#hello sorry this is so late!!

[tothebestofmyabilities]

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter four

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warning/s: coarse language; mentions of: grief, death, drowning; not proofread

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

word count: 13.1k

[1]

‘Can you meet me at the playground?’ was Guille’s message the night after your graduation, casting a blue streak over a relatively warm summer night. The short hand of the clock hovered over eleven when you got it, and you had half a mind to ignore it–because how dared he do this now?–but you sent him a reply before heading out of the door.

The playground was less than ten minutes away but you took the corner; the one that led around the block. He could wait, you thought. After all, you’d been giving him just that: the luxury of time. But he never did anything with it did he, so why would you rush? And what could he possibly want now after months of ignoring you? Was this a final goodbye? After everything you’d been through together, was this really how it’s going to end? 

You sniffled and ran the back of your hand over your eyes as you walked the last few yards to the park.

Tap tap tap.

The distinct sound of football-to-shoe brought you back. Ahead under the yellow glow of the lone streetlamp that lit the playground, with his back turned to you, was Guille juggling a football. A breeze brushed your cheek and it carried the familiar sweetness of Guille’s body spray. You remembered when he started using it—it was around the time you’d complained to him about how you found the scent of guy’s deodorants repugnant, and that you could only stand the new scent that he bought. And after that, it was all he’d ever used. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was around the time he started liking you, and the thought made you recoil. 

The ball reached another high, this time going over Guille’s head, making him turn, but it never connected to a touch. Instead, it landed on the ground. Its momentum carried it to a stop just a few paces away from you but you made no move to kick it back. You dragged your eyes away from the ball and found his finally.

For a moment, it was as if the world stood still. You soaked in the state of him: there was a heaviness that swelled in the skin beneath his eyes which were devoid of their usual light; his arms sagged heavily by his sides, contorting the contours of his silhouette to a shape that displaced the confidence you’d seen him wear so easily growing up. Even in the low light, the jagged cut that interrupted the line of his left brow remained prominent, but it was gone from view when dark curls fell to cover it after Guille ran his fingers through his hair.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, yet his voice still broke over his words. 

“Hey. Uh–thank you for coming,” he smiled a little. “Can we talk?”

You eyed him carefully, letting a moment of silence settle in the air as you crossed your arms. Only after you noted a slight movement in Guille’s throat did you skim the sole of your foot over the ball, sending it his way. When you met his eyes again, something akin to relief shone in them––or maybe it was gratitude?––before he kicked the ball towards you again. That went on for a while; back and forth the ball went during which no one said a word. From the way Guille kept clenching and unclenching his hands, you doubted he knew what he even wanted to say, least of all how to say it.

Still, you waited. 

Another moment, he stopped the ball, wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt before stuffing them in his short pockets, his posture awkward and stiff. He opened his mouth and in the breath before he spoke his first word, your heart dropped to your stomach and you braced yourself.

This was it.

“I–I want to apologize!”

You blinked. That… was unexpected.

“I know it’s probably too late, but I don’t think I can live without saying it, you know?” He shrugged as he smiled, but it was too crooked, and his eyes shone. 

“I’m really sorry. For what I did, and what I said. Those hurt you… I hurt you.”

He released a shaky breath, bit his lower lip as he swiped a thumb at the corner of his eye.

“I’m not expecting to be forgiven and I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I just–I’m sorry. And I want you to know that I had the best time with you.” 

His lips curled up to a smile but the quiver of his chin broke the curve and his tears spilled. 

He looked so young then, so much like a lost little boy who looked nothing like the boy you met when you were eight: newly-transferred Guille who became the smallest out of all the boys in your class yet, with his quiet confidence, he towered over them with his head held high. You remembered him as he was then when he first introduced himself to you, his cheeks rosy from playing too much under the sun and just a little out of breath when he asked you to be in his team during recess. He did it too without any snide remarks, something you’d gotten used to from playing with the other boys in class. He never brought your being a girl up even when your team lost, and it was the first time you were treated as an equal on the field at school. 

And he just stuck with you, and you with him; all the shared lunches, the laughter, the late night banters… there was no way you could let this friendship go. 

This was so stupid. 

“This is stupid,” you choked as you hastily wiped a tear away but it was quickly followed by another. “Come here, you idiot!” 

You surged forward and wrapped your arms around him, the force of it nearly knocking the both of you over. It took him a second but when the weight of his arms settled on you––when his comforting warmth finally seeped in––you were hit by just how much you’d missed him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” were the strained words spoken against your ear as he hugged you tighter. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled on his shoulder. “It’s going to take some time but we’ll be alright, I forgive you. And I want us to remain friends, under two conditions if you’re up for it.” 

He pulled away slightly to wipe his cheeks, and gave you a small smile. He was a bit breathless when he said, “Anything.” 

There was a light lilt in his tone and you understood he meant it, so you nodded, returning his smile. He followed you when you went to sit on one of the benches, situating himself so there was enough space between you for one person.

Looking him in the eye, you started, “I know it’s a lot to ask but if you have any plans to wait for me, I want you to forget about it. I love you and I care for you, but I need you to understand that a brother and a friend is all I will find in you.” 

His eyes strayed downwards and they clouded over. He closed them with a sigh and when they opened, he looked at you and you found a lightness in them that comforted you; his face bore a friendly warmth that you haven’t seen in a while.

“I understand, and you don’t have to apologise.” 

He scooted closer so he could bump his knee against yours, now grinning. His playfulness made you smile.

“And one more thing,” you added after a moment, and he nodded for you to continue. “You… you have to make amends with Alexia.” 

The grin fled from his face and you didn’t miss the way he flinched. His knuckles whitened and tension brewed in his muscles. And when his eyes darkened, you couldn’t help but frown at the change in his demeanor. You reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Guille––”

Then, like a spring, all the air of rigidness left him. He threw his head back and released a laugh that caught you off guard. When he regarded you again, the curve of his lips remained.

Then he said in a tone filled with mirth, “You know, if she hadn’t knocked some sense into me that night, I’d probably still be wallowing in self-pity like an entitled prick.”

At the reminder, your eyes wandered to the scar on his left brow but they lingered only for a second.

“And yes, done. She hates my guts,” you opened your mouth to protest otherwise but when Guille gave you a pointed look, you closed it immediately, “but I will patch things up with her. Besides, I need to thank her for straightening me out.”

You gaped at him.

“It’s that easy?”

He shrugged, still smiling.

“I mean, yeah? It’s either those or losing you, and I know I value you more than I do my pride and ego.”

There it was again, his quiet confidence. It diminished though when he brushed a finger over the bridge of his nose, eyes darting down to his feet briefly before meeting yours again. And when he spoke, there was more than a little uncertainty that bled into his tone, and maybe a little bit of hope. 

“Besides, we’re friends. Right?”

You scrunched your nose at him in answer as you grinned.

“Damn right,” you confirmed. Then you punched his shoulder for good measure. His jaw dropped open in an offended gasp. He sat there wide-eyed for a moment before he locked an arm around your neck, his free hand mussing up your hair in an instant, and you could only shriek and chortle at the action. 

In that moment, you felt as if a weight had finally been lifted off your shoulders. And there was no better way to truly feel the lightness of being than having somebody to laugh with. Then a comfortable pause washed over you both as you caught your breaths. In the silence that settled, you leaned back on your hands and kicked your feet up idly in the air. 

It was Guille who spoke first. 

“You don’t have to answer, but do you like someone?”

Your feet stilled. And then, without bidding, a series of images flashed through your mind of brown hair, freckles, hazel… Warmth coiled and gathered in your chest as if the ghost of a hand hovered over it. 

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

A distinct pop went off somewhere in your neck from the speed by which you gaped at him. Guille’s eyes remained trained ahead and his face was relaxed, void of any judgement… Surely, he didn’t say what you thought he said, right? 

You swallowed, throat dry, and choked, “What did you say?”

“Alexia.” He turned to you then, and smiled; small but not unkindly. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Blood thundered in your ears, and your heartbeat tripled. 

“No! I–That’s ridic–”

Warmth over your hand; Guille had taken yours into his, and the ice in your skin thawed instantly. Only when Guille tightened his grip to still your hand did you know just how badly you were shaking. 

“Hey, look at me. It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” his voice was soothing and he squeezed your hand for good measure. “I think, deep down, I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why I treated everything as a competition because I felt threatened by her. And I never understood why you always gravitated towards her like she’s your own Earth. But now I know. If… If I ever made it difficult to come to terms with your feelings for her, I’m sorry.” 

His words and their sincerity brought a calm with them, stopping the surge of panic in your veins. And, like a tide, it receded. Finally finding your voice again, you spoke. 

“You–you’re not angry?”

His brows rose.

“Why would I be?”

Then he gave you another smile. You understood it was meant to reassure you but you couldn’t help but notice that the corners of his lips were somewhat weighed down with sadness. Still, judgement made no home in his eyes. 

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. And if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

A brief pause as his eyes wandered. 

“I–Maybe not for a while. It’s not that I want to, but I think some distance will do me some good. I want to respect your boundaries, and for me to do that, I need to get my feelings sorted out. I’m… I’ve made up my mind anyway. I’m leaving the city.” 

“What?” You choked. “When? Where are you going?”

Then a spark of anger went off. You jabbed at his shoulder. Guille yelped suddenly, his eyes became wide with surprise. 

“You jerk! Is that the reason why you’re finally saying sorry?!” 

“I–No, of course not! I mean, yeah, but no!” He gestured in the air. “What I’m trying to say is… I’m here because I want to make amends, not because I feel like I had to. Besides, I won’t be leaving for another two months.” 

Oh.

“Oh.” Your cheeks felt warm. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He repeated with a sarcastic note but a playful spark lit up his eyes. 

You apologised sheepishly. Then, “Where are you headed? And what are you going to do?”

Guille shrugged, leaning back against his arms as he looked up at the night sky.

“I don’t know yet. I was thinking of travelling for a bit, maybe go around Europe first? Do you remember how Aunt Aloma lives in London? Yeah, she told me I could stay with her if I ever planned to go there for university.”

When he mentioned London, a lead sank into your gut. Logically, you knew it wasn’t too far away; the three-hour long flight would be a small price to pay to see Guille again. The fact that he wouldn’t be an arm’s reach away like he was right then—that childhood was departing—made your chest ache. You didn’t know you’d teared up until you felt Guille’s hand on your shoulder and the consequent squeeze there. 

“Don’t cry on me now, I haven’t even left yet.” He said lightly but his eyes were glazed over, too. “Hey, don’t worry, it won’t be for good. Before you know it, I’ll be back here to annoy you. And you know, maybe once I’ve settled in London you could even visit.”

You took his hand and squeezed it back, saying, “Just say the word and I’ll be there. 

[2]

“He’s studying what now?” 

“Sports Psychology. Pay attention.” You swatted at Alexia’s hand but she ignored you. She continued to pinch some more grass from beside where she was laying and let them get carried by the breeze as she threw them into the air. The blades of grass flew freely but some of them landed on her chest and stomach where a bunch of them had begun to pile up. Still, she continued her endeavor. She looked ridiculous but warmth filled you nonetheless, and you smiled as you leaned over to pick them off her jersey. 

Alexia hummed with a note of surprise, “He works fast. He’s only been away for four months?”

