#that's Dio's hand btw

[skyburger]

venn diagram of these guys

[wildflowercryptid]

okay, i just watched 3 episodes of utena and my interested has been readily piqued. i'd stay up and watch more if it wasn't almost 4am.

[jessamine-rose]

It appears that Jessamine is playing with Dottore and Seira’s dolls again. Judging by the hand-sewn cassock and horns on her table, could it be for that new AU she was talking about?

[annieshowell]

the phone was a gift olive got from grim himself a few years ago, but she had never used it before as breaking the cycle of life and death never felt like the right thing to her, after so many losses in your life, you learn to just accept them

besides that, olive has always been a little wary of it – you never know what tricks death can hide – and since she needed to take care of ophelia, she never wanted to risk her life for someone else's

but the truth is olive has always felt bad watching general buzz's children grow up without their mother, especially seeing how close one of his children became to ophelia and knowing how it feels to have your child taken away from you suddenly

a few years ago, olive had found lyla grunt's body near the road leading to her house in the middle of an unusual rainy night in strangetown, the poor woman had probably been struck by lightning and ended up electrocuted to death... she decided to give her a decent burial in her garden and tried to tell the general about the happened, but he seemed to believe the rumors about olive being a serial killer more than her words, and proceeded to blame her for lyla's death

despite finding the situation sad, she tried to ignore it and mind her own business, even though she wanted to bring the woman back to her children, but she had other concerns, like making sure ophelia grew well

but since ophelia was in college and no longer depended on olive, she decided to do something she felt was the right thing, and finalized the transaction with her dear grim, who luckily accepted only simoleons - even complaining that olive could have given a larger amount

and then magically lyla appeared, feeling more alive than she ever had before

"welcome back, miss lyla"

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Miguel O’Hara x reader - Come to bed

Warnings: fem reader, smut, nsfw, AFAB language, piv sex, overstimulation, and a slightly annoyed Miguel. You and Miguel are also married btw.

Basically, sleepy Miguel fucks you because you wouldn’t come to bed and let him sleep. Fluffy at first, then turns smutty.

Miguel walked into the kitchen, immediately squinting his eyes and bringing his hand up to block the glaring lights of the kitchen as he grumbled. “¿Amor? Dios mios…”

Your husband was always a sight to behold, in all of his forms- but the sweet domesticity of this one must be one of the best. The way he stood before you in nothing but his boxers- how his voice was still deep and gravely from waking up- the way he rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes- it was perfect.

Miguel shuffled his feet, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and resting his chin on top of your head as he mumbled his complaints. “What are you doing up? Love, It’s 2 AM. Why are all the lights on?”

“I was hungry…” You murmur, looking down at the plate of mix-matched leftovers you had scrounged from the fridge.

“Yes, pretty. I can see, but why does warming up leftovers require you to turn on every light in the house.” Miguel said, poking fun at you as his fingers crept under the hem of your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face at Miguel’s teasing. “Go back to bed, Miguel. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Miguel, however, did not go back to bed. He instead followed you around, sitting down with you on the couch and holding you tightly against him

“You’re like a lost puppy, Miguel. Can you not sleep without me there?” You tease, looking back and smirking at Miguel.

Miguel, for his part, looks practically asleep behind you- his eyes half closed as he rests his head on your shoulder, mumbling barely intelligible words into the crook of your neck. “‘m not a puppy. ‘m a wolf… a big, bad, scary, and protective wolf.”

The (frankly, adorable) sight is enough to send a pang of guilt through your chest from keeping your poor, exhausted husband awake- so you do your best to quickly eat the food you’ve made for yourself.

Once you’ve finished, you had to wake Miguel up, but once he was awake, he was immediately herding you back towards the bedroom. With one hand on your back, gently pushing you forward through the hall, and the other rubbing at his tired eyes.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his incessant nudges. “Hey! Miguel! I gotta go pee first!”

“Nu-uh. Nothing else. Back to bed.”

“Miguel!!” You laughed, ducking under his arm and running into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

You went to the bathroom as fast as you could, but not fast enough for Miguel, who stood outside the door whining the entire time.

“¡Por favor! ¡Date prisa, amor!”

When you finished and unlocked the door, you found a rather pitiful looking Miguel on the other side- who immediately scooped you up in his arms and carried you to your bedroom despite the light hearted protest you mounted against him.

“Miguel!! I gotta brush my teeth before I go back to bed! I just ate!!” You say, grinning as you squirmed in his arms and managed to slip away. Only for a strong arm to wrap around your waist and pull you back, hoisting you up in the air and over Miguel’s shoulder.

“That’s it. You’re coming to bed right now. No ifs, ands, or buts. Except your butt, in bed.”

You couldn’t deny the shiver Miguel’s words sent through you. This poor man- your dear husband- who was so clearly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lay down with his wife and go back to sleep. However... there was a threat in those words. One that you were itching to press him on.

“But- Miguel!” You whined, only to be cut off by a harsh slap to your ass and a startled yelp escaping you.

“I said, no buts.” Miguel growled, tossing you onto the bed and climbing on top of you.

You couldn’t help the burning need quickly growing inside of you, because Miguel looked practically primal above you. With his messy, sleep-tousled hair- the way his voice was still just as deep and scratchy as when he first got up- how perfect he looked above you, in nothing but his boxers as he pinned you down on the bed.

Miguel yanked down your pajama bottoms and underwear, eliciting a surprised yelp from you at the sudden rush of cold air. “You always decide to be a brat at the worst times. You couldn’t just listen tonight and come to bed one of the five times I told you. No, you had to keep running around and doing whatever the hell else you felt like doing. And now, you're going to stay in this bed, whether you like it or not.”

The sudden press of Miguel’s large, warm, and calloused thumb against your hole was enough to make you clench around nothing , pressing your hips down to try and get some of that thumb inside of you. Only for Miguel yo scoff and pull his hand away.

“No. Don’t move. You’re going to be a good girl and sit there and take it. I stayed up with you for the past half hour, waiting patiently for you. So now, it’s your turn. You're gonna lay right here and take exactly what I give you, got it?”

You quickly nodded your head, desperate enough for his touch that you’d probably agree to just about anything.

Miguel growled, pressing the tip of his cock against your hole and just barely pressing it in- rubbing it against your lips as he spoke to you. “You’re so wet for me already, you don’t even need any prep, do you?”

Your cunt tensed around nothing as his cock slid over your hole, nearly making you start to beg for him to just put it in already- only for him to push his entire length in as soon as you opened your mouth to speak- resulting in a loud moan falling from your lips as he bottomed out.

Miguel smiled to himself, looking at you with a clear air of pride at how loud he just made you moan for him. “You seem much more docile now that I have you all stretched out on my cock, pretty lady.” He comments, pulling out slowly, only to thrust back in and begin to fuck into you, quickly establishing a brutal pace.

“Is this the only way I can get some sleep around here? Do I have to fuck all the energy out of you? Hm?” Miguel asks as yet another embarrassing moan falls from your lips at his words.

Moans fell freely from your mouth as the lewd sounds of sex filled the room. With Miguel’s pace, it wasn’t long before you felt your orgasm start to build.

You cry out, reaching a hand down to hold Miguel’s. “Miguel! Miggy! Miggy I’m close! ’m gonna cum!”

“Good.” Miguel growls, intertwining your’s and his fingers and pressing your hand against the pillow. “Cum for me, love.”

all you can do is nod dumbly as your orgasm washes over you- Miguel reaching down to play with your clit as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

As you came down from your high, you realized Miguel was still fucking into you- the pleasure from just seconds ago quickly turning into painful overstimulation.

“I-it’s too much!! T-too much!” You whined, desperately trying to squirm off of Miguel’s cock, only for him to smile and take your other hand, intertwining your fingers and pinning both hands down- holding you in place as he fucked you harder on his cock.

“Remember what I said? Take what I give you?” Miguel said, smirking and fucking into you with new intensity as he held you in place. “Well it’s a two way street. You always have to take what I give you. Whether it’s not enough, or too much. I don’t care. You’re. Going. To. Take it.” Miguel punctuated each of his final words with deep, powerful thrusts. Leaving you nothing but an overstimulated mess beneath him, whining as his hips stuttered and you felt his cum fill you up.

Miguel didn’t pull out, still hovering over you as he panted and caught his breath.

After a moment, he scooped you up in his arms and rolled both of you onto your sides, holding you tightly against his chest and kissing your forehead as he murmured sweet praises into your ear.

“You’re so pretty for me. So good to me too. You feel so good, you know that? You’re so warm- so soft and perfect for me. You’re always perfect for me, love.”

You nodded sleepily, happily curled up in Miguel’s strong arms- his cock and cum warming you from the inside out, and the thick comforter that Miguel pulls up encasing you and him in a warm cocoon of shared body heat. You couldn’t help but press closer to Miguel’s chest, your eyes slipping shut as you relaxed in his embrace.

In the end, Miguel finally got what he wanted- laying in bed, warm and cozy under the covers