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thesunisatangerine · 11 months

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against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part four

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 4.3k

It didn’t stop after the first and it sure didn’t stop after the third, either.

Depending on her schedule, you saw Alexia once or twice at most a week; most of the time it was on the night after a Barcelona match and by the next morning, she’d be gone before you even woke up. But you’d noticed her visits had been increasing in frequency lately, not to mention that sometimes she’d still be in bed when you awakened. The first time you found her still asleep beside you, you were dumbfounded, thinking it was a dream image of her in front of you. And what amazed you even further was that it kept happening.

It wasn’t an unpleasant development. In fact, it was something you gratefully welcomed. And it wasn’t just that, either. Sometimes when Alexia came over, you didn’t even have sex you just… talked: about her training and her health, her teammates’ shenanigans–and hers, of course–her family and bits of her personal life. Meanwhile you told her about places you explored and showed her photos of where you’d been. Then she’d tell you about places you could check out, food to try, and even went ahead and promised to take you to some of the places herself when she had the opportunity.

These times were rare, sure, but you found yourself enjoying her company more and more to the point you noticed yourself craving for it–found yourself missing her presence despite your constant back-and-forth messages. And still you didn’t ask where this was going for fear of ruining whatever the two of you had; you were content and you just simply wanted to watch this unfold as it was. And anyway, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to fleeting relationships, situationships–whatever you’d like to call it–because who was to say this wouldn’t end up like your previous dalliances–ending before it could ever truly begin? Despite you hoping otherwise, a large part of you already convinced yourself that this wouldn’t be anything different: just another highlight to your getaway vacation that you’d look fondly back on a few years down the line.

You had a month left in Barcelona, maybe an additional few weeks depending on the client. What could possibly go wrong?

———

A knock took your attention from your work to the door. You looked at the time–it was early evening on a Saturday and you weren’t expecting anyone. Perhaps you just imagined it? But then it came again not a minute later. You were reluctant to open it seeing as it was already dark but a ping from your phone that signalled a message from Alexia asking if you were home had you flying to the door.

Upon opening it, you found Alexia there with Nala resting in the crook of her arm, phone in hand, and a paper bag in the other.

“Took you long enough.” Alexia said playfully, all cool and confident but then her brows quirked upwards almost sheepishly as she said in a more tamed tone, “is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You smiled at her consideration before you ushered her in. “No, no! It’s fine, really! Come on in. Sorry, I just wasn’t comfortable opening the door when it’s dark without knowing who it was.”

“Ah, it’s my bad. I should’ve let you know before dropping by.” She bent down and let Nala loose before she untied her shoes and left them by the door. Nala bounded to the living charged with curiosity, nose to the ground, tail wagging as she carefully examined the new space.

Alexia regarded her dog with an amused expression before she looked back at you. “I meant to bring this over after the game tomorrow but I saw the lights as I drove past so… here I am, I guess.”

You reassured her again as you locked the door behind her and you watched as she made her way to the kitchen. As you passed through the archway to the kitchen room, Alexia already situated herself by the counter taking out glass canisters from the paper bag she brought. When she took the lids off, a delicious aroma instantly filled the air, enticing your senses.

“What do you have there?” You asked as you leaned on the opposite side of the counter.

Alexia smiled at the eagerness in your tone and pride shone in her eyes as she spoke, “only the best fideuà and esqueixada in the world. Made special by my mother, of course.”

You peered into the containers and the sight made your mouth water instantly. As if it remembered that you hadn’t had any food yet, your stomach grumbled obnoxiously. Alexia definitely heard it because she fixed you with an amused smile and at that, your cheeks warmed so you tried to divert her attention. “You know what would put this all together?”

“What?”

“Wine or champagne. Wait–are you allowed to drink?”

“I’m allowed since I’m still not qualified to play yet.” Her visage became somber for a moment–it fleeted so quickly you almost didn’t catch it–before the light in them returned again. “If you have it, white wine is the best complement for this.”

You hummed and tapped your chin, turning to make your way to the cellar. “I’ll have a look. I’m sure Derek has some wine stored in here somewhere.”

You’d mumbled the last part but it seemed Alexia’d caught it because she asked, “who’s Derek?”

Something odd in her tone stopped you and made you look back at her. Her face was unreadable, almost too neutral. She didn’t think Derek was your boyfriend, did she?

“Oh, Derek’s my brother. He hasn’t been here for a while but he owns this house.”

“Ah, I see,” Alexia cleared her throat, looking away and you could just see a hint of redness in her cheeks. “Well, I’ll lay out the plates. I suppose they’re just in...?”

“The bottom drawer to your right and the utensils are in the upper one.” You instructed as you continued towards the cellar.

“Oh, yeah, I see,” came Alexia’s muffled response.

When you returned with the bottle of white wine, you found that Alexia managed to locate the glasswares by herself and were drying them with a tea towel. There was only one set of plate and utensils laid out though so you fixed her with a confused look.

“You’re not going to eat?”

Alexia shook her head. “I already had my fill with my family earlier. I’ll take the drink, though.”

“That’s nice that you visited your family today. How are they?” You sat at one of the high chairs by the counter, popped the wine open and poured each of you a glass. You noticed that Alexia’d heated up the fideuà for you from the steam that rose from its container which strengthened its aroma and made it all the more enticing. Alexia remained opposite you but she was close enough with her leaning forward on her elbows, her glass of wine in hand.

She sipped her wine and told you they were well, described little snippets of what’s been happening in her family life. She even told you about a prank she recently played on her sister, one that nearly made you choke on your wine.

You listened as she talked, liking the way her brows quirked and her shoulders move as she spoke, how each gesture became more pronounced the more passionate or interested she was on a subject. You asked questions and engaged with the conversation every now and again as you savoured the rich taste of the pasta and the freshness of the salad. You’d never had anything like it and you told her as much. In response, she said she’d give the compliment to her mother when she saw her next which made your cheeks warm up again. Once you finished, you tidied up and though you insisted she didn’t have to, Alexia helped you wash up anyway.

Afterwards, the both of you ended up in the living room with your glasses of wine. She gestured at your laptop on the couch with her glass.

“Work?”

“Yeah. Just double checking if I missed anything important and preparing for the match tomorrow.” You sat on the couch and put the laptop on your lap. Alexia opted to sit on the carpet, legs stretched and crossed, back leaned back against the couch, her head just beside your legs as Nala settled by her side.

