#thank you lela.

[widowshill]

mother daughter chill time

[sugarspicenights]

#24 for Aki and #21 for Wolfwood 🥺😏

24. How loud is your f/o? Do they moan/whine/whimper? Do they curse? Do they call your name like it’s the only thing they know?

!! Aki is on the quieter side, just because he considers our intimate time together something private and special (and because Denji and Power are usually next door--unless we're at my place or a love hotel).

His moans. Are so pretty. So desperate. His voice is so deep and pretty and I don't stand a chance when he starts moaning into my shoulder.

He doesn't whimper a lot, but he desperately pants and moans. He'll quietly whisper "Ari" in the same way I'd say "Aki" and in the moment, at his peak, he'll let out a soft repeated "fuck." (I love him sm)

21. How does your f/o taste?

EHEHEH for kisses it's a blend of tobacco and cinnamon (I headcanon he has a habit of chewing cinnamon gum after cigs). He can't always find or afford actual cigarettes (according to Nightow) so sometimes it's just rolled paper xD

I don't think his cum has any big taste difference from normal. It is a desert planet, so it might be a little sweatier/muskier before showering 😬

[wolfnlamb]

The anon feature is fucked. Some people don’t know how to be nice and abuse it. Forever keeping it off.

[randombush3]

dies irae

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three

words: 12425 (sorry not sorry)

summary: part four, the part that made me realise another part was necessary

warnings: drugs, alcohol, cheating, (a lot of???) vomiting, general angst tbh

notes: in all honesty, i started this with the intention of finishing the series, but it hit 12k and i thought maybe not x

weird little comment, but the last section was originally written in spanish (hear me out: i was on the plane and i didn’t want the people beside me to read it over my shoulder) and i’m still feeling a little iffy about my translation of my og version but oh well!

i hope you enjoy this and are content w waiting another five years for me to churn out the new FINAL part

The sand is warm beneath your feet, each grain rubbing against your bare soles as you sprint. The ground under such surfaces often hardens, proven by the sweat trickling past the thin string of fabric that holds your bikini together. If the beach were not so private, you would be worried about wandering camera lenses. 

However, there is no one else here but your favourite people. Well, maybe Nico has dropped to the bottom of the list now that your energy has been worn down while his does not seem to waver. 

“I give up,” you pant as he continues to tumble down the shoreline, changing his tactics and swerving into the water, comfortable in his sea. The same sea he looks at each morning from your bedroom window. The one he learnt to swim in. (That and a variety of hotel pools.) “You win, you win!” 

The small figure, around twenty metres away, comes to an abrupt halt, wobbling on little legs for a moment. Then he begins to run again, but this time towards the towels and constructed shade you had set up earlier. Unwillingly, you race him back to base camp. 

“He ganado,” he declares as he taps Alexia’s shining back as though she is the signpost signifying the finish line. Your hand caresses the divots of muscle soon after, brushing sand across smooth, tanned skin. Nico peers at you strangely, but understands, thanks to Tia Alba, that the beach outfits are special to his mothers. 

“Mi ganador,” comes a tired murmur of praise. 

“Did you see, Mami? I was so far ahead.” She nods, craning her neck upwards to talk to him. You gladly sprawl out on the vacant towel, passing on the baton to your wife, fortunate that Elena has been asleep in her buggy for the past twenty minutes. “Can I play with Lela now? Is nap time over?” 

“No, sweetheart, naptime has just begun.” He looks up at you with pleading, bored eyes. The one unfortunate consequence of going to a private beach is that, unless you bring along your babysitter, there is no one else for Nico to play with. Alexia and you are both exhausted, and today is supposed to be about relaxation. Three-year-olds don’t understand that concept. “If you don’t want to sleep, how about burying Mami?” 

“In the sand?” 

“Sí, in the sand.” 

He leans close to your ear. “Mami says I’m not allowed to do that,” he whispers, though he has not quite mastered the volume of such a tone yet. Alexia pretends not to be listening, but you can feel her foot prodding your shin in protest. 

“Rules are sometimes made to be broken,” you tell him. “And if you do bury her, the only way to make her happy again is to get ice-cream. Which means you can also get ice-cream.” 

“You are so annoying,” grumbles Alexia. 

“This morning, I believe the word you used was ‘sexy’,” you retort. With the Euros on the horizon, it seems that the two of you are using up what little time you have to spend together. Though Alexia sometimes feels like there are hands wrapped around her neck after she failed to win the Champions League once more, she is more than happy to take advantage of the time off before she tries to make amends internationally. 

“Mm. You are magically both.” 

You tug your sunglasses – Prada, brand-new from a modelling campaign – down slightly, so that they sit lower on your nose. The sun is warm and doing its best to wear Nico down as he finds his discarded spade and begins to dig, and Elena is still fast asleep.

A mischievous grin forms on your lips, one that Alexia knows well. Topless, she flips over onto her back, excusing herself with a muttered comment about an ‘even tan’, and that is invitation enough for you to cup her cheek, your touch as fiery as the surface of the sun that blankets the beach. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair as you lower yourself down to her level. 

“The phrase is ‘annoyingly sexy’ in English, darling,” you murmur, your eyes locked onto hers. Even now, after six years, the proximity ignites desire over every inch of your skin, and you cannot wait to kiss. Alexia’s initial grumble turns into a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something more. Impatiently, you kiss her, aware that the moment will soon be ruined by a spray of sand as Nico pursues his mission. 

She is just as eager to kiss you back, craving the way you seem to hold the solution to every problem. Part of Alexia’s mind has not yet been able to comprehend the way in which you love her. It is hidden by the other, much larger compartment: the one that reminds her every day that she should never, ever tell you, because it would break your heart. To you, Alexia is making up for lost time. To her, she is secretly begging for forgiveness that you don’t even know she is due. 

She knows the minute your phone rings that everything is about to go wrong. No one is supposed to call you today; you have been emphatic about it. You blindly reach for the ringing device, ready to lob it into the ocean, but Alexia grabs your wrist. “It must be something important,” she says, and it feels like she is telling you she understands; you are busy, and she understands. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” With a quick jog up the steps and onto the concrete of the promenade, you perch on the stone wall separating the beach from the carpark, bare feet swinging over the edge. The rough surface of the wall presses uncomfortably into the exposed flesh of your bum, but you remind yourself that you will soon be lying back down on the beach towels. “Hi? I thought we agreed that pretty much everything could wait until tomorrow. I don’t care about any photos taken of me, and you know that my automatic position is simply to ensure that the children’s faces are blurred out before they get spread around.” 

“Y/n!” Your publicist sounds nervous. It’s a stressful job, you guess. Between organising interviews and brand deals and the like, she has to stamp down on unwanted rumours and be on the look-out for any perceived cracks in your very public person. Naturally, you are not perfect. 

“Yeah, I’m here. Hi.” 

“I’m afraid that it’s not a picture of you this time.” Alexia is now famous in her own right, as she always should have been. With a Ballon d’Or under her belt, you have been promoted to a ‘celebrity couple’.

“She has her own team, you know.” 

“I’m sure she will be firing them soon.” The joke fails to land, instead crashing and burning and… You freeze. 

“Why?”

“I am sure that you are aware we have feelers out for anything that could potentially harm your reputation.” You nod foolishly, caught up in the undisclosed severity of the phone call, forgetting that she cannot see you. “An hour ago, we were contacted by a photographer; one of the usual ones we get in when you’re in need of a bit of a press-boost. He’s based in Barcelona, has lots of friends in the area and such. I have the terrible job of telling you.”

Your heart quickens as the confession hangs in the air, leaving a heavy silence on the other end of the line. The anticipation builds, and you can almost feel the impending storm swirling just off the coast, waves beginning to thrash against rocks, nature beginning to tear the world down. 

“He claims to have some photos, ones that could potentially damage your image,” she says, tone measured and professional. “I haven’t seen them yet, but he described them as… intimate, to say the least.” 

“Of Alexia?” you question carefully, forcing the words onto your tongue. “Intimate? What do you mean?”

“Well, they are of her and someone else. Someone who isn’t you.” 

“Who?” Dread sets in, and the wall is suddenly not the most uncomfortable thing about your position. You feel too exposed, unsafe in what you are wearing. Taken advantage of, perhaps. 

Cheated. 

“I have not seen the photos yet, babe. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He would have attached them in his email. Paparazzos don’t have time to harass you digitally as well as in real-life. She must have avoided opening them. Or. Or she is lying.

“I need to see those pictures,” you assert, your need for clarity driving the sentence forwards. 

“Are you sure?” You nod again, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, knowing that she cannot see you but feeling helpless to do anything else. She takes your silence as confirmation. There is a brief click of a mouse, and the animated swoosh of an email. “They should come through in a moment.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Are you… alright?” 

She quickly takes the hint from the lack of response and hangs up. 

You rest your phone on your thigh as your arms grip onto the ledge of the wall, pulling yourself backwards so that you do not fling yourself off it. You shake as you reach safety, and your fingers feel numb as they tap the screen, accessing your emails robotically until a pinwheel is all that separates you from the photos. 

Intimate, huh. 

They are practically snogging. 

There are eleven images, and each one delivers a blow more painful than the last. 

The beach feels confined, like an elaborate cage that you cannot escape. The shoreline creeps towards you, and you seem to be pressed against the hot metal of the car in the carpark. You struggle to recognise the scenes captured as ones where you were present, and the unfortunate date in the bottom right-hand corner evidences the photos as a time when you were not in Barcelona at all: 2021. 

The realisation hits hard and you find that everything you have ever believed to be true has simply been a cruel joke that you were excluded from.

What you have been sent is more than just proof; it is a betrayal etched in pixels, an undeniable record of a moment that shatters the foundation of your relationship. Your heart races as your scroll through the images, cruelly reminded of a reality you desperately wish were not true. One you had no idea existed. One that had been kept secret from you. 

The lump in your throat grows, and your eyes blur with unshed tears. You are overwhelmed by sharp pain coursing through your veins, and it is as if you have been injected with a poison that burns through your cell tissue, disintegrating every block of your body. It scorches the things you know to be true. 

Love goes up in flames before your eyes. 

And then a voice that you really do not want to hear speaks, and, just like that, the ashes of what has disappeared are suddenly ablaze once more. 

“Nico y yo vamos a tomar helado. ¿Quieres algo?” Sandals, sunglasses, a loose linen shirt. Nico holds her hand, proud of himself. You cannot bear to look at either of them, so you stare at the towels a few metres beneath you. 

“Where is Lena?” 

“Dormida, aún.” 

Shaking, you stand up, enjoying the sharp rocks that pierce into your skin, reminding you that you are yet to die. “Take Nico. I’ll go back down and sit with her.” 

“Vale. Te quiero.” 

You don’t reply. You wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. 

Every step feels as though the world is cracking open and you are going to fall to your death, yet, in the midst of the impending doom, you feel as calm as can be. Numb, perhaps. 

Elena stirs as you adjust the parasol providing her the necessary shade. A hand reaches out, prepared to grab onto you, searching for your body like you are her lifeline. You are her lifeline; you are her mother. And so is Alexia. 

A tear rolls down your cheek as you let her pull your fingers to her mouth, nails brushing her lips as she whines with the headache of waking up from a nap. “What are we going to do?” 

…

The car journey home is silent on your part. You stew in your nothingness, unwilling to engage in the light conversation Alexia creates to keep Nico awake before his sleep schedule is ruined. Barcelona flashes past you, and the city that you once admired feels like the scene of a crime. Looking out the window is almost as sickening as if your eyes were to land on the woman beside you. Almost. 

You withhold your grief for the evening, going through the motions of nightly chores; putting the kids to bed, finishing the remainder of your packing, drying the dishes without throwing them at the blonde hair that sails past as she sorts her own suitcases out. A few texts are exchanged between you and your publicist, in which you graciously decide that those pictures will not come from you. Though if her team fails to catch them before they reach Twitter, that is not your problem.

Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp and the comforting blanket of darkness, you clear your throat. 

It has been six hours since you found out.

Every second that has passed has done so with excruciating pain, yet you cannot determine whether it has sunk in at all yet. You wonder if, given the chance, you would crumple into yourself and weep as though she has died. 

When you look at Alexia, readying herself for bed, you decide that the whole situation is laughable. 

You are so stupid. You thought she loved you more than that, and you were embarrassingly incorrect. 

“I want you to leave now,” you say firmly, only the bed between you. Alexia pauses, pyjama shorts halfway up her muscular legs as she peers at you curiously. Her confusion is infuriating. “I want you to… go to your mother’s or something. You’re not sleeping here.” 

“Why? What have I done?” 

She speaks as though this is a normal argument, or as though you are hormonal and unreasonable. You clench your fists and remind yourself not to wake the children up. “I am surprised you didn’t follow her to Mexico.”

It is then that Alexia Putellas realises three things. The first: she hasn’t spoken about Jenni since she left for Pachuca, and she barely pays attention when Nico persuades her to find the stream for the striker’s matches. The second: it has been six months since Jenni called whatever they were doing quits. And the third… the third is how well and truly fucked she is. 

She should have confessed her crime the minute she first slept with her; the night after they were knocked out of the World Cup. Elena wasn’t even a concept, then. You took her back though you were unaware you had ever lost her. 

Last year, when it was Alexia all alone, she should have confessed her second betrayal. A longer, more hurtful betrayal. Something fuelled by meaningfulness, not passion and heightened adrenaline. If she were in your position, the physicality would not be what obliterated her heart; the emotion behind the entire affair would. 