“Well, we are talking about Guille here.” 

“Hmm, I always thought Lover Boy would end up in physio–Hey!” 

Alexia yelped when you jerked your thigh that her head was resting on.

“Stop calling him that,” you reprimanded with a light flick to her forehead. At the reminder though, your cheeks warmed. 

She rubbed her forehead as she narrowed her eyes at you, then with a huff and a pout, “Fine, fine! No need to get defensive. Why is it such a big deal anyway?”

“Because, Alexia, we’re all trying to move on.”

“You make it sound like the two of you broke up or something.” She snickered before adding, “Which begs the question, why didn’t you ever go out with him? Minus the fact that he gave you a concussion, of course.” 

Her tone changed at the end, an inflection of something bitter—a bit of her protectiveness showing through—that you chose to ignore. Yet you found yourself unable to answer her anyway. 

You recalled the conversation you had with Guille that night, the way he figured out who held your heart so easily. Ever since, a question gnawed at the edge of your mind, the same one that whispered to you now: were your feelings so transparent? So obvious? 

A brush against your jaw pulled you back and, upon looking down, you were met with the question still in Alexia’s eyes. You shrugged, pulling away from her touch as nonchalantly as you could. 

“Guille is a friend and only that.”

“But you were so close,” she commented.

“Proximity doesn’t always mean intimacy, Alexia.” You were grasping for straws, you knew this. Your eyes wandered before you admitted with another shrug, “Besides, I can’t really see myself in a relationship. Not right now, anyway.”

“Oh.” The sound Alexia made was gentle, barely audible, that you thought it was the wind’s whisper. And then in a tone so soft, “Really? You don’t like anyone? Anyone at all?”

There was something in the way she asked that beckoned you to look back down at her. The scattered rays of the sun dappled her freckled cheeks with flushed amber, and her eyes that were normally a deep shade of ochre shone golden in the light. There was a softness in them that made your heart stutter, and another thing you couldn’t quite figure out, almost a plea, but about what?

You dragged your eyes away from her lips to meet her eyes.

“No, I don’t think it’s for me,” you murmured.

She stared at you for a long time. It felt like being swallowed into their depths and you could do nothing but be swept away, keep the contact somehow, lest she’d find something she shouldn’t see. So you stared right back. 

Eventually, she whispered, “Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet.”

The lump in your throat remained even after you swallowed. Finally looking away, you hummed out in half-agreement.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

A pause.

“Do you miss him?” 

“I do. I really do.” You admitted with a sigh. 

After another moment of silence, Alexia continued.

“Would… would you join a club in England?” 

Your gaze flicked back down to her, frowning a little.

“It’s either Barça or Bayern for me, Alexia. You know this.” 

At that, Alexia averted her eyes, picked a fallen leaf, twirled it between her fingers, and then looked at it as if it held the mysteries of the world. 

Carding a finger through her hair, you prompted softly, “Why would you ask that?” 

She shrugged, quirking the corner of her lips downwards. Then she met your eyes with barely concealed vulnerability, voice hesitant when she asked, “So, you’re staying?”

“I am,” you said firmly, smiling at her. “Besides, we’re in this together, aren’t we? Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” 

Finally, her lips broke into a grin.

“I can’t wait to play with you when we get on the first team.” She said with such certainty you couldn’t help but grin back.

“Do you really think we’ll make it?”

“Yeah. We will, you’ll see.”

And you did.

There reflected in her eyes the vision of a future. That familiar splendor of passion—that unwavering resolve—shone untarnished, and the mere sight of it filled you with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Instead, you leaned down and pressed your forehead to hers.

Alexia accepted the contact with a sigh, and then she whispered, “Sorry to say, but you’re stuck with me, too.”

[3]

You got into Barça’s first team—the both of you did. 

There was a moment where you thought it was too good to be true, and that surely the other shoe would drop any time soon. 

And it did.

Maybe deep down, you hoped otherwise; that the universe would prove you wrong. But the universe had a wicked sense of humor, and you would’ve laughed at the cruelty of the joke if anguish had not choked your laughter tight into tears. The taste of achievement was still fresh on your tongue, still on your way to relishing it, before that same sweetness quickly soured to bitter disappointment. 

Not a year after joining Barça’s first team ranks, the news reached you. Our funds were not enough, they said, and they were sorry they had to cut the women’s team. There was no other way, the club didn’t have enough money to keep the team in the league.

The fact that you got a taste of your dream only to have the rug pulled beneath you was maddening, and it made the pain from the fall all the more worse. The news hit you hard, but Alexia took it the worst.

There was a thin line between perseverance and obsession, and some would even go so far to say that the two were opposite sides to the same coin. You know this. And you also know that Alexia had tossed that coin so many times now that she’d probably forgotten what each of those faces meant, progressively confounding one for the other until they were now one and the same.

Looking back now, the signs were all there: you were blinded by your own loss and your admiration for Alexia that you failed to see it or what it really was—a festering obsession. The signs were there in your time with Espanyol, especially during the first few months after the news of Barça’s restructuring broke; they were present in the way Alexia behaved compulsively, always seething with barely concealed hunger, her tenacity both on and off the field magnified to the tens. It waned somewhat during the season but now with the both of you facing another move—to Levante this time—her obsession resurfaced with renewed vigor, corrupting each knot of her muscle to constrict to their breaking point.

“Ale, do you want to come over to mine?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe of Alexia’s bedroom, while Alexia remained hunched over a folder filled with formations, the same one she’d been studying since last match day.

“Why?” She threw over her shoulder, not even turning to look at you.

You picked at your thumb. 

“I don’t know. Just come and sleep over? Mamá and Papá have been asking about you, you know?”

Finally she turned and her eyes found you. They were flat and the skin under them looked darker than they were yesterday. A slight crease was present between her brows, and her lips drooped slightly at the corners, seemingly unimpressed.

“I just saw them yesterday.” 

Okay, maybe that was a lie.

You shrugged it off, “Doesn’t matter. Come visit anyway.”

“I have other things to worry about,” Alexia grumbled with annoyance, turning around to assume her previous position.

“That’s not going to run away from you, Alexia. Come on.”

 Without letting her get another word in, you took her wrist in a gentle grip and tugged her away from her table. Although you had to admit, it was difficult not to remain unfazed when Alexia got like this, especially considering what she’s going through. Another part of your brain was saying the opposite; that it was because of what she’s going through that you had to intervene like this.

“Hey, wait! What are you doing?!” Alexia protested halfway down the stairs.

“Dragging you to my place, of course.”

“What about my things?”

“You have clothes there. Or, you can just wear my stuff.”

“But we have training!”

“It’s only a light session tomorrow.” 

“But—”

“Alexia.” 

You fixed a stern eye at her over your shoulder and she opened her mouth, as if to say something, before she shut it, sighing in defeat.

The both of you just made it down the stairs to see the front door swing open. Eli entered first, Alba trailing in after. At the sight of her family, Alexia strode to where they were to greet them; she kissed Eli on her temple, and Alba on top of her head.

“How’s Papá?”

Eli gave her daughter a small smile, but the skin around her eyes remained taut, weighed down by something inexplicably heavy. 

“He’s stable, love. The same as when you saw him this morning.” Eli’s gaze flicked to you. “Are you girls heading out?”

You nodded.

“I’ll be stealing away Alexia for the night. Is that okay?”

Eli smiled at you, “Of course.”

“We made some food for dinner. They’re on the stove top.”

“Oh, thank you, my girls.” Eli said, hugging you goodbye after you’d put on your shoes. Then she whispered in your ear, “Thank you.”

In response, you only hugged her tighter. Without meaning to, your eyes fleeted over to Alexia who was having a hushed conversation with Alba. By the end of it, Alexia embraced her little sister, placing another kiss atop her head only this time, Alexia’s brows were deeply creased. 

When you pulled away, you said, squeezing Eli’s hands. “Get some rest, Má. I’ll bring her back first thing after practice tomorrow.” 

And with that, you and Alexia headed out. 

The transit to your place was punctuated with a vacuous silence. Alexia sat beside you, less than an arm’s reach away, but her eyes were trained at somewhere far on the horizon; and she, even farther. But you let her be, there was plenty of time to talk later after all. 

By the time you got home, the lights were already off save for the small night light in the hallway so the both of you climbed the stairs on your toes, making sure to avoid that one creaky spot by the corner.

“You can clean up here, I’ll use the other shower. “ You said, jutting your chin to the direction of the shower. 

Alexia only nodded.

When you returned to your room, the bathroom was empty, a fresh glass of water stood by your night stand, and Alexia was nowhere to be seen. You were just about to head downstairs when she padded into your room with a towel draped over her head and a damp spot from her hair on a shirt you recognised to be yours. 

She must’ve seen the question in your eyes because she muttered, “Double-checked the door lock.”

You hummed as she walked past you, back into the bathroom, and you heard the tap run. 

“Thanks for the water,” you said while taking a sip from the glass she put there.

A sound of recognition came from Alexia.

When Alexia finally finished her business in the bathroom, hair slightly ruffled and almost dry, you were already settled in bed, the sheets on her side pulled off in silent invitation. But Alexia remained standing there, by the golden cast of your night lamp, looking a bit lost for reasons you understood.

Softly, you coaxed, “Hey.”

Alexia’s eyes flicked to you and your heart ached at the sight of them so dulled and weary. It took her another moment but she finally slid in next to you, the warmth of her finally arriving home and seeping into your bones. When her feet brushed over your legs as she shifted beside you, you joked with a hushed giggle to lighten the mood, “Get your cold feet away from me.” 

It worked because her lips quirked up slightly, eyes rolling in jest, but not a second later, her eyes dimmed again, and she looked away. You propped yourself up on your elbow to see her clearly but she refused to meet your eyes. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, you whispered, the words cracking under the weight of your emotion.

“Ale, talk to me.”

Silence.

A breath.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” came the hoarse reply.

Breathing deeply, you buried your fingers in her hair to try and soothe her. And again, you spoke in whispers. 

“You know, it’s okay to grieve about it, to be angry about it. You don’t have to be strong all the time, Alexia.”

Her eyes flashed with something red then and she growled.

“And what will grieving get me? The way through is forward and only forward. Do you think the world will stop to give you enough time to grieve? To be angry?”

She continued, each word exhaled with urgency. 

“No. The moment you stop, you will be left behind. And I can’t stop. Not now. Especially not now.”

“Having a moment for yourself isn’t stopping. You can’t expect yourself to go on like this forever. Sometimes, you have to do what’s good for yourself, Alexia.”

A scoff.

“It doesn’t matter what’s good for me. What I need is to get back to Barça. Then, and only then, will I feel at ease.”

“At the expense of what, then? Killing your passion for the sport by making it your duty?”

Alexia startled you when she ripped herself away from you, sitting up so abruptly that the headboard banged against the wall. And when she glared down at you, you found a look in her eyes similar to that of a desperate animal’s; a look where the distinction between fear and anger blurred into something wild. 

Then, through her teeth, she hissed in a low voice.

“It is my duty! It always has been. Don’t you see? It has always been more than a sport to me. It’s not the same for you and I don’t expect you to understand because you—”

She stopped herself, facing forward in an instant, pinching the bridge of her nose as she setted her arms over her folded knees. 

