carefully, legs crossed. Kika followed, sitting a little stiffly, knees pulled up like she hadn’t figured out where to put her legs yet.

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds. The city hummed softly in the background–distant cars, the occasional bark of a dog, a kid yelling somewhere deeper in the park, running after a ball.

“I brought us sandwiches,” Kika blurted suddenly, breaking the silence.

Y/n turned to her, lips twitching. “Oh? Really?”

“I, um–” Kika opened the cooler and pulled out two wrapped halves. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got two kinds. Ham and cheese, and… mozzarella and tomato.”

Y/n blinked at the effort. Her chest did that weird fluttery thing again.

“That’s very prepared of you,” she said, trying to sound casual.

Kika shrugged, eyes fixed on the sandwiches. “I asked Jana what your favourite was and she said ‘don’t ask me, I’m not her girlfriend,’ so…”

Y/n let out a quiet laugh. “That sounds like Jana.”

“Yeah…so I kinda of panicked,” Kika admitted. “Went to the café near my place and just pointed at the only two options they had and just hoped you would like one of them.”

Y/n smiled. “That’s very kinda, you didn’t need to.”

They sat there in that soft, awkward quiet again, but this time it was a little lighter. 

A little less tight in the chest.

Y/n reached out and grabbed the mozzarella one.

“I like this one,” she said.

Kika looked over at her, something soft and a little stunned in her eyes.

“Oh,” she said. “Good.”

Kika took a small bite of her sandwich, then set it down and reached into her bag. “But okay,” she said, brushing crumbs from her lap. “Let’s talk about what we came here for.”

Y/n blinked. “What we–oh.”

She watched as Kika pulled out her well-worn, sticky-note-littered copy of A Sibila, pages slightly bent and loved. 

It was the Portuguese edition that Y/n had bought for her

Somehow, the book looked elegant and intimidating. Just like Kika..

Y/n slowly opened her own copy–the Spanish translation–and immediately spotted it: a dark crescent of sweat right in the middle of the page she had been clutching all morning. 

She flipped to a random spot instead, trying to look casual as she held it just barely open, pretending she was an academic and not a total imposter.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat, “I’ve never, uh, been in a book club before. Do we… just talk?”

Kika smiled, earnest and bright. “Exactly! We talk. I can go first, if you want?”

Y/n nodded so fast her neck cracked. “Yes. Please. Go ahead. Take it away. All yours.”

Kika’s smile grew as she settled into cross-legged comfort and opened her book.

“Okay, so,” she began, “what really struck me was how Quina’s personal conflicts reflect the social shifts of 20th-century Portugal. Especially the way her stubborn independence clashes with both the rural family structure and the political repression under Salazar. The book doesn’t just explore her as a woman, but as a kind of symbol for the modernist movement–her resistance, her contradictions…”

Y/n was nodding. Or pretending to. Probably both.

Words like Salazar, symbolic resistance, and narrative fragmentation swirled around her like smoke. 

Her brain tried desperately to catch a single thread, but mostly she was just focused on not passing out.

Kika was radiant. Passionate. So smart.

And Y/n was sitting there with smudged keywords on her palm and only a vague idea that Quina was, in fact, the main character.

But the worst part?

The worst part was that she wasn’t even mad.

She was enamoured.

Her heart did that pathetic fluttery thing again, because Kika was talking about fascism and gender dynamics like it was the most fascinating thing in the world–and somehow, Y/n agreed. 

Not because she understood it. But because Kika did. And that made it beautiful.

“Sorry,” Kika said suddenly, closing her book with a soft thud. “I talked too much. Tagarela, as we say in Portuguese.”

“Oh no–no, no, no,” Y/n said quickly, shaking her head. “It was totally fine. You can… talk more. If you want. Like, I wouldn’t mind. At all. Keep going.”

Kika laughed, warm and easy. “Better not. Or I’ll take your spot in the book club.”

She nudged Y/n gently with her knee. “

Your turn. I really want to hear what you thought. I feel like you would really get along with Custódio.”

Y/n’s entire brain screeched to a halt.

Custódio???

Her eye twitched.

The girls had gone over Quina. Her mother. 

Maybe a cousin? Definitely the rural priest. 

But Custódio? No one had said a single word about anyone named Custódio.

She forced a smile. Her palms were starting to sweat again, which was unfortunate because her cheat-sheet notes were written on them.

“Oh yeah,” she said, voice slightly higher than normal. “Custódio. Yeah, he was… something.”

Kika looked intrigued. 

“Right? I feel like you’d get his energy. He’s got this whole quiet, loyal thing, but also he’s super observant. Like, even when he’s not the focus, he sees everything.”

Y/n nodded slowly, internally begging for the earth to swallow her whole. Or for a minor, non-lethal lightning strike. Something fast.

“Totally,” she said. “So observant. That was definitely… a choice the author made. Very...modernist.”

Kika tilted her head. “What did you think of his relationship with Quina?”

Y/n paused. Blinked.

Sweat.

“…Complex,” she said finally. “Really… emotionally… charged. You know?”

Kika lit up. “Yes! Oh my god, that’s exactly it.”

Y/n breathed again.

Barely.

Kika turned to grab her water bottle from the side of the blanket, uncapping it and taking a quick sip.

Y/n saw her chance.

In one swift, silent motion, she yanked up the sleeve of her oversized t-shirt and glanced at the faded notes she had scribbled across her palm and wrist–the last lifeline to whatever credibility she still had left.

But the sweat had smudged most of the words into illegible ink. 

‘Quina = comp. wna?' was barely readable. 

Everything else looked like a puzzle.

She squinted, desperately trying to decipher “natl ident mom fig” when…

“Are you okay?” Kika asked, suddenly facing her again.

Y/n froze.

She was sitting way too straight, arms locked at her sides like a robot. 

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Totally. Why wouldn’t I be? Haha.”

Kika’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You're rubbing your hand. Did you hurt it?”

Y/n looked down, realising she was now anxiously scrubbing her palm like she could erase the evidence.