She wipes her eyes, aware that she has started to cry. It is all the confirmation you need. “I’m so sorry,” is the only thing she can think to say, but ‘sorry’ does not amount to the pain she knows she has caused. ‘Sorry’ won’t heal a wound that has cut deep, cut through years of love and happiness and supposed loyalty. ‘Sorry’ does not change the fact that Alexia lent herself to Jenni, let Jenni take her in any capacity she wished, and then returned to you as though it had never even happened. 

In all honesty, part of Alexia is very curious about how you have found her out. Mapi would not risk being caught up in such a storm, and Jenni would gain only suffering from telling you because she knows that Alexia would never choose her. Though she has spent night after night with her finger hovering over her sister’s contact, she resolved never to tell Alba either, for fear that her sister would see her for the monster she is and side with you. Selfishly, Alexia does not want anyone to side with you, but even she finds it easy to hate herself. 

“Is that all you can offer me?” you croak, and it is clear to Alexia that you are this calm because you are putting your children before yourself. They do not need to hear their parents’ marriage implode; not tonight, not ever. She cannot bear to meet your eyes as you pierce through her bowed head. “Alexia.” She pulls her shorts up fully, forehead parallel to the floor. “Alexia!” you snap. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. 

Alexia Putellas is regarded by most as intimidating, yet, here, she is anything but. She is meek. Pathetic. 

She is a woman who continued to make a stupid mistake although she was given so many opportunities to fix it. 

And, when Alexia finally grows the balls to look into your piercing eyes, she sees, reflected in your hardened, dark pupils, weakness and idiocy, rimmed with the most stinging of betrayals. It kills her to see you fight your own tears, and it is worse when you have to break eye contact because you are afraid you will vomit if it goes on any longer. 

“You are packed, so you can leave tonight. Sort yourself out while I get the children up.” 

Everything is ruined because of her. 

It is the last night Alexia lives under the same roof as you. It is a horrible way to end a golden age, and the worst possible confirmation of the fleetingness of all things that exist. You hate the world, you hate Jennifer Hermoso, and you hate that you can’t bring yourself to hate your wife. 

Alexia says goodbye to a sleepy Nico and a clingy Elena. Your daughter refuses to let her mother go the minute she is passed to her, and all four of you try your best not to cry, whether it be from confusion, regret, or heartbreak. 

Nico, inquisitive as one is at his age, does not let the door open without questions. ‘Why now?’ is what causes Alexia to freeze, searching on your face for permission to have one more second with him. You cup the back of Elena’s head, fingers splaying out against her soft hair, soothing her back to sleep. And you nod. 

She crouches to his level, dwarfed by her suitcases. In her pocket, her phone buzzes; her taxi has arrived. “¿Te acuerdas cuando te hablé sobre la responsabilidad? Soy la capitana, cariño, y tengo que cuidar a mi equipo, así que ‘ahora’ es lo mejor para ellas.” You are grateful for the lie. 

“¿Ahora yo mando? ¿Como me dijiste?” 

“Sí. Tienes que cuidar a Mama y Lela, y protegerlas como yo os protejo a vosotros. Y nos veremos prontito, petit. Te lo prometo.”

He is fighting his tears, stiff like a toy soldier marching off to an imaginary battle. You half expect Nico to salute with his chubby, unpractised fingers, but he simply stands there, between Alexia and you. Though Elena is safe in your arms, Nico is caught in the crossfire, two feet innocently leading him into no man’s land. 

You take a deep breath as Alexia closes the door behind her. She has been driven out – her own doing – and she knows, because she knows you, that there will be no space in your life for her until your gaping wound dulls in pain. The journey to her mother’s house is the second time she ever considers killing herself, with the first being the night her father died. 

But this is how it goes. 

You fly to England the next day, holding it together until Elena and Nico are safely in the hands of Anya, but you do not give her a reason for her much-needed babysitting abilities.

It is a small secret. You keep it because on top of being in agony, you are so fucking embarrassed. You. You got cheated on. You weren’t enough for her. (And Jenni was?) It’s really easy to pretend you’re stressed for Alexia, knowing she is heading into a tournament that Spain could win but won’t. 

The first official step you take – the very first – is with a nanny. You meet her the day after landing at London Stansted, and she seems to be the perfect choice for the interim period of your life that you have unexpectedly entered; she speaks Spanish, she is discreet, and she reassures you that she is there to enhance family life, not destroy it. And possibly another alluring factor: she is quick to sign an NDA and promise that no photos of your children will make it into any dogshit magazine. 

Her first interaction with your children is two hours before your lunch with your publicist, manager, producer, and lawyer. They have agreed to congregate – they have seen the pictures (an exclusive peek, as the deliciously world-destroying surprise photoshoot has not yet been picked up by anyone with ganas to publish it). Each one has a purpose, each one wants to profit off your heartbreak, and, though they’d never admit it for fear of breaking their hard exteriors, each invitee would also like to see if you’re okay. 

“Do you… like her?” you sheepishly ask your son while Isabela, the nanny, supervises Elena’s lunch. You’re not entirely sure your daughter understands that the hummus is supposed to go into her mouth, not redecorate the highchair table from white to beige, but Isabela does her best to instruct her, the familiar tinkle of Alexia’s language making your daughter’s eyes light up.  

He looks a little puzzled. “Is she a babysitter?” 

“Sort of.” You sigh, “it’s just that I have a lot to do, and Mami is playing football now. Isabela is going to help us, but I want to make sure that you want that.” 

Nico shrugs. “Don’t care.” 

“And she’s going to speak in Spanish, just like Mami does.” In anticipation of a worse reaction, you wince at the slight insinuation that you’re replacing Alexia. He doesn’t pick up on it. 

“She sounds funny.” 

“That’s because she’s from Colombia,” you answer him, and he nods, storing that information for later. Probably for when Alexia calls to speak to him (a moment you are dreading). 

“Is Colombia near Mexico?” He perks up; you know what’s coming next. “Does Isabela know Jenni?” 

You have to remind yourself that Nico has not done anything wrong. The fault of the mother is not the son’s, and, briefly, you pray he has inherited your fidelity for the sake of his future partners. 

You pretend that the name that just fell from his lips does not fill you with the overwhelming urge to strangle someone. And, calmly, you reply, “probably not, but you can always ask her.” 

…

Alexia does not know what to do. 

She wishes, she really does, that someone would pass her a clock… and she knows she has trained and worked hard enough to wrestle the hands of time back a year and change her decisions in every situation. Alas, that is impossible. 

She tells Mapi, as the team touches down in England, what has happened. The defender is unimpressed – angry, even, at her best friend – but nothing warrants what is to come. 

The morning feels eerily normal. Breakfast is difficult, especially when all Alexia can think while she eats is that every morsel in her mouth fuels the monster she has become. Every bite, every sip of coffee, leads her to live another day. She is not particularly certain that she deserves that. 

Mapi does not look at her, swerves her request to be partners when training begins. Head down, eyes slowly filling with tears, Alexia takes the punishment. She says nothing when Pina pinches her side, “Patri’s being annoying”, and drags her into the drill. 

She runs, she passes the ball, Pina turns and shoots it into the mini-net. 

Pina runs, she passes the ball, Alexia turns. 

Something goes wrong. 

Maybe it is that the pitch is uneven, cut up from whoever had trained before. Maybe it’s the pass, slightly off-target. Maybe she is at that point in her menstrual cycle where the risk of injury is higher – that’s being looked into, isn’t it? 

Maybe it’s that her body can no longer stay so robust when everything else in her life is hurtling towards the ground in the most epic downhill slope possible. 

Maybe. 

The pop is unmistakable, and the pain searing. She can’t help the scream she lets out, barely registering whoever has rushed to her side while she presses her face into the dirt, tears watering the grass.

“I’ve done my ACL,” Alexia gasps, lifting her head up slightly. She catches sight of the blue sky, the green grass. The bright sun shining down on her, hot against her neck but nothing in comparison to the agony in her knee. 

She blinks, thinking her eyes are blurring from her tears. 

A second later, she is unconscious. 

When Alexia wakes up, she is glad to have passed out. She has no memory of being hauled off the pitch or brought into the medical room. Her head aches and her knee throbs, but she knows that there is someone beside her so she does her best to hold in the immediate wave of sobs that seem to take over her. 

A calloused hand reaches for hers, unclenching her fist, urging her to squeeze the pain away, pass off some of it to her companion. They have given her pain medication. She can tell because the white walls dance around her and the only word she can manage to get out is your name. 

She whispers it over and over again. 

“I know,” comes a soothing voice, poorly concealing the worry that cracks the tone. “Shh, I know, I know. You’re okay, Ale. She’s… she’s on her way.” 

…

The call is unexpected. 

Mapi never has much reason to talk to you on your own, unless you share a concern for your wife’s wellbeing. You suppose that’s a bit of a redundant commonality now. Your lawyers have drawn up a custody agreement and, upon meek request, divorce papers: a gift for after the Euros. 

“Dime, Mapi. Estoy trabajando,” you say curtly, signalling from inside the booth that the phone call is nothing to worry about and you can resume the recording session in a moment. 

Mapi’s news makes you even more resentful than you were already feeling, because you can’t help but sprint to your car the minute the address is given. 

…

Pain becomes part of everyday life.

Crutches, too. 

Alba and Eli already existed as frequent visitors, but the former increases her appearances so that she has moved in the day before Alexia’s surgery. 

It spills out, the night of the surgery, that Alexia and you are no longer together. That you left her, with good reason. It’s a surprise, considering you had stayed by her side during the twelve hours in England between the medical room, the hospital, and the airport. 

When Alexia reluctantly tells Alba why, Alba decides that you are a saint and her sister, a sinner. She holds her hands behind her back to keep herself from slapping Alexia across the face, but little does she know, Alexia longs for the anger, wishing she wasn’t being pitied for her injury. She wishes there was no injury to be pitied for, but, then again, she tells herself that she deserves it and accepts the agony as one would hold a blade to their wrists and slit them. 

This behaviour, this quiet ideology that she has been punished for her mistake, is what leads Alba to ensure the keys to the balcony are hidden and the kitchen knives are tucked away in a cupboard, out of sight. Or perhaps it is what she hears her sister telling herself in the mirror. Worthless. Degenerate. Evil, cruel, horrible. Selfish! 

She has two children with you, for God’s sake!

“I have ruined my own life.” Her words burn, the intensity of her anger enough to make Alba flinch, hands gripping the steering wheel harder, forcing her way forwards. The hospital comes into view and Alexia cries out in anguish. “I have ruined it, Alba! I have ruined everything!”

Alexia, The Ruiner. 

She bears the new name with something more than disappointment. She lets the nurses examine her knee, compliment Alba for her care-taking, and reassure her about the surgery. She lets them talk her through possible complications, secretly hoping one will occur and she will wither away; no longer a footballer, no longer a mother, no longer your wife. Just Alexia, The Ruiner. 

Alba and her argue, Alexia lying back in the cot, hospital gown patterned against clinically white sheets, light fabric against her paling skin. “You wanting to die is not you wanting to kill yourself. It’s your regret, and it’s your cowardice at not being able to face the consequences of your actions.” Alexia had been hot-headed enough to voice how she did not want to make it through the surgery. She is in excruciating pain, and is convinced they need to investigate it. “It’s your knee, not your heart. Your heart hurts because you cheated on her and she rightfully left you! Don’t you ever say something so fucking stupid again.” 

“Alba!” Eli’s entrance is neither good nor bad. “Alba, leave her.” Alexia’s tears run down the sides of her face, hitting the sheets like little bullets. The soft caress of her mother’s hand across her cheek is no comfort, and Alexia only sobs harder. “You are going to be fine, mi cielo. The surgery is going to go well and you will come back even stronger.” 

Alexia knows that, once you have torn your ACL, you are more likely to tear it again, so she mentally disputes her mother’s claim. She has no energy to voice the thought, however. 

“Mamá, she’s convinced she’s going to have a heart attack.” Alba points to her sister’s chest, as if to disagree by showing their mother that nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. They begin to argue, and Alexia watches her family implode, deeming herself once more, Alexia, The Ruiner. 

It’s not a heart attack, it turns out. She falls victim to a severe panic attack just as they begin to wheel her away. They increase her dosage of anaesthetic. 

Unfortunately, the next morning Alexia comes to after a successful surgery and remembers nothing. That is until she looks to her bedside and finds only her mother there (Alba having gone to the big, empty apartment to adjust it to her sister’s newly-disabled lifestyle). 

She relives the kisses Jenni used to press to her neck, the marks sucked into her skin though Jenni knew she was not hers to brand. She relives your expression when you told her you knew, the grimace you had worn, the way your eyes flicked to the ensuite as though you were going to throw up at any point. 

She hears her knee pop again, sees the trophy slip from her grasp, sees it float into the realm of possibility along with the Champions League cup. 

“You’re awake,” Eli says with surprise, offering a warm but sympathetic smile. She reaches out to touch Alexia, but Alexia jerks her body backwards, instantly regretting it when her knee begins to ache unbearably. “They said you’ll be in a lot of pain at first, but it will subside and, soon, you can start recovery. Your physiotherapist is going to visit in an hour or so, and I cannot count how many well-wishes you have received.” Weirdly, Eli thinks to herself, Jenni has said nothing. 

Alexia shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog in her mind. “Do the… Do the children know I am hurt?” 

“I believe so,” Eli replies with a nod. “Y/n broke the news to them, but we haven’t heard from her since you went into the operating theatre. I have no idea whether she’s going to come here. I assume she will.” 

“She won’t,” mutters Alexia, refusing to look at her mother.