She turned her head, looking up at you. “Can I see?”

You turned your laptop so she could see better. You flicked through the photos you were sorting through, explaining to her every now and then the thought process behind each shot. On some photos, Alexia asked you to pause so she could soak them in.

“These are great. You have a great eye.” Alexia complimented with an appraising nod as you got to the end. You thanked her as you pulled back. Then a question came to mind.

“Do you ever get used to it? The cameras, I mean.”

A pause.

“I’m not and I don’t think I ever will. I’m more comfortable with it now but if it’s possible to avoid, I’d do it. I know it’s a part of football and god knows how much more exposure women’s football needs,” Alexia released a heavy sigh, “but sometimes it just gets too much, you know? I mean, I really should be grateful, right? To have gotten to this point? But the media side of it is… not without its own set of miseries.”

There was an inflection in her tone upon her admittance–guilt. You gently carded your fingers through her hair, Alexia leaned into your touch in response, and you replied just as softly, “it must’ve been difficult. It still is and for you, especially. And I don’t know if anyone’s told you lately but you have to know: you’ve given so much of yourself already. It’s not a sin to want a little peace, Alexia, and it doesn’t make you ungrateful for wanting it, it just makes you human.”

Alexia took a deep breathe before she rested her temple against your knee. Then you heard her whisper, “thank you.”

A silence fell upon the both of you after that but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. She remained that way for the majority of the night, head against your knee as she watched a game of football on the TV.

By the time you finished up your work, it was already late evening and Alexia’d dozed off beside you. You felt bad as you gently woke her up and groggy hazel eyes found yours when you did. The sight made your heart ache from how much Alexia looked younger and more at peace this way, and you told her to wash up so she could stay the night.

And she did.

Now, your cheek felt warm against her chest despite the slight dampness of her borrowed shirt from her hair. Her skin smelt faintly of the soap you were using and with her arm around your waist, you fell asleep content, lulled to a deep slumber by the steady rhythm of her heart.

———

“Hey, please don’t wear that, it’s dirty,” came Alexia’s reprimand from behind you.

You glanced at her reflection in the mirror: Alexia was propped up on the pillows against the headboard, an arm behind her head, nude except for the bundle of sheets that covered one of her thighs, the marks you’d left on her neck and chest last night and this morning generously displayed for you to behold.

She was nothing short of glorious, you thought, looking relaxed and content like this.

You turned your attention back to your own reflection: Alexia’s Barcelona jersey draped over your smaller frame and fell just partway down your bare thighs. It felt comfortable against your skin and the fact that it smelt just like Alexia made it feel all the more special.

When you looked at her reflection again, you found her with an affectionate smile, eyes lidded and brows inflected slightly upwards, and suddenly the attention warmed your cheeks.

“But you only wore it for a shoot, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but you know what I mean.”

You hummed, “do you need it?”

“No, I have spares,” she replied before she raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“That means I have time to wash it before I give it back since you insists that it’s dirty.” You said drily as you turned away from the mirror and padded your way to the bed, crawling on the sheets on your knees once you got there.

As soon as you got close enough, Alexia’s hands were immediately on you, guiding you to straddle her lap before she embraced you fully, resting her chin between the valley of your breasts as she looked up at you. You carded your fingers through her hair to see those fair, hazel eyes that never failed to make you shiver.

“I didn’t say you have to hurry. Plus… I kinda like seeing my number on you.” And then she was kissing your neck and you felt one of her hand creeping its way down to cup your ass. You gasped when you felt the heat of her fingers brushing against your core and you buried your own in her hair as she traced a path from your throat to your ear with her tongue, nipping at your lobe when she got there.

“Fuck… Alexia…” You moaned, “you’re insatiable.”

She kissed your shoulder and then she whispered, “only for you.”

———

Something flashed from the corner of your eye followed immediately by a string of whispered curses and a familiar whirring sound. You put your thumb over the line you were just reading so you wouldn’t lose your place before you looked over your bare shoulder to the corner of the room you knew Alexia was who you found, as expected, holding one of your Polaroid cameras.

She was only wearing a pair of grey sweats which left her torso bare and–like all the time you saw her nude–you couldn’t help but appreciate the soft curves of her breasts and the carved muscles of her stomach. When she met your gaze, she smiled almost sheepishly at you not dissimilar to a child being caught stealing cookies from the jar.

You raised a playful eyebrow at her but instead of answering, she placed her eye over the viewfinder, aimed the camera at you, then pressed the shutter again.

The film came out with a whir and Alexia immediately tucked it into the pocket of her sweats. She then began to make her way towards you and at every other step, she’d stop to take a photo of you, carefully manoeuvring the camera to get the right angle as she did so. It was an endearing sight, really, and it was one that filled your chest full of warmth.

Eventually, she ended up on you, turning you over on your back as she straddled your waist, leaving you at the mercy of Alexia and her camera. From this position, you couldn’t help but feel extremely vulnerable and exposed not because of your bareness, but because you knew with the way your chest surged with warmth from how Alexia gazed down at you with a satisfied grin, the dimple on her cheek showing as her tongue peeked out between her teeth at the corner of her mouth, seemingly focused on getting the right shot, that this was a woman who had the power to completely and utterly unravel you.

As a photographer, you were well acquainted with how cameras had the capacity to capture the essence of a moment–to display in raw details the emotions of its subject and freeze them in time, readying them for the dissection and scrutiny of the viewer. You wondered then what Alexia would see written in the shadow, the light, and the colours in the photos she just took of you once she looked at them, and the thought both elated and frightened you.

Alexia brushed away hair from your temple but as she was about to pull away, you put yours atop of hers and turned your cheek into her palm, looking directly at her behind the camera. You heard her breath catch and then she stuttered out a breath, and the flash barely registered in your mind because you were too focused on the strength and the warmth of Alexia’s hand as you pressed butterfly kisses on the inside of her palm.

The next thing you knew, the camera was abandoned completely and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out from your throat when you finally felt Alexia’s lips on yours.

———

Alexia sat on one of the high chairs in the kitchen room, hair damp, a game of football on the mounted TV that was left forgotten in place of… something that you couldn’t quite see from this distance. Alexia’s shoulders were hunched over in concentration and you didn’t have the heart to interrupt whatever she was doing so you leaned on the archway, content with just observing her do her work.