“Ah,” she said, thinking fast. “An ant. Bit me. Stupid ant.”

“Oh no,” Kika said, instantly sympathetic. “Wait, I think I have some cream in my bag somewhere…”

“No!” Y/n said, way too loud and fast. “No need. I’m fine. It’s–I’m fine. Just a minor ant.”

But Kika was already reaching for her bag, rustling through it. “It’s no big deal. Let me help you.”

Y/n flinched as Kika reached gently for her hand. “No! uh, I mean–You can give me the cream. I’ll do it. Myself.”

Kika’s movement slowed. 

Her expression flickered, just a little. Like something felt off. Her fingers brushed Y/n’s wrist lightly anyway, and then she paused.

“…What’s that?”

Y/n followed her gaze, down to the smudged ink, the barely-there letters.

“Oh,” Kika said softly, realisation dawning.

Y/n wanted to disappear.

Y/n let out a breath. It wasn’t sharp or dramatic–more like something deflating quietly, giving up the last of her pride.

She was going to do it. She couldn’t keep the lie any longer. 

“I didn’t read it,” she mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Kika blinked, hand still hovering near hers. 

“It’s okay,” she said gently. “We don’t have to read the whole book to have a book club–”

“No,” Y/n said, shaking her head, her voice cracking a little. “I haven’t read any of it.”

There was a pause.

Kika’s brows drew together slightly, but not in judgment, just surprise. “Oh. You don’t like historical fiction?”

Y/n laughed once, short and embarrassed. Her cheeks were already burning. “I don’t really… like books.”

Another pause.

“I’m dyslexic,” she added, voice quieter now. “I have a hard time reading. I don’t really tell a lot of people that…I don’t like to.”

Kika didn’t say anything at first, but then she looked down, then back up, her voice soft.

“…Then why would you agree to it? The book club, I mean?”

Y/n rubbed at her neck, still nervous.

“Because,” she said, almost like she was annoyed at herself. “You seemed excited.”

Kika’s face shifted–not with pity, but something warmer. 

Something careful. 

She let the moment breathe for a second longer, then sat back beside Y/n again, their shoulders brushing.

“I was,” Kika said quietly. “But not about the book.”

Y/n glanced at her.

Kika smiled, soft and small. 

“I just wanted an excuse to hang out with you.”

Y/n blinked. “Oh.”

Kika’s heart skipped. Her face flushed, her mind scrambling for an explanation.

“I mean... You know, as teammates. Of course. I hang out with everyone, really.” She laughed awkwardly, trying to brush it off. “Everyone’s always together, and I just... didn’t want you to be left out…”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, unsure if she was buying it. 

“Everyone?”

Kika’s eyes darted around, looking for anything to latch onto, anything to make this sound less like she was lying. 

“Yeah! I mean, you know, we’re all in this together, right? Just thought it would be nice to have you spending some time with me, too.”

Y/n’s lips curled down in a slight frown. 

“So... you didn’t want me to feel left out... and that’s why you invited me?”

Kika’s stomach tightened as she realised the hole she had dug herself into. 

She quickly tried to recover, but her voice was shaky. 

“Yeah, exactly! I mean... yeah. I didn’t want you to feel excluded, but... It’s not that I wouldn’t want you there. I just didn’t want you to... feel like you didn’t belong or something.”

Y/n didn’t respond right away. 

She just stared at Kika for a few beats, a thin line forming at the corner of her mouth.

“Well,” Y/n said, standing up suddenly, voice a little tight, “I should go now.”

Kika blinked, surprised by the shift. “Oh, uh... okay. See you at training, yeah?”

Y/n nodded, not looking at her. “Yeah... training.”

There was an awkward pause. Kika pressed her lips together, watching her leave. 

Y/n didn’t look back, her steps quick and purposeful.

Kika sat there for a long moment, the weight of what had just been said settling in her chest. She couldn’t help but feel the coldness in the air, something unspoken lingering between them.

..

Y/n arrived home, still feeling the tension of the conversation with Kika pressing on her chest. 

She pushed open the door to the living room, where Alexia and Olga were in the middle of a discussion about sweaters, again.

“Oh, nena!” Olga called, her voice light and warm. “How was the book club? You two have fun?”

Y/n didn’t stop, just waved a distracted hand in their direction. “Yeah, fine,” she muttered, not even meeting their eyes as she quickly made her way up the stairs.

Alexia and Olga exchanged a look, both raising an eyebrow at the sudden shift in Y/n’s mood.

“Uh-oh,” Olga said quietly, watching Y/n disappear upstairs. “I think it didn’t go well.”

Alexia frowned, tapping her fingers on the back of the sofa. “Maybe she just couldn’t even read the book title... or something?”

Olga turned her head, giving Alexia the kind of look that could stop anyone in their tracks.

“Alexia,” Olga said, disappointed.

“Ok, sorry, went too far.”

..

Y/n lay on her bed, one arm flung over her eyes, the other clenched loosely at her side. 

The room was dark except for the faint orange glow slipping in from the hallway. It should’ve been quiet, peaceful, even, but her mind wouldn’t shut up.

She groaned, turning over and pulling her pillow over her head. As if that could muffle the echo of her own thoughts.

“I didn’t want you to feel left out.”

Seriously?

She kicked her heel against the mattress.

That didn’t even make sense. Left out? From what?

She sat up suddenly, hair a mess, breath uneven.

“I’ve been in this team since I was sixteen,” she muttered to herself, voice thick with disbelief. “What do you mean, left out?”

There was an edge of anger now, coiled under the embarrassment still burning in her chest. 

She invited me out of pity? Out of some weird sense of obligation? Not because she actually wanted to?

And she had told her. She had told Kika about the dyslexia, the thing she didn’t like to talk about. Instead of it feeling like a relief, like being seen, it just made her feel small.

Her eyes drifted to the stack on her desk. The book.

One of four copies of La Sibila.

She reached out, shoved the top one off the desk with the back of her hand. It thudded on the floor with a soft slap of pages and cover, landing awkwardly.