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy. She’s your wife, of course she is going to come.” A dark storm brews in the cagey hospital room, but Eli remains an oblivious ray of sunshine. “I know you don’t want Nico and Lela to see you like this, but they miss you. They must have been so excited for the Euros!” 

All of it is the wrong thing to say. If Eli had known, she would have approached the uncertainty differently. 

If Alexia were not so angry at herself, so guilty, so destructive, she would have calmly explained that your absence is both warranted and understandable. 

Instead. 

Well, instead, this comes out of her: “She is not going to come because I had a fucking affair and she has left me and taken the children to fucking England where they are probably never going to be allowed to see me ever, and I will live out the rest of my days as a fucking coach because I am useless and I am never going to play football again!” 

Eli sits back in her chair, shocked. 

“What have you done?” 

Neither knows if it is a question or a damnation, but Alexia chooses to answer her mother regardless; “I have ruined everything, and now I am paying the price for it.” 

…

Your friends gloat a little bit, calling it Karma. Anya and Gio are first in disbelief, but they soon progress onto the stage of hatred – something you have not yet been able to access. 

For now, life feels as though it is on auto-pilot. Your children are happy and safe, your country is going to do well in the Euros, and time does not stop ticking no matter how hard you wish it would. 

Alexia’s surgery is successful. You see the update on Twitter, not wanting to contact Alba or Eli in case Alexia thinks you have forgiven her. You haven’t. Perhaps you never will. 

“There are two ways you can go about this,” Gio says with a smirk, holding out a thong to you as you stand in your bedroom in just a towel. “You’re hot and rich and famous… and now single, too.” You are not completely sure of that, but you nod, following along. You slip into the lace and then point to the England shirt folded on top of your pillow. It gets thrown at your face. “You can wallow in it and weep like a damsel in distress, giving her the satisfaction of breaking your heart…” 

“I don’t think she wanted to–” 

“She cheated on you,” Gio cuts you off bluntly. After a moment, your shoulders drop and you resign to hearing her plan. “As said earlier, hot, rich, famous… Babe, just get with someone else. Get with everyone else! Your babies are looked after 24/7 and this is London, my dear. The pond is really an ocean and you are a catch. As your bestest friend, I know what’s best for you. You’ve got an album coming out in September, a tour to hop on in November, and about three thousand dildos you can hop on after that!” 

You cringe. “Don’t be crass.” 

“Don’t be a prude.” She gestures to herself. “Look at me; Mia’s fine and healthy, doesn’t legally have to see her arsehole of a father, and I get a good shag every fortnight.” 

“No, I’ve drawn up the custody agreement already. I’ll go back to Barcelona when the school year starts, and we can swap every two weekends. But I’m keeping our home – she can find somewhere else to live, seeing as all of this is her fault.” 

“And the tour?” Gio asks as you pull on your England jersey and a pair of shorts. Good weather has blessed the start of the tournament, and you have been invited to the first match at Old Trafford by Manchester United themselves. Gio and Anya are coming, and you think they have put you in with a few of their players and executives. Your father has his own ticket, planning to meet you there and convince you to pay your grandmother a visit (she doesn’t like that you are lesbian and therefore you don’t like her). 

“I don’t know,” you sigh, “because I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to make the children’s lives even more unstable. Maybe it’s best to give them a few months to adjust to the idea of us not being together.” 

Gio hums in agreement, knowing she had it easy with her own co-parenting adjustment because her daughter was a baby with no recollection of her parents being a couple, much less in-love. “You’re a good mum.” She kisses your cheek and wraps you in a very needed hug. “You’ll get through this because you are stronger than a pathetic affair.”

You swear. 

“What time’s our train leaving?!” 

The match is a good one, and the atmosphere is enough to make you feel the slightest bit alive. Spain plays in two days, and though you have good reason to believe Alexia is going to be there, you are booking a family trip to Legoland to delay the first hand-off of many. 

England win with one goal to nil, courtesy of Beth Mead’s chip. You are on your feet, cheering the entire match. One of the United executives tells you that he loves your passion and asks you if you’d take his ticket to the post-match drinks as he wants to head home for a nap. You laugh, the old Mancunian reminding you of your father, and accept. It’s just the one ticket, so you bid Gio and Anya goodbye, book a hotel for the night (comfortable with the idea that Isabela has safe hands to care for your children), and give your father a valid reason to pass up on the visit to Didsbury. 

The only person at this event that you really know is Alessia Russo, after exchanging a few DMs last Christmas to wrangle a signed Manchester United jersey for Nico’s Christmas present (a gift Alexia had refused to say was from her as well). 

“No kids today?” she asks with a grin, pulling you into a friendly hug. 

“Didn’t manage to get them tickets,” you reply. “But now I get to drink, and you get to watch me and wish you weren’t on a nutrition plan.” 

She shakes her head. “We’ve actually been instructed to celebrate the wins. Sarina Wiegman says it’s a key part of tournament success.” You look around the room, noticing every Lioness here, hair still wet from the showers and donning team-issued tracksuits, has a can of beer in their hands. Jorge Vilda could never. “Glad to see you haven’t yet become a Spain and Barcelona fan. Feeling patriotic enough to be introduced to our captain?” 

Leah Williamson bears the same concentrated eyes gifted to Alexia; determination, victory, leadership. 

You’re unsure if you have ever formally met her, perhaps at the Brits once. “I go with Alex? Alex Scott,” she says, as though she is trying to impress you. She takes the briefest of looks down to your hands that hang near your waist with no glass to hold (the bar has cut you off for half an hour). 

You wear one ring. It is not the one with which Alexia promised you her total devotion, but it is from her all the same. An old gift – maybe from your first anniversary? 

Leah doesn’t ask whether you are still married. 

“I heard your son loves football?” He is obsessed with his mother, he wishes to follow her in every single thing she does. “You should bring him to our next match. I’ll get him one of those passes, and– Hey, you know what? I bet there’s a way I can get him a place as a mascot for one of the matches! Both our next ones are down south.” 

You smile. “Really?” 

“Yeah, course. He might be a bit young but I’m always glad to help out our little fans, and it might throw Spain off their game.” She winks, offering no further explanation, and is suddenly called away before you can request more information. 

You have to admit, the idea of Nico walking (toddling) out with England makes you feel both proud and satisfied. It will be a tiny jab towards Alexia, which, honestly, is a privilege considering how she has stabbed you in the back repeatedly with a machete. 

When your son’s first time on a proper football pitch is with Alessia Russo, holding her hand with wide eyes and a wider smile, you are sure Alexia has smashed the screen of whatever TV she has been studying her opponents with. 

…

Spain playing England in the quarter-final feels intensely political within your family. 

Alexia is in Brighton for the first time in her life, and she hates more than anything that she is not preparing herself for a match. She won’t be going through her pre-game rituals for another seven months, at least. 

You tell Isabela to take the children to Alexia’s hotel, unable to put yourself in front of the wheel. Your hands have not stopped shaking since your manager texted you a screenshot of their conversation (seeing as you refuse to talk to her, not for pettiness but for fear of breaking yourself in two), and Isabela poured you a glass of wine before she left to calm your nerves. 

You feel sick, and the toilet water turns red as your body rejects the rioja. Once you have wiped your mouth, you laugh at the notion that even Spanish wine is unwelcome inside of you. 

“Who are you?” Alexia demands as the revolving doors of the lobby reveal her two babies with a stranger. She is quick to remove Elena from the arms of this new woman, although she is disgruntled by how comfortable her daughter seems. One of her crutches falls to the ground, Alexia not having been able to master childcare and post-surgery impairments because she has not seen the children she is supposed to care for, but she does not find it in herself to care.

“Hola, Sra. Putellas. Encantada.” Isabela holds out her hand but Alexia does not shake it, jaw clenched at the way you have gotten a Spanish-speaking nanny as though to completely erase her babies’ Catalan accents and memory of their other mother! “Me contrataron para ayudar a Y/n con los niños. Me dijeron que usted se encargaría de ellos hoy.”

“Sí, lo estoy haciendo, porque son MIS hijos.” She looks at Nico, who has been hiding shyly behind his nanny’s leg, afraid of his mother’s fierceness. Alexia softens, hoping to welcome him into her embrace, but her stupid knee won’t bend and she can’t get onto his level. Isabela reaches out to help her, or to at least steady her so that she doesn’t drop the squirming toddler she is holding, but the help is unwanted and, quite frankly, embarrassing. 

Alexia’s frustration brings tears to her eyes. 

She quickly blinks them back. 

“¿Le gustaría que la ayudara, Sra. Putellas? Me han pagado por trabajar hoy, así que no es un proble–” 

“¡No!” Alexia snaps. Silently, she curses how condescending and petty you have become. Paying the nanny in advance to taunt her for her injuries! “No. Estaré bien. Soy su madre.”

“Por supuesto, pero también está herida.” Isabela looks around the lobby for a moment. “¿Está sola?” 

Alexia knows that Mapi’s parents are going to be arriving any minute now, kindly offering to help out with Nico and Elena. “Oh, we do not mind! We’d love for María to have children of her own,” they had said. 

“Soy perfectamente capaz de manejarlo–” 

“Isabela,” Isabela supplies. 

“Isabela,” Alexia repeats. “Ahora, si ha terminado, vaya a disfrutar su día libre.” 

She waits on the sofa just left of the door for Mapi’s parents, silently begging them to arrive as soon as possible. Nico is bored and would like to run around, upset that Alexia denies him his fun whenever he whines to play. Elena is tired, grumpily napping in Alexia’s lap, but that means she can’t position her knee the way the surgeons had asked her to. Isabela hadn’t meant to, but she had dumped two rucksacks of toys, snacks, and clothes onto Alexia, who still hasn’t been able to retrieve her crutch from the floor. 

Close to tears and very overwhelmed, the arrival of the couple comes as a great relief. “Oh, you poor thing,” coos Mapi’s mother, a caring woman from whom her friend inherited the same quality. She kisses Alexia’s forehead and instantly takes the weight from her lap, hushing the soft whimpers Elena lets out. “Let us look after the babies. You make sure you have the tickets sorted. Have you taken your pain medication? Oh, let me take care of it for you.” 

The fuss is something she has had to get used to, but she is thankful for the assistance. They wrestle Nico into his red Spain jersey, something he was not delivered in, and they ensure all three of their wards are comfortable before the stadium appears in the windshield of the taxi. 

Alexia begins to get nervous. 

Spain has more talent than England – always has – but they don’t have the same funding nor support. Their manager is a dickhead and the federation corrupt, and Alexia’s teammates suffer daily in a way no Lioness would be able to comprehend. She fears for their reputation, for their progression. 

Her nerves increase when she sees you in the stands, in your own box of course. It seems that you see her too, but your only acknowledgement of her presence is the wave you give to your children. Alexia has to remind them sharply in Catalan that they are Spanish. 

Afterwards, when Spain lost and Alexia is blaming herself for the defeat, you walk through the tunnel, following Leah’s directions that she had sent over text. You’d added her to your contacts yesterday, growing tired of Instagram DMs.

The odd thing about this area is that to your left, nothing is heard and the air hangs its head in shame, but to your right, a nation celebrates its victory. Sadly, you know you have to fetch your children from the Spain changing room before you say goodbye to the English heroines. 

You knock on the door, politely. You have never been more glad that a player has not been selected for a squad. Jenni has missed the Euros due to injury, much like her partner-in-crime. 

A solemn Ona Batlle, a Manchester United player who serves as a bridge between worlds in your household, opens the door, making no attempt to force a smile when she sees that it is you. You are (were) their captain’s wife; you are like family. 

“Hi,” you breathe, not wanting to be the one to pierce through the silence. 

Ona stands to one side and you pass. 

Most of the girls are tearful, sniffling into their jerseys, heads in their hands, but no one is as distraught as Mapi. Her sobs take the fun out of winning, her devastation crushing and contagious and impossibly hard to ignore. She buries her face into Alexia’s shoulder, but it does nothing to muffle her cries. 

You gulp, catching hazel eyes, understanding the plea to not make this feel worse. 

You are heartbroken, and so is Mapi. For different reasons, yes, but both organs are shattered in the same way. 

Alexia mutters something very quietly, secretly wishing Mapi does not let her go because this is the first time the defender has actually spoken to her since Alexia did what she did, but the blonde hair stops itching her face soon enough. 

Rooted to the spot, you search the room for two smaller Spaniards, finding them both taking after Alexia, comforting the players. 

“Nico, Lela, come on,” you croak, finding tears in your own eyes. “Say bye-bye to Mami.” 

Their hugs and kisses are missed the moment Alexia leaves the country, and the absence of them makes Alexia crumble completely when she finds the letter from your lawyer that Alba has been hiding from her. 

…

September rolls around with school, the start of your custody agreement, and the release of your new album. 

Judgement Day. 

For many, it confirms the split from your wife. Those pictures were never picked up by a magazine, so you have had them deleted with a baseless threat to sue for defamation.

Alexia no longer has to communicate with you through one of your employees, but any texts exchanged are few and far between. She tells you that she is renting a flat near the training centre. It has three bedrooms, but Nico and Elena share one because her mother is living with her while she recovers from her ACL. She also partially tore her meniscus, though she had hesitated to pass that news on, but everything seems to be in order and she is ahead of schedule.

You reluctantly text her whenever you leave the country, whether that is because you are flying to London for work (and to visit Leah, who you are now good friends with) or because a club opening has called and you have answered. It’s not as messy as the media makes it seem, but you agree with the articles that say you seem to drink as though it is what keeps you alive. The word ‘addict’ gets thrown around, but you are sitting in an armchair in front of your therapist before that escalates, if not for yourself then for the sake of your children. 