“Are you just gonna stand there or would you care to join me?” You rolled your eyes and you didn’t fight the smile that graced your lips. So much for being sneaky–the fact that Alexia was an accomplished footballer who had crazy spatial awareness occasionally slipped your mind.

“Okay, Gwen Stacy, calm down.” Alexia looked over her shoulder then and stuck her tongue out at you, grinning. “How did you even know I was here?”

“Your reflection on the microwave.” She gestured to it with her chin and sure enough from this angle you were instantly visible especially with the white shirt you had on. The dark glossy surface almost made you look like a ghost.

Standing on your toes, you draped yourself over her broad back, arms wrapping loosely around her neck as you peered down. “So, what are we working on?”

“This.”

A bracelet made of a dark-blue and red string that looped into itself with a singular, small gold diamond-shaped charm right in the middle, a vertical bar at the two corner points of the long edge of the diamond, dangled between Alexia’s fingers. She took your right hand and placed it in your palm so you could look at it: the bracelet was simple but it’s delicate nature made it all the more beautiful and elegant.

“Oh, wow, this is so pretty.”

“It’s for you.” At that you looked at her, half-afraid that she’d feel the way your heart raced at her words against her back.

You were so busy trying to find the right thing to say that you didn’t realise that she took the bracelet back until you felt the warmth of her fingers on your palm as she turned your hand over. You watched her as she wrapped it around your wrist, securing the tie. You turned your right wrist over and looked at the delicate bracelet, and something in your heart soared at the small gift. The fact that Alexia made it herself made it all the more special to you.

“Thank you, Alexia. I love it.”

“You’re welcome.”

That night while you were sufficiently warm nestled by Alexia’s side, naked except for the sheets, your head on her chest, a realisation hit you.

“It represents FC Barcelona, isn’t it?”

Alexia hummed in answer, the rumble from the sound a pleasant sensation on your cheek. Then she held your wrist in the space between her thumb and index finger, the width of her palm supporting your hand as she turned your hand just so so the gold of the diamond could catch the light.

“And what else?”

At that, you looked at the bracelet intently. The two bars: one and one–Alexia’s number. So she really was serious when she said she liked seeing her number on you.

You let out a small laugh, then you nuzzled her jaw as you spoke, “you little sneak.”

———

Minding her bad knee, you flipped the both of you over with a strength that even surprised yourself and with how Alexia’s brows raised high, you supposed it took her off guard, too. You settled your weight on her stomach and you bit your lip when you felt her abs tense against your core, and the desire in you blazed into a raging inferno that threatened to burn you inside out.

She grabbed your ass in both hands with a firm grip, making you gasp when her hold made you grind against her stomach, her eyes smouldering as she looked up at you.

That look was your last straw; you couldn’t stop fighting your desire anymore so you let it swallow you whole. You fell forward, bracing your weight against your elbows as you craned your neck to kiss Alexia, rough and desperate, her lower lip between your teeth. The action rewarded you with a low moan, a delicious sound that shot heat straight down to your core.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Alexia gasped out between your relentless kisses.

“I like being on top,” was your simple answer whispered hotly against her ear, nipping gently at the soft skin there–teasing.

Then it was your turn to gasp.

Her fingers dug delightfully into your flesh, kneading your ass roughly before easing them apart with equal force. The harsh treatment caught you by surprise and the effect of it even more unexpected as you immediately melted against her, moaning her name helplessly against the crook of her neck.

She knew just how to make a mess of you.

“Hmm, do you?” She asked coyly and then proceeded in a deliciously low voice that oozed seduction, smugness, and sex. “Too bad I’m still in control.”

“Fuck.” Your body answered for you in a full-body shiver. Her words turned you on to the brink of falling and you found no purchase as you slipped from the ledge.

It should be embarrassing how you could come without Alexia even fucking you, and it should scare you that she had this much power over your body but in this moment, when her hands were everywhere but your pussy and her filthy words were whispered hotly in your ear, you could care less. So you fell apart, shaking and weak, as you sank on top of Alexia’s firm and soft body, her name barely coherent from the sobs that came out of your lips. Euphoria lit every nerve in your body as you came, the fabric of your underwear latched deliciously on your pussy like a second skin and you were sure that you’d made a mess on Alexia’s bare stomach.

You only realised Alexia had stopped her teasing ministrations until you heard her thick voice through the haze of the afterglow which you barely caught.

“You came.”

It wasn’t a question, really, but you let out a small affirmative moan because what else could you do? You were mush–the intensity of your orgasm caught you off guard and left you floundering that no thoughts formed in your mind, just pure bliss and ecstacy. But as the veil of euphoria began to lift, embarrassment bled into the edges of your consciousness and with it the instinct to apologise. The words were poised at the tip of your tongue when Alexia moaned.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” she breathed out and when you found the strength to lift your head to look at her, her eyes were lidded, pupils blown so wide they were almost all black.

And then she was pulling you in for a kiss, and then the wet heat of her tongue traced the edge of your ear, and she was nipping at your jaw while she dragged her palms from your ass to the side of your ribs. Your skin burnt at her touch and you could do nothing but surrender, to moan and whimper as your heat blazed anew despite having just been swept away.

“But this time, you’re going to come with my fingers in you.”

She didn’t even let the words sink in. Instead she wasted no time to slip her hand between your bodies and to push aside the fabric of your ruined underwear. Usually, Alexia liked to tease you and ease her fingers in you slowly as she sought as much reaction from you as she could, but the slick she found there must had been enough to satisfy her because she pushed two fingers in as soon as she found you. The thickness of her fingers slid in easily and you nearly screamed her name from the pleasure.

She was relentless in her endeavour to make her words true with the way she gripped your hip steady with her free hand so you didn’t stray too far from her touch when you moved to meet her thrusts, the pace at which she worked her fingers in you left you lightheaded the same way her teeth on your neck worked to drive you insane.

“Alexia, Alexia, Alexia–” You chanted her name like a holy litany, burying your face into her hair that was now slightly damp with sweat and breathed her in: her scent of sun and freshly cut grass, of faint wintergreen, and an essence that was uniquely hers. The moment left you full with something heavy and warm, something that spoke of and hoped for forever, and clarity washed over you: this wasn’t like one of your previous dalliances anymore because you wanted more with her.