She stared at it for a moment, then flopped back onto the bed with a heavy exhale.

Stupid book club. 

Stupid conversation. 

Stupid feelings.

She closed her eyes. Tried not to picture Kika’s face when she said everyone. Tried not to remember how fast her chest had dropped at those words.

She was tired. And still too awake.

..

There was a knock at the door, light but insistent.

Y/n didn’t answer.

A beat passed. Then the door creaked open anyway, slowly and carefully. 

Jana peeked her head in.

“Alexia called,” she said gently, not quite stepping in yet. “Said things were bad.”

Y/n didn’t move at first. 

She was curled up on her bed, hood pulled halfway over her head,  one of Alexia’s older Barça hoodies, oversized and threadbare at the sleeves. 

The room looked like a bookshop had been ransacked. Copies of La Sibila lay scattered across the floor, some still open, some face down, spines bent awkwardly.

Jana blinked, eyebrows lifting slightly.

“…how bad was it?” she asked, finally stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

“Very bad,” Y/n muttered, voice muffled by the fabric of the hoodie.

Jana sat down at the edge of the bed, careful not to step on the fallen books.

“But like,” she asked, tilting her head toward Y/n, “how bad?”

Y/n turned her head just enough for Jana to see one red-rimmed eye peeking out from under the hoodie.

“She told me…” Y/n started. “That she asked me to hang out so I wouldn’t feel excluded.”

Jana winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Y/n said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “Excluded, Jana! As if I haven't known this whole team since I was like…a kid! How can I be excluded, right?!!”

“Well, you did skip the last three girls' nights,” Jana started. “And you also said no to that restaurant we all went to last week, and you're always the first to leave training and–”

“Jana,” Y/n said. “You are not helping.”

Jana let out a breath through her nose, then lay back on the bed beside her, arms folded behind her head, looking up at the ceiling.

“She didn’t mean it like that… probably,” she offered eventually.

Y/n shrugged without moving. “Still said it.”

They both stared at nothing for a while. Y/n pulled the hoodie tighter around herself.

“I think I hate books,” she muttered eventually.

Jana snorted. “You've always hated books.”

“I hate feelings.”

“You also hated them, too”

They didn’t say much after that.

..

Kika stared at the wall.

It was white.

Just white. 

“I think I ruined everything,” she said quietly.

Esmee, lounging on the other end of the sofa in her usual half-curled pose, looked up from her phone. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Kika didn’t move. “Esmee. I basically said I only hang out with her out of pity.”

There was a long pause.

“…Yeah,” Esmee finally said, setting her phone down. “You could have worded that better.”

Kika groaned, dragging both hands down her face. 

“She just looked so hurt. And then she left so fast. Like--like I had slapped her.”

Esmee raised an eyebrow. “Emotionally, you kind of did.”

Kika dropped back onto the cushions, arms flung out, staring up at the ceiling now like it might offer an escape hatch.

“I like her,” she muttered. “I really like Y/n.”

“Wow, some huge revelations are happening today,” Esmee said, looking bored out of her mind.

Kika shot her a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to,” Esmee said matter-of-factly, picking up her phone again. “I’m just here for moral support.

“You're not giving any support,” Kika said.

“I did! I came to your house on a Saturday night and i'm sitting here watching you drowning in sadness.”

Kika groaned. “Ugh, what do I even do now?”

Esmee didn’t even glance up. “You apologise. And maybe next time, don’t say things that sound like you adopted her out of loneliness.”

Kika buried her face in her hands again.

“God, I’m an idiot.”

Esmee hummed. “Yes, but she’ll come around.”

Kika didn’t look convinced.

She stared back at the wall.

It was still white.

Still awful.

Still exactly how she felt.

..

a/n: Please let me know what u guys think! Of course, I couldn't give them too much happiness hehe. Also omg my passion in to write platonic relantionships, love it so much <3.

Tag list: @edensbreeze @silentwolfsstuff, @goodloe-e @mccabeskcc @blaugranafairy @footy-lover264 @the-fandom-ness @wosofavfanfics

[offthebookshelf]

i watched this movie for the first time and it has stuck with me ever since. i decided to have a movie night and wanted to watch something inspiring. i had just ordered Beethoven’s Complete Piano Sonatas Vol. 1 by Heinrich Schenker and was filled with excitement, ready to practice Beethoven on my clanky keyboard. when i saw the title of this movie, with a cover of the actor Adrien Brody looking pleasant, peaceful, wrapped in warm lighting, i didn’t even bother to read the description and just clicked play.

oh. my. goodness. what a damn mistake that was. there i was, comfortable in bed, looking and feeling like a happy stuffed burrito, thinking i was about to enjoy a visual story about a pianist and his life. perhaps i’d see a bit of drama, some loss, some love story. but the focus would be on his passion, his talent, his devotion to his craft. how fucking wrong i was.

*SPOILERS UP AHEAD*

i was thrown right into Warsaw, 1939. the beginning was already nerve-wracking with the bombing that hits Polish State Radio station, where we meet our main protagonist, Wladyslaw Szpilman, a sensible soul with a true talent to play the piano. the Germans have begun their invasion of Poland and it isn’t long after the initial bombing at the radio station that we begin to see the monstrosities the Polish-Jewish people were about to be put through.

i’m going to be completely transparent, i purposely avoid diving too deep into this part of history. it brings me such deep pain and it’s hard for me to understand- i think any and all sane people that are in touch with their humanity- find it hard to understand how did such horrors come to take place? the pain, torture, injustice that human beings were subjected to…shit leaves me speechless.

although this movie was brilliantly filmed (i did take mental notes of the cinematography being that i am a visual artist) it made me regret my ability to submerge myself into a work of fiction and experience it as if though i was really there. this movie pulled me in from the very start and i found myself in fear, in anger, in pain, in hardship, in loss, in all of it with Szpilman.

did i already mention Adrien Brody was absolutely fantastic? i don’t know how he managed this role. i can’t even think straight at the moment, because i am still replaying certain scenes in my mind and i’m still so taken aback by the fact that this is a part of our human history, of our collective conscious. like a stain that we carry, it will never go away.