They themselves do not understand. Nico frequently asks when Alexia will come home, though he has usually just visited her when this question pops out, and Elena throws big tantrums during the swaps. Those are done at a neutral location: the park near you. You hope the playground takes the edge off the palpable tension between you and Alexia as you sit on opposite sides of the same bench, exchanging brief updates about your shared duty until whoever is a mother for the next two weekends makes up an excuse to go. 

Just before Christmas, once you have calculated that it’s technically Alexia’s turn with their children until January, you go on your biggest night-out since the days when all you were was a 2010s pop star in a girl-group. With no one to go home to and an empty house in Highgate awaiting your return, you get the closest to sleeping with someone else since before meeting Alexia. Her lips trail down your neck, the white powder on her nose rubbing onto your skin as she presses herself into you. You grope her body desperately, painfully dissatisfied by the bones and creamy skin your hands find. You are used to muscle, to strength, to power. 

Not some anorexic model who calls you a MILF and hasn’t had a sober day in years. 

In the end, you don’t end up sleeping with her, but it makes the headlines nonetheless. Your publicist lets them. “The world needs to see you move on, even if you aren’t,” she says. Your slight disagreement is not voiced, and social media explodes with further confirmation that you are single. A group of football fans are quick to attack you, calling you cruel for leaving Alexia when she is injured, but the thousand-person army doesn’t particularly bother you. You are doing your ex a favour by not opening up about the reason for the split, and you are both aware of that. 

You spend Christmas with your parents, who are not pleased to have you moping about their house. Your father tells you that success is the best revenge. You tell him that your album has topped the charts in December, winning its battle against Christmas music. 

“But that hasn’t mended a broken heart,” he is unkind enough to point out. “And neither will models, drugs, or alcohol.” 

At this point in the day, you have made it through a bottle and a half of wine and a pack of Marlboro Golds. Voice hoarse from smoking and sobbing the entirety of Christmas Eve, you tell him to “fuck off” and call a taxi for yourself. 

You don’t remember the destination you had typed in, but you end up at Leah Williamson’s house. 

Leah is home, having returned from Milton Keynes half an hour ago, and is not really surprised by the state you are in. She supposes that she has gotten to know you well enough to realise that you are far from stable. This is the first time the English captain has seen you heartbroken, but she is unsure whether it will be the last. 

…

Your tour commences the following month, with January being a fresh start to a new year. You tell Leah, who invites you out with her on NYE, that this year you won't be cheated on. It is not the comment that makes her laugh, but rather the way it slurs out of your mouth.

Barcelona feels suffocating when you arrive at the park to say goodbye to Nico and Elena. You’ll be in the States for the entire month and maybe some of February. Alexia is sure it will be fine, especially since the team has taken it upon themselves to look after the two children and help where they can. Additionally, Alexia is growing closer to one of her friends, Olga, who loves children and wanted to be a teacher before she decided on something much cooler. 

Alexia has the courtesy to send Mapi and Ingrid in her place, knowing that you do not want to talk to her. You haven’t yet heard her explanation, but that does not matter. Nothing excuses what she did, and nothing will. (And with Jenni, who is no longer the godmother to Elena, the title being revoked instantly.)

“Will you miss us?” Nico asks as you kiss his soft hair, hugging him tightly. “Mami said that we have to swap every three findes so why no now?” 

“Why not now?” you gently correct him. “Because I have to work. I’m going to sing in front of lots and lots of people and, maybe, write some new songs!” Your attempt to excite him crashes and burns, but you are not going to give up. “This is a secret so you can’t tell anyone, but some really, really special people want to make songs with me.” 

“Who?” he pouts. 

“Well, one of Mami’s favourites, Karol G. She is very nice, and she told me she has an idea for a collaboration.” Petty, yes, but also a career move. Nico’s innocence and lack of understanding about the meaning of separation means that he sees your plans as a very nice gift for Alexia.  “And, let me think. Ooh, Bad Bunny – you know him, don’t you? I’m sure Pina or Patri or–” 

He pulls away from your embrace, taking a step back. “Sí,” he says, sounding exactly like Alexia, “but to Mami, she no like because he says rude things.” 

“Adults are allowed to say rude things,” you reply with a cheeky smile, winking at him. “Your mami says rude things all the time, but not in front of you.” 

“Really?” 

“Yep, but you’ll have to ask her about that.” 

Alexia has hobbled through the nighttime routines, aided by Olga, who has halved the job by picking Elena and Nico up from nursery and school and watching them until Alexia’s day at the training ground had ended. Her and Olga haven’t kissed yet, but Alba has advised her sister to be quick about it if she ever intends to. Alexia is not sure she does want that, because your absence has only made how much she loves you (and how much she fucked up) even more obvious.

Their beds are on opposite sides of the room, which is technically the master bedroom – only fair, Alexia thinks, because they are having to share here but not when staying with you – and Elena is fast asleep by the time Nico is tired of the bedtime stories he has relentlessly requested. She brushes off the slight sting of his dismissal of her acting and helps him settle underneath the covers. 

As usual, she presses a kiss to both cheeks and the tip of his nose, and tells him to have nice dreams and a good rest. The weekend starts tomorrow, which means he gets to join Alexia at the training centre and sit in on the sessions. Alexia is slightly jealous because she is still stuck in the gym, but as long as he is entertained, she will get over it.

“Mami, how long is a month?” asks Nico, voice small and groggy and… is that a hint of an accent? Maybe the two and a half months of Isabela’s Spanish has affected him. She will look into it. 

He tugs on her jumper when she spaces out. “Sorry,” Alexia whispers. “A month is thirty days. Maybe you need to pay attention at school.” She pokes his cheek playfully, and he giggles. 

“I do pay attention, I do. Thirty days is long.” 

Alexia dreams of the football pitch, of the grass she has been promised she will play on before April. “It can be very long,” comes her agreement, picturing where in her recovery she will be come February. “It can also be very short.” 

“I miss Mama.” 

His statement, unbeknownst to him, is uncomfortably relatable. 

“Thirty days will be very short. You’ll see her again soon, and, you know what? She made me promise to give you goodnight kisses from her every night! She is going to send them to me from America, and I’ll pass them onto you.” 

“Really?” 

“Sí,” says Alexia with pursed lips, raising her eyebrows to invite him to doubt her. He looks up at her with adoration, as if her word is law. She can only be thankful that you are merciful enough to have not turned her own children against her. You have expressed your wish to keep them from being collateral damage, and Alexia respects you for that. 

“Mama said that she makes songs in LA with Karol G!” 

Then again, there are other ways to be petty.

…

Touring has always exhausted you. Eat, sleep, travel, sing, in varying orders; the schedule grows repetitive and tight after the first week.

After the first show in LA, you bring a blurry face to your hotel room. You kiss her, you can’t bear to do anything more, and you let her sleep off her drugs in your bed while you take the sofa in your suite. 

High on adrenaline half the time and utterly knocked-out when not, you zombie your way through the travelling, grouchily rehearsing new songs on the road, signing merchandise for your screaming fans. You get asked about your private life in a few interviews initially, but the journalists soon learn that the topic is to be avoided if they wish for you to talk to them at all. 

The headlines continue to tear apart images captured of you at clubs, and magazines never seem to find the pictures of you with your children when you visit them while you make your way around Europe. 

There comes a point where you look at a woman and she becomes, in the eyes of the media, your latest plaything. 

Alexia is seething by the time your two-night show in Barcelona rolls around. 

One day, when Nico and Elena understand the concepts of affairs and heartbreak, they will see the articles written about their mothers; the hate Alexia gets, the times she has been called a whore by fans of the same sport she devotes her life to, the stark inequality between her and her male counterparts. With these horrors of the world, they’ll see the pictures of you, pupils blown out, eyes red. Women clinging onto you that perhaps faintly resemble Alexia. 

Because Alexia knows you, because she loves you, she can see that what has been labelled your ‘slay’ era is really fuelled by devastation. A disaster that she caused. It riddles her with guilt, but she doesn't know how to expel that emotion from her head without reverting to the early days of her loneliness where she ate nothing and made her sister seriously worry whether she was going to find her bleeding out in the bathtub one day. And so, with a lack of command over such a strong feeling, she decides to rage. She is furious with your irresponsibility. 

“Where should we eat?” your guitarist asks with a grin as you touchdown in Barcelona. The soft murmur of Spanish and Catalan is unexpectedly comforting, the familiarity grounding. Maybe Barcelona has become your home. Maybe it never stopped being that, because home is where the heart is and, frustratingly, yours still belongs to the woman who tore it out of your chest and didn’t even have the guts to tell you about it. 

“I can’t,” you reply quickly, wiping the sweat from travel off your brow with the sleeve of your turtleneck. “I promised my son I’d tuck him in while I’m in the country, and my daughter has been drawing at nursery so I’d like to collect some of the pictures and see if I can get them blown up onto canvases.” 

Laughing, your crew make their way off the jet. “You know, most celebrities would pay thousands for abstract art but you get yours from a toddler.” 

“She’s talented.” Mapi draws with her, you’ve been told. Elena is what makes Ingrid yearn for a ring to appear in their relationship sooner rather than later. “And take the piss all you want, but if you had had to put my kids through what I have, you’d feel the same.” 

The sofa in the Putellas household (the apartment no longer inhabited by Eli, who was very glad to escape the intense atmosphere as soon as Alexia was cleared to live by herself) houses three unsettled humans of varying sizes. The biggest, Alexia, shifts on the soft, new cushions, awaiting your arrival with gulps of brewing tears and the latest set of paparazzi photos of you fresh in her mind. The boy, Nico, practically vibrates with excitement, promising himself that he will drag out this bedtime as long as possible to make up for all the others you have missed. The smallest is upset because she hasn’t fallen asleep yet, kept awake by her older brother who shakes her whenever she starts to drift off, hastily scolding her with a ‘no, Lela! Mama is coming home’. 

With no key to this flat, you are forced to be buzzed up. 

The anticipation builds. Nico and Alexia try to remember what you smell like, testing themselves to see if they can recall it scent for scent. Have you changed your shampoo? Alexia wonders, Do you still use the same moisturiser?

“Hi, my darlings!” you squeal as the door flies open and Nico comes hurtling into your crouched form, closely followed by his unsteady little sister. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” You squeeze them as though you are never going to let go, and only release them from the hug when Elena begins to whine, adrenaline rush dying and tiredness overcoming her once more. 

“Mama, home,” Nico says with an inaccurate finality. You spare Alexia a glance as he pulls you through the bare walls and grey decor until you reach a door with stickers up and down the white-washed wood. “Mami made me change, but you can read! Lela wants this one.” He rumages through the box of books near the children’s whiteboard (on it, the odd x’s and o’s of football tactics), pulling out a few to stack into his own pile before thrusting something you recognise very well. 

“Mami reads to us in English sometimes,” he says matter-of-factly, though Alexia silently curses him from where she is standing in the doorway. “Important to know.” 

You chuckle. “Mm, very important. How else would you talk to me?” Elena quietly crawls into your lap, happy to take over Nico’s bed, where you are sitting. You stroke her hair, holding her close. “Mami reads you ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’?” 

He is too young to know what scepticism looks like. 

“Es que hay ‘La Pequeña Oruga Glotona’.” 

You refuse to look at the voice which speaks, but you nod. 

“Alright, why don’t you get into bed, and then I’ll start to make my way through the mountain of books. I am absolutely all yours for tonight, my loves.” 

… 

Alexia’s hands slam down on the dining table, slapping against the wood with a loud bang. “Enough!” she exclaims, her voice slicing through the tense air like a knife. Her eyes blaze in fury and you shrivel, not quite sure what you have done to her. You grant her the silence she needs to continue, though her shout echoes through the shattered tranquillity like a bomb that continues to explode. “It is enough.” 

“What, Alexia?” 

You sound kind of… bored once you have regained your composure. Your shock is now replaced with a blank expression, and you run your eyes over your nails, examining your cuticles so that you don’t risk making eye contact with her. 

“You think you can just waltz in here as if you haven’t offered yourself to the entire world and expect everything to be okay?” Her voice trembles with indignation, venom dripping from each word she spits out. “You can’t go from common slut to mother in one day!” 

Nails forgotten, you square your shoulders and set your jaw. “I hadn’t realised you were the jealous type, Ale.” The nickname slips out like a poisonous dart, taunting her, wounding her. It rattles her, and you intend to shake her more. “It’s none of your business, not anymore. Deal with it – or don’t, I don’t care.”

“What kind of example are you setting for our children?” she continues, lips curling into a scornful sneer. “Kissing anything with a mouth! Like some, some hormonal teenager. And to have it all over the papers? It’s trashy! It’s embarrassing for me, because my wife has her hands down the pants of every woman she meets, pumped full of alcohol and drugs and… You, you go to these events, paid to get yourself on the front pages so that they can be mentioned in the location of the incident, and… and that’s like prostitution! Making money from your body, from sex!”

Her fists clench and she storms towards you, footsteps harsher than her bad knee can probably take, but you make no move to back down. You lift your chin up; “I don’t have to resort to prostitution for money. I have more than enough.” 

“Then you do it for attention,” Alexia reasons with herself, albeit very loudly. “That is what you are, aren’t you? A slut for the cameras and the glitz and glamour of it all. So quick to jet off on tour, leaving me with our children–” 

“I may be a ‘slut’ for attention, but at least I am not a whore for a woman who is not my fucking wife!” You press your hand to her chest roughly, pushing her away from you. “I’m not the one who had an affair, I’m not the one who ruined everything!”