Slowly, you rose, and only the sound of sheets settling around your waist filled the air. This momentary reprieve was mainly for Alexia’s sake—she was overwhelmed, that was clear to see—but maybe you needed a moment yourself because what she said hurt you. Still, you soldiered on because this was for Alexia. 

She tensed upon your touch, her muscles rippled beneath your palm as you dragged it from the small of her back, tracing the contours of her spine to the nape of her neck, but by the time your hand finally settled on her opposite shoulder, some of the tension had melted away.

“No, you’re right, I don’t understand,” you began, voice strained. “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant in destroying yourself. This—this shutting your family out with what’s happening with you. Your mother is worried sick. She’s asking about how you are, Alexia, do you know that? Your own mother!” 

Alexia released a weary sigh and then said in an even wearier tone.

“She has no need to worry.”

You almost scoffed at that, but stopped yourself although you couldn’t help the severity that bled into your next words.

“How could she not when you’re working yourself to the bone? Tell me, how do you expect us not to worry?” 

Silence. Then the murmur of folding fabric when Alexia curled into herself, head buried in the arms folded over her knees. In that cavern of her own making, a ragged breath echoed, followed by the shuddering of muscles. You ached at the state of her, and there was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow. 

And barely above a whisper, you breathed, “You cannot carry the whole weight of the world by yourself. You’re not Atlas, Alexia. Let your family in.”

“Ale,” you tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Red eyes peered from the darkness of her arms and it broke you, but you had to plead, “Talk to me. Please…”

“I–I’m scared,” she choked out finally. “He’s getting worse. It’s the second attack this month and I—”

Her fingers dug into her arms when she tightened her grip.

“I thought winning the Copa de la Reina last year would give us enough exposure but it wasn’t enough. So, I wanted to do it again this season to prove that we belong in Barça but instead, we lost to them.” A ragged breath. “And now we’re going to Levante. I just–”

She looked up at you, lips quivering with a whimper, “I just want us to go home.”

“Oh, Alexia.” 

Without saying another word, you put your arms around her, forehead pressed close against her ear and the hitch in her breathing resounded loud and clear.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it, how far we seem from getting back?” Alexia’s back tensed in answer but you only hugged tighter. “But that’s not true at all.”

You felt Alexia lift her head and you moved away just enough to see how she eyed you with confusion. You gave her a small smile as you grazed your knuckles over her tear-stained cheek.

“On top of your club activities, your national performance has been nothing short of exemplary. Those matter. And with all the articles they’ve been writing about you, it’s only a matter of time now.” Brightening your tone a little, you added with a playful smile, “you probably won’t finish your season with Levante before Barça gets their hands on you.”

A corner of her lips lifted up upon your remark so you pushed on.

“I know it’s not the same as being in Barça, but what you’ve achieved so far has got to count for something, Alexia. Your father… he’s so, so proud of you.” Your tone shifted, now firm. “And I doubt he’d be happy to know that his daughter is pushing her body past the point of injury to get into Barça. You know your mother and sister have been covering your ass, right? Uh-huh, yeah, I thought so.”

“You need to let yourself breathe,” you kissed her temple, then her shoulder. When your eyes met again, you found a soft look in hers that reminded you of when you were younger. Smoothing her hair again, you asked, “Can you do that, Alexia? Not for us, but for yourself?”

Alexia regarded you for a long, silent moment. Then she closed her eyes, opened them a breath later, and nodded, her lips curling up to a sincere smile. In response, you couldn’t help but grin back at her.

Sensing that her mood had elevated, you placed one last kiss on her temple before you reached over her, towards the lamp to turn it off, leaving your room illuminated by the blue glow of the moon. Alexia needed no guidance to rest her head against your chest and immediately, you wrapped your arms around her. She sighed deep in the crook of your neck and you were filled with a sense of belonging—of wholeness.

Your eyes fluttered shut to the rhythm of  Alexia’s heartbeat pressed against your side.

“I’m sorry”, came the whisper.

“What for?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did, about you not understanding. That was wrong, and I know all of this means everything to you like the way it means everything to me.”

“I appreciate that, Alexia. Don’t worry about it.” 

“And I’m sorry for—”

“Ale,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss on her crown, “you don’t have to apologise for anything.”

A pause before a deep exhale heated up your neck.

“Thank you, then.”

You hummed, already halfway to dreaming. And with one last reassuring squeeze at her hip, you found yourself murmuring, “I got you. Good night, Ale.”

“Good night,” Alexia said with a kiss to your neck and you slept with a smile on your lips.

[4]

“Alexia! Can you please—Shit!” 

It was too late. 

The box on top of the one you were carrying slid and fell, and all you could do was cringe as it spilled all of your toiletries by the front door. 

“Oops, sorry.”

You turned to Alexia with a glare of slight annoyance, but when you saw her sheepish expression, with the corners of her mouth pulled down and an eye twisted to a flinch, you let it go. With a roll of your eyes and a slight shake of your head, you signaled for her to proceed ahead as you held the door open with your weight. Once inside, she settled her boxes down on the tiled floor, letting out a small grunt as she did so, before she took yours. 

You’d just finished picking up the toiletries when Alexia asked, “That’s the last of it, yes?”

Turning to face her, you saw her wipe the sweat off her temples before settling her hands on her hips. She scanned the would-be living room occupied by some stacks of boxes. Apart from the couch and mattresses, almost everything else needed to be unpacked and organised.

You placed the toiletries on the nearest counter and made a beeline for the couch. On your way, you patted her back and replied. 

“Yep. Just let me take five, and then we can open ‘em up.”

You face-planted on the couch with a groan, which then turned to a sigh not a second later. Those boxes took more from you than you’d anticipated, making the stiffness of the couch feel as soft as clouds to your bones. 

The strain from your eyes began to dissipate the moment your eyes fluttered shut, and you could feel the peace that awaited you in that velvet darkness when you were ripped back to wakefulness the moment a warm, crushing weight pressed onto your spine. 

Alexia had taken it upon herself to drape herself over you like you were the couch itself. 

“What—Alexia!” You yelped, “Get off me!” 

But of course, she did the exact opposite.

“Why? I was just getting comfortable,” Alexia deadpanned. 

She shifted on your back and she at least had the decency to prevent her elbows from digging into your back as she did. The next thing you knew, her front followed the curve of your back, blanketing you in her warmth, while her arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

Your heart thundered in your chest and you tried not to think too hard about it so you snorted out, “I hope you’re comfortable.”

“Since you asked, yes. I very much am, thank you.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

“I carried those boxes for you.” 

“You didn’t have to if you didn’t make me drop the toiletries.”

“I told you to tape up the box, but you didn’t listen to me, so whose fault is it exactly?”

You rolled your eyes. She was right, but you weren’t about to tell her that. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly right, yes.”

See? You didn’t have to tell her. 

You scoffed, “Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because you love me,” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone that made your heart jump. “Now shush. Let’s nap for a bit and then unpack.”

Alexia yawned, snuggling closer into you. If she heard the way your heart pounded, she didn’t comment on it. As you drifted into a warm slumber, there was weight that pressed against your chest—a realization of some sort—but about what, you didn’t know. 

Only after you woke to find Alexia had unpacked the boxes containing essential items and ordered a bag-full of takeaways; only after the both of you finished dining on paper plates, crossed-legged on the tiled, living room floor, laughing with your mouths full when Alexia made a mess of her food because of her inability to use chopsticks; only after Alexia found her Polaroid camera and took photos of the two of you, her arm slung casually over your shoulder, her lips pressed against your cheek. Then, and only then, did you recognise what that weight was for what it was. 

You knew then: you were utterly and irrevocably gone.

You were in love.

And you could only pray that the heat from your cheeks wouldn’t sell you out. 

[5]

With all the changes that came with moving shelters and clubs, there was no time to think about home. Between getting used to your new club schedules, being acquainted with your new coaches and teammates, and familiarising yourself with the local area, your mind had no energy left to ruminate by the end of the day. And the difference between staying over at Alexia’s—or vice versa—for a few nights and living under the same roof together for the foreseeable future became increasingly obvious as you settled in your apartment in Buñol. 

It was all new but the both of you managed and even somehow established a sort of routine. While you did most of the cooking and half of the cleaning, Alexia did the groceries and, thanks to her natural affinity for the sun—her words, not yours—she insisted on doing the laundry. You teased her about it but more often than not, her weather predictions proved accurate to the forecast, saving the both of you the trouble of dealing with damp clothes. 

But as routine fell into place, so did the yearning for home.

The thing about missing home was that it brought on a different kind of longing. It was the kind that burrowed deep, the kind that dug a gaping hole in your chest and left you at a loss for how to fill it. It provoked the desire to turn back the hands of time, live in a memory, and step back into a moment already gone by. 

Yes, there was a sense of freedom that came with living apart from your family, and sure the distance between Buñol and Mollet was only a three-hour drive or a five-hour train ride away. All of those things are true, but you’d be lying if you said being away from home didn’t feel heavy. 

No more was the comforting presence of your parents at hand nor the jovial company of Alexia’s family nearby; it was just you and Alexia.

And the world never felt bigger than it was now. 

You were lucky, though, to have Alexia with you. She was a piece of home that you took with you, and just having her by your side helped ease the ache somehow. But you have to admit, living with her brought on a different kind of pain. 

Ever since you realized just how deep your feelings for her ran, being around her had only gotten more difficult. Everything and everywhere reminded you of her, and everything she did would send a jolt to your heart that left you breathless. Something as simple as her running her fingers through her hair, or a small smile; a brush against your cheek, a hand against the small of your back—you were sure you were this close to going mad.

The intensity and frequency of these… stutters had only seemed to increase by the day, and frankly, it was beginning to scare you. That, and the questions that had been nagging you lately.

What would Alexia do if she found out that you liked her way more than a friend should? That you liked women? Could Alexia like women? She probably didn’t. She would hate you for this, wouldn’t she? What about your parents? How would you even go about telling them? Would they still love you? What if—

The sound of the key being slotted into the lock, followed by the opening and closing of the door cut your thoughts short. And then came a soft sound, barely audible.

“Alexia?” 

You called out but there was no response so you padded over to the living room. Just before the end of the corridor a small movement caught your eye. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips even if you tried.

“What—”

The kitten mewled softly again, rubbing itself against the beige tone of the walls as it took you in with those large, yellow eyes. Its coat looked bright and pristine, nearly as white as the petals of the tree heath flowers that bloomed at home in spring. The same flowers that filled the garden of your home with their sweetness. 

“Hey, there. How did you get in here?” You cooed, crouching slowly, before you reached out your hand towards the kitten. It took a cautious step back but you waited patiently, keeping your hand where it was. A moment later, it seemed to have found the courage, stepping forward tentatively to sniff at your finger, before it licked your knuckle. Then it ducked down, nuzzling its head against your palm, its eyes closing from the contact. 

Warmth flooded your chest and you whispered, “Oh, you’re so adorable!”

“She’s yours.”

Your eyes flicked up to find Alexia leaning her weight against the wall, her arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side; her eyes lidded with something you couldn’t quite recognise but you felt their warmth. The soft smile on her lips made her face look radiant and beneath her gaze, you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your cheeks.

As an excuse to hide your face, you dipped down your chin to pick the kitten who only yawned in response. 

