#thank you! sorry this took forever ><< /div>
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5, 12, 22 for Jehan!!
Thank you! (from this character ask game): 5. Whatâs the first song that comes to mind when you think about them? Well the FIRST one is Damion Suomi's Holy Ghost, but I've mentioned that one before; so, swinging to a different mood, Simon and Garfunkel's America (yeah, it's the wrong country, but the actual country is so very much not the Point).
whoof these got Long
12. Whatâs a headcanon you have for this character?
ohboy so many -- I think his love life looks like either a Total Mess or Nonexistent to most people, because he's all about The Ideal. He'll spend months writing dramatic poetry about the Infatuation of the Season, sending letters, occasionally even meeting up very briefly under dramatic circumstances, but like..anything as Daily and Routine as a relationship? Who would want that over the thrill of pure emotion and the ideal? Yes also he's agonizingly shy but that just makes this kind of Ideal Romance even more ideal , see? (sometimes he and Grantaire hang out and Vague about how This Is Fine, romance-wise, and Prouvaire mostly means it and Grantaire mostly doesn't but either way they are getting very baked together.)
22. If youâre a fic reader, whatâs something you like in fics when it comes to ths character? Something you donât like?
I like it when he's kind of vision-haunted? not necessarily anything grand or specific, he can be just a little more aware of the narrative, a little more aware of a Greater Viewpoint in life , to a degree that just makes him seem just that same little bit too thoughtful or too melancholy for his age. Not that he can't also be silly and giddy but when there's that constant contrasting thread of Too Much Going On Somehow? Perfect. @estelraca (Les Mis Stories here!) and Kvikindi both do this very well!
Something I don't like: Hmm...I don't like it when he is the Relationship Advice Giver and he's like.... pragmatic and sensible, with Very Insightful Guidance XD Don't get me wrong, I'm sure he LOVES to hear about Romance and Love and has all kinds of advice but it's all Romantic romantic advice, it's not going to work on anyone who wouldn't love to be given a weird taxidermy or a poem about how they're going to die and become bones.
Shoujo Cosette handled this GREAT, where it wound up with Prouvaire and Grantaire helping Marius write that disaster ramble he leaves in Cosette's garden XD And of course it works! I bet Cosette would LOVE a poem where she died in a fun way and became bones! XD
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thinking about your art mommy and breeding kink fics and just imagining him feeling comfortable calling you mommy but not indulging in his other kink . Until one day youâre about to sink down on him in cowgirl and you say âthereâs a new rule okay? You canât pull outâŠunder any circumstances.â And heâs so confused and flustered because you always tell him to pull out or use protection but this time you want him to cum inside you over and over and heâs just moaning âmommy mommy gonna cumâ constantly - heâll do anything for you and heâs so desperate and excited heâs finally getting to breed you
just thoughts yknow
all your fics are amazing by the way đ«¶đ»
awwwww:(( yea heâs so precious
like if you sit down on his cock and let it rest inside you for a minute while you coo in his ear; little words of encouragement.. heâs gone. his hands desperately clinging to yours while tears spring to his eyes and he whimpers, feeling himself twitch inside your walls. âmommyâŠâ he whines, wiggling his hips under yours and begging youâwithout the proper wordsâto start riding him properly
and when you do, heâs making the prettiest sounds. you get to watch his eyes roll back into his head and his bottom lip quiver as he relishes in the feeling of you squeezing around his throbbing dick. itâs leaking globs of precome inside you with every bounce of your ass over his pelvis, and heâs nearly crying..
âgonna come, mommy, gonna come ânside you, mommy, muh-mommy, mommynghhââ
the tension in his stomach coils tight and he starts to move his body to meet yours, forcing his eyes open to look to your face; searching for any sign of approval.
you smile down at him and moan, and he gasps in sharp bursts, âohhh, mommy! iâm, please, iâmâ iâm gonnaâ! gonna! come, come come comeââ
heâs totally incoherent by the time heâs bucking and slamming himself tight up against you, whimpering as he squirts his load warmly into the depths of your core. he bumps your cervix and coats your insides, squeezing your palms against his as he shudders. âmmmnn.. gonna get you pregnant, mommy⊠please keep it all inside.. youâll keep my come, wonât you?â he begs, pouting like a guilty puppy :(
#đž - ask prompts#iâm so sorry this took me forever to reply to but URGHHHH yea#also thank you what da hell :((( <3#mommy kink art with a breeding kinkâŠâŠ..#he gets so excited he can hardly breathe#panting and drooling and arching his back under you#guhhhhh#art donaldson smut
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playing for keeps â chapter two
alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader
warnings: coarse language, brief mentions of grief
(a/n in the tags)Â [chapters: one, two, three]
word count: 10.2k
[1]
A shiver ran down your spine in spite of the sunâs anger that bored down on you.Â
You wiped your free hand on your jersey but sweat clung to your hand like glue, yet your fingers remained cold, even the ones on the hand your mother was holding. It didnât help that your gut had coiled into a knot that you couldnât loosen; youâd breathed deeply, youâd counted backwards from ten⊠and still, it remained there.
What was it about this that scared you so much?Â
The fear sprung in you the moment you stepped foot out of your home, growing the more you got closer, and now that you and your mother were walking across the parking lot to the building, it threatened to claw its way up your throat. And that was something you really didnât want to happen.Â
You gripped your motherâs hand tighter. She gazed down at you with a soft look, giving your hand a slight, reassuring squeeze, and that was enough to ease that feeling a little bit.Â
The door creaked long and loud when your mother pushed it open, reminding you of that old, unused shed by the garden at home that made the same sound when you entered it, and it reverberated against the walls. No one was inside except for an empty desk in front of a wall with chipped, white paint. Just beside that, there was a corridor lined with a few doors, some of which were opened. And at the end of it there was an opening that led to the sunlit grasses of the outside.
At the sound, the head of a woman popped out from one of the open doors. The woman came out, a water bottle in hand which she set on the desk, and she greeted you and your mother with a friendly smile. Even still, you took a step back and hid behind your mother.
âHello! Iâm sorry for making you wait! How can I help you?â
âNo need to apologize, we just came in.â Your mother laughed as she waved a hand in the air. âMy daughter is actually here for her first day of training with the club.â
âOh, is she?â The woman gasped and clapped her hands together in delight. She beamed down at you and stooped low to offer her hand out, and then she cooed, âHello, love, Iâm Teresa.â
Heat rose to your cheeks as you took her hand and shook it, telling her your name in a whisper. Teresa smiled at you again before she straightened her back.Â
âIâm so glad you got here just then. We donât usually get people around this time so we tend to lock the front door, and I was about to head out back to bring the girls some water.â She explained to your mother and then she gazed back down at you again. âAre you excited to meet the girls?â
At your silence, your mother answered for you, âShe is, it was all she could talk about. Sheâs just a bit shy.â
âOh, donât you worry about that, love. The girls are just as lovely. Will you be joining us?â
âAre parents allowed to stay?â When Teresa nodded with a hum, your mother continued, âI see. Perhaps another time. I have somewhere to be.â
âWe could schedule for another time.â Teresa nodded in understanding before she regarded you again, âNow, shall we meet everyone?â
Fear rose in you again and your eyes darted to your motherâs. There, you found an encouraging light that grounded you and without really intending to, you agreed with Teresa. Shortly after, your mother left but not before she told you, âNow, my little firecracker, you behave yourself. And remember, have fun and show them what youâre made of.âÂ
Something akin to fire lit up in your chest at your motherâs words, and its warmth spread all the way to your fingers and toes. It was a soothing calm similar to the one youâd get from a cup of warm milk and honey in winter. And when she pressed a goodbye kiss on your forehead, a sense of safety blanketed over you even long after sheâd left.Â
Teresa took your hand after she locked the front door, and occupied the other with holding the rack of water bottles, and she led you down the corridor. As you passed through, it became clear just how tiny the facility actually was but it held everything that you needed; Teresa had pointed and named the areas with a jut of her chin: the toilets were here, the nurse bay just beside it, and the lunch room was just across.Â
âIt isnât much but itâs home for the club.â Teresa smiled but it didnât quite reach her eyes. And her eyes were clouded with an emotion that made you feel a sudden urge to hug her. The emotion passed quickly and in the next moment, you found yourself surrounded by heat as you stepped down a threshold that led you outside.Â
Squinting and putting your free hand over your eyes, the sight of the field came into focus. It was surrounded by a metal, wire fence, and its entrance opened up at the end of this path you were on to the middle of the nearest sideline. Through the fence, girls of seemingly different ages ran about in one half of the field, shouting and laughing as they passed balls to each other. And you found your nerves returning but it was soon replaced by giddy anticipation.Â
You and Teresa were close enough now that your presence drew the attention of the girls. Upon catching the sight of you, they stopped and stared. And even from a good distance away, the weight of their eyes pressed on you and heat rose to your cheeks again.
A shout and a clap made the girls whip their headsâas well as your ownâtowards the direction of the sound. It came from a woman who said something to the girls you were too far to hear, but by the end of it, the girls resumed their training as if they never stopped.Â
From the lack of attention, you sighed out a breath.Â
Then the woman began her way to the sideline just as you and Teresa arrived there. Teresa set the water bottle rack down by her feet while your eyes wandered over from the walking woman to the other girls. For the most part, they all looked the same age and height, but a few towered over the rest with their great build and height, and that did nothing to quell your brewing fear. There was only one girl that was smaller than everyone else, younger too, whose height looked to be similar to yours.Â
The girl was last in the line she queued for and as she stood there waiting for the ball, she had her head turned over her shoulders to look at you. She had short hair held back by a headband, and her shirt ballooned at the waistband of her shorts, which fell all the way down to her knees. Instead of fear, an urge to greet her rose in you, but as you raised your hand to wave at her, she whipped her head back to the front just in time to receive the next ball that was passed to her.Â
âAh! Our new addition to the family is finally here!â
The exclamation had you turning yours to the front, and you found the woman there with both hands planted on her hips. She towered over youâlike most adults did but she was taller than mostâand the angle made the fine lines around the corners of her eyes and lips look deeper from the harsh sunlight. Her blue eyes were light, inviting and warm, and they held a calming force that reminded you of your motherâs. When she stuck out her hand, you noted the way her skin clung to the surface of her flesh, almost translucent in the sun, but you found yourself unafraid to shake it immediately.
âWelcome to Sabadell Girlsâ Football. My name is Catalina but you may call me Madam Cata. Remind me again, how old are you, little one?â
âI just turned eight.â You said, and you nearly forgot to add, âMadam.â
Madam Cataâs smile brightened and, to your surprise, she let out a small laugh. At her amusement, you found yourself smiling, too.
âVery young, indeed. Well then, Iâll take you from Teresa to meet the rest of the girls.â
Your heart jumped at the thought and you turned to Teresa. She must've seen a hint of your apprehension because she gave you a soft, encouraging smile and said, âYouâll be just fine. Youâll see.â
Somehow, you believed her. So you nodded and thanked her, and with another smile and a wave of her hand, she left you with Madam Cata who began to lead you away with a gentle hand against your back.
After youâd crossed the small distance from the sideline to the middle of the field, Madam Cata called out to the girls. They gathered and now that they were closer, your shoulders curled inwards under the weight of their stares, and you kept your eyes down at the red laces of your boots, which your cheeks and ears probably resembled now as they heated from the attention.Â
You felt the weight of Madam Cataâs hand on your shoulder.Â
She was smiling at you and then she said softly, âDonât be afraid, little one. These are your friends and sisters. Go on. Tell them your name.â
Finally, you looked at the girls. And as if drawn by a force, your attention immediately locked on that girl, and for reasons you couldnât quite explain, a sense of calm washed over you.Â
The girl stared at you like the others did, but it was different. It wasnât a look you found to be negative, more curious and attentive. Her head was tilted slightly to the side as if the change in angle would help her figure you out. She wasnât quite smiling or frowning; she impressed you with a leveled attitude, an expression you typically saw on people who were significantly older than you, and you were surprised to see such a face worn by someone as young as the both of you.Â
Her eyes traced an invisible path along your face all the way down to your boots. She was sizing you up, you knew this. Youâd played enough games at recess and after school to know how kids scrutinized each other for weaknesses, but you felt it wasnât the same with this girl. Her gaze was more appraising than critical, as if she was imagining how you would affect the team. You could almost see her calculations playing like a movie above her head and you barely stopped yourself from giggling at the image.Â
She mustâve seen your amusement because she straightened her head in attention, and her brows knitted to a slight frown. The change shouldâve given you grief but it only made you all the more interested to get to know her for reasons you couldnât quite understand. There was just something about this girl⊠something that you wanted to discover. And so, right there and then, you decided that you were going to befriend her.Â
Feeling a bit better, you finally introduced yourself with a wave to the others before you locked your gaze on the girl again.
The girlâs frown deepened.Â
Your smile widened.Â
âNow, girls, introduce yourselves.â Said Madam Cata.Â
And so they did.Â
A couple of the older girls gave you a smirk that reminded you of the older cousins youâd see at family gatherings, or the boys at school who thought you were easy picking whenever you played with them. The rest looked friendly and introduced themselves with a pleasant smile and a wave.
It was the girlâs turn now.
âHi. Iâm Alexia and I play as a midfielder.â
Alexia. Somehow, the name suited her just right, like she was born to be one. The fact that she was the only one who stated their position wasnât lost to you. It was an assertionâa claimâand this again shouldâve intimidated you but it only made you smile.Â
Now that introductions were done, the girls dispersed as per Madam Cataâs instructions.Â
âAlexia. Come here, my child.â Madam Cata called out which stopped Alexia from running away with the rest. She froze midstep, her eyes darting to you then back to Madam Cata, before she reluctantly turned and shuffled until she was beside the woman.Â
âSeeing as the both of you are the closest in age, Alexia, Iâd like you to make her feel welcomed.â Madam Cata began, placing a hand on Alexiaâs shoulder, and then she continued, âYou two are the youngest in the club and I have high hopes that you two will become friends.âÂ
Madam Cata smiled at you, then to Alexia. âWhat do you say, Alexia?â
Alexia said nothing and only stared at you. You stood your ground and stared back, waiting for Alexiaâs move. In this moment, doubt crept in and your resolve wavered. Were you mistaken? Did she really not like you? She hasnât even given you the chance, yetïżœïżœ You thought in disappointment.Â
And then Alexia, instead of replying to Madam Cata, stuck out her open hand to you. âLetâs go?â
You couldnât help it. You grinned.
Giving Madam Cata one last look, you took Alexiaâs hand. It was sweaty and warm, and her grip was gentle. And then she was pulling you forward, easing you both in a run. And as you took off hand-in-hand across the yellowing grass of the field, Alexia turned her head to you and a tentative smile crinkled the corner of her lips, and you found the rest of your worries melting away.
You squeezed her hand, smiling.
And, this was the best part:
She squeezed your hand back.Â
[2]
By the end of the day, Alexiaâd introduced you to everyone, and all the other girls had warmed up to you, including the ones whoâd intimidated you at first. Alexia may be young, but you saw how the other girls respected her. Despite this, Alexia remained sincere and kind, and this fact made your admiration for her grow
Training-wise, Madam Cata separated you from the rest at first, testing your stamina and evaluating your technical skills before she eventually let you join in on the 7-a-side matches that ended todayâs training. You were slightly disappointed that you didnât end up on the same team as Alexia, but it was fun defending against her. To your surprise, it didnât even bother you that your team lost. Maybe it was because you got to witness Alexia shoot the winning goal, but of course you kept that information to yourself. It was late afternoon when you finished, and all the other girls had been taken home by their parents, except for you two.
âAre you sure you donât want to wait inside, girls?â Miss Teresa called out from the front door.Â
Alexia shook her head to answer for the both of you.Â
âWeâre fine here, thank you.â
âAlright. Just stay in sight, okay?âÂ
The both of you called out in agreement and finally satisfied, Miss Teresa returned back to her desk. There were two large trees that flanked the path towards the front door, and under their shade were benches built to wrap around their bases. Under one of those trees, you and Alexia waited for your parents to pick you up.Â
You kicked your feet in the air as they hung from the bench, relishing the way the cool breeze soothed the heat around the new bruise you got on your shin.Â
âThe bruise is getting bigger.â Alexia muttered. Sheâd taken off her headband and you noticed how short her hair actually was; only the front had enough length to fall over her face, parting in the middle to reveal her eyes. Apples were high in her cheeks and the remaining sunlight that filtered through the leaves played on her skin, and made her hazel eyes look lighter, almost green. She twisted her fingers as her lips curled into a regretful pout. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to kick you.â
âHey, come on, it was a game. Itâs fine.â When the pout didnât leave her face, you knocked your knee against hers and added, âIt looks kinda cool, donât you think?â
At that, an amused smile replaced Alexiaâs pout. âOnly you would think a bruise looks cool.â
âIâm different like that.âÂ
âSure, you are.â
âI am. Why else are you talking to me?â
Alexia rolled her eyes and then she laughed.Â
âWhat time are you getting picked up?âÂ
You looked at your watch.
 âMy mom should be here any minute now. What about yours?âÂ
âSoon as well,â Alexia answered after she peeked at your watch. And then, she asked, âDo you live nearby?â
âNo, I live in Mollet.âÂ
Alexia squeaked and at the sound, you looked at her and found her eyes were delightfully wide with surprise. âYou do? I do, too!â
âReally?â You gasped, mirroring her in your excitement. Elation filled you at the prospect of Alexia living so close. Imagine the sleepovers, the after school football games! âWhere do you live? What school do you go to?â
But when Alexia answered you and you recognised that the places she named were on the other side of town, you pouted in disappointment. When Alexia asked you what your face was about, you told her where you lived and your school, and then Alexia started pouting, too.
âI wish we lived closer. We could play football after school!âÂ
âYeah! And you could stay over! Or maybe I could?â Alexia whined. âWhy do you have to live on the other side of town?âÂ
âIf I could drive a car, I would come over all the time!â You imitated holding a steering wheel, and you blew air through your lips, imitating an engine.Â
Alexia slapped your arm, laughing. âAre you speeding? Thatâs illegal! If you drive like that, Iâll never get in the same car as you!âÂ
âFine,â you sighed dramatically. âI wonât speed just for you.âÂ
âThatâs comforting.â Alexia quipped dryly. âNo, but Iâm serious. Iâll ask my parents if I could stay the night some time. You should do the same!â
âI will. My parents will probably say yes as long as your parents are alright with it.âÂ
The sound of gravel being disturbed drew both of your attention. A car and a truck parked in the space in front of you, and you recognised the car to be your momâs.Â
âMy momâs here. Is yourââ
âPapĂĄ!â
Alexia jumped out of her seat and ran towards the other car, a truck, whose door opened to reveal a man, Alexiaâs father. He was tall, like really tall, towering over the truck next to him. He had long, loose gray pants on that stretched all the way up to his chest; the upper part reminded you of a bib, and the white shirt beneath was covered with what you supposed to be car oilâyour own father had come into the house with the strange scent and feel of it enough times for you to know the look of it from a distance. There was some of it on his cheeks as well, but Alexia didnât seem to be bothered by it, for she immediately jumped into his arms, and he, with a cheerful laugh, lifted his daughter up with a small grunt.
You smiled at the sight.Â
Seeing as Alexiaâd gone to her father, you went ahead and did the same, jumping off the bench to meet your mother as she got out of her own car.Â
âHow was your day, my little firecracker?â Your mother asked after sheâd greeted you with a kiss on your cheek, running her hands over your forehead and temple to wipe away the remaining sweat there.
âIt was really good, MamĂĄ! I made a friend! Sheâs over there. Look!âÂ
In your excitement, you tugged on your motherâs hand and pointed her over to where Alexia and her father were, only to find Alexia doing the same with her father.
Your mother laughed. âI see youâre very much alike, the two of you.â
And then, your mother waved at Alexiaâs father, who waved back, before she began to walk over where they were, and you trailed behind her. She was probably going to talk to Alexiaâs father, and you were excited to spend just a little more time with Alexia.
Alexia shoved her bag inside the truck before she ran to you. When she stopped right beside you and looped her arm around yours, you told her, âYour fatherâs so tall.âÂ
âHe is, isnât he?â Alexia beamed at you, pride in her voice as she looked at her father. âIs your father tall?â
âYes, but not as tall as your dad.â And then a thought struck you as you looked back at Alexia. There was Alexiaâs father, and here was Alexia. âYou know, you look like your father.â
âYeah, I know. People say it all the time.â
âAnd you donât get sick of it?â
She looked at you with a confused frown. âNo, why would I be?âÂ
âI donât know.â You shrugged. âIâm not really sure why I asked that.âÂ
Alexia just smiled at you and asked, lowering her voice with mischief. âWhat do you think theyâre talking about?âÂ
Sheâd begun to shuffle forward, taking you along with her because of your linked arms, and now you could hear their conversation.
ââyou and your family come over for dinner. Iâd prepared so much tonight in celebration of my daughterâs entry to the club. I donât think we could handle all the food at all.â Your mother laughed, and then she added, âWe could also discuss the arrangements then.â
You turned to Alexia with wide eyes and met her gaze, which brimmed with excitement. Turning back to Alexiaâs father, you willed him to say yes.