The realisation hit you hard, the gravity of it left your mind in a momentary stasis that when you came back to yourself, the shock of your orgasm knocked the breath from your lungs and you felt yourself being pulled by the tide. So strong was it that you could do nothing but pray the flood wouldn’t take you–that Alexia wouldn’t let you drown.

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: i think this is the halfway point guys for this one #ik alexia mentioned somewhere that she has dinner with her family on fridays but for this fic's sake i made it to saturdays lol #also i have a backlog of ideas i wanna start writing but i really wanna finish this one first #just a side note this part is 4.3k #so on aggregate this is officially the longest fanfic id written so far.#hope you guys like this and would love to know what you think about the story so far #just a reminder: im tweaking minor details as i go so the most accurate copy of all the parts will be on my ao3 (@thesunisatangerine)#apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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plush-rabbit · 6 months

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A/N: I can't come up with a title so,,,, yeah!! Anyways, I've had this saved in my drafts and I miss writing and even with spring break!! my professor still gives us homework. So, here I am. this is just a thing where like reader is an angel and falls and like it was gonna be a short series, but like,,, i never finish my series (except for ciays)

Word Count: 3.1K

You sit with a pit in your stomach. Your legs are causing the items on the table to shake, and you can't stop the dread that is looming over you, cold and heavy. There's a shift beside you, and a hand cups over your thigh, a feeble attempt to get you to stop moving. You can only flinch in response.

“Can you just- I don’t know, fucking chill or something?” His hand gives you a squeeze, before pulling back and crossing his arms. “They aren’t gonna do shit to you.”

“Lucifer fell because he asked too many questions,” you counter, gasping for breath. The room feels too tight, too full and empty all at once.

Beside you, he scoffs. “Love to break it to ya babe, but you aren’t him. You’ll be fine.”

“Exactly,” you hiss, hiding your face in your hands. “I’m not him. I’m- I’m a low ranking Angel. I- Oh Father, I don’t hold any type of status. I’m going to fall,” you voice breaks and tears are in your eyes, horror and fear making you pale.

“You’re not.” He’s harsher this time, and pulls you to look at him. His name is on your tongue, and he interrupts you. “I’m vouching for you. And so are the rest of my girls. You’ll be fine.” He loosens his grip on you, and smooths a hand down your hair. “Chillax, babe. I know you’re a little goody-two-shoes, but this is nothing. You’ll probably just get demoted or some shit.”

“Adam.” Your hands grasps onto his, and you want to believe that he’s right. “But what if-”

The door opens, and you both whip your head around, watching as Seraphim walks in, her head held high and face lack of expression. The pit in your stomach swallows more of you.

Your rise from your seat, and Adam begrudgingly follows. “Sera-” you clear your throat- “I uh- Seraphim. Good evening. I- I thought we were not allowed to meet before the trial,” you look around the room, and for a moment, you have hope. She wouldn’t go against orders, so perhaps she’s here with good news. You give her a tense smile, and she walks to the desk, her wings taut and folded behind her.

She sits at the chair with her arms folded over the desk. “I wanted to be the one to deliver the verdict.”

Your brows furrow, and sit back down, your ankles crossed over one another, and your body leaning towards Adam’s. His hands reach over the space between the chairs and you grasp onto him, nails digging into the clothed covered skin.

“The verdict?” You ask in a whisper. “But I hadn’t- What about my trial?”

“It was decided that you would not have a trial.” Her voice is like stone, unwavering, strong, and heavy.

“Decided by who?” A chill runs down your spine, and it’s as if you can feel a presence around you.

“If there’s no trial then how do fuck do you all even have a verdict?” Adam, as always, is crude, and it only furthers the sickness deep in you.

“Adam,” you say in a high pitched voice.

He turns to you, and squeezes your hands. “Well? What is it? Community service? A demotion in rank? Paperwork?”

“Sera,” your chest is tight, your bones pricing into the tender flesh, “why didn’t I have a trial?”

“Look, the demotion can’t be that bad, right? I’ll look after them. Make them my assistant or something. I got shitload to do anyways, they’ll keep me on it.”

“Sera,” you plead, “I was promised a trial. I was told that it would be fair.”

“No trial is good, right? Means it was easy to consider your fate.” You flinch. “You get to be my assistant. Don’t worry babe-” he tugs on your hands for your attention, but you’re fixated on Seraphim and that way that they look at you with somber eyes- “I won’t work you too hard.” The playful tinged words make you sick.

“Sera,” you croak, leaning away from Adam- “my trial. It was promised.”

She calls your name, it’s whispered like a prayer, uttered like a curse and laced in sorrow. You know your outcome, before she can even say it. “I’m terribly sorry.” Your body goes cold. “It has been decided that your punishment for questioning the beliefs and practices of Heaven will be the taking of your wings and The Fall to Hell.”

You can taste the bile. It burns, the acid fills your mouth, and it makes your eyes burn with hot tears.

“What the fuck!” Adam shouts, your hands are let go, and you stare into her eyes. You can hear the chair squeak as it’s pushed away and it nearly topples over. Adam goes to you, short strides to grasp his hands over your shoulders. “That isn’t fucking fair! They were promised a trial, so where the fuck is it?” He’s furious, and the hands around you bring you no comfort.

“I’m terribly sorry.” Seraphim looks at you as she speaks. “For the both of you.” Her eyes dart between you and Adam.

“I didn't mean to,” you whisper, your nails digging into your clothes. “I promise that I-”

“Come on Sera! I've done worse shit than them. Can't we just look the other way?”

“Adam, I need to speak to them alone.”

“Like fuck I’ll-”

“Adam,” you breathe out. He looks at you, moving to kneel in front of you and you look at the demonic mask, and you want to retch. “Let us speak in private, please. I’ll meet you outside.”

He looks at you, through the golden eyes of the mask. “Fine,” he huffs. He stands, and presses a kiss to the top of your temple. You wish that you could return the gesture- that you could look up and kiss him back without worry. “Yell if you need me,” he whispers to you. You nod, unable to mutter a word to him.

The door clicks behind him, and you’re left alone with Seraphim- something that you’ve never had the opportunity to experience. Perhaps if circumstances were different, you’d be more ecstatic.