“Mine?” You asked as you stood up and walked over to where Alexia was, stopping just an arm’s length away.

Alexia only hummed in agreement, her smile still as soft as ever.

At that, you reached and draped your free arm around her neck, whispering against her ear, “Thank you.”

She moved, finally, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“You’re welcome.” Her words, murmured though as they were, curled through the smile you knew she still wore and made their home in your heart. 

“What are you going to name her?” Alexia asked.

“Nona.”

“Nona?”

You hummed in confirmation. You pulled away just enough to make space to look at Nona, and you tried hard not to focus too much on how Alexia had settled her hands on your hips. 

“Mamá, Papá, me” you began, putting up a digit on your free hand as you listed each one, “You, Alba, Eli, Jaume, Guille…”

“And Nona,” Alexia finished for you, smiling down at Nona. Alexia met your eyes again.

“Your family of nine?”

“Mine,” you nodded, “And yours, too.” 

Alexia beamed down at you but then she scrunched her nose. 

“Does Guille need to be there?”

“Alexia!” 

[6]

It was raining when Alexia told you.

On a damp Monday night, a few months following your move to Levante—after the both of you found an apartment in Buñol, and after that fateful day of realisation—she said something that changed everything. 

Throughout the day, you couldn’t help but notice how strange Alexia was behaving. She’d twisted and fiddled with the hem of her jersey during today’s practice enough that she’d torn a hole through one spot. She’d twirled that loose lock of her hair so many times that you’d already lost count, and on the drive home, more than once, sped through a yellow sign. Even now, she was silent beside you as she helped cook the meal for you two tonight when usually, she would have gone over what happened at practice twice at this point. 

And at the rate she was going, she’d end up gnawing off the skin of her lower lip. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and clean up first?” You said as casually as you could, taking both of your plates off the table and moving towards the sink.

Alexia eyed you. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked. You caught a sight of her over your shoulder, sitting up, more alert than a second ago. 

“No, nothing. Why do you ask that?”

A pregnant pause.

“Because you normally let me help with the dishes.”

You shrugged, turning back to the sink. “Seriously, Alexia. It’s nothing. You just look tired. Now go so I can shower. We can put on AHS after.”

Another pause and then finally, you heard the scrape of her chair against the tiles.

“Alright,” she mumbled before her footsteps receded.

Much later, when you’d finished cleaning up and showered, the two of you wounded up on the couch, wrapped in each other with an episode of American Horror Story playing in the background. Alexia’s head was tucked in the crook of your neck while you played with a loose lock of her hair when you finally asked her.

“Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been worrying about all day, or should I keep pretending that I haven’t noticed?” 

You kept your tone light, almost teasing, because you had a feeling that whatever Alexia was about to say had weight to it. And surely enough, as soon as the question had left your mouth did Alexia stiffen against you and her breathing stilled. It took her another moment to pull away, untangling herself from you, before she reclined against the couch. 

Without so much as looking at you, she countered, “Could you hate me?”

The question jarred you and you couldn’t help but frown in confusion. What kind of question was that? You looked at her—searching for answers as to why she would ask such a thing—but Alexia kept her eyes fixed to the TV while the flashing images made shadows play on the smooth neutrality of her forehead and cheeks. You found no answer, so you replied truthfully. 

“No. Disappointed maybe, but hate? I can’t think of anything that would make me hate you.”

At that, her shoulders curled forward, arms crossing over her chest, and her chin dipped down so low it almost looked uncomfortable. 

She said softly, “Just think about it.”

Silence settled—heavily. 

You gnawed your lip, turning over everything in your head, as you tried desperately to come up with something. But nothing.

“Honestly, Alexia, unless you killed someone, I really can’t think of anything else.”

“I—” Alexia started but a choke cut off the rest of it. 

The sound came out so suddenly that it seemed to reverberate, bouncing off the walls and resounded loud in your ears. You sat up, alert, fully facing Alexia who now had her hands over her face, shielding her eyes from your view. She drew in a breath, and what she released was something shaky. 

You’d never seen her like this before, and you’d faced more than a handful of adversities together. What could possibly be making her hurt like this? Your gut twisted at the sight of her and you were filled with an overwhelming urge to take her in your arms. Instead, you settled for a light touch to her knee.

“Alexia,” you began softly, “What is it?”

Under the shield of her hand, you saw her lips quiver. Then a tear ran down her chin.

You ached at the sight but you remained silent.

“I’m—” Her lips twisted to a grimace. “I—I don’t know how it happened I just—”

Another pause.

“I like women.”

For a moment, the air stilled; almost like a vacuum had swallowed up all sounds. And then something swelled: blood rushed into your ears, and, as if life had broken a shell, a flood washed over you, filling each and every bone; and it felt a lot like hope. 

The raw sob that escaped Alexia’s throat broke you from your epiphany. She must’ve misunderstood your silence because now, she’d curled even further into herself, palms digging into her sockets. You shook yourself, mentally scolding yourself for getting distracted, before you moved closer to her.

“Oh, Alexia.” She flinched away when she felt your arms around her but you only clung tighter. “Thank you, Alexia, for trusting me with this. I want you to know that you don’t have to hide from me, that this doesn’t change anything no matter how that voice in your head might tell you otherwise. You’re still Alexia, and I—I love you all the same. I don’t hate you, I promise, and I won’t. I’ll always be here.”

When you whispered those words into her ear, she finally sagged into your embrace, turning her head so it rested, again, in the crook of your neck where she released a sob. This time, it sounded more from relief than from grief. 

There, on the couch, you held her until she fell asleep. 

“You know,” you whispered in the dark, tucking a lock of Alexia’s hair behind her ear long after she’d fallen asleep. Alexia didn’t stir, and you continued to no one in particular, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And there with your whole world in your arms, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to hope.

[7]

When you were seven, just a few months before you met Alexia, an idea dawned on you. Sick and tired of the kid’s pool, with its small and, if you were being honest, slightly unkempt water, the large one next door offered freedom—a tantalizing concept for a child. You stood at one end of that pool and found a face of determination reflected back at you. You were going to do it; you would swim across the length of the pool and make it to the other side. 

And then, you jumped in.

It took about a minute or two before your muscles started burning, hardening to a cramp with every stroke, and yet the other side didn’t look any closer. That was when it sank in; the pool was far too large. There was a brief moment when you gasped for air and remembered to swim towards the nearest edge, just like your father taught you, but by that point it was already too late.

Water rushed into your nose and mouth, bringing stinging hopelessness in their wake, clogging your throat with a muffling silence that stifled your scream.

Your father barely caught you in time.

Yes, you remembered all too well that burn in your lungs. 

If that pool was a frozen lake, what would drowning feel like? 

In Barcelona, the lakes never froze in winter. Even the westerly winds that brought the Atlantic squalls slithering under each door in the city in cold February weren’t enough to make the chill settle in. The only time your bones truly felt the bitter meaning of winter was when you’d gone to Norway to attend a relative’s funeral, and the occasion did nothing to lessen the cold. It was also the first time you’d ever stepped foot on ice, and the fear that lanced through you at the sound of the first crack—seemingly almost like a thunder out of the blue—left you rooted to the spot, fearful that a breath could put you under.

Waiting for death felt just like that; like walking on a slate of ice. 

And the aftermath? 

A drowning of a different kind.

Every phone call was a step on that thin slate of ice; every step a space closer to certainty, each one a crack on that fragile surface, another moment closer to a falling in. The thing was, death was as true as the ice giving way but no matter how inevitable the end may be, or how slow the unfurling of that mortal coil may seem, the force of the fall was no less devastating. The ice would shatter and there would be a split-second when you’d feel suspended, held by a single thread of hope for one last miracle—the only miracle that mattered—but there was no saving you from the freezing waters. 

And nobody ever told you about how quickly you would sink under; about how the cold would bite their way down to the bones while your blood sang that familiar rhythm of life, a bitter reminder of the clear division between past and present—the antecedent and the aftermath; and just how painful it would be to be stuck in-between remembering what once was and what could have been.

In that space, in that frigid depth, no amount of screaming nor air could prevent you from drowning. Without the arms of a father to save you, how could you not drown?

And the worst part?

There was no bottom to grief; you either float or sink in that frozen lake.

And Alexia sank. 

[8]

Days passed, weeks, then months; the world kept turning. Life demanded you to be present and compelled you to move forward like everyone else. And yet still, even after changing everything in its wake, grief lingered as it always did. 

There were still times when you’d catch Alexia turn from every mirror, eyes casted down almost out of fear of what she’d see. How could you look at your reflection when every bit of skin there held the reminders of what you’d lost? Every reminder brought with it a memory, and what were memories if not a mouth full of teeth? It was a mouth that took every opportunity to bare its teeth, to gnaw at that hole in your chest until the edges were raw again—like they never healed to begin with. Again and again, it bit; its teeth, painting themselves red.

But if anything could transcend time itself, it was the resilience of the human spirit. Even if her father was never far from her mind, Alexia pressed forward; now for two hearts instead of one. 

Winter ended finally, and the sun rose again. And when summer arrived, so did the news. 

“Llorens spoke with me today,” Alexia spoke over the running of the tap. You looked at her over your shoulder, she was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. She said the next part in a tone so soft that you barely caught it.

“He said… They asked me to rejoin Barça.”

Your eyes widened and it only took you a moment before you ran to her, wrapping your arms around Alexia’s neck, while Alexia returned the embrace by putting her arms around your waist. 

“Holy shit, Alexia! That’s amazing!” You practically screamed into her ear. Pulling away to look at her, you found pride shining in her eyes but for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, there was a weight that burdened the corners of her lips. You knew just how much this meant to her, getting back into Barça, and it worried you that she wasn’t celebrating like you’d expected her to.

You asked gently, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

At that, she sighed heavily, tightening her hold around your waist as she did. She gnawed at her lower lip, brows creasing.

“You haven’t heard anything from them?”

“No,” you admitted, ignoring the twinge in your chest. “It doesn’t matter, Alexia. This is your opportunity to go back. When are you due to leave?”

“I—I told them I’d get back to them tomorrow.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“What! Alexia, what’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Finally, you recognised what it was that was casting its familiar shadows in her eyes: worry. Although you were grateful that she was, it was completely unnecessary and borderline irrational. She shouldn’t throw away what she worked hard for because you couldn’t perform at the same level, and no way in hell would you let her feel bad for your own inadequacy. 

You took her face into your hands, looking into her eyes as you enunciated each word slowly.

“Alexia, listen to me. You will meet with Llorens first thing tomorrow, and you will put that pen to paper, do you hear me? And then you will leave Levante without me—” when she opened her mouth, as if to protest, you pressed a finger to her lips. “You will leave Levante without me, and you will play for Barça come this season. There are no ‘buts’ here, Alexia. You have to do this. You owe yourself that much.”

Alexia remained quiet but she looked at you with large eyes that made your heart ache the way it always did for her. 

And then, “What about you?”

“I will work twice as hard. And I will meet you there,” you whispered, losing yourself in the depth of her eyes. “I promise.”

Alexia nodded and slowly, a smile made its way onto her lips.

“You better.” She mumbled. Then she added playfully, “Now get your hands off of my face, you’ve made it all wet.”