Alexiaâs father scratched the back of his head, his other hand on his hip. âWeâd love to come over. That is, if you donât mind having a five-year-old over, of course.â
âNo, we donât mind at all! Please, do come over.â
âOkay, then Iâll tell my wife. What time should we head over?âÂ
âNine should be fine.â
Alexiaâs father nodded, and that was that.
You couldnât hold your excitement any longer. You spun to face Alexia, grabbed her hands and both of you squealed. Laughter came from the direction of your parents, but you paid them no mind because all you could think about was that Alexia was coming over for dinner.Â
âAll right. Thatâs quite enough girls. Say goodbye now.â Alexiaâs father said with a light voice. âYouâll see each other again later.â
Alexia nodded, and then soon she was hugging you. âBye, Iâll see you later.â
âBye, Alexia.â You said, lifting your chin off her shoulder before you let her go and took your place at your motherâs side.
âAlright, Jaume, it was nice meeting you.â
Jaume, so that was Alexiaâs fatherâs name. Jaume waved his goodbye to the both of you with a smile on his face, and then he and Alexia drove away.
On the way home, up until Alexia and her family got to your home, you were practically buzzing with excitement. You ran up to your room to bathe, changed, ran back down, and even then the clockâs hand was still not pointing to nine.Â
âHoney, you peeking out through the window wonât make them get here any faster.â
A sigh escaped your lips, and pushing yourself off the window sill with a huff, you whined. âWhen are they getting here?â
Your mother laughed at that. âItâs only ten past eight, my love. Go to your father and help him. Maybe time will pass quicker that way, no?âÂ
Dragging your feet with another sigh, you made your way to the kitchen. Your father had his back turned to you when you entered through the archway as he busied himself on the kitchen counter. He stuck his hand into the bag of flour in front of him, and he spread it all over the counter, which caused a plume of white to rise in the air.
âCan I help?â You asked, shuffling closer so that you were beside him. There was flour everywhere on his side of the counter, while two empty baking trays were lined up in front of you. âWhat are you making, PapĂĄ?â
âThis, my love, is pan de payĂ©s.â He lifted the tea towel in front of him to reveal four domes of raw dough, their surfaces taut with tension. He looked at them, and with a proud nod, he said, âGo wash your hands and help me with them.â
You did, and as you dried your hands, you asked, âWhy are you making them? Donât we have enough food for tonight?âÂ
âWhy, theyâre for our friends, of course. You wouldnât want Alexia to leave here empty-handed, would you now, my love?â
Heat rose to your cheeks as you shook your head.
Your father smiled down at you with warmth. âOf course you wouldnât. Now here, Iâll prepare this first one; you watch, and Iâll let you do the rest. How does that sound?âÂ
You nodded, and you watched. He carefully placed a dome of dough in the centre of the floured space, then took another pinch of flour and sprinkled it over the dough, before lightly running his hands over the surface to spread the flour evenly. He took out his bread lame and ran the blade over the surface of the dough, creating four gashes that intersected to form a diamond, and then he placed the dome on one side of a baking tray.Â
You did as he did, albeit slower, and with the patient guidance of your father. After your father put the trays in the oven, the heat of it filled the space with warmth and light. As the two of you looked on at your work, your father began, âRemember this, my love. Food is an extension of our feelings and identities. It fills us, it sustains us, and it connects us. It makes us remember. When you eat your motherâs cooking, what do you feel? What do you think about?â
You didnât even need to think; you answered immediately. âWarm. And I think about home, MamĂĄ, and you.â
Your father smiled. âGood. Now, what do you think Alexia would think about if, say, she ate a piece of this bread for breakfast tomorrow?â
âUs?â
He hummed, and then a small laugh escaped his lips. He bent down slightly so he could tap your nose with his finger. âItâs going to be you, my love. How nice it is to be thought of, especially by a new friend, hmm?âÂ
You giggled, but a familiar warmth surged through you at the thought.
A knock resonated through the house, and you gasped, looking at your father in excitement.
âAh, our friends are here. Go on, now.â Your father tilted his head in the direction of the front door, a half-smile on his lips. You gave him a hug, and you sprinted towards the door, only slowing down when a âNo running, please!â resounded from the kitchen.Â
âOh, sheâs so cute!â You heard your motherâs coo, and when you turned the corner, you saw her fussing over a little girl balanced on her fatherâs hip, while Alexiaâs mother laughed warmly at your motherâs attention, and finally, you spotted Alexia looking up at her sister being pampered with a smile curling her lips.
You walked over to them.
âAh! My daughterâs finally here.â Your mother placed a gentle hand behind your back.Â
âHello.â You greeted Alexia shyly, eyes fleeting from Alexiaâs parents to her sister, then to Alexia herself, who was smiling at you. You stepped up to them to shake their hands, introducing yourself to them, and they did the same to you. You learned that Alexiaâs mother was named Eli, and her little sister was named Alba. You offered your hand to Alexia as well, with a playful smile. Alexia caught on, and she giggled before throwing her arms around you.
âIsnât she a dear? Oh, they seem so close already!â You heard Eli say it with a clap of her hands.
âBelieve me, Alexia was all she could talk about the whole night!âÂ
Your cheeks heated when Alexia laughed against your ear at what your mother said, but in the end, you decided you didnât quite mind.Â
âHello, welcome to our home.â Your father finally stepped out of the kitchen. He walked up to Jaume, shook his hand, and stooped down to press his right cheek against Eliâs. He cooed at Alba the same way your mother did, and he gave Alexia a wave. âYou all must be hungry; please come join us in the dining area.âÂ
Once the lot of you moved to the kitchen, the evening progressed quite quickly, as it usually did when you were having a good time. Your parents got to know each other after they initially took turns talking about you and Alexia. They laughed and got lost in their conversations, while you and Alexia busied yourselves with Alba, helping her with her food, and who, after finally warming up to you, revealed herself to be a bundle of energy.Â
At one point, the conversation moved to the living room, and this was when you and Alexia snuck out to the backyard. Albaâd fallen asleep not long after dinner, and she was safely pressed against Eli when the both of you took off. Youâd lead Alexia to your favourite spot; it was a swing that hung from a branch of a sturdy tree, and this was how you found yourself pushing Alexia gently as she sat on it, her hands around the ropes of the swing.
âWhy do you play football?â Alexia asked, breaking the silence.Â
âHow do you mean?â
âLike, are you only playing it for fun? Or, are you serious about it?â
You hummed as you pushed her. âIâm not sure yet. But, sometimes, when Iâm in school, I find myself daydreaming about it.â
âThatâs the same with me. Itâs all I can think about. I dream about it, too.âÂ
âYouâre serious about it.â It wasnât even a question; you could hear it clearly in her voice. But she turned her head, and the look she gave you all but confirmed it.Â
âI am,â she breathed out. âI really am.âÂ
You gave her another push. âWhere do you want to end up?â
âBarça.â Her answer came quickly, like sheâd thought it all through. And then she added, âOne day, Iâll play for them.â
The conviction in her voice was enough to electrify you with a surge of inspiration, and as you pushed her on the swing, you had no difficulty believing that it would come true. Like Alexia said, it was only a matter of time.
One day.
You smiled, even though you knew she couldnât see it.Â
âI can see it, Alexia. And I know youâll look great in scarlet and blue.â
[3]
âYes, MamĂĄ, I got it. Actually, can you text me the list?âÂ
âAh, daughter of mine, have you taken so many balls to the head that you canât even remember two things?â At your motherâs irritated response, a laugh bubbled from your throat.
âActually, yes, MamĂĄ. Probably a thousand by now. And I was joking, come on.â You waved back at a woman who thanked you as she crossed the pedestrian lane, and then you continued driving. As you turned the corner, you asked, âWhy do you need so many drinks anyway? Are you having a party? You know I canât drink during the season, right?â
âMy girl, you have too many questions. Just make sure you come home in time, okay?â
âYes, MamĂĄ.â
âOkay, Iâll leave you alone. Have fun at training and give Alexia a kiss for me.â
The sentence made you tense, and you had to will your hands to loosen their grip on the steering wheel. You loved your mother, but there was no way in hell you would do that, even for her.Â
You swallowed, hoping your apprehension wouldnât show through your voice. âOkay. Iâm going to go now. I love you. Tell PapĂĄ I love him, too. And Nona.âÂ
âI will. Theyâre very excited to see you. And I love you, too, my little firecracker.âÂ
Just as you hung up the phone, you turned the corner and found the parking lot of the Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper. You parked your car and took out your gym bag. The sun was high enough to blind you, so you put a hand over your eyes, and you saw the tall building that sported Barçaâs logo. And as if you were greeting an old friend, you whispered, âItâs good to see you again.â
âHello!âÂ
A cheerful voice addressed you from behind. You turned back, and you saw a woman of slight build, shorter than you, with short brown hair that curled just behind her ear. Some locks fell on her temple and covered her left eye, and the sun made her hair look golden. She was wearing loose, off-grey high-rise pants and a black long-sleeved turtleneck that accentuated the curve of her body.
She was beautiful.
And she was also Tori Favaro, the top-scoring forward for Roma last season and the fourth candidate for last yearâs Ballon d'Or. Also, the other half of Barcelonaâs new transfers this season.
Of course, you knew about her.
âHey, Tori,â you said with a smile.Â
She was now in front of you, and she grinned, which revealed the dimple in her left cheek. âI didnât think youâd remember me!â
âHow could I forget? The only other time I met you, you gave me a hard time!â
âYouâre telling me! We couldnât get past you at all! The fact that the only goal we got that day was from our own goal is still a bit embarrassing.â She laughed, followed by a sighâwistful. The two of you walked towards the entrance of the Gamper. âI canât believe that was more than ten years ago.â
At her wistfulness, you couldnât help but recall the memory as well: FIFA U17âs World Cup, when Spain and Brazil clashed during the knockout stages. Tori was relentless in her attack, and you barely saved the balls that managed to get past your defenders. Even then, youâand everyone who had eyesâsaw her potential, and now look how far sheâd come; she was very well on track to getting a Ballon d'Or, and she was never more in her prime than now.Â
âIs there any chance of you representing your country again now that youâre back in Barça?âÂ
âIâm not sure. Iâll just make my decision when they call me up the next time.â You shrugged, hefting your gym bag over your shoulder. The sudden urge to change the topic rose in you, so you asked quickly, âHow are you finding Barcelona so far?â
Thankfully, Tori took the bait, and you happily listened to what she had to say about your city as the both of you walked through the lit, pristine corridors of Gamper, which, as you noted in passing, were strangely barren, as you reacted every now and again to whatever Tori said, even recommending her places worth going to.Â
As Tori pushed the door to the locker room, a frown crossed her face, and she looked behind her. âWhere is everyone?â
âI donâtââ
âWelcome to Barça!â Came the unified greeting and the cheers that suddenly erupted.Â
A sign that read the same thing with the letters in alternating scarlet and blue, accented by some yellow hearts, was held between Marta and Alexia while the others stood in a semi-circle, clapping and hooting. A cake was on the centre table, and just behind it were piles of folded fabric, which you recognised to be yours and Toriâs set of training kits. Beside you, Tori wore the same expression on your face: mouth agape, eyes wide in pleasant surprise.
The semi-circle dispersed, and the next thing you knew, you were being hugged, patted on the back, and chatter filled the room.
âLook whoâs back! Barçaâs prodigal daughter finally returned home!â Mapi shouted, arms thrown up in the air, before she grabbed you by your shoulder to pull you into her.
âDonât act like you missed me, asshole.â You laughed and punched her arm when she pulled away.
Mapi cradled her arm like youâd just injured her, looking at you with a look of exaggerated pain. She gasped, âViolence, already? Is that how you treat a teammate? I wonât stand for this. Alexia! Captain!âÂ
At that, you sidestepped around Mapi, but not after sticking your tongue out at her, as you navigated through your other teammates who welcomed you. You managed to get to the edge of the crowd, just at the end of the locker room, and that was when you saw Alexia with Tori. You were close enough to hear snippets of their conversation.
ââexpect me to go easy on you.â Alexia said with a laugh, hands on her hips.
âOf course. Just because youâre myââ
An arm wrapped around your shoulder and a presence pressed up to your side.Â
âSo, did you get me Christenâs signature?â Patriâs voice filtered through your ear.Â
You hissed through your teeth, your voice gravely low. âYou know, I did ask her. She just doesnât want to give it to you, dude.âÂ
Patri looked at you incredulously. âWait. What do you mean?âÂ
âIâm not sure.â You shrugged, placing your gym bag on the nearby bench. âDid you say something to her the last time you saw each other?â
âDude, the last time I saw her was what?â Patri frowned and blew air through her lips. âDuring the SheBelieves Cup? Whatââ
Grinning, you pulled something out of your bag and revealed it to her. Delight filled you upon seeing Patriâs eyes widen in recognition, her gaze fleeting between your face and down to the jersey.Â
âOh, you cheeky bastard!â She took the jersey from you, held it up in front of her to appreciate the signature down in the middle, and she embraced you with a force that made you grunt out a laugh. âThank you!âÂ
A voice broke the two of you apart.
âEasy there, Patri. Donât break any of her bones, please. She hasnât even begun playing yet.âÂ
It was Alexia.Â
Your heart lurched.
Patri looked at you, then at Alexia, and she put her hands up in surrender. Patri gave you one last knowing lookâsomething that you tried hard not to think about too muchâbefore she gave a two-finger salute to her captain, and off she went, leaving you alone with Alexia.Â
âHey,â Alexia greeted you and stepped into your space, arms wrapping around your shoulders. You tensed for a moment before you remembered to relax, snaking your own arms around her chest. âNow, Iâm a bit jealous. Whereâs my present?â
âI think I happened to spy it on your wrist, or am I just going blind?â You hummed. When you pulled away, you took her left hand and lifted it up. âOh, look! There it is!â
Alexia threw her head back in laughter.Â
The sight, like always, made you feel warm.
âSo, I suppose you like it?â You couldnât help it; shyness bled into your tone, and you only hoped that Alexia didnât hear it.
âI love it. Thank you. It suits me, doesnât it?âÂ
And though the silver band of the watch glinted around her wrist as it caught the light when she lifted her wrist to the level of your eye, you appreciated the way the golden flecks in her eyes shone despite the blue tint from the fluorescent lighting.Â
âIâm glad you like it.â You said barely above a whisper, and you berated yourself at the softness that lingered there, but the way Alexiaâs eyes became unfocused and lidded, as if sheâd thought of a memory, made the slipup almost worth it.
Almost.
âAlright, good morning, everyone!â Jonaâs voice pierced through the chatter, and everyone stilled, apt with attention, before sitting down on the bench. Alexia, Irene, and Marta remained standing but kept mostly to the sides. He, and two other assistant coaches, stepped into the room with their clipboards and folders in hand.
You shared a look with Tori. She snuck you a thumbs up, and you pressed your lips together, fighting a grin.Â
âFirst of all, welcome to our new transfers.â A round of applause went around. Jona faced Tori, and he continued, âTori, thank you for joining us. I hope youâve settled yourself in the city, and we really look forward to playing with you.â
âIâll do my very best to help our club. Visca Barça!â At the latter, hoots and claps erupted.
Jona laughed, but when he motioned for everyone to calm back down, the locker room grew silent again.
âAnd of course, this woman needs no introduction. Barçaâs very own Wall has returned.â
Heat rose to your cheeks as cheers erupted once again. And it didnât help that Alexia was looking at you with something akin to pride while clapping her hands, a soft smile on her lips.
âItâs great to be back, Jona. And like Tori, Iâll do my best to keep our club moving forward.â You caught Alexiaâs eyes. âIt is home, after all.âÂ
âIt is home, indeed. Well, put your training kits on and meet us down at the fields. The rest of you, please head on over to Pitch 9.âÂ
Jona and the other coaches filed out. Alexia followed along with the rest, but not before giving you another look. You stared long after sheâd gone, not knowing Patri remained in the changing room and saw the whole until you found her with a look of disapproval clear on her face.
She sighed, shook her head as she got up, and left.
Tori was there, too, and her eyes flicked between the door and you, then to the door again, and you could almost see the questions forming in her mind. You quickly took your training kits and entered one of the changing cubicles to spare yourself from any more confrontations.Â
[4]
Training went relatively well. For the most part, anyway.
You were with the team for the warm-ups before you were separatedâalong with the other goalkeepersâfor technical training, and then Jona called all of you back for some 5-side matches.Â
At one point, your team went against Tori and Alexiaâs team. Theyâd linked up, the two of them, keeping their touches to two at most. They were close now, and Jana was just barely holding Alexia at bay. You spotted Toriâs signal from the corner of your eye, but you needed Alexia to commit to a pass. You kept your weight on your toes. With a body feint to the left, tapping the ball to the right with her outer foot, and a quick cutback to the left, Jana was defeated, and Alexia kicked the ball.
Now!
You sprinted forward to the left, where you knew Tori was, and you leaped. The ball stuck to your gloves mid-air.
âHoly shit!â It came from a surprised Tori.Â
You wouldâve laughed, but you spotted an unmarked Caro who was making a run for it. You wound your shoulder back right after you landed on your feet and released the ball before Tori and Alexia could even think to get back.Â
It sailed right on over to Caro, and she brought it down with her chest. Ingrid was on Caro all at once, but Esmee surged forward to follow a diagonal path from behind Caro, asking for the ball, and it only took one momentâs hesitation from Ingrid for Caro to make just enough space for her to shoot.
The ball went past the nearest post, and you pumped your hand in the air. When Caro saw you with her arm around Esmee, she gave you a thumbs up, and you returned the gesture with a clap.
It was nearing midday when all of youâd cooled down and headed to the gym. On the way inside, Tori ran up to you.Â
âYou nearly took off my head there.â She said, just slightly out of breath as she patted your back.
âI was going to tell you, âHeads up!â, but that wouldâve ruined the surprise now, right?â
âRemind me not to play opposite you again.â She joked. âI forgot how aggressive you play. And I think youâve only gotten worse!â
âIt comes with the title.â You said, winking at her.
âDoes it now?â She said it dryly, squinting at you. And then the both of you parted ways for your respective workouts.
It was going relatively well, but at one point, your attention moved to Alexia without meaning to. Alexia stood watch over Tori, who was lying down on the bench and lifting, attentive, and they conversed with a familiarity that transcended more than that of acquaintances. And you knew, then, that theyâd probably hung out outside of sporting functions.
For some reason, the sight made you ache.Â
Then a sigh came from somewhere beside you. You turned and found Patri there with her levelled expression, but her eyes were knowing with the way they looked at you. She tilted her head and patted your back before making her way to the exit. You hesitated for a moment, but, as if it had its own volition, your body stood up and followed her out to the sunlit pitch.Â
Patri was further away now; she hadnât stopped walking, and you had to jog to catch up with her. It took a moment, but you finally matched her stride, and without even looking at you, Patri began, âHow are you?â
You stuck your hands into the pockets of your shorts. âFine.â
Patri hummed, obviously unconvinced. She took a breath and let it out loudly through her teeth. Your shoulders locked at the sound, and you prepared yourself for the weight of whatever she was about to say.Â
âI saw you looking at her,â Patri said, straight to the heart of the matter, and your body coiled tighter with tension. âYou went through all that trouble. Yet, youâre back here again and still not over her. In fact, I think youâreââ Patri sent you a look, though this one fleeted so quickly that you werenât able to decipher it. She blinked, returning her gaze forward. âNever mind.â
âIt doesnât matter.â
âOf course, it fucking does!â Patri exclaimed. âYou were doing better! And then you ghosted me for months. The last time we talked, everything was going well withâ"
âDonât.â The word came out firmâa warning. âPatri, please, I donât want to talk about it.â
Patriâs voice softened. âSo... something did happen.â
âPatri. Drop it.â
Patri stopped walking just several metres away from the gym tent; youâd finished a lap around the pitch. She frowned at you, and you were ready to fight back if she insisted on talking about it, but she shook her head, and the frown melted away, and in its place was a look of pity.
âOkay. I hope you know what youâre doing. Just ready yourself.â
A pause and a hesitant look flashed through her face. But Patri was a good friend because she was direct, almost callous in the way she called everything as it was, and it was something youâd always liked and admired about her. Now it was no different because she said, âI think you know yourself already, but I just thought Iâd let you know. Alexia has a girlfriend.âÂ
Despite yourself, your heart dropped. And you ached.
Oh.
Patri mustâve seen something on your face because that pitying look deepened with a hint of sympathy. She patted your back gently before she headed back in. You breathed deep, and it came out shaky, but you steeled yourself as you parted the entrance to the gym.Â
Alexiaâs laughter filled the air, drawing your attention immediately. And there she was in the same spot, holding onto Toriâs shoulder for support, bent over in her amusement, while Tori looked at her with a dimpled smile.Â
You turned away.
[5]
A grunt escaped your lips as you got out of the car, your muscles bearing a pleasant soreness. You turned your headlights off and parked in front of your parentsâ house. It was later than youâd expected, but the additional technical session and the meeting with Jona caused you to be one of the last ones out of the Gamper.Â
With the cake and drinks you promised your mother to get in hand, you knocked on the door and waited. There was a lone light that filtered from the living room, which you found a bit odd, but tiredness won out, and you decided to pay it no mind. Maybe your parents were just relaxing on the couch.Â
No one answered.Â
Frowning, you placed the drinks on the porch step, and you balanced the cake on one hand as you opened the door with your key.Â
You let yourself in, and the hallway was dark.