Alexia recoils at your words, freeing herself from your searing touch before she melts. She forces her fury to its boiling point. “How dare you,” she seethes, voice cracking at the ferocity in which she forces the sentence out. “You think you can just throw my mistakes in my face?” You hold your ground. She will not intimidate you. “You think you’re so righteous, but you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be.” 

It is a baseless accusation. You both know it. 

“The only fact we have here is that you fucked Jenni. Our daughter’s godmother. Your ‘best friend’, my friend too! I trusted her, and I trusted you, and you took that trust and obliterated it by sleeping with her!” 

Alexia wants to cut you deep, wants to give you the gory details of it all, but she hears the croak of your voice and knows you will not make it to your hotel if she tells you.

“I slept with Jenni, sure, but you have passed yourself around enough to make us even.”

“Nothing will make us ‘even’, Alexia,” you cry, meaning to sound scarier than you do. You can’t help the tears from streaming down your face, nor the hoarseness of your throat. “And I would never ever do to you what you did to me!” 

You have to go on vocal rest the next day, otherwise the concert would be called off. 

Alexia refuses to attend, even though most of her teammates will, instead pawning Nico and Elena off to your backstage staff and dangerously driving herself to Alba’s place. 

It is one of those nights where Alba cannot leave her side for fear Alexia will choke herself to death on her tears. When the elder of the two can longer hold it all in, Alba ties her hair back with an old hair bobble so that the blonde strands don’t get in the way of her sister’s vomit. 

("I don't want to live like this," Alexia says, her eyes wide and alert. Her little sister looks at her with empathy, searching, with a broken heart, for a version of a woman from the past she's not sure she knows. This Alexia is not the same.

"Of course you don’t." It's obvious. Obvious by the way she forces her existence without happiness, without company, without a smile. It's like there is no sun in Alexia's world, nor a blue sky, nor an end.

It never ends.

So, she says, "I don't want to live like this, without her, without the family I dream of every night, every waking moment. I don’t want to live, Alba. I didn’t want to live in August, and I haven’t since, and I… I do it because people rely on me." She takes in a deep, acidic breath, grimacing at the taste of bile on her tongue. “If it were just me, just Alexia”--The Ruiner, she silently adds–“I wouldn’t be here. Alba, Alba, I don’t want to live like this.”

She carries on repeating it because Alba has to understand. There can't be a possibility that Alba thinks her sister is insincere. What a lie that would be! To Alexia, she prefers death over continuing like this, with her head in the toilet and vomiting, vomiting, vomiting. 

"If I had the chance, I would go back to August 2021 and never sleep with Jenni. I’d not let her kiss me, not give into it. I'm exhausted from it; from my loneliness, from the kids' questions, asking when their mother will come back home. Do you know that Nico asked me if we still loved him? If she still loves him? And why his friends have two parents and he seems to have a shell of a woman for one, and a vacant space in the king-sized bed for the other?"

"She might not want you again, however, and your imagined future may be false – it is the opposite of reality, no? If I were her, I wouldn't. You cheated on her when she only gave you love and patience and… Well, Alexia, I swear I really want to see you happy, but I just don't think she'll forgive you."

"And why not?"

Alba sighs. She places her hand on Alexia's back, moving it in circles to calm her sister down. When they were little, it was always Alexia who helped Alba. With school, with her problems, with new lovers or ones from the past. It was her responsibility to take care of her little sister, and when their father died and there were only three of them, Alexia felt that responsibility even more. 

Here, roles reversed, Alba can only apply that which she has learnt from the heaving lump of flesh slumped on the chequered tiles. 

"Alba," repeats Alexia, lowering her voice, relenting. "She loves me."

The younger of the two can’t help the tears that brim in her eyes, distressed in her own right. "She loves you despite your other girlfriend because she's a saint. She's a saint but, if you want her to be happy, you cannot take advantage of her," Alba warns gravely, sincerely, and correctly. Alexia lifts her head and looks at the clock on the bathroom wall. Alba's apartment is clean and trendy, just like the woman, and she has dirtied it with her presence. She remains, for the foreseeable future, Alexia, The Ruiner. 

"Smartass."

"It's just the truth."

"Well, if that's the truth, I'd rather you be a liar."

Alba sighs again, more heavily, and asks Alexia to get up from the floor. If Alexia's knee hurts, she says nothing and jumps up and down. "Ay, your knee," Alba grumbles but Alexia keeps going. She keeps going and going until she can't breathe and her lungs hurt. She keeps going because she believes it will rid her of her sadness, or at least hopes so. She hasn't stopped when Alba asks her to. A loud voice breaks the silence. "What are you doing?"

"Destroying everything. If I can't be with her, I don't want to play football. I don't want to walk, or see, or talk. I just don't want to live."

To Alba, this tells her two things. One is that her sister has gone batshit crazy. The other? Well, that is the solution. It's simple, really; one sentence, and Alexia will know what she has to do.

"You need to fix this.")

Heartbreak is ugly, but Alexia’s guilt is uglier.

[emo-batboy]

i'd like the chart thanks!

Also, there's another person who wants to rp Leo, can they?

Okay a few people are asking for the chart so here’s the current chart!! (I took out some characters that are still not as fleshed out. That includes Nathan, Ria, Nina, Ashley, Zoe, Ray, Maggie, and the hater and Metropolis characters, but they’re all filler characters rn)

A Wild Battinson Character Lore Continuity

- Felicity

- Oldest of the bunch, right between Millennial and Gen Z

- Works at an office, besties with everyone there. Corporate girlie (does use the term girlboss)

- Like if a Gothamite/Bruce Wayne fan was swiftie-coded?

- She has a pet pitbull, you know that kind of white girl

- Tatum

- Goth U, Comp Sci major

- Keeps everyone he knows online at arms length so we don’t know much, has a small close knit friend group irl but he’s also mutuals with everybody on twitter because he’s that kinda guy yk?

- But they’re slowly convincing him. He’s getting there

- Marzia

- Oh god poor Marzia

- Italian, born in Northern Italy, English is her second language but you wouldn’t be able to tell if it weren’t for her slight accent

- Biggest Bruce Wayne stan, will go feral, but only gets replies from him at the worst moments possible

- *snorts like cocaine* “Please don’t do cocaine” is my personal favorite

- Goth U, she gives art major vibes but tacked on a double major in psychology last minute so now she’s staying a fifth year

- Reads smut, writes smut, part of the poetry club, def on booktok, you know the type

- Alejandro

- Runs an ice cream stand in the park on the weekends when it’s warm enough

- Bi, Dating Leo (pfp is them holding hands because he’s a whipped son of a bitch)

- He’s like if that normal-looking kind of athletic guy who always wore sweatshirts and basketball shorts to class just suddenly mentioned he had a boyfriend one day.

- He’s straight-coded but more specifically “the straight guy that gay guys have crushes on against their better judgement”-coded

- Knew the whole time he was bi but never REALLY liked a guy until Leo 🥺. whenever he looks at Leo, he’s got those madly in love eyes

- Thinks Batman is hot and suffers constant torment from Leo (who has a crush on Bruce) because of it

- Ale just wants to be bench pressed is that too much to ask? But It’s his fault he’s a twunk dating a twink so—

- Goth U, Really interested in tech stuff but he’s actually a sports medicine major. He wants to be a physical therapist for athletes

- Cannot hold his liquor

- Smile Watch

- Who knows

- It’s a mystery

- Lela

- Goth Girl

- BFF’s with Nico (goth girl, e-boy solidarity)

- Also good friends with Natalie, they lined up all their gen Ed’s together

- Chill in a Morticia Addams kinda way. She is Morticia Addams actually

- Mom owns a convenience store, she helps out after classes a lot

- Studied for the MCAT, did pretty well, she wants to be a doctor (probably neurosurgeon but it depends on what internship she gets)

- Currently completing the undergrad to grad program at Goth University with a masters in public health

- Natalie

- Former intern, now ASSISTANT at Wayne Press

- Got the job because she impressed Bruce with her good reporting skills, now works mostly on organizing press releases and maintaining Bruce’s public image

- Great at her job because she knows social media and Bruce Wayne Stans the best (she is one obv)

- (Babysits Bruce when Alfred is busy, how did this happen, why is this her job now? She’s tired of his shit lol)

- Still technically working part-time because she hasn’t gotten her degree yet, but she’s set to work full time after she graduates Goth U in May

- Sometimes while sitting at her desk she just gets that perspective shift where she’s like “how did I get here” Bruce Wayne Stans’ dreams do come true

- Caleb 🤡

- Literally 18/19 but aging faster than humanly possible with the stress he’s under

- Used to work at Bat Burger, left because the babysitting gig required more time

- Lives with his aunt who’s already retired (used to live alone, she never had kids or a husband so she’s loaded) He’s staying cuz his parents are super busy and travel for work :) and guess what crime-filled alley their window overlooks? I’ll give you one guess

- Babysits Tim, used to be a less serious gig but his parents have been out of town a lot lately (just vacationing without their child 🙄) and thankfully Caleb lives right across from their swanky apartment so he’s practically a nanny now (read: older sibling/third parent)

- Took a ton of childcare courses for this job and now he’s kind of interested in working at a daycare maybe? If Tim doesn’t kill him in his sleep first

- Recently graduated Goth High, now takes online classes at Goth Community College while deciding what to do with his life

- Jarod

- Recently graduated Goth High, now taking a gap year before starting GothU in the fall. Him and Caleb were always in the same classes so they’re super close (they’re the youngest)

- Future Comp Sci/English major (he wants to be a video game writer)

- Has a younger sister, and technically the oldest child but spiritually he’s the middle child.

- His parents and Priyanka’s parents are close friends so he kind of grew up seeing Priyanka as an older sister. That’s why they’re Like That.

- Literally so fed up with Priyanka, it’s not even funny (yes it is) but the second you’re rude to Priyanka, he will deck you, watch yourself

- Katie (Sweater Thief)

- ER Nurse at Gotham General Hospital, mostly does night shifts

- Gives chronically online energy when she’s online, but everyone in real life wouldn’t suspect a thing because she’s so good at having her life together (the code switch will give you whiplash)

- Surprisingly older than most of the others despite being Like That.

- Literally graduated with a 4.2 GPA how tf?

- BFF’s with Leo then became BFF’s with Ale too after they started dating (she is slowly corrupting Ale and I think that’s beautiful)

- Creator of the Babygirl Bruce Wayne Agenda and PROUD

- Priyanka

- Works at coffee shop owned by her mom called Caffe Mood. She plans to run it one day. Currently a barista

- Goth U, business major (accounting)

- Bilingual, knows Hindi

- LESBIAN QUEEN

- Despite being gay, She is allowed to think Bruce Wayne is hot, that is her Right

- Mad fucking crush on Georgia, calls her Georgie. Intends to never tell a soul. Will fail miserably

- Dead fucking set on the idea that Batman’s a vampire

- But she thinks everyone’s a vampire so—

- Her parents and Jarod’s parents are close friends so she kind of grew up seeing Jarod as a younger brother. That’s why they’re Like That

- Jarod is constantly on her nerves, wtf Jarod (but be mean to him and she’ll kill you)

- Leo

- Works at bookstore called Gotham City Bookstore

- Gay, Dating Alejandro

- Twink (derogatory)

- Swears his gaydar is the most accurate there is (always wrong)

- Made being gay his entire personality because he had an identity crisis in middle school and proceeded to have a massive crush on some straight guy all of high school (that guy was Ale, Leo’s gaydar is so off)

- BFF’s with Katie despite being a few years younger. They were in a high school production of Sweeney Todd together and the rest was history

- Calls every single celebrity gay as a joke, Ale reigns him in if he’s getting too out of hand

- Used to have a mad celebrity crush on Bruce, still kinda (definitely) does

- Attends GothU, undecided for a while but ultimately settled on mathematics because it’s ironically his best subject

- One of those mf’s that needs to be held back at all costs, god help Ale

- Rose 🌹

- Works a tailoring job full time

- Good friends with Felicity, she’s like the black cat to Felicity’s golden retriever

- 70% super nice and chill, 30% wild card party girl

- Gets drinks with friends a lot, tweets when drunk but no one can tell the difference. It’s amazing

- Does not seem horny, is horny. But like normal about it? If that’s a thing

- Nico

- Kinda plays the straight man of the group if the straight man was emo

- BFF’s with Lela (e-boy, goth girl solidarity)

- KING of twitter roasts. He makes memes to end lives.

- Pansexual, single, and probably writing bad poetry in his diary about it but don’t tell anyone

- Goth U, actually dunno the major. Probs public health with Lela but doesn’t want to be a doctor. More like research parallel to social sciences

- Has a 8/9yo sister named Madelaine whom he would die for despite not expecting to be an older brother so late in the game (what were his parents thinking)

- Has tea parties with her and all that jazz. She steals his eyeliner and chain accessories all the time, also she’s friends with Dick and Barbie (yes, Barbara Gordon) so sometimes he watches over their play dates

- He’s a “tough emo boy” so he totally doesn’t laugh at Madelaine’s puns. He’s a bitch ass liar

- Kellyanne

- GothU, marine biology. Transferred from GCCC with an associates degree to save money but now she’s got a full ride cuz of the WE higher education fund

- More recent Bruce Stan

- Pretty poor upbringing, that’s how she met Bruce Wayne. He bought her whole family groceries one night after her card declined at the convenience store trying to buy dinner

- Now she’s in it for the long haul :)

- Lia

- GothU, fashion merchandising

- A GIRL’S GIRL

- Older sister also attends Goth U, but she’s in med school

- More recent Bruce Wayne stan, still not particularly in with the culture and jokes but getting there

- Friends with Georgia and Elizabeth irl. Elizabeth was in the same sorority before graduating first. Got to know Georgia after Lia found her dog with Bruce at the park outside GothU. They party together now

- Elizabeth

- Graduated GothU last May and worked an internship at LexCorp, immediately regretted it but snagged a job at WE (thank god)

- Now works as a research assistant at Wayne Tech in the R&D department for commercial products

- Didn’t really get the whole Bruce Wayne Stan thing until Bruce Wayne personally wished her a happy birthday?? The man is so sweet?