i’m aware that humanity has been a part of, the cause, and creators of a lot more dark shit, but this time in history is something beyond evil. and to think it was all less than 100 years ago…

my emotions can be easily stirred by these kinds of movies, but truly i was more in shock and locked into survival mode with Szpilman. it wasn’t until Hosenfield showed up that my emotions got the best of me. it breaks my heart that Hosenfield didn’t make it in the end, despite his act of good will.

i want to buy Szpilman’s book, i do wonder if they left out quite a bit for the film. it is 2.5hrs long, but certain parts seemed to be rushed over for the sake of timing.

i wish i could express my thoughts better, but i think the movie is still too fresh on my mind. i often try to focus on the good things, even when a situation is painful and full of injustices. my mind usually goes to “well, at least that is over, now you trust your intuition more, at least you don’t have to go back there or deal with those people/person, at least you still have your head, your heart, working hands, and a mind full of creativity, now you know better” etc. etc. it’s just how i’m wired.

but certain stories…certain knowings don’t come with a silver lining. i would say the best thing that happened is that Szpilman survived it all, and even wrote a book on bis experiences. but truly, what kind of life did he live after the war? waking up to the sound of gunshots, bombs, perhaps still experiencing the ghost of the pain of true hunger and thirst. i wonder how the real Szpilman lived his life after surviving this horrorshow…

he played his piano. he remained a kind and sensible man. he wrote a book. he lived, and he ate, and he drank, and perhaps even loved.

i still don’t know where my mind is at after learning about his story. it’s nowhere and everywhere all at once. you know what i think the saddest part is? that very same evil is still running rampant through some humans. and any second now, something of this nature and caliber can happen.

the morning after watching this film, i found myself in my kitchen, making my morning coffee per usual. i stood looking outside my window, admiring the morning sky and thinking how in that very moment, everything could change. and all my little material things i treasure, could be gone. my comfort, my zone, my little happy place- gone. and instead of facing the arduous decision of whether i want a morning cappuccino or espresso, i could be deciding whether to hide behind a pile of bricks or in a hole in the wall. or pulled out of a line to be shot in the head. or taken to a place away from everything i’ve worked so hard for, away from all i have ever known, to be tortured to death. to be used in inhumane experiments, to be violated and discarded, to be starved until i could no longer walk or talk.

i think i’ll end this here for now. i can’t say i would watch this again, i do appreciate how well they did in bringing Szpilman’s story to the big screen. but the reality of it all, it’s something that will forever feel like my breath has been kicked out of my chest.

The Pianist (2002) dir. Roman Polanski

[maccreadysbaby]

Jack Starbright you were an absolute savage. I will never forget you. You went out in the most Jack Starbright way. Hope you know your death is making me plot real murder against Julius Grief, that little face stealing psychotic soulless bastard 🫶🏻

[starcurtain]

Just caught up with Natlan's archon quest and lord help me, I have a burning need to see Alhaitham and Ororon interact.

I truly feel that they would vibe perfectly. Not in a ship way, but like, in the way of Kaveh quietly wailing: "For archons' sake, he's brought another tacky thing into the house. Traveler, please do something; they've been staring eye to eye over the coffee table for like an hour now but haven't said a single word. I don't know what to do. Send help."

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

experimented with switching from coffee to matcha yesterday. drank two matchas and experienced the most galaxy brained potentially unhinged potentially just massively inside baseball occult brainstorming session re: structure of the book in terms of style, substance, metafiction, and hypersigil.

today I get to drink one (1) matcha and see if the notes make any sense.

[luvism333]

cutest patooties to ever live omfg....... i love u clarianna

some details about my dr s/o annabeth chase!!

she thinks shes not much of a creative but my god she would make it as a poet im telling u.... type of person to say the most eloquent soul crushing tear jerking thing to her lover under the moonlight and not understand when u start crying

she journals!!! can and has and will cut a man for trying to read her stuff. she's very protective, but when she's sleepy or feeling sappy she'll tell me about something she wrote that she was looking back on

shes super like artsy too!! she doesnt think so but shes a huge film buff she knows alot about cinematography and has little profiles about her favourite directors, says things like mise en scene and motif. shes the type to read the books and analyse the differences between the film adaptation and the original. shes soo..................... film major fake deep pinterest boys wish they were her

okay maybe just my personal opinion but shes so fun to talk to. she just has so many thoughts youre never carrying the convo and whatever you say she really thinks about it, shes the type of person that listens to *listen* not just to reply you know

shes the biggest hate watcher alive i swear she just likes to watch things to get pissed off and plan out how shed execute the storyline better. tons of people think its annoying and cant watch things with her but i love it shes so funny and i love that she gets engaged in everything we watch

they call us the gingerbread dream team bc when we were kids we DOMINATED the camp gingerbread house competitions. she designed full on condos and mansions out of gingerbread and i decorated them to the max

she tries to act all tough but shes SUCHH a softie its insane. i made her watch me before you after i read the book and she cried and then wouldnt talk to me for 3 hours. DONT let the rbf fool you shes the type of gf to bring home 600 strays and beg u to let them stay

she tried to force herself to like classical music when she was a kid but she literally couldnt do it. it distracted her more than helped her focus and she spent like 2 weeks obsessively researching trying to prove that its not actually good for ur brain

shes sooo mf competitive and idc what anybody says i love it. u ask anyone else and theyll say they hate playing w her bc she takes it too serious but theyre just mad they always lose to her 🥱🥱

if i tell her i hate someone but i dont have a reason she immediately comes up with 46 reasons why we both hate them. like "idk why but he just rubs me the wrong way..." "he rubs you the wrong way because he's grossly incompetent and irresponsible with his finances-"

she doesnt mind parties but the second i want to leave she’ll drop everything to go. sometimes ill just be like “i cant wait to sleep tn” and she’ll be like “do you want to go? now? do you want to leave? we can leave. we will leave. say your goodbyes.”