âMamĂĄ? PapĂĄ? Whereââ
The lights in the hallway and the kitchen flashed on in quick succession, nearly blinding you.
âSurprise!â The resonant cheer came, and the cake box jumped in your hand, nearly slipping.Â
You found your motherâs face first, and you laughed, âOh my god!âÂ
âWelcome home, my love!â Your mother embraced you, and you barely had enough time to angle the cake away and put the box of drinks down so she could do it properly. You leaned down, and she placed a kiss on your cheek, and then the other.Â
âHello, MamĂĄ.â You muttered, closing your eyes, soaking in her presence and the peace that came with it. Oh, how you missed her. Another pair of arms wrapped around you; it was your fatherâs, and suddenly heat rose to your eyes at the warmth that seemed to blanket over you, both inside and out.Â
âLet me grab that for you, my love.â Your father said, taking the cake box from your hand, but not before kissing your temple as a greeting.Â
When you pulled away, you saw it wasnât just your parents there. There were Eli, Alba, and Alexia, with little Nona in her arms. Nonaâs white coat was a stark contrast to the dark shirt that Alexia wore. There was a tender smile on her lips, her eyes almost wistful as she caught your gaze. And could you really blame your heart if it ached beneath the weight of her gaze?
âOh, sweetie, have you grown taller?â Eli asked as she stepped into you, hugging and kissing your cheeks like your mother did.Â
âIâm not sure about that, Eli.â You giggled into her ear. âHow are you?â
âGrowing grey hair, love. You went away, and I had no one else to keep Alexia in line. Alba doesnât help; in fact, she encourages her sisterâs wiles, and Alexia does the same. Partners in crime, these two!âÂ
Albaâs laughter resonated in your ear when you hugged her next, and you chuckled at the exasperation in Eliâs voice. Alba retorted, âMĂĄ, how else could we keep you on your toes?âÂ
âIâd very much not want to be kept on my toes. Thank you very much.âÂ
âEli, Iâm sure Alexia couldnât be that bad. Sheâs always been a good girl.â At that, you caught Alexiaâs gaze with a smirk. Her eyes twinkled with recognition, probably remembering what the both of you got up to behind your parentsâ backs. She shook her head slightly, mouthing, âYouâre an asshole.â
You gave her another smirk before you added lightly, "Alba, on the other hand...â
You didnât even finish the sentence before you got a well-deserved punch to the arm from Alba herselfâa punch you knew would surely form a bruise. Cradling your sore arm, you yelped, looking at Alexia for help.
âAlba, please donât injure our new goalkeeper. We need her.â Alexia said calmly, and you looked at Alba triumphantly. Alba opened her mouth to protest, it seemed, but Alexia cut her off. âThereâs no need for that. Iâll just ask Jona to make her do some extra laps during warm-ups in our next training session.â
âYeah, thatâs rightâhey!â Realising what she said, you scoffed while Alba threw her head back, laughing. Alexiaâs lips were curled up in a satisfied smirk, looking much like someone whoâd gotten the last word.Â
âHa! Thatâs what you getââÂ
Eli cut Alba off. âThatâs enough, you three. I swear, when youâre together, you act like youâre all still ten!âÂ
âItâs a bit endearing, though, isnât it, Eli?â Your mother laughed, putting a placating hand on Eliâs shoulder. âBut Eli is right. We should take this all to the dining table, no? The food is about to grow cold.â
[6]
In the two years you lived in the States, you spent most evenings alone, and the food youâd cooked from the recipes you took with you never tasted like home. Itâd been so long, you nearly forgot how filling food should beâboth in mind, body, and spirit. But now, in the presence of your family, with their love laid out in front of youâyour motherâs arrĂłs negre, Eliâs fricandĂł, and your fatherâs pan de payĂ©sâwith their laughter and their warmth, you were finally filled again.Â
You ate mostly in silence, soaking in the scene and the ruckus with a smile, and the detail of that one empty chair wasnât lost to you either. The reminder drew your attention to Alexia. Sheâd tied her hair in a low ponytail and left two locks of her hair to frame either side of her face, which made her look all the more beautiful. In this light, Alexiaâs image seemed to split in such a way that you could almost feel a presence in that empty seat beside her, looking on at this scene as you were.
Grief gripped at your heart, but love was quick to soothe the pain with its gentle caress.Â
The minutes flew by, and many times you caught Alexia sneaking peeks at her phone, sometimes even texting while she wore a tender expression. If anyone saw it, no one called her out for itâwell, maybe except for Eli, who, upon spotting her daughter on her phone, gave her a reprimanding smack against her arm, followed by a hissed scolding. Alexia looked so much like a child just then, with her wide eyes, that you nearly spat out your drink. She caught you staring, and she squinted her eyes. To that, you blinked innocently at her, curling your lips slightly to let her know you saw the whole thing.Â
âSo, are you in a relationship, dear?â Eliâs unexpected question made the water go into the wrong hole, and you spluttered. Alba patted your back while Alexia eyed you with concern and curiosity. Eli asked, âAre you okay, love?â
You gave her a thumbs up.
âAlright. Where was I? Right. Being in America for two years, surely you mustâve met someone.â
After composing yourself finally, you answered, âNo, Iâm not, Eli. Iâd been so busy that I had no time for it, really.â
âWhat? A pretty girl like you all alone? I donât quite believe that!â Eli exclaimed. âCome to think of it, Iâve never seen you with anyone.â
âApart from that poor boy... What was his name?â Your father added. He snapped his fingers. âAh! Guille! Nice boy, he was. Where is he now anyway?â
âWe were never together, PapĂĄ.â For some reason, you felt the need to clarify that. âAnd heâs in London, finishing his PhD at York.âÂ
âWow, thatâs amazing. And I never knew you kept in touch.â Your motherâs brows shot up in surprise, and you thought you heard a hint of awe in her tone. Teasingly, she said, âAre you sure youâre not seeing him?â
You sighed internally, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You smiled and said, âYeah, sometimes. I havenât seen him in a while, though, but the last time we talked, he and his girlfriend were looking for a new apartment.âÂ
âOh, he has a girlfriend, does he? Thatâs unfortunate.âÂ
âNot for me. Iâm glad heâs happy.â You shrugged before you sipped your water.
âAre you waiting for someone, maybe?â Alba teased, wagging her brows.
You tensed, and you'd paused too long, it seemed, because Alba gasped.Â
âOh, she is! Who is it?âÂ
âAlba,â came Alexia's warning tone.
âOh, yeah, sorry. Iâm just excited.â Then Alba sighed dreamily, âI just think itâs kind of romantic.
You could feel the weight of Alexiaâs eyes on you, but you dared not look up. You kept eating.
No. It wasnât romantic.Â
It was painful.
[7]
After you helped clean up despite your motherâs insistence not to, and after an hour of sitting in the living room conversing, the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with you. You needed to be alone, so you took little Nona from your lap and into your arms and snuck out into the garden. The light that streamed out from the living room was adequate enough for you to spot your old swing. You went to it, and, after inspecting and deeming it fit to take your weight, you sat on it and began a gentle rhythm, running your hand over Nonaâs head, who purred at the attention.
The sound of grass being disturbed pricked at your ears, and you knew it was Alexia even before she spoke.
âI thought Iâd find you here.â
You turned your head to the side where Alexiaâd rested her back against the tree trunk, half of her face bathed in the incandescent glow of the living room light. You hummed in answer.
âAre you okay?âÂ
âYeah, why wouldnât I be?âÂ
âYouâre on your swing.â Alexia spoke as if that fact held the answer to your question. âYou used to come here and sulk.âÂ
You scoffed. âI didnât sulk.â
âYou did. Youâre doing it right now!â Alexia teased.
âNow I am because youâre bothering me!âÂ
âFine, Iâll leave then.âÂ
You knew Alexia was joking, but when she made an exaggerated move to leave, you spoke softly, âNo, stay. Please.âÂ
Alexia froze, and after a moment, she leaned back on the tree again.Â
âIâm sorry about Alba if she did cross a line.â
âShe didnât; donât worry. Thank you, though.â
âAre you sure? You seemed uncomfortable.â
âI was uncomfortable because I happen to not like talking about my love life.â You said, a bit defensively. âWouldn't you feel uncomfortable too if I started grilling you about who youâre with right now?âÂ
Alexia remained silent. You huffed, âExactly.â
A silence settled in the air.Â
You gripped the rope of the swing, and the texture felt off. You inspected it; the rope was new.
âYeah, uh, I had them replaced.â Alexia admitted, and when you faced her, she was rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. âI kind of broke it when I was here last.âÂ
Another pause. âI hope you donât mind. Sometimes, I like to come here to think. Plus, I get to visit your parents and Nona, so, yeah.âÂ
âNo, of course I donât mind. This is your home as much as it is mine. Weâre family.â
Alexia opened her mouth while a hurt look flashed behind her eyes. She seemed to change her mind because she closed her mouth and bit her lip before she eventually said in a hoarse voice, âYeah, of course.âÂ
Alexia was standing right there, but youâd never felt farther from her than now. There was a rift between you, but it was only you who could see itâyou could feel it widening and deepening. Maybe Alexia could feel it, too, but you were sure it wasnât like the way you did.Â
It didnât cut her the way it wounded you.Â
Nona meowed softly in your lap as she stood, nosing at your chin and dragging her head on your jaw. You cooed as you scooped her up, pressing a kiss into the warmth of her fur, and you giggled when she licked your cheek and began purring. Alexia kneeled in front of you, running a finger under Nonaâs chin, who purred even louder from the added attention.Â
âShe really missed you, you know.â Alexia whispered, and as she did, she gazed up at you. The warm light made her eyes shine and her cheeks glow with an earnestness that you longed to caress, that invited you to trace the outline of her brow and to feel the soft skin just beneath her eye.Â
She was so beautiful.Â
Sheâd always been.
You could never tell her that, and it hurt.
âI missed her, too.â You breathed softly, âSo much.â
And still looking into her eyes, you murmured even softer, âYou have no idea.âÂ
#ap11#alexia putellas#alexia putellas x reader#woso x reader#my writing#a/n: i had half a mind to split this into two chapters but it wouldnt flow as well so im just gonna give it to yall as is#this took forever to write im really sorry#apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later#hope youre all doing well and thank you for reading <3
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The oil under Impala mystery đâš
(Inspired by the lady with expert wife tips from tiktok)
#destiel fanart#dean winchester#castiel#destiel#my art#sasanka27 art#here you go!#sorry it took forever#i hope you like it#thank you again for helping to vote#and to suggest it in the first place#anon whenever u are ily#spn fanart#spn#spn comic#kinda#spn memes#deancas#inspired by that expert wife tips lady from tt#spn crack#art poll winner#s27comics
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If you could draw Loop annoying Odile that would make me so giddy c:
the sillies....
#SORRY it took like forever for me to answer this ask lol but still thank you for the ask :D#i was hit with the ol' artblock........ sad times#isat#in stars and time#isat odile#isat loop#my art#loop + literally anyone is so entertaining but especially loop + odile so i hope i was able to portray their dynamic well !!!#my asks
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(rated m for mature)
Avaâs room is the last sacred space in their apartment. A room that belongs to Ava, and Ava only. The living room is shared space, of course. Their breakfast bar holds both of their tea mugs: Avaâs in the shape of a bulldog holding a bone, her own a dark gray and white plaid pattern. The bathroom has a small stand with both of their toothbrushes and two face cloths on small hooks, one on each side of the sink. The face of the kitchen refrigerator is littered with pictures and ticket stubs and small post-it-note drawings theyâve both accumulated over the last few months.
We exist, Beatrice, Ava likes to tell her. If we died and someone came to pack us up, they would know we both existed here.
Itâs a morbid thought, but it rotates in her mind for days afterwards. They exist. They exist together, in this shared space. Thereâs two of everything - a testament to a life shared between two people who found comfort in each other. Who found a home. Their shoes are by the front door, their bills are on the counter, their sweaters tangle into knots on the couch where they dare cross the line Beatrice has drawn between them.
Avaâs room is a line. She doesnât cross it. She lets their shared existence fill every corner of the apartment except for Avaâs bedroom. Sheâs never crossed the threshold. Even on the day Ava moved in, she dutifully passed her boxes from the living room, marveling at the idea that one person who existed in a single dorm room for a handful of months could accumulate so many things.
Sheâs not sure that Ava even noticed. If she did, she didnât say anything about it. Because sheâs kind and takes Beatriceâs actions into consideration with the sort of care no one else in her life has ever shown.
But thatâs par for the course. Ava is unlike anyone else in her life.
Itâs why Beatrice is so careful. Sheâs gotten used to having this unusual, perfect thing in her life. Sheâs gripping it tightly with two hands, firm enough to keep it in one place but soft enough that it doesnât break. It took her years to learn that grip and only a month with Ava to master it in a whole new way.
She should know by now, after seven months, that being careful around Ava is never careful enough.
âBlue or green?â she hears Ava call from inside her room.
Beatrice sighs, resting her pencil tip against the page sheâs taking notes on. âAva.â
Avaâs head pops around the doorframe. Sheâs smiling in a way a younger Beatrice would have called dashing or roguish. Itâs charming. Infuriatingly so. Ava knows itâhas never forgotten it since the time Camila said it out loud one night when Ava convinced them to try roller skating at some wooden rink nearby. That smile is a weapon, a carefully drawn bow whose range Beatrice can never escape from.
âBlue or green?â she repeats.
âIâm afraid I need a bit of context, Ava.â
Beatrice resists the urge to rub tiredly at the space between her eyes. Finals week is upon them. Sheâs prepared - has been preparing all semester - but then her Early Christian Womenâs professor gave her some last minute feedback to restructure her entire research paper. Itâs left her molded to the stool at the breakfast bar for the last three days, the entire top of it covered in color-coded index cards and texts sheâs expressly forbid Ava from going anywhere near.
Ava pinky promised that she would listen. Beatrice would have accepted a confident âokay,â but Ava had taken it a step further, tightening her grip on Beatriceâs pinky and pulling her whole hand up to her mouth as Ava kissed her own fist, eyes on Beatrice the whole time.
âThere. Now itâs really a promise.â
Beatrice thinks maybe she didnât have enough friends growing up. Or that she didnât have enough friends like Ava growing up. Because sheâd never heard of this particular kind of promise. Shannon had made a face when Beatrice asked her about it. No, Iâm not making fun of you, Shannon assured her. I just mean⊠Bea. Come on.
Beatrice does not come on, but the next time Ava makes her promise she wonât throw all her sources out the window and develop a list of new ones, she quickly presses her lips to the outside of her own hand, eyes darting to Avaâs face. Just as a test. Just to see if sheâs doing this right.
She must have. Ava beamed for hours.
âBlue paint or green paint?â Ava expands.
âFor what?â
Ava extends her arm past the doorway into Beatriceâs view. A small bucket of paint, hardly larger than a box of baking soda, dangles from her fingers.
She holds back the long-suffering sigh building in her chest. âAva.â
âIâm painting my room.â
âYouâre-â Beatrice turns, notecard on Thecla abandoned. âYouâre painting your room?â
Ava frowns at her like sheâs the one who just announced that sheâs completing a home makeover project. âI told you this.â
âYou didnât.â
âI did.â Avaâs arm drops to her side, and she leans a little further around the doorway.
Beatrice shakes her head. âYou most certainly did not. Because I would have remembered that.â
âYou canât remember everything I say.â
I do. The thought nearly makes its way to Beatriceâs tongue, but she bites it back. She certainly canât admit that, though she thinks Ava would, if she was in her position. Ava has always been more free in her words, in her certainty.
âI would have remembered this,â she repeats.
Ava shakes her head. âI definitely told you I was doing this. I asked if you wanted to go pick out-â
Her forehead wrinkles into a frown that Beatrice immediately wants to smooth away. She can feel Avaâs skin under her fingertips, warm and soft. She blinks.
âHuh. Maybe I mentioned it to Mary, now that I think about it.â Her face brightens without Beatriceâs help. âI guess Iâm telling you now.â
âYou canât- You canât paint your room.â
Ava nods like she understands. âI canât paint it alone, no. Iâll need help. Oh! A paint party!â
âNo, I mean-â Beatrice takes a deep breath. âWe would lose our security deposit if you paint the walls. Itâs in our rental agreement.â
That doesnât seem to bother Ava. âWe can just paint it back when we move out. Or if we never do, then no one will ever know.â
If we never do. The words are like a lightning bolt in her chest. If we never do implies that Ava has thought about living with her indefinitely. That Ava has considered the possibility of a future where they're still in each otherâs lives, where theyâre still living in this same apartment doing the same things together. Movie nights and take out and reading while Ava watches something on TV, and talking about the few hours they spent apart and deciding where to take weekend trips and what new household decoration Ava is going to talk her into.
Their life in shared spaces, for everyone who visits to see.
Forever roommates.
The thought is too overwhelming for her to breathe properly.
âSo, will you help me pick a color?â Ava continues on as if Beatrice isnât slowly burning from the inside out. âIâm thinking green. Blue seems more like your color. Hey! We can paint your room next.â
Beatrice shakes her head. âAva, no.â
Ava either doesnât hear her, or pays her no mind. âI got this cool mint color. It looks like mint chocolate chip ice cream!â
âMint,â she repeats, voice strangled.
Ava beams. âIt looks like our toothpaste.â
Dread washes over her, as cold as ice cream out of the freezer against her tongue. Their toothpaste is a frightfully minty green color that always catches Beatrice off guard no matter how many times a day sheâs brushed her teeth, even after the ;five months since Ava started buying it. Itâs a sickly green, almost. Certainly not something that should be on a wall, let alone four of them. Avaâs room would glow, practically radioactive.
âNo,â she insists. âNot that color.â
âCome see it. Then youâll understand.â
She moves without meaning to, without giving much thought to it. Ava calls like a siren, and she swims out to meet her. She gets as far as the couch before the water comes up to her chin and she stops again.
âI donât think you should paint your room.â
Ava waves away her concern. âItâll be fine. The whole room is just so⊠white. We need a little color in our lives, Bea. A little bit of⊠spice.â
âA little bit of spice.â
âYou know. Excitement.â Ava is firmly in the doorway now, paint can hanging at her side. âWe canât live with white walls forever.â
Why not? she wants to ask. She grew up with white walls. Pristine ones. Washed down every week by their housekeeper. Sanitized. She pauses. Ava might have a point.
But their landlord would not approve of it. And Beatrice intends to stick by the rules. She opens her mouth to say so, but Ava cuts her off.
âCome here. Just have a look.â She pads forward on bare feet and curls her fingers around Beatriceâs wrist, tugging her forward gently enough that Beatrice could step back, break their connection if she needed to.
She doesnât. Not yet.
But she gets closer and closer to Avaâs doorway, to the raised threshold that separates her from this last sacred space. Ava is stepping back over it, eyes on Beatrice, and then her toes are bumping against it and she stops. Their arms stretch between them for a moment before Ava catches up and steps forward so they hang loosely again.
Ava waits for her. Always waiting for her. Itâs not fair, she thinks. Itâs not fair that sheâs always waiting for me.
âSo, I have something to admit,â Ava says slowly, pulling her out of her head. Sheâs smiling sheepishly, her head ducked a little as she searches Beatriceâs face. âI might have already painted a few swatches on the wall.â
âAva.â
âJust a few,â she rushes on. âSmall ones. Like, the size of a book. A small one! Iâm sorry, I just wanted to see what they looked like.â She strokes her thumb over Beatriceâs wrist. âThe mint kind of looks horrible,â she admits.
Beatrice fights that never-ending sigh again. âOf course it does.â
âBut the other green looks good! Itâs kind of turquoise-y, actually.â Avaâs forehead wrinkles into a frown that lingers for just a second. âGreener than a normal turquoise, though. Almost like the sea. Like - okay, just look.â
Avaâs hand falls away, and she takes a step back into her room. Sheâs looking at the wall, eyes moving quickly over what Beatrice assumes is the paint swatches sheâs done there.
She eases her weight onto the ball of her foot. The floorboard creaks under it. Ava is still looking at the wall, still studying her choices. Beatrice feels a ripple of fear race through her. Itâs just a room. Their apartment is made up of rooms. But itâs Avaâs room. Opening this door, crossing this line - sheâs not sure she can come back from that.
Ava meets her eyes again and tips her head in that effortlessly endearing way, a soft smile on her face that immediately ebbs the fear away. Ava crooks a finger in her direction, beckoning her forward. Itâs like a piece of string loops its way around Beatriceâs wrist and it pulls.
âYouâre going to like the turquoise,â Ava says just quietly enough for Beatrice to hear. Another sirenâs call.
Sheâs a strong swimmer. She can survive this. Her toes brush the raised threshold, and then theyâre curled over the other side of it as her shoulders breach the doorway. The air shifts. She feels a little lightheaded. The lights seem dimmed, lowered. She holds her breath and waits for God to strike her down, and when nothing happens, she silently exhales a thin stream of air.
She doesnât go further than that. Her body doesnât seem to want to move past the invisible line that goes from the ceiling down directly to the floor. Her eyes immediately go to the wall Ava was looking at.
She was correct. The mint looks horrible.