- Absolutely loves her job but still screams at rubber ducks over faulty code in her little cubicle, but that’s the industry she chose so it’s a give and take

- Met Natalie through Stan twitter and now they DM each other about working at Wayne Enterprises

- Doesn’t post much on twitter but follows the main Bruce Stan accounts, irl friends with Lia and Georgia

- Georgia

- Has a dog named Bean

- GothU, majoring in like three languages, polyglot (including Hindi 😏)

- Works at a retail home decor kinda store (home goods?)

- So lesbian-coded, but does not know it yet. Priyanka is her gay awakening. She is now a regular at Caffe Mood (She thinks she just likes the coffee (yeah right))

- Works at Goth U’s admissions department over the summer too

- Once got drunk and locked herself onto a roof by accident, ended up hanging out with Batman (he offered to break into her apartment for her but she said “nah”)

- Jane

- Works at Wayne Enterprises

- Runs bring your kid to work day (idk what her actual job is but she’s an Essential Worker, okay?)

- Very sweet, 10/10, looks on the bright side but never in a toxic positivity way

- Super social too, became work friends with Bruce because she’s nice but not draining to his social battery? They have lunch on occasion

- Watched the Graysons die with Bruce, call that trauma bonding

- Watched her toxic ex’s car burn to a crisp after a joker spree and took a selfie with it (she can have a little revenge, as a treat)

[alittlelela-blog]

hiya ! could u possibly do heizou fluff scenarios / hcs ? perfectly fine if no ! im thinking like cuddles and showering together and him just being the soft , gentle lover he is :,) thank you !

<3

Aww of course! Love this man ugh 😍 Sorry if this is short, I still need to catch up a bit more on his lore (but Lela, he’s been out for months- I KNOW)

Heizou fluff hcs

-Heizou is the type to hug you from behind when you’re least expecting it. He ever means to scare you, just wants to give you some love. If you do get scared, he’ll whisper reassuring words into your ear.

-In the shower/bath, he’ll always be willing to wash you. You never have to ask him, he wants to take care of you and make you feel loved and appreciated. He’s very gentle with his hands and might even tickle you a little just to make you giggle.

-Cuddling with Heizou would include lots of gentle rubbing, kisses, and words of affirmation. His favorite spot to cuddle would probably be atop a mountain in Inazuma where the wind blows. The grass is always soft and the breeze offers a great feeling to him.

-Heizou wouldn’t be afraid to hold your hand in public. Although he isn’t the type to display much PDA, he would kiss your cheek occasionally. He wants everyone to know how much you mean to him. He isn’t afraid to express it.

-He’d also love to listen to any stories you have. He has that loving smile on his face whenever he’s listening to you. Heizou looks at you like you’re the most beautiful and precious person in the world.

[amethystsoda]

I was tagged by @blondeboyfriend and @s4wdust! thank you, loves <3

Last song:

Currently watching: Death Note!! Only 5 episodes left!

Currently reading: Blue Period!! And Bradbury's short stories!

Current obsession: making videos with Vash plushie, replaying Danganronpa 2, watching cosplay wig making/styling videos, Trader Joe's snacks, (and this one's faded a bit, but playing Stardew Valley)

Tagging: @lostinthe-jojos @dongiovannaswife @bonesandsunflowers @arsenicstrudel @kurtbrussels @angry-geese @giogio-gucci-gangstar @leefi @cocoyumei @lela-ri @wurm-food @pensivespecter @meownotgood @tonitart @eruhatesu @thus-spoke-lo @j0succ @hoeakawasupreme @kentoswifey @peachsayshi @suguwu (and anyone else who wants to join!)

[leohtttbriar]

digestive cheese and fruit

Written for trektober: Day 24 bodyswap

“I can kind of morph my face,” said Ezri. 

The minor rowdiness of their bar table entered a small era of pause and quiet as everyone who’d been arguing two seconds before was now looking at Ezri with open-mouthed bafflement. 

“What?” asked Miles.

Ezri, tipsy and loopy and relaxed, read nothing into his tone and answered easily: “You were talking about best party tricks.”

“Right,” said Julian. “I think he was asking more along the lines of: What on earth are you talking about?”

“That’s not any more clear than just ‘What’,” said Miles. 

“Of course it is,” said Julian. 

“You are so fucking English sometimes”—

“I just wanted help you communicate”—

“Ezri,” said Kira, leaning forward over her wine. “Can you please explain what you mean by ‘morph your face’?”

“Oh sure,” said Ezri with a smile. “Joined Trills can take on for a little bit”—she held two fingers up a centimeter apart—“the physical characteristics of past hosts.”

Benjamin set his beer down, heavily. 

“You’re kidding,” he said. 

Ezri looked over her shoulder to see who he was talking to. 

Kira said, “I don’t think she is….”

“But that’s marvelous!” said Julian. “Do one! Change your face!”

Ezri concentrated. Her face tickled. 

“Jesus Christ, you’ve gone blonde,” said Miles, as dramatically as if he was in a movie. 

“Emory!” said Ezri cheerfully.

“The gymnast?” asked Benjamin.

“Yup.”

“Okay, now do Torias,” said Benjamin. “I have a theory he was a handsome devil.”

Ezri complied.

Benjamin and Miles both whistled. 

Julian said, “Eh.”

Worf said, “I like his eyes.”

Everyone turned to Worf, surprised. He shrugged and sipped his wine. 

“I will say,” said Miles. “That it looks disgusting when you’re”—he drew a circle around his own face with a clumsy finger—“shifting.”

“No, it’s interesting,” said Julian. 

“Who are the other ones?” asked Kira, counting off on her fingers. “Torias, Emory—Lela?”

Ezri looked at Kira and changed her face. Kira said, “Oh, freckles.”

Ezri grinned. 

“Why did I not know this?” said Odo, who’d been watching silently and annoyed. “Could Jadzia do this?”

“She didn’t want you to know,” said Ezri. “She wanted to reveal it to you at the exact right time for the best comedic effect.”

Odo looked like he wanted to pout about this. Ezri’s grin widened and—

“I wouldn’t,” said Kira, quietly, to just Ezri. She smiled soft and sad.

Ezri backed away from her own cheer. “Oh,” she said. “Right. Not her.”

“Not her,” said Kira. 

Ezri was no longer feeling tipsy and loopy and relaxed. She frowned down at her drink. 

Benjamin put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He leaned close. “I like your face, old man. Especially this one. Don't go changing it around.” He poked her in the forehead. 

Ezri smiled back at him. “Thanks,” she said. “I like yours, too.”

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 3) Chapter Twenty-Seven

TOS! Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Festival of Friends

Summary: The Enterprise arrives on Celia for its Festival of Luminosity, and they get to meet (Y/N)'s family.

            Captain’s Log: We are in orbit around Celia to act as the Starfleet representation to their Festival of Luminosity. It is a celebration of their history, and as our very own Negotiations and Communications officer is a Celian, we were the perfect choice. As such, we have a landing party gathered, and we will be joining the entirety of the festivities.

            (Y/N) was buzzing with excitement as they stood in the Transporter Room beside Spock. Finally (for (Y/N) really had no patience when it came to seeing their home planet after so long), Bones and Kirk walked in.

            “So, Lieutenant, how are you feeling to be going back to Celian?” asked Kirk, smiling widely.

            “Although I love my work on the Enterprise, sir, I am looking forward to the festival. It was always so much fun growing up, and I haven’t been back for many years,” said (Y/N), smiling brightly.

            “I’m always up for getting out of this ship,” said Bones, as not-grumpy as he could be. “And a party? That means a few good drinks, and that’s a good enough reason to go down to Celia for me.”

            “Doctor, it amazes me that you are given the chance to an observe a unique culture, and yet you manage to focus on the most banal aspects of it,” said Spock, the usual repartee beginning between the pair.

            “Yeah, because it’s the culture and not (Y/N) you’re interested in,” replied Bones, just as witty in his retort.

            “Speaking of (Y/N),” said Uhura, turning to her friend. “Aren’t you going to be involved in the festivities even more than us?”

            “I am a Celian,” said (Y/N), smiling. “It’s customary, and I know all the traditions.”

            Uhura smirked and crossed her arms. “So we get to see that dance I saw you practicing in the recreation room?”

            (Y/N)'s cheeks warmed in embarassment. “You will. But I’m a bit rusty.”

            “I’m certain you’ll be wonderful,” said Spock.

            “Thanks, Spock,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Yes, and we will have a great time watching you celebrate your festival!” said Kirk. “So how about we head down?”

            “Right, let’s get the transporting over with,” said Bones, stepping onto the Transport Pad.

            “You all heard the doctor,” chuckled Kirk, stepping up.

            Spock, (Y/N), and Uhura stepped up.

            “Scotty, energize,” said Kirk.

            “Yes, sir,” said Scotty.

            The Transporter powered up, and the group dematerialized.

l

            The landing party—Spock, (Y/N), Kirk, Uhura, and Bones—materialized in Celia’s council building. The building had a tall ceiling where a mural of the sky and clouds stared down at them. Outside, the sun shone and a large garden sloped away to the nearest city. The group took a few steps to the wide open doors and looked outside. The city of Lelas stretched out in front of them, beautiful architecture highlighted by the sun and green pathways growing free.

            Bones whistled. “Now this is what I call a nice city.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “This is home.”

            Yes, thought Spock. This place, peaceful and beautiful, would create someone like (Y/N).

            “(Y/N)!” shouted an excited voice.

            “Uh-oh,” said (Y/N).

            A blur of long blond braids and a pale blue suit rushed by everyone to nearly tackle (Y/N) in a hug. “Ah! I’ve missed you!”

            (Y/N) stumbled and laughed as they tried to keep themself upright. “Hi, Merope.” It was their cousin, here to greet them with her wife.

            “Darling, they’re working,” said a calmer voice.

            Kirk smiled and turned to the second Celian who had arrived, this time the ambassador Alekto. “Ambassador, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, extending a hand.

            “It is, Captain,” said Alekto, smiling and shaking it. They wore a purple dress with flowers crawling up the end. “And this time on a far more enjoyable occasion.”

            Spock nodded. “Indeed.”

            The last time they had encountered one another had been when the Enterprise had taken ambassadors from various planets to a neutral planet to discuss the admittance of Coridan to the Federation. It hadn’t gone smoothly—what with attempted assassination and his father’s need for surgery—but it had ended in success.

            “We’re so happy to have you all!” said Merope, smiling brightly and letting (Y/N) go.

            “Clearly,” said Bones, chuckling as (Y/N) groaned at their cousin’s antics.

            “Darling, again, they’re working,” said Alekto, gently taking her wife’s arm.

            “Fine, fine,” said Merope. She just grinned at (Y/N). “I’m sure we’ll have a ton of time for fun once the festivities begin.”

            “Don’t worry, Merope, we’ll have time to catch up,” assured (Y/N).

            “I’m going to hold you to that,” said Merope.

            “Alright, alright,” said Alekto, patting her wife’s arm. She smiled. “And now for a more official welcome.” She extended an arm around her. “Welcome to Celia. We are happy to host one of our own, Lieutenant (L/N), but we are honored to also have foreigners come to experience our Festival of Luminosity. So, thank you, Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, Dr. McCoy, and Lieutenant Uhura. And welcome once more.”

            “Thank you,” said Uhura. She smiled. “I’ve heard so many stories from (Y/N). I’m sure we’re going to have a wonderful time.”

            “Yeah, I’m up for a party after all the work I’ve been doing,” said Bones jovially.

            “We still have to meet the council,” reminded Spock.

            Kirk smiled. “And I’m sure we’ll enjoy that, too.”

            “Well, then, follow me,” said Alekto, turning with her wife and walking in the direction of the council chambers.

            “If I can ask, what exactly is this festival about?” asked Bones as they went. “I like a good party as much as the next person, but I usually like to know what I’m celebrating.”

            “The Festival of Luminosity is to celebrate the day that Celia gained control over empathy and became a peaceful planet,” said Spock.

            Merope smiled. “You’re quite knowledgeable.” She smirked at (Y/N) knowingly. Any empath seeing their emotions around Spock knew how they felt.

            (Y/N) just smiled and nodded alongside Spock. “Yes, the festival celebrates our history. We have a lot of singing and dancing during the various festivities, so that’s why I’ve been practicing.”

            “And there’s the Crown of Radiance, correct?” remarked Spock. He had researched and paid attention whenever (Y/N) spoke to him of their culture. He would make sure to understand and respect their traditions.

            (Y/N) smiled. “Right.”

            “The Crown of Radiance?” asked Uhura.

            “Now that sounds impressive,” said Kirk.

            “It is,” agreed Merope emphatically. “But it’s only given out once ever fifty years.”

            “What is it?” asked Bones.

            “It’s an honorary title given out to a single Celian per generation during the Festival of Luminosity,” explained Alekto. “It symbolizes Andromeda, the first Celian to develop empathy and lead our planet to peace.”

            “Wow, it must be a pretty special Celian to get such a title,” said Kirk.

            Alekto nodded. “A Celian given the Crown of Radiance is usually an incredibly powerful empath that has done some great deed with their empathy,” she explained. “They have to be someone who really has the spirit of Andromeda and the peace she fought for.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “It will be our first time seeing someone crowned. It’s very exciting for Celians of my generation.”