me her n percy like playing video games together and every time we play a horror game she refuses to admit when she gets scared. she could literally fall out of her seat screaming for her mommy and she would be like “i was trying to catch you off guard so i could win its part of the plan you SIMPLETONS wouldnt get it”

she hates me shitposting on social media but is miraculously in my replies every time i post 🤔🤔 even if its just to call me a dumbass she never misses a status

she goes way too far with her insults sometimes and i always tell her off but ill never admit i think its hilarious. its always during serious arguments shes not casually mean but she'll be like "you have such an insane amount of blindspots it's no wonder why your girlfriend needed to see someone else"

lowkey a horrible influence w my charmspeak 😭😭 its her personal life cheat code ill be like beth dont u think i should learn some problem solving skills and she'll be like this is problem solving. solve our problem by charmspeaking us out of a speed ticket

i love it tho. literally everyone discourages any use if charmspeak bc theyre afraid, but annabeth knows me and she knows id never use it maliciously - she trusts me to use it for silly reasons even tho i shouldnt <33

laughs loudly and unashamedly when i trip or walk into things but if anyone else laughs its instantly not funny anymore

unironically a "dont talk to me until ive had my coffee" person. she drinks it black w no sugar.... freak

i dont talk when im upset (bc my charmspeak flares up) and she learned australian sign language so she still can talk to me. shes so incredibly talented and ambitious and thats her love language, she'd learnt literally anything for someone she loves <33

omfg my mortal family is OBSESSED WITH HER. shes so annoying she did so much research about our culture before she met them she knew all the right points to hit and exactly how to behave i swear my nan likes her more than me

im super super physically affectionate. even tho she isnt herself, since we were kids shes always let me crawl all over her like its nothing. like she lets me sleep in her lap while she researches or holds my hand while she barks orders, shes so used to it if i dont touch her for a day she assumes something is wrong

when we cuddle she complains that im too hot and trying to fuse myself to her skin, but if i try to move away she'll pull me back. def the type of girlfriend to trap you in bed in the morning because she doesnt want u to get up

she's an AWFULLLLL cook its so funny. in my dr my passion is cooking nd i become a chef so we're like the perfect match. she's good at baking which relies more on strict measurements and instructions, but with cooking meals she just flops. refuses to accept this flaw and wont stop trying to prove she can do it

she loooves my cooking tho (´ ω `♡) annabeth doesnt rly think much about what she eats so long as it has enough nutrients so i could serve her grey sludge and she'd eat it up n tell me thank you, but i take it as a compliment to my skills anyway

HOLY YAPPPPP sorry i went on for 60 years sighhh i just miss her...................

THANK U GIGS cutest post everrrrrrr ur so romantic + ASK ME ABOUT BETH!!

shifters; what are some little, random things you love about your s/o??

LOVERGIRLS (genderneutral) UNITE this is pretty much a safe space to ramble about your s/o tell me everything 🤭🤭🤭🤭 pet peeves they have?? romantic moments?? quirks? a tradition you guys have ANYTHING i got inspired seeing @hrrtshape's post about her & coryo and i thought it was so cute i love her acc some things i love about my s/o/clarisse! ❤ for me and i will die on this hill CLARISSE IS AN ARTIST SHE SECRETLY LOVES TO DRAW IM SORRY 😶😶

like i dreamt about it once and now it just makes sense. its like something clicked she WOULD be rlly good at drawing and find it therapeutic, and literally no one would expect it from her. she is insanely talented!! like she just has a natural knack for pencil sketching and it always looks so good meanwhile she'll be like 'this? that's just a sketch 🤷‍♀️' CLARISSE. she also likes to draw me sometimes 🤭🤭🤭🤭 this is my main headcanon/thing i love about her but i love her LOTS so here other stuff; ❤ when we end up becoming friends we find out we have a LOT in common and that includes liking the same foods so we both rlly love those sea salt caramel enlightened yogurt bars & everytime we somehow get a box of them stocked up in the big house (cause chiron won't buy food/junk food for campers meals but he will RARELY keep stuff in the fridge if a camper gets it) its like a death race to get the last one and it gets intense ❤ when we're kinda younger like in tlt era (good times) shes the type of person to talk like a corny 80s bully stereotype when shes mad. she grows out of it and even though i never bring it up later on, its something i ALWAYS think about LMAO. the 2000s are definitely a time because how did bullies take themselves seriously? 'your ass is grass and i'm gonna mow it!!! 😠😠' ..wrap it up 😭😭 will you guys unfollow me if i say im kind of attracted to it😞

❤ no, because she kind of looks like abby anderson.... IF YOU PLAY TLOU YOU KNOW!!!!!!!!!! ❤ she gets really clingy when she’s tired without even realizing it💞💞 as well as she lovesss having me play w her hair and touch it

❤ she always pulls me closer to her whenever we’re in the same bed or cuddling, she lays on top of me or puts my arms over her when she seeks comfort but she doesnt want to say anything ❤ TOUGH LOVE GALORE!! honestly she can be pretty blunt but its something i really appreciate and respect about her because even tho i dont like when she uses it to be hurtful clarisse is the one person you can rely on to tell you how it is & have your back regardless and i respect her a lot for that; especially when she starts to train me how to fight ❤ its kinda weird because its like for a while we don't rlly care/ know eachother on a deeper level even a little dislike for eachother BUT even then she always had a little affection and concern for me in small moments like when the cards r stacked against us or one of us is in trouble/danger. IMO it'll happen being somewhere with the same people for so long you're bound to care abt them building off this, one thing that i secretly love to do is plan for capture the flag with her and the rest of the cabins cause even if it doesnt always go well it's so fun to come up with strategies for our team & put aside everything we have between us to scheme LOL.