They call your name, and she holds her hands out to you. Like a trained dog, you place your hands in hers, and you let the tears fall.

“Why am I falling?” You ask, gaining no comfort from her hands.

“Emily- one of the younger Seraphim- has begun to question certain aspects of Heaven. I fear that the questions won't settle.”

“So this is- I’m meant to scare her? To remind her of her place?”

Seraphim sighs, and she lifts a hand, tracing a delicate finger along the back of your hand. You hate the ways he says your name- like she still cares for you. Like your name is sweet as honey. As if she has the right to speak to you with care and love. “You must understand that Emily is still so young.”

“And a higher ranking than I am.” You turn away from her, but you can’t pry your hands away. You want comfort, even if it's given by your judge and even if the hands that hold yours are going to be stained in gold. They say nothing to your comment, and you hold their hand tighter. “When?” You croak out.You dig your nails into their skin- it’s cold, and as much as you want to hurt them, you cannot.

“By the end of the week.” Their words are spoken without wavering. “You’ll be confined in one of our holding rooms for incoming souls for the time being. You’ll still be allowed visitors. The spectacle will be watched by only those that you allow, and by the high-ranking angels.” You let out a sob, and bow your head. “It will be quick. With the ranking unbeknownst to the rest, it will be an Exterminator who will remove your wings. They’ll be wearing one of the ceremonial robes. After the removal of your wings, you’ll be-” she pauses and you can already feel the emptiness.

“I’ll be cast out.” You look up and she nods, her hands squeezing yours.

“Understand that if I could will it any other way, I would.”

You look at the hands holding onto yours, and you think about how someone will have to clean your blood. How they’ll get on their knees and wipe the ichor from the floor, how the rags will drip in riches and stain their hands in sin. Your wings flitter in response.

“You said an Exterminator?”

“Lute has been tasked with your severance.”

“Why not Adam?”

Seraphim looks shocked. “I- I would not wish for him to be the one to remove your wings. If it were any other, I believe he would do an excellent job, but since it’s you,” she trails off. “I do not believe he would be able to commit.”

“But Lute can,” you say.

“Yes. She is able to put her feelings aside, and do her job.” Seraphim pauses, their eyes are trained on you, and a few look at you in pity. “However, if you wish for it to be Adam-”

“No,” you interrupt. “No, you’re right. He wouldn’t be able to.” Your wings feel heavy. “Sera?” She hums in response. “How soon will I be cast out after my wings are removed?”

“Effective immediately.”

You lay in your new bed- the mattress new and solid underneath you. It’s nothing like the one back home. You can’t seem to get comfortable, all that you can do is lay there wrapped in Adam’s arms, pulled close to his body where your breath tickles at his skin. “You can run,” he says quietly into your ear. “I’ll leave the door unlocked, and you can run.” His act of defiance brings tears to your eyes.

“Adam,” your voice breaks.

“The Exterminators will be the ones tasked with chasing you down.” You feel the way his hands grip your skin, clawing and desperate to keep you beside him. “They won’t get you. They’re loyal to me. They’ll listen. You can live on Earth.”

When you close your eyes, tears trace down the curve of your face. “Lute is the one performing the severance of my wings,” you tell him a hoarse whisper, unable to keep the horror out of it. Even speaking about it is enough to send a pain down your spine and at the base of your wings. His nails pierce into your skin, pinching into the softness of your stomach. His wings flutter, and they are heavy above your body. “She’ll do a good job,” you comfort. “A clean cut that will make it easy to heal.” There’s bile burning in your throat. “Please don’t be upset with her after the event.” His arms wrap tighter around you, and his wings hide you from the outside, curving over your body, cupping you and holding you. Your hands hold onto him, at the nape of his neck, trying not to look at him, but commit his touch to memory. “I don’t think you should be there.”

“Like fuck I won’t,” he seethes, the venom in his words are unable to hide the tremor.

“Adam,” you murmur, “I’m serious. I- You shouldn’t see me like that. I- I know that I would look for you after it happened. I- I can’t ask for you to see me so broken.”

“I’m going,” he tells you in a tight voice, his breaths coming out in gasps.

You nod, and swallow the pit lodged in your throat. “Please don’t stop it.” He whispers your name, and lets you go, coming up to a sitting position. His wings still stretched, touching you so gently. You look up at him, tear stains glistening on your cheeks. “This is my fault. I’ve accepted it. I know I’m going to plead and cry for mercy, but ignore me, Adam.” Your hands find his, and you hold onto him desperately. “Don’t fight for me. Let it happen.”

“You should run away,” he tells you again. “We can run together.” Tears glisten in his eyes, and you don’t recall ever seeing him so upset.

You smile, but it trembles and falls, and tears spill out. “Where would we go?” You ask in a quiet voice.

“Earth.” His jaw tightens, and you don’t comment when his voice cracks. “We’d take a bunch of gems from here and sell them there. We’d be rich.” You try not to let the quaking in your chest show, the soft stuttering that threatens to release a storm. “We’d sing in some dingy ass club, and I’d use my blessing to make us famous.”

You laugh, and it’s clouded by tears. “I thought we were in hiding?”

“We’d be in disguise,” he counters, a hand prying away from your grip to wipe away the tears. “We’d settle after a few years, get a nice house in a big city. Gamble, drink, fuck. Maybe have a few kids in like a hundred years.” He smiles when you turn your head to kiss his palm, your other hand going to curve over his. “We’d have a nice life.” He lays over you, hiding his face into the crook of your neck, and presses his lips to the warmth of your skin when your hands tangle themselves into his hair. “It’s a nice plan, right?”

“Of course,” you say through tears. “You always come up with good plans.”

You stand in a stadium, dressed in white, your back exposed and your wings fluttering about no matter how much you will them to still. No one fears that you are going to run. Not when there are archers lined, and not when the Angels are watching you. You see Adam, and he wears his mask, standing with his arms held behind him.

You wish you told Seraphim that he wasn’t allowed.

Chains bind your ankles and wrists. The iron pinching your skin and irritating the flesh. You’d take this pain a thousand times over than what’s about to happen.

“For questioning Heaven’s beliefs and practices,” the voice echoes around, “we sentence you,” your name sounds empty, and you can’t breathe, “to have your wings removed and to be banished from Heaven.” You do a stupid thing and glance at Adam and he looks away at your glance. You feel a tinge of pain, but it’s better this way. “You will now have your wings removed.”