You flashed her a devilish grin before you wiped one of your hands down her face. 

[9]

It wasn’t until a month after your first game with Barça that you saw Diana again. 

With her line of work, it was no surprise that she was an incredibly busy person. That meant her stays in Barcelona were brief enough that she couldn’t make it to any friendly hangouts the way your other friends’ partners could, only ever having the time for Alexia which was the most important thing. So when Alexia messaged the group chat last night that she and Diana would be lunching with you, Patri, Tori, and Mapi today, everyone received the news with barely hidden enthusiasm. 

And this was how you found yourself sitting at the head of the table with Patri sitting on the other end, Alexia and Diana to your left with Alexia’s arm draped casually over the back of Diana’s chair, while Mapi and Tori sat to your right. As you all waited for your food to arrive, you engaged in a light and friendly conversation. Mapi and Tori were a lethal duo when it came to jokes, almost having all of you keel over from laughter, causing the eyes of the other patrons in the restaurant to flit to your table, and you were sure you saw barely hidden amusement on the face of the waiter that served you. 

Lunch was going well—for your part especially—with all things considered. So you took this time to appreciate Alexia and Diana together just like this because you never got the chance to. And it was clear that the both of them made quite the pair; so beautiful that they almost looked untouchable. They kept their displays of affection sparse and yet the smallest of gestures held a thousand words. In Diana’s presence, Alexia seemed so happy and she had an air about her so light she was almost like the sun. 

You couldn’t help it, you smiled at the sight. Seeing Alexia like this was enough for you, and you knew this. She deserved this. If only Patri could stop eyeing you with worry, you could keep pretending that twinge in your chest didn’t exist. 

Everything was going well, but the universe—as it seemed to become accustomed to lately—was adamant to prove you wrong. Or, maybe you should’ve just crushed your feelings under foot once and for all. It was when the food arrived that things took a turn for the worse. 

When the last dish was delivered by the waiter, Tori, Patri, and Diana fell in a conversation. Mapi, you spied, was not so subtly texting someone beneath the table—Ingrid, you guessed, by the way her eyes shone and her nose crinkled in delight. Alexia on the other hand was left to fend for herself… against her food. 

After all this time, Alexia still couldn’t eat properly with chopsticks. It was definitely the bulkness of her hands that made her clumsy with the delicate tools; you’d told her as much before. You bit your tongue before you could tell her that again. Instead, you teased her.

“Are you playing with your food?”

Alexia glared at you but still, color rose to her cheeks as she grumbled. 

“Shut up. You know using these things is difficult for me.”

“Stop sulking. Besides, I already taught you before.” You rolled your eyes. Then you instructed, “Open your palm.”

She pouted but she did what you asked anyway.

“Your hands are too big so you have to hold them at the very end. Let the bottom one rest in the crook of your thumb, yes, that’s it. And hold the top like you’re writing with a pen. Loosen up a bit, you’re too tense.”

You adjusted the placement of the chopsticks slightly, “Just close your thumb over the sticks and move your—That’s it! You got it, you got it.”

With a triumphant smile, Alexia finally succeeded at her attempt to pick up her food. And when her smile curled over the food she put in her mouth, a warmth flooded the cavity of your chest. The sparkle in her eyes just then somehow made you feel like a teenager again. 

You didn’t know what it was that drew your attention to her, but your gaze flitted over to Diana. You weren’t sure what you expected; maybe that she was still talking with Patri or Tori… only she wasn’t. She was staring at you with a face set in a stoicism so neutral—her lips drawn to a careful line—that you had this unsettling feeling that she was everything but impassive. Her eyes betrayed her the most: they were sharp, barely narrowed, and there was an attentiveness in them that made you feel transparent—exposed—as if she could see right through you; as if she’d found something. 

A chill ran through you, and you shuddered internally.

Quickly, you averted your eyes back down to your meal. Developing an excessive interest in your food, you receded into yourself and tried to school your face to what you hope was impartial nonchalance. A little later when you finally felt brave enough to chance a look at Diana, you saw her talking to Patri and Tori again, laughing and smiling as if the moment between the two of you never happened.

You relaxed and you found breathing easy again. 

Maybe you were just being paranoid.

But really, you should’ve known better.

[10]

Time, with its infamous predisposition to fly, had snuck up on you. 

A blink of an eye found you stepping out of a plane in the middle of August and the next thing you knew, December only had days to breathe. Ending the year at the top of La Liga, together with your clean sheets, was nothing short of a relief. It was a testament to how you’ve integrated yourself with the team so far, but you knew enough that this shouldn’t call for complacency. In fact, it demanded the opposite; you needed to work harder especially with the match against Lyon looming closer in the horizon. 

For now though, rest was due. 

Most of your teammates had either flown themselves home or somewhere far warmer than Barcelona’s dropping temperature. For those who stayed, like you, you needed to find a way to amuse yourselves without freezing. Tonight, it seemed that the club was the unanimous choice: what better way to stay warm and have fun than to get drunk and dance? 

That was how you found yourself under flashing lights nursing your own glass while you watched the rest of your team get their freaks on from the bar. You knew Patri was already four shots down—you all had only been here an hour; Mapi and Ingrid were getting a little too cozy in a secluded corner, which you couldn’t fault them for since it was Ingrid’s last day in the city before she had to go home; Alexia had vanished with Diana to do who knew what, while Aitana and Ona were losing it on the dance floor. 

Aitana and Ona spotted you hanging out at the bar so they began to wave you over with enthusiasm. You shook your head at the display, smiling, and made to move off the counter you were leaning on when a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. But before you could turn to see who it was, a familiar voice pierced through the music. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Standing behind you was a woman; the stewardess that ushered you off your plane. Out of her work clothes and the dull setting of a plane, her beauty shone through untarnished. Gone was the sleek hairdo and instead, she’d opted to leave her hair down. Her short hair barely grazed her collarbones, you noted, and as you traced their outline, you found the piercing in her sternum glinting in silent invitation. She was wearing a simple black dress that revealed just enough of her chest to entice, the thin fabric of it accentuating the curves of her waist, and it stopped just halfway down the length of her thighs to reveal the intricate lines of floral tattoos on her side. 

Finally catching yourself, you tore your eyes away and found her gaze. What you found reflected in them was amusement and you tried to stop your cheeks from burning. 

As casually as you could, you said, “Oh, hey, it’s you. I… actually never caught your name.”

“Micah,” she replied, extending out a hand. You took it as you told her yours. She leaned on the bar, waved the bartender over who gave her the drink she asked for, and took a sip. Then she turned back to you. 

“You know, I never expected to see you again. And in a gay club, of all places.”

“Why not a gay club?” You asked with a small laugh.

She shrugged, one corner of her mouth quirking up almost sheepishly.

“I may have searched your name up after I met you. No history of relationships, just multiple pictures of you with the same guy. I thought he’s your boyfriend, so.”

“Is it a guy with curly hair?”

“Yeah.”

At that you let out another small laugh.

“That’s Guille, my best friend. He’s like a brother.”

“Oh.” Micah’s cheeks flushed. 

You gave her a grin, “Yeah. But just to clarify, I am, in fact, into women. Exclusively.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Micah’s demeanour shifted, eyes now smouldering. The change affected you in ways you didn’t anticipate and with your slight height over her, it became difficult to keep your eyes where they should be, especially when the silver glint of her piercing tempted your eyes downwards. But just as the alcohol had thinned your blood, your self-control frayed all the same; your eyes roamed down to her cleavage which you admired briefly, before you met her gaze again.

That seemed to be the signal Micah was looking for because she stepped into your space, her drink now sitting forgotten on the counter. She dragged her fingers up your arm, all the way to your exposed collarbone where she traced the skin there while she watched you with dark eyes, her plump lip between her teeth. 

You shivered; she was so close now that the heat of her body washed over you. 

“Really? Prove it, then.” Micah whispered, ghosting her lips over yours.

You leaned forward when she pulled back slightly, as if magnetized to her lips. Then you asked, “How?”

“Dance with me.”

She dragged you to the dancefloor and you let yourself be swept away in the sea of bodies moving to the same rhythm. And then the both of you danced, her body against yours, your hands tracing her outlines as you pulled her closer as she did the same to you. 

Time blurred into a singularity after that but it existed again when, at one point, Micah took your cheek into her palm to pull you down for a kiss. Her lips were searing hot when they branded yours that you couldn’t help but gasp and moan into them, a sound which Micah gladly swallowed. 

It had been a while since you’d been touched and you didn’t realise just how much you missed it: the skim of skin over skin, the languidness of your blood turning to molten rush; how you missed the deprivation of air from your lungs and the delicious ache that came with it. And how you missed touching another. Your hands sought the exposed skin of her back, relishing the softness beneath your palms as you settled them there, respectfully just above her ass, to pull her in, flushed to your body.

She sighed and she looped her arms around your neck; deeper, hotter.

And in the heat, you lost yourself. 

You couldn’t remember how the both of you made it to your apartment, only that she ended up on top of you, head between your legs as you gasped out her name in the dark. And when she braced herself against her elbow, her other hand working you over the edge once more, you couldn’t help but note how beautiful she was with her curtain of brown hair, her lips slightly parted, eyes shining in the dark.

And when you came on her fingers with her lips on yours, you had a nagging feeling that this felt a lot like when you were nineteen. 

[11]

Clutching your head, you tried to soothe the remnants of your hangover as you headed over the door. You squinted at the light that shone through when you opened it and when the blob in front of you assumed a semblance of familiarity, you croaked out a question.

“Alexia? What’re you doing here?”

“Wow, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” Alexia teased but when you glared at her, she finally answered your question. She lifted her hand and that was when you noticed what she was holding. “Got your jacket. You left it at the club last night.”

You blinked at her, eyes still squinted, and enunciated each word slowly. “You drove all the way here. To drop off my jacket.”

She nodded.

“And you couldn’t have waited until dinner tonight?”

“Nope. The jacket was of utmost priority, obviously. Second priority, of course, is to check that you haven’t dropped dead yet. Third, to make sure you show up at dinner on time.” Alexia stepped back and gave you a once-over. “And by the looks of it, you need more than just a check up.” 

“Fuck you.” 

At that, her brows only creased as she threw her head back to laugh. 

“Rough morning, huh?” 

“I’m glad you find my hangover amusing.” You grunted, turning to shuffle back into the kitchen to make the coffee you were about to prepare before a clown interrupted you. “Close the door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Okay, Grumpy.” Alexia said behind you and you heard the door close. A rustle of fabric, and then, “Go drink some water and maybe then you can actually hold a conversation.”

You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see your face. 

“Shut up. I’ve only been awake for an hour.” 

“Sure.” Alexia dragged out her answer like she believed what you just said—she didn’t.

You turned on the coffee machine and pressed the button for a double shot. The sound of whirring filled the air.

“You want some coffee?” You asked, looking at Alexia over your shoulder who you found was not-so-subtly craning her neck to look down the hall. When she saw you looking at her, Alexia flashed you a questioning look.

“Are we alone or… ?” Alexia trailed off but before she could finish the question, you nodded. She walked to the counter and picked an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Oh, okay, good. And no, thanks, I already had a shot before I left home this morning.” 

You returned to your coffee, placing the cup aside so you could prepare the milk. 