❤ BACK HUGS BACK HUGS BACK HUGS hugs in general are our thing and i know that clarisse has a hard time being affectionate so it means a lot whenever she is touchy with me 😭💓💓💓 she shows her love in her own way but rlly she's a big softie once she's comfortable with u ❤ my favorite colors are more cool colors like robin eggs blue/blue, periwinkle, seafoam green, lavender, pink/coral pink, and silver while hers are warmer colors like red and orange and brown and gold and bronze dark red and bronze are her favorites idk i just thought i'd point that out cause i didnt even plan this, its just something i noticed

❤ whenever i’m sad she always knows what to do to make me feel better aka hugs & hot chocolate

❤ she loves to pick me up toss me over her shoulder and carry me around like its nothing, shes sooo strong she always gives me a piggyback ride and carries me around camp💕 ❤ she gives me the softest kisses, she just melts into me, her hands cradling my face lovesick rambling over ✅✅✅✅ i rlly hope ppl see this and start writing about their relationship in their realities/dr and ofc ask me anything if u want to! like anything about my dr or my s/o like seriously i am LOVE SICK and i love rambling abt my reality *the spirit of clarisse possessing me* yeah so guys, rant about your s/o or ill pulverise you 😠😠😠 AND THATS NOT A THREAT ITS A PROMISE (i swear ive heard her say that before 😭😭 ⬇⬇⬇⬇

(tagging some of my mutuals but you dont have to talk abt ur s/o if you dont want to 💗) @luvism333 @ravinaaa @freewinnie @al3shifts @kikissdiaryy @beadelmare @lanathedoll @rorysshiftingdiary @virtualsnupi @lexidayne

[joseopher]

I love how Callum is like "Tristan doesn't keep up emotional shields around me cause because I am soooo skilled with my powers that it'd be a waste of effort aha" like *grabs him by the throat* IT'S CAUSE HE TRUSTS YOU CALLUM *shakes him* STUPID STUPID BABY HE TRUSTS YOU

[bacchuschucklefuck]

I am honestly living for your worse manga au. Its actually so fucking cool :D i love the way you draw the action- and the idea of attacking (and being able to attack) a spirit is such a fun idea!

-Death Anon

thanks! doing this idly has been teaching me a Lot about choreographing fight scenes in a comic, which hopefully i won't have to do something serious with any time soon haha. and what it's turned out for this AU is a bunch of people who are really desperate to never be hurt again get locked in an arms race to find a way to hurt other people that won't come around and get them eventually, which does justify the magic i think, but also it does push for the magic to also be completely brutal and the visual behavior of spirits and souls to be the same as, if not worse, than the regular body. tldr all the shit marik pulls in canon (especially the scarab hourglass) owns hard and i want in and also for it to be worse and more direct. i'm glad this has wider appeal than to just me lol. cheers!

[gunpowdercarousel]

Narrator: Though the lips have withered and decayed away, you get the feeling it was originally making an expression known as 'poggers'.

[e-louise-bates]

I'm not saying I'll never write another series after I finish Whitney & Davies, but ...

I have learned over the last ten years that when I am done with a story, I am done with a story, and trying to keep part of it alive enough to continue into another story, and another, is not my style, no matter how much I might love the characters and the world.

Which is why, I think, I've struggled so much to stick to W&D over the years and have branched off so frequently into other projects in between books (much to the detriment of the series--it's not great when there are over ten years between Books 1 and 4 and you still have one more book in the series to go), and why I've never been able to make a sequel to From the Shadows work despite the many, many times I've tried, and why I abruptly decided the Pauline Gray series was done with three-novellas-turned-into-one-omnibus rather than an ongoing series as originally planned.

It's a valuable lesson to have learned about myself as a writer! Not helping me get through Book 4 of W&D, however. Especially not with the prospect of Book 5 looming on the horizon once this one is finished.

[explode-this]

.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[draco-doodles]

I love my mother to death, I really do but when I have to get up and leave my own living room because she won’t stop yelling and swearing at me because she is drunk it kinda makes me upset YKNOW

[snail-day]

Okay, Satoru. It’s just a thought. Just a tiny little passing thought that’s totally not turning his insides into goo. You should move in with me.

He thinks it once. Then again. Then another twelve times before lunch. Tossing and turning in bed, kicking the sheets off in frustration because the thought keeps trickling back.

He’s lying flat on his back in bed, hair a mess, blindfold askew, thumb mindlessly scrolling his phone while you hum in the kitchen. And it hits him again - soft and sudden - how nice this is. How perfect. How stupidly, heart-warmingly good it feels to have you here.

You’re wearing his shirt. His biggest one. It swallows you whole, slipping off one shoulder, sleeves dragging past your fingers. And you look so at home like that. Humming and barefoot and sleepy-eyed, stealing strawberries from his fridge like you belong here.

And maybe you do.

He makes a list in his notes app again. Title: Reasons you should move in Beneath it:

No more goodbyes

No more packing bags

No more waiting for a “made it home safe” text (even though he loves them. But he’d rather hear you say it in person. Whispered, sleepily, into his chest.)

No more having to wait when he has missions to come see you

No more nights without you

And then, after a pause:

I love you.

He stares at it too long. Taps the screen a few times. Doesn’t delete it.

Then, Shoko. Of course it’s Shoko. At the worst possible moment, over coffee, just sips and goes, “Most couples break up when they move in together, y’know.”

And now Satoru is spiraling. What if you hate his weird dish organization system? What if you think he takes up too much of the closet? What if you want to split rent even though he just wants to spoil you rotten and give you everything? What if you get tired of him? What if he says the wrong thing and ruins it?

He’s big. He’s loud. He forgets to put the cap back on the toothpaste sometimes. He talks too much when he’s nervous (which is always, around you). He’s him.

But then - you’re here again, on his couch, laptop propped on a pillow, mumbling at apartment listings with the cutest frown on your face.

“This one’s tiny.” “Why is there carpet in the bathroom?” “Three stars and one said ‘roach army.’ I can’t do roach armies.”

And something in his heart just snaps - in a soft, trembling, full-body kind of way.

He watches the way your nose scrunches. The way you tuck your feet under you. The way his hoodie dwarfs you completely. With the throw blanket you always leave thrown across your lap. You belong here. He wants you here. Desperately.