            “It’ll be an honor to see it,” said Spock. He glanced at (Y/N). He wondered who could possibly be more deserving of the Crown of Radiance than them. Admittedly, he was biased and only knew one Celian, but (Y/N) was just…incredible. And even logic came to that conclusion.

            “It’s going to be quite something,” agreed Kirk.

            Alekto paused at a set of doors and looked back at them. “We’re at the Council chambers. Everyone ready?”

            Everyone nervously squared their shoulders, and even (Y/N) shifted. It had been years since they were on Celia, let alone saw the Council in any capacity. Spock brushed his fingers against theirs in support, and (Y/N) smiled.

            Alekto and Merope exchanged surprised glances before smiling, and (Y/N) sent them a playful glare as their emotions turned teasingly warm.

            Then, the doors opened, and Merope stepped back to let Alekto guide the Starfleet representatives into the Council Chamber. The room was wide open with plenty of seats for people sitting in on meetings or waiting their turn to speak to the council. The Counselors themselves sat at a long marble table, each wearing official robes in different colors of the rainbow with gold stitching on white scarfs.

            “Ambassador Alekto,” greeted one counselor, standing.

            “Counselor,” said Alekto, nodding politely. “May I introduce the Starfleet representatives?”

            “Of course,” said another counselor. “We are happy to have them.”

            Bones gave a happy sigh. “Real hospitality instead of people trying to trap us or kill us.”

            (Y/N) just chuckled and patted his back.

            “This is Captain James T. Kirk,” said Alekto, gesturing to Kirk, who waved. “This is his First Office, Commander Spock.” The Vulcan inclined his head in acknowledgement. “His Medical Officer, Dr. McCoy.” Bones smiled and nodded. “The Communications Officer, Lieutenant Uhura.” She smiled and raised a hand in a wave. “And the Negotiations and Communications Officer, Lieutenant Commander (Y/N).” They smiled and nodded, aware of the recognition of their name.

            Alekto then gestured to the Counselors. “And now can I introduce our Council. We have Counselor Coronis of Internal Affairs.” The woman in red robes nodded and smiled. “Then we Counselor Hyperion of Foreign Affairs.” The man in orange waved. “Counselor of Legislation, Helle.” The person in yellow smiled. “Counselor Leander of Agriculture.” The man in green nodded. “Nereus, Counselor of Education.” The person in blue waved. “And finally, Counselor Rhea of Judiciary Affairs.” The woman in purple smiled.

            “We welcome all of you to Celia,” said Nereus.

            “It’s a pleasure to have people from multiple cultures present for our Festival,” said Hyperion, smiling.

            “And to have one of our returned after so long,” said Leander.

            “Thank you, Counselors,” said Kirk.

            “We are honored to have been invited,” said Spock, formal as ever.

            “We hope you all enjoy yourselves,” said Coronis.

            “If you are in need of anything, simply let one of our staff know,” said Rhea.

            “And Ambassador Alekto will act as your guide during your time here,” said Helle. “And she is known for being quite good at her job.”

            Alekto nodded and smiled. “If you guys have any problems, just let me know. And now that all the introductions have been made, I can take you to your quarters.”

            “Thanks,” said Bones as Alekto led them out and the Counselors nodded goodbye.

            “No problem,” said Alekto. “I know that the Counselors are pretty busy with preparations for the start of the festival, anyways, so we can get on to some less formal activities.”

            “What are some of the festivities that are going to start soon?” asked Uhura.

            “We have a city-wide lunch,” said Merope, appearing back beside her wife.

Alekto nodded. “All of our local restaurants prepare food and donate to the community, and then we let everyone simply go around and decide what they’d like.”

            “It gets pretty chaotic, but there’s always way too much good food for one person anyways,” said (Y/N), smiling fondly at the memories.

            “And then we have singing and dancing,” said Alekto.

            “I love that part the most,” said Merope.

            “It sounds lovely,” said Uhura.

            “You should join the singing,” said (Y/N). “You have a great voice.”

            Her friend smiled. “Maybe. But I don’t know your songs.”

            Merope shook her head. “We have a ton of free time during the celebrations. I mean, first we have organized performances from various levels of schooling, and then us adults dance together, and then it’s a free-for-all, so anyone can join in to sing or dance whatever they’d like!”

            “Then maybe I will,” said Uhura excitedly.

            “If the lunch is soon, I need to go and get ready,” said (Y/N).

            “Do you get a costume?” teased Bones.

            “I have a more Celian outfit to wear, yeah,” said (Y/N). They chuckled nervously. “I just hope it’ll look good for the celebration.”

            “I’m sure you’ll look nice,” said Spock.

            “Thanks, Spock,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Before you go, we have two more people for you to say ‘hi’ to,” said Merope.

            “Oh? More officials?” asked Kirk.

            “Don’t worry. It’s nothing formal,” said Alekto, shaking her head. She pointed ahead of her to where a woman and a man were standing and waiting for the group.

            “Oh, god, did you bring my parents to the Council Building?” said (Y/N) incredulously.

            “I told Merope you’re technically working right now and she should wait for at least lunch, but, uh, she insisted,” said Alekto, chuckling.

            “So that’s why her emotions were so bright. She was excited about her surprise,” said (Y/N).

            Merope smiled. “Guilty as charged.”

            “We get to meet the people who raised you?” said Bones. “Maybe that’ll help explain your taste.”

            “Doctor, (Y/N)’s parents are a pleasure to meet, and yet you insist on deciding to, as you say, ‘tease’ me,” said Spock.

            “(Y/N)!” said (Y/N)’s mother, finally seeing her child and smiling.

            “Welcome home,” said their father.

            “Hi, Mom, Dad,” said (Y/N), letting their parents hug them and hugging back. “It’s great to see you.” They smiled as the familiar warmth of their parents’ emotions encompassed them.

            “Oh, good, we were worried Merope was pushing for seeing you too soon,” said their mother, stepping back.

            “Merope always gets her way,” said Alekto fondly.

            Merope laughed and kissed her wife on the cheek. “It’s not my fault you spoil me.”

            (Y/N)’s mother waved to the group. “Hello, I’m Eirene, (Y/N)’s mom. And this is my husband, Nikomedes. We’re so happy to meet (Y/N)’s colleagues and friends.” She smiled widely.  

            “So, who are your friends?” asked Nikomedes brightly.

            Spock, Kirk, Uhura, and Bones were quickly realizing that (Y/N)’s warm personality definitely came from Nikomedes, but their general calm and patience came from Eirene. All the energy was clearly on Nikomedes and Merope’s side of the family.

            “This is my Captain, Kirk,” said (Y/N). “My friends McCoy and Uhura.” They shifted nervously, and their parents’ raised their eyebrows knowingly as (Y/N)’s emotions turned to love as they looked at Spock. “And this is my boyfriend, Spock.”

            Nikomedes grinned widely, and Eirene smiled softly. “Well, it’s great to meet you all,” said Nikomedes.

            “It’s nice to meet you, too,” said Bones.

            “Right,” agreed Kirk.

            “Yes,” said Uhura.

            Eirene looked at Spock. “Especially anyone so close to our child.”

            Spock nodded. “It is an honor to meet the family of my t’hy’la.”

            (Y/N)’s parents nodded approvingly at Spock. They trusted (Y/N)’s taste, and he seemed nice, and for (Y/N) to have such deep emotions for him, it meant their relationship was truly strong.

                        “He seems good, (Y/N),” said Eirene, smiling at her child, and Nikomedes gave a thumbs up.

            (Y/N) turned red. “Yeah, yeah, I know, Mom.” They gave their dad a look. “And stop that, Dad.”

            “Well, now that all the introductions are done, I guess it’s time for (Y/N) to go and get ready,” said Merope. “They’re the only Celian not ready for the Festival.”

            “Who held me up?” said (Y/N), smiling still.

            “Me! But I’m also who’s gonna make you all pretty, so be nice to me,” said Merope, grabbing (Y/N)’s arm and dragging them away.

            “I’ll take you guys to where we’ll be having the lunch,” said Alekto, gesturing for the group to follow her.

            Eirene turned to the Starfleet officers as they walked. “How has (Y/N) been doing in Starfleet?”

            “They are a good person and a great officer,” said Kirk. “We’re lucky to have them on the Enterprise.”

            Spock nodded. “Indeed. They are invaluable. Many people have benefited from their presence.”

            “They’ve saved our lives, even,” said Uhura, smiling. “And they’re always willing to help people in need.”

            “Yeah, the amount of trouble they’ve gotten us out of is only beaten by the amount of times we’ve gotten into trouble,” said Bones.

            “We’re glad,” said Nikomedes, smiling. “I can tell our child is cared for.”

            “We were worried,” said Eirene. “(Y/N) choosing Starfleet…it was quite unexpected.”

            “Really?” said Bones in surprise. “They’re a perfect negotiator.”

            “Oh, yes, but we—indeed, all of their professors, friends, and family—thought they’d go into work more geared towards their empathy in a more emotion-based environment,” said Eirene.

            Alekto nodded. “Like being an Ambassador like me or working with different planets in need of guidance.” She smiled. “A lot of people thought that they’d become a Counselor pretty quickly if they went into governing.”

            “Well, they do a lot of good work and help many people in Starfleet,” said Kirk, smiling.

            “We’re sure, and we’re very happy for them,” said Nikomedes, clearly speaking the truth. It was evident that (Y/N)’s family loved them very much.

            “It is merely that empaths will such strong abilities usually stay on Celia or close to Celia since their skills are perfect for our planet,” said Eirene.

            “Other Celians have gone to Starfleet,” said Spock, not to argue but to discuss. “What makes (Y/N)’s position unique?”

            “The Celians in Starfleet have the basics of empathy to work well in confined quarters with others,” said Eirene. “And (Y/N)…”

            “(Y/N) was the prodigy,” said Alekto. “Their empathic abilities are off the charts in strength.”

            Nikomedes nodded. “So we worried when they chose Starfleet since we don’t want them to be harmed because of how much they feel from others and because it was unusual.”

            “Is (Y/N)’s empathy really that strong?” asked Uhura, surprised. “I thought what they could do was normal.”

            “All empaths can feel and manipulate emotions to some degree,” said Eirene. “Most have a specific emotion or sensation they specialize in. (Y/N) is strong in everything. A lot of people were hopeful they’d stay on Celia since such strength could be helpful.

            “But if they’re doing well and happy, that’s all that matters to us,” said Nikomedes.

            Eirene nodded. “Yes. We don’t care about people’s expectations for (Y/N). We’re just happy they’re happy.” She paused. “Alekto, dear, Nikomedes and I still need to pick up a few things for the lunch. We’ll return in a bit, alright?”

            “Right, Auntie,” said Alekto, smiling, watching her aunt and uncle walk away. She glanced at the Starfleet officers. “You know, there’s one more thing Uncle Nikomedes and Aunt Eirene didn’t mention.”

            “Oh?” asked Spock, raising an eyebrow.

            “Yeah,” said Alekto. “No one really wants to talk about it, but, uh, people thought (Y/N) would stay on Celia because even though they have really strong empathy, a lot of people thought they were pretty and could do well in something traditionally Celian.”

            “So not just bureaucracy and helpfulness,” said Bones.

            “(Y/N)’s said that they don’t like people looking at their appearance,” said Uhura. “They had a lot of trouble at the Academy because of it.”

            “What would (Y/N) have done with their empathy if not use it?” asked Spock, not liking the idea of people wanting (Y/N) to be a certain way. He knew they were beautiful, but he knew how much more they were.

            “Dancing, modelling, ambassadorship…” Alekto sighed. “Everything that deals with people and perception can be helped by appearance. Plus, (Y/N) is very free-spirited. People thought Starfleet was too ‘serious’ for them.” She smiled. “But I remember that as soon as (Y/N) realized that’s what people, they refused to back down. If there’s one thing (Y/N)’s good at, it’s proving people wrong.”

            “They’ve definitely shown what they’re worth,” said Kirk, smiling.

            “And many people respect (Y/N) for who they are,” said Spock.

            Alekto smiled at him. “I’m sure some people do.” She didn’t need to be able to feel the Vulcan’s emotions to know he cared. “And I’m glad (Y/N) really has a place to belong.” She laughed. “I hope they get a chance to really shove it to the people who thought they couldn’t do it.”

            “Very diplomatic,” laughed Uhura.

            Alekto grinned. “I might be an ambassador, but (Y/N)’s my cousin-law-law. So as soon as I’m off-duty, I’m just here to support my family.” She shrugged. “And if I don’t encourage (Y/N) to stand up, Merope will.”

            “We won’t let them be disrespected, either,” said Bones protectively.

            Spock nodded. (Y/N) was his t’hy’la, an incredible person full of passion and strength. They were beautiful, intelligent, skilled, and so much more. But it was everything put together that made (Y/N) the person he loved.

Taglist:

@a-ofzest

@grippleback-galaxy

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@neenieweenie

@keylimeconstellation

@wormwig

@technikerin23

@ilyatan

@nthdarkqueen

[wolfnlamb]

so far, the month of March has been great 😩🥰

[trillscienceofficer]

Which episode(s) would you most like b7 and/or kiradax to get together in? I'm just curious where in the timeline you would want it to happen :) hope you feel better!