Beside you, you heard the running of the tap and then a rustling of clothes followed by a slight thump. From the corner of your eye, you spied Alexia leaning against the counter. 

You just finished pouring the milk into your cup when you heard Alexia hum before the unmistakable bite to the flesh of an apple. Lifting the cup, you took a sip and welcomed the bitterness of caffeine on your tongue. 

“You know,” Alexia started, “you never told me you liked women.”

You froze. 

The lingering euphoria from last night—along with the excitement from Micah’s proposal for a next time when she left early this morning—immediately vanished. There was something about the nonchalant way that Alexia got you; it cut you deep. And the wounds you thought were long healed now bled through their stitches. A dot of coffee stained the white countertop, followed by another, and before your cup slipped from your grip, you put it down and pressed your shaking hands flat on the countertop. 

“What?” Your tone was tame but you were everything but. Pressure rose in your veins because how dared she. How dared she.

“I’m not mad or anything, I’m just surprised that’s all.” Alexia laughed lightly but the sound grated at your ears. 

“Was that a recent development? Did you find that out in the States?” Then she continued with a bit of guilt seeping through her voice. “If you found out before you moved to Angel City, I hope I never made you feel as though you couldn’t share that with me. And if I did, then I’m—”

“Please, don’t insult me, Alexia.”

As if finally detecting the ice in your tone, you saw her head turn towards you from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to look at her. 

 “I’m not insulting you. It’s just–I’m a terrible friend for never seeing the signs and that I couldn’t be there for you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scoffed but it sounded more like a choked sob than anything. The world blurred before you and you watched as your tears mixed with the coffee stains on the counter. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Came Alexia’s concerned voice before you heard a rustling of clothes, and then the touch to your shoulder. The reaction of your body was visceral: you stumbled back as you slapped her hand away as if she’d burnt you.

“Don’t touch me!” Heat pricked around the skin where she’d touch you, and you felt as if something was crawling beneath. “Get out.”

“What?”

Finally, you looked her in the eye and the force of the movement made your tears fall. Alexia stood there frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide and brows knotted in horror. You couldn’t care less; looking at her hurt and you wanted her out of your apartment—now. 

“I said leave.”

Alexia ran a frustrated hand through her hair and she pleaded, “Tell me what I did!”

“Get out, Alexia!” 

She opened her mouth, stopped midway, and finally shook her head. With one last look at you, she turned for the door but before she stepped out, she turned back to you. She sighed then said in a small voice.

“I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry anyway. I… I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, the door closed. At the click of the lock, you slid down to the floor; your back against the surface of the cabinets with Alexia’s half-eaten apple by your feet. 

She really did forget, didn’t she? And you were the only one who remembered because between the two of you, it was only you who cared enough to latch onto the memory. She didn’t care, and you doubted she ever did to begin with. Why did you think otherwise? Why?

Your face fell into your hands, and you sobbed. 

Stupid.

You were so fucking stupid. 

[ruporas]

feast (ID in alt)

[blodwyrm]

𝔊𝔩𝔦𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔭𝔬𝔱𝔰 ⋆.˚ ★— follow the link to offer if interested!

[wzardjellies]

can you draw axelle on a date 💕 they're like my whole world atm

Nichelle and her dooms day prepping gf vs the paparazzi 📸

Also Axel as this little boy from Pinterest

[raineandsky]

#137

tw: mentions of death

“You might consider yourself lucky, [Hero],” the supervillain snaps coolly, “being here, still alive. You are only alive because I let you—because you are much more fun to slowly squeeze the life from, until you’re begging me to end it all, and we will have plenty of time for that.”

With one last cold glare and a swish of his coat, the supervillain leaves the hero in the dungeon. The hero would be inclined to call it a prison, or even a cage, but the walls are damp and there’s bloodied chains sitting in one corner, so in their mind this counts very much as a dungeon.

They settle against the cool stone as comfortably as they can manage, which frankly isn’t comfortable at all. They close their eyes, a sigh escaping their lips. They’re prepared to face whatever agonies are doubtlessly ready for them ahead. Waiting for said agonies will be boring, that’s all.

“You too, huh?”

The hero opens their eyes to glance across the dungeon, to the other side of the darkness. They can only just make out the outline of a figure sulking in the other corner, but they recognise the voice all the same.

“Fancy seeing you here,” the hero says with a short laugh. “What did you do?”

The villain practically growls. “I’m not entertaining you.”

“It’s not entertainment; I’m just curious.”

There’s a second of silence, and the hero thinks they might get an answer before the villain simply says, “You first.”

“Fucked up.” The hero shrugs, though they can’t tell if the villain can see it or not. “Did something not particularly heroic.”

The villain shifts a little, chains clanking together with the movement. “Huh.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I figured it must be something bad.” The villain makes a noise that might be a laugh or a scoff. “[Supervillain] doesn’t get super serious with just anyone.”

“Must’ve been pretty serious for you to end up down here, then,” the hero comments with a huff.

The villain raises an hand to their face, and the hero gets a glimpse of the line of chain trailing from their wrist.

“Oh, it’s whatever. I also fucked up. Did something…” The villain grapples for a word awkwardly. “Not villainous.”

The hero barks a laugh that seems to make the villain jump, if the sudden clank of metal is anything to go by, but they can’t help it. A newfound anti-hero and a good-hearted villain sharing a supervillain’s dungeon. What a pair they make.

“You’ve peaked my curiosity,” the hero says brightly. “Please, continue.”

Like a broken record, “You first.”

“Ah, y’know, the usual.” The hero doesn’t really want to say it out loud. “I, uh… I killed someone.”

“Oh.” The silence following that is uncomfortably long, until, thankfully, the villain adds, “Yeah, you’re right, that’s not very heroic.”

The hero nods, though they’re not sure if the villain can see it. “I didn’t mean to. It was another villain. I don’t know who—they had red hair and glasses.”

“Oh,” the villain repeats, a little more strained this time. “Yeah, that’ll do it. They’re one of [Supervillain]’s favourites. Or were, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh.” The villain waves a hand at them nonchalantly. “I didn’t really like them, honestly. They were always showing me up in front of [Supervillain], but I think that’s why he liked them. I wasn’t as willing to throw my comrades under the bus for attention.”

They clear their throat awkwardly, and the hero takes the hint. “What about you, then?” they ask shortly. “What did you do?”

The villain sighs, the puff of warm air catching in the one strip of sun lighting the place. “Well, quite the opposite.” A cough of a laugh jolts them slightly, like they weren’t expecting it. “I stopped [Supervillain] from killing someone, and they got away.”

The hero sits on that for a moment. “That’s very noble of you,” they offer eventually.

“Oh, don’t you start.” The villain tsks in annoyance. “I already have [Supervillain] calling me soft for it.”

“I can’t blame him. I mean… are we sure I’m the hero and you’re the villain here?”

The villain laughs like the idea is ludicrous, and the hero laughs too because it is, but then a silence falls over them and the hero knows that they’re both thinking the same thing.

“You know,” the villain starts slowly, “I’ve never really liked being here.”

The hero snorts humorously. “I can’t say I’m a big fan of grotty dungeons either.”

“Not here, you moron,” the villain snaps. “I mean here, with the villains. As one of them.”

“Oh, cheers to that. The agency has too many rules.”

“This hellhole doesn’t have enough.”

“Well,” the hero says brightly, “I’m sensing something big is happening here.”

The villain hums thoughtfully. “Can we maybe talk about it outside of the dank dungeon?”

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask.” The hero’s mind is already running through plans, scenarios, ways of escape. It’s always easier with a teammate, anyway. “Let’s get the hell out of here and start our new lives.”

[anonymocha]

It’s my birthday so I get to draw whatever I want 🎂🎉🎊🎁🥳

[scribefindegil]

The thing that really gets me about Separation Arc is how utterly mundane it is. One exorcism at the beginning, a call Reigen shouldn't have made leading into all those words he shouldn't have said, and then nothing until the cameras at the press conference start floating like some kind of miracle.

Which makes sense, of course. The arc follows Reigen instead of Mob and he doesn't have powers so there aren't powers. But there's more to it than that. It's a deliberate choice; it would have been easy to show that Reigen needs Mob for practical reasons, for him to come up against an actual spirit and end up scared or hurt because he couldn't exorcise it on his own. But the show doesn't do this. His business is fine. He's savvy enough to stick to jobs that he can actually do, and he gets enough of them that he's busy (and contrary to the fanfictions, truly dangerous jobs are a rarity to begin with). Practically, Reigen is doing perfectly fine. It's the mundanity that breaks him.

I've made a million posts about how Mob Psycho being a story about connection means it's also a story about loneliness, and I don't ever feel that more deeply than I do here. When there's a metaphor or a layer of fantasy obscuring things, no matter how awful they get, it feels safer. You don't actually have to worry about an evil ghost trapping you in a nightmare dimension. You don't actually have to worry about a giant vegetable brainwashing all your friends. The emotional impact hits, and it hits hard, but there's a layer of distance to it.

But there's no distance to Separation Arc. There's just the awful crushing inescapable everyday loneliness, the kind that it's so easy to fall into. The feeling of being in your late twenties, at the point of your life where you've finally had a few years of making your own decisions--and feeling like every decision you've made with that agency has been wrong. The feeling of having drifted away from the friends you used to have and not knowing how to make new ones. The feeling of getting emails from your parents and not answering them because you don't have anything to say that wouldn't make them even more disappointed and worried. The feeling that you've thrown away anything good or important in your life and not knowing how to fix it. That you're stuck. And not having anything or anyone else to blame. Only yourself. It's all so real and so overwhelming.

And the arc shows you all of this, unvarnished and unblinking, and then says It's okay. It can still get better. This isn't the end. No matter how lonely you've been, no matter what you've done, you can find people who will love you. You can make better choices. And no one has to stick around if you've pushed them away, no one has to forgive you if you've hurt them. But maybe they'll choose to anyway, and it will feel like a miracle.

[osarina]

my friends are dragging me to a bar with them on thursday and are already talking about plans for friday 😔 don’t they know i’m a recluse and depressed, i’m gonna be drained for weeks after thursday

[m1d-45]

Hello! It's a new anon here!

My name is Baby Cat/Out of pocket anon!

If I may, a SAGAU Aether x GN! Reader who has a mortal form that is has similarities to the divine creator but not enough to be confused as an imposter.

I'll clarify a bit, Aether dosent know that his beloved is actually the divine one, but instead thinks that they have simply been blessed with part of their beauty. Tevyat dosent know the creator has descended and is waiting, meanwhile Aether has the creator in mortal form as his darling partner.