âI know,â Ava says, reading her mind. âIt looked a lot better at the store. Maybe itâs the light?â
It takes Beatrice a minute to reply, almost as if the words were a trade for tipping forward into Avaâs room. âI donât think different lighting is going to help this.â
Ava studies it for another moment before she nods decisively. âYouâre right. But what about this green-turquoise?â She moves and touches her finger to the wall. It comes back with a sticky greenish color. She frowns at it. âHuh. Thought itâd dry.â
âI like it,â Beatrice allows. âBut Ava-â
âI promise weâll paint it back. I justâŠâ Ava stops, running a hand through her hair. She leaves behind a smudge of turquoise on her forehead, disappearing into her hair. âItâll be easy to paint back. Please, Bea?â She clasps her hand in front of her, holding them to her chest. âPleeeease?â
They both realize sheâs going to give in at the same moment. Beatrice didnât think she had any tells, has always prided herself on being someone fully in control of their actions, emotions, and facial expressions. Lessons learned from her parents that she actually appreciated. Expressive got you in trouble, gave too much away. She spent years tightening up to prevent anyone from knowing too much.
Ava does not carry the same burden. And Ava, it appears, has learned to recognize when Beatrice is on the cusp of expressing too much, of giving in. Maybe sheâs giving it away in the quick pull of the corner of her mouth. Maybe thereâs something in her eyes, a flicker of acceptance. Maybe she clenches her hand into a fist, a small flex of her muscles. Maybe she shifts her weight. Maybe she blinks too many times.
Whatever it is, Ava sees it in her. And she grins, the light in the room becoming impossibly brighter.
âI want nothing to do with this,â is what she decides to say.
Ava claps her hands together. âYou wonât regret this.â
âIâm sure I will.â
It doesnât dim Avaâs smile. âWhen Iâm done, youâll see how much it brings this place to life. And then we talk about your room. And the living room! Oh, and wouldnât the kitchen look so great if we painted it some kind of blue? I saw a swatch at the store that looked exactly like the water in the Blue Grotto. I want to go there one day. I always thought it would look-â
Beatrice steps back. Something that was fizzling inside of her fades, though she didnât know it was there until she felt its absence. Ava is still going on â the bathroom would look good in pink. With black and white tiles on the floor â but Beatrice feels a sense of calm come over her, and she takes her first deep breath since she crossed the threshold.
Ava stops. âIâm getting ahead of myself,â she says sheepishly.
âItâs okay.â And it is. Beatrice doesnât mind getting swept up in Avaâs elaborate plans. âBut Iâm going to go back to my homework.â
Ava flashes her a thumbs up. Her finger is still stained turquoise. âOkay. But youâre not studying for too long. We canât have a repeat of this weekend.â
Beatrice feels her face flush. âI swore I went to bed.â
âYou did. Standing in front of the refrigerator. I thought you were going to fall over.â
âIâm very disciplined.â
Ava grins. âWell, put a cap on studying tonight. When Iâm done with the first coat, weâre going to get something to eat.â
She pretends to be annoyed by this, just because she likes the way Ava narrows her eyes playfully and shakes a finger at her. Sheâs not disappointed when Ava does exactly that before turning back to the stool she stole from the kitchen where sheâs stacked two small paint cans, one open and one closed, and a paint roller.
Crossing the room back towards her homework is easier than going the distance from it to Avaâs room. She feels lighter with each step. She sits back down, her intention to focus on this paper sheâs supposed to submit in two days (but feels nowhere near completion). Work, then break. As long as she works for the next hour, at least, then she can offer to buy Ava Indian food and ask her to watch a documentary about a filmmaker befriending an octopus. Cedrick, in her Study of Film elective, had suggested it to her. She doesnât think itâll be hard; Ava has said more than once that she thinks octopi are cute.
But as thoughts of Ava and octopi float in her head, some of the words Ava just mentioned start to register in Beatriceâ brain. Ava never mentioned the Blue Grotto before. Theyâre inching closer to the end of the school year and she doesnât know Avaâs plans yet. Does she want to go backpacking across Europe? Alone? Will Beatrice have to haunt the corners of the apartment waiting for her to come back? Will Ava be different when she comes back? Will she forget about Beatrice?
Will she find a new forever-roommate in another city and leave Beatrice on her own?
Her homework is suddenly the furthest thing from her mind. She canât focus on Eve or Thecla or their impact on the religious narrative. She can only think about the possibility of spending the summer alone - Mary and Shannon are going on a graduation trip across Spain, and Camila secured a summer internship with a tech startup company, and even Lilith found a program that allows her to travel for the few months before the start of the fall semester.
Beatriceâs big plan is to work at the campus library, splitting her time between shelving books, starting her graduation capstone project, and Ava. The practical side of her knows she should try to make that time an even three-way split, but the more she thinks about the coming months, the more adventures she keeps coming up with in her head. Things she wants to do and try with Ava, because she knows itâs on Avaâs list. They could visit the Prado Museum. Take a long weekend and travel to some seaside town where Ava could practice swimming in the waves. They could find new restaurants and new hiking trails. Sheâd even let Ava convince her to try roller skating. Again.
Beatrice hasnât told her yet, but she has the whole summer mapped out. And Ava is embedded into every bullet point of that. It just hadnât occurred to her that Ava might have her own plans. Ones that didnât include Beatrice.
âOw!â
Beatriceâs head snaps up. The sudden noise is followed by a heavy thud, thud and a rattle as something hits the floor. Sheâs up and moving before she has time to second guess herself, crossing the apartment in long strides until sheâs reaching Avaâs room.
She crosses the threshold in a breath, suddenly plunged into the smell of paint and the sight of the bright lights Ava has rigged up in the center of the room. It nearly blinds her and she quickly looks at the ground.
Ava is lying on the thick, plush navy rug at the bottom of the bed, body curled in on itself as she clutches her foot. A small unopened can of paint is rolling slowly away from her towards the corner of the room. Ava groans loudly and turns her face into the rug as her whole body expands with a breath.
Beatrice drops to her knees, ignoring the dull ache that rockets up her thighs into her hips. She grabs Avaâs shoulders, turning her onto her back as her eyes scan Avaâs face for any blood or bruises. Her hands follow the same path, tucking Avaâs hair behind her ear and trailing her thumbs across the flat of Avaâs cheeks.
âWhat happened? Are you hurt?â
Avaâs eyes flutter closed, and Beatrice immediately becomes concerned about a concussion. Her fingers slide to the base of Avaâs head, and she applies a little pressure to tip it back. Avaâs still blinking up at her but as the light reflects against the honeyed color of her irises her pupils shrink. Beatrice heaves a relieved sigh. No concussion.
âBea,â Ava groans again. She turns her face into Beatriceâs palm. âI think I broke it.â
Beatriceâs hands fall from Avaâs face and skim down her shoulders to her elbows, cupping them gently. âLet me see,â she says softly.
Ava shakes her head. âJust leave me behind.â
A rush of fondness ripples through her. She presses her fingertips into Avaâs bare arms, the sleeves of her This may be cheesy but I feel grate t-shirt brushing against the backs of Beatriceâs knuckles. âAva,â she urges.
âNo, itâs too horrible.â Avaâs grip tightens on her foot and she immediately winces.
Beatrice slides her hands down to Avaâs slowly. She curls her fingers into the spaces between Avaâs and her foot, pushing them back until she has enough room to free Avaâs foot from its self-imposed prison. Thereâs a bruise already forming at the base of her toes on the top of her foot, blooming across the first three toes. She ghosts her thumb across it and Ava flinches slightly.
Beatriceâs lips purse into a frown. âIâm sorry.â
âSâokay.â Ava rolls completely onto her back, staring up at Beatrice. Sheâs still blinking rapidly and Beatrice is worried about a delayed concussion now.
âI think youâve bruised it.â She presses down, gentler this time. Ava draws in a breath but doesnât flinch away. âI donât think anything is broken.â
Her hand drifts higher, curling around Avaâs ankle bone. Itâs delicate under her fingers, the point rounded. Her other hand, still resting on Avaâs foot, goes to her other shin. Thereâs nothing but an expanse of smooth and warm skin under her palm.
âGood,â Ava says faintly. Her eyes go to Beatriceâs hand, lingering.
Beatriceâs eyes follow. Oh. She quickly pulls her hands away, cheeks suddenly hot.
âI didnât mean to-â
âYou donât have to-â
They both pause, staring at each other. The air feels electric, goosebumps running up Beatriceâs arms. Her chest feels tight with unspoken words. She looks away first.
Avaâs hand on her own pulls her eyes back around. She looks at Beatrice for a long moment before she smiles a little. Thereâs something on her face that Beatrice canât read, but it settles the rising tide of fear in her chest and she feels it ebb away into nothingness.
Itâs not unusual, the sense of calm that comes with a simple look from Ava. Itâs a peace that feels second nature now. Itâs odd how seven months with Ava has untied almost all the knots her life created. Seven months isnât very long - a blip on the radar, really. Sheâs had the same study group for longer than that. But these seven months have felt so monumental that it seems to have lasted years.
But Ava is monumental, so really, it does make sense.
Still. Her hands got ahead of her head. She touched before she thought, and now sheâs kneeling on Avaâs floor with her hands hovering between their bodies, and Avaâs eyes are even more honey-colored than usual. The lights reflecting off the white walls makes her feel like sheâs under a spotlight on a stage where everyone can see her, here in Avaâs room.
In Avaâs room, across the threshold. Completely across it.
A line she hasnât crossed, a step she hasnât taken. The room rushes in on her suddenly. Sheâs hyper aware of the faint chemical smell of paint, the too-bright lights, the rough fibers of the rug against her bare ankles, the way Avaâs laundry seems to be crawling out of the basket in the corner.
âIâm-â
âDonât apologize.â
âI didnât mean-â
âBea.â
âIâll just-â
âBeatrice.â
Beatrice blinks. Avaâs hand has turned over in hers, her palm up. âYes?â
âHelp me up?â
Beatrice blinks again. âOh. Yes.â She shifts back onto her heels and grabs Avaâs wrist, fingers spread to distribute her grasp so she doesnât pull Avaâs wrist off her arm, and gently leads her forward. She wobbles as she rises, leaning into Beatrice for support, and Beatrice quickly winds an arm around her waist to steady her as she stands. Theyâre so close that Beatrice can feel the way Ava is breathing, the push of her ribs against Beatriceâs hand. She helps her to the bed carefully, cautious of the paint around them, and sits her down gently.
Thereâs more turquoise paint along her forehead, and dried paint on her fingers, and Beatrice wants to find a clean washcloth, wet it, and gently wash it away. She does the next best thing.
She picks up a rag next to the small container of water Ava must be using to clean the brushes and dips the corner into it, wetting it. She hands it to Ava and waits as she rubs furiously at her finger, washing the paint away.
âWhat happened?â
Ava sighs, eyes narrowing as she looks at the unopened paint can on the ground. Itâs rolled across her room away from them. Luckily, the open can remains in place on the stool, the paintbrush hanging precariously on the edge of it.
âI went to reach for the paintbrush and knocked it off. Freaking thing landed on my foot. Obviously.â
Beatriceâs free hand goes to Avaâs foot. Her thumb sweeps across the bruise. Avaâs fingers flex against the back of Beatriceâs forearms. âYou are lucky it didnât break anything.â
Ava shudders. âManuel, one of the guys on my floor when I lived in the dorms, he broke his foot the first month in. He had to wear a big walking boot for weeks. It was so ugly.â
âIt would hardly go with your outfits,â Beatrice agrees.
âHow would I even get my jeans on?â Ava frowns thoughtfully. âIâd have to walk around in my underwear all day.â
Beatrice nearly chokes on a cough, but she swallows it back down, uncomfortable in her throat. âI think⊠I think you could remove it to put your clothes on,â she says, her voice too light to be her own.
Avaâs face flushes unusually. âOh, right. Of course.â She starts to smile wickedly. âDonât want me walking around in my underwear, of course.â
Beatrice doesnât quite hide her blush like she hid her cough. Because she has envisioned Ava walking around in her underwear before, just with one of Beatriceâs big sweaters dusting her thighs and coming down over her hands. She quickly blinks, turning the image to black in her mind. It was a passing thought, just once. She never had it again. It was unfair to Ava to even begin to form that picture in her mind. It flashes in her head like a bang now and she tightens her grip on Avaâs wrist, suddenly aware sheâs still holding on.
She goes for a strangled joke. âIt would prevent Lilith from coming over.â
It was the wrong thing to say. Ava latches onto it. Her eyes light up. âConsider it done.â
Beatrice immediately concerns herself with something else. Avaâs foot.
âLet me get you some ice,â she says. Her voice doesnât waver this time. Shannon, if she knew about this, would be proud. Sheâd praise Beatriceâs restraint, call it admirable.
Shannon would also probably tell her that she should do something that would completely change the trajectory of her friendship with Ava. So maybe the Shannon in her mind should be a little quieter.
âI donât think I need ice.â
Beatrice looks down at the bruise, darker now, and then gives Ava a pointed look. It has the desired effect. Avaâs cheeks pinken and she smiles sheepishly. Beatrice nods, assured in her success, and carefully extracts her hands from Avaâs foot, standing.
âIâll be right back,â she promises. âDonât forget the paint on your foreheadâ
Ava carefully taps her foot, higher than the bruise. âNot going anywhere.â
Beatrice could argue that Ava could go somewhere. Itâs not broken. Itâs uncomfortable, of course. She once flexed her foot at the wrong moment and kicked a pine board toes-first. The bruise remained for weeks and the slight limp from accommodating the pain had lasted a little longer than that.
But Ava wipes her forehead carelessly and falls back onto her bed, hands hanging over each side of the bed in a T-shape as her legs dangle off the end. Her shirt rides up her flat stomach revealing a sliver of skin Beatrice wants to run her fingernail over. Avaâs eyes are closed, head tipped back just enough for her chin to lift up, exposing the long unbroken line of her neck.
Beatrice looks away before another thought rushes unbidden into her mind. Her cheeks burn.
âIâll be right back,â she repeats, unnecessarily. Ava hums on the bed.
She doesnât linger, striding out of the room and across the apartment. She opens the freezer, welcoming the blast of cold air against her face. She takes a moment, almost forgetting why sheâs standing there. But Ava calls her name from the bedroom, and Beatrice remembers quickly. The ice maker hasnât worked in a few weeks - she makes a mental note to have Mary look at it before she calls her landlord - but Ava only found that as an excuse to buy increasingly ridiculous ice cube trays.
It takes her a minute to decide between ice cube shapes. Ava went a little crazy online, buying shark fin-shaped ones, brain-shaped ones, ones shaped like ice monsters and another set shaped like centipedes. Beatrice decides on ones shaped like rubber ducks, twisting the silicone tray so they pop out. She wraps them in a cloth quickly so her hands donât get too cold.
Crossing the room feels like a walk sheâs made a hundred times before. She knows in her mind that itâs only been twice but now that sheâs opened the flood gate, her feet move her without thought. Past the books and notes sheâs abandoned, the armchair, the couch. She pauses just before Avaâs bedroom, toes against the threshold.
She crosses it as easily as she exhales.
Ava is still laying on her back, an approximation of a cross as she rests with her eyes closed. Beatrice watches her chest rise and fall as she breathes in and out evenly. Thereâs a beauty in simplicity, sheâs always thought so. Ava only strengthens that.
âIce,â she says quietly, unsure of why she doesnât want to say anything at all. She doesnât want to break this moment, startle Ava and ruin the weightlessness of it.
Ava cracks one eye open, a half-smile on her face. âYouâre back.â
Beatrice holds out the ice. Ava crooks a finger at her, beckoning her closer. She hesitates. Ava pushes up, resting on her elbows now.
âI think weâve established that I donât bite.â That smile turns wicked again. âUnless you ask nicely.â
Her fingers clench around the ice, and she feels the cold bite at her skin. But she stays still, not giving anything else away.
Ava sits up, foot dangling over the end of the bed. She rests her palms flat against the comforter before she pushes up and stands. She puts her weight down on her foot and her leg buckles almost instantly.
Beatrice doesnât think, arms looping tightly around Avaâs waist and pulling up her. Her fingers slide into the dips of Avaâs back, the ice trapped between one of her palms and Avaâs skin. Her feet tangle with Avaâs. Their hips are nearly pressed together, almost no space between them. Ava exhales in a noisy rush, lips twisted in a grimace. Beatrice feels the hot air against her collarbone.
âAre you okay?â
Ava tilts her head back slightly. âWould you believe me if I said yes?â
Beatriceâs mouth flickers in a smile. âNo.â
âThen weâll just assume the answer.â Avaâs hands are wrapped tightly around her elbows and her fingers flex against the back of Beatriceâs arms. âWow. Do you work out?â
âYou know that I do.â She keeps her voice light.
Avaâs fingers dance further up her arms, under the hem of her sleeve. She squeezes again, gently. âYeah, well knowing you do, seeing you do it, and feeling its effects are three very different things.â
Her fingers are maddening, burning hot against Beatriceâs skin. Ava rubs her thumb in a small circle over her bicep.
âReally, Bea. You could probably crush an egg with these things.â
She frowns. âWhy would I want to crush an egg?â
âWell, itâd be a way to spice up breakfast.â She presses gently, dimpling the skin. âAnd a killer party trick.â
Beatrice fights a shiver despite the way her skin feels like itâs burning. âI donât go to parties.â
But thatâs a lie. She does when Ava invites her. She thinks of the party they went to, the spinning disco lights and the way Avaâs body pressed against hers in the hot swell of sweaty, drunken students. She thinks of Ava slumped over on their couch later, saying sheâd wait for Beatrice.
That voice that sounds just like Shannonâs whispers that it means exactly what Beatrice hopes it means. Sheâs never been good at telling Shannon to stop, but this is easy enough to sweep under the mental rug so it remains unknown and unseen.
Truth unknown and unseen is still truth, Shannon has said before. I read that on Pintrest.
Beatrice shakes the memory from her mind and focuses on the facts in front of her: Ava. Ava, close enough to breathe in. Close enough that Beatrice could eliminate the mere inches between them and-
âI bet youâd go to more parties if you had a party trick,â Ava interrupts.
âI doubt it.â But Ava is grinning and Beatrice canât help but smile back. âBut Iâm sure you could convince Mary to give it a try.â
âI mean, Mary has decent biceps, but I donât think she could crack an egg.â
Beatrice shakes her head. âWhy an egg? Why not, I donât know. A walnut.â
âA walnut. These are good goals.â Ava squeezes Beatriceâs bicep once more to emphasize her words. âLetâs start with an egg and work our way to something more advanced.â
The flex of Avaâs fingers against her skin pulls her from her next thought. Itâs not that she didnât notice the lack of space between them, itâs just that itâs rushing in on her now. Itâs dizzying, the way Ava is standing so close. Beatrice tries to breathe in, but her chest pushes out until it nearly brushes Avaâs and sheâs sucking all the air back into her lungs just as quickly.
Ava notices, eyes dropping down past Beatriceâs chin and neck before they dart up again, crinkling at the corners. She takes a step back, dropping to the bed again, the ice in her hand. She pulls one leg up under her, chin resting on her knee as she puts the ice against her bruising foot.
Beatrice blinks, oddly cool air rushing in where Avaâs body had been despite the humid air of their apartment as the spring pushes towards the hot summer. âYouâll need to ice that for a bit.â
Ava nods, adjusting the ice for a moment before she looks up and says, âSo, first time?â
Beatrice frowns. âAdministering first aid?â
âFirst time being in here. Properly, I mean.â Ava looks around, throwing one arm wide. âWhat do you think?â
Beatrice takes stock of her situation. Itâs technically her third time being in here, but Ava is right. Sheâs in here properly now. Not just over the threshold or charging through barriers because Avaâs been injured. She crossed the line intentionally this time. And she remains, the walls of Avaâs room coming at her from each side without boxing her in.
Avaâs laundry flows from the hamper. Her bed isnât quite made, but isnât quite a mess. There are books stacked on the desk in a way that tells Beatrice Ava hasnât opened them in some time. Hobbes sits next to them. A series of pictures is on the wall opposite her desk, ones of her and Ava and the rest of their friends. Beatriceâs eyes catalog each inch, committing it to memory in a place where she knows sheâs going to see it for a very long time.
âYouâre missing the best part,â Ava says. Her voice is quiet, like sheâs afraid to startle Beatrice. She waits until Beatrice looks before she points upward.
Beatriceâs eyes follow the imaginary thread from Avaâs fingertip to the ceiling. She nearly gasps.
White-green stars dot the ceiling, filling all the space. Spider web-thin lines connect some of them, forming constellations she recognizes from the pictures Ava has shown her and the ones Ava has pointed out on rare nights when she can convince Beatrice to go out to the quad and lay on the grass to watch the night pass by. Some of them she doesnât and she focuses on those ones, studying their shapes and trying to decide what they look like.
âApus.â Avaâs finger moves, tracing the lines sheâs drawn between the glow-in-the-dark stars. âWe call it the Bird of Paradise. Derived from the Greek word apous, which means âfootlessâ. Thereâs a story that birds of paradise were once believed to have been footless.â
âI donât believe I know what a bird of paradise looks like,â she admits.
âMy mom loved them. Sheâd never seen one in person, but she liked looking at pictures of them. They have these large plumes. They look so soft.â Ava sighs wistfully. âThere was a nun, in the orphanage when I was first there, that called me a bird of paradise.â She pauses, eyes darting to Beatrice. âBecause I was footless, you know? She reminded me of my mom. She didnât stay long, but she was nice.â
Beatriceâs heart clenches as it always does when Ava talks about her past. But this is a softer ache, a longing to thank this woman who showed Ava a sliver of mercy.