Thank you!! And this is an interesting question because I have very definite thoughts for both relationships

one of my answers is ‘actually, they never do’—the first Trek fic I ever wrote dealt with exact scenario for Kira and Jadzia, and other favorite stories of mine have the same approach. I love it when feelings and attraction are left unfulfilled, living on inside both people for a much longer time because they were never expressed. This is obviously made worse by Jadzia dying and her memories still living on in Ezri. If there ever was a representation of 'what could've been', I think it's every one of the conversations that Kira and Ezri have in season 7. I think a very similar approach could be very juicy for Seven and B'Elanna as well—they live in each other's heads a lot even on the show, and if you interpret their strange rivalry as feelings neither of them can articulate, not even to themselves, and consider where Seven is twenty years later... I think they might still live in each other's heads, as the kind of rapport you'd almost forgotten about but you remember suddenly at 2am and you can't sleep any longer while you ask yourself ‘I still don't know what all that was about’ and ‘I wonder where she is now’ and the idea of meeting her again makes your heartrate spike and cringe at the same time, because what would you even say after so long, and when you weren't able to talk even when you were lost at sea? (I believe @avoicefromthestars is the biggest proponent of this approach for B7)

another answer could be ‘they get together post-canon, reconnecting after years’, which is something I'm now particularly fond of when it comes to B'Elanna and Seven. I hinted at how it could happen on “Best Left” but I definitely want to write a prequel of the fic where the circumstances in which they meet again are the main focus, I already have a plot in mind. I also used to be very fond of this approach with Kira and Ezri but an actual fic about this never really panned out.

finally, if they got together in the shows... I'm very fond of the time-skip between DS9 s3 and s4 for Kira and Jadzia to get together. Like obviously it could happen also at other times during season 4, or even earlier in the show, but to me it makes more sense if it happens after Bareil is gone but before Worf arrives on the station. I think it would be perfect also because after “Facets” Jadzia has confronted a little of her self-doubt as well as, I think, any hesitance she might've had about approaching Kira. Also I think seeing Kira embody Lela Dax might really flip a switch in Jadzia's head, in a ‘it's time to take a leap’ way. After Worf gets on the show though... I now can see them getting together only as a throuple with Worf. Obviously I won't say no to fic/headcanons that take a different route, but that's what I think now.

As for Seven and B'Elanna, pretty much all the fic I wrote for them where they get together on Voyager's timeline is set midway through season 6, for the very simple reason that I believe both 6x02 “Survival Instinct” and 6x03 “Barge of the Dead” represent watershed moments for both of them and their understanding of themselves, and that's also when their rapport thaws rather significantly and without major regressions. It's more difficult to have a precise timeline on Voyager because of the syndicated nature of the show, but I also like the idea of B'Elanna by that point (especially after “Alice”) having had enough of Tom's shenanigans and them splitting up as a consequence. I realize this stretches canon a bit—season 7 definitely contends that Seven hasn't seriously thought about a romantic partner before finding out about a relationship she apparently had with Axum but can't really remember. I am still fond of the season 6 timeline regardless.

[radicalrascals]

[GIF Pack] Florence Kasumba

Following this link you’ll find 71 gifs (245x150) of Florence Kasumba as Lela in Tatort: Im gelobten Land (E976) from 2016. Florence Kasumba is a Ugandan-German actress and was 39 at the time of filming.

Please like and/or reblog if you plan on using these. Do not claim as your own. Do not include in gif hunts. Thank you. Please check out my other roleplay gifs here.

Trigger-warnings: blood, guns, scars

[themakeupbrush]

hello! i love and appreciate all of the time you put into your blog, posting fashion snaps.

I've had this 1 pic https://www.tumblr.com/themakeupbrush/708437709524533248/georges-hobeika-spring-2023-couture?source=share

in my likes for months lol I was wondering if you knew of any more fashion shows where they featured animals in the runway?? I went through your Georges Hobeika tag but could only find that one. Thanks!

That was the only model Georges Hobeika has ever had with an animal on the runway because it was actually her puppy! It was with her backstage and it fell asleep so they just had her go on while holding the dog.

There's been quite a few runway shows with animals, not including the ridiculous number of ad campaign that use animals. I think the most notable was Tod's Fall 2018 show where every model had a dog. But there's also Lela Rose, Mulberry, Moncler, Alexander McQueen, Chanel, and Stella McCartney

[dino-fart]

In Reina In Waal | Chapter 2: Reunion

Pairing: Namor x Female Reader

Genre: Action, Adventure, Romance

A Sequel to This Request

Summary: You awaken in the caverns of Talokan alone. You are reunited with the great Ku'ku'lkán...Will this be a tender or bitter reunion? 

Summary | Preview | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

“Hold still, child!” Okoye dragged the boy by the collar of his shirt to stand him up straight. 

“Let me go, lady! I gotta get back and find my mom!” He tried to run but the general grabbed him by the arm. 

“You need to answer my questions, now!” She commanded and the boy nodded his head quickly. 

“Y-Yes ma’am!” He shook with fear. 

“Who were you running from?” 

“T-This big dude! He had blue skin and big muscles and and he had a weird thing on his face! He tried to grab me but I went into the jungle and that’s...That’s how you found me.” The boy said nervously. 

“You said you need to find your mother, where is she?” 

“I-I don’t know...He attacked us and my mom told me to run.” 

“Blue skin...Did he come from the water?” 

“I wasn’t really paying attention, ma’am, I was too busy trying to hide.” The boy sighed. 

“Come with me, child. I will take you somewhere safe.” Okoye gestured for him to follow her through the jungle. 

“My name is Titus.” The boy said following behind her. 

“Titus. I would request for you to be quiet while we get there. Just in case your pursuer is hiding here.” 

“Where are you taking me?” Titus whispered. 

“To Wakanda.” Okoye smirked and led the way. Titus gasped, he had heard stories about Wakanda. He only wished his mother was here with him...

Attuma swam to the throne room and saw his king sitting on his throne, holding a small jade necklace in his hand. “Ku'ku'lkán!” He announced his presence and Namor looked up immediately. “Ts'o'ok in suut yéetel yane'... Interesantes t'aano'ob (I have returned with some...Interesting news).” Attuma said. Namor raised a brow and gestured for Attuma to continue speaking. “Lela' u asedio u reino le reina. Yaan juntúul paal yéetel xiik' le tobillos (It is about the siege of the queen's kingdom. She has a son with wings on his ankles).” Attuma said and Namor’s eyes grew wide. 

“K'axik in (Bring him to me).” Namor said firmly. 

“U intenté, u majestad, ba'ale' bey ti' le wakandianos ku u séen úuch u láaj bis (I tried, your majesty, but it seems the Wakandans have taken him).” Attuma bowed his head and Namor’s blood boiled. He grabbed his spear and swam swiftly past Attuma. The general turned around to see his king rush out. To where? Attuma had no idea...

You awoke with a jolt and sat up straight. You looked down to notice you were in a hammock then looked up to see the glow worms on the ceiling. You didn’t recognize where you were but you did recognize the woven basket by the hammock. You got out of the hammock and walked past the basket to explore your surroundings. You stopped when you saw the large pool of water to your right. 

You walked over there to see your reflection. You were still in your blood-stained armor, your hair was a wet mess and you saw the cuts on your face. The cuts didn’t bleed though, thanks to the stone that had gifted you the power of invincibility. You sighed in irritation as you realized you needed to change. You walked over to the basket that you were sure Namor or at least his people left for you. 

You took out the piece of clothing in it and changed. You were now wearing a blue, white and gold dress with a gold and jade neckpiece. You tied your hair in a ponytail and put on the brown sandals that were remaining in the basket. You walked on ahead to see a small hut with colorful walls inside. You stepped inside and froze at what you saw. 

The colorful walls were murals, murals that depicted the birth of Talokan and their leader, Namor. You rolled your eyes, “Shit.” You approached the wall across from you and ran your fingers to trace the lines that shaped his face. While you resented him for leaving you behind...You still loved him. 

“It’s been a long time...” You heard a familiar voice say behind you. 

“Has it? I’m surprised you noticed.” You snapped. 

“It’s good to see you, in reina (my queen).” 

“Bold of you to call me that.” You turned around to face him. 

“I didn’t come here to fight or to argue. I came here to check on you.” Namor said softly and approached you. You stepped away from him and pressed your back against the wall. “I...Heard something interesting...About your son or should I say our son.” Namor studied your face to see your reaction. You pursed your lips in a thin line and averted his gaze. Namor understood and nodded his head slowly. 

He moved his hand to gently cup your cheek. You moved away from his touch and glared at him. Namor felt his anger rising but remained calm. “Do I disgust you, hm? Does the mere thought that you gave birth to my offspring make you ashamed?” Namor moved his hand to grip your chin and forced you to look at him. 

You laughed at him, “You want to talk about shame? How about when you refused to let me see Talokan because you were ashamed that you slept with a surface dweller? Or how about when you were ashamed to even listen to how I felt about you when I wanted to show you my kingdom?” You retorted and grabbed his wrist roughly. Your nails dug into his skin and he hissed in pain and released you. Namor looked at you and felt his words die on his tongue. You were right...

Namor gently moved his hand to hold yours and laced your fingers with his. “I...Do not know what to say...Except I’m sorry.” Namor brought your hand to his lips. 

You moved your hand out of his grasp and crossed your arms over your chest. “Don’t be...I knew what I meant to you despite my feelings. I just...Found it hard to accept. I thought about telling you I was pregnant...But I wanted to deny that from you. I wanted you to suffer the way you made me. Jokes on me I guess, you didn't even care.” You sighed. 

Namor raised a brow at you, “Do you hate me that much? Does our son remind you of me?” 

You glared at him, “Don’t flatter yourself, Namor. Our son is nothing like you.” 

“He is a mutant. He has wings on his ankles and his ears are pointed. He is everything like me.” Namor said calmly. 

“He’s not a murderer.” 

“Neither am I. But I will protect my people at all costs as I am sure you will.” 

“Of course. But I don’t go around starting fights with people! Your obsession with Wakanda’s alliance will be your downfall and I hope that Queen Ramonda is the one to take you down.” You hissed. 

Namor’s blood boiled at your words and he gritted his teeth, “Did you know that our son is in Wakanda as we speak?” 

“Good. He’s safer there than here.” 

“So you wish for him to fight alongside Wakanda against our own people?!” Namor raised his voice. 

“Talokan is NOT our home nor our kingdom! You made that clear when you left me!” You stared him down. 

“I was a fool! And I want to make it right.” 

“Then don’t go after my son. Release me and you won’t see us again.” 

“On the contrary, in reina, I will have Attuma bring him to us and we can be a family. Then you will see. Now rest, our son will be here soon.” Namor turned his back to you and walked away. 

“He lays ONE finger on our son and I will kill you both! You hear me Namor?!” You shouted at him when he was walking away. You watched him leave and collapsed onto your knees. The tears that had been threatening to fall finally did. You covered your face with your hands and sobbed as you feared what was going to happen to Titus. You only hoped that the Queen of Wakanda would keep him safe...

Tagging: @deepbatched, @vikingqueen28, @leonkennedyslefthand, @stewardofningishzida, @icytrickster17, @onlinecemetery, @marki-moo0, @absolute-not-original, @creamecafe, @scrubb, @nightingal3-tales, @alliethedaydreamer, @strangesthirdeye, @alexa-33, @zombiedixon89, @sunnsettee, @deliciousfestsalad, @kiaradaniell, @freyafriggafrey, @criticalroleobssedperson, @avengersfan25, @lunamoonbby, @androgynouspersonapricotfan, @foxcantswim, @namorkawaiiwife, @starkiller-queen, @kyuupidwrites, @luciamajer, @renatas10, @ayamenimthiriel, @gaiagurl05, @dipsylou, @pinkthick, @hansai, @andywinter16, @iambored24601, @3-cheese-tortellini, @cumbrbatchbenedict, @ironstrange1991, @aribas-stuff, @rianumochi, @vibaracal, @lostpirateinwonderland​  

[0pal333]

OC Questionarre ! <3

Thank you @galaxytittus for tagging me in this. Muahhhh <3 I decided to bring it back to basics for ppl who are new who have seen Posie's face but don't know them.

Name: Lela Olivia Posey

Nickname: Posie (goes by this), Lee (Shortenened version of first name, mostly family calls them this), Oli (Uncle and middle school friends)

Gender: Demi-Girl (they/them pronouns ONLY)

Star sign: Aries

Height: 5'2

Orientation: Musician, Singer, Poet

Nationality/Ethnicity: icelandic/polish decent, american

Favorite Fruit: Pomegranates or raspberries

Favorite Season: Spring

Favorite Flower: Bleeding hearts or snapdragons

Favorite Scent: sandalwood, vetiver or weed

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: none, redbull

Average Hours of Sleep: 5 on a good day

Dogs or Cats: cats but preferably ferrets

Dream Trip: really wants to go to Washington state, loves the rain and the trees. Also would love to visit Iceland and Amsterdam.

Number of Blankets: 3, a huge comforter, 1 small one that just covers their feet (they have unneccessarily cold feet) and 1 that they roll up and use it as a body pillow

Random Fact: Has struggled with addiction since they were 14, they were disowned by their Father at 15 for it (also among other things, like finding out about his other family) and became extremely obsessed and paranoid and began stalking him and his new family sending out death threats and cryptic messages to his wife and himself. Instead of taking legal action, their father sends them buttloads of money to keep quiet and leave him and his family alone.

I'm tagging @smallsimmer @pleaseputnamehere @sunshinepixels @glossims & anyone else who wants to participate!! <33333333

[quiethauntings]

hi rach!! 12 and 16 for the ask game ❤️

hi lela!! thank you <3

12. a trope you're really into right now

technically already answered this but i'm going to cheat and add that older wolfstar have my whole heart!!!! i want them to be old and happy x

16. favourite place to write

a quiet cafe!