-Baby Cat anon

P.S! My cat Duckie has recently warmed up to a new person!

a new tomorrow

a/n: ignore my dogwater schedule i have not written like at all for the past 2-3 weeks ahahah (also this is isn’t very romantic coded but i already hate this piece so my bad g)

word count: ~3k

-> warnings: canon-typical violence, microscopic spoilers for liyue story quest ig

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24

< masterlist > || next part >>

when you’d first arrived in teyvat, you had fully expected to die, in honesty.

you were up on the top of starsnatch cliff, and had nearly fallen off in your initial panic if not for a sharp wind and a lucky break. you were much more mindful of where you walked after that, but mondstat was littered with impossible cliffs, and your memory of the area was sharply diminished when you didn’t have a little circle in the corner of your screen to remind you where you were.

you grabbed a few low-hanging sunsettias as you walked, making your way across a nondescript patch of grass. your plan was to just eat them as-is, but after a moments more thought into the idea, perhaps washing them first would be wiser. according to your memory, there were four main bodies of water: a lake and waterfall further north, the ocean to the east, cider lake to the west, and the state of the seven… somewhere.

the lake was surrounded by hilichurls and was a bit too close to the anemo hypostasis for your liking, the ocean was a no for obvious reasons, and cider lake didn’t seem like a particularly good idea, not to mention the only closest access to it you could think of was surrounded by hilichurls.

so, the statue of the seven it is. the only problem, of course, was that you had no idea where you were.

you tried to keep track at first, but then you had to climb down from one too many cliffs and had to take one too many detours around impossible ones, and now you were blindly walking. you could tell by the dense forest and the small lamp grass that you were somewhere in the whispering woods, but the thin path you were following have no indication of your direction. you hoped, of course, that you were headed north, but you didn’t know how to tell. the three sunsettias in your arms looked more tempting by the minute, but you were determined to clean them first. not only would that help you get your bearings again, but you’d lower the risk of whatever diseases were native to teyvat.

…which was something to consider further, in truth. your body wasn’t native, and hadn’t grown up with and developed an immunity to the bacteria here. would you get sick? had you already, and just had to wait until the symptoms developed? should you be more worried than you were?

the path around you was opening up, but you were too busy worrying to bother look up. what were the long-term effects of staying in teyvat? would you be intolerant or allergic to the foods here, because your body wasn’t used to processing them? what were the long term effects of-

“watch out!”

would you find out at all?

you looked over your right shoulder, at the voice that had called, and barely get a glimpse of bright gold before something white covers your vision, tiny hands pulling at your shirt.

“come on,” a high voice says, “follow paimon! let’s get away from the trouble.”

paimon-?

you stumble along with her, letting her take you further into what you now recognize as windrise. damn, wrong way.

“ooh, are those sunsettias?” you notice she’s blocking my your view of whatever’s behind her, likely the traveller and some enemies if you had to guess, judging by her presence and the sounds of metal on wood. “they look really fresh, too..”

you decide against trying to lean around her. best not to traumatize yourself on your first day. “uh, yeah, they are. would- do you want one?” you hold out one of the fruits. “i haven’t washed them yet, but…”

“oh, that’s okay!” she takes it eagerly, giving it a cursory wipe with her sleeve before taking a bite. “you don’t really need to wash em, in paimon’s experience! just a quick clean of any dirt and you’re all good to go!”

…that was stellar to hear.

you patiently wait, pretending the grunts and roars and sounds of clashing weaponry don’t exist. you try to offer paimon another sunsettia, since you know in-lore she’s almost always hungry, but she shakes her head.

“one for paimon, one for you, and one for the traveller! that way, everyone gets the same amount, and nobody’s upset!”

you don’t know how to feel about the fact that she addresses him as ‘the traveller’. on one hand, it makes sense she wouldn’t throw his name around like that. on the other, it feels… wrong. not in a way you can put a name to, but something about it is unsettling.

“did they offend you, or something?”

you startle, looking up, and see aether standing right in front of you, flipping through some hilichurl masks in his hands before passing two off to paimon, who puts them in a cloud of stars.

he looks at you expectantly, and you realize you had been frowning at the food in your hands. “o-oh! no, they.. sorry, i was lost in thought.”

he dismisses the rest of the masks into gold sparks with a nod. “are you alright?”

paimon gasps, hands over her mouth as she flies back a little. “oh, paimon forgot to ask! are you hurt at all? you don’t look like you’re from here…”

you flash her a smile you hope covers the change in topic. “i’m fine. and thank you,” you turn to aether, “your help is greatly appreciated-…” what do you address him as? you’ve technically never met, but to call him an honorary knight is probably unwise…

“the traveller is fine,” he says. “and you didn’t answer paimon’s question.” rats. “are you from teyvat?”

you hesitate, but eventually shake your head. “i’m not.”

he frowns. “how’d you get here?”

“i don’t know.”

“..you don’t have anywhere to stay, do you?”

oh no. you recognize that voice. “it’s fine, you don’t have to worry about me.” you glance around, eventually pointing at mondstat. it’s stunning in person, even from a distance, but you push past its beauty to talk. “there’s a city there, right? i’ll make do.”

“now’s a tense time, even mondstat isn’t as welcoming as usual.”

‘tense’? you don’t remember mondstat being involved in any scandals, and the skies seem clear, so you must be past the mondstat part of the story… “is something wrong? wait, don’t answer that; if it’s tense, then you surely have somewhere more important to be, right?”

paimon huffs. “paimon bets you’re broker than the tone-deaf bard!” wow, okay. “and a single sunsettia doesn’t get you far!”

aether raises a brow. “‘single’?”

“right!” you hurriedly pick the larger of the two, holding it out to him. “as thanks. she’s right, i don’t have any mor- uh, any more to give you, but it’s the least i can do.”

he shakes his head. “keep them. now, regarding your housing-“

“i can stay in mondstat-“

“the entirety of teyvat is on edge right now. the chances of an outlander being welcomed without hassle is low, even for mond.” he thinks about it, paimon mirroring the hand on his chin.

you try to think over the lore, attempting to remember something that could affect the entirety of teyvat. maybe you’re in the middle of the liyue quest? but why would he be in mond… unless you’re beyond the known lore, but in that case he has even less of a reason to be here, and not wherever the crisis is. not that that’s his obligation, of course, but given the trend-

“what’s your name, by the way?” you give it, and he frowns. “ah, that won’t do.” what. “i.. i don’t know about where you’re from, but where i’m from and here in teyvat, there’s a prominent religion that spans nearly the entire world here. this faith is the cause of the conflict i was talking about earlier.”

your heart picks up, and you pray it’s just some weird quirk of the lore you haven’t gotten to yet. maybe something with the heavenly principles? celestia? you regret not reading up on more of the lore now that you’re face to face with potentially a large part of it. “and?”

“you share the name with the primary god.” please don’t be what i’m thinking of, please don’t be- “the people of teyvat are rather protective of their creator, and doubly so now that their presence has gone missing.”

shit.

your mind flashes to all the sagau you’ve indulged in, to the break you’d taken a few days ago because your game had been acting up and you didn’t want to make whatever glitch it was worse in fear of losing your progress.

“oh,” is all you can say.

living with aether is easier than you thought it would be.

by the time you wake, he’s out working for the guild, leaving you and most of the realm within to yourself. you try and be useful by tidying up, but tubby keeps most of the realm clean, so there’s little for you to really do. there’s rooms that weren’t in the game—likely because this is his personal realm—such as a massive library and big sunroom, and you pick through the former on occasion. there’s books about everything, from encyclopedias on flowers in sumeru to the types of silk used in inazuman clothing. everything you don’t understand or want clarification on is bookmarked, and after he’s come home and rested, you both talk about them over dinner.

sometimes he knows the answers to your questions. other times you write them down on a slip of paper, and he takes a detour that day to ask. even if it’s something from a nation he hasn’t visited yet, he somehow finds the answers, returning to you with a longer sheet as he explains. you don’t ask where he got it, nor why he’s so willing to entertain your surely silly questions, but it probably has something to do with the fact that you didn’t fish up a companion that could answer all of your questions about a world you didn’t know deeper than surface level.

similarly, the transition in your relationship was also smooth, so quiet you almost didn’t notice it was happening. it was just so easy to be around him, your familiarity with him outside of the game and implicit reliance on him as an outlander during the mess of teyvat making him easy to talk to.

you didn’t notice when you started greeting him with hugs more often, nor when you started eating side by side at the table, talking about more than just the books. you told him about your world, and he spoke of his, telling you beautiful stories of his sister and their travels.

(“every world i’ve been to has worshipped the creator in one way or another,” he says, pushing his empty plate to the side. “does yours really not?”)

(you make the choice to set aside the many religions on earth. “we don’t,” you say simply, and he frowns, resting his chin in his hand.)

(“how interesting…”)

once he was confident that you knew enough of teyvat and it’s people, he began to take you on his commissions. the realm within was nice, and tubby held good conversation, but cabin fever began to set in after a month or so. he held your hand as you walked, steering you out of the way of monster camps or other adventurers. he didn’t dare bring you on the ones requiring fighting, but you’d helped find lost keys or fallen boards, paimon always certain to pull you away from battle, distracting you with a chat about whatever meal aether would make later.

(“do you guys always cook? doesn’t adventuring pay well?” you asked once, trying to remember how much commissions earned in terms of mora. you never really kept track, nor did you try and figure out how much it was to buy food from places, but surely…)

(“mostly! mora typically goes to either ingredients or first aid supplies. paimon’s thankful he’s a good cook, it’d be impossible to survive otherwise.” she said it so simply, as if it was an easy fact and not awful that they couldn’t afford to eat out even after everything they’ve done.)

(“that’s terrible…”)

(“its not that bad! you’ve tasted his cooking before, it’s great!” that’s true, but- “besides, it’s been getting better recently. with the creator absent, he’s able to take the commissions himself. though it is nice, it’s still worrying they haven’t come back..”)

(the idea that you’ve been indirectly contributing to their situation makes you a bit sick.)

the three of you were walking through liyue, heading for the last commission of the day. shitou, the jade betting guy, needed more ores for his business, and aether was leading you through the city. he’d chosen the waypoint on the western side of the harbor so you could walk through the city, and you were happy he did.

it was so beautiful in person, the buildings and bridges so much more ornate than their models could do justice. the streets were crowded, but you weren’t overwhelmed when aether was beside you, pointing out a jewelry store or a traveling merchant showing off bright balloons to children. you passed one man holding a conversation with a millelith soldier, who was his brother judging by the informal way they spoke and the mentions of shared relatives. you crossed the bridge leading to the eastern half of the harbor, the smell of something sweet and flowery drifting in the air.

“is there a flower shop around here?” you ask, and aether shakes his head, pointing at a building you vaguely recognize.

“there’s a tea house there, and they specialize in rose tea. we could pick up some if you wanted to try it?”

“that’s fine, i was just wondering. i wouldn’t want you to buy something for me if i didn’t like it.”

he stayed quiet, but you could tell he was still thinking about it. “what’s the appropriate way to brew it… wait, do we even have a teapot?”

“i’d hope so, otherwise you’ll have a lot to explain to the adepti.”

he bumps your shoulder as you both begin to turn toward shitou, but you see he’s smiling. “you know what i mean, not that kind of-“

“teapot?”

your steps stopped suddenly, the new voice one you regrettably recognized.

aether turned, greeting zhongli with a smile and a small wave. “not the realm within, don’t worry.”

“that’s good to hear. i’d hate for it to be causing problems.” his eyes flicked to you, seeming to search for something. “and your friend?”

it was weird, the way he looked at you, and aether seemed to pick up on it, stepping forward a bit to block you while also making it seem like he was just turning to face zhongli better. “just someone helping me out. what are you doing out here, don’t you have a shift at the parlor?”

bless aether and his ability to direct conversations, bless him and the speed with which he reminds zhongli of the necessary urgency when working at the funeral parlor, successfully sending the man on his way, even if he gives you another searching look as he does.