So he says it. Barely above a whisper. Practically choking on his own heartbeat.

“…You could just move in with me.”

And then he’s frozen. Stiff as a board. Sweat prickling at his neck. His pretty mouth parted like he wants to suck the words back in.

You blink up at him. And then that smile. Bright. Full of surprise and something sweeter, something soft and glowing and yes.

“Are you sure?”

His heart stutters. Then melts. Then does something violent and romantic in his ribcage.

God, you’re so pretty. Why are you so pretty? He swears the sun could retire, you’re smiling so bright.

“Yeah,” he says, voice a little hoarse. “I mean - only if you want to. I just thought... it’d be nice. Y’know. To have you here. All the time. With me.”

And then you’re in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, giggling into his hair, and he’s pretty sure his soul just left his body.

He clutches you, hands slightly trembling, grip lacking because he's scared this is some dream. Hides his face in your shoulder. Mumbles something pathetic like, “You’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh. “In a good way?”

He nods into the hoodie you stole. “The best way.”

He doesn’t let go for a long time. Anytime you move away, he brings you back. Hopefully so you don't see the mess he's become. He's the strongest. Yet you make him weak.

Later that night, you’re lying in his bed again - your bed now too, maybe - and you’re talking about what corner your books would go in and whether he has space for your desk, and he’s just watching you, glassy-eyed and stupid in love.

Your fingers graze his jaw, after tracing a few scars on his body, brush his snowy hair from his lashes. And he just… melts. Turns into a puddle right there.

“I can’t believe you said yes,” he whispers. Slow and full of disbelief.

You giggle, a soft gentle noise that somehow still makes his heart stop, brushing your nose against his. “I can’t believe it took you this long to ask.”

Satoru smiles, wide and sleepy and helpless. He’s flushed pink all the way to his ears. He wants to bottle this feeling. Keep it forever. Because for once, everything is quiet. Safe. Full of love. That this is what forever feels like. New list: The proposal.

[writingsbychlo]

THE BEST LOVE STORIES | THEODORE NOTT

SUMMARY: theo is in love and doesn’t want to have to hide it.

WORD COUNT: 1839

NOTES: the last of my valentines drabbles and this one is dedicated to my darling @prythiansprincess 🤍

Theo’s mouth was heated against yours, urgent and frantic kisses. They’d devolved, from soft to teasing, from teasing giggles to needy gasps, and now, Theo was pushing your thighs apart to settle his hips between your legs and and press himself against your core. You whimpered into his mouth, back arching, fingers raking down the shirt on his back to hook into the hem. 

His clothed hips rolled against yours, the zipper of his jeans pressing the perfect kind of friction over your panties, making you shudder underneath him. His rhythm held, the sound of your soft moans and echoing kisses bouncing off of the walls of the room, as you inched his t-shirt further up his body. When you twisted one hand around, tracing your fingers along the defined lines of his muscles and taut stomach, he bit down on your lower lip. 

It was explosive between you since that first kiss, because the feeling between you both was electric. Only pausing momentarily, panting for breath, you sat up together and your fingers tugged his shirt back over his head. Within moments, you were on your back amongst the pillows once again, his open mouth against your lips, panting onto your tongue, fingers twisting in the bed sheets by your head as his hips rocked into yours, and then—

“Why is this door locked?”

You both froze, Theo’s mouth leaving yours and you suppressed a whine as the movement of his hips stopped. Sitting back, he smoothed his hair out of his face; his cheeks were flushed, skin shining from the heat. Covering your eyes with your hands, you tried to suck in several deep breaths, past the swell of disappointment and emotion bubbling up. 

The door handle jiggled again, and Theo scowled at it. “Theo, mate, unlock the door. I have a girl out here.”

“Well, maybe I have a girl in here!” He bit back, and the muffled sounds of Mattheo laughing from the other side made your nerves spike. Theo didn’t look back as he stood, already knowing it was a losing battle, and scooping up his shirt from the floor. 

He was turning it the right way out when Mattheo spoke again, “No, you don’t. You told me you were watching movies alone all night.” He rattled the doorknob again, and you wanted to break Mattheo’s hand. “Go find somewhere else to do that, I need the room.” 

Theo’s jaw clenched as he tugged on his shirt, hand messing with his hair, a tick to display his agitation, before glancing over at you. You took the hint, standing up too, and wondering how exactly you were supposed to escape without being seen, with Mattheo standing right outside. 

Brushing down your clothes for wrinkles and taking a shaky breath, Theo’s eyes had stuttered out of the lustful heat they held a moment ago and now a cold, calculated sheen remained. He waited a moment, pleading with you to give Mattheo a reason to leave, but you couldn’t find the words to say before he ran out of patience.

“Alright, fine. Give me a second.” Theo shouted back, his stare searing right into your soul. 

“Right, well, hurry up.” Mattheo was growing impatient, and only a moment later, girlish giggles took over on the other side once again. Theo moved, shrugging on a jacket and grabbing for a book, something to do with his evening now he’d been kicked out of his dorm. Not once did he look back once he’d looked away, not even as he held out your coat to you, and pulled on his shoes.

You followed suit, the silence eating you alive, and guilt settled low in your stomach as tears lined your eyes. 

“Teddy…” You whispered, unable to bear the silence any longer, and he let out a rush of breath at the name. 

“Don’t, bella. I get it.”

“I’m sorry.” You stepped closer, hand sliding to his cheek as you kept your voice low. His throat bobbed as he finally looked at you. “I know it’s not great, but—”

“Not great? Amore, this is killing me. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep sneaking around with you, I know why we were a secret in the first place, but it’s been months. Don’t you think we should tell our friends, don’t you think we’re past maybe breaking up and ruining anything? Our friendship is already ruined, this isn’t just lust anymore, I’m in love with you!”

The words seemed to take him as much by surprise as they took you, because his jaw dropped and his cheeks went pink. After a couple more seconds of stunned silence, Theo looked away once again. A tear broke free on your face, and the feel of the water catching the cold air at last broke you into action. As that tear dripped away to the carpet, you caught his face. 