âAnd thatâs Grus, the crane,â Ava continues. âOriginally, it was part of another constellation, Piscis Austrinus. But a Dutch astronomer defined it as its own separate constellation. Its brightest star is Al Naâir. Itâs Arabic for âbright oneâ which feels a little on the nose.â
Beatrice studies its shape, noting the bigger star that Ava must have defined as Al Naâir. âWhy do you like this one?â
Ava thinks for a moment. âDid you know that cranes have the ability to fly over the Himalayas? They can. They can go as high as 8,000 meters. Imagine being that high up, feeling the wind in your hair.â She blinks, looking off towards the wall littered with paint swatches. âI spent so long tied to one place that the idea of being able to fly over a mountain, to graze the tip of it with a set of wings, sounded like a fairytale.â
Beatrice slides her hand over Avaâs, fingertips resting in the dips between her knuckles. âI think we could hike the Himalayas one day, if you wanted to.â
Ava looks down at their hands and blinks before her eyes meet Beatriceâs. âYou think so?â
âI think you could do anything you want to do.â
Ava doesnât blink this time, doesnât even look away. âIf I can do anything I want to do, I want toâŠâ She pauses, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip.
Beatrice waits, but the rest of Avaâs sentence doesnât come. She clears her throat. âWhat do you-â
âDid you see that one?â Ava asks, interrupting her and pointing up at the ceiling.
Beatrice blinks, startled at the intensity of Avaâs voice. She searches Avaâs face but itâs unreadable, a mix of something Beatrice canât quite put a name to. So she looks up helplessly, searching for what Ava is pointing at.
âThatâs Drago.â
âThe dragon,â Beatrice translates. âWhatâs his story?â
Ava shrugs. âHeâs just fucking cool.â
A sharp laugh slips out from between her lips and Ava grins widely back at her.
âSo, you like it, then.â Ava looks around her room and nods to herself. âItâs a pretty great room, isnât it?â
âItâs very⊠Ava,â Beatrice allows. Sheâs smiling though, hoping that her words donât sting.
âIsnât that all I can hope for?â Ava sighs and turns her hand over so her palm presses against Beatriceâs. âBut can I ask another question?â
When she breathes out, âanythingâ, she means it.
Ava hesitates still. âYou never come in here,â she says slowly. âWhy not?â
Something tightens in her chest. Words rise in her throat and she swallows them back down, a reflex more than anything else. Ava must notice something pass over her face or feel the way that Beatriceâs hand jumps in hers, because strong and warm fingers stroke up her wrist as they lock around the bone, keeping her anchored to the moment.
âYou donât have to answer that,â Ava rushes on. âIâm just⊠curious, I guess.â She smiles crookedly. âDoes it smell in here?â
Yes. Like something deep and woodsy and so uniquely Ava.
Avaâs nose wrinkles. âDoes it? Because if it does, I-â
âIt doesnât.â Beatriceâs voice is too loud. âIt doesnât,â she says, softer now.
Avaâs frown doesnât smooth out. âThen⊠why?â
Itâs not you, itâs me, her mind supplies. She doesnât say that. She thinks about how to put it into words, how to unpack all the things she tidied away and put in a cedar chest, locking it tight. Nothing comes from it, just an empty explanation that wonât make sense if she says it out loud.
But Ava is her best friend. And if it doesnât make sense, if the words donât come out right, sheâll wait patiently for Beatrice to try again. Sheâll sit here, one leg tucked up as ice melts through a washcloth and sheâll wait for Beatrice to find the right words.
Iâd wait for you forever, Ava had said, lips loose with party punch. And Beatrice believed her.
Ava makes her brave. Brave enough not to make an offhand joke and turn the conversation back on the open can of paint and the paintbrush quickly drying out.
Instead, she clears her throat and straightens up, the first thing she does when an image of her parents enters her mind. And Ava doesnât let go of her wrist, moving with her instead, ebbing and flowing with her seamlessly. Beatrice turns to face Ava, watching Ava mirror her, and she exhales out the tension building in her muscles.
âBea, if you donât want to-â
âI do.â
She does. Holding onto these things makes her feel heavy. And almost more than anything - but not more than wanting Ava - she wants to be lighter.
Ava shakes her head. âIâm serious.â
Beatrice grips Avaâs other hand, their arms tangled around each other. âI⊠I have to.â
âOkay,â Ava says softly. Her smile is the same. âWhatever you want to tell me, I want to hear.â
Ava isnât always sledgehammer, she realizes. She thinks of her as a hammer, crashing into everything and leaving a wake of needed destruction in her wake. But Ava is also a set of picks, quietly and discreetly slipping into the lock around her. For all the stomping around she does, all the things she knocks over in her haste to get from one moment to the next, sheâs also deft, hands built with finesse.
Beatrice tries to find the start. Was it Penelope Marshall? Was it the start of boarding school? Was it her parents finding her journal when she was thirteen? Was it all the time she spent with the diplomatâs daughter? Was it her fifth birthday when she cried because her parents bought her the dress with the pink frills instead of the bicycle she wanted?
âMy parentsâŠâ
âI hate them.â
She doesnât chide Ava for saying so. A deep, angry part of her hates her parents too. She smiles humorlessly. âThey sent me to boarding school, as you know. When I was thirteen. Right at Christmas time. I remember it because it was my present that year. An âopportunity to further my education in an environment that would foster appropriate and lifelong lessonsâ,â she quotes. She can remember the brochure sheâd been given unceremoniously, a smiling girl on the front. Even in print, Beatrice could see the hollow light in her eyes.
âAppropriate,â Ava scoffs. âLike anything they did was appropriate.â
Beatrice feels Avaâs pulse thunder under her fingers. âThey said it would give me a framework for my life. Lucille Thomason had graduated from there a year before and she was going to Oxford, on her way to inheriting her motherâs social calendar. My mother always fawned over her at dinners. âLucille is following the plans her mother set out for her. Lucille has accomplished so much at such a young age.ââ
âLucille sounds like a loser.â
âLucille sounded exactly like the daughter my mother wanted.â
Ava frowns softly. âYou know that youâre leagues above whoever Lucille is.â
âI didnât think so,â she admits. âLucille was someone to admire. Her achievements were something to strive for. She had something I so desperately wanted when I was younger: my motherâs approval. And so, when they presented the option-â She stops herself. âIt wasnât an option. But when they presented their plan, I reconciled myself with it by reminding myself that Lucille was leading a very successful life.â
âThereâs more to life than success,â Ava says gently.
Beatrice smiles a little. âTo you. To me. But to my parents, there is nothing more.â She takes a deep breath. âAnd if they were framing it as me taking an opportunity to lead a successful life, then they would forget about⊠the things they were discovering about me.â
Ava immediately tenses. The Beatrice she is now knows it for what it is: an attempt to contain her anger. The Beatrice she was months ago would have worried. Was Ava afraid of her? Was Ava disgusted by her? The thoughts had swirled that movie night. What if she did admit to a crush on Patricia Velasquez? Would this new person she wanted so badly to be around, without knowing why, suddenly change her mind once she found out the truth?
But Ava hadnât. Ava wonât. Beatrice knows it with every fiber of her being. There are very few absolute truths in the world, but this is one of them.
âThey read my journal, you know,â she continues. The words are coming out easily, this tiny fissure in her chest cracking open as Ava looks at her with wide and trusting eyes. âA new girl started school at the beginning of the term. Her name was Mina. Her father was in banking, I believe. She had the bluest eyes I had ever seen in my life.â
Ava scoffs lightly. âBlue eyes.â
She skims the pad of her thumb over Avaâs wrist. âOne day, our hands brushed. It was something simple, innocent. She was passing me a paper, and we miscalculated the distance. Iâm sure it meant nothing to her.â
âIt meant something to you,â Ava guesses.
âI was thirteen. Everything meant something.â Beatrice sighs, feeling her chest rise and fall heavily. âAnd anything that meant something to me went into my journal. I just didnât know that what went into my journal eventually landed in my parentsâ hands.â
âSo those bastards went through your private journal and read about some girl who touched your hand,â Ava hisses. âI swear, the minute I meet them, itâs fist to face. They donât call me The Piraya for nothing, you know.â
âNo one calls you that.â
âThey might call me that, you donât know. I have a whole superhero persona you donât know about.â Ava puffs out her chest a little bit.
âThe name Piraya implies youâre more of a villain than a superhero.â
âIâm a villainâs villain. Howâs that?â
The trickle of despair of dragging this up again fades as Avaâs smile widens. She knows what Ava is doing. But she doesnât stop her, grateful for the brevity and the way it makes her feel like sheâs grounded in something, not floating listlessly and endlessly in her terrible memories.
âI mean it.â Avaâs voice drops, low and serious. âIâll be their worst nightmare.â
âIâm afraid that role is already taken,â she says quietly. âThough, I donât think they intended for it to be their daughter.â She sighs. She used to be her motherâs doll. But once she started moving her own parts, she found herself moving in the opposite direction.
âBea,â Ava whispers. She tightens her grip on Beatriceâs wrist.
âI remember I wrote that touching her hand was as if the heavens opened up and I finally understood what song the angels were singing. We were in the middle of a poetry unit, and I fancied myself quite good at it.â She lets out a dry chuckle. âWhen I found them in the kitchen one night holding onto my journal I foolishly thought they had found out I was reading Emily Dickenson instead of studying for my science exam.â
Beatrice remembers coming down the stairs, flushed with the late November cold. Mina had invited her for dinner the next night, and she promised to show Beatrice the new video game she got. Beatrice didnât care about those kinds of things, but no one else had gotten an invitation to Minaâs. Beatrice felt special.
But her parentsâ faces had stopped her in her tracks. She didnât notice her journal at first. It was made to look discreet, not to stand out. It had blended into her motherâs dark skirt, and it wasnât until her mother raised it into the air that she saw it for what it was.
They asked her to explain herself. She wasnât sure what they wanted her to explain, not at first. She stumbled through an apology about delaying her studying; sheâd do it immediately and ask her teacher for an extra take home lesson. She scrambled through a rushed explanation about having new friends meant more opportunities for networking. With new friends, she could join a new club. It would do well on her list of extracurriculars.
It wasnât until her mother spit out the name Mina that she had any idea of what she was supposed to be afraid of.
âWhat did they say?â Ava asks gently.
âThey didnât have to say much. There were questions about who Mina was. My mother had a particular talent of making something that wasnât a swear sound like it. And she hissed Minaâs name like it was the dirtiest word she could say.â
Beatrice thinks of Mina now. Where was she? What was she doing? Beatrice never heard from her after she left. No letters, no calls. She came and went in her life so quickly, it was as if Beatrice made her up. The only sign that she had been there was the page missing from her journal, returned to her the night before she left for school.
âThey demanded to know what she had done to me. What had I done to her? I was so confused. She had touched my hand. I certainly hadnâtâŠâ Beatriceâs chest hitches at the thought. âIt was a fleeting moment, but I learned that fleeting moments were the most damaging ones. That,â she says dryly. âAnd that locks do nothing to keep a determined person out.â
âLocks are meant to keep people out,â Ava all but hisses. She sighs, working her fingers up Beatriceâs arm to her elbow. They rest in the dip of her arm, right over the thin vein under Beatriceâs skin. âGod, Bea. Iâm so sorry. They were - are - horrible. No one should have had to go through that. Especially not you.â
Especially not you, Ava says. Like Beatrice is better than anyone else. Like she should exist under different rules.
âOf course youâre afraid,â Ava says quietly, speaking to herself. She raises her voice, talking to Beatrice now. âOf course youâre worried about even - Jesus, Bea. Touching a girlâs hand?â She looks down as if sheâs suddenly noticing how sheâs knotted herself around Beatriceâs arm. She laughs dryly. âWhat would they say if they saw us now?â
Ava means what if they saw me comforting you? Not what if they saw how I touch you like nothing else matters?
The answer would be the same: her mother would simply set fire to the room.
The chasm is widening now. Sheâs cracked the seam on these memories, and her mind is cycling through the events that followed: a new suitcase set, pink with her name on an address tag; a set of starched uniforms that felt like coarse wool against her skin; a final meal in her parentsâ formal dining room, the chef-of-the-week uncaring of her dislike for persimmons; a single plane ticket pressed into her hand and a dismissive nod as a car pulled away from the airport, leaving her alone.
She tells Ava this in stilted words, as if narrating someone elseâs life. But then it starts to sink in, the anger. And it spreads in her belly, burning into a rage. She feels the moment the numbness transitions to an inferno. She hears herself exhale the word alone and something snaps.
âThey had no right,â she says. Even through her anger, the words surprise her.
Avaâs voice sounds hoarse, unused. âThey didnât.â
âI was a child. Their child.â Her hand clenches tightly into a fist, Avaâs hand moving with the flex of her forearm muscle. âA âproblemâ arose and they justâŠâ She stops. âThey strung me along until I was no longer of use to them.â
âYou are not a problem.â Ava's voice is low, burning hot in the rapidly closing space between them, in a tone sheâs never heard before.
Beatrice almost startles, confused. She had nearly forgotten that Ava was here, so consumed in her story. But now sheâs noticing her.Â
Her eyes flash. The tops of her cheeks pinken slightly. Sheâs angry. Beatrice has seen her on more than one occasion get angry on her behalf. The mere thought of her parents seems to send her into a flurry, but the anger in her eyes now is nearly staggering.
âYouâre not,â she says again, insistent to the point of almost desperation. âBeatrice, you are not a problem.â
And Beatrice, blinking, already falling, dives deeper into love with her.
-
Ava feels her cheeks go hot with a liquid anger that roils in her blood. Sheâs been angry before - angry at Beaâs parents, even. But this feels like pure molten rage. All of the pieces are slotting together: a young girl who just wanted to make her parents proud; who saw someone - touched someone so innocently - and felt the world shift; who didnât understand why a cliff rose up between her and the people who were supposed to love her more than anything; who trusted so completely and had it thrown back in her face as if she was the one who somehow failed.
Avaâs fingers tighten until her fingernails cut deep half-moon shapes into her palm. She pulls the words out from between her teeth like nails scratching the floor.
âYou are not a problem.â
Bea blinks. The broiling heat in her stomach softens its edge, replaced by the confusion in Beaâs eyes as she blinks again.
âYouâre not,â Ava insists. She tugs Beaâs hand, pulling her closer until theyâre pressed together, an almost-sweaty slide of the skin of their knees bumping together. Bea blinks a second time, mouth parting slightly. âBeatrice, you are not a problem.â
She needs Bea to believe her. Sheâs never needed anything more in her whole life. She could live without air. She could make it minutes without oxygen. But she canât live with another second of Beatrice believing her parentsâ poison.
She coaxes Bea another inch closer. âDo you hear me?â
Beaâs mouth parts further, something on the tip of her tongue. Ava squeezes Beaâs hand a little tighter. âDo you hear me?â
âI hear you,â Bea says faintly.
Ava isnât satisfied. âYou need to believe it. Youâre not a problem. Youâre-â She softens her grip, thumbs Beaâs wild pulse. âYouâre-â
âDonât say perfect,â Bea whispers, eyes slamming closed. âPlease donât say perfect.â
Ava hesitates. She was going to say perfect. She was going to say frustratingly perfect. But she can pivot. There are a million other things she can call Bea - courageous, intelligent, kind, beautiful. All things sheâs told Bea before and all things sheâd tell her a million times more.
âHuman,â she lands on. Beaâs eyes open slowly. âYouâre human, just like every single other person on this big rock orbiting in space. You live like everyone else. You laugh, you cry. You love, just like everyone else. And none of that-Â not who you are or who you love, or even the special little rules you have for tea that took me forever to learn - not a single part of you is a problem.â
The space between Beaâs eyes wrinkles in thought. Ava usually holds herself back, usually just wishes to press it flat gently. But the line between them is so thin now that she doesnât think twice about it, reaching up and resting her thumb between her brows, pushing gently until the skin relaxes.
âCan I tell you a secret?â she asks in a whisper. Bea holds so many of her secrets, one more wonât hurt.
Bea nods slowly.
âWhen I first met you, I was so⊠intimidated.â Beaâs eyes widen slightly and Ava nods. âI was. You seemed so⊠cool. Composed. Not at all affected by someone who crashed into your table with the grace of a⊠what did you call it?â
âA newborn foal,â Bea says lightly.
Ava grins, her smile widening when some of it reflects in Beaâs face. âA newborn foal. Thatâs a giraffe, right?â She doesnât wait to be corrected. âI thought, I need to know who this is and I need to know everything about her right now or Iâm going to combust.â
Bea rolls her eyes, the motion of her eyes disrupting Avaâs thumb, still on her forehead. She doesnât drop her hand, being bold and dragging the blunt ends of her fingernails against the smooth skin just above Beaâs eyebrow.
âYouâre very dramatic.â
âDid I pretend to be anything else?â Ava shakes her head when Bea opens her mouth. âDonât answer that. Just know.â She sobers, breathing in and exhaling the most truthful thing she thinks sheâs ever said in her life. âThe minute I met you, I knew you were something spectacular. I knew you were going to change my life.â
A weight hangs between them now. Bea looks shy under it, her head ducking slightly. Avaâs fingers slip, nearly burying into Beaâs hair. She drops her hand back into her lap but curls it over Beaâs, not quite wanting to let go yet.
âCan I tell you a secret now?â Bea asks, eyes still on the space between them.
Ava nods without being seen. âAnything.â
âI never really felt like that.â
âLike what?â Ava frowns. âSpectacular?â
âHuman.â Bea looks up. âI spent so long feeling like⊠an other. That feeling like a human just didnât⊠I couldnât make sense of that. It took some time.â
Ava smiles gently. âBut you got there.â
âAfter-â Bea stops herself, pulling her lips in as if sheâs trying to keep something from erupting out. Ava watches the thin stream of air work its way through her nose, and catches the slight shine of Beaâs eyes, the way they seem to sparkle as unshed tears fill them.
âHey,â she says softly. âNo. No, donât cry.â She drops Beaâs hands, cupping Beaâs face. Her thumbs brush along the flats of Beaâs cheeks. âI donât know what to do when pretty girls cry,â she admits.
Bea laughs, choked and watery. âNeither do I. But it never stops me from telling you that Lilith doesnât actually hate you no matter how much of her fancy vodka you drink.â
âOne time,â Ava mutters, lips pulled back in a smile as she pretends to be annoyed.
It works. Beaâs smile seems a little stronger. âAva,â she says quietly.
Ava strokes down a line of freckles absentmindedly. âYeah?â
âCan I tell you another secret?â
âYou can tell me youâre responsible for bringing down the Vatican, for all I care.â
Bea doesnât laugh, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth instead. Ava wants to press down against the smooth skin but she stops herself before her thumb drifts that low. That perfect, soft-looking skin, a breath away. She focuses, pulling herself back into the moment.
Beaâs voice is nearly a whisper when she says, âSomeone thought I was spectacular once.â
âJust once?â
Another silence. Ava tightens her jaw. Listen, donât talk. She can do that. She can be still. Itâs something Bea has taught her - just be still. Just wait. It will come to you when you stay in one place. So, sheâs been waiting, patient against every urge within her to jump up and down and scream.
Sometimes, these feelings for Bea are so big in her chest that she feels like sheâs going to explode into a hundred stars. She pictures herself shattering as the unspoken words build in her until they canât go anywhere but out. But Bea is something to wait for. Bea is someone Ava doesnât mind standing still for. She knows itâs there. She knows the feelings arenât just her and that Bea needs to find her way forward. Ava just needs to be the flashlight in the distance, waiting for Bea to find her.
âAt least, I thought she thought I was spectacular,â Bea continues, almost as if she didnât hear Ava. âShe said-Â well, she said something close enough to it.â
Ava can feel another piece of the puzzle slotting into place. Another brick that makes up Beaâs nearly-impenetrable walls. For every one Ava manages to crack and loosen, another suddenly rises in its place. But she feels like this time, it falls and nothing slots into place.
She doesnât stop herself from touching a freckle this time, tapping out a song she heard years ago before her hands drop again. âWas she pretty?â
Sheâs clumsy on a good day. Boisterous on others. But Bea is doing that thing again, learning how to run without knowing how to walk. And Ava is practicing. Sheâs trying so hard. She stays so still that Bea could almost imagine her gone.
âPeople are pretty in different ways,â Bea finally says. Itâs a very diplomatic answer, something so very Bea that Ava breaks her stillness to smile. âAll the other girls wanted to be her. I remember someone saying that her hair was so shiny, she must brush it a hundred times on each side before bed.â
Ava canât help herself. âIs that why your hair is always so perfect? Are you secretly combing it until your wrist hurts?â
âA brush through wouldnât kill you, Ava.â
âSpeak for yourself.â
Beaâs growing smile flickers out. âI suppose it didnât matter if she was conventionally pretty. IâŠâ Ava watches the way she shores herself up against an invisible storm. âI thought she was beautiful.â
âWhat was her name?â she asks quietly.
âPenelope Marshall.â Bea says it like a prayer.
âPenelope.â Ava suddenly creates an image in her mind. A girl with wide brown eyes, bronze skin, a perfect smile of perfect teeth, a button nose, long and shiny hair.