“sorry,” aether said, giving your had a squeeze as he approached shitou’s table. “he’s probably cautious because you look like the creator.”

you return it, staying quiet as he hands over the jade and only speaking up once the two of you turn around towards the closer waypoint. “it’s alright. thank you for talking to him.”

he flashed you a smile, putting one hand on the waypoint. “of course. it’s the least i could do.”

liyue fell away in a flash of white, the familiar music of the realm within washing away any lingering feaf or unease from talking to zhongli.

maybe one day you’d come clean, stop lying about reading information from his library. maybe you’d tell him, maybe you’d confess to how crystalflies always seemed to follow you, the wind always at your back.

“what would you like for lunch?” aether called, pulling down ingredients from various cabinets before you even answer because he knows what you’ll say.

“surprise me,” you reply, and he chuckles. the same answer, every time, and every time he manages to find something new to make you.

today you would keep quiet again, as you had every other day. today you would root through the pantry when he forgot the flour, today you would set the table and pull out some paper, asking him about whether or not they had silkworm farms if silk flowers were so common, at least in liyue.

today he would smile, and today he would answer, and maybe tomorrow you’d tell him something he couldn’t reply to.

but that was tomorrow. and this was today.

[warpedwings]

Misha Collins - Best Gift Ever Received?

[thatdeadaquarius]

I was playing Genius Invocation yesterday, but out of nowhere this idea came to me like tge whispers of an old god.

How would the characters react to knowing they are the creator's favorite card? (Mine are Beidou and Ningguang, but if you are confortable, I would like to know yours as well)

AHDAALLL I HAVENT PLAYED TGI CARD GAME ENOUGH!! SO FOR NOW I RLLY LOVE THE WAY CYNO AND KAEYA'S ART LOOKS (tho diluc does look shmall in his hehe)

Thank you for your patience!! Sorry this is SO FUCKING late :0 and if it’s bad! i havent rlly liked my writing the past couple pieces, so i stuck with some fun headcanons i thought of while kicking me feet and twirling my hair over this question hehehe

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only)

Planet: General SAGAU/Isekai Stuff :)

Orbit: Headcanons

Stars: Beidou, Ningguang, Kaeya, Cyno

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing & Trigger Warnings: None Known.

☆

Beidou:

BIGGEST EGO BOOSTS OF HER LIFE LMAO

SHE WOULD LITERALLY SUBTLY FLEX EVERYTIME UR AROUND IM CRYINGGG

Every fucking port knows she’s a favored one, every goddamn pirate knows it atp, hell maybe even some abyss monsters at sea too-

(Kazuha’s happy for her, but also lowkey jealous)

literally got one of her cards framed and hung in her captain’s quarters, and insisted you sign it omfg-

Ningguang isnt surprised tbh, (she knows u like strong women lol)

Ningguang:

…she gives one of the most smug smirks of her entire fucking life.

All of Liyue is gushing for her, not that she isn’t also excited on the inside, she’s just more proud than anything on the outside/for appearances

Literally set up a whole date meeting that felt like it was about to turn into a goddamn wedding proposal

I’m talking giving handcarved furniture, household necessities but they’re in pretty colors that all match (like a gold tea kettle, gold throw blanket, etc.)

Full nine-yards different kinds of teas, cakes, and all accustomed to your taste

so if u dislike super sweet stuff there are more savory items, the teas can be more bitter, or if u love sweets, this woman is giving you a bakery basically every day for nearly 2 weeks, u dont have enough space in the cabinet for all these teas- help-

Kaeya:

so fucking smug on the outside, def brags about it in Angel’s Share and he’ll only just be tipsy he’s so fucking excited to talk abt it

whenever conversations end or get a lull, he just, “So anyway, our All-Powerful Guide, really likes my TCG card, maybe even above yours, Diluc…”

pls stop him he’s annoying Diluc, and slowly other patrons 😭 (there are bar rules posted on the wall, and Diluc adds one, not for the first time, specifically for Kaeya to stop talking about TCG while in the bar LMAO)

Now all Kaeya has to do is just pull out his card (cough he’s constantly got it in his pocket, the one he asked u to sign cough)

Rosaria just looks the other way like if she can’t see it it’s not real, Diluc will literally be in the middle of making a drink for one of them and just leave it halfdone and attend to somebody else, Venti’s eye twitches-

and the entire bar just groans too LMAOOO

(have a meme I made just for you <3 )

Cyno:

oh no.

Look what you’ve done, you’ve seduced the General Mahamatra!!

Take responsibility, play TCG with him every time you see him now lmao, the only reason all of Sumeru knows you like his card (which makes it all that more desirable to ppl who do play, and collectors)

is bc he talked to Tighnari about it for hourssss, and then it made it’s way down the grapevine, and if they didn’t find out that way, the other was just seeing the usually stern and formidable General Mahamatra nearly vibrate out of his headpiece when you come near him every time you visit

Cyno weirdly gains like, 20x the luck when ur either playing against him, or sitting watching him play someone else, he’s struggling to find partners tbh bc “you’re my lucky charm? Of course I’m winning more.”

When you initially told him about him being one of ur fav cards, he literally looked like there was a loading sign over his head… Then proceeded to nearly break your ribs hugging you so hard, and nearly take ur eye out with the ears on his headpiece lol

☆

Sorry if all my writings shit for these past 2 posts! Idk im just thinking its not so good rn and idk how to fix it-

anyway I’ve started playing Breath of the Wild over the past like 2-3 months I think, and it’s amazingggg

I may or may not be both getting gender envy and also a huge crush on Link help-

Safe Travels Wandering Lantern,

💀♒

♡the beloveds♡

An iced coffee? For me??

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche

[reginalusus]

What are Harvey's best/worst designs in your opinion?

I'm gonna be fucking honest, here's my disgusting little secret. Are you ready for this. Oh my God. Hold onto your chair because I am about to blow your mind.

I dislike most Harvey designs.

Boo, the crowd jeers, BOO, they cry. I'm sorry but throughout Harvey's almost century-long existence, he has had a lot of terrible, ugly designs and it makes me want to rip my hair out. And I don't mean 'ugly' in the unique, unconventional sense, I mean he's just drawn so terribly. I am obviously by absolutely no means in ANY universe the best artist for him myself but I HAVE EYES. And obviously it's subjective.

People can call me boring all they want, Harvey's best designs, to me, are his most simple. I think there's a reason the black and white suit is a staple: it's easy to draw, it's classy, elegant, has Yin/Yang imagery, simple, and it's a very easy template to start off with and eventually add things to, for one.

It's no secret I have Arkhamverse Harvey bias, but there's even aspects of that design I dislike, like the half-burnt suit and how he slowly became smaller over the course of the games.

But let's not be a TOTAL Negative Nelly.

Some of my fave (canon) Harvey looks are:

-Arkhamverse obviously (particularly AC). -TFZ (quite similar to Arkhamverse Harvey but with lighter hair and the suit isn't burnt). -RY1 (he has some nice pastel-coloured suits in that one too and zsdhjadgash suspenders ahdsahdag, but also because he EMOTES so well in that, it's a great art style for him). -BY1. -TLH (the movie, not so much the comic). -Ugly Heart (chest full of hair, oh my GOODNESS). -Nocturne (gold mask sdhasgasdg, white streak like Jason Toddler adhsdsgdsh). -Eye of the Beholder (we got a v-neck with chest hair cleavage, c'mon).

Chris Samnee's Harvey is always nice and I'm really loving Fábio Veras's Harvey for Ward's current series. Stressed out looking, giant fucking old man, PERFECTION.

I also need to mention Julen Urrutia's Harvey. One of my favourite Harvey designs EVER and I'd KILL for DC to use it in a show or movie or SOMETHING. AAA+ emotion on him.

I have a few more I like but I think you're probably picking up a pattern from these. The pattern is: old, big, hairy, Old Hollywood vibes, rotted with stress but with the Apollo 'prettiness' vaguely visible underneath years of living that Crime Lord life.

Also let's be honest, DC fans can produce 100x better stuff than actual canon shit, including designs, there are some great Harvey designs I've seen from other fans where I'm like, wow, why can't we have this instead.

[splashthebird]

tma AU where instead of "Hello Jon, Apologies for the deception" its "Hello Jon, ApoloCHEESE for the CHEESEception" and elias come out of nowhere and throws cheese at jon

[yrlocalghost]

from here on out, i'll wear this face for both of us

hooray :) top 10 pictures taken right before disaster

[crybaby-bkg]

wanna bug Toji soooo bad while he’s on the phone. his ass doesn’t have a job so it’s not like he’s discussing important business, but he likes to make it look that way. phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he uses one hand to rub circles on your exposed thigh, the other flipping through the tv channels. he’s speaking in a low tone, his eyebrows mused together in agitation as he calls the guy on the other line a barrage of insulting names.

and you’re just a simple person—the man looks hot as fuck like that and you just have to bother him. so you do, despite the side eye he gives you when you swing your leg over, foot in the air, right in his face. he swats you away gently before going back to his phone call, bites at your toes when you still try to wiggle them in his face.

"If you think you can lowball me like that, then you're stupider than I thought." Toji grunts to the other man on the phone, distracted once more. a little peeved that his attention isn't on you much anymore, you do what any little conniving imp would do.

you sit on his lap. backwards, facing the TV, looking over your shoulder at him with such an evil little grin that it makes his eyes squint to you in warning. but you've never listened much, especially when you know you'll be rewarded so plentifully in the end.

so you rock your hips, just slightly the first few times. your legs sat on either side of him, hands resting in the space between his legs on the bed, leaning your weight back on his hips that you sit against. instantly, you can feel the swell of him beneath his sweats, feel the thickness that you love to fill you up start to twitch when you circle your hips, grinding them oh so slowly against his covered cock.

when you look over your shoulder again, Toji only stares, the slightest lilt of his lip turning up at the corners. he tries to act unbothered, one arm bent back to rest his head against, the other holding the phone to his ear. but you can see through him, and feel just how bothered he really is.

so you up the ante; start to lift and drop your hips slow, slow, slow at first before the pace begins to build. you lean forward on your elbows, pull your underwear up until the curve of your ass is exposed, gasping from the friction, from the feeling of his cock rubbing so sweetly at your slit through the thin cotton.

you look over your shoulder once more, grinning, biting at your lip as you grind against him, close to completion. he can see it all in your eyes.

"Gonna call you back later. Got some important shit to take care of right now." Toji hangs up without preamble, gaze distant as he focuses on the ever growing spot of your arousal that starts to leak onto his own sweats.

but you're a little minx, with the way you scramble from his grasp before he can catch you, laughing when he snags your ankle to drag you back down. he's suddenly kneeling over you, grin sharp and ferocious, the straining of his cock through his sweats hanging so intimidatingly low, that if you lift your hips just a little, his tip would kiss your clit in the sweetest kiss.

"And where do you think you're going, you little brat?" Toji growls, dropping down to nip at the base of your neck, licking over your pulse point.

"Not letting me off the hook that easy, huh?" you tease, hands splayed beside your head in surrender, just wanting a little bit of the chase before the devouring. and by the look in his eyes, you know you'll only be bones by morning.

"Not in a million years." he promises right before the inevitable pounce.