Holding his cheeks, you brushed your thumbs lightly in place, watching tears well in his eyes too. “You love me, Theo?”

He laughed, wetly, shrugging. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Your silence answered for you, and his arms circled your waist, a tender kiss pressed to your cheek as a second tear fell. 

“Oh, amore. I know you’re scared, I know that it terrifies you to commit and risk it going wrong, but you don’t factor in the way I feel. Stop running and look at me, understand how much I want you, and get it into your head that I’m not going anywhere. I wouldn't be able to lose you either, yeah?” You nodded, your nose brushing his own, and the world faded away for just a few moments when he smiled down at you. “Stop fighting against it and start fighting for it, fight with me, for our relationship.”

“Okay, Teddy.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. We’ll tell them. Tomorrow.” You swore, even if the idea of it made something nasty rear its head inside of you, something cold and scared and fearful. 

He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, cursing as the door received an impatient knock from the other side. “We don’t have to rush. I just needed to know hiding wasn’t forever. Whenever you’re ready, okay?”

That soothed the inner turmoil, in a way Theo always knew just how to do, just one of the many reasons you loved him too. Grabbing his wand, he tapped it affectionately against the top of your head, mumbling a notice me not charm, and reaching for you blindly when you felt the magic wash over your body. 

“Not perfect, but if you stick behind me and slip out fast, they shouldn’t catch on.”

You nodded, humming your agreement a moment later when you realised he couldn't pick out the action from the shimmering air and blur of a shape you made. Moving across the room, he’d barely flicked open the lock before the door was opening, bouncing wide off of the wall as Mattheo and his date stumbled in. While Theo was busy with his glaring roommate, you slipped out of the wide-open door, which slammed shut quickly afterwards with Theo on the other side. 

When you were sure nobody was watching, you took a few steps further down the hall, and he took the charm off of you. Together, you walked side by side in peaceful quiet on the way to the common room. 

“Did your roommate happen to mention how long she and her girlfriend would need the dorm for, or…?” Theo smiled at you bashfully, a cheeky glint in his eye, and you nudged him lightly. 

“I’m assuming all evening.” You muttered, shrugging, and Theo sighed. “I’ll come and sit with you while you read, though.”

“I’ll read to you.” He promised, throwing an arm over your shoulder in a friendly manner as the two of you entered the common room. Draped across one of the couches was Pansy, filing her nails with her usual scowl while Blaise sipped from a flask he passed back and forth with Regulus. 

Taking up residence on one of the armchairs, you’d barely had a chance to settle down when Pansy perked up, a wicked smile on her face. “Finally! Where have you been all evening?”

“Busy.” You retorted, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Please, if you had a date, you’d have told me. I bet you were in the library, studying.” She spat the word like it was poison, and you grinned. 

“You might try it sometime, I bet your grades would thank you.”

“My grades are fine as they are, thank you very much.” Her nose turned up at you, before she indulged you in her real motivation. “I think we still have enough time left. Wanna’ go to Hogsmeade and buy up all the marked-down Valentine’s chocolate left, and then binge on it later?”

Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help the smile that built on your face. “Sure, but you’ll have to lend me a coat, I can’t grab mine because my roommate is busy.”

Your friend snickered, and nodded. “Done.”

“Bring me a chocolate frog?” Blaise asked, including Theo in the pass of the bottle now, who smirked and took a deep swig to catch up. 

“Bring me a muffin.” Regulus added, “A red velvet one.”

“What is this, a shopping list?” Pansy muttered, but accio’d her coat and another for you, handing one to you as you stood.

“Anything for you, Teddy?” You asked, making your way over to where he sat, flicking open his book. He smiled up at you, shaking his head as you came to stand before him. 

“No. I’ll just eat half of whatever you end up buying, so buy extra.” He grinned, and you scoffed, knowing his methods by now, and already having intended to account for him.

“Alright, we’ll be back soon then.”

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you placed a hand on the back of the couch behind his head, and leaned down. Holding his jaw with the other, you tipped his face up, kissing him sweetly as you were sure all your friends were watching, staring in shock. 

When you pulled away, Theo blinked his eyes open, pretty pink lips still parted in shock himself, and he licked over his lower lip. “I love you, baby. See you soon.”

His eyes widened at that, lip wobbling as it became a smile, and he pressed forward to seal your affections with another kiss. When he let you go this time, you were sure your cheeks were visibly as warm as they felt, and Pansy was standing with her hands on her hips. As you joined her, she tutted at you, slapping your arm hard as she walked alongside you. 

“Now what the hell was that about? You’re into Theodore, and you didn’t even tell me?”

“It’s more than just being into him, Pans.” Glancing back over your shoulder, Theo was happy, head tipped back with laughter as Blaise and Regulus likely gave him a similar interrogation. “I love him.”

“Gross.”

[not-souleaterpost]

*ENTP Crona bringing flowers to paralyzed Maka after the whole Arachne web situation*

"Look Maka flowers!.. But it's strange why we bring flowers to the death? I wonder, maybe it is because it is a symbol of resurection, with plants withering away and flourishing again as seasons change- but weird that seasons and sessioming sound that simmilar to each other - I wonder if there is a connection or if jts a coincidence, like maybe as the chaning times give flavor to our lifes, so do the spices, brought by ships from diistant lands, Sea-soning - in a way or seeing the son - the sun going down as the ships pass the horizon... Kinda sad when one realises that without living at a shipyard one could die without ever realising that the earth must be round for that to be the case, for ships to disapear as empathy does when flat-earthers show their justified ignorance, only to be met with an ignorance of another kind - how can the world heal, how can there be order, if we can't even forgive those who lack education? But I guess life is the best teacher, with death being the graduation - so one better have a ship that can sail the seas to it, thats why we spend our lives building caskets and chosing decorations with which to make it more pleasing, giving it that taste, the buttersweetnes of this seasoning of this season, to the eye, as I did by bringing them and laying them here, I hope you like them, I find them nice...

*Maka thinking* "I wish the web made me deaf too..."