Bea swallows and Ava feels the click of her jaw under her palms. âShe was in my year, her room just down the hall from me. We were partners in Latin.â
âI bet she copied all her answers off your test.â
âMaybe once or twice,â she admits. âShe certainly did not always do her homework on time. But Sister Magdalene liked her and simply turned a blind eye every so often.â
Beaâs cheeks are warming. Ava can see it in the way they pinken.
âItâs silly, but⊠I remember the first time she smiled at me. I had conjugated the verb, sum, to be, in the pluperfect subjunctive. She had been trying for the better part of an hour, but the switch from esse to fui for the tenses was always confusing to her.â Bea smiles slightly. âWhen I gave her the answer, she smiled at me and it felt likeâŠâ
âLike the world kind of tilted off its axis?â
Bea looks surprised. âYes. Exactly that.â
âIâm familiar with the feeling.â
Because she is. So, so, deeply familiar with the feeling. The first time she saw Bea, that first smile she got as she bumbled her way through cleaning up the few drops of tea that spilled, the world went sideways and it hasnât completely righted itself since.
âItâs peculiar, that feeling. It sticks with you, doesnât it?â Bea looks down. âI used to dream about it,â she admits.
âThatâs normal, Bea,â she says gently.
Bea looks up again. âIs it? Because it didnât feel normal. It felt⊠other. Strange. Like a rock in the pit of my stomach. Penelope would touch my arm over our Latin text, and I could see my parents poring over my journal, looking for any otherness that might exist between us.â
âShe made you happy, though.â
âI thought I made her happy as well.â
Ava doesnât need Bea to tell her the rest. She can imagine how it went: touches as they broke down a dead language, sitting with their shoulders brushing at meals, giggling as they studied in what Ava assumes must have been a massive and cold library. She can imagine the small strands of Beaâs hair slipping from her bun across her cheeks and Penelope pushing them back behind her ear with quick fingers.
Ava lets herself be selfish and do that same thing now. Beaâs face turns slightly into her hand. Not enough that she probably even notices.
âWhen did she kiss you?â
Bea looks surprised again and Avaâs hand falls away. âHow did you-â
âA good guess,â she lies. Because she knows that having Bea there and not kissing her is Godâs strongest battle. She has been a good soldier.
Sheâs not sure how much longer she can be good.
âA few months into the semester.â Beaâs voice goes taut. âShe invited me to study for her biology test. On the recommendation of our teacher, she told me. I imagined it was a lie; she had the same grades as I did.â Her cheeks pinken. âWe were reviewing the different biological features of various aquatic animals and sheâŠâ
âShe kissed you over the cod?â Ava says, voice a little strangled.
Bea meets her eyes. âIt was my first kiss. Everyone I knew had theirs already, but I thought that if this is what I was waiting for, it was worth it.â
âThe best things are worth waiting for.â
âIâd read about whirlwind romances in novels. Girls in the dormitories talked about it. Boyfriends they had back home that they saw on holiday weekends. But it was nothing like kissing behind locked doors. It couldnât be. No one else could be experiencing what I did. It was so uniquely ours. Do you know what I mean?â
She does. It means closed doors. It means secrets. Bea reads it on her face because she can see something close to shame bloom across Beaâs cheeks.
âIt was just for us,â Bea confirms. âA secret not even my parents, kilometers away, would learn of.â
Ava has never been one for secrets. She doesnât like the way they taste in her mouth. Youâre keeping your own, a voice like Maryâs reminds her. But that secret isnât really a secret, is it? Because Mary knows. And Shannon knows because Mary knows. And her favorite barista, Lucy, knows it. JC knows it. The belayer at the rock climbing place and the guy at the one party she dragged Bea to and Lilith and Camila - they all know.
Bea knows too. Ava feels the truth of that in every crevice of her heart. Bea knows. Bea isnât going to do anything about it - she feels that truth too. But the list of people Ava is hiding this from is shorter than the list of people who know it.
âYou loved her.â
Beaâs smile is sad, far away. âFirst kiss, first love. I was convinced we would graduate and run away together. She would lie in my bed propped up on one arm talking about Paris and Rome and the places we could travel as soon as we got away from school. Iâd felt so futureless when I arrived, but now I could imagine a million possibilities.â
Ava thinks of making a joke. Something about Bea jet-setting across all of Europe with a pretty girl, exactly the kind of lifestyle she deserved. But she knows this story doesnât have a happy ending.
âShe told me she loved me. More than anyone she loved in her life. She said we were young, but it doesnât matter. You just feel love louder, she would tell me. IâŠâ Bea takes a deep breath. âMina may have been the first girl to touch my hand, but PenelopeâŠâ
Bea goes quiet long enough that Ava nudges her hand gently. âSheâŠâ
Beaâs eyes clear a little. âShe touched me in other places. In other ways.â
Ava guesses the next part of this story too. âYou wanted to tell someone and she wanted you guys to stay a secret.â
Bea laughs, short and sharp. âI wish it had been that simple. I wish I had been enough to stay a secret. Instead⊠She must have learned my parentsâ trick. When someone becomes unseemly, when it becomes ugly and unwelcome, you simply⊠strike it from the record. Forget it ever existed. Send it away to boarding school and hope for the best. Or-or pick a new Latin partner and create an ocean that feels uncrossable.â
âBea,â Ava says quietly.
âI could have accepted it was all done. An ending. Iâm sure I could have. But instead I wasâŠâ She shakes her head. âHave you ever had someone you thought you were in love with look at you and tell you that none of it mattered? That it was girls being girls and that whispered promises in the corners of classrooms were never more than just a game? A joke?â
âBea.â
But Bea has a haunted look in her eyes, like sheâs somewhere else than Avaâs bedroom with its overflowing laundry and rumpled comforter and the paint swatches on the wall. Ava imagines sheâs back in a girls dormitory standing in front of a pretty girl who is cutting her down to bits.
âShe told me that none of it was real. It was wrong. It was just something to do. She wasnât like that,â Bea says, voice just as haunted. âShe promised that she wouldnât tell, because she didnât want people to think there was anything wrong with her.â An empty laugh, sardonic and hollow in a way that Avaâs never heard, escapes Beaâs lips. âDonât worry, she said, I wouldnât want people to think there was something wrong with you, either. I suppose in some twisted way, she still cared.â
The thing about Ava is that sheâs always capable of more than she thinks she is. They said sheâd never walked; now she runs across campus after Mary. They said sheâd never be smart enough to go to university; now sheâs in the front row of all her classes, her scholarship enough to make sure she doesnât need to worry about her degree. They said sheâd never make friends; now she has six of them who make every single day something more than she ever hoped.
They said sheâd never fall in love; now she has Bea.
And when she doesnât think she can go a little further, push a little harder, she thinks of Sister Frances and the way she told Ava that sheâd never be capable of anything.
But sheâs capable of this: setting everyone on fire who ever hurt Bea.
Her anger unleashes like a wildfire, and it swells in her chest so brightly that for a moment she canât breathe. She canât see straight. Sheâs imagining Penelope again but all of the softness is gone and sheâs a cutting monster knocking Bea to the ground. She tightens her hand into a fist so tightly that sharp pinpricks echo in her palm from her fingernails.
She doesnât realize sheâs nearly growling until Beaâs fingers are working hers apart, smoothing them flat.
âAva, itâs alright.â
âItâs not.â Her voice sounds stretched thin. âSheâs not.â
âSheâs gone.â
âBut sheâs still here.â Ava shakes her head insistently. âSheâs still stuck in here.â She presses a single finger over Beaâs heart. âShe still has all this space to be cruel. And when I meet her - not if. Iâm going to find her - Iâm going to make her suffer. Iâm going to-â
âYou canât go on a one-woman crusade because someone hurt my feelings.â
Ava stares. âHurt your- Bea, she didnât hurt your feelings. She broke them.â
Bea straightens up slightly. âIâm not broken.â
Ava softens instantly, like someone turning out a light. âNo. No, youâre not Bea. Of course you arenât. Thereâs nothing wrong with you.â She ducks her head, catches Beaâs eyes, and smiles a little. âYouâre incredible. You are spectacular. I promise you that.â
Bea exhales. âIâm embarrassed to say someone had such a hold on me.â
âThatâs not embarrassing. Thatâs human.â Ava raises a cautious hand to Beaâs cheek again. âThatâs wonderfully, perfectly human.â
âShe justâŠâ Bea takes a deep breath. Avaâs hand slips to her jawline. âMy whole world ended in a single minute. Everything I did after that felt⊠fraught. I couldnât trust her, couldnât trust anything anymore. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if she was going to change her mind and tell someone how different, how terrible I was. She made me⊠nervous.â
She made me⊠nervous, Ava thinks.
Ava feels the soft skin between her eyes wrinkle as she works the words over in her mind. Of course Penelope made Bea nervous. Of course she made Bea doubt everything - every friendship, every interaction. Of course she held so much power over the way Bea engaged in the world. Of course she-
Oh.
Bea, who doesnât linger too long when sheâs looking at Ava. Bea, whose cheeks go pink when Ava dusts a hand down her bare shoulder. Beatrice, who is always the gentleman, always the one to hold back when they seem to be teetering on this invisible line of why arenât we.
Of course Bea is going to be scared of what their friendship could become. Because she had this happen. She put her whole heart into something only to be told how wrong it was when it was over, how wrong she was, and that none of it was real.
Ava has been wondering why Bea is so afraid of what they could be. She thought if she proved herself, if she stayed when she could have run, then Bea would understand. She thought Bea would look at her and see someone worthy enough of falling in love with. She thought, some nights when the stars on the ceiling just werenât enough light, that there was something wrong with her. Something that Bea wasnât telling her because she was too nice to let Ava down so cruelly.
But itâs not her. Itâs not Bea. Itâs all the ghosts of Beaâs past stacked up against an âEnterâ door that are stopping Bea from pulling it open. Itâs all these things outside of Avaâs control thatâs holding them back.
It all comes together so neatly in her mind. Bea is not going to make the first move. She never was. Sheâs been leading Ava to this place, but she canât make the final step. Sheâs loading the gun but she canât pull the trigger. Sheâs putting this in Avaâs hands and hoping that Ava doesnât break it in two.
Avaâs clumsy on a good day. Boisterous on others. But sheâs also been practicing so hard at being still and maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Maybe Bea needs her to move, to run ahead and give in first.
Ava takes a deep breath, feeling it expand in her chest. Itâs loud, roaring in her ears. Bea looks at her curiously. Maybe she doesnât know that Ava has put it all together. Maybe sheâs just as confused as Ava was a second ago. But Bea is smart. No, sheâs not just smart, sheâs Ava-smart. And she can read Ava like one of the dog-eared books littering their breakfast bar.
âBea.â Her voice is remarkably steady.
Remarkable, because her whole body feels like itâs moving, vibrating at a frequency unable to be heard by the human ear. She catches Beaâs wrist in her fingers, locking them tightly around the delicate bone.
Bea is still, eyes dropping down to where their skin meets. âYes?â
âBeatrice.â
Her hand is the thing shaking now as it rises up between them and slowly presses to Beaâs cheek, fingernails curling around her jaw. She feels it move as Bea swallows, hears the slight click of it as the silence magnifies. Beaâs eyes widen and she nearly pulls away, Avaâs hand on her face the only thing stopping her.
âAva, IâŠâ
Ava imagined their first kiss. Sheâs dreamed of it almost from the moment she met Bea, already wondering what it would be like before she knew who Bea really was - before she knew how good it was going to be. But she read something somewhere about how knowing someone enhanced the experience of loving them. How something steeped in history made the love richer. And the history she has with Bea may be short, but it is rich. Bea knows all her secrets and now she knows all of Beaâs.
So, fucking kiss her, a voice like Maryâs demands.
And isnât Mary always telling her she has to listen better?
She only closes her eyes just before their lips touch. She wants to see Beaâs face and is rewarded with the fluttering of delicate eyelashes, the slight parting of Beaâs lips, the quiet hitch of her breath and the way her throat bobs as she tries to hold it back. Her hand slips to the back of Beaâs neck, pulling just until her top lip brushes Beaâs bottom one.
Her eyes slip closed as Beaâs bottom lip slips between hers and theyâre kissing. Theyâre kissing. Bea is warm and soft and still. She stays there, intent in the way her mouth clings to Beaâs. Iâm here. Iâm kissing you. Iâm choosing you. And youâre spectacular.
Bea shudders, her whole body coming alive, and she surges forward as Ava starts to pull away. The air goes out of her lungs and she tips backwards a little and she panics, unwilling to break apart now that Bea is kissing her back. But Beaâs hand goes past her, holding her up as she exhales against Avaâs mouth.
Theyâre so close together, their knees knocking. Beaâs mouth presses hot against hers, closed mouths clinging to each other. She canât believe it, canât believe theyâre finally kissing and Bea isnât running - sheâs closer as Avaâs shoulders fall back against the bed, Beaâs hand curled around her shoulder as she settles against Avaâs side. Her free hand has found the hem of Avaâs shirt and her knuckles are brushing against the sensitive skin above Avaâs navel, steady and warm.
Itâs Bea who takes the hesitant step forward, her lips parting just enough that Avaâs slide, and then Ava can feel Bea breathing as she kisses a little harder, mouths open against each other. Itâs Bea who takes a less hesitant step again, the tip of her tongue ghosting along Avaâs bottom lip.
Ava pulled down the last brick, but Bea was a roaring river behind the dam and she kisses like sheâs been uncorked. Her fingernails dig into the soft flesh beneath Avaâs shoulder, her knuckles press into Avaâs stomach, and she kisses with reckless abandon.
âBea,â Ava whispers between kisses. Sheâs never been one for religion but maybe sheâs been worshipping the wrong gods. Maybe this is who she should have been praying to all along.
Bea hums pleasantly against her mouth. Sheâs bolder now, kisses a little more frenzied. Ava understands. She tightens her hand at the base of Beaâs neck, pulls her closer. Her other hand slides down the flat of Beaâs stomach and curls around her hip bone, thumb stroking over the soft fabric of her sweatpants.
She thought kissing Bea would be amazing but she was wrong. Itâs life-altering. She can see everything shifting to accommodate the way Beaâs lips press, hot and open-mouthed, against her own. Sheâs going to be completely altered after this, her life now in two separate parts: Before Kissing Bea and After Kissing Bea.
Beaâs hum burns into a low moan as Avaâs fingers dig more insistently into the dip of her hip. Ava is addicted now. She kisses harder, body starting to move as she rolls, a leg going over Beaâs until sheâs bracketing Beaâs hips. She slides her mouth along Beaâs jaw to just below her ear, following the way Bea pants at the sensation of her teeth against smooth skin.
She needs to be closer. She needs nothing between them. She sits up, holding her weight as she works her fingers in her shirt and lifts it high and off her shoulders. She tosses it onto the corner, adding to the laundry pile, and sits above Bea in her bra with the flamingos on it, her chest heaving in anticipation.
Bea stares up at her, her face flushed and her lips bruised. Hesitant hands go to Avaâs waist, fingers flexing experimentally as they settle just above the hem of her shorts.
âHi,â Ava whispers.
Bea nods, the line of her throat bobbing. Ava watches as her eyes track down her body, shoulders down to the sliver of skin just above her shorts. It takes her a minute to look back up and meet Avaâs eyes.
âIs this-?â
âYes,â Bea interrupts. Her fingers feel purposeful now, like sheâs burning her fingerprints into Avaâs skin. âI⊠I want this.â
A niggling thought works its way into Avaâs mind. Just a breath of hesitation. âYouâre sure?â
Bea sits up, hands sliding to the small of her back. She blinks, eyes wide but focused. âAva, Iâve wanted this forâŠâ
âSo long,â Ava finishes.
âSo long.â Beaâs eyes flutter and she leans forward, mouth brushing over Avaâs collarbone. She feels her eyelashes against her throat. âAre you sure you want me?â
Me, she says unspoken. Me out of everyone else you could have.
Ava puts two strong fingers under Beaâs chin, lifts her face up until their eyes meet. Iâve never wanted anything more sounds too small. But itâs the only way she can think to say it. And when she does, Beaâs smile brightens the room.
Bea presses her lips to the pulse thudding in Avaâs neck, gentle teeth scraping against the skin. Ava breathes in sharply at the feeling of it, of Beaâs fingers working steadily up her back until theyâre hesitantly touching the clasp of Avaâs bra. Ava is brave enough for both of them. She reaches back and loosens it, the fabric falling away from her chest. She tosses that away too.
Ava hisses softly when Beaâs fingers skate up her stomach to cup her breast. Her hand is burning, and Ava pushes into it so she can feel herself on fire. It only grows hotter when Bea kisses her collarbone again, teeth a little more insistent as she makes her way down to her own hand.
Ava pulls at the bottom of Beaâs shirt, freeing it from where sheâs sitting on it, and pulls gracelessly until itâs over her head and somewhere by the door. She traces the lines of Beaâs navy bra until she finds the clasp and undoes it, flinging it away.
âIâm not going to make a joke about your boobs,â she whispers into Beaâs temple. Her tongue swirls over sensitive skin at Avaâs chest. âBut just know that I really want to.â
Bea lifts her head. âI appreciate your restraint.â
âSaint Ava, they call me,â she babbles. âPatron Saint of-â
Her words are swallowed up in a gasp as Bea presses a hand down purposefully down on her waist. It sends a shiver through her and pulls a little bit of a moan from the hollow of her throat, Beaâs eyes widening slightly in surprise.
Ava tucks some of the loose strands framing Beaâs face back behind her ear, cheeks just a little red. âBefore we⊠Before we do anything else, you need to know that Iâm not going to be normal about this. Like, at all.â
Bea walks two fingers up her side, using ribs like steps. She moves them across her chest, brushing against her nipple. Ava shivers again. âI donât know that Iâm much interested in normal,â she admits.
Ava arches into her touch. âIâd hope not, considering how much youâre into me.â
She pauses, breath caught in her lungs as she waits for Beaâs reaction. Bea looks up with wide, imploring eyes. She searches for something on Avaâs face, and Ava hopes beyond hope that she finds it.
Not because she needs Beaâs hand to keep doing what itâs doing. Not because she wants to slip her fingers beneath Beaâs waistband. Not because she wants to hover over Bea and nose down the long stretch of what sheâs sure is perfect skin from her chest to her belly button.
Because she wants all those things. But she also wants Bea to know sheâs safe. That itâs okay to want her. That Ava is going to be someone she can trust, that Ava wonât treat her like something thatâs going to break but will hold her gently regardless.
It feels big, to say that. But Bea is right there, a fingertip away, with her lips bruised and her hair starting to tangle around Avaâs fingers, and she thinks: Iâm never going to come back from this. Iâll never be the same. What she feels is undeniable and real, the most real thing she has ever known and she would never, ever want to go back, even if she could.
âI am,â Bea finally says, voice a breathless whisper.
âA lot?â Ava asks, a sliver of neediness in her words.
Bea nods, unblinking. âA lot, yes.â
Ava makes a show of breathing a sigh of relief, a relieved smile on her face. âWell, thatâs embarrassing for you.â
âAva.â
Ava buries her reply in a kiss, fingers curling around Beaâs shoulders as she slowly inches her backward onto the bed until Ava is a shadow hovering above her. She wonders what the hollow of Beaâs throat tastes like, and she smiles into the kiss as she realizes she doesnât need to ask. She breaks away from Beaâs mouth, kissing over the point of her chin and the underside of her jaw and down to the dip of her throat, teeth nipping at sensitive skin as Beaâs breath hitches. She can feel fingers flex at her waist and then tighten more purposefully.
Sensitive neck, she catalogs. She wants to make a list, grow it until she knows all of the places that cause Bea to make that breathless noise.
Beaâs fingers are insistent at her neck, drawing her back up until theyâre kissing, harder than they have before. Bea kisses with lips and teeth, her tongue soothing away the nips, while one hand works its way to Avaâs waistband, curling into the thick denim fabric of her jeans.
She would have been satisfied with some heavy making out. Her skin is already burning where Beaâs bare chest is pressed against hers. She can live with this. But Bea doesnât seem to be able to live with just this. Ava feels the back of her knuckles against her stomach as Bea pops the button of her jeans and works down the zipper. Itâs so loud in the silence.
Ava kisses her way down Beaâs throat again then goes lower, tongue leading the way as she flicks the tip of it over a pebbled nipple. There it is again, that breathless noise. The fingers at her waistband freeze, tighten around the denim, and then release. Avaâs hand goes to Beaâs other breast, and she feels it press into her palm as Bea arches her back slightly.
Ava dares to go lower, kissing over the swell of Beaâs breast and down to her navel. She slides back on Beaâs legs, her fingertips light against Beaâs skin above her hip bones.
âAva,â Bea breathes. She reaches down, hands reaching for Avaâs chin. Ava kisses the center of Beaâs palm as strong fingers curl around her jaw. âAva.â
She doesnât know what Beaâs trying to say, but she doesnât need to. She can feel the heat radiating off Bea, the anticipation. She hooks two fingers in the waistband of Beaâs study-sweatpants, the ones she wears on all-nighters where sheâs going to fall asleep sitting up, and starts to work them down a little as Beaâs hips lift off the bed.
She rests her forehead in the dip of Beaâs hip. Sheâs never believed in a God, but she does believe thereâs a higher power out in the cosmos, and theyâve suddenly found her worthy of this gift: Bea stretched out across the sea of her comforter with her eyes closed and her chin tipped into the air as her chest rises and falls with increasingly harder breathes and her hips arching just slightly until Ava feels her against her forehead.
Because shit, this is holy.
A hand snakes its way into her hair, blunt fingernails scratching against her scalp. She can feel them trembling slightly. Ava wants to feel the whole of Bea tremble. She kisses down as she pulls Beaâs sweats down until theyâre past the top of her thighs to her knees.
This feels like a moment they canât come back from. And looking up at Bea, at the way those dark eyes stare into hers and the hand in her hair tightens slightly, she doesnât want to come back from it. She wants to never, ever come back from this. She only wants what happens on past this moment.
She works Beaâs underwear down until theyâre on the floor with her sweatpants in a tangled heap, and she noses her way lower until itâs nothing but heat and something slick against her tongue. Bea keens, hips lifting high off the bed, and Ava presses down hard against them with flat palms, keeping Bea down in one place.
The hand tightens in her hair, Beaâs knees tighten around her shoulders, trapping her in this crystalline moment. She rolls into it, tongue working more steadily as she feels Beaâs hips start to roll in response. She dips lower and soars higher, an unknown melody working into her mind and guiding her as Bea lets a sigh loosen from her throat.
Her hand climbs until she feels Beaâs breast against her palm, and she works her fingers over sensitive skin. Beaâs hand traps hers in place, palm burning. She can feel Beaâs legs start to tremble, and she licks a little more precisely, a little more purposefully.
She swirls, she drives forward and pulls away. She finds a rhythm until Beaâs whole body starts to tighten into an invisible line, pulled taut by an some unseen string. Ava doesnât stop, even as Beaâs legs tighten around her. Even as that hand in her hair pulls a little harder. Even as Beaâs breathing swells into a hard pant and she lets out a strangled cry of Avaâs name.
She doesnât stop until Beaâs body melts into loose muscles, until Beaâs hand goes slack in her hair. Everything is hot against her skin. Her tongue eases away, laving up and over Beaâs hip to her navel and charting a slow course to the center of her chest until sheâs back at the hollow of Beaâs throat, teeth nipping as she feels Beaâs chest rise and fall rapidly against her own.
Bea draws another ragged breath, a hand up over her red face.
Ava pulls it away and kisses Bea hard, their mouths sliding together. Beaâs fingers curl around her throat, holding her in place when Ava tries to pull away. A tongue dips behind her teeth. Bea inhales sharply, stealing the air from Avaâs lungs.
Bea, still panting softly, hooks a leg under her and twists, rolling until Ava is on her back, and Bea is hovering over her, eyes dark and flashing.
The air punches its way out of Avaâs throat. If sheâs cataloging the things that turn her on, this has just gone to the top of the list, right after the way Bea tastes and the feeling of her mouth sliding against hers.
âBea.â Her voice is strangled and warped between them.
But Bea doesnât answer her. She works her fingers purposefully down Avaâs front, sliding beneath her waistband without fanfare, without hesitation. Avaâs legs part with a half-breath, the other part of it stuck in her throat.
Then itâs nothing but an overwhelming sensation and the soft sound of Bea panting in her ear as Ava feels the world start to tighten around her. Beaâs breath is replaced by a white static, and thereâs a fullness in her that she knows sheâs going to be chasing for a while. Her hips lift and fall, a rhythm she knows without having to think about it. She rides it out, settles into it like sheâs known it all her life and then-
And then-
Then sheâs soaring, hips off the bed and her whole body shaking as she tries to focus on the rhythm again, the whole dance gone from her mind as itâs replaced by fireworks exploding, one after another. She can feel Beaâs hand on her, in her, and nothing else. Sheâs disconnected from reality except for where Bea is touching her. Floating weightlessly in an in-between where nothing but this feeling and Bea, hot against her side, exist.
She crashes back down, the world slamming back into her head as her legs clench, Beaâs hand between them. Strong fingers slide away and stroke across her thighs before they go up and curl around her side. Her breath comes hard, her pulse pounding in her head. She squeezes her eyes tightly, afraid to open them and see that the whole world has been turned upside down.
She wouldnât care if it was, is the problem. She wouldnât care if she suddenly found herself light years away where there was no oxygen in the solar system. As long as Bea is next to her, she doesnât care.
She opens her eyes slowly and turns her head, finding Bea looking back at her with liquid pools for eyes.
âHi,â she breathes, the word sticking in her throat.
Bea smiles softly. âHi.â
âThat wasâŠâ She inhales raggedly. âItâs never been like that.â
Because Iâve never been in love, she doesnât say out loud.
Bea is biting on her bottom lip, eyes searching Avaâs face. âMe either,â she finally says.
Ava hums, content and boneless. âWe are so doing that again. Soon,â she promises. âWhen I can feel my legs, itâs over for you.â
Bea laughs a little. âOkay, Ava.â
Ava lets her eyes close again and when she opens them, Bea is still looking at her. It doesnât unsettle her. She lets Bea drink her in, and she lets her own eyes follow the lithe line of Beaâs body.
âBoobs,â Ava sighs. She curls one hand around Beaâs breast, no intention in the movement.
Bea wiggles around as if it tickles slightly, but she just settles more tightly against Avaâs side.
âIâm going to be insufferable,â she warns.
âSo I can expect more jokes about my boobs.â Bea walks two fingers up her side and across her chest, pressing over where her heart is. âWhat else?â
Ava inhales shakily. âAnything else you want.â
âAnything?â
âAnything,â she promises. âWhenever you want. Iâll be a court jester for you, babe.â
Beaâs face pinkens at the name, but she holds Avaâs gaze for another moment before she rests her head between Avaâs shoulder and neck. âI do find you marginally funny,â she admits lightly.
Ava grins, the smile lazy. âSee? You need to tell more people how funny I am. Mary doesnât believe it.â
The blush doesnât fall from Beaâs face. âPlease donât talk about Mary while weâre naked.â
âWhy not? Sheâll think itâs hilarious.â But Ava stretches her neck and kisses Beaâs temple. âBut okay. Just this time.â
âI appreciate it,â Bea murmurs. Itâs familiar, the exasperation, but itâs tinted with this whole new feeling. A new depth. âAva?â
âHmmm,â Ava hums, sleep pressing against her body.
âI can tell you later.â Fingers brush hair off her damp forehead. âClose your eyes for a little bit.â
âJust a little,â she agrees. âAnd then Iâm making you stir fry.â
Warm lips press against the hollow of her throat, humming an okay against her skin. Bea settles against her side as a warm and welcome weight.
She doesnât remember falling asleep, but she knows she goes quietly and calmly, and that Bea is still there, still pressed against her side, molded to her like she was never meant to be anywhere else.
-
She wakes up to the smell of paint. Her eyes take a minute to adjust to the light in the corner but she pushes up on her elbow, the comforter over her sliding down to her waist. She blinks as Bea comes into focus.
âYouâre painting?â
Bea turns. Sheâs barefoot, in her underwear again, and one of Avaâs cropped t-shirts that has a white cat in red shadows and Iâm not cute Iâm purr evil written on it. It hangs a little higher on her and Ava can see the swell of her breasts through it.
Sheâs the most beautiful woman Ava has ever seen.
And sheâs blushing. âI didnât want to wake you.â
Ava sits up more fully, stretching her arms above her head. She watches, a slightly smirk on her face, as Beaâs eyes drop to her chest. But she doesnât push. Thereâs time to tease Bea about staring at her boobs. All the time in the world, really.
âHow long was I asleep?â She looks at the wall. Bea has nearly finished the whole thing.
âNot long.â Bea puts the paint can down on the stool, balancing the paintbrush on the edge of it. âBut you lookedâŠâ
âLike a dead fish?â Sheâs aware of the way she sleeps, limbs thrown about and head rolling back. Years of being unable to move makes it so she never stops now, even sleeping.
âPeaceful,â Bea finishes. Sheâs hesitating, torn between wanting to do something and worrying about doing it.
So, Ava takes the lead, leaning in until sheâs kissing Bea. She feels Bea sigh into it and knows it was the right move, that itâs what Bea wanted to do. She wants Bea to know she can do this whenever she wants. Bea kisses back almost instantly, sliding into an already-familiar rhythm.
She pulls away, a smile on her face. âHi.â
Bea is a little breathless when she says hi back.
âI thought we werenât painting.â
Bea looks back at the wall, most of it covered already. âYou were right. About leaving our mark on this place. Someone needs to know we were here.â
âIf we ever move out.â
Bea smiles. âIf we ever move out.â
Ava pulls her legs up under her and Beaâs hand into her lap. âThe only place I plan on moving is into your room. Or you can move in here, since weâre already decorating.â
âOh?â Bea says. Her voice seems tight, like sheâs holding something back.
A wiggle of doubt worms its way into her mind. âI mean, if you want to. No pressure. Iâm more than happy to stay here and we can pretend like-â
âI donât want to pretend,â Bea interrupts. She seems surprised by the firmness in her words and she sucks in her lips for a second before she shakes her head. âI wasnât sure if you- I know you just kissed me but maybe that was you letting me down and-â
âBea.â Ava waits until Beaâs mouth snaps closed. âI donât want to pretend. Iâve been waiting months to kiss you, and unless you tell me otherwise, I plan on kissing you at least a hundred times a day.â
Some of the tension drains from Beaâs shoulders. âA hundred.â
âGive or take another hundred.â Ava grins. âOne kiss for every time Iâve thought about kissing you the last seven months. Spread out, of course. Otherwise weâd probably be stuck in this apartment for days, just kissing.â She narrows her eyes playfully. âThat might not be the worst thing to happen, though.â
âIâd miss finals,â Bea points out.
âDo you really need to pass them? Arenât you teaching the classes at this point?â
Bea rolls her eyes, fond and exasperated. âAva.â
âBea.â She rolls her eyes back. âFine. If you wonât lock yourself away to make out with me for days on end, what else are you willing to offer me?â
Bea is quiet for a long moment, her hand twisting in Avaâs as she thinks of something. Ava can see it pressing against her teeth, can practically feel the tension of whatever Bea wants to say radiating off her and lighting up the whole room. Ava waits it out patiently, knowing that whatever Bea has to say will be worth it.
She stays still. She waits. Bea has a way of bringing out all of the things in her that no one else has bothered to look for before. And after another minute, Bea looks up.
âMe.â
Avaâs heart clenches in her chest. âYou.â
âIâm willing to offer me. Just⊠me. If youâre willing to accept.â
Ava turns Beaâs hand over in hers and presses two fingers to the thudding bundle of nerves at the base of her wrist. Bea looks down at where they meet and her eyes stay locked there for a moment while Ava watches her.
âIf you think thereâs anything just about you, then you donât know the Beatrice I know,â Ava finally says. âBecause Iâve never thought there was anything just about you. You always leave the light on for me. And you never make me do the dishes alone. And you donât mind mushrooms on your pizza. You keep soda in the apartment and you always vacuum when Iâm not home.â
A funny smile graces Beaâs face. âI think that makes me good for you.â
âThe best,â she agrees. Her smile softens. âIâve never thought thereâs anything just about you. Youâre incredibly kind, trustworthy. Youâre humble - maybe too humble,â she jokes. âAnd considerate. And insanely intelligent. Hilarious. My best friend.â She pauses. âAnd Iâm pretty sure youâre the love of my life.â
Bea inhales sharply.
âI know thatâs, like, a lot. And I donât need you to say it back, because Iâm not trying to pressure you. But saying it all has lifted some kind of weight off my chest. Like, I didnât know I was suffocating under not saying anything but I guess that I was,â she babbles. âBut honestly, you donât need to-â
âAva,â Bea says patiently. She waits until Ava snaps her mouth shut and mimes zipping it closed. âMy parentsâŠâ
âIâll kill them,â Ava says cheerfully, looking guilty when Beaâs eyes cut to her. She closes her mouth again.
âMy parents made me believe that love had to be earned. That if I wanted it, I had to work for it.â She takes a breath, astonishingly steady. âBut youâve never done that. Youâve never made me work for it. Youâve just⊠given it. Itâs who you are.â
Avaâs smile wavers a little. âBecause you donât need to deserve love.â
âI didnât know that before you.â Bea shakes her head. âIâve had to unlearn a lot of things since meeting you. Like that. Like how to not be afraid. Like how to eat pizza. All these things that were so ingrained in who I was that I didnât think Iâd ever know anything different.â She reaches up and cups Avaâs cheek. âYou changed all of that for me.â
She thinks Bea is saying I love you. She thinks Bea is saying Youâre the love of my life, too.
And then Bea, spectacular Bea, looks into her eyes and says exactly that. âI love you. Iâve loved you since you spilled tea on my very important notes, and Iâve fallen in love with you every day since.â
Ava feels relief flood through her like a dam breaking. âThatâs good. Thatâs really, really good. Because it would be embarrassing to be sitting here naked telling you how much I love you if youâre not going to say it back.â
Bea shakes her head but sheâs smiling. âAva.â
âBeatrice.â Ava curls a finger under Beaâs chin and beckons her forehead. She kisses her slowly and sweetly before she pulls back. âKiss one of a hundred today.â
A blush spreads across Beaâs face. âYouâre not really going to count, are you?â
âIâm going to keep a tally, thatâs how serious I am.â She kisses Bea again. âNumber two.â
Bae rolls her eyes and when Ava kisses her a third time, she opens her mouth, tongue brushing Avaâs bottom lip. It leaves her breathless when Bea pulls back.
âIf I knew getting you in my room would have ended up like this, I would have tried a lot harder,â she says, eyes still closed.
Beaâs lips press against her cheek, then under her eye. âI wasnât ready for that,â Bea whispers against her skin.
Ava doesnât open her eyes. âI know you werenât.â
Beaâs forehead rests against hers. âI am now.â
âItâs okay if youâre not. I wonât stop loving you.â
Beaâs breath ghosts across her mouth. âI am. Iâve never been ready for anything more in my life.â
âNot even your finals? Because youâre really ready for those, even if you think you arenât.â She feels Bea start to argue more than she sees it, eyes still closed. âIâve never met anyone who studies as much as you study. Seriously, youâre a beast when it comes to notecards and colored highlighters and-â
She does stop this time as Beaâs lips press against her. She hums, sinking into it. âOh,â she says when Bea ebbs away. She finally opens her eyes.
Bea is smiling, beautiful and wide. âMore than my finals. If only because Iâm still not convinced of Theclaâs real contribution to modern religions.â
âI donât know who Thecla is, but sheâs never been less relevant to my interests right now.â Ava twists a strand of Beaâs hair, resting on her cheek, around her finger. âShe could be Jesusâ mother for all I care.â
âSheâs not-â
âI know sheâs not.â Ava grins. âBut I like the way you look when I say something wrong.â She presses her finger to the space between Beaâs eyes. âLike youâre not sure if you want to lecture me or kiss me. For the record, Iâm very much in favor of the second option.â
Beaâs lips pull up in a slight smile. âIâll keep that in mind.â
Ava breathes in deeply, letting the air fill her lungs as she stretches her arms over her head, noting the way Beaâs eyes follow the lift of her chest. She smiles to herself. Maybe Bea is a boob-girl. Sheâll have to weaponize that knowledge for later.Â
âI think I promised you stir fry.â
Bea opens her mouth to argue.
âAnd Iâm hungry,â Ava says over her. âAnd can be trusted with a knife. So, I will be making you stir fry, because itâs the one thing Iâm good at. And I want to impress you.â
Beaâs smile is fond, and Ava thinks back to the first time she saw it, how it was aimed at Camila and how she wished one day it would be a smile for her. And now here she is, Bea in her shirt and an I love you between them and a smile that is reserved just for her.
âSo let me make you stir fry and you can come sit and study some more. In my shirt. Which, by the way, is very sexy.â She winks.
Bea rolls her eyes. âMine was quite tangled up in the comforter, and this was just the most easily accessible.â
âYou have a bedroom about a hundred feet away,â Ava feels the need to point out. Beaâs eyes narrow and Ava grins. âBut for the record, I really like seeing you in it.â
Bea blushes a little but stands and opens Avaâs drawer, pulling out a pair of underwear - Avaâs favorite, yellow with pineapples on them - and then a big t-shirt she stole from Mary that has a pug with a pair of aviators on printed across the front. She hands them to Ava.
âNo pants?â she asks as she pushes the comforter down and wriggles into her underwear. She pulls the t-shirt on, huffing her hair out of her face.
âNo pants,â Bea says simply.
Oh. Okay. She grins and stands up, curling her hands around Beaâs waist and pulling her in. âThis is going to be so good. I know it.â
Bea smiles, swaying slightly with her when Ava starts to go back and forth on her feet. âI know it too.â She presses her lips to Avaâs forehead and speaks against it. âThank you, Ava,â she breathes.
Ava frowns. âFor what?â
Bea pulls back and tucks a strand of Avaâs hair back behind her ear. âFor waiting for me to be ready.â
âOf course I waited. I love you,â she says easily.
Beaâs smile widens. âI know.â
Ava beams back at her, feeling like everything has slotted into place so neatly. She never wants this moment to break, never wants it to go away. She wants to remain forever in this room with Bea in her arms and the rest of the world somewhere else doing whatever it is theyâre doing. All that matters is this moment, these kisses between them, the possibility of what the next moment brings.
She canât wait.
#THE WAIT IS OVERRRRRRR!!!!!!#sirens going off#warrior nun#forever roommates#guys this took so long i am so sorry but i hope it's worth it#rated m for mature audiences kids#there was so much to this that i didn't even know where to start but eventually we got there#everyone say thank you kay thank you kay#GUYS GUYS there is one more piece to this and it will be compleeeete#elmofire.gif#okay please like this i'm needy and hungover#i got tickets to noah kahan and i feel INVINCIBLE!
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This all comes from @dilatorywriting âs work please go check them out theyâre awesome! I wanted to make something for their 4k special so I made a request and made up my mind to draw most of it.
#fanart for dilatorywriting#twisted wonderland#my art#digital illustration#digital art#digital drawing#twst fanart#twst x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#leona x reader#leona kingscholar#disney twisted wonderland#did you know that I choose to draw the same mc type as I did with the previous work#yep theyâre the same person I like the idea that people will always find each other#i just started college this year so this took me forever to finish sorry about that hope itâs not too much of an issue that its#checks watch almost 2 months late?!#I know it gets overcrowded but I felt it was a disservice to get rid of the dialogue pieces#i recommend going to their page and reading the fic first#its in the 100 prompts section and as of now its the only leona one#anyways i hope this was worth your viewing time thank you#Sorry if thereâs any spelling issues#also I was gonna draw a wedding scene from that one anonâs ask but I thought I couldnât do it justice
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Would you want to pull that Shanks has separation anxiety hc back out from under the bed and maybe perhaps share it with the rest of us? Tbh I LIVE for the head canons you share!!
You are so sweet!!!! đđđ I'm sorry I've been sitting on this one for several days now, I wanted to be at least sort of clear-headed to answer it properly. Some of this is going under a readmore because I'm incapable of answering things concisely lmfao.
Edit: for anyone watching out there this post is riddled with spoilers so read at your own risk.
**
I think about Shanks and all of his sublimated feelings and fears and dreams so much it makes me so crazy and sad lmfao. Focusing in on the fears part though like...abandonment and loss have been really central themes in his life.
He was found in a locked treasure chest - seemingly abandoned by his biological family (which in the end, good, because if they are who we think they are they suck anyway).
He spends his childhood aboard the LITERAL ship of dreams, two of the most prolific men of that era are his father figures, he has this incredibly close relationship with Buggy, he is soaring on the wings of this burgeoning era, where the only limits he has are what his imagination and talent allow him to be capable of...and then it all just stops.
The family that he knows sails away to the end of their journey without him because he opts to stay behind with Buggy when he gets sick, and nothing is ever the same or right again. Roger sickens, Rayleigh's mind begins to fray. The crew disbands. Everyone disappears.
Roger allows himself to go to the gallows, and on the way there he lays the future of their world on the shoulders of a grieving 14 year old boy, who has to now learn what it means to be utterly alone in a world that has not only branded him enemy, but whose governing structures are fully aware of his power and the danger his talent and proximity to Roger entail.
The only person he had there with him, Buggy, runs out on him - for reasons that were understandable, but could have been avoided by words neither of them had the emotional maturity to express, especially not in the moment of such anguish and grief.
He eventually finds people, good people, new friends and comrades, people he can trust, but even then he is having separation and its cost modeled for him in the form of Yasopp and his son, and eventually in the form of a tenacious, lovable little boy named Luffy, who loves so fiercely and is very clearly terrified of the prospect of being left, of being alone. A fear Shanks resonates with deeply. A pain he knows he will eventually have to inflict on this little boy.
There's a lot of meta around that Shanks had no faith or interest in Luffy until he ate the gum-gum fruit and didn't think he had any potential to be a pirate, but I think that's a really shallow, kind of willfully ignorant take on it. Shanks himself found a home at sea as a boisterous naive child, and the RHP more than have the capability of looking after a child with a penchant for trouble...but that's how he lost his world, too.
Leaving Luffy behind hurt him, but he left him with connection, an emotionally valuable memento, and to Shanks' awareness he was leaving him with a stable support system firmly in place. There are no guarantees in this life, but he's learned through personal experience that not even the Pirate King can grant you assurance that your family at sea will survive.
ALL that to be said that I think one of Shanks' deepest, most untended hurts is loss, the loss of family, of friends, of love, and because that wound has gone unaddressed--and because he went from lost 14 year old boy to Captain to Yonko in such quick succession, and there doesn't tend to be a lot of emotional support for mythic figures of authority--it manifests as separation anxiety.
Individual members of the RHP are rarely seen off on their own, with the exception of Benn going off to rescue Luffy that one time. They all move around together.
When people leave, Shanks keeps tabs on them, when danger arises, he does his best to be two steps ahead of it. I genuinely think there's a part of him that whispers "you'll never see them again" any time someone he cares about walks out of a room, or leaves the ship a little before him. There's a reason, I think, that he's always shown to be the last person to board the ship, why he's always ushering people on ahead of him 50 times before he goes up.
With a lover, I think it would manifest tenfold, I think that's partially why he's so clingy and touchy-feely and cuddly (aside from just being literally the sweetest man alive), because to have that sort of connection means he reached out of the imposed avoidance of his own desires to really bring someone in close, and I think that kind of loss, or the perception of the possibility of that kind of loss, would devastate him in a way he wouldn't recover from.
So he holds your hand everywhere you go, shadows you through rooms, presses you close to his side when you're out at bars, and worries, just a little bit, every time you get up to go to the galley or have to take night watch without him.
Because what if it all falls apart again. What if you disappear. What if the crew disappears. Just like what happened before.
I hope this makes sense and was coherent, I just have a feeling or two about him, ya know?
#av answers#ask#forever-a-night-owl#OP#meta#Shanks#seriously thank you for wanting to know and caring at all about my thoughts#sorry this took so long and sorry it IS so long I just wanted to give it like#the diligence it was due#<333#OP spoilers#Wano spoilers#spoilers
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Chef greg delivery just for you. it's a wonder I hadn't bearified him yet, he's my fave greg too đȘ
gays literally only want one thing (to be chopped up and eaten by a depressed man) and it's fucking disgusting
#kabukeo#something to bear in mind#other's art#limbus company#project moon#lcb gregor#r.b. sous chef gregor#namesake#i'm sorry for doing a haha funny joke reply i just like#i spent like ten minutes pacing around my house when i saw this in my inbox i'm not exaggerating#thank you for my life i love him so bad#do i need a gift art tag now i just like. i don't even know what to say#i haven't even made any actual proper posts yet i just made a silly blog i feel like i haven't done anything to earn this#to stop myself from blubbering i'm just going to respond to the tags on your rb#no problem for providing details again i think about this grown ass fucking man too god damn much but it's not a problem.#problems are only problems if you call them a problem. it's not a problem.#thank you for seeing the vision on rhino geg.#since kjh refuses to release him that just means that we can continue to acknowledge this as true and canon and there's nothing he can do#[ignore that he has a cameo in a card in game no he doesn't]#to me rosespanner is like. very much the type of guy that when you're crushing on him you try to talk to him#and then you get him to start talking about stuff he's interested in#and then before long you end up agreeing to watch something you don't care for in the slightest#solely for the purpose of having something in common to talk with him about#meanwhile he doesn't pick up on you trying to flirt with him like at all#anyway i could go on about how badly i need hex nail gregor for both bear reasons and thematic Actual reasons#but i'm pretty sure i'm about to hit the tag limit. so i'll just say thank you again for the cannibal i will treasure him forever and alway#it took me like thirty minutes to type this all out after i sat down to actually do it because i kept getting embarrassed lmao#offerings to beargregor#< gift art tag#that's it. thank you for my life once again. keep fighting the good fight soldier. we'll get this to be common fanon one day. trust.
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Thank you so much! @ghu-leh and @cardi-c for tagging me đ„čđ€
find out who you are: !!!!
create your look: !!!!
Tagging: @delullu @stuffikindalike @copias-juicebox @togetherasone @awildjonesyappears @writingjourney @copias-sewer-rat (only if you want to, of course! đ) and whoever else wants to join in.
#they didnât have my blue hair so i chose red hehehe#thank you so much for considering me!#this was super fun đ€#and i'm sorry it took me forever!#now i feel like watching the shinning again lol#tag game
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đ 300 Followers Celebratory CC Free Sim Dump!! đ
I can't believe the blog has made it to over 300 followers!! đ± Thank you all so much for following and being so incredibly supportive. It really means the world to me. đ„°
I know I haven't been around very much but I promise that this is the beginning of me posting more again! So stay tuned for the return of the Horse Ranch series and my upcoming For Rent series that will probably be getting teased more soon... đ
With that out of the way, here are the sims!
The theme for this was chosen via poll and I had so much fun seeing what everyone picked! I don't know why I was so surprised that "families" won because I wasn't sure what I expected to win đ
All four of these families are cc free (if it says cc in the gallery I swear there's no cc! I haven't figured out the culprit but it still says they have cc in my gallery so idk đ€·ââïž) and all have set careers, clubs, skills, and dynamics! Hopefully they all turned out good đ
Enjoy! đ
Full Sim Dump [Google Drive]
[Profile photos, brief descriptions, and individual household download links are all under the cut!]
Household 1 - The Li-Suwan Family
After quitting her job after the birth of their first child, Ying was hoping to go back into the work force, but with two new babies and her mother around, that's near impossible! Meanwhile, Min is in her rebellious phase, feeling like the whole world is against her, except for her grandmother. Erik is struggling to make friends and Kenny is the golden child but feels his crown slipping a way with the new babies in the house.
Li-Suwan Family Download Link [Google Drive]
Household 2 - The Hawley Family
Husbands Grant and Will have completely devotd themselves to the raising of their three kids, but with their oldests attending college classes their parenting roles are beginning to dwindle. Kamryn has given her all to school while Kayson enjoys a more laid back experience, frequenting the campus parties. Youngest, Hallie, dreams of being an actress but for now enjoys her childhood with family dog.
Hawley Family Download Link [Google Drive]
Household 3 - The Whitaker-Perez Family
Sloane and Karla have been waiting forever to adopt a child, and finally after all their years of waiting young Zane has entered their home! An energetic, rambunctious kid, Zane isn't quite sure what to make of his new mothers, one a quirky school teacher and the other a serious and professional doctor, but he's hoping that they'll all get used to their new family dynamic⊠However long that could take.
Whitaker-Perez Family Download Link [Google Drive]
Household 4 - The Barretts
Jayda Barrett is planning on going places. She's climbing up the corporate ladder, slowly but surely, with big dreams of becoming a huge executive or CEO, a position that brings in the big simoleons. Jayda is a single mom to an imaginative and horse loving toddler, Myla, who roams the house going on grand adventures with their cat, Carrot, already developing big dreams of her own.
Barrett Household Download Link [Google Drive]
#these took my *so long* I'm so sorry!!#the poll was forever ago now#but i kept forgetting things and having to reset the links#i have a better system now tho lol#this sim dump is really exposing that my standard relationship dynamic is: đ§đ#i'll have to work on shaking it up next time#đ#the hawleys are the result of a bunch of reading bastardtrait and servesgrilledcheese#anyone else find that reading a lot of someone's blog tends to influence their sims?#because i swear you can tell what blogs i'm into at *any* time#based on my sims#đ€Ł#alright *last thing*#the first family is my favorite just because they're the result of me randomly wanting to make an eight sim household#with infants#and i put a lot of thought into the family dynamics#okay that's it#thank you again so much for 300 followers!!!!!!!#â€ïž#sim dump#sims#sims 4#sims 4 screenshots#sim download#sims 4 download#ts4#ts4 download#ts4 screenshots#follower gift#long post
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rusty roundup (pls pls pls click for quality)
design credits, left to right:
@honey-dont / @commander-spaceboy /@tabooiart / me! / @animatronathon / @nauticaltrainofthe80s / @green-planets
two more rusties + a starlight rusty under the cut! check them out!
design credits, left to right:
@captainmvf / @savs-avvy / me!
#i'm v sorry if your rusty ended up under the cut it's cuz the full layout looked really rough no matter how i arranged or cropped it :I#too many tiny faces on too big a canvas etc etc made them really tiny and indiscernible#thank you to everyone who allowed me to draw their designssss#this was such a fun project#rusty the steam engine#it took mmmmm maybe 8-10 hours to color total on top of however many hours of sketching and then lining#maybe 15-20 in total#but it was fun and very relaxing actually! i really enjoy working on other people's designs#if you zoom in and check out the actual details i will love you forever and ever#starlight express#stex#stex fanart#starlight express fanart#stex rusty#rusty stex#starex#starex fanart#art or whatever#i'm never drawing this many men again in a row#also i'm fucking sorry if this is the second time i ping you for this post. it's because tumblr sucks ass
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CHAPTER 8: History!
Finaly up! đ«
#honestly this took forever#im sorry for the waiting#thank you for your patience#sara loves sirius and remus#wolfstar fanart#fan comic#on webtoon#atyd fanart#all the young dudes#all the young dudes sirius pov#s/r#better late than never right?
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Congrats on 3k!! You deserve it sooo muchđ
If you have the time (and only if you have the time!) I would like to request a sort of a short bullet point fic. Or more so just your thoughts on the following: moving in with seventeen. Who is the one that labels every box? Who will live out of moving boxes for the next year. And yeah, just overall the vibes of new beginnings and promisesđ¶âđ«ïž
Pls only do write something if any of this inspires anything, if not pls don't feel burdened to write anyway!
I love your writing, so once again: congrats on the succesđ
seungcheol thinks it's one huge adventure. yes, he will be the person lifting the stupidly heavy boxes at the store. yes, he will make it a competition to build furniture as fast as possible (and race to take it all apart when you discover the desk legs are all different lengths because someone thought he could figure it out without the manual). even among the graveyard of boxes and bubble wrap and those huge styrofoam slabs he keeps chasing you with, seungcheol is happiest to lay with you on your bare, naked mattress (because he forgot to order sheets). he's planning what pictures of the two of you he wants to put on the walls. this is the first time he's owned a welcome mat and he's not even mad about it. it's all yours, together, and there's no bigger adventure than that.
his walk-in closet. bowls the perfect size for a portion of ramen, plus an egg. the lego taj mahal with two pieces missing that he insists will turn up sometime. these are some of the things jeonghan's not sure he can bring to your new apartment. it's not that he doesn't want to move in with you--he just doesn't know if he can. hell, you kissed him for the first time on the tiny futon in his living room, and he just learned it's too small for your new place. it's not until he watches you, later that day, play jenga with the toiletries on his bathroom counter because there's never been enough space for the two of you, that he realizes maybe it isn't such a bad thing to try something new. he imagines leaning you against a new sink, with that carrara marble you've been talking about, and he might even say he's looking forward to it.
you don't think there's a day you haven't seen joshua on zillow. look at my pinterest board, he'd say, and you wouldn't have it in you to ask how the hell you're affording that couch or if you really need a salt lamp that badly. you've lost count of the times your thursday nights consisted of a: your favorite chinese takeout and b: watching celebrity architectural digest videos. but joshua can't help it--to him, there's really nothing that would make him happier than waking up next to you in a bed you picked together. now if it was a midcentury modern canopy bed? even better. he can't wait to use his fancy little espresso machine to make your morning latte and grab your coat from the rack you got from that shop in LA before he kisses you before you head off to work. but they're all just things (pretty, shiny ones, albeit)--more ways he can show you the love you deserve.
junhui loves a good open house. early on in your relationship, you would dress to the nines before pretending to shop for a mansion you could never afford. junhui would comment on the door handles and the crown molding like he was a property brother, and then you'd finish the night off making out in the mcdonald's drive-thru. things are a little different now that you actually can afford a home. what if you end up not liking it? will you get tired of the wallpaper? will the closet be big enough? but surprisingly, none of this seems to matter when you walk into the house. (what's on your mind? you ask him. n-nothing, he says.) but he's really thinking about feeding you in that kitchen and spending the morning looking out those bay windows. how beautiful you'll look greeting him from that front door. needless to say, he's sold.
you find soonyoung hiding in the kitchen at your housewarming party. just an hour earlier, he was dumping cans of sparkling water in the jungle juice to make it more "adult" (as if it would erase the fact that an entire bottle of everclear had already disappeared into the mix). the hour before that, he was cleaning like a madman despite there not being much to clean yet. he held the duster the wrong way and you think he got more windex on the ceiling than on the windows. darling, what's wrong? you ask. his little, drunken hands wrap around yours so he can bring them to his cheeks. i just realized this is all ours. like, all of it, he wails, teary, and you realize he is far too many drinks down. it's only after you've sent him to bed with a water and a kiss that you really think about what he said. the hardwood floors, the duvet, the misshapen tiger plushie on the couch, him--all ours.
wonwoo is not an easy person to live with. the first three things he unpacked were, in order, his table, his first monitor, then his second monitor. then he ruined your perfectly curated aesthetic with his neon red keyboard and a gaming chair that would make any interior designer cry. the final straw is when wonwoo manages to kill the one and only houseplant you have, the single thing holding your home decor together. but he's trying, he really is. he's bought a silly little throw blanket for your couch (aren't the tassels fun? he says, wiggling the fabric between his hands). his ugly lamp has been replaced by a strange glowing cat light and there's a sticker on his computer tower. he buys a succulent and you have a little naming ceremony in your kitchen. and it lives, against all odds!
jihoon doesn't know the difference between a chaise and a sectional. cherry and mahogany look the same to him. and god forbid you ask him to choose between terrazzo and subway tile because he really thinks both of them look good and, no, he's not just saying that to make your life harder. jihoon isn't good at the hgtv stuff, but he's happy to move all the boxes. it's only when he's unpacking said boxes that he finally gets it. (the vase that came with the first bouquet of flowers he bought you. the record player you got him for your first anniversary, now fingerprinted, well-loved. matching valentine's day teddy bears, worn and baby pink.) you're standing on a stool stacked on top of another stool trying to hang a poster, and this is what home looks like.
seokmin wants to live in the ikea showrooms. you can't blame him--sometimes, when there's nothing better to do, you'll spend your afternoon in a bedroom that's not yours. seokmin will try on the lumpy blazer from the closet, and you'll beckon him to your sprawling king size bed, the one sat next to the painted on windows and floating shelves. honey, come to dinner, you'd say. he'll peek over your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle, and you open the lid to a big, steaming pot of nothing. micke or lagkapten? you ask, completely unseriously. but he's thinking about it, really thinking about it. in his mind, he's building a home together, silly furniture piece by piece, counting down to the days when you really can agonize over plants and how many drawers you want in a desk.
when you got the keys to your new place, mingyu insisted you eat jajangmyeon to commemorate move-in day. unfortunately, he failed to account for the series of delays that led to you having absolutely no furniture to move in on said move-in day. but mingyu is nothing if not a man with a plan, so he runs to the store and buys the cheapest assortment of kitchen tools and ingredients for the world's most unlikely dinner. we really don't have to do this, you laugh, the backs of your legs cold on the kitchen counter. but i want to, he insists, holding out a spoon for you to taste. we have to christen the apartment. you eventually do christen it the right way (involving: lots of tongue, even more laughter), but you might prefer, just a tiny bit, the night you sat on the empty kitchen floor and fed mingyu out of a pan.
minghao has rearranged the living room four times now. every time you walk in, it feels like you've entered someone else's house. it doesn't look right, he says, hands on his hips like his life depended on it. you don't know how to tell him they all look right, every single version. in the first version, all cardboard furniture and plastic wrap, you gave up on deciphering the wifi setup and built a fort instead. the second involved an ottoman in the walkway, which you almost immediately stubbed your toe on (and laughed so hard you cried). in the third, the couch faced away from the adjoining room, and you accidentally spooked minghao so badly he almost broke his knitting needles. but it's all perfect, every iteration, because you're doing it together--a hypothesis he's more willing to believe when you shut him up with a kiss.
don't look now, but seungkwan is buying another doodad at your local sunday swap meet. it's a small painted figurine of a bear in a nightcap, which he simply points to and says that's me. you don't have it in you to mention the fact that you're currently unpacking his seemingly never-ending assortment of doodads and you couldn't possibly know where one more would go. it's only when you're getting ready for bed that you catch the little bear in the glow of the alarm clock light. there's already a turtle with a hat in the medicine cabinet (jeju, last summer). on top of the fridge, a woodcarving that says EAT. (tj maxx, 2 years ago. it still makes you laugh). even though you just moved, all these little seungkwan-isms make home a little more home.
you wouldn't call vernon a planner. his version of housewarming is watching you play the sims. but real life doesn't have nearly as much poolside drama or five story houses--just packing peanuts and 50 page appliance manuals. aren't boxes just drawers? vernon asked you one day. no, but that's how it always starts. two weeks after move-in, vernon cooks you breakfast with a pan procured from a cardboard box. by three weeks, you know the exact box everything is in. (you still haven't been able to find vernon's avril lavigne let go album, though.) it's only when you're eating dinner on top of the box that your dining table is in when you say, vernon, baby, i think we need to actually move in. he takes one look at you, who's wearing mismatched socks and his boxers because your shorts are underneath the tv box, and his smile nearly splits his cheeks. yeah, i think so too.
if you had asked chan what his dream house looked like, he would say it had a wraparound porch, a white picket fence, and a pool. your new apartment has none of those things. the length of your bedroom is a little more than one and a half times the length of his body and he's not even that tall. if he looks out the window he can see right into his neighbor's apartment (three cats and no bitches. almost like he's living next to wonwoo). and his feet stick out of the tub. but he's learning how to live in small spaces. he likes the squeeze of your bathroom, how you have to sit on the counter if you want to both brush your teeth together. he likes the bump of your elbows when you wash the dishes together. most of all, he likes falling asleep with you slotted to his side--even in your tiny bed, he wouldn't mind having you a little closer.
#sorry this took forever it got stupidly long#thank you for asking!!!!#ask#anon#mine#seventeen x you#seventeen fluff#seventeen imagines#svt fluff#svt imagines#seventeen scenarios#svt scenarios#svt x you#svt x reader#3k celebration
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top 5 from wasteland, baby!
anon woke up and said "let's make phoebe ponder for a solid 45 minutes!"
but seriously thank you for asking!!! always love a good reason to yap about hozier, ESPECIALLY wasteland, baby!
1. Movement. Movement my love my lifeline my all time favorite hozier song.
2. Shrike. Freaking beautiful song, quite possibly the best song about wanting to be a bird of all time.
3. No Plan. Catchy-ass chorus, incredible guitar, sexy lyrics; what more could one want?
4. Wasteland, Baby! Title track is definitely a song i had to come around too but when I came around to it I CAME AROUND. it is so utterly beautiful.
5. Nina Cried Power. it's such a powerful song, and one of his most important. plus, it's just an absolute banger.
honorable mentions include the entire album.
#number 1 wasteland baby enjoyer here!#anon thank you and im sorry it took me FOREVER to answer this#wasteland baby the love of my life#wasteland baby#hozier#man i love hozier#folkloreposting
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Happy birthday! I hope you like this little gift of sortsđđ
Blue, like blueberries. Little berries that you could roll around on your fingers, the juice within a gentle sweetness that lingered on your tongue, long after the fruit itself was eaten.
Much like Deuceâs touch, and how the warmth of his fingers seem to linger on your skin, even long after heâs let go. Not that he does that often. Deuceâs hand seems magnetically drawn to yours, with the way his fingers seem to slip ever so gently into your own, his thumb caressing the back of your palm softly.
Heâs not conscious of it, sometimes. When you point out the fact that both of you are holding hands, Deuce turns beet red, muttering about how he didnât mean to, but your hands are oh-so-soft⊠he canât let go, even if he wanted to.
Please let him continue holding your handâŠ
Red, red like strawberries. A tangy, tantalisingly sweet taste that seems to come alive on the very tip of your tongue. Flavours dancing in a passionate fervor, vying for your attention.
Much like Aceâs relentless teasing. The way he seems to have sly line after line spilling from his tongue, poking fun at you. Ace tries to be all so suave, sliding right next to you with a joke in hand, but as cool as he tries to be, Ace canât really stop the blush on his cheeks whenever you come close. Heâs hyper aware of your presence then, his heart rate going insane.
Canât you see the effect you have on him? Ace would literally do anything for you. Hell, you could tell him to run into the sea, and heâll do it, all his clothes on. Although heâll be a little sneaky about it. You see, he would do anything for you.
But he also wants to do everything with you.
So heâll drag you and Deuce together, running wildly into the incoming waves. Laughing as the sea breeze combs through all three of your hairs, while the salty caress of the sea washes over you three.
Hand in hand, facing the setting sun.
For as the sun sets, your hearts are still warm, flickering with the crimson flames of love.
The love you three have for each other.
OOOOOOYYGGH???? AAAHUYYIIIGGH?????????????? CERUUUUUU???? GHHCFFGAAAAAAA
#IM SORRY THIS TOOK 10 BILLION YEARS TO RESPOND BUT I FRFR HAD TO DO A DOUBLE TAKE BECAUSE#đ€Żđ€Żđ€Żđ€Żđ€Żđ€Żđ€Żđ€Żđ€Żđ€Żđ€Ż#SOBBING SHITTING CRYING?????#GLUEING MYSELF TO ADEUCE FOREVER!!! FOR LYFE!!!#ceru bday present#new tag i invented so rhat i can revisit this anytime TEEHEEE#THANK YOU SOSOSOSOOSSOOOO MUCHHHH THIS IS SO SWEET OF YOUYGHG đąđąđąđąđąđą#i answer stuff
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