You turn your head, and see Lute. She’s shrouded in white robes with gold accents. Her hair is tied, and her wings are pinned behind her. She does not cast you on any type of look and you're grateful for that.

Her gaze is steeled. You know her. She knows you. She’s seen you at your worst, and you’ve seen her at her best. You’ve shared meals with her- broken bread and drank wine together. She’s been in your home. Her smile has always been sharp, and there are moments where it’s tender, vulnerable and saved for those closest to her.

She does not smile at you. She keeps her gaze focused on you, and you can’t help but tremble, the iron of the chains clinking together. You look away, and you’re grateful you had nothing to eat the morning of. You were grateful you were not given the choice of a last meal.

“On your knees,” Lute tells you in a strained voice.

You hope Adam won’t be mad at her. You hope that if he is, that she can take it.

You flinch at the chill touch of the sword. Your wings flutter, and you bite your tongue. You should make your case once more. You shouldn’t be here. You only asked a simple question. This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be here. There’s a point against your back. You look up and find Adam. You need him to save you. You can run away with him. You’ll live the life he wanted. You’d do anything. You’d be his. You yelp as something sharp cuts into you. You’d never disobey Heaven again. You’ll never ask again. You’ll be content. Please, Father, you’ll be good.

“Stay still,” she says, breathing out the last word in a plea, and when you cannot, she’s forced to continue.

The tearing is a sharp pain. One that makes you writhe and scream, your throat raw and the sounds unbearably loud. Every twist and turn only further aggravates the wound, skin pulling and muscles bare for the Angels to see. Warmth runs down your back, caressing the small part of your back and spilling onto your legs and thighs. Your hands slam into the ground, clawing at the porcelain floor. Through tears, you can liquid gold, shining and shimmering.

The cool air is agony against your open wounds. You’re warm, and wet, and the final strip of skin is pulled away from you. The heaviness of your wings are gone from you, and crane your neck to see them land with a heavy ‘thud’ away from you. The base of the ivory feathers are drenched in gold, and you can only think about the misery you’re in, and you reach for them. You need them back, you want them back. You’d sew them onto yourself if you could, but you can’t leave them here.

Your eyes glance around, wide and horrified, searching the crowd, and you roll onto your back, screaming once more, and calling for Father, your eyes landing on Adam. Legs block your view, and heavy hands lift you, pulling on your arm, and stretching the raw muscle.

You can hear someone, but your own screams overpower the other, and for a moment, you’re in the air, lifted and unable to breathe, until gravity pulls you down.

It’s a searing pain. It burns your skin and the whips of air slash against your back and body. You’re beaten and battered, carried by the air of Hell, and your screams only echo around you. The ground is unforgiving, a crater forming around you as you land. Gravel and sticks push against your skin. Your body lays crumpled on the floor, limbs twisted around each other, and your body is a mix of gold and dirt.

Weeds twist into your hair, and the stench of Hell makes you retch. You cry on the ground, alone and numb. There is no Father here; there is no warmth for you here. In a shay breath, with your hands clawing at the dirt, you wish for death. You wish for the demons to pry you apart and for your body to never recover.

And far away, tucked away in his castle, eyes looking up at the heavens, Lucifer sees a shooting star streak across the sky, and his heart drops.

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freaky-flawless · 1 year

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Dead Tired Honey Swamp

Shout out to @deuces-stone-cold-style for the nightgown inspo!

#monster high #monster high fanart #monster high g1 #honey swamp #dead tired #finished this a couple days ago but couldnt post it #cuz my laptop battery decided it had had enough and finally went caput on me #i have a replacement coming within a i cant really draw until then and im super bummed about it #anyway this drawing was funny #i kinda hated it but thought if i could just add some color that it would help #and it did i love her #shes one of my most detailed mh designs so drawing her is always a doozy #i wanna design a dt wydowna to match because they are ghoulfriends #also sorry the nightgown isnt that accurate to the actual reference #i dont think honey is particularly a lace ghoulie which is why i went with the wispy plant fringe #and i really dont like drawing floral patterns i just used the csp presets 🥲#i know the dt dolls come with little accessories but she gets a blankie #and i couldnt fit the sleep mask because i refused to get rid of the bow on her bonnet #id in alt #my art #sabz art

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kinokoshoujoart · 5 months

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oops all rock (springtime edition)

i’ll be able to draw digitally again soon! ;w; in the meantime i’ve been scribbling a lot on paper…

could not wait for Soon, so i resorted to coloring it using the markup tool in default iphone photos app (don’t do that ever again)

#my art #sos awl #debating whether to just dump my sketches from my soujourn to hell or save them to be transferred and finished as digital stuff #or like both idk. i don’t know how ppl feel about WIPs #i’m happy to post art again ;w; thank you everyone who welcomed me back i’m slowly getting through everything i missed while i was y’know #and thank you for the sweet messages while i was gone i am bbghkjh i need to calm myself and respond !!!! love #rock tumbling (sos)#story of seasons a wonderful life #bokumono #story of seasons #harvest moon #hm awl #harvest moon a wonderful life #bunny sighting 😳 i still have THOSE wips too #there’s certain things i wanna prioritize once i can use my tablet again and those are one of them #but i will also probably post new stuff alongside finishing old unfinished stuff….. i hope that is OK……#idk i’ll have to talk more later! right now i am nervous!!! i love you all!!!!#fanart #awl rock #bokujou monogatari #hm anwl #unfortunately this scum neet still has my entire heart so. most of the notebook is just him pulling goofy faces… sorry……..#also a lot of lumina and nami…. and molly…. they r really cool…#ceci is also cool and i’ve drawn a collage of her that i just. never posted #mostly drawing HMDS related stuff about the descendant characters #OK I’LL STOP TAGBLOGGING #i am once again back in DS for girl hell. i want to make a series of posts about differences in the English vs the Japanese version #and also fun secret things related to DS #this is all in the future i gotta finish all my unfinished stuff…. uuuu….#i love you all mmmmmwah (i cast sleepy time blanket and sleep forever)

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kamapon · 1 year

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I'm late for tako day but whatevs....

#azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland #twst #octavinelle #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #I've been wanting to draw him in his mere for for ages #I really wanna finish this one

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dont-offend-the-bees · 1 month

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If the Shoe Fits, Then I Won’t Try It On

Omg I made it! Threw this one together today, so might not be my best! But thanks to my pal @every-moment-a-different-sound making these gorgeous gifs for my fic Outside Looking In, and also @wordsinhaled writing this lovely little fic inspired by it, I felt compelled to pop back in and give the disguise altar egos a little love! So this one is set pre-canon, about seven years into the boys' friendship/detective agency, and it's the first outing of the disguises (in their very early and imperfect forms! I like to think Charles has been experimenting over the years and the ones we've seen in show are just like, the latest versions!). It can really only be called case fic by the barest technicality but it's the best I got xD There's some nebulous Edwin gender-feelings, I'll leave it up to your personal preferences/interpretation whether it's a bit of transfem/nonbinary/genderqueer joy or just a boy's formative experience with drag, this baby can fit so much gender!! And references to fictionalised alcohol abuse, gambling and infidelity, but it's all just banter and tall tales, really. 2k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Perhaps we ought to rethink this strategy," Edwin muttered, fussing with his skirts.

"Relax, it'll be fine," said Charles. "No one's gonna suspect anything."

"They may suspect something," said Edwin. His voice sounded different, but the tone was one Charles had heard a thousand times before — pessimistic and haughty. Edwin seemed to pick up extra helpings of poshness when he was rattled. "They needn’t ascertain the exact nature of our ruse to know we're playing one."

"What? You think they're gonna be expecting someone to go in for fake marriage counselling?" Charles laughed.

"Stranger things have happened, Charles." Edwin spread his hand and swept it, gesturing between them and their magical disguises. "Q.E.D."

Charles looked at him blankly.

"Quod erat demonstrandum."

"Mate. They haven't taught Latin in that school for donkey's years."

Edwin made a noise of frustration — it had a bit of a high pitched, trilling quality with his fancy new vocal chords. "What I mean to say is that you and I are — figuratively speaking — living proof that real life is stranger than fiction."

"Well, yeah. But only to people who know ghosts exist," Charles reasoned. "And if this lady knew that, our client wouldn't've needed to come to us, would she? She'd've haunted the information out of her already."

Edwin exhaled, a quick, nasal huff like a bull, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His fingers bumped the chunky plastic frames of his enchanted glasses. "Pity. If she could see us, there'd be no need of these ridiculous costumes."

"I think we look brills," Charles beamed, proudly straightening out his big red rain mac. Sure, the disguises weren't perfect — he was still getting the hang of tweaking the enchantment. And yeah, he'd ballsed up his own bald spot at first, made it too big and just a little bit sort of... Australia-shaped. But all in all, he thought they looked mint! No one was gonna suspect them of anything, couple of old geezers. Who'd think they were a crack detective team?

Edwin was obviously having a harder time settling into character. He kept on faffing about with his unfamiliar layers of flowy clothing. Kept tugging on his little blue cashmere scarf, changing his mind on the drape of it — getting thrown whenever a tug of the fabric dislodged the waves of hair on his shoulders. Charles really hadn't got the hang of hair, just yet. He'd been aiming for something a bit classic and classy for Edwin, something honey-blonde and neatly coiffed. Instead he'd ended up with straw-like, brittle strands of peroxide white with... maybe just a hint of green. Charles would have to get that sorted out sharpish before they brought these disguises out again. Edwin would never let himself walk around looking less than his best if he had any say in it!

Charles turned to him, properly, grabbing Edwin's restless hands away from his scarf. "Eds. You look fine. Nice, even! Leave it."

Edwin glared at him, brow wrinkled. If Charles was being honest, the weirdest thing about seeing Edwin like this wasn't the fact that he looked blonder or older or, well. Like a woman. No, weirdest thing by far was how much thinner his eyebrows were. Charles had probably made them a bit too thin, he'd have to fix that, too. They were decent eyebrows! Visible, at least. But they were skinny and pale and neatly plucked, no little dusty dark hairs in between. Charles sort of missed them. He'd gotten used to those thick, dark brows scrunching up at him like grumpy caterpillars when Edwin was ticked off about something.

"It hardly matters if I look nice, Charles," he said, with a little belligerent flick of his hair that sent it flying. Charles probably should've made him a hairband or something — all long and loose, Edwin couldn't seem to get his hair off his mind. "But I do need to look convincing."

"You do! It's a good disguise, mate — made it special, didn't I?"

"I never said it wasn't." Edwin sighed, eyes fluttering closed a moment. Charles winced — maybe he'd overdone it a bit with the eyeshadow. There was a bit of colour-clashing going on, but hey-ho. Sort that in the next edit, too. "I am not concerned with the quality of the work, Charles."

"What is it, then?" asked Charles, dropping Edwin's hands to squeeze his shoulders instead. "What's got you all het up?"

Edwin shifted on his feet. His high heels clicked on the concrete porch. "I am merely concerned that I'm not... wearing it well," he said, a little bit through his teeth. "I don't want to compromise the entire investigation because I'm unable to act in a... befitting manner."

"Well, you're not gonna. Mate, you're doing brills." Charles smoothed down the big, floppy collar on Edwin's trenchcoat — he tried to do a Casablanca thing, but he might've gone a bit overboard — and grinned at him. "You're a natural. The way you stand all straight and that. Christ, you could've been walking in them heels for years! You're smashing it. For reals."

Edwin ducked his head, with the smallest smile. It was so Edwin that Charles could almost see the shape of him through the disguise; high, sharp bones under those rouged apple cheeks. Could almost spy that little spot on his chin. Actually, the chin wasn't a million miles off Edwin's own, with that barely noticeable little dimple in the middle. Maybe Charles had been taking some inspiration, subconsciously.

"I don't come across... peculiar?" asked Edwin.

"No. 'Course not." Charles sighed and patted his shoulders. "But look. If it's too weird for you, I can be the girl."

Edwin's brow twitched.

Alright. So maybe Charles could've worded that better. He coughed and took a step back, shoving hands in his pockets. "I mean, y'know. Bet I can manage it. How hard can it be? Probably won't be as like, chic as you, but I could give it a go."

Edwin pursed his lips, looking off to the side. He was fiddling with the rings on his fingers — maybe Charles had overdone them too, a bit.

"It... doesn't feel strange," said Edwin, quiet as a mouse. He couldn't seem to look Charles in the eyes. "It doesn't feel strange at all."

Charles smiled, all warm in the chest. Edwin had been a closed-off, buttoned-up sort of chap as long as Charles had known him — seven years and counting. Every time he offered up something of himself, Charles wanted to cup it in his hands.

"Oi," he said, gently, waiting for Edwin to look at him. "Suits you, mate."

Edwin smiled again, a barely-there twitch of his tinted lips. But he gathered himself quickly, clearing his throat and adjusting his scarf. "Well. We'd best be be getting on. We're due for our 'appointment' any minute now."

"Right."

"Shall we walk through the plan once more?"

"Go in, introduce ourselves, spin a backstory for a bit, make her think we're legit," said Charles. "Angle for a bit of one-on-one time. I keep talking, see if I can get her to slip up, drop us a hint — while you sneak off, search the office."

"Spot on," said Edwin, with a brisk nod. "According to our client, this woman writes down everything. No doubt she stores her more sensitive journals somewhere apart from the rest, somewhere discreet. Find the journals..."

"Find the body," Charles agreed, tilting his head side to side to crack his neck. "She'll have written down what she did with it for sure."

"Precisely. Right. That's the aim." Edwin steepled his fingers. "And we are...?"

"Edie and Colin Cromley," Charles replied, automatic. He should bloody well hope he knew that one — he'd had to put up with Edwin calling him Colin all night, trying to get him into character.

"Correct. And we are here because of discord in our marriage, resulting in my alcohol dependence and your extramarital affair."

Charles frowned. "Right..."

Edwin cocked his head a little. "Is there a problem?"

"You, uh. You ever actually been drunk before, mate?"

"Not as such, no," said Edwin, primly. "But, as we've quite thoroughly ascertained, I've never been a woman before, either."

Charles snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Fair point."

Edwin's manicured finger hovered over the doorbell. "Right. Are we quite ready?"

"Yeah," Charles mumbled, fidgeting on his feet. "Yeah, s'pose."

Slowly, Edwin lowered his hand. "Charles. We must be on the same page if we're to go inside and sell a convincing fiction."

"Just... feels a bit weird, is all."

"Why? You've always enjoyed undercover work in the past."

Charles shrugged. "Just... feels off. I wouldn't do that to you, y'know? Cheat, I mean. If we were married."

Edwin stared at him. "But we're... not married."

"Yeah, obviously." Charles felt all hot in the face, embarrassed. He should've just kept his big mouth shut. "Just saying, like — I wouldn't mess around on you like that. Or anyone," he added, quickly, because he was making things weird again, fuck's sake —

"Charles," said Edwin, amused. "Are you having ethical qualms about the character you're playing in this scenario?"

And alright, yeah. It sounded bloody ridiculous when you put it like that. Charles huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just — it's hard, yeah? Dunno how I'd even pretend I'd screw you around like that."

Edwin hummed, toying thoughtfully with the dangly end of his scarf. "Perhaps... I could play the unfaithful partner?"

"You want to?"

"... No. No, not particularly." He pressed his fists together. "Hm. Perhaps infidelity is the wrong narrative for Mr. and Mrs. Cromley."

"Not believable, is it?"

Edwin chuckled. "No. No, I suppose not. Hm. Back to the drawing board..."

Charles mulled it over, tugging on his earlobe. "How about... right, okay, how about, yeah, if I have a secret gambling problem?"

"That does feel more authentic — we've had plenty of words about your impulsive decision-making," Edwin teased. He nodded, eyes sharp as he formulated the new story in that big brain of his. "Very well, a gambling problem is it. You've been losing money at the races —"

"Reckon I'm more of a footie bloke. Big bets on the big games."

"You've been losing money at various sporting events," Edwin corrected, rolling his eyes. "And the extent of your debt has recently come to my attention."

"You should see how much I lost on the cricket world cup," said Charles, seriously.

"Oh, believe you me, I did. Hence, marriage counselling."

"And boozing."

"Indeed. I knew the problem needed addressing a month ago," said Edwin, fingers gesticulating as he spun his little yarn. "When I visited our local public house for a consolatory tipple and became positively sozzled on sherry."

Charles chuckled. "Sure you wanna go with sherry?"

"Is it not appropriate?"

"I mean. It's fine," said Charles, raising his hands. "Nothing wrong with it! Just doesn't sound like your usual sort of, uh, blackout drunk sort of booze. Never heard of anyone going on a sherry bender."

"Well, what would be your suggestion?" Edwin challenged.

Charles wasn't actually sure, come to think of it. What did middle-aged classy ladies drink to get sloshed? "Um... well. Me and the lads used to get pissed on White Lightning after school."

"Very well, then. I overindulged on White Lightning. Happy?"

"Aces."

"Right. Well, now that's all straightened out..." Edwin lifted his finger to the bell again. "Shall we?"

"Go for it."

Edwin rang the bell — and when he dropped his hand, Charles picked it up. Edwin looked at him, quizzical.

"What?" said Charles. "Meant to be a couple, in't we?"

"One in the throes of marital strife," said Edwin, a little smile on his lips. "I doubt we'll be expected to be affectionate."

"Right. 'Course not," Charles agreed — but he didn't let go.

Edwin chuckled, and stayed put. His hand felt small, smaller than it ever had the few times Charles had held it — usually when he was hauling Edwin out of harm's way. Small and bony, lined with soft wrinkles, dotted in sun spots. Couldn't be much further from Edwin's long, lean, smooth hands if it tried.

But it fit in Charles' hand just the same.

Hope you liked it! Probs won't be one tomorrow unless I can whip up something suuuuper short/quick or I find an existing WIP to polish off, but there'll defo be fic on Sunday! Thank you so much for all your love and comments I seriously appreciate them beyond words 💛💛💛💛💛💛

#painlandweek #painland week #payneland #dead boy detectives #dbda #my fanfic #BARELY scraped this one together #i wanna shout out the lovely payneland community who helped me brainstorm ideas for a fic that #sadly #untimately ended up too involved for me to write/finish today #y'all are angels and also SO fucking funny holy shit #anyway have fun!!#REALLY interesting writing charles and edwin at a different level of friendship/intimacy than i've done before #not brand new not 30 years in #just sort of... beginning to find their way #god i love them

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