#i had a draft scribbled into a notebook because i was working on it on my lunch breaks at work

[wosofutbolfan]

When Somebody Loved Me (Everything Was Beautiful)

Alexia Putellas x Reader

A story of a lifetime spent growing together. To what end?

Songfic

WC: 17k. Check TW inside.

TW: Bullying based on disability. Death of a parent. Angst. Grief.

Hi Guys.

This has sat in my drafts for months and inside my head for even longer. There is no part 2 planned. This is angsty with fluffy moments. Be warned.

I think we can all agree the most heart wrenching media moment of all time is Toy Story 2 and the below song.

If you don't agree. Move along this is not for you.

Reader calls Alexia, Alex throughout this fic. That's based on this video. Cause I have never heard someone refer to that and I thought it was cute. Alexia refers to R as 'Conejito' as a literal translation of bunny - I have since realised there's a more vulgar translation of this which I'm ignoring. Ha.

Spoiler Alert - This story deals with the death of a parent. Which I went back and forth on writing. Something about it still feels ick to me because these are real people. I may delete. Everything within is based on my own experience of parental loss. And it comes from no place of malace or weirdness.

This also deals with a severe speech impediment - which again, I do not suffer from myself but have experience with and hope I have done the struggle justice for anyone who may suffer.

My spanish is google translate because I am an ignorant English speaker. Apologies.

When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour we spent together Lives within my heart

It was raining on the day that you met her.

That was strange. For Barcelona. The rain.

You found yourself where you usually could be found, to anyone who would take notice. Which wasn’t anyone to your knowledge except for a few observant teachers. In the art room, in the back corner, working relentlessly at an easel that your favourite teacher would set up for you.

You had transferred into the school part way through term, and for the first few days as with most schools you were the new and shiny thing. At 12 a lot of the kids in school had known each other since birth and you were new fresh blood to entertain them.

That didn’t last too long though when they realised you weren’t actually that interesting.

Shy and quiet as you always had been, you kept yourself to yourself. Its not that you didn’t want to make friends. You did. You so desperately did. But you just didn’t know how.

You had a stutter. That never helped. Kids could be cruel. And with the move from your hometown to Mollet for your mum's job it had only gotten worse. 

Words felt like lead in your mouth, your jaw felt tight and you struggled to get your words out. They stuck in your throat and refused to move from there. 

The teachers were kind. Your peers were not. Your speech therapist was helping. You spent more time than any 12 year old should thinking about sentence structure and breathing techniques.

You knew your parents worried about you. Waiting for you to get home from school every day with worried glances and eager smiles; “Did you make any friends today niña?” your dad would ask, pretending to be casual, flicking through some book or another. “Not today Papi.” You would reply, never wanting to lie to your family, before happily jumping the couch next to him and starting to scribble in your notebook.

“Maybe tomorrow niña. There is always tomorrow”.

Well. Turns out dads are clever.

Because there was always tomorrow. And on an unusually rainy day for Mollet tomorrow came.

“Putellas!! Get back here! Pute-...”

The door to the art room quickly opened and slammed closed. The noise jolts you out of your peaceful reverie. A tall brunette girl smashed her back against the door and a hand quickly flicked out to turn the lights off to the room.

She clearly hadn’t noticed you huddled in the corner as she slid down the door onto her butt. Closing her eyes she let out a deep sigh and rested her forehead on her knees.

You didn't know what to do.

You knew who she was. Of course you did. She was Alexia Putellas.

The Alexia Putellas. Futbol superstar. Well… the 12 year old playground version of that. The coolest girl in school. She oozes confidence. Was always surrounded by a gaggle of your peers. Never without a ball at her feet or in her hands. But she hadn’t noticed you. Arm still raised working on the canvas in front of you, vision now impeded by the dark she had forced onto the room by turning the light off. You froze. Mouth slightly agape and hand starting to sweat. You watched as she rocked her forehead side to side on her knees. Your arm became tired in its upright position and the noise of you plopping the brush back into the water jar seemed to jolt her out of her stupor. Her neck snapped up and you met her wide, hazel eyes that bore into you. “Oh! Lo siento, I didn’t… I didn’t know anyone else was in here.” She was met with silence. Your stutter affected you terribly on a good day. Nevermind your safehaven suddenly being invaded by the coolest girl in school. Who you had idolised from afar since arriving in Mollet. Her head tilted curiously as she took you in. You felt her eyes drift to the canvas behind you. “Did you paint that?” She stands to her full height, still keeping her distance from you. “Why are you painting in the dark…?” She asks curiously. Head still tilted. Faced with a direct question you couldn’t put it off any longer. You couldn’t delay the inevitable. “Y..y…you, tu…tu….switched off….” Changing the words you intended to use halfway through was a coping mechanism that your therapist had tried to get you to work out of your system. She called it masking. You called it getting by. You raise your hand and point to the lightswitch that she had flicked when she entered the room. She looks at you harder now. You feel her eyes boring into you and wait for the inevitable laughter. The pity. Maybe even the cruelty that you are used to when people hear you speak. You cast your eyes down, waiting for the blow. But you just hear a flick of a switch, and the darkness behind your eyelids lifting. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have switched it off if I had known. I was just trying to get away. I kicked a football at Senorita Lopez by accident in the gym. They won’t let me play outside in the rain. Idiotas” You lift your eyes at her gentle, lilting tone as a smile teases your lips. She's moved closer to you now. “You didn’t answer. Did you paint this?” Her hand comes out to hover over the lines of your still-wet painting. Carefully. Again, you’ve been asked a direct question. “Si.” you reply, quietly. You don’t struggle so much with single words. “By yourself?” she asked, aghast, wonder taking over her features. You nod in reply. “This is so cool! Show me!” A grin overtakes your features as you nod more enthusiastically. Glasses slipping down your nose. Pulling out a fresh canvas for your new friend. “Lo siento, I haven’t told you my name. My Papa says it's rude not to introduce myself…” she stands tall and thrusts out her hand. Very formally. Very practised. “I am Alexia Putellas Segura.” You pause for a moment, looking at her outstretched hand. You wipe your clammy hands on your jeans. And shake her hand. “A���A…” you grow frustrated with yourself, the words getting stuck in your throat. You pull your hand away but Alexia keeps her grip firm and nods at you encouragingly. “Al…Alex… Alex.” you give up. Eyes downcast. Maybe you can tell your papa you nearly made a friend today. “Alex! Cool! I’ve never had that nickname! Most people call me Ale. But it can be our thing. I know you, you are y/n I remember Senora Perez making you stand at the front of class. Show me how to paint! Please? ”  Alexia was not a good painter. She quickly got bored and distracted by the newspaper on the desk intended for a paper mache project which she screwed up together, fashioned into a football and then spent the rest of the wet lunchtime kicking around the art room aiming for various targets that she would shout out to you. 

You dutifully cheered at every successful hit of the target. That night as you climbed onto the couch next to your papa and he asked; “Did you make any friends today niña?”. You couldn’t wait to reply; “Si! Alex.” You missed the way his newspaper dropped ever so slightly, and he caught the eye of your mami who was in the kitchen. “Ah, Si? Alex should come for dinner! We would love to welcome him!” He replied, his delight even obvious to you. “No tonta… Alex is a girl!” you let out. In that hilariously moody way only 12 year olds can. You became inseparable. Alexia was your best friend. Complete and total opposites. She would spend wet lunches in the art room with you. She would drag you to the playing fields after school and on break and you would be a goalie for her. Which was really just you standing complaining about where you found yourself and you dived away from balls as she cackled out a laugh. She came round for dinner with your family most nights. You spent every weekend at the Putellas household, travelling to her football games, strapped up next to Alba in the back of the Putellas family car, scribbling away in a notebook as you drew landscapes that you passed. On the way home you would sketch and sketch, only slightly hindered by the weight of your gangly best friend as she slept on your shoulder.  Your art would sit on both family fridges. Alex’s football boots would litter both entrance ways. Your mami would pick Alba up from the junior school if Eli got stuck at work. Joint family dinners were the norm.

Your relationship evolved through the years. Easily. Blissfully. You grew together. You became taller, however still paling in height compared to your best friend. You got braces and had them removed, You wore contacts most days now instead of your thick rimmed glasses. Though you still could usually be found in the art rooms.

Alexia filled out, she became less gangly and more strong, after years dedicated to football and training. 

Your speech improved. Your stammer only comes out rarely and you know your triggers. You worked hard every week with your speech therapist but you always credited Alexia. She gave you confidence. 

No one at school would roll their eyes or laugh at you when Alexia was by your side. She didn’t rush you. She didn’t finish your sentences. Nothing was more formidable within your school walls than if Alexia had found out someone had made fun of you, or not been patient with you. She got in trouble countless times defending your honor. Even if the teachers hated punishing her for it. 

You maybe realised on some level that you were as important to Alexia as she was to you the day that caused her to miss the U15 School Championship final. 

One of the more idiotic older basketball boys had caught you in the hallway. Trying to impress his gaggle of followers he had tripped you up as you were on your way scurrying into the art rooms to finish the sign you had made for Jaume to wave at the upcoming championship final. You had fallen flat on your face, quickly moving onto your back and pressing yourself against the wall. It had been a while due to Alexia's influence but you had dealt with bullies your entire life and you knew you had to just make yourself small and wait it out. “Oh s-s-s-s-s–s-s-oooorry it w-w-w-as an a-a-a-a-accident!!” the boy taunted you, leaning over you and exaggerating your stutter. 

His spittle hitting your face and making you wince. He brought himself to his full height, which was impressive for a 16 year old and turned to his friends. “Honestly, how is she even in this school, she is so estupida!” His guffaw was matched by his followers however their faces quickly dropped as they looked behind their ringleader. “What did you just say to her?” a cold, terse voice entered the conversation. You didn’t see his face drop but you could imagine it. 

He quickly turned and looked at Alexia standing in the doorway. Sunshine behind her darkening your view. As she stepped into the halfway you took in the thunderous look on her face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her as angry. 

You barely recognised her. “I-i-i sai…” This time he wasn’t impersonating you. 

He knew he was fucked. She moved quicker than you had ever seen her move on the football pitch. The tall boys friends quickly scattered as she grabbed him by his shoulders. He may have had at least two foot of height difference on her but that quickly diminished to nothing as she kneed him squarely between the legs. He doubled over in pain as she landed blow after blow to his stomach. “Alex… stop.” you instructed, gathering yourself to your feet. 

Your voice cut through her rage and she immediately stopped her punches. He scurried off as soon as he was able to, no serious damage done apart from to his ego… and maybe his balls. She turned to face you after shouting some choice expletives to his back, face immediately morphing into one of concern, eyebrows furrowed as her hands cupped your face. “¿Estás bien?” She asked, seriously. Hands moving to check you over. 

“Si, Si, estoy bien.” you replied. “You shouldn’t have done that Alex.” you regarded her with sceptical eyes. 

Her brow furrowed further, “What should I have done then? He’s un maton, he hurt you. I taught him a lesson. I would do it again. I would. I am not sorry.” she said firmly as she moved your head beneath her chin and wrapped her strong arms around you. 

You tried to pretend that the butterflies in your stomach erupting at her protectiveness were a normal reaction to a friend. 

Right? She repeated the same platitudes the next day, but this time with Jaumes hand on her shoulder as she sat in the headmaster's office. The boy she had humiliated so happened to be the son of one of the school governors. The headmaster told the footballer and her father that if Alexia apologised to the boy then she would go unpunished, otherwise, he would be forced to stop any of her extra-curricular activities, including the interschool championship final. Which, as headmaster, he really didn't want to do when his school had their first chance of winning in over a decade. She refused. 

She was banned from playing.

The team lost. 

Badly. The guilt ate away at you as you both watched from the sidelines as the 5th goal against your team went in. 

She grasped your knee, and still watched the game. “Stop feeling guilty. I am still not sorry. There are more important things than football conejita.” 

You took a breath and placed your hand on top of hers. You turned to look at her incredulously. “I mean, very few. Football is still in the top 2. Food is 3.” she continued, deadpan. Forcing a laugh out of you. You asked her once, years after first meeting, one sleepover when you were both lying side by side on the Putellas trampoline looking up at the stars. Why was she so patient with you? When no one else was? She looked at you, dumbfounded, genuinely confused by the question. “You have a voice y/n. You deserve to be heard.” she replied. Moving into her favourite position which was pulling all of your weight completely on top of her. Your head rested over her heart. You could hear the thump thump thump against your ear. You hoped she couldn’t feel the fluttering of yours.  

It was that simple to her. “Plus you looked like a rabbit in the headlights when I barged in, you were too cute. Mi pequeña coneja”.

Your Alex. 

You transitioned from best friends into girlfriends at 16 with no fanfare. A shy kiss after a win at Alexia's latest championship sealed it. Her grin splitting her face. Yours matching when you realised your dreams could become a reality. Hands held tentatively in the backseat of Jaumes car as he smiled at the scene through his rear view mirror.  Days later, as you both stood in front of your mami and papi shyly holding hands you realised, squeezing the trembling hand in yours, that it was the first time you had seen Alex nervous. In all of your years of friendship.

Alexia still had her weirdly formal streak, the same as the day you met her, so you let her do what she felt she needed to.

“Senor y Senora y/l/n… “ she started, taking a breath. “Mi and y/f/n…”

Your parents caught your eye, dumbfounded. She never used their titles. They rarely heard her use your name. You were always conejito.

“Alexia… estimada…” your mami started, with kind eyes. You could tell she knew what was coming. You shook your head at her slightly, Alexia too caught up in her own moment to notice. Your mami let her speak.

“Mi and y/f/n…”

Your papi, however, was not as emotionally in tune as your mami, “Monito, what is going on? Why are you being muy loca? Have you got mi mija pregnant? I know you're an overachiever bu…” “Papi!” you screeched out, interrupting him. 

Alex stood mouth agape, face flushed as she looked to you for help. “Papi, Mami, Alex is tr…try…tryi… telling you that we’re together together.” you let out, raising your joined hands. Your mami let out a laugh behind her hands, your papi however stood and exclaimed, “Was that some sort of secret!? Dios Mio of course you are! We thought you had been for years!  You made me change your bedtime story from princesses to football-playing princesses on the day you met!  Why do you think your Mami makes you keep your door open when this one stays, Mija?” 

Now it's your turn to blush as your mouth drops open. As he passes Alexia he gently smacks her upside the head, ruffling her long brunette hair. “Now come on cabeza de bola, me and the guys from work are starting a 5 a side. I need your help on penalties…” You huff out a laugh as your girlfriend is dragged away, confused look stuck on her face - eyebrows adorably drawn and mouth furrowed and clinging to your hand until distance forces her to let go. 

Your mami settles her arm across your shoulders. “I’m happy for you Mija” she mutters, in her gentle tone as you fall into her embrace. “You’re going to marry that girl one day.” Even after everything that would happen and the hell you would feel, you thank God for the unseasonal rain in Barcelona that day in junior school.

And when she was sadI was there to dry her tearsAnd when she was happy, so was IWhen she loved me It wasn’t long after you made your relationship official that you had your first real test.

You knew something was wrong with your girlfriend probably before she did. You knew her like the back of your hand. Though it finally came to a head one early evening at the Putellas household.

You had both picked Alba up from school, and you had set out to making dinner in the Putellas kitchen whilst Alexia's parents were both stuck at work.

It was standard practice, occurring at least once a week. You moved through the kitchen with ease. The ease is what alerted you.

Usually, on nights like these, Alba would huff off to her room like any other pubescent teenager, head stuck in her phone and earphones firmly in place. Alexia however, would usually be found attached to your back, arms wrapped around you as you cooked, or sat at the breakfast bar, swiping chopped veggies til you hit her with a spoon to make her stop, rolling your eyes as she insisted she was a growing girl and she needed the extra.

No, this was too easy, you thought, as you moved around, you missed your big inconvenience in the kitchen and you made sure your pasta sauce was bubbling nicely and went to search for her. 

You find her in the living room, her large frame draped over the sofa, eyes mindlessly watching the TV. But you can tell she isn’t watching whatever is on. Ale isn’t a big TV-watcher. She's very rarely sitting still for long enough to concentrate. The exception being if you're in her lap, where she entertains herself by playing with your hair or tracing the lines on your palm. “Hey, amor, estás bien?” your voice brings her out of her thoughts, “Ey? Ah sí conejito, lo siento, is dinner ready?” she asks, making to stand, but being stopped by your hand on her shoulder.  “Ay, when did I become the hired help, ey?” you ask, trying to tease a smile out of your girlfriend. “Dinner will be ready soon. Tell me what's on your mind.” The thing about Alex is she’s an open book. People may think she is stern and serious but she wears her heart on her sleeve. You can always see her thoughts plainly on her face, so you know something troubling her. She knows she can’t hide it from you, so she doesn’t try. “I’ve been offered a professional contract.” She states, plainley. Your heart lifts for her. Your whole life Alexia has bled football. For many years she believed, and you did too though you would never admit it, that it wouldn't be possible to make a career from the sport. You don’t think you have ever seen Alexia as sad as when she aged out of the Barcelona FC teams. She was devastated. It was a harsh reminder that Spain wasn't the USA. The opportunities are not always available. But the thing you loved most about Alexia was her dogged determinedness. She would train in the morning, in the afternoon, between classes. You are overjoyed that all of that hard work has paid off. Something wasn’t adding up with her reaction, however. “Alex, that's amazing news!” you exclaimed, unable to hide the joy in your voice. “Why are you not more excited? Is it a bad deal?” “No, amor, it is a fair deal.” she sighs. You just look into her eyes, waiting for her to tell you what she wants to share. She takes a deep breath. “It’s Levante, I would have to move to Valencia.” Ah, you see. Your heart breaks at the sad frown painted on the usually stern face of your girlfriend. Your hand moves up to trace her eyebrow, forcing them to unfrown and moving down to cup her cheek. She leans heavily into the warmth of your hand, and damp eyes open, fixing to yours. “Oh Alex, it’s okay” you whisper. The truth is you had always known that with the career your girlfriend was destined to follow, that you would have to spend time away from each other. You already did. Alexia has often been away throughout your friendship and now your relationship for national camps. 

You had a very mature relationship for 17 year olds. Having been woven into each other's lives for so many years. You were part of each other's DNA. You knew how to manage the time without your girlfriend. You were both grade A communicators. You accepted that this would be different, and no doubt unimaginably hard for the footballer, her family was her life. But so was football. And you know you needed to encourage her to take this step. “It’s not okay!” she stated, firmly, sitting up straight on the couch. “It’s not fair! Finally I get what I have dreamed of but it comes at the expense of everything I love. Mi familia, Barcelona, you! Why can’t I have both? I don’t know what to do” “You go to Levante, Alexia.” you say, seriously, “This is a huge opportunity for you.” She looks at you incredulously and you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong. “Oh, so it is that easy for you? Si? You just let me go like it doesn’t even bother you!” You aren’t used to Alexia's stern frown being sent your way, usually it's aimed at someone in defence of you. Or at a goalkeeper.  You, however, know the brunette is feeling vulnerable, she has waves of insecurity at times, she puts so much pressure on herself it's inevitable, but you are always there to assure her of her worth, and your love. “You know that's not true, amor.” you say, tenderly, hand reaching into her brunette locks to sooth her. “I agree, it’s not fair that Barca don’t have a women's team but I have always known your talent would take you away from me, “ she opens her mouth to interject, “but I love you. And I know you love me. We are tethered. Forever. When, not if, you go to Valencia, we will make it work. You know we will amor, you can have both” “But I will miss you.” she whimpers, pathetically. “I will miss you every second. But it will get better, it’ll pass Alex.” Her head finds your neck as she settles in there. Her larger frame is quite comically draped over you. “Do you promise?” she lets out, weakly. And you don’t let a moment pass, “I promise.” and seal your promise with a kiss to the crown of her head. She moves her chin up and faces you, “Beso, por favour” she asks, who are you to refuse? You kiss softly, you don’t know how many minutes you are tasting her sweet lips pass before you are interrupted by a sulky 14 year old.  “Ewwww!”

Alba appeared, making the two of you split apart, her disgust at the scene she's found making you laugh as Alexia peels herself from you, rolling her eyes.

“I’m gonna tell Mami that you two were making out instead of feeding m…ahh!” Albas accusations getting lost as Alexia chases her around the living room, ready to fight in a way only sisters can.

A strange smelling odour fills your nose. Oh… Oh no. You rush into the kitchen to find your dinner smoking on the hob.

“Oi, Putellas diablos!” You stick your head into the living room where you find Alexia sat on her younger sister whilst she tries to battle off the huge weight she finds on herself. They both pause and look at you guiltily. “C’mon, shoes on, we’re going out to eat, on me, we’re celebrating!”

Both of them unite in cheers as they childishly jump up and run to the front door in glee, shoving each other out of the way to try to get their shoes on first as you watch, affectionately shaking your head.

It will be months later, after a summer filled with memories made with your girlfriend, days at the beach, trips to the market, lazy days at home and soft moments made in the streets of Barna, that you would find yourself alone in bed.

That was weird.

You had spent the day packing with Alexia, the sadness of moving away had started to be replaced with excitement from the tall girl. Her dreams were coming true, okay, it may not be perfect, she finally understands, but it's a step in the right direction.

She can’t believe that she's going to get paid to play football.

Paid. The evening after a long day of packing was spent having a family meal at the Putellas household. Your family is also in attendance. It was a loud and joyous affair and it helped to keep the sadness out of your girlfriend's eyes. After a long evening of sombremesa Alexia had insisted on coming back with you to your parents to your house.

She didn’t want to spend her last evening in Barcelona in her empty bedroom, instead finding solace in yours. You had both talked into the early hours, in the arms of each other, trading soft touches and exchanging breaths until sleep took you. You pretended for her sake that you couldn’t hear her rattling breaths or feel the dampness of her cheeks on your fingers.

Now, however, you were alone, and unsure at what woke you up. Until a tapping comes to your attention. You sit up in bed and hear it again. What is that? You get out of bed and go towards your window, yep, there it is again, coming from outside. You throw open the curtains and peer out into the moonlit garden.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness but you can’t take that moment because you suddenly are hit squarely in the face by a pebble. 

“Ouch.. what the he…” you stand suddenly and bang your head on the window frame “Ow, Fuck!” “Ay Dios Mío, lo siento amor! I didn’t see you had opened the window!” Alexia's panicked voice reached your ears, why was she in the garden? What the hell was going on? “Are you okay conejito?” You take a moment to steady yourself and your mind into your new and abrupt situation. “Conejito?” “Yes, Alex, I am fine. What are you doing out there?” You’re met with silence. “Al?” The tall brunette is scuffing her foot against the pebbles of the garden that she had previously been launching at the window. “I don’t want to say. I feel stupid now.” You arch your eyebrow in her direction. You don't think that she can even see it but she knows what's aimed in her direction. “I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited. And also sad. And muddled. And I will miss you so much so I was just imagining how good it will feel when you visit, or I visit. Or when I score a goal and you’re watching. Which I know you’ve seen but now it's my job.” she rambles, pausing momentarily to take a breath. 

“Anyway, I thought about how cool it would be if I came to visit and woke you up by throwing stones at your window like in a film! You’d love that! Then I just couldn’t wait to do it. So here’s me, doing it. I’m being romantic.” She throws a crooked grin up at the window and your heart literally melts. “I..I….” and you promptly burst into tears. “Oh no mi amor no! Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to throw a pebble at your face! I’m sorry!” she gestures towards you with her hands frantically. “It’s not that Alex, you’re just such an idiot. And I love you so much. I am going to miss you so much. Get up here.” needing her arms wrapped around you. She nods vigorously and makes to climb the trellis that goes to your window. “No you idiot! Use the door! You have a key!” “Oh yeah.” you hear her mutter to herself before she scurried back inside. As you’re settled back into her warm arms, her huge hands palming through your hair. “That was very romantic Alex.” you mumble and you practically hear her purr with pride at herself. “Next time though bebe, use your key, I would much rather you be here in bed with me.” “Noted.” she mumbles into your skin, wiping away the tears that you can’t stop from rolling down your cheeks. Alexia got settled into her professional team quickly and efficiently, she was one of the youngest but easily the most talented on the pitch. You would travel up with Jaume religiously at the weekends wherever you could, your time in the week spent busy with the Art College you had enrolled in. Alba sometimes tagging along when you bribed her with snacks.

As promised you were there when she scored her first professional goal, her beaming smile sent directly to you and Jaume in the stands, stood cheering for her. You witnessed her wide eyes, after the game, as you stood waiting for your celebratory hug and maybe a cheeky kiss, when she was stopped by a little hand. “Hola.” the small girl had to crane her neck to look up at your girlfriend. She was shaking with excitement. “Hola?” she replied, confused. “Can I have your autograph por favour?” she asked, sweetly. Alexia just stood there, like a sim. 

You stepped forward with your notepad and drawing pencil that you carry everywhere, you had more drawings of inside a football stadium than anyone would need. You ripped out a page and handed Ale the pencil. “Of…of course?” She scribbled down her autograph for the young girl who beamed and ran away holding it above her head to show her mami who picked her up in glee. Alexia's wide eyes stared at you. “Did you see that?” “I saw that bebe, I handed you the pencil. I also saw your goal, superstar!” You couldn’t control your grin, which was mirrored by your girlfriend. “You played so well! Alex!” You're interrupted as she drags you over the fencing and pulls you into a bear hug. Her face nuzzled into your neck, her body vibrating with excitement. “I scored for you conejito!” she says “Well, hija, I won’t be offended, I have only been to every game you’ve played for 10 years” Jaume appears above you both still in the stands, smiling teasing his lips. “And you papa!” she releases you and pulls her papa into a hug. Dragging you back in after a moment before declaring that her first goal means that she deserves pizza and ice cream courtesy of her papa. 

Through the summer and the fall We had each other, that was all Just she and I together Like it was meant to be

You finished your college course and your love for art had never died. You made the trip to Valencia wherever possible to see Alex and she came back to Barna at least once a month to see her family and you on an off weekend. You would spend those weekends living at Alexias house, soaking up every moment together as much as possible. 

She would bring her clothes home for Eli to wash as she was useless at anything practical. You would make sure that you would always snag a sweater of hers before it was washed and keep hold of it, soaking in her scent before you could swap it out again. Alexia, used to pretend she hated it, they would always be returned with paint stains around the cuffs which would harden and she said irritated her skin.  You tried to be more careful but you didn’t stop stealing them.

You saw the same amount of her family as before she moved away, your lives had been so intrinsically linked that you had become an honorary Putellas, and she was a part of your family. You hung around with Alba and you helped Eli with her shopping when her car broke down. You were family.

Weirdly enough, it was you that met Alexia's future best friend first. After college, you started to make money from your art by being a live artist at weddings.

You knew your parents were worried about what you would do with your art. Teaching was the obvious choice but with your speech issues, it was your idea of hell.

This was perfect.

It was a niche business but you got paid well and you loved it. You got to go to weddings for a job. You got to capture people's joy on the most important day of their lives.  You would sit in the corner with an easel set up, sketching and painting guests, the dance floor, the top table. And you could immediately give your paintings to the couple and their guests, the validation was enormous, you were good at what you did. Discreet and professional.

You soon get a client list for miles and the money starts to pour in.

It was at one of these weddings that you met Mapi. She caught your eye during the speeches and you started to draw her outline. She was clearly very very gay at a very straight wedding. But it wasn’t just that that caught your eye, her tattoos intrigued you. And you loved sketching them and adding hints of colour here and there.

She looked up at you and caught you sketching, as guests often would, you were able to not let it distract you, ever the professional you offered a gentle smile.

“You like football?” a heavily accented voice reached your ears as you were adding the finishing touches to the dancefloor scene that was set out before you.

“Que?” It wasn’t often that guests interacted with you, but sometimes it happened.

“Your bag, FC Barcelona? That's not usual for a pretty girl like you, to like football.”

“Ah, Si.” You reply, your eyes not moving from your painting. “It’s my girlfriends.” you reply, emphasising your relationship status, not wanting a moment of confusion.

“Ah, boo, you have ruined my fun.” She replies, “Maria Leon '' She introduces herself, hand out for you to shake, you don’t take her hand, handing your paint-y hands up. She holds her hands up in surrender. “I see, I see. FC Barcelona though. Good team. No women's team though.”

“No, but there will be, and my girlfriend will be their top scorer when it happens”  you reply confidently. “You seem so sure?” “I am.” She lets out a laugh. “I can’t argue with that, then I will be their best defender” she offers a huge smile. Mapis smile is magic and makes you smile.

You and Mapi become firm friends. She talks. And talks and talks and talks. You don’t know how she has so much to say. But she is fun and she is kind. Your stutter makes an appearance as it sometimes does but it is perfectly offset by her inability to stop yapping. You don’t feel a pressure to fill the silence because you know she will. 

Years later, at a supercup final, you will both laugh about your first conversation. About how both of your statements came true. Turns out, people paid well for authentic paintings of their favourite moments. And as a young adult you found yourself with enough money to get yourself a small apartment in Mollet. You loved it. And you loved the independence it brought you. You think that was the happiest time of your life. You would spend days on your sun drenched terracotta tiled balcony. Painting watercolour and sketching the scenes both in your mind and your view over the square that your apartment was on. You had quite the online following and would get some commissions for your art which brought you a sense of purpose and joy. The absolute best time was when Alexia had a free weekend, or a break, she would stay with you and you would live in domestic bliss. It was an unspoken agreement. No question that she would make her base for her time back at your apartment. Even when she wasn’t there you wouldn’t sleep on her side of the bed. More of her clothes made their way into your closet. More of her sweaters would get paint marks on them. You would cook together, sing together, dance together in your small kitchenette. Feeling happy and in love as only young people can. Nothing gets between you. Training had been kind to your girlfriend, and you struggled to keep your eyes off her as she would do basic tasks. She was thick. For want of a better word. Her gangly limbs had become pure muscle, her back would ripple when putting on a t-shirt, you would find yourself staring at her forearms as she would cut vegetables. She knew what she did to you and she loved it. Often sending a wink your was and sending you into more of a stuttering mess then usual, heat climbing to your face. You felt your heart grow as you would go shopping for groceries together. Take strolls in the square, you sitting on a bench and sketching as she inevitably got herself involved in a football game with the local kids. Her favourite time of day would be Friday nights. Often, if she was lucky, she would be scheduled an early kick off on fridays. You would travel back from the game together with her papi. You took the backseat as you knew you would monopolise her time back all weekend. Giving her a chance to catch up with her family. You would get home, she would shower whilst you made a light dinner, both taking it in on the balcony before moving inside and settling on the couch. She would put on some illegally screened recordings of the game she had played in. But she would mute it as she pulled you into her chest. You would have a sketchbook in hand and continue working on your art, or a piece from a wedding that needed finishing up. You always told her the commentary wouldn’t distract you. But she insisted. Once finally saying, “I like the sound of your pencil, it soothes me, and sometimes you trace the sketch on my leg with your free hand. It gives me goosebumps. I like it.” you never asked again. You argued, of course, like any couple did. But it never lasted long. Alex would get angry when she would find paint in the sink, and you would struggle to share your space at first. But you never went to bed in a fight. Even if you tried to be stubborn your body would fail you and you would gravitate towards her in the moments before sleep, muttering your apologies or forgiveness. In those early days of young adulthood it would be the only time in your relationship where you had more money than Alex. 

Football did not pay well. It did not pay a living wage. 

You didn’t care. 

You felt privileged every time you scanned your card for the groceries, or paid for dinner on a date. You knew she hated it though. “One day conejito, I will give you everything life can offer, I promise” she would whisper into your skin whilst she tried to make it up to you in other ways. You would always tell her you had everything you needed right there with you. It was perfect. Life was perfect. You had friends, a stable job, the love of your life. Yes, distance was hard, yes, each time she left you would cry and hold her tighter to you, but you knew it wasn’t forever, and you never felt that distance in your relationship. You grew together, like a plant, your love was carefully cultivated in experiences and shared memories.

And when she was lonely I was there to comfort her And I knew that she loved me

You had never felt sadness like it. It was all encompassing. You couldn’t get away from it. You were sad for your chosen family. You were sad for your own family. You were sad for yourself. But you were devastated for your girlfriend. You didn’t know what to do with so much sadness. You couldn’t hold it in, but you couldn’t let it out. You needed to be strong for your girlfriend. Who was walking around as a shell of the person that you knew her to be. Well, that was when she was walking, she would throw herself into her childhood bedroom and stay there silently for hours. You would be okay with it if she was sleeping, but she just stared at the wall aimlessly. Her Papa was her inspiration. The reason she got into football. She would look up to him even as she towered over him. And it was so so cruel that he had been taken away from her in such a manner. A week after Jamues passing you found yourself next to Alexia at his funeral. It was a beautiful affair, a celebration of the life of a man who loved hard and was loved hard. The morning had been difficult, you had ironed Alexia's dress and set it out for her. She took your instruction like a small child, you brushed her hair straight and pulled it out from her face. You struggled to speak. Such immense grief you felt the words became garbled in your mouth, rendering you mute. But you didn’t want any pressure on Alexia. 

You knew when your stutter made an appearance she would drop everything, concentrate on doing your exercises with you, hand automatically cupping your jaw and massaging the soft area beneath your ear because she knew that relaxed your facial muscles. So you both moved around silently. That morning. As you guided her around what needed to be done. As you packed her bag with tissues you hoped that you needed to use them. You hadn’t seen her cry since she rushed home from Valencia to the news. So no, you didn’t know what to do with your grief. You loved him too. He was the first person you had loved and lost. You had your own special relationship built from long car journeys and shared snacks. He would put your art on his fridge like you were one of his own. He was kind and he was half of the person who you loved to your core. God. If you felt like this. You don’t know how Alexia was still breathing. You had been spending all week as the Putellas household. Not leaving Alex's side. But also not leaving Alba, who would lean heavily into you of an evening, seemingly crying all of the tears that her sister couldn’t. It felt healthy though, through the tears you could share memories and make her laugh. You would go to bed with Alex and the silence would continue. When you were sure she was asleep you would sneak out of bed and grab your sketch pad, settle into the corner of the room and just let it out. Her dad told you once at a game how his father worked as a coal miner. He said it proudly, he adored hard work. That's where Alexia got her devotion from. It was a passing moment, a memory that you didn't even know you had. But it stuck with you as you went into the Putellas garden and took a lump of coal from the barbeque and settled yourself into the dewey grass. Hand not stopping over your sketchpad and tears rolling down your cheeks.

The night after the funeral you stayed at your own parents house. You couldn’t handle the loneliness of your own apartment. You didn’t want to intrude at the Putellas residence, and you hoped that maybe some time with her family would be what Alexia needed to open up. You were right, but not in the way you imagined. A soft clink, clink, clink, woke you up, This time you were not frightened. You had heard this noise before. You immediately jumped out of bed and ran to your window, showing it open and shoving your head out. “Alex! What are you doing here, why didn’t you use your key?” The brunette looked up at you with sad eyes, you saw she was in her pyjamas, eyes sideways showing no car, she had walked here. “I forgot it.” she let out, morosely. “Oh mi amor, no p..p..problem, hold on I will come down and let you in.” before you had a chance to bring your body back into the house you heard her again, “You left me.” your heart cracked into two. You didn’t reply but instead hurried downstairs into the moonlit garden. She stood there, with all her muscle and height, looking everything like a toddler who was lost in a supermarket. You took her hand in yours and used your other to cup her cheek. “Oh, mi amor I didn’t leave you, I thought you wanted some space.” Maybe you expected her to agree, maybe you expected her to disagree and shout at you for getting it so wrong. You didnt realise that you were to her, like an umbrella in the rain, protecting her from the downpour. With you gone she drowned in the grief. You didn’t expect her lip to tremble and her to burst into tears. “I want my papa.”  Those 4 words broke your heart as you huddled her into your arms, rocking lightly to bring her confort. There was nothing you could say, you just brought her into your bed and held her as she cried, painting her skin with whispers of your love “I know, bebe, I know, I promise it’ll pass, I promise, and I will be here. The pain will go. It will pass Alex and I will be here.” It became a mantra that you whispered into her skin.

As she calmed down you took a moment to think. As you got out of bed and she groaned in annoyance you hushed her with your lips to her skin. “Un momento, mi amor, I have something for you.”

You presented it nervously, unsure of the reaction you would get.

It was a framed picture that you had created. Not like your usual artwork as it was made from coal. Coal from the Putellas barbecue to be exact. It was a sketch of a man in the stands of a football stadium, somehow, eyes beaming with pride, laugh lines visible on his face. A footballer with a long ponytail and similar features jumping into his arms.

It was a scene you had witnessed hundreds of times throughout the years. You didn’t need to see it again to create it. The coal added a haunting and beautiful dimension to it. When you explained your reasoning Alexia looked deeply into your eyes. Holding onto the frame with white knuckles like her life depended on it.

“I love you.” 

And when Alexia scored and helped her team to win the U19 Championship for her country not 3 weeks later. Celebrating with eyes to the sky, fingers pointed. You knew that, eventually, she would be okay. 

So the years went by I stayed the same But she began to drift away I was left alone Still, I waited for the day When she'd say, "I will always love you"

It was as though it had been destined for years but finally finally the news came that Barcelona FC would have a women's team. Mapi had texted you with glee when the news broke out, she knew that she was stuck in her own contract but the fact it existed made it a possibility for her dreams to come true. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, was a free agent. You thought, privately, that even if she wasn't a free agent that she would break every law on planet earth to play for her childhood club. She was offered a contract and signed without any hesitation. A mist in her eyes at the missing presence in her signing photos. You drove with Alba to collect her and all her things from a year in Valencia directly to your apartment. As you unpacked her stuff, Alba on a food run with money you had shoved into her hand, your small flat suddenly felt full. “Alex,” You called, from the living room, you heard her shuffle around and pop her head into the bedroom where you stood, surrounded by boxes. “Si, conejito?” she asked, breathlessly. You took in her smile, that you had missed over the months, the light in her eyes, the ease of her movements. “I am just asking, I don’t actually remember asking you to move in?” You say, teasingly, gesturing to her boxes surrounding you. It was true, you hadn’t, it had just been assumed by both of you, as well as both of your families. A blush rose up her neck, “I mean… I-i-..”. You burst out laughing. “I am just teasing you”. A glint in her eyes took over and you had half a second to brace yourself before you were tackled by an almost 6ft wall of muscle. You landed gently on the bed with a thump. “Well, light of my life. I think it’s too late for that. Maybe I can make up for my rudeness.” Her voice takes on a sultry tone, attacking your neck with kisses, making you groan. “No, No, No, No, stop it you two! Why is this my life!” Well. Alba was back, You groaned as Alexias full body weight fell onto you as she heard her sister. You had a feeling you both had plenty of time to make up for it. Living with Alexia full time was natural. You had obviously had practice from the year she spent in Valencia but you didn’t realise how easy it would be. You knew where to step to not fall over her boots in the hallway without looking. 

You amended your grocery show to include all her weird protein-packed foods. She would help you get ready for work in your evening gowns that you had to wear to fit in at the weddings, and she would stay up to make sure you got home safe and listened as you babbled on about your favourite parts, all the while taking it in for ideas for your own wedding. You continued to make money at weddings, Alexia rose through the ranks at the new Barcelona Femini team. Quickly establishing herself as a calm and serious captain. 

She took her role seriously,  she would study games religiously at home as you would paint or sketch. Your easel set up in the living room or on the balcony. She would rub your shoulders as you painted, eyes set on the TV at the game. The shared time doing your own activities matched you both perfectly. And just like that, years passed. Years in domestic bliss. Spent together and with your families. Vacations in Ibiza and even a pet cat called Pablo Petcatso, or Pabs for short, entered your little family unit. He was a ginger cat who loved a cuddle and loved getting into Alexia's kit bag, he even made it to the training once or twice, and you had to drive over there to pick him back up. Dragging him away from 22 cooing footballers. 

Women's football grew, as did Alexia's paycheck. And with that, you think, looking back, as did the cracks in your relationship.

“We're here!” Alexias excited voice explained, you had pulled up outside a tall apartment building in the centre of Barcelona. She hadn’t shared with you where you were going. Insisting it needed to be a surprise.

“And where is here?” you looked up at the towering glass building above you, you didn’t come into the city much, you preferred the quiet of your suburb.

“You’ll see, you’ll see!” Her excitement was catching, and you found yourself giddy as the elevator took you further into the skies of the city.

“Ta-da!” She presents a huge open plan space before you, the glass fronted living room has views over the city to the sea. You could count at least 3 bedrooms from where you stood in the hallway. The kitchen was sleek, straight lines and clean granite. 

“What is this place?” you ask, confused, taking in your surroundings. “It's our new apartment!” What? “What?” you breathe out. “Don’t you love it?!” Alexia remains giddy, her excitement not fading and she fails to notice your unenthused reaction. Your mind whirred. “Come look, come look!” she grabbed your hand, and pulled you further into the apartment. Proudly presenting each room to you. “And this room. I thought you could have it as your art studio!” “Art studio?” you whisper. “Yeah! Isn’t it so cool, and so much space. Now I wont get cross at you for getting paint all over the kitchen! Pabs will have so much room to explore!” She turns around and pulls you into her embrace, you are still shellshocked at everything presented to you. “I promised you, didn’t I? I would give you the world conejito.” Her eyes are so bright with joy, the smile so wide on her face, you couldn’t help but smile. Yes, the sleek lines, the large space, and the modern kitchen were beautiful. You didn’t see it for yourself, you preferred your terracotta tiled balcony and your plants overtaking your kitchenette. You loved painting in your living room when Alexia would watch a match. Pabs crawling over your shoulders, your little bubble with your family. But you could see how proud Alex was of herself, of what she had achieved. You must have taken a moment too long, as her eyebrows furrow. “You don’t like it.” you said, plainly, “No… No Alex, I do! I was just so surprised. I love it, and I love you.” “Yeah?” her eyes brighten again. You kiss her lips softly, “Yeah.” “Good! And think conejito, maybe one day there would be room for a bigger family?” she asks, shyly. Your heart melted as you nodded frantically and threw yourself into her embrace. As Alexia's career grew, so did the pressure on her. She was often away, it was something your whole relationship had survived, but now, being away with both club and country, as well as in an apartment that had never truly felt like home. You felt lonely. You would come home from weddings with only Pabs to greet you, you would create art in your studio without the background noise of Alexia watching a game, or preparing a smoothie. She would do that in the living area. Nights together were rarer. Your love never dimmed. Alexia showed you in her every movement that she adored you. Date nights, whilst few and far between, were the highlight of your week. Though that soon became the highlight of your month. The one saving grace during this time was that Mapi had finally joined Barcelona Femini and you took it on yourself to be her personal Barcelona guide. As Alexia's fame grew, you shied more into the background. You weren't an extrovert. You would never hide your relationship and you never asked Alexia to but the only social media that you had was that to promote your artwork. Meanwhile, Alexia's followers grew and grew. A few crazed fans had deep dived into her archives and knew of you but that was only a portion of the fanbase. She hated the delving into her private life, and that caused her to stop posting anything of you onto her public accounts. Any trace of you, gone. Before being a footballer, in Alex’ mind, she was your protector, that hadn’t changed from 15 years ago. With 2021 came great change. All of the years of dreams and hard work had paid off and Barca had reached the champions league final. You travelled to Gothenburg with Eli and Alba, a nervousness in your stomach more than usual. For both your girlfriend and your best friend. You celebrated the win with a euphoria you had rarely felt. Everything felt worth it. The lonely nights, the travel around the country, the sacrifices you had to make as the partner of La Reina.

And as she pulled you into her arms after the final whistle, and pulled you over the barricade the same way she did when she scored her first professional goal your heart couldn’t swell more with pride. You don’t want to say that Alexia changed after the Ballon D’or. Because she didn’t. Well, maybe she did, she suddenly sported bright blonde locks which, you admit was sexy, but you missed the softness her natural hair gave her face. By the second Ballon D’or you thought maybe it was you that changed. Maybe it was you that put up a barrier. One that couldn’t be identified easily. But with study it could be noticed. The problem was that Alex wasn’t there to notice. Yeah, you were together, you did things together, you made love and you made memories. You went back to Mollet regularly and ate with your families and you went to games with Alba.  But Alexia was busy. She had brand deals, she had interviews, she had achieved her dream of being the best footballer in the world. You knew she was since you were 12. But now the world knew too. And the world wanted her attention. 

Oftentimes she was exhausted when she got home. She didn’t want to cuddle on the couch. She didn't want to walk around the plaza. She didn’t want to hear about your day. She would ask, but you could tell her mind was elsewhere, in some contract somewhere, so you started to lie. To give answers which would satisfy her without arousing suspicion. Always trying to put her ease first. 

You would decline for nights out with her teammates, you even lied once or twice and said you had a wedding to paint, just to avoid suspicion. Alexia would take your answer as the truth, and kiss your cheek lightly as she left the apartment which quickly felt like it had become your prison. Mapi could see through you. She would try to get you to talk, but she was Alexia's team mate. Alex was her captain. It didn’t feel right to discuss your relationship issues with her. Not when you wouldn’t even talk to the woman in question about it. You found yourself in the familiar seats of the Johan Cryuff stadium taking in the first home game of the new season. Alba and Eli by your side. The first game was always a family affair. With the Putellas cousins in attendance, a restaurant booked for this evening for you all. It was an easy win for the Champions of Europe. And as you stood with Mapi and her new girlfriend Ingrid at the end of the match chatting, Patri bounded over, sweat on her brow and joy in her eyes. “Hola Senora La Reina” she teased you, kissing your cheek, you had been around the team so much that they all knew you well. “Ay, Idiota, hands off” and large, familiar hands wrapped around your middle, a kiss planted to your other cheek as you melted into her embrace. “Congrats bebe” you muttered, craning you neck you see her looking down at you with a smile. “Senora Reina, you’ll come out for drinks with us to celebrate the win, won’t you?” Parti asked, full of joy. 

The attention of the 4 footballers on you suddenly unsettled you. Maybe it was the busy environment. Maybe it was being with Ingrid who you’d only met a few times. Maybe it was Alexias hands around you for the first time in what felt like months. But you struggled to get your words out. “Ah, gra…grac…gracias  for the invite diablo, but m…m…me…” “She’s coming out with mi familia Patri, it’s tradition! You know that! Vamos, I will come out quickly for a drink then join you all, conejito” Alexia interrupted you, planted a final kiss on your cheek and headed to the changing rooms. She didn’t feel you freeze in her embrace. She didn’t see Patri and Mapis expressions change. She didn’t see Ingrid's look of confusion. You felt sick. You felt like you were about to burst into tears. Your throat burned and you struggled to swallow. 

You felt small. You shuffled your feet on the ground and looked up to see Mapis' face had grown furious, her girlfriend's arm had come to rest over her shoulders, trying to settle her but unsure why. You went straight into damage control. Alexia has protected you your entire life. She had never interrupted you, she knew you couldn’t stand when people would finish your sentences. It was the worst thing you could do to someone with a stutter. She knew that. You don’t know why Alexia's endless patience ran out that day. But you knew you wanted to protect her from your best friend's rage. You knew it would happen one day, you just wish it had happened without any witnesses. For both of your sakes. “Mapi, it's fine.” “It is not fine!” Patri backs away from the situation with a kiss to your cheek and an apologetic look. “I don’t know what's wrong with her lately. I am going to kill her…” she moves towards the changing rooms but you pause her with a soft hand. “Maps, please don’t. It’s f…f…okay. I am okay. Ju…just go get changed and go on your night out. I will t..text you tomorrow. Please.” You look to Ingrid for help, you don’t know her well but she has the power over Mapi seemingly, and as she guides her to the changing rooms the small Spaniard seems to settle down. 

Not enough though, apparently, because as soon as she sees her captain again, a flicker of that rage comes back to her. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” Mapi hisses to her captain, “Maria, stop” Ingrid tugged her by the elbow, trying to take her away. Alexia looked up from her phone with a look of indignation, yes she was Mapis friend but she was still her captain, and they were in front of the whole team. Her defensive wall immediately came up. “Discuple?” Her eyes cast across the changing room, their team mates continued to get changed and pretended they weren’t eaves dropping into the mini argument that had developed.

“I said, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Mapi spat out. “Why did you interrupt her?” Something in Alexia's stomach dropped. Her hands become clammy, her body reacting to the accusation before her mind could. “What? I didn’t. I would never.” she whispers in reply, but more to herself. “No, No I didn't.” she said more surely, somewhat desperately. 

Mapi takes in her best friend's demeanour, the usually stoic and strong captain looked devastated, maybe even petrified? Mapi knew what she had done, but could see that Alexia would punish herself more than Mapi ever could. She stepped away, guided by Ingrid. Leaving Alexia to replay the last 10 minutes, desperately. Mapi saw the moment that realisation came to the Catalan Captain, as she bolted out of the changing room, hair damp, throwing her shirt on as she sprinted back into the stadium. Which is where she found you, moments later. You were sitting in the friends and family section, Alexias new baby cousin settled onto your knee, playing with your hands and babbling to himself. You made cooing noises and spoke softly to him and all her Tias and Tios got rounded up for your meal out. You felt her presence behind you, you could practically feel her anxiety coming off her in waves. You looked back quickly and confirmed your suspicions, her blonde hair damp and wetting her shoulders, her foot twisting against the concrete floor, hands knotted together and bottom lip drawn into her lip, chewing anxiously. “It’s fine Alex.” you said, as you turned, attention back on the baby in your lap. She must have seen this acknowledgement as her body surged towards you, she loudly collapsed into the seat next to you, the anxiety coming off her in waves. “Conej…” she started. “No Alex, I pr…pr… I swear. It’s okay. But I’m currently holding the ba…bab…ba… child.” you take a sigh. “I am holding the child and I don’t want to cry so p…please. It’s okay.” If it's possible. She looked even more devastated. Her whole face collapsed. She hated when you would revert to old techniques to speak, by changing up your words mid sentence. Alexia was your protector. It was her proudest badge. Before she was a footballer, in her mind, she was your partner. And she had let you down. She had done the worst thing she could have done. To an outsider Alexia's moment of impatience may have been a minor indiscretion at most. But to you? To Alex? It was the basis of your whole relationship. You felt safe with her. You had a voice, she said, all those years ago when you fell in love, and you deserved to be heard. And now she has brought that into question. “Can I touch you?” she asked, gently. This brought tears to your eyes and you nodded, whilst still entertaining the baby in your lap with coo’s and a false smile. She touched your knee, the heat of her hand bleeding into your skin. “You don’t need to mask in front of me y/f/n.” Alexia never used your name. “Please. Use the words you want to use. I am here to listen. Always.” You are interrupted as Alexias Tia comes to claim her baby, who you hand back with a last pat on the stomach and raspberry to the cheek. You are trying to avoid the next 5 minutes you know will happen. Alexia is somewhat rude when her Tia offers her congratulations, eyes boreing into your head. You sweep your hair back as you face her, having had a moment to think you get your words out easier. “Alex, it’s okay. It was bound to happen one day. Don’t worry about it. Please. Go out with your friends. I will go to the meal as planned. I promise. Alba will drive me home later.” “No.” Alexia says desperately, clutching your hand in hers, “Let’s just go home, amor. Please.” “Ale I made a promise to your mami. I am going to eat. I will see you later.” you press a kiss to her cheek and wander off towards her family.  As she stands, watching you interact with her sister and her mami, her teammates call her over. She feels torn. She just wants to go home with you. She just wants to wrap you up in cotton wool and keep you in her arms. Safe. But you don’t want that right now, so she turns to do as instructed. Throwing one more glance your way, missing Albas worried face as she wipes a tear from your cheek.

Lonely and forgotten Never thought she'd look my way And she smiled at me and held me Just like she used to do Like she loved me When she loved me

You came home early. You asked if Alba could drop you off as soon as you had finished your meal. She was happy to oblige, worried about your silence the entire meal. You were looking down at your phone as you entered your apartment. Assuring Mapi again that you were fine and she should enjoy her drinks. You go to flick on the light in the living area when a stream of light below the door of your studio distracts you. You push the door open cautiously and see Alexia standing there, looking at your work in progress. It was different to your usual work. A close up sketch of a hand, wrapped around a flower, tenderly, it was in the early stages, you could see the lines of the palm and the blades of grass in the field behind. It was mounted onto canvas on your easel and the splashes of colour you had started to add contrasted against the paleness of the room. She hadn’t heard you enter, too lost in the image before her, but Pabs making a run for the door as it opened brought her attention to you. As you stand there, under her gaze, you struggle to remember the last time you saw Alexia in your studio. Yeah she would bob in to let you know dinner was ready, or that she was heading out, but she didn’t come in often enough to take in your work anymore. Now it wasn’t forced on her in the living space. It seemed Alexia had the same realisation as she broke her gaze with you and gestured towards your painting, and then further, to your desk overlooking the window, where more of your work lay. “You’re amazing. I didn’t… I.” a deep breath. “I hadn’t forgotten but I think I… Got lost? Somewhere along the way?” you tilt your head curiously. You don’t know what she’s talking about. “I have been a bad partner to you.” 

“Alex…” “No. I have. And I’m not interrupting you but I won’t let you lie to protect me.” her eyes go again to your easel. “You’re amazing. You are so talented. You are filled with so much kindness. You deserve so much more than this.” her eyes fill with tears and she looks at you. “I tried. You know? I promise I did. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought this,” she gestures towards you and around you “was what you deserved. And it is. But more than that you deserve everything.” She takes a step towards you and grasps your hands with hers, her hands are cold, you note. As you take her in you see dried tear tracks down her cheeks, and… damp hair. “Alexia, did you not go out with the team?” “How do you think that I could go out with the team after what I did?” she asks, aghast. The reminder of the way the evening went washes over you. Alexia panics when she sees your eyes fill with tears. And she pulls you into her chest. “I am so, so sorry mi amor. I am so sorry” she whispers into your hair. “I have broken something sacred between us. And I will never forgive myself.” she swears to you. Though that doesnt bring you any joy. “I forgive you Alex.” she shakes her head in despair, joining you in tears. “You said it was bound to happen someday,” she starts, “Do not think like that amor. It was not. This is not your fault. In any way. It is mine. Please don’t think that, you deserve to be heard. I am so so sorry. So sorry. I will never do it again, promesa.”  All you can do is nod into her chest.

She pulls you from the room and settles you both into the sofa, keeping the light off, only the skyline of the city illuminating your living room through the large, glassed wall. 

She lets you cry into her t-shirt, soaking it more than her damp hair, and through the darkness you pull away and take in her face, she looks youthful. Gone, the professional make up, the expensive jewellery, and hair darkened by the dampness from her shower. You take in a large choked breath. “We need to talk.” you let out. Fear takes over her features and she starts to shake her head. “No, Mi Conejito please no, don’t do this.” she wails. It is a heart wrenching sound. She thinks she's going to be sick. “Woah, woah, woah” you place your hands on her cheeks and pull her panicked eyes to yours; “Mi amor I am not breaking up with you.” you state, clearly. “I am not. Now breathe with me.” Her eyes steady from their darting around the room in fear, and you place your hand on her chest, making her breathe with you. “Okay, okay… okay. Yes, please. Talk to me.” she begs, trying to get oxygen back into her lungs.  “I feel alone. I feel… sa…sad. A lot of the time. And I know… you y…you aren’t doing it on pur…purpose.” Your girlfriend looks heartbroken. Like she had just found out her entire family had died. But refuses to interrupt you as you speak. But you have needed this conversation for so long, that the words start to tumble out of you. Getting lodged in your throat. Har large hand comes up to that familiar place, and massages the soft tissue behind your jaw. Trying to help you without interrupting. “You aren’t doing it on purpose.” you repeat. She pauses for a moment and doesn't ask what you thought she would. “Why am I making you anxious?” she asks, cutting through your thoughts. You move away from her and settle your elbows to your knees. Rubbing your face as you feel a large hand settle onto your back. You hated your stutter. You hated that it ruled your life, but most of all you hated how it exposed you. You were like a child who can’t hide a blush in front of their crush. “You aren’t, Alexia.” “Alex.” she corrects, “I am Alex to you” she insists, “your Alex. It’s just me, mi amor.” she looks at you desperately. “I feel alone, you are never here, and when you are here physically, you aren’t here in your head. Your head is in the clouds, it is with your agent, with your coach, it is not with me.” you’ve started now, so you won’t be able to stop yourself “it is me and Pabs and, even though you're dumb as bricks bebe, you're a better conversationalist than him” you try to joke, a half smile on your face. Which she matches, hand not stopping her ministrations on your back. 

“I cannot remember the last time we just sat together, the last time that we cooked together. Can you Alex?” you don’t receive a reply, 

“I haven’t had your eyes, look at me, really look at me for months. You give your time so easily to those around you, your team mates, people I see you out with at events. I can’t blame you, this is what you always dreamed of. But… I miss you.” Your speech is strong now; “and I love you. That will never change. But you need to know how I am feeling. So it's fair to you. I feel as though you are bigger than the world. And I am just the girl you saved in the art room.” She is openly crying now. “Don’t say that, you are everything” she mumbled, through tears. 

She knew that she had been busy. But she didn’t realise the damage that she had done. She had been to events, you had been at her side. But. When was the last time she asked about a wedding you’d worked? God, you used to sit for hours describing the beautiful scenes, and she’d store away ideas for your own wedding.  The last gallery you had shown at? When had she last visited your mami and papi, who had been there for her her entire life? She kept you off social media for your protection, but she didn’t mean to erase you. When had she become so god damn selfish. “Amor, I think that somewhere along the way, I had forgotten, and forgotten to remind you. There are more important things than football. Well. Football is second”.

You are thrown back to a memory, a school championship 15 years ago, sat on the bleachers watching your school get destroyed. The lanky football captain sat by your side. You can’t help it but tears fill your eyes. You missed her. That girl. The one you were and the one she was. “But.. you told me once, that I could have both.” she whispered, into your neck, “and you can, Alex. Of course you can. But you have to want both. And at the moment. It feels. It feels like you don’t want me.” “No! Mi Amor, Mi Vida, Mi Conejito. You are everything. Eres mi mundo. I am nothing without you.” she takes a breath, deep and shuddering. “I will fix this. Thank you for telling me how you feel. I have a chance to fix this. Si?” she asks, desperately. You nod, “Of course Alex, and it's for both of us to fix, I should have said something sooner.” She refuses your admittance of guilt and drags you into bed. She sticks to you like a second skin. Moves with you to brush your teeth. Standing waiting whilst you use the toilet. She places a fresh glass of water on your bedside table.You want to tell her to give you a bit of space, but the fear in her eyes prevents you from doing so. As soon as you crawl into your side of the bed she has pulled you into her embrace and the warmth that fills you goes beyond the shared body heat. For the first time in a long time, you wake up in the strong arms of Alexia. She hasn’t moved in the night an inch, and you take a moment to take her in. This is what you missed. Just breathing the same air as her. Just existing in the same space. As though she can feel you looking at her she begins to stir. Taking a moment to come to her senses, her arms grip you tighter around your waist. “Hola, Mi amor” she whispers into the air. Your response is a kiss to her lips, which she steals, hungrily. As you deepen the kiss you feel her begin to pull away. “Lo siento, mi amor, we cannot get carried away. Things to do.” your heart hurts again. You roll off the taller girl and reach for your phone as a distraction. 

You thought, maybe, just maybe, for today at least. You would spend the day together. “Things to do!” she repeats, jumping out of bed with glee. “Where’s your passport”. That grabs your attention. “Que?” you ask, confusingly. “Your passport amor, Vamos!” She had long ago left the bed, and had started moving around the room, picking up various bags which had definitely not been there when you went to bed and moving them into the hallway. She was like a ball of energy, she stripped off her oversized t-shirt she had worn to bed, leaving her standing in just her boxers. Your eyes widened at the sight. Well, you think, at least all the time not spent with you was doing something good. You find yourself in a trance, practically salivating at your view.

A change of clothes being thrown at your head brings you out of your stupor. “Dressed. Go.” Alexia teases you, definitely having caught you starting. This makes you finally start to move as you shrug on the jogging bottoms and hoodie she threw at you. Happily, you note, it's one of hers that you’ve already destroyed with paint marks on the cuffs. “Why do you need my passport Alex? What's with the bags?” “We’re going on vacation!” That stops you, half in, and half out of your hoodie. Getting yourself stuck. “Vacation?” you ask, voice muffled by the fabric. You hear Alexia make her way over to you, then feel her gently pull you free from your fabric prison. “Si…” she gently tells you. A look overcomes her face which you can’t distinguish, then she kisses your nose, softly. “Vacation. Just me and you amor.”

“But what about work?” you ask, still catching up. “You don’t have anything booked for 6 days, I checked your calendar. And where we are going, you can bring all your art things if you need them. I’ve packed the basics in my carry-on already.” “Not my work. Alex, your work. You have a busy week.” at this point you seem to have lost her attention as she turns to your question dismissively. “I cancelled it.” she replies, simply. “You cancelled it.” you repeat. “Si.” “Alexia! Have you lost your mind! You have training, you have that meeting with Oakley - you have the pre-euros media to do! You have a game in 3 days”  you reel off her calendar, watching as she continues to dress and pack her toiletries. She heaves out a sigh and turns back to you.

“Conejito, I know what I had, you don’t need to tell me I have just spent all night cancelling all of them. I spoke to Jona and he’s happy for me to miss the game. The rest of it doesn’t matter.” she moves closer to you again, “So no, I have not lost my mind. But, I did almost lose you, so please. Please tell me where your passport is so we can get on the plane I booked. Mapi will be here in a moment to take Pabs for the week.”  You find yourself standing there, stunned. She seemingly had thought of everything. You look into the hall at the bags packed there ready to go. Pabs sniffed them curiously. She’s looking at you with wide, expecting eyes. There's nothing else for you to do you suppose. As you turn from her and open your bedside table,  a smile can’t be kept off your face, you turn triumphantly with your passport held high. “Voila!” you present it to her; “What are you waiting for then Alex! We've got a plane to catch!” as you scurry out of the room and you hear the front door knock. Alexias cackle behind you. Alexia was always full of surprises when she wanted to be and she remained tight lipped all the way to the airport, refusing to tell you your destination. 

You assumed it would be one of the islands somewhere, with the size of her luggage maybe somewhere farther afield, sun, sea and a pool somewhere promised. But she shocked you. When you got to the check in desk and realised you were flying to Switzerland you could have been knocked down with a feather. Your Alex, who was upset when she even had to wear a bikini top in the month of August, has booked for you to go to Switzerland? 

She ignored your curious stare and just continued to sweet talk the check in lady, upgrading you to business class. As you descended hours later, between the snow peaked mountains against a stunning orange sun you couldn't believe what you were seeing. Your hands itched to claim the sketch book from Alexias carry on. Soon, after collecting your luggage and Alexia picking up a hire car that has also been pre booked (seriously did this girl sleep at all the night before?), you found yourself being driven through a mountain forest, as a lodge that seemed to cling to the mountainside came into view, isolated and beautiful. You stood on the wooden balcony, hands gripping a warm drink as you took in the view of the sun setting behind the mountains. “Look at that, Amor.” you felt, more than heard, whispered against your ear. Lips planting a kiss at your jaw as strong hands settle over your stomach. 

You fell back into her embrace. “It’s so beautiful.” you replied, eyes focused on the scene before you. “I saw this advert. Months ago.” she continued. “Just in the back of a catalogue at work. They will have the Euros near here, you know, 2025?” That made you snort with laughter. “Ah, I see Putellas, now it makes sense how you’ve been dragged from the beach, scoping out the environment are we? Anything for that competitive edge.” your teasing is clear in your voice. 

You feel a pinch on your stomach, “No, idiota,” though the laugh is clear in her voice. “I saw that advert and I couldn’t get it out of my head. It is so beautiful here.” you hum in agreement, “But what I could not get out of my head was that I wanted you to see it. I love seeing the world through your eyes.” 

She turns you in her embrace and she places a gentle kiss to your forehead as you feel her breathe you in. “You see things so beautifully, Amor, and then you paint them for the world to see. You are so special.” Your heart melts at the blonde, and you feel some of the despair that had settled into your stomach over the last months shrink. Here Alexia was, at work, flicking through some promotional material between interviews and training, and her thoughts are with you. “And I will not let you forget how special you are, ever. Never again”. You spent those days in pure bliss. You spend the days hiking - her pretending to be as tired as you at the peak of a mountain, she was a terrible actress but you appreciate the sentiment non the less - having picnics, exploring the mountain villages, and on one particularly spicy day, skinny dipping in an isolated mountain lake that a swiss teammate had told Alexia about. Evenings were spent looking up at the stars together, you firmly in alexias lap on the balcony, sharing a glass of wine which you held. She pointed out stars that her Papa had shown her and given silly names to, and you were there to catch her tears. She would complain only minimally that she was cold, and you would offer to warm her up and she would lead you gently into the bedroom. Nights spent in each other's embrace, sighs shared and no alarms to wake you. You would dance around the kitchen, play cards at the table, share wine and stories and just catch up. 

The pit in your stomach mended with each kiss, each peel of laughter and each stroke of the skin. 

One evening, after the skinny dipping adventure in which the footballer insisted that she must have hypothermia and had taken herself off over an hour ago telling you she wasn’t coming out of the warm shower until she had become a prune. You had started to add the finishing touches to a sketch of the scene beyond your lodges window when you felt the blonde return into the room, You eyed her quickly, flannel tartan pyjamas covering her tall frame, hanging over her wrists, matching shorts which are despicably short. Fuzzy socks on her feet. She looked absolutely adorable. 

You didn’t know why she was staring at you though, She moved towards you and you made space for her on the couch.  “You have your glasses on, Conejita.” she mumbled, and you reached up, as though to confirm they were on your face, “I didn’t know you still wore them.” You didn’t, too be honest, but with the long day of fresh air and a strong sun on the mountainside your eyes had grown tired. You shrugged at her, as she placed a soft kiss on your lips. Lovesick look in her eyes. “You’re so hot.” She mumbled, more to herself. You hear though, and the blush runs up your neck. 

You moved to get your work off your lap but she stopped you, pulling you back into her embrace and you automatically moved your knees up to rest your sketchbook there. “Carry on, please.” her chin rested on your shoulder. You hesitated, you didn’t come all this way to not spend time with the blonde, you wanted to soak in every minute. You wouldn’t be happy if she started to kick a ball around in the kitchen. She could sense your hesitation, “please. Remember, I like the sound of your pencil.” she moves your free hand to her bare thigh, “and it gives me goosebumps.” You fell in love again over those 6 days. You never fell out of it. But maybe you both just needed reminding. You felt whole, your communication about how you were feeling had worked, Alexia had listened. You just had one worry though, as the plane landed back in Barna you couldn’t hold it in. “Alex.” you said, before the seatbelt sign came on, gripping her arm lightly. “This was the best trip of my life. Thank you.” Her smile cracked her face, and she looked immensely proud of herself. “Mine too, Amor.” she agreed, easily, her face was peaceful . “But. I can’t go back to how things were again, si? I don’t think I could survive it, not after this week.” she's already shaking her head. “It won’t, I promise. I will not let that happen. Me and you, Si? That is all that is important” you take a moment, “And Pabs.” you amend for her, breaking the tension. “Si, of course” she rolls her eyes, “and Pablo Petcatso.” 

When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour we spent together Lives within my heart When she loved me

“Hey, Al?” you shout, into the living room as you enter your flat. It's been a few weeks since you returned from your impromptu get away. A busy few weeks. You have been booked up and Alex had to make up for the time she had lost, Barca were still in 4 competitions so the match load was heavy. You could see she was trying though, so that made the darkness that had started to creep back in more bearable. She wasn’t home from training yet. Which disappointed you more than usual. You were giddy. 

You had just found out that your art had been selected to be shown at a huge gallery opening in the centre of the city. An established and high-end gallery. It was a big deal, and it was potentially your big break. You got flutters in your stomach even thinking about the commissions it could make you. Pabs popped his head around the door and you picked him up giddily and span him around, his meow in response you took as a congratulations as you danced and laughed. You didn’t hear the door behind you open but you heard your favourite voice in the world, “And what have I walked into here, hey, a party with my favourite two? Without me?” Alexia laughed.  “Alex, we're celebrating!” you let Pabs free from your grip as he scurried away from his crazy mama. Her arms loop around you as you move into a slow dance, grinning up at her; “Ah, Si? And what are we celebrating?” “I got chosen! For the gallery!” Your feet leave the floor as the taller girl fully brings you into her arms, lifting you and spinning you around in glee, the squeal she lets out is full of childlike joy. “Of course you did! You are amazing!” she plops you back down and attacks your face with kisses. “I’m so proud of you Mi Amor and I am so excited to see your gallery. Oh I can get all dressed up and be your arm piece!” The thought brings you pure joy, the image of Alexia standing by your side, proudly, champagne in hand. Your Mami and Papi and Eli and Alba all present. Pabs in a little bow tie. “Si?” you ask, shyly, much more used to being by her side, “You’ll come? It is in 4 weeks. The 16th. You should be just starting on break.” A shadow of sadness passes her face at your insecurity, “Amor even if I was not on break I would not miss this for the world. If I had the world cup final I would call in sick. I will be there.  I will be the girl with the biggest bouquet of flowers in all of Barna with the lovesick look on her face.” It had been a whirlwind of a month, you had to put the finishing touches on your pieces. 

You have chosen to showcase your best landscapes. 

Scenes from the road to Valencia, The Square in Mollett, Beach Scenes in Barca, Snow capped mountains of Switzerland.

It was the story of your love for Alexia. Told through scenes only the two of you could understand the significance of. 

In the week leading up to the opening, you would spend late nights at the gallery, setting up lighting with Mapi and your Papi. Eli would walk around straightening frames on the walls. As you settled into bed each night, Alexia would open her arms and bring you into her warn embrace. 

You couldn’t wait to share your love story with the world. Alexia was having a bad day. It started bad. And continued to be bad. First, she woke up alone, which she hated. 

She recalled a kiss to the forehead and a whispered ‘I'll see you later’ before she'd dozed back off.  Then she realised that she had forgotten to charge her phone and was therefore late to training. Well. Not late for normal people. But late for Alexia. Then she forgot her socks and had to steal some of Irenes. She had a bad training session and Patri beat her in all their 1v1’s. And then the icing on the cake. She was dragged out from her gym session to do media which she hated. By the time she had finished the changing rooms were mostly empty, with only Pina and Patri left, scheming together in a corner.

“Ah now, Capi! Turn that frown upside down!” Pina teased her, “Ay, come out for a drink with me and Patri, the girls are all coming later, a bonding session before the break!”

And Alexia would usually say no, she wasn’t one for massive social events. But a drink sounded good. And it was the last day of training before the break.

Which is how she found herself 4 drinks in, deep in a booth in Patris favourite bar downtown. Most of the girls had joined them and laughter and chatter filled the roped off space. Something was missing and it took Alexia a moment to realise that there wasn’t a yapping in her ear.

“Ay, Pina, where are Mapi and Ingrid?” 

“They text the group, they had something on but they’re going to join us after. Ah… here they are!” Pina turned as Patri dragged her to the dance floor. Alexia turned to where Pina had pointed and saw Ingrid and Mapi walking towards her. She smiled and raised her hand in a wave, as they got closer she took in their state of dress; “Ay, sexy mamas, it’s only a night out with the team. Why are you dressed so nice? Have you just come from your wedding?” Mapi looked at Alexia. But really, really looked at her. “What?” nothing. “Maria, what? Why are you looking at me like that? Ingrid?” she faced the usually kind woman but she wasn’t met with her usual smile, “What’s happening? Wh-ohmygod.” It hit Alexia like a freight train. Like 10 freight trains. She physically had to hold onto the chair to her side to remain standing.  “No, no, no, I didn’t, I couldn’t have done.” She starts to pat herself down and pulls her phone out, dead, still uncharged from the night before. She holds it up to Mapi, as evidence, evidence of what she doesn’t know. As though it gives her a lifeline. She knows it doesn’t. “Ingrid? Ingrid please tell me I didn’t miss it.” she asks, desperately. The tall girl looks away, as though she can’t even face what the captain had done. “Alexia.” The rage is barely contained in Mapis' voice. “I can’t even look at you.” Mapi turns to leave, but it's as though her anger wont let her; she turns again and spits out; “Do you think she needed a reminder on her phone to know when the Champions League final was? Do you think… I can’t… I have just come from her gallery opening. Her life's work. A life shared with you. And here you are. At a bar. Celebrating, what?  A game of football? A half season well done? Fuck off. Seriously. Fuck. Off” Ingrid grips her hand and tries to pull her away. All Alexia can do is stand there and take it, it's not a hundredth of what she deserves. “No Ingrid.” She pulls her hand free and pushes her finger into Alexia's chest. “You are a selfish monster. She thought you must be hurt. That's what she thought. She thought you were in a ditch somewhere. She almost cancelled the whole thing to run around hospitals to find you. But then Alba saw you on Patris instagram. And here you are. La Reina.” Mapi looks her up and down, pure disgust on her face. “Your Mamis held her as she sobbed. Alba redid her makeup. I would steer clear of her Papi for months if I were you. She is strong, and she gave a speech.” Alexia couldn’t breathe. You gave a speech? She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.  “Please, Maria, stop. I can’t listen.” Alexia couldn’t take it. She moved Mapis' hand off her chest and ran to the door of the club. One thought in her mind. Get to you. Get to you. “It's too late Alexia.” Mapi shouts to her back. She ignores her. It can’t be. No It can't be. She jumps out of the uber onto the unfamiliar street. The lights to the gallery are off but she desperately tries the door regardless. Banging on it with her fist in frustration. She lets out a scream into the empty street. Peering through the windows she sees wall after wall of your work. Scenes she recognises from her life. Football pitches. Beaches, Mountains. The scene from your balcony in Mollet. It was all so beautiful. So carefully curated. And she wasn’t there. She takes off at a run. It’s not too late. Mapi is wrong. It’s not too late. She will die if it is too late. “Y/N!” she barged into the apartment. She must have ran 10 miles. “Y/N are you here?” She runs from room to room. But there is no one there. When that's established she plugs her phone into the charger on the breakfast bar and makes her way back through the apartment. She goes into the bedroom. No, please no. The wardrobe is open, your side is empty. She looks around. Your things are gone.

The kitchen remains largely unaffected. Though the picture of you and your parents no longer sits on the shelf. Your trainers are gone from the hall. Your favourite blanket from the couch. She looks at the walls. Anything you had painted. Gone. Alexia always insisted that your art be on the walls, in each home you shared together. “Why would I want strangers work on the walls, Mi Amor? When I have the best artist in the world here?” she would say, making you blush. She was addicted to that blush. She walks back into the hallway. One picture remains in pride of place. The picture you presented to her in her darkest moment. You would never take that away from her. It was a gift of pure adoration. All it does is make the stabbing pain in Alexia's heart worsen. She pushes open the door to your art studio. All that remains are paints and blank canvases. Except. In the middle of the room. The easel. A picture she had seen before, in its early stages. A hand. A hand holding a beautiful flower. But it had changed somehow. Pressure lines had appeared. The flower beginning to wilt under the force. It wasn’t your usual work. Alexia stood closer. Entranced. As she inspected the image she saw the light tease off still wet paint. You had touched this up recently. Her eyes search, frantically for anything of your last moments in the apartment when she catches it. Too light for anyone not searching for it. 11. Blended into skin at the wrist of the image. A tattoo. So lightly painted but it etched itself fiercely into Alexia's soul. This was her hand. This hand that was silently destructive, was hers.  She saw a post it note stuck to the leg of the easel and in your looping handwriting: ‘Love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting that they won't use it.’

She brought her hand up to her mouth and let out an audible gasp. She runs into the kitchen and dry heaves over the sink. There, she watches as her tears splash into the marble. And as she watches. She takes note of a single paint droplet. Her tears joined it, creating the most heart crushing piece of work she had ever seen.

God. She used to get so angry at that paint in the sink.

It's been years, she thought, years since she found paint in the sink. How much did you have to lessen yourself in order to be with her?

She collapsed into a seated position. Back against the kitchen cabinet. And brought her knees to her chest. She sobbed. And sobbed. She was joined at one point by Pabs. She thought you’d taken him with you. But no, in a typical act of kindness you wouldn’t leave her alone in her despair.

His little bow tie still sat around his neck, skew-whiff, as he looked at his mama curiously. He licked her nose and she sobbed harder.

Weeks passed.

She doesn’t know how she got through those weeks. Thousands of missed calls. Hundreds of messages. Went unanswered.

Alexia didn’t hear from you. Her Mami and Alba had forgiven her after Alba had found her in a state and unable to look after herself but they made it clear they were on your side. Mapi wouldnt look at her. They wouldn't tell her where you were, they wouldn’t pass on any message.

She was too frightened to go to your Mami and Papa.

She hadn’t trained well for weeks, She arrived at training exhausted. Sleep would never find her. She was barely clinging on. Jona still insisted she play. She was La Reina.

And then she broke. And that's where Irene found her, after another match of lacklustre performance. In a back corridor of the stadium. Broken and staring at the wall in front of her.

A ghost of the woman she was. 

Her phone lay next to her. A message from you. A response to her apologies, her thoughts, the pain she had told you she felt for your failed relationship. 

Finally, Word you were alive. 

3 words in fact. “It’ll pass Alexia.”

[mayordea]

Happy birthday to the number one princess in the world!! 💖

~from her biggest fans :)

ramble of my scattered thoughts on the piece under cut as usual cuz i love talking 😋

This has been an idea I've been cookin for a while, and it was so cluttered and unlike any other ensemble piece I've made... and I decided I oughta do it anyway. I love Miku, I love Vocaloid, and I wanted to do something really ambitious and crazy for her anniversary. Crazy that she's turning her "canon" age this year TwT

I had the idea floating around since like, May...? And then finally started acting on it around June 18. I'm terrible with deadlines, obvious with how I can never make a silly birthday post in time, so I started wayyyy ahead to make sure I have some room to be lazy lol, especially with an idea as ambitious as this.

This was finished on July 12! So I had to sit on this for an annoying amount of time. Very difficult for someone like me who just wants to talk about everything I'm working on to the masses. But at the very least, that gave me the time to work on the draft for this post.

~~~

Here's some ~behind the scenes~ scribbles leading up to the finished piece!

Left is the chicken scratch plan i made in my handy dandy notebook (whenever things are getting real and ambitious, i always made a rough ROUGH plan in there. Usually I'd do a rough pass of the full thing, but this was too complicated for me to do traditionally. I majorly benefited from digital tools to make this possible). CyberDiva and CyberSongman were considered, but I ended up cutting them cuz I just didn't feel like drawing them sorry-- (just pretend they're off to the side. They gave Ruby and Clara the pizza lol). Right is the "final" completed sketch (before I decided to include Chika mid-way through coloring and VY1 and VY2 near the finish line). I started by drawing the main "groups" separated on a different canvas so I can plop them into the main canvas for easy rearranging and transforming. However I got lazy and ended up drawing everyone in the bottom right corner directly on the canvas since I liked seeing the big picture of everyone's positions. Y'know.

Almost excluded Chika! But I like her design so much that I just felt like including her last-minute. You win this time, Chika fans. VY1 and VY2 were very close to being cut! I added them when I began doing the banner and thought "eh why not". I figured their non-human designs would be pretty easy to include pushed back in the bg. Ik VY1 is more commonly associated with the fan design, but I referenced the hairpin cuz it was simpler and the fan looked very annoying to draw 😭

Sorry to the fans of many Vocaloids I had to cut because this composition was insane enough as is. I promise I wanted to include fellas like CUL, LUMi and Sachiko 😭 I will admit I was a little biased on who I wanted to include over others. Like, I don't normally care for Bruno and Clara, but I wanted to get some more international 'loids in the mix. Also wanted to stick in the realm of official designs and not fan-designs since, as much as I can appreciate those, are just a whole "wait who is that guy supposed to be" situation I didn't wanna deal with. I also did wanna include even more character references through the balloons, but they ended up being kind of ugly and overcomplicated the BG :,) (Oh, and while this was originally planned to be a Vocaloid-only piece, I did end up including Teto, Neru, and Haku 'cuz those are Miku's besties dude!!! They may not be Officially in the club but they're her girls and it would be criminal to not invite them to her birthday).

Anyway, this project marks the first time I've drawn a lot of Vocaloids. Lily, Piko, Rana, Yuki, Yukari, Miki, Maika, and many more lol. All of 'em I've heard or seen in passing, but now I actually drew them, and some have really cool and fun designs!! I got into a habit of drawing Merli after this since I just love her design for example. And I'll probably be drawing more lol!!

Oh and the last thing I'll add for now!! The cake is indeed made up of various song references!! I wanted to reference the "big four" producers, just absolute icons in Vocaloid history. The pink/black checkerboard is "World is Mine" (Ryo), the crescents on the side is "Rolling Girl" (Wowaka), the smiley faces is "Matryoshka" (Hachi), and the three hearts on the side is "The Vampire" (DECO*27, which is sort of a symbol of his whole Mannequin album tbh). I know "The Vampire" is a bit modern but I couldn't think of anything else off the top of my head. I'm a fake DECO fan I know 😔 "Matryoshka" was originally going to be referenced in the colors of the candles but believe me it looked like shit so I just went for something else last minute 😭

That's all I have to say!!! Hope you didn't mind the text wall if you made it here. I hope you like it as much as I do!!!! Happy freakin' birthday Miku!!!!

I have to deal with tagging all these characters now for my page,,, in the drafts my tags got cut off after a certain point so I think I'm massively breaching the tag limit 😭 um... I'll figure that out later...

not losing sleep that i can't tag everyone, even for page organization purposes because some characters have pretty generic names and some are a little hard to see in full yknow. If you're one of those people who tag every character in the art piece you reblog... I am very sorry.

[gurugirl]

I miss the priest and his pet!!

What about if we get to kind of see a continuation of where she was sitting on his lap with him inside her while he was getting his homily ready at the end of part 3??? Because that was hot and I want to know where that went. There’s no way they didn’t have hot seggggs after he was done.

Summary: Harry lets you sit in his lap while he finishes his homily. But you continue being a brat so he has to take further measures to get you in line.

A/N: Thank you for this request! Loved writing this one - though it's been in my drafts for months! Enjoy babe! 4k words

Warning: 18+ only, smut, bondage, overstimulation, cage play, dom/sub dynamic

Priest!harry Masterlist

✞✞✞✞

Excerpt from Ch. 3 of Forgive Me, Father (read for refresher)

“You’re naughty today. You were given a lot of attention already this morning pet. You know the rules. But let’s try something else now. Climb up into my lap and sit over me. But you have to stay still, otherwise, I’m going to tie you up and put you in your cage where you’ll stay until I’m done.”

Harry helped her stand up and she sat over his lap, facing him. Harry held onto the base of his cock as Y/n angled herself to slip down over him. She watched his face as she slowly encased him and Harry was barely holding it together. He pulled her into his chest and she tucked her face into his neck so he could see his work as he scooted back up to the desk and picked up where he left off once Y/n had coated him with herself fully. The tiny squeezes and clenches felt good around Harry’s big dick, but he remained calculated as he read the scripture he was using for inspiration for the homily he was preparing for Sunday mass.

✞✞✞✞

Y/n was a very good girl for nearly ten minutes. Harry was impressed. His pet had been a bit of a brat all day but it seemed all she needed was just to be close to Harry. He'd let her sit with him as long as she kept still.

Her warm breath was humid against Harry's neck and he could feel her breathing in soft puffs. Her naked body sat against his clothed one as she gently shifted over him.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment to call on a higher power to control himself. The girl was warm and wet and her walls were clenching around him each time she tilted her hips.

Harry was prepping for his Sunday homily. It was a Friday and it was important for him to have it ready that evening so he could go over it again the following night to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

He scribbled a note in the margin of his Bible and then jotted down a verse in his notebook when he noticed his pet shifting back and forth very very slightly. The tiny tick of her hips and the way her pelvis tilted and she squeezed around him was delicious but he needed to finish before they could really get to playing.

"Little girl," he said in a tone of warning, "what did I tell you?"

Shifting back a little so she could look up at him she rounded her eyes sweetly and batted her lashes, "Sorry, Father. I'll stay still."

"Not what I asked you. What did I tell you was going to happen if you didn't stay still?"

She bit her lip and let her eyes wander to the side of the room before slowly bringing her faux innocent gaze back to Harry, "You said you would tie me up and put me in my cage."

Harry hummed, "That's right. If you do that again I will have you sitting in your cage away from me until I'm done. If you're a good girl for me, you can sit here in my lap and you'll get to feel me inside of you the whole time. And when I’m done, then we'll play."

Y/n nodded. Her soft bottom lip bit into her mouth.

Harry pulled her into his chest as he turned his attention back to his homily. Y/n sighed and he could feel her fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. But she was being good keeping still and not moving over him. For a few more minutes.

Harry's focus was already interrupted by having her in his lap as her soft and wet pussy kept his cock nice and warm. But when he noticed her breath pick up and he felt the way she was gently pulsing herself around him he sat his pencil down and she moaned at the small movement he made and then rocked down over him once. And then twice. A third time.

"You're a brat today. So you'll get the punishment a brat deserves," he spoke and he moved her off of him and stood up, grabbing her by her ponytail and leading her to the bedroom.

"Father! Please! I need you! Please!!" She squealed as he opened up the cage.

She put her hands onto his forearms and he let go of her hair, "Get in."

Immediately she fell to her knees and grasped onto the fabric of his trousers just under his knees, "No. Please! I just... I need you so bad today. Father," she pressed the top of her head into the space between his knees before slowly craning her head back to look up at him, blinking her eyes with her lips set in a pout, "please."

Harry stood tall and unmoving. He wasn't buying her act. She loved all his attention on her when they were home alone together. It wasn't the first time she'd interrupted his studying because she was too needy. Sometimes he'd give in but the more he gave in, the more she did things like this, thinking she could possibly persuade her dominant to let her have her way.

She needed to learn her lesson. He couldn't leave another homily prep until the last minute. He hated to rush. Hated to feel like he wasn't prepared. He'd allowed it too many times, secretly enjoying the way she needed him and begged for his attention.

"In the cage."

Y/n let go of his pants and put her hands in her lap as she looked down. She wasn't moving.

"Do as you’re told like a good girl."

No answer. Just a huff.

Harry sighed and shook his head as he went to the dresser and removed the red cotton bondage rope.

Kneeling behind her he pulled at her arms and drew her wrists behind her back and began winding the restraints together upward toward her elbows until the fit was snug and she would be unable to get out but not so tight that her circulation was cut off.

As he stood, he pulled her with him, grasping the back of her arm, and brought her into the cage, where he had her sit on her pillow, moving her legs to the side and began to wrap more rope around her ankles.

She didn't say a word as she kept her head down.

"There," the priest spoke when he'd finished tying her up as he stood to close the door.

"Please don't go,” she spoke with her face still downcast.

Harry latched the door closed and paused, "Look at me, pet. Right now."

She turned her head and tilted her neck back so she could look up at him.

"Are you okay?"

She sat for a moment as she blinked her eyes. She just wanted his attention. She hated when he was so focused on something else.

"Please will you give me one more chance? I'll be good this time."

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head, "I have to get my work done. You are making it impossible. Last week you pulled something like this and I had to rush through finishing my homily last minute,” he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip and tried to keep a grin from breaking out onto his face (because she was so cute and he actually enjoyed this kind of play with her), “You’re naughty. Stay in here until I’m done. And I don’t want to hear a peep from you either or I’ll have to gag you.”

He took the skeleton key from his pocket and placed it into the lock, twisting it and securing the door. Harry looked back over his pet to make sure she was okay. As much as seeing her in the cage with her hands and ankles tied gave him a tinge of excitement, power he always wanted her to be okay.

When Harry left the bedroom he closed the door behind him and she whined quietly. She knew she deserved this. And he might not fall for it anymore. Last week she really made a scene. She was a brat, interrupting his work repeatedly. He spanked her. She resisted. So he put her in her cage (but made the mistake of not locking it because she promised to be good) but she got out and crawled to him begging for his attention. He put her back in the cage, tied her arms above her head, and gagged her. And by the time he sat back down he was fully distracted, turned on, and too much time had gone by to get his mind back into his work. So he didn’t finish his homily that night. Rather, he listened to her muted whines and grunts from his work desk and planned out a more appropriate punishment for her.

And now, a week later, here they were again. He loved to play with her. He enjoyed their dynamic but she had been quite a lot brattier over the more recent weeks. So he was being made to stay on his toes with her. It was fun. He actually liked this. But he truly did have a homily to finish.

She was tempted to call for him. Or whimper loudly so he could hear it. But she decided against it. She didn’t know what had gotten into her exactly. She just liked having his attention on her. Liked it even if was in the form of punishment (but of course she liked punishment and spikes of pain that led to an overflow of oxytocin afterward).

She shifted on the pillow, trying to keep herself in a comfortable position, sitting on her bottom and bending her knees into her chest. She used her feet to push herself back against the cage to lean onto the cool metal, her arms behind her digging into the bars. She rested her head back and closed her eyes. She’d try to be a good girl for her priest. Y/n knew getting his homily finished was important to him.

With every line Harry wrote and each passage he read and contemplated, he couldn’t get over how quiet she was being. Why was he now unable to stop wondering what she was doing (which was obviously nothing because he’d tied her up and locked her in her cage) when he’d finally gotten her to be quiet and could focus on his work?

He groaned and closed his eyes. It had only been about a half hour and he had made some ground in preparation for Sunday, but he didn’t get as far as he wanted. He hoped to be mostly done at the half-hour mark but he was far from it. In fact, at the pace he was going it would take two hours to have everything prepped.

Looking toward the bedroom door he had an idea. It would make for a long night but in the end, they’d both get what they wanted and he could clear his mind to focus on the task at hand when he was done with her.

She popped her eyes open when Harry stepped into the bedroom, “Father! Are you done?”

Harry unlocked the cage door and grasped her underarm to help her scoot out of the metal enclosure and he lifted her up to bring her to the bed, “Not yet. But I’ve decided to show you mercy.”

The truth was that he was just as needy. His cock was still half-hard in his pants the whole time he’d been studying and so he was really the one that needed mercy if he were to tell her the whole truth. He needed his urges soothed.

Lying on her side she stretched her neck to see what he was doing behind her but he was across the room and she was unable to get him in view.

“Need to calm you down. Make you feel all soft and pliable so I can get my work done finally.”

Y/n grinned to herself. She knew the truth. She’d been good and quiet for a while but he couldn’t stop thinking about her and now he was the one that needed to calm down so he could concentrate. She’d done her job then.

When she felt the bed dip and Harry grab her wrists, he pushed at her to lie face down into the mattress. He lifted her ankles up, pushing them close to her wrists behind her back, and began tying another rope in between to attach her ankles and her wrists.  

He tugged at the braided material when he was done and grunted. She felt the mattress shift and she turned her head to look at her priest but he swatted her bottom with the leather paddle and she squealed, “Face down.”

She could hear him removing his clothes. She loved to look at his body and ogle him. He was fit and muscular. And he was strong. He always handled her as if she weighed nothing and she knew it was because he was in such good shape. But she took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she kept her face into the comforter below, using her sense of hearing to determine what was happening next.

Harry kneed up behind her and nudged her thighs apart so he could have access to her. Smoothing his hands over the outside of her thighs and up to her hips he pulled at her and lifted slightly before she felt his fingers spreading her cheeks apart.

She was vulnerable tied up this way. She couldn’t move much. She was able to open her thighs up and twist to her side but that was about it.

Suddenly Harry’s fingers were in her ponytail and he pulled her head up with one hand as he stuffed the gag ball into her mouth with the other. He buckled the gag in place and released her hair so her face fall back into the mattress. But with the gag, it was far less comfortable. She’d deal with it, though. She’d had worse.

“Was this what you wanted?” Harry spoke in a deep voice. Dominant and dark.

She moaned as a response and the priest laughed, “Oh. My sincerest apologies. You can’t talk right now, can you? Well, I guess that’s a good thing since you’ve been trying my patience for most of the day. I’m gonna fuck you and make myself come. I don’t care if you come at all,” his words were tight as he pushed his thumb into her labia, already wet for him. He actually did care if she came. In fact, the intention was to make her come until she couldn’t take it anymore. And since Harry knew just how to do it and make it happen fast, he was going to torture her with overstimulation until he finally came himself.

A stinging smack against the side of her bum with the paddle caused her to groan but the next smack had her eyes watering. The third rendered her silent as drool pooled onto the blanket below her mouth where she was gagged.

When he’d gotten her nice and red, and the skin was raised and hot to his touch he chuckled at how quiet she’d gotten. But the glistening from her pussy was the giveaway indicating how much she enjoyed it. She loved being spanked. He loved spanking her.

Suddenly she was being pulled at again, her hips brought up another few inches when suddenly she felt the cool silicone of one of the vibrators enter her pussy. Harry pushed it in slowly but she was fully aroused and ready for it. He brought it into her until it was secured and the front tip of the silicone that laid against her clit was in place. She knew this vibrator. This was the one that had her coming fast because of the way it vibrated against her clit and curled into that yummy spot on the inside. He turned it on and cooed at her when she moaned around the gag, “S’good isn’t it pet? This’ll have you nice and subdued for me while I come in your ass.”

She was already shaking and her heart was racing by the time Harry had prepped her bum for his cock, adding lube and fingering her open.

Harry could hear the way she was moaning and breathing through her nose heavily. He’d have her nice and worn out for him by the time he was done.

Filling her bum slowly she suddenly stiffened and her muffled moans were louder, “Aww, poor baby. Did you need to come? You can if you need to.”

As he continued to prod into her he could feel her clenching around him and he held the vibrator back in place as the way she was squeezing and pulsing nearly had the toy being pushed out, “Ah ah ah… this stays in.”

She wasn’t in any mind to understand what he was saying as she had her first orgasm, letting the electricity heat up her core as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. When she began to come down she squealed as the vibrator was buzzing against her sensitive clit. She tried to cry out around the gag but the noise was muffled and her drool only increased. Her chin and cheeks were drenched. But now she was feeling his cock too. He was slipping himself in and out, pressing into her deeply and moaning above her as her pussy was still being stimulated.

Harry kept his hand on the vibrator as he fucked her. The vibrations filling her insides and tapping into his cock the entire time. It felt good. Harry loved fucking her when she had the vibrator in.

“Your bottom is all red but your pussy is dripping pet. You’re so needy today. You were even taken care of this morning and yet here you are on the cusp of coming a second time in less than five minutes.”

Harry smirked as he eyes the scene below. Her ankles and wrists tied together behind her back, her sore bottom needing a bit of soothing (which he’d get to later), her pussy packed with the vibrator and the little nub at the end dancing over the hood of her clit, shiny with arousal, and his favorite thing to see; the way his cock filled her bottom and how she opened up wide for him.

Each time Harry’s hips met her ass she was shoved forward slightly. He was inside of her deeply, moving in and out, making her brain turn to mush when suddenly she was hit with another wave of ecstasy. She gurgled and clenched hard around the toy and her lover’s cock as he continued pounding into her.

Harry closed his eyes and groaned. He needed to last as long as possible, which he knew wouldn’t be long with how worked up he’d been and good she felt around him at that moment.

Her shaky limbs were stunted by the rope as he fucked into her fluttering muscle.

“Fuck…” he let out a curse. His own hips stuttered as he struggled to keep it together. But part of her punishment would be to come a couple more times. He knew he could hold out.

She whined and arched her back at the excess of sensations. Her clit was revolting, her pussy was clasping and leaking, her ass was getting stuffed so hard it ached.

Harry buried himself into her and paused for a moment, the little toy buzzing and making him moan. He had to still himself for a moment before he came as his balls were already tightening and preparing for his orgasm.

But the way his orgasm continued to slowly build he knew he had to pull out. The vibrations alone would make him come. He slipped himself out and panted as he held the vibrator inside of her and used his other hand to hold the rope to keep her position for him.

She was making soft little whimpers and her hips were gently swaying as she was trying to fight the hyperstimulation. But she was powerless against it. Because she began to come again for the third time. Harry choked out a moan and watched as her body convulsed and her neck tightened, causing her head to lift upward. Her tensed muscles had her constricted limbs jerking in compact little movements.

When she had come down from her orgasm and began to wiggle away from the vibrator (which was impossible as he kept it in place with his hand) he finally dipped himself back in and gasped. His cock twitched and the sensation was delicious.

“Gonna come again, pet? Bet this will teach you to behave, won’t it?” His words were panted as he languidly pushed and pulled himself into and out of her tight hole. His thick cock was being squeezed and petted by her insides as he sunk into her repeatedly.

He watched her closely as he clenched his jaw holding back his orgasm. He wanted her to come once more before he poured into her.

And it came quickly. When her body tensed again and her soft muted moans grew louder around the gag he began to pump himself into her harder and faster as his release finally took over.

She jerked around him as she came and he pushed into her until his come was filling her. He stopped his hips as he spurted warm sperm from his tip inside her but her body was trembling and lurching.

It was so much. So much. She thought she would simply cease to exist. Her body didn’t feel real. Her insides were melted by his cock and the vibrations from the toy. It seemed as if she didn’t exist as a human, but only a thing that kept coming involuntarily and was being used as a holding vessel for her priest.

When Harry clicked the toy off she felt her heart beating again but her mind was elsewhere. Her body floating in the clouds above.  

The priest pulled his cock out and watched as his come dripped from her ass. He’d leave her lying on her side, filled with his come, tied, and gagged as she came down while he finished his homily.

Now he was ready to get his work done. His mind was cleared, his body relaxed. And afterward, he’d untie his sweet girl and kiss her all over, put her in a warm bath, and speak softly to her as he brought her back.

He kissed her temple as he gently laid her on her side, “Stay here and relax. I’ll be back for you, pet.”

She was in a dream state with her eyes closed and her body like jello so she didn’t even notice when he finally returned and his warm hands deftly untied her until her arms and legs were free and the gag was removed. He kissed her wrists and her ankles and her bottom before placing her in a tepid bath. He held her to his chest and whispered to her.

“Such a good girl. I love you, pet. My little sweet submissive. I’m right here when you’re ready.”

She could hear him. His words and his voice but to unscramble the sentence and make any sense of it was difficult at first.

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms and squeezed every now and then to switch up the sensation and bring her back as he continued speaking into her ear, “Tomorrow we’ll have a movie night. Whatever you want to watch,” he chuckled when he felt her move and she groaned lightly, “How does that sound?”

Harry stayed with her and coaxed her back slowly with soft coos and touches, damp presses of his lips on her neck and cheek.

They’d both gotten what they wanted. Harry finished prepping his homily and Y/n had gotten his attention. He adored having her so soft and gooey after she came so many times and her body was limp, but he loved it even more each time she began to come back to him, her doe eyes blinking and soft sighs falling from her mouth.

Helping her dry off and steadying her as he brought her to the couch with a big blanket he tucked her in and brought her a warm tea with honey to share.

“Father?” Her first real words to speak since he’d had her gagged.

He looked at her as he secured her red leather collar back to her neck (which he’d removed before the bath) and her eyes were on his, “Yes, pet.”

“I’m hungry too.”

Harry smiled and took the mug from her hands and placed it on the coffee table.

“You know what? So am I. I’ll make us some cucumber tomato sandwiches with that cheese you like. Does that sound good?”

She nodded and hummed, “Yes, Father. Thank you.”

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[ruewrote]

𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑.

PAIRING: jj maybank x fem!reader WARNINGS: ... GENRE: fluff to angst SONG INSPIRATION: crybaby by the neighbourhood WORD COUNT: 1.1k

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you never thought you would find yourself in this position. sat impatiently, leg bouncing as you waited to tutor jj maybank at your local library.

eyes flickering from the books that lay splayed across the table and your phone screen every so often, he was an hour late. biting on the edge of your freshly manicured nails, somewhere deep down you knew you shouldn't have agreed to help him. not because of him specifically, but it's not like he was exactly known for being on time.

you finally decided that you'd waited long enough, starting to pack away your things when a loud bang rang throughout the room, looking over and of course, there stood jj.

his hair disheveled, vest on backward, his cheeks red as he bent over trying to catch his breath, "i'm sorry, i'm...late ugh!" the blonde exclaimed as he threw himself in the chair beside you, getting a loud shh! from the librarian.

he winced, quietly apologizing to her, still slightly out of breath as he faced you. you pushed your unopened bottle of water toward him, offering a kind smile.

"so what exactly are you needing help with?" you asked whilst flicking through your notebook trying to find a clear page, stopping when you heard his response.

"everything..."

he was behind on all of his work but it was mostly science and history he was struggling with most. that sunday evening the two of you went through the ins and out of what you were gonna do and when you were gonna help him with them.

you both agreed that you'd mostly do the work on weekdays and very occasionally on saturdays, scribbling down the rough draft of the timetable on a piece of paper so you could rewrite it for him later. not missing how his eyes would sneakily trail from your eyes to your lips.

you didn't mention it, but felt your face heat up as you continued to write.

"wouldn't it just be easier if i gave you my number and you could send it to me?" he questioned with a lopsided smile, sort of reminding you of a golden retriever.

snapping out of your thoughts, eagerly nodding saying something like why didn't i think of that sooner? jj reached into his back pocket, sliding out his phone before leaning closer, and handing it to you.

your nails tapped lightly against his cracked android screen as you wrote your information in, then handed it back.

half an hour later you both decided a day to meet up at your house for your first official study session, zipping up your bag, throwing it over your shoulder following jj out of the library.

he pushed the door open for himself then held it open for you with his fingertips so you could walk out after him.

you both said your goodbyes and went your separate ways, you glanced behind you, thinking that he was nothing like how your friends described him to be. besides being late, he was pretty laid back but still took what you were saying seriously.

people judge too much.

people were right.

now on one of your many late-night study sessions with jj dramatically laid on your lap, trying to get you to take a break.

"c'mon all i'm asking is a teeny tiny break, please? my brain hurts." he sat up straight and pouted at you whilst rubbing small circles into his temples.

rolling your eyes giving in, you nodded and he stood up to cheer a little too fast and wobbly sat back down on the bed holding his head in his hands.

"ouch."

pushing yourself off of your mattress, holding your hand out for him to take, "i think this calls for a movie and pizza hm?" a sweet smile plastered on your face, he almost instantly grasps your hand in his, letting you pull him in the direction of the stairs.

thirty minutes go by, the pizza had arrived and the movie was set up. it was his turn to pick what to watch, you were expecting a horror movie. you weren't really a huge fan of scary stuff, but he had been working really hard recently and had done so well on his exams so how could you say no?

you both got settled on the couch, covered by a blanket. jj hit play on the remote, that's when the big bold letters pretty woman displayed on the tv.

you stopped midchew, looking over to the boy who was struggling to get the end of the pizza into his mouth, achieving his goal he smiled happily to himself freezing when he turned to you and saw you were already looking at him.

"what? it's a classic!" he grinned mouth full of pizza and you playfully grimaced at him. you turned your attention back onto the tv, not noticing how he was silently admiring you.

that night you forgot all about studying and having a movie marathon instead, you both needed it. well, that was until j got an urgent call and had to rush home.

it had been a couple of days went by and there was no sign of jj. not one call, not one text. it worried you, the little time you spent together had admittedly impacted you a lot.

so when you sat down at your desk in history and his seat a couple of rows in front of yours was empty again, it made that pit of anxiety in your stomach worsen.

after the bell rang indicating it was the end of the day, you biked straight to his house, using the information he had sent you in a message in the early stages of knowing you.

you slowly came to a stop as you had gotten to your destination, the yellow house run down, vines growing up the side, and the sound of metal clanging alerted you.

leaning your bike up against the wall, straightening the hem of your skirt out, eyes drifting from the overgrown grass to the front door you stood at. a wave of nausea hits you, an eery silence hung over the building.

your knuckles tap a small rhythm into the wood, "get the door!" hearing loud almost angry footsteps on the other side getting closer until it's swung open and you met with a bruised jj.

"i got it..." he shouts back, but cuts himself short when he realizes it's you, quickly looking back into the house before stepping outside with you, closing it carefully.

"what are you doing here?" his words came out panicked. his eyes frantically scanning the area, but yours were focused on the bruises that littered his face, lifting your shaking hand up to his cheek.

"who did this to you?" ignoring his question, trying to figure out who could do something like this to him. he leaned into your touch, but quickly snapped out of it going back to freaking out again.

"uh- i'm okay, seriously! you need to go. i promise ill see you on monday." before you could object, he stepped back into the house shutting the door behind him, leaving you on your own.

© ruewrote.

[ppomumgranatum]

meet me in the infinity.

also available on Ao3

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

tags: one shot, you POV, modern AU

word count: 4k

Summary: the chances of us meeting are almost zero, but sometimes, it’s not about the odds but the moments that defy them.

Notes: idk if you guys are into au but I am back from a long vacation and hope you can enjoy this short lil treat 🤠

Saturdays were your favourite. It's a sweet reprieve from the weekday hustle and bustle and is your time to kick back, unwind, and indulge in a bit of freedom without the looming spectre of work. But this Saturday in particular wasn’t quite the respite you had hoped for. Lately work has been more demanding of your time and it honestly was getting exhausting. Even the usual picturesque English town, where the buildings are quaint and the atmosphere is steeped with history, no longer soothes you.

Earlier this morning, you received an email with the subject “Friendly Reminder” from your editor, Cressida, regarding an upcoming deadline for an article that you’re currently working on a recent relic discovery. Knowing her bluntness, you were sure the content would be anything but— which only adds up to the already piled up pressure. 

You could’ve made better progress if the archeologist you were supposed to interview didn’t reschedule. Again. For the second time. The first cancellation had been a minor inconvenience. You’d managed to adjust, shuffling your deadlines and taking it in stride. However, when the second request for rescheduling came in, it felt like a relentless barrier to your progress.

His insight is crucial. Without him you might as well write nothing. But your precious time was not going to be wasted on grousing over some nerd boomer.

You’re still determined to salvage the day, so you decided to head to the local café. Upon entering, you were greeted by the warm, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of conversations. After ordering your usual, you chose a long communal table and sat on the corner.

As you settled in, you opened the draft of your article on your laptop, while a notebook lay ready for you to scribble any spontaneous notes or inspirations. The cursor blinked at you, almost mockingly, but you were in the zone, deeply immersed in crafting your drafts and preparing insightful questions, that the world outside was nothing but a mere meaningless blank canvas.

Your head was running like a bullet train until a voice broke through your concentration.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I share this table?" 

Looking up, you were met with a warm smile from a handsome stranger. 

Handsome was an understatement, this man was gorgeous. He had those brown eyes that were so mesmerising they felt like earth after a summer rain. The kind that you wouldn't mind getting lost in. 

And his smile— God, his smile— felt like a sudden burst of sunlight through a stormy sky, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you momentarily breathless. 

You knew that exactly because you realised that you had been staring at him for one second too long and your chest was desperate for air.

You quickly gathered your scattered thoughts and motioned toward the empty seat opposite you. "Not at all, please, go ahead," you replied, trying to hide your surprise at the interruption.

The stranger settled into the chair across from you, sipping his coffee casually. He had a book in hand. You tried your best to focus on your own task, but you couldn't help glancing up every once in a while.

There was something strangely familiar about him. It was like stumbling upon a character from a half-remembered dream, someone you couldn't fully place but felt a curious connection to.

Every single of your brain cells were trying so hard to gather your scattering focus to get back to work. You tried to scribble some words on your notebook but your thoughts were getting blurry and the only thing crystal clear was the image of the man sitting in front of you.

“You work for BBC?” He suddenly asked and he could tell that you looked confused so he had to clarify with a small gorgeous smile tugged on his lips, “Your pen. I assume you work there or have stolen it.”

“Oh.” You blinked and gave away a small smile, “Both, actually. I lost mine and took it from an annoying colleague.”

“Ah.. justified.” He replied playfully.

There had to be something wrong with your brain because you couldn’t think of a single comeback. Forget wit, you could’ve said anything casual like a normal person would but nothing came out. Being critical and creative were the reason your mouth was fed and yet you’re speechless in his presence.

Some hand of desperation was tugging inside you to have this conversation going and like a weird interrelation you sensed that he must’ve felt the same way because then he continued,  “Are you on telly, then?” There was a genuine spark of interest in his question.

“No, I’m a feature writer.” You politely corrected him, “I write for History.”

“My apologies.” There was a momentary pause before he continued,  "You know, I read this incredible story on there a couple of months ago about some marine archaeologists discovering an alleged Viking shipwreck off the coast of Ireland. It was so vivid and immersive—I think the writer really nailed it."

"Yeah, I remember that one," you confessed, feeling a touch of bashfulness colour your cheeks, "I actually wrote that piece.”

“No way.” He sounded pleasantly surprised but not in a dramatic kind of way. Like he expected you to be great— like he somehow already knew you, “Though, at first I suspected that it was a Mediaeval ship rather than Viking when I saw a picture of the rudder. Such maritime technology was known later in the time period, not Viking.”

You smiled in disbelief for his astute observation, “It is Mediaeval. They posted their final report recently.”

“Well, it's always nice to know that you are right.” He grinned.

“What are you? A history enthusiast?””

“Something like that.” 

“Oh really?” You sounded slightly surprised by guessing correctly, ”What’s caught your eyes recently?” 

He shrugged, “There’s this relic found in a catacombs in Scotland.”

Your heart beat a single loud thud it echoed to your brain. You tried to mask the shock with a nod and contemplated slightly on the coincidence. But something must be written all over your face because he asked, “Something wrong?”

“Oh, nothing– it’s just a really funny coincidence.”

“What is?”

“I actually have an interview with someone at the museum about said relics on Monday.” You confessed reluctantly.

There was a pause.

“Monday, 11 AM?”

You were a bit thrown off by his knowledge of your schedule, but you didn't want to make assumptions. “..yes. How do you know?”

“Because I, too, have an interview on Monday at 11 AM with a reporter from BBC about said relics.” A playful smile tugged on the corner of his lips, “I mean— feature writer.”

Your eyes widened when the realisation dawned on you. The man sitting in front of you—relaxed, casual, and sipping his coffee—was not just some history enthusiast, he’s a history expert and more specifically the very person you had been cursing in your head for the past couple of weeks.

The coincidence was almost too perfect.

“You’re Dr. Sebastian Sallow?”

“Nice to meet you.” He charmingly said, before taking a sip of his coffee.

Your mouth gaped open slightly trying to find the right words to say to him but you were too bewildered by the figure in front of you.

“I-i’m sorry I just didn’t expect you to look so..” —Handsome? Charming? Astoundingly stunning? Drop-dead gorgeous? Hunky?— “..young.” 

Thank God something appropriate actually came out of your mouth.

He chuckled and set down his coffee, “I get that a lot. I suppose the hazard of this job is people expecting all of us to look like we’re withering away.”

“I guess I did picture someone more slumpy with white hair.” You felt the initial shock begin to melt away as you tittered at his attempt to lighten up the mood, “This is quite a pleasant surprise, Dr. Sallow.”

“Oh please, just Sebastian would suffice.” He waved you off, “It bothers me when people call me Doctor outside of the museum. That title means something else entirely to most of the people here and I don’t want anyone suffering a heart attack expecting me to help them and all I have with me is my humidity control equipment.”

“Fair enough. Just Sebastian.” You joked.

And he laughed at the lamest jest a woman could ever throw. 

This man is handsome, has a great sense of humour, and humble. You’ve only met him for a few minutes and he’s already ticking a lot of boxes. 

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, still grinning. "But if I’m just Sebastian, you can’t be just a feature writer either. We’re both at a disadvantage then."

His eyes locked with yours with that playful glimmer in them. And again, you found yourself at a loss for what to say. You were used to being in control of a conversation, but Sebastian’s easy charm had thrown you off-kilter.

"You’re not going to withhold your name because of some rule of journalistic ethics, are you?"

Sebastian's grin grew wider as he watched you struggle to come up with a response. You were flustered, and he seemed to be relishing the situation a little too much.

Truly, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something about him that you just couldn't put your finger on. Something pleasant, definitely. The way he spoke, the way your banters flow so naturally, and even the way he smiled—all of it had an air of comfortable familiarity that put you at ease.

"Well?" He prompted, still waiting for your answer.

You blinked, realising you had been silent for too long. You could feel a blush spreading on your cheeks. You introduced yourself, your name rolling off his tongue in a way that sounded almost musical. And there it was, that odd sense of familiarity you had felt earlier, a touch of déjà vu that had caught you off guard. The sound of your name on Sebastian's lips, the way he repeated it, testing the syllables.. it sounds just.

But strangely, you didn't mind. In fact, you almost revelled in it. Sebastian's gaze met yours, holding it just a moment too long. That flicker of recognition in his eyes mirrored your own. You felt that strange comfort again, as if he understood whatever you’re feeling, too.

“I do apologise for the delays. I had to attend to some urgent matter.”

“Oh, please, it’s alright.” Lie. That was an absolute lie.

“Since the museum is literally across the street, do you want to have a look? I could show you around and perhaps give you a headstart for the interview.” He suggested, “I could at least try to make up for the delay. If I’m not interrupting anything, of course.”

The offer to view the relics early was certainly tempting, especially knowing the pressure you were under to meet the deadline. But if you could be honest, getting to spend more time with Sebastian was what sold you.. His easy-going nature was refreshing, and the banter was already so much better than any interview you’ve had.

“I suppose a little preview can’t hurt.” You agreed, a smile tugging at your lips. “Lead the way, Dr— er, Sebastian.”

The museum stood majestically across the street, an elegant building that exuded an aura of history and mystery. Instead of leading you to the usual main entrance, Sebastian guided you through a small side entrance, known only to museum staff and researchers.

He held the door open for you, a gentlemanly gesture that warmed your heart just a little more. The hallway was quiet, with the stillness broken only by the soft sound of your footsteps on the tiled floor. Sebastian led you towards a door at the end of the corridor.

As he pushed open the door, it revealed a wide room that looked more like a combination of a lab and an office space. There were shelves lined with various tools, equipment, and all sorts of items that you assume were historical artefacts, were placed all over.

As you glanced at the relics spread out on the lab equipment, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. There was something intimate and profound about having access to history in such a raw and unadulterated state. You were used to writing articles about historical events and interviewing people in the field, but this was different.

This was a peek behind the curtain, an up-close-and-personal experience unlike anything you had ever had before. It reminded you of the time your parents took you to a sweet shop.

Sebastian noticed your wide-eyed wonder and smiled, "It's something, isn't it? This is where the real magic happens. Each artefact here has a story waiting to be uncovered."

You nodded, still taking in the scene. "It's incredible.”

He led you further and you followed behind him, "This is where we carefully study, preserve, and sometimes even restore pieces of history. It's a meticulous process, but incredibly rewarding."

He pointed to a workbench where a delicate, ornate vase was being examined. "For example, this vase was found in a burial site in Wales. It's over a thousand years old, and we're trying to learn more about the culture that created it."

“The detail is astonishing.” You marvelled at its intricate patterns and delicate craftsmanship, a testament to the skill of its maker.

Sebastian was clearly amused by your reaction as the smile painted on his face was as wide as yours. 

He then guided you to another section of the lab, where a different artefact lay under soft lighting, carefully displayed on a padded surface. It was a small, ornately decorated bronze mirror, its reflective surface dulled with age but still faintly gleaming.

"This," Sebastian said, "is another fascinating piece. It's a Celtic mirror, also found around the area where we found the vase and it dates back to around the same period. Mirrors like this one were not just utilitarian objects but it also held significant cultural and spiritual value."

Your eyes trailed along the other tables. The beauty of these items were clearly overwhelming and to be surrounded by such rich history was an amazing feeling. 

Amongst the collections, your eyes faltered into an object that appeared to be some sort of cane. The wood of the shaft looked like a well polished ebony with a brass handle and it looked relatively new compared to some of the others that were certainly ancient. 

Curiosity piqued, you turned to Sebastian and asked, "What about this one? It’s so beautiful. How does it look so well-preserved, though? How old is it?"

Sebastian’s eyes were a little bit flustered. He carefully lifted it from its display stand. "Ah, this one is actually younger than us."

You blinked in surprise. "Huh? What do you mean?"

He smiled, holding the cane carefully. "I just got it from a shop down at the market. It’s for my roommate. He’s blind."

 “Oh.” Well, that’s not embarrassing at all.

A few pieces later, you eventually circled back to the purpose of your visit: the relic you were meant to be writing about.

It was an ancient, intricately carved triangular piece, rumoured to have ties to a long-lost civilisation. The designs were rather suspicious and eerie which Sebastian later explained that some people believed it was used for some sort of dark magic ritual. 

At that point you don’t know what was more beautiful, the way he captivated you with his eloquence or the way his eyes sparkled with so much passion in what he’s doing.

It wasn’t just his knowledge that drew you in— it was the way he made you feel connected to the past, to something greater than yourself. His presence was magnetic, and you found yourself wanting to know more—not just about the relic, but about him.

His smile, when he caught your gaze, was warm and genuine. It made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. It’s so magical you were practically spellbound. You realised that you were no longer interested in the story you were here to write but you were way more enthralled by the man who was telling it.

When the formalities of your interview were completed, Sebastian suggested showing you a special place within the museum. Intrigued, you agreed. He led you through a series of winding corridors, past exhibits and storage rooms, until you arrived at a small, unmarked door. He unlocked it with a key he retrieved from his pocket, and you both stepped inside.

The room was a hidden gem, unlike any other part of the museum. It was a spacious atrium with a glass ceiling, allowing the evening light to filter through and bathe the room in a soft, golden glow. It’s an indoor garden that gives off a serene, almost magical atmosphere. In the centre of the room was a small fountain, the gentle sound of trickling water adding to the tranquillity

He led you to an alcove that overlooked a small pond. You leaned against the railing while Sebastian shared anecdotes about his childhood, his inspirations, and the journey that led him to become a historian. He mentioned that his twin sister, who had recently overcome cancer, was under his sole care, which was his reason for rescheduling your meeting a couple of times. 

The more he opened up to you, the more familiar he felt. Despite hearing his stories for the first time, none of it felt foreign. Each laugh, each sigh, and each heartfelt revelation came with a comforting rhythm between the two of you. It made the evening feel like an unfolding chapter of a story you were always meant to be a part of in a strange yet pleasant way possible.

It was in this context that you found yourself unable to shake the feeling that there was something more to your connection. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask this,” you said, a hint of hesitation in your voice, “have we met before?”

Sebastian smiled and shook his head, “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, I just— I don’t know how to explain it but this entire day has been feeling like a—” Your head was searching for the right word but Sebastian managed to find it for you.

“Like a déjà vu?”

“Exactly.” You said softly, “Like a déjà vu.”

Sebastian hummed in agreement, his eyes studying your face intently. It was as if he too, was trying to decipher the strange familiarity that seemed to linger between the two of you.

“So you’re feeling the same way?”

“Yeah.”

There was an extended silence, allowing the both of you to get lost in your thoughts. 

"I’ve been trying to figure out why this day feels so surreal. Meeting you, the sound of your name, even the way everything is unfolding—it’s like it’s part of a story I already know." He confessed, “Like this was some forgotten history written some time ago and when I look at you.. something in me recognises you. It’s like we’re supposed to know each other somehow.”

He managed to articulate exactly what you were feeling. Then he moved closer to you, “Do you believe in destiny, by any chance?"

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as Sebastian posed the question. You've never been one to believe in destiny—or fate for that matter. But something about this situation, this moment, seemed to defy all rules and logic.

“Not usually, no. I’m more of a taking-my-own-chances kind of woman.” You replied truthfully, ”Do you?”

“I’m not sure,” He admitted while his eyes never left yours. “But I do believe in probabilities. Do you know why?”

You swallowed hard, your heart now hammering against your ribcage with increasing speed. 

“No,” You whispered, your voice suddenly sounding very small, “Why?”

“Probabilities are often tied to the idea of potentiality and the nature of existence. It’s about the likelihood of certain outcomes based on a series of events and choices that can lead us to moments that feel almost destined.” He began, “Some theories believe that these events might interact and create an infinite number of new realities.”

As he spoke, his fingers lightly touched your resting arm.

“Essentially, you could be the archeologist and I am the writer. Or you could be a hero and I could be a wizard.” He took another step closer, “In this vast expanse of parallel realities, there is a probability that our choices might have led us to cross paths. And perhaps in some of those realities, we already have.”

No matter how many possibilities there were, you knew there was only one outcome you truly wished for.

“What’s the probability of us meeting today in this version of reality, then?”

“If we consider the vastness of all possible outcomes and the nearly infinite number of parallel realities, the chance of us meeting today in this particular one— I’d say almost impossible.” His fingers continued to lightly trace your arm, “And yet here we are, having this conversation. I guess despite that infinitesimal probability, something extraordinary has happened.”

You hummed, “I guess no amount of parallel universes or alternative realities can account for the fact that sometimes–some people–are meant to be.”

“I thought you’re more of a taking your own chances kind of woman.”

You leaned in closer until you could feel his breath on your skin. He was now so close, you could count the eyelashes framing his brown eyes and the freckles that decorate his skin, “Well, I’m taking my chances now.”

Finally, you closed the final gap and met him in a kiss that  felt like a culmination of those infinite possibilities. Sebastian's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. You were acutely aware of every sensation: the taste of his lips, the firmness of his hold against you, the heat of his body against yours.

You didn’t know what you had expected of his kiss. Merely hours ago, you never knew Sebastian existed and yet his touch on your lips felt as familiar as a cherished memory. There was a warmth and a tenderness in his kiss that spoke of a connection far deeper than the short time you had known each other.

It was not like any other kiss you’ve ever experienced. Not a single word in the dictionary can come close in describing the overwhelming splash you feel throughout your entire body. This man— this stranger—was kissing you back, and you were certain that everything felt perfectly right.

When you finally pulled back, you both were breathless, faces inches apart, foreheads touching and his eyes were still locked onto yours.

“Kissing a woman I just met in the coffee shop today was definitely not on my list.” He admitted

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. “Me, too. But I’m glad it happened.”

You both stood there for a moment longer, savouring the intimacy of the shared space and the connection that had formed between you. As you continued sharing the moment, Sebastian still had his arms wrapped around you until eventually, you both knew it was time to leave. But he didn’t want to let go and neither did you.

“You know,” He began, “Since we’ve practically had the interview. What if we go out for brunch, let’s say, Monday 11 AM?”

“Yeah? And what’s next?”

“Hmm, we could have a walk? Have dinner some time after? Or perhaps we could make out in some other places?”

Your laughter came out light and carefree. Sebastian had to mentally take a note of his new favourite music, “All of the above, please. I don’t want any of it to end.”

“Neither do I,” His eyes softened as he looked at you, “Or we could keep taking chances and see where it takes us?”

“Sounds perfect.” You leaned in once again to give a final kiss on his lips.

[i-write-comics-not-screenplays]

Tip for Comic Artists+Writers

(If you don't do this already!)

Draw in ballpoint pen. In a notebook.

If you're like me and you struggle to plan your script in a word processor, or you struggle to "storyboard" or even sketch in a digital art program for your comic...

Don't do that part! At least, not yet anyway!

Scribble and sketch and doodle your characters, and their lines of dialogue, wherever you want on a piece of notebook paper, with a ballpoint ink pen. You can try and figure out the comic panel configuration of a page if you want to do that, but otherwise I recommend you don't do any panel-planning yet... in order to not limit yourself to a single page in the story. Draw the first and last scene in the same page, or only draw the witty one lines you had in your head that made you want to make this comic!

The benefit: there's no pressure to get it perfect!

Don't like how you drew the hands? Well scribble it out, or ignore it; it's not the final draft by any means. You're just getting the idea on paper so you can visualize it! It's the best way to practice what emotions you're trying to convey, or the positions of the characters, without worrying about if it's "good" or not. It gives you the freedom to make mistakes, so you aren't paralyzed by the possibility of making those mistakes and the trouble of having to edit them.

You can use a sketchbook or a pencil, but for me, this defeats the purpose of letting myself experiment and make mistakes with the art/dialogue. You get visual representation of what you want to work on (scribbled out hands tells me, "be sure to practice hands and gestures!"; Stricken out dialogue lines tells me, "yep that's not how I want him to say it. Maybe I should practice a few different variations of that line?")

Their faces can look wonky, their word bubbles can be poorly placed, and the dialogue can be absolute "cringe"... and guess what? It doesn't matter because first of all, it's hilarious what you can come up with when you let loose, but second and most importantly, you're getting your ideas down in writing and on paper!!!

--additional note: it gives you so much for you to reference from as well. I recommend letting the notebook be your central spot for experiments, concepts, story ideas, notes, reminders, and important details for your story/comic/graphic novel so it becomes a personal reference guide for you (and maybe somewhat of an encyclopaedia?) :)

I hope this is helpful - it has been for me!

[findafight]

part 1

It's a bright May morning, and the commentators are discussing who the Indiana Pacers are going to select. It's a bit of a buzz, there's a rumour of a dark horse candidate. The Commissioner steps up and shakes out the paper, saying clearly into the mic "the Indiana Pacers select Steve Harrington, from Roane County Community College." His face makes it clear he has no goddamn clue who or what college this is. It's fine.

Steve stands, smiling. Robin kisses his cheek and Dustin throws his arms around him before he's shuttled off to get a Pacers ballcap and take a picture with the NBA commissioner, and then to the press room to answer questions.

The reporters have dozens for him, a buzz with the shock of a community college getting a player drafted. It's the first time they'll really be able to talk to him, and he's a bit nervous. He handles it all with as much grace as he can, until someone from the Chicago Sun-Times asks

"you're from Hawkins, a town that's seen its fair share of tragedy over the last number of years. Did that have any sway over your decision?"

Steve's smile turns softer as he answers "Oh, yes. I went to R-tripC because it was close. I've got friends and family in Hawkins still, and I wasn't planning on moving any farther than Chicago. It's...a hard place to leave, after everything." he can tell which reporters have no idea what Happened in Hawkins, the confused brows, scribbles in the margins of notebooks. The Chicago Sun-Times report simply nods. "My being here is just...the result of a few lucky circumstances. The Ospreys, we're a div-four team. Not even supposed to be in any competition for March Madness. But the NCAA decided to try letting non-div one teams on the bracket...not sure if they ever will again considering our loss." there are a few chuckles around the room. The RCCC Ospreys had lost pretty spectacularly in the first round. "But, that's the only reason a scout saw me play. And the fact that the scout was for the Pacers..." Here, he doesn't mention being approached by a representative of the Sacramento Kings as well. "That was something that worked. I've always loved playing ball, but if it hadn't been with the Pacers, I'd be content playing with small local leagues in Indy."

"Has this not been a dream of yours? Playing in the NBA?"

Steve chuckles. "I've played sports my whole life. Obviously when I daydreamed about winning the Championships, or swimming at the Olympics, who didn't? But. Ah, it really came out of left field, if you pardon the baseball analogy." he swallows some of the water in front of him. "I wasn't expecting to be approached by anyone about the NBA. I played on a college team that most people don't know exists, that barley qualified for march madness and got eliminated by the end of the third quarter. I was getting my teaching degree, with guys who were getting horticulture certificates or degrees in Art history or business to help their family Ma 'n Pop store or bio degrees to use to go to masters programs in Indy. We weren't playing for dreams or glory. We played because we love the game, and like each other enough to be a cohesive team." he shrugs. "I was going to move to Indianapolis or Chicago with my wife anyways. This is just...sprinkles. Y'know? I have what I need, my loved ones are happy and healthy and safe, this is just sprinkles on the sundae."

Steve leans back and sighs. He's being signalled to wrap it up. "I'm not taking this opportunity for granted, and I am looking forward to working with and getting to know my teammates. I'll be working hard to make my hometown proud. Thank you."

[talenlee]

Don't Forget Simple Tools

I started this list, the list that became this article, about three years ago now and just added to it over time. Then I’d remove things when I saw I wasn’t using them any more, and I’d always call into question if I was being silly, right? Like, notepaper and pens, duh, obviously you know you can use those.

But you do know that right?

Like, if you’re making a board game you can take a piece of printer paper and draw your board on it. You can use a circle stamp to make the spaces if you want them reasonably consistent. You can just make things with pens and paper and sticky tape like you’re a little kid and nobody can stop you.

Still, if I’ve had the draft for years I either need to finish it, or delete it, and thus, I want to present to you a handful of cheap tools I’ve bought from the supermarket for making things that I have found useful.

Things Made Of Cardboard

Blank business cards

Index cards

Gift boxes

Cardboard is durable, and you can shuffle it easily. Because it’s firmer than typical paper, you don’t want to need to fold it, but it can absorb heavy pen texture. This makes it great for when you want something simple and bold and absolute. Lots of detail? You want a finer pen, but if you have like a laundry marker pen, get some index cards, because they won’t just soak through or risk being destroyed by absorbing the marker.

One technique I use index cards for is story structure. What I do is I write down the things I know I want – scenes I know I want, lines I know I want – and give each one an index card. Then I shuffle them up and look at them and then spend some time sorting those cards.

The process tends to present holes, and it tends to present clumps. Some things have to happen in some order, some things have to happen near one another, and some things have to happen without one being involved with one another at all.

This technique is useful for me when I want to see what a story has or what a story needs. Where are my gaps? What can I do to fill those gaps? How can filling those gaps present me with opportunities? And once I have some things clumped up, what can I do to make them relate to one another better? The cards can then have further notes added to them – like I can add notes on each of these things.

Ways To Write And Draw

Some high-contrast fine-tip pens

A big heavy sharpie style laundry marker that can show up at a distance

Some cheap coloured pencils or textas (markers, for Americans)

Some variety of erasable pencil

Speaking of writing things and writing on things, I recommend getting these, like, supermarket quality, writing implements. I have a pack of fine pens I got from Simggle for I think four dollars Australian that I have been using for years, because they have a nice range of colours that contrast with one another and stand out on white paper. I have a big chunky sharpie that I use for the index card titles, too.

Colour is useful because when you’re prototyping, you may know you want things to stand apart from one another but not know why. You don’t necessarily need to know the flavour of an interaction to want to see it in action. Thinking ‘well I’ll just write on them’ – it’s easier to just scribble a blob of colour on them, that gets out of your own way and you don’t have to spend time thinking of five different symbols when you start working.

Paper Things

Sticky Labels/Laundry Labels

Dot Stickers (coloured circles, you can usually get them in packets)

Cheap notebooks

Cheap cheap cheap, this is important, you don’t need to spend money on something nice and prestigious or good looking or transferable. Cheap means you don’t mind if you rip pages, cheap means you can scribble, cheap means that you when you use it to note something down you’ll know you need to transfer it somewhere soon.

I have a bullet journal, which I use to track things, but the thing with using that for me is that I want it to be constantly available to me. Using the thing I’m using every day, and making space in it for game designs is fine, it’s part of the diary sense of the whole thing. But for projects, things you want to hand to other people? Get a 99 cent exercise book and just fill it up.

Dot stickers fill the same role as the pencils, but they’re more consistent and a consistent size. Laundry labels are great for when you’re modding printed cards or misprinted things – just write the change on the label, and slap it on the prototype. It won’t look pretty but it’s not necesary to. Also can work as a ‘tape’ that you can write on.

Other Board Games

Chances are you live somewhere near a second-hand store, a salvos or what Americanese people are familiar with as a ‘thrift store,’ so named because there’s a weird kind of protestantism going on in everything over there. In these stores, you will usually find one or two board games. They will almost certainly be incomplete, and probably not something you care to own. It’ll be like Bible Couples Trivia The Board Game or Hectionary, The Pictionary With Six-Sided Tiles or something. These things can be seen as terrible games for a terrible price (ie anything) or you can look at them as a cheap way to get yourself a box, cards cut to a standard size, and some markers or maybe even a board.

When you’re digging into games as systems, when you’re trying to make something making something out of something else is a fine place to start. Dice are usually pretty good as just dice, and even if they say ‘lick ‘on one side you can still make rules about what ‘lick’ means. These are often extremely cheap and they come in their own box that contains them.

Conclusion

You don’t need these to be great or high quality devices. I’m confident you have your own level of what you tolerate, but the point here is not to give you a big pile of shopping list material to go buy that will make you a Great Prototype Designer. The point here is that there are cheap things you probably already have

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[redroomroaving]

Writer Interview Tag

Ok, it took me 8 days to get here, but I’m finally responding to this lovely tag from @lemonsrosesandlavender I adored reading yours, it was so interesting!

I've tagged a few people in this post later on and would love any of them to join in and have a go at this if they'd like to share their own answers :).

Answers under the cut, because this got long - I touch on some personal stuff a bit here, so CW for chronic pain discussion.

When did you start writing?

I’ve been writing nonsense since I was a kid, largely - I have old notebooks from when I was very young I still keep full of little characters and story snippets I used to write mostly to entertain myself on long car journeys  - I had one particularly ridiculous sci-fi story written as a series of diary entries across 4 notebooks I started when I was like … I wanna say 10? Boy.

I attempted my first actual novel at about 16. Tried it again at 21. Tried it again at 26. I’m sat, still, on my first draft of something I actually could do something with that I started 10 years ago. Me and writing have had a bit of a journey, largely due to some workplace related trauma - but coming back to it after all this time has been a lot like coming home, really. I think I’ve always been, as my mother would put it; ‘away with the fairies’.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

The honest answer is ‘probably not’. I rather enjoy non-fiction, but in terms of genres of fiction and themes within, I’d say I’m a very broad reader and outside of fic I’ve tried my hand at quite a lot of genres; I’ve dabbled in sci-fi and horror particularly, because that’s my happy zone.

Before joining the BG fandom my answer to this question would have been ‘Romance’, actually, because it was something I liked to read but didn’t necessarily feel brave enough to write; but truly, writing fic has pushed me right through my reticence to write romance of my own, and now it’s sort of all I write, I think!

Outside of that, I’m afraid I’m shamelessly drawn to the sorts of things I’d want to write.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I’ve not really been compared to anyone specifically; I’ve had a very flattering comparison of my themes in one particular story with Neil Gaiman - which is of course the kind of comparison anyone would be very happy to hear, but overall I’m not sure I’m prolific enough for that sort of thing ;).

I’m not sure who I’m trying to write like - if I’m trying to write like anyone - I like to think my prose style is reasonably my own but is almost inevitably really an amalgamation of all the people I’ve grown up reading and loving. 

Mostly, I’m a fan of the sort of magic realism/fantasy zone that doesn’t take itself too seriously, and a narrative voice that reflects that, and peppers it in around the characters own thoughts  - my bigger influences are probably in the Mervyn Peake, Warren Ellis, Pratchett, George Elliot, Peter S. Beagle sort of zone. 

To an extent, my interest in cinema and television is also a massive influence on how I write; I’ve spent most of my academic career working on breaking down scenes, the construction of frames - the threading of narratives on screen - and I don’t like to discount my favourite filmmakers and screenwriters as part of what I’m trying to achieve, too. 

Nothing should be in a scene without purpose - even if its superfluous presence is the purpose - and I keep that locked right to my heart. 

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I don’t have a dedicated space particularly - my phone at 3am, by the coffee machine between meetings, the dining room table at times, my desk at other times - scribbled in the back of a notebook on the bus.

I’m a deeply disorganised person, and my creative process is much like my life; full of piles of laundry done in fits of productivity, half stacked and waiting to be put in their proper places; invariably, waiting forever.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

I have no good answer for this either - writing, for me, is rather like possession. When it has seized me I’ll readily throw down thousands of words in a flurry, and when it’s gone, it is gone. There’s little in between.

If I can’t find it - it’s usually time to steep myself, and let things sit and soak into the bones for a while. Throw on a bit of music and let it turn around in my head without trying to force it out - a tactic that for me, at least, never works - imagine some scenarios or conversations, until something or other takes root. 

Half the time it’s just about sitting in my character’s heads for a bit until I feel like I really know them, and could respond as them to questions and queries readily - this is something I’ve carried over from being a long time Dungeon Master - whose prep for sessions was about 15% maps and monster stats and 85% ‘stewing in my NPCs until there’s no question the players can ask I can’t answer in character’. 

There’s nothing quite like the mania and rush of when the muse takes control, and it’s always a bit of a sorry experience when you find yourself on the other side of it, wondering once again where it went. 

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

A few big ones - two that don’t surprise me, and one that does.

The first – coming to terms with what you were supposed to be, and what you are - the trajectory of my life hasn’t been particularly straightforward - I made a lot of decisions based on what I felt I owed to other people in my youth, my obligations to others, particularly family, steered my path towards disaster and the breakdown of my health, career, and life. I started over and found a new path. It’s not been easy. 

Over and over again I’m drawn to characters that have trajectories like this; who are coming to terms with what they thought they were supposed to be, the role they were supposed to have, and how they failed to meet those expectations - or in the case of some - how those expectations failed them. 

The second - pain, and finding the purpose within it. I have chronic pain of an unhelpful sort, acquired during the stuff I just mentioned - that can truly only be described as purposeless. In fact, I’ve had a clinician quite literally describe it as such (although the word they used was ‘pointless and unhelpful’).

I won’t pretend that’s been easy to live with, or that when I say ‘it is what it is’ whilst my body screams at me literally all seconds of all days and won't ever stop doing so forever, I’m just saying that because I can’t say anything else.

It’s not particularly surprising I ended up exploring this theme, inevitably. It’s probably why ‘Sufferer, I shall’, my Donnick x Abdirak fic, and that pairing that was so unexpected and clotheslined me out of nowhere, is the one that matters most to me. 

Finally, the theme that surprised me - is finding purpose and growth in love; for me, the heart of all the romances I write, big or small, is based on this foundation. If there’s no trajectory for individual growth, enhanced and augmented by a relationship with another - usually through the ways in which we can connect and more importantly gently contrast to push one another forward - I am not interested in the romance.

I’m painfully, painfully demisexual, so my romances need to be so dripping with Feelings it’s embarrassing. I didn’t know this about myself until I started writing it, but now I see it everywhere, and all of these three come together into a rather depressing sort of whole. I’ll sum up.

I’m constantly trying to build a happier tale than my own.

That one got sad, but it’s also the answer to this next question. 

What is your reason for writing?

See above. Writing gives me joy, but it also helps me to create a kinder, warmer world than the one I live in - even when I’m exploring its darker parts. 

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I love any comments, I truly do - they all fill me with joy - just to know someone has read something I’ve written.

I’d like to take a moment, though, to shout out to a few people in particular - because I think commenting is an art in and of itself, and instead of talking about what motivates me, I’d like to thank some people for motivating me.

When @benicemurphy found my Rolan x Geraldus fic ‘the Harper in the Tower’ I started getting some of the most insightful, most moving comments I’d ever received. The way in which you so perceptively saw every tiny hint, every theme and thread just absolutely floored me. Anyone who gets a comment from you should be honoured to do so.

This goes too for @cedar-phoenix, who I don’t think I have on tumblr (Cedar! found you!) - but who might be one of the most perceptive people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. You have an absolute gift.

@graysparrowao3 left me some of the most punch in the face comments I’ve ever had on ‘Sufferer, I shall’. Watching your trajectory of reading the story and being greeted with ‘WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL’ truly, truly made my year. 

I love it when a commenter pulls out specific lines or moments that they enjoyed - especially because it’s never the ones I expect! @tavyliasin and @n1ghtmeri left me some of the most emotional comments on ‘Sufferer’ I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving, and @darkurgetrash picking out specific lines of my Klaus x Kar’niss fic always gets me chomping at the bit to write more. It takes time and effort to leave the sorts of comments you do, and I want you all to know how deeply I appreciate it.

And of course, my dear @lizziemajestic - the only commenter who has left me a sobbing voice note. You have no idea how much that meant, and how much it has continued to mean, to me. 

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Honestly - I’m not really sure how to answer this. I hope it’s a warm cup of coffee; a bit of nourishment. I hope they can see how deeply I feel what I write, and that some of that comes through in the words they read - too.

I really care about all these silly little guys - and if reading it makes them smile, or cry, or really anything at all, that’s what I wanted, I think.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I’m terrible at talking about my own strengths so expect this to be a rubbish answer.

I like to think I’m good at character voices; I spend a lot of time thinking about and puzzling out how a character would speak and think - and as I predominantly, if not exclusively, write canon characters and NPCs, I hope I am able to capture their voices in a way that feels natural and organic. 

I never force a character to do anything - it doesn’t work, for starters - but I really do try to let them guide what’s happening and follow them where they lead. I hope that comes across in what I write and helps create something that feels in character and plausible, no matter what’s happening; I struggle at times with worrying this might mean things seem boring, or fail to meet expectations people might have of how things are going to go - but it’s a principle I stick to. If I’m changing something fundamentally about a character it feels wrong - and that’s a guiding principle I hold.

This extends to romances and relationships; I hope, at least, I build connections between characters that feel organic and earned, even when sometimes they are characters who literally have never interacted at all before. Finding the organic spark of connection is what I most enjoy writing. 

I hope I’m pretty good at environmental storytelling, too. It’s important to show character in the same way we show ourselves - in our environments, our habits and the spaces we occupy. Everything you do, the things you surround yourself with; that’s just as much you as the you in your skull. 

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

“Why write if not to fill the world with the kinds of things I want to read?”

I try to write mostly for myself. I’ve written a few things based on prompts and ideas for others, and do enjoy that - but first and foremost, I’m writing for my own sake.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Mostly good. Mostly. I’m not the best, nor do I want to be - I try not to engage too much with thinking about the wider space and how I’m comparing to others - I know I’m plundering down in some obscure mines at times, and that’s ok - that’s where I chose to be.

I’m not good at complimenting myself, but, I have managed to write some things I’m genuinely proud of as part of finding my way back to writing full stop. 

Overall though, I think I’m just happy to -be- writing. After so long being unable to do so because of the pain and being unable to use my arms, and feeling like writing was the thing that ruined me, finding a way back to some creative joy and reclaiming my pain as purposeful has been, genuinely, a lifeline.

I apologise that this got all deep and sad. I hope if you’ve read this, you know how grateful I am to you all; I’ve been so lucky to find this space, and all of you, and myself again too.

[thelemoncoffee]

anyone remember like- a really long time ago how i said i had an au idea where kokichi wrote fake love letters as fictional characters as a creative writing hobby, but then had the bad idea to write a real one to Shuichi? remember how i said i wanted to get back to it in a later post but never did?

well look at me i'm finally getting back to it.

Okay so first things first, the actual process of witting his love letter was much more difficult than he expected: where his fictional ones are well crafted to be in character with set stage pieces and character analysis behind them, this real one has absolutly none of that.

he can't character analyze himself and Shuichi and how the two of them reacting to stuff like this to craft a scripted love confession, all he has is his very real and very messy feelings to put on a page. he despises the shocking lack of control he has over the situation.

i can imagine the first few drafts he keeps trying to make it staged but it keeps feeling wrong and bad in a way he can't explain, and the more he tries the more frustrated he gets. then he finally gives in and tries just once to just dump whatever feelings come to mind on the paper. it ends up being both the best attempt yet, and the most cathartic experience he's had in a very long time.

it's extremely raw and disorganized and sloppy, so he tries to make a second version where he rewrites the dump to sound more clean and purposeful, but it makes it feel wrong again so he just takes the original and sticks it in Shuichi's locker. it's unsigned cause he decided if he was going to give something with such raw emotion in it he wasn't going to reveal himself- that's pushing it too far for his comfort. he's content with Shuichi at the very least knowing he has a secrete admirer now.

now this is where it gets fun, cause now Shuichi's got it, he can read it and see all the pretty raw emotions, and his detective brain demands he figures out who made it. it ends up being harder than he expected, seeing as Kokichi's dishonest ass isn't exactly at the top of his radar for something so heartfelt. but there is one thing that tips Shuichi off-

remember how i said it was the original heart dump he gave? as in the one where Kokichi just wrote whatever he felt till he got it all out?

now it's not his neatest work, it has mistakes and scribbles in it. but Shuichi sits right next to him in class: he's seen Kokichi's messy "in the zone" notes in his class notebook, he knows Kokichi is left handed and smears ink when he writes, he knows he uses exclusively red ink pens, he knows what his handwriting looks like. if there is nothing else about the note that helps help him solve it, the handwriting is what will

after landing this conclusion, i imagine he'd probably spend a bit of time dissecting the letter with the perspective of Kokichi being the one who wrote it in mind for a while before confronting. considering how raw and unlike Kokichi it is, he'd need some time to think about what all is going on in it. he'd eventually either run out of speculation juice, or have so much juice he needs to bring himself in and mentally yell "too theoretical" at himself. either way at that point he'd decide he'd had enough and wants the truth, so he'd spend some extra time with Kokichi trying to slowly reveal his case to him.

how smoothly that goes is very much up to debate. he wants to conform his conclusion for sure (totally not because he has a fat crush on Kokichi and really want him to the the culprit), but doesn't want to scare Kokichi off by being too upfront. unfortunately Kokichi is also keen of eye and gets sus of him pretty fast cause why tf is Shuichi suddenly spending extra time with him- not that he minds, it's just bizarre for him to do and raises some flags in Kokich's mind

[jamiesnovels]

Writing with ADHD

I was diagnosed with ADHD just over two months ago. It was only then that I realized just how debilitating it was to my creative endeavor.

For context, I have been writing – or perhaps I should say, trying to write – for about twenty years now. The relative brevity of school projects, coupled with the multitasking nature of upper-level courses, made school writing assignments doable. Still, I remember many a day in college spent vomiting words on paper as quickly as I could, skimming and re-skimming and re-re-skimming the same section of the book I was supposed to have read days or even weeks ago to find whatever I could to BS my way to some sort of poignant point. This was not most assignments, to be clear, but it was more than a few.

I will emphasize, I did well in school, from the year my writing spark came to me all the way through college. My psychologist suggested my focus on subjects that interested me, as well as the multitasking aspect of study, was a coping mechanism. At any rate, while focused on school, my free time was rarely spent on my passion.

Not for lack of trying: Every year, I’d have one or two different story ideas in my head, and I’d feverishly scribble through a composition notebook (College Rule, of course) with my No. 2 pencil (Dixon Ticonderoga, always), or since college, my Pilot G-2 black-ink pen (0.38 font, or 0.5 if I absolutely had to). (You may infer from my parentheticals that I had a thing about space optimization, maximizing words-per-page, but I digress.)

Those ideas never got far. Every time, I would slow to a stop after one or two weeks at most. Dismayed by my grammar, overwhelmed by the plot rolling around in my head, or just embarrassed that someone might read what I wrote and judge me harshly for it. The plot in my head stayed in my head. Ideas stayed ideas.

And as I got older, I slowed down. College was part of it: nearly all my free time was spent on homework or the one or two clubs I enjoyed. And then when work came along, the mental effort and sheer stress left me exhausted by the end of the day.

My First Breakthrough

In November 2021, I decided to join NaNoWriMo. (Referencing that organization leaves a foul taste in my mouth today, following its many scandals that leave it disgraced. But I digress.)

I joined because I was tired of being tired all the time. I was tired of having all these ideas in my head and never getting them down on paper. I was tired of always feeling like a failure. I had to prove to myself that I could do it.

And I did. In three weeks and change, I had a vomit draft of a story I had ideated over the past couple years, the first in a five-book series. It was a grand achievement for me. Just writing every day for a whole month was huge, but to turn around and see that I had produced so much in so little time was eye-opening.

I realized, from this experience, that I can do it. I can produce, even with ADHD, even with a day job that sapped all my energy, even with everything else going on in this world.

Then I started revising. At first, the momentum continued. I managed to do a lot to clean up the very concept of the story by early 2022. I changed settings, improved pacing, honed in on my central message, and made my protagonist more relatable. But that was the easy part.

As I began drilling down the scope of my revisions, my drive rapidly faded. The more I had to think about my novel, the less energy I had to expend on it. More and more, I would try to tackle something, get overwhelmed after a couple days, then drop the whole project for months – even over a year at one point!

I simply did not have the mental energy to expend on it. It was demoralizing, especially after such an early success.

My Second Breakthrough

A few months ago, I started seeing a therapist. After some sessions, they recommended I find someone to investigate whether I had ADHD, and with a little luck, I landed a psychologist with the proper credentials. Then I was diagnosed.

I started my ADHD treatment the day after I turned 28. It was like night and day.

That day, I told myself I was going to plunge back into my novel, just to see how I could do. I did more work on that novel in a single day than I think I’ve done in the time between then and February 2022.

And every single day since I began my treatment, I’ve continued working. Comparing my novel today to the one two months ago… they’re pretty much nothing alike. Today, I can only say that I am extraordinarily happy with where my book is.

But I’m going to say something that might surprise you: the secret to my turnaround was not medication. While I did in fact start medication, I still found myself overwhelmed at the prospect of tackling my draft. Until I began working on another tactic recommended for ADHD folks like myself: goal-setting.

Goal-setting

Setting attainable sub-goals for my story progress gave me that extra little bit of motivation I needed to wake up each morning and get right back to work. I personally found success with the S.M.A.R.T. goal framework: Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, and Time-Bound.

Okay, in my first draft of this blog post, I got a little carried away and started writing in detail each step of S.M.A.R.T. This post is long enough already, and there are tons of guides on the internet going into better detail than I did.

What I really want to give you is an understanding that, to write with ADHD, I needed to set concrete, small, achievable goals – with a deadline. Because what drives me, and what I believe drives many ADHD folks, is that sense of accomplishment when a goal is achieved. That dopamine rush when we can say “I did X” or “I accomplished Y.”

To give ourselves a healthy dose of dopamine, to keep ourselves going, we need to start small. Have an idea in your head? Try to come up with at least a couple small goals to be completed before you even start your vomit draft. Have the theme written down by the end of today, define the characters and their arcs by the end of the week, sketch out the beats by next Tuesday. Those are just examples, but hopefully you get the idea.

If your only goal is “I wanna write a book,” you’re going to be working for weeks or months or years toward that goal. That dopamine rush is so far away, you can’t expect to keep your motivation up for all that time. And if you try to rush it, you will fail: you don’t have time to complete and polish a whole book in a month. No, you need to start small. Small doses of dopamine every few days will give you much more drive to keep going.

The reason my progress sloughed off in early 2022 was because I didn’t have any small, attainable goals on the horizon. I just wanted to “finish the draft.” It was too much for anyone to stick with, let alone someone with ADHD. And even after I got medication, the idea of tackling the massive draft was still overwhelming. Until I gave myself a small goal to start with.

Conclusion

I hope you found this interesting, maybe even a little bit helpful. If you can relate to anything I’ve touched on here, feel free to leave a comment – I’d love to hear your story. While you’re at it, consider following; I’m trying to navigate a world very new to me with this social media presence, so the support would be extremely helpful. Finally, if you know anyone else who may relate to any of these words I’ve written, consider sharing my post with them.

Thank you so very much for reading!

[futurewriter2000]

Conversations - pt. 1

A/N: I actually had this in my drafts for a long time since I always seem to start new fanfiction and never ffinish it but I’m trying to change that. I have my whole summer off except for my driving test thats infeltrating my mind but I really hope you will like this. I realised that these kind of fanfictions help me release some if my emotions that I’m holding back.

Pairing: James Potter x reader

XX

‘I’ve never felt like a villain, however, I did always feel that I had cold blood pumping through my veins. Somehow, things never affected me to a point where I could feel emotions as intensely as other people. I could see them arguing, reacting to the slightest bits that I would easily overhear. I didn’t mind what people thought of me- let them think what they want. When we talk about me, we talk about the world circling around me. 

I have never kept friends and I never intended to since they are as fleeting as the time itself, though sometimes, I admit, I wondered about the feeling of being accepted for who you truly are. My personality isn’t something people accept without feeling offended by it, but it is truly me. I prefer silence, it’s my favorite love language. ‘

You dropped your pen on the desk and looked around the room. Without any other thought, you grabbed your book and started to walk outside. Just as you left your dorm, you remembered that you should probably get your notebook as well, just if you decide to write anything down. 

Now, you were sure you didn’t forget anything though you’ve always felt that you should take more things just in case. Sometimes the only thing you decide not to take is later the thing you will need. 

You walked across the Quidditch field and as you did you looked around. The smell of freshly cut grass filled your heart with memories of your childhood, the ones where early in the morning, the mow lawner woke you up and you wanted to throw a rock at him but the smell, nevertheless, was something worth reminiscing. Why? Well, because that smell held great power of your past. You could remember going to middle school, the way you had to wake up at 7am and look through your window. Everything was in warm colours; orange, yellow, red. The leaves were covering the ground, the sky was deciding whether it wants to wake up with you or not and then there were other kids with large backpacks on their back, wobbling to school. Whenever your mum was working, your dad took you to school. He would carry your backpack and not say a single word. You were a child. What could you possibly have in common with a 40 year old man, except the same blood. Somehow, those mornings had certain smells about them and just like today, this place, this weather, this- whatever this place has meaning for you, it was just what you needed. 

You were at the bottom of the bleachers and you looked up at all the stairs that towered above you. “Fuck.” you mumbled to yourself. “I’ve always hated this part.” you continued to mumble as you started to climb. 

“Hhahhhhhhh.” you breathed out as you reached the top, gasping for air as your knees were giving up and your calves were burning. “I should really do more sports. This is embarrassing.” you said to yourself as you looked around and found a boy staring at you with wide eyes. 

‘Or this is embarrassing.’ - you thought as he stared at you and you stared back, awkward silence, taking the center stage and the only silence that you tried to avoid. You were absolutely speechless as the boy who was staring at you started to grin widely. He was wearing black sweatpants and a white T-shirt, a notebook on his lap and a few pens spread on the bench next to him. He flushed a bit in the cheeks and you found yourself amazed at the human reaction, he presented. Aren’t you supposed to flush in the cheeks, the girl who embarrassed herself by talking to herself about working out a bit more?

He turned back to his notebook and continued to scribble down, grinning. “Are you gonna sit down or are you just going to plainly stare at me?” he tilted his head to you and sent you a wink. 

You still stood there. Why is he here? You’re the only one that’s here... always... right?

“What are you doing here?” you asked, disregarding his question. 

“I like to do some brain cleaning before practice.” he continued to scribble. “Draw down some tactics for the team.” 

“But the season hasn’t even started yet. It’s barely September.” you walked towards him and sat down. 

“Wait! My glasses.” he quickly grabbed a pair next to scattered pens and put them on. 

You smiled at his panic. “I don’t like wearing my glasses either.” 

He looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows, than gasped. “That’s right!” he exclaimed and beamed at you. “The purple ones.” he snapped his fingers. “How come you don’t wear them?” 

“Dunno.” you shrugged. “Just... hate when you always have to depend on them to see and then whether you have them with you or not... I prefer contacts.” 

He stared at you for a while, dropping the pen from his fingers and leaning back on his duffel bag. “Do you have them on right now?”

“No.” you responded. “My eyes need to breathe.” you said and dig into your bag, pulling out a pair of glasses. 

He laughed. “The purple.” he snapped his fingers again. 

“The purple, yes.” 

“So why do you come here? For what I know, you don’t play in the Ravenclaw Quiddtch Team?” he asked, facing his whole body towards you. 

“I like the view.” you looked around. “And the peace... being so far away from the ground, you know...” 

“I know...” he replied, observing you as you observed him and for the first time in what felt like forever, his adoring gaze sent heat down your cold veins. 

What was that odd, anxious feeling? 

You tried to shake it off, turning your body towards your bag and pulling out your book. “Do you mind if I read here?” you asked and he grinned even wider. 

“No... not at all.” he said as he grabbed his notebook and a pencil. “Do you mind if I write here?” 

You smiled. “No... absolutely not.” 

[instructionsnotincluded]

how did you go about writing and uploading ur first fic? did it take a while until you first uploaded it? i’ve been trying to write something for a while now but i haven’t gotten very far (the ideas are all in my head just putting them on a page is seemingly impossible hahaha)

and also generally what’s your usual writing process? just word vomit and edit later or do you have more of a plan going in for what you want to happen this chapter?

I uploaded my first fic years ago to fanfiction.net and then never updated it again. Then after years went by, I uploaded another fic, posted about ten chapters, and then vanished. Then another fic with about five chapters, and never went back to posting my writing until I posted Snow On The Beach last year.

So, we can ignore all those other ones. Haha! For Snow On The Beach, I wrote for about three or four months before I posted. Mainly because I didn’t want to abandon yet another story. I told myself I was doing it for me, that if no one read it, great, I still had fun along the way and I was going to finish it.

I never planned much for all my previous stories. I wrote by the seat of my pants and I think that’s why they were never finished. I lost steam and forgot where I was and where I was going. I started an original work before the pandemic, and after shopping it around to many editors, and having no luck, decided to shelve that and start a new story during the pandemic. I ran into some writers block with it and that’s when I discovered the world of OBX, binged all three seasons after three came out, and then decided JJ needed a love interest! Hello, Audrey!

When I first write a new story, I normally write the scenes that are stuck in my head. For Audrey’s version, that was JJ and Audrey’s first kiss, the Pogues finding out about them, the first time they have sex, and the final scene when John B and Sarah are presumed dead. From there, I based an outline on the show with everything I wanted to include and then worked to fill in the blanks with my original plot’s outline, and then started writing. I write mostly in order and take the story in acts. I typically have a rough idea of how many chapters are in an act, and I know where I want the act to end, so it’s filling in everything in between from there. For me, it makes it less overwhelming and less daunting.

Sometimes my outline is a detailed Trello board with in-depth cards of everything I want to happen and the order I want them. Other times it’s a Google doc where every line is a plot point with random thoughts in between. Sometimes I scribble in a notebook because all of that is too overwhelming.

Outline wise, I like to follow the Save the Cat! method. I think it makes the most sense to my brain, and then I lengthen or add in beats/points because it’s fanfiction and if the story goes over 40 chapters, or is a little on the long side, no one is upset about it, hahahaha.

For fan fiction, I write and edit and then write and edit, etc. For Wild Winds, I already have 10 chapters done and ready for editing, but because I’m using it as a way to help my brain relax from the other two stories, I’m not editing them until after I update chapters for the others. For my original work that I am slowly working on, I’m just writing/word vomiting and then plan to do a huge first edit after the first draft is complete.

I think whatever method works for you and your brain is amazing, this is just works for mine. (At the moment, I fully expect it to continue to change!)

I hope I answered your question! Let me know if I didn’t! I tend to ramble… 🤣

[callsignspark]

Ik this isnt part of the ask game, but would you consider showing us how you outline in Trello?? It looks so freaking effective!

I have been waiting for someone to ask me this question. thank you so so so so much you’re going to regret asking lmao

so as I said before I use Trello - a free cloud based project management tool - to outline and write my fics (and also for my to do list and my Christmas present shopping and vacation planning and literally everything) because, to be 100% honest with you, I have no chill. I have never been relaxed about anything. ever. not a single day in my life. and therefore I marinate on fic ideas in my mind for months (sometimes years!) before I start doing anything with them. this is my process I use for everything I write and we’re using Mar[r]y Me as my example!

the first thing is the idea. I get an idea and I word vomit vibes into the closest thing (notes app, google doc, scribbling into my work notebook, texting a friend) and then I marinate on the idea. I first had the idea for Mar[r]y Me on January 25, 2023. it went through several iterations as I shaped what it was going to be and below is what I sent to Jordan in June 2023 and it’s the basis for the story we’ve all been following. (or mostly, it’s changed quite a bit since then.)

once I’m ready to start writing I create a board in Trello. think of a board like a white board, you then add “cards” which I think of as sticky notes except with a lot more features. also my process is the same no matter if it’s a one shot or a multi chapter fic, it just depends if it gets its own board or it goes into my one shot board. (which is filled with ideas waiting to be written lol) anyway. this is the Mar[r]y Me board!

for a multi chapter fic like this each chapter gets a card in the IN PROGRESS list (they move to the right as things get written/posted). each card follows a template: title, due date (loosely assigned to get an idea of what a posting schedule may look like), a label (always being with need to plan), and a checklist. also the chapter outline - obviously.

before I get into the outline, I use the labels as a nice visual representation of what the status of everything is. as the screenshot below shows, the each writing stage has its own color (and I use the color blind color schemes so I get the fun patterns too!) and it gets changed as we go along. it helps me know at a quick glance where everything is at the moment.

I also love the checklist feature, see below. which basically has all the steps I need to follow once I have a chapter written and ready for final editing. it may seem like overkill but I work long hours and you’d be amazed at how easily my brain forgets things lmao. so this ensures nothing is missed when I’m getting ready to post.

now onto the outline. my outline goes from something super basic, to a few bullet points, to an in depth summary of what’s going to be written. using chapter one as an example of this progression.

1. this is the og outline for the whole story. just a dream and a vibe and one sentence. literally.

2. the expanded outline for chapter one

3. just a small section of the final outline I used to write the chapter. a lot of my final outline ends up being actual sentences that I use in the final draft, I basically write the chapter in bullet points and unfinished sentences.

4. I use the very expanded outline to write the actual chapter. following along bullet point by bullet point. an example from chapter 9 since that’s what I’m writing rn.

5. once everything is written, all the bullet points have been used up or ignored, I transfer it into google docs and read it to myself, editing as I go. once I’m happy with my final rough draft I use grammarly to idiot check things because I’m an engineer not an English major. then I start using the checklist (teaser posting, creating tumblr post, etc.) and then the worst part. I walk around my home office and I read the entire chapter out loud to myself and make final edits as I go. is it excruciating to have to listen to myself speak the flirting I’ve just written out loud? yes. have I made myself cry multiple times? yes. do I find a lot of rough spots and smooth them out? yes. that’s usually done on Thursday nights.

6. from there it’s all final editing and formatting and scheduling the final post. I also have to create the accompanying recipe post for Mar[r]y Me so I do that too. and we post on Fridays! sometimes I share the google doc link with friends so they get an advanced copy of the chapter and sometimes they get to be surprised with everyone else (I’m running behind schedule and don’t have time to share it lmao)

it’s a lot of work for something I’m producing for free but I genuinely love it so much and it helps me keep everything straight. there would be so many lost ideas and abandoned thoughts if I didn’t do it this way. it’s crazy that this the first fic I’ve ever written and that I’ll probably be close to 90k words by the time it’s finished.

if you’ve made it this far thank you for indulging my very intense brain and it’s processes. I love the community we’ve created here on this blog and I’m so excited to keep writing and sharing. and I especially want to give a big thank you to my very good friends Ames, Alexa, and Jordan. Mar[r]y Me would not be the story it is without them and I can’t thank you enough for your love and encouragement during this story.

[myliobatis]

Why Did This Fic Involve So Much Math: Behind The Scenes Of A Really Long Chapter

I kept threatening to do this and here it is: the planning materials (scribbles) that kept me organized enough to finish chapter two of far to the west and worlds away, aka the ensemble-cast-repentance-in-avallónë fic that ate my life. I am not constitutionally suited to writing longfic (and a 10k chapter is LONG for me, I usually hover in the 1k or less range), so this was an extremely necessary part of the process. Let’s get into it!

where it all began: early shape-of the-world thoughts in the back of a work notebook. it also contains first drafts of several scenes, but those are not pictured because they have Actual Confidential Work Materials mixed in.

from there, it developed into this bullet-point conceptualisation of the “deal with the death”, which has lived in the bottom of the continually-growing gdoc ever since. almost none of this rationale made it into the text, even though it underpinned everything.

here are the notes I took during my silm and UT reread these past few months. I made a conscious effort to compare the text to fanon, because I hadn’t reread since my first time in the fandom eight years (!) ago. the areas marked with the red inkstick are notes I found particularly useful for this project (vs. generally interesting).

within that notebook, there are some pages specific to planning this series. this one was an early stab at working out the order in which the characters would return. you can also tell that I ran through multiple pens during this process!

working out relative ages at the time of the crossing to Beleriand, which was part of a larger effort to contextualize character relationships.

an early attempt to plan the order of scenes and break up the chapters, including a couple of concepts I later removed. I wrote myself into a corner with the publishing order at the start of the series and here was desperately trying to fix it (only partially successfully!)

another stab at the sequence of returnees, in which you can tell I was having trouble remembering the year of tyelpë’s death…!

questions I asked myself to flesh out the worldbuilding of returnee-aman. in the end I chose to go with less self-actualisation, because. well. drama

working out what exactly this in-universe project entailed; only some of which made it into the finished version. never could work in the random Teleri shipbreaker.

a page of painful math, using this timeline, to figure out when a reasonable date to start the returns was. I did so so much math and then remembered like two weeks later that the numenorean invasion happened and had to recalibrate all over again!!

finally, this large-format sketchbook sheet I wrote out at around 75% finished the fic, to finalize the order, mark down issues to resolve, and make sure the characters were getting roughly equivalent screen time (the dots are tracking focus scenes).

Not pictured: hours and hours and HOURS of thinking about scenes and mentally editing while running, walking, doing laundry, etc. It was weird to put my entire brain into this post, but fun!

[acertainmoshke]

Happy STS!

At what point do you consider your first draft finished? Do you ever leave comments in square brackets or other gaps for the second-draft you? And do you ever show the first draft to people?

Hi Sam! I really like this question; it's fun but easy.

My first drafts, currently, are handwritten in notebooks and I consider them complete when...I get to the end of the story. I do absolutely leave notes in square brackets, even though the format means I could leave them with any marker since I can't search it. I also scribble comments in the margins, since I only write a couple pages at a time, about what's coming up in the story that I don't want to forget, what I need to research to make historically accurate, things that I wrote previously and just decided would be better a different way, etc.

I do write my second drafts concurrently, as any time after I've finished writing a chapter I can try to find time to type it up. As I do that, I smooth out the wording, try to fill in all but the most difficult bracket comments, and do basic research (ie for dialogue but not geography). The third draft, which I'll work on when the second draft is fully complete, is the time for polishing, rewriting, and complex research.

When I post snippets on tumblr, technically those are from my first draft, but because I can't copy and paste from a notebook they're almost always shifted to be second draft quality. For instance, I shared today:

I was different. Cold, hard, and mean as any wildling I’d threatened or killed. Kris’ human family had thrown him away when he was too little even to know him. Mine had pushed me away because of my own darkness, because I was a threat to them.

And this is what it looked like in my notebook:

I wasn't like that. I was hard, cold, and mean as any of the wildlings I fought. Kris' human family had thrown him away far too little to even know him. Mine had pushed me away because of my own darkness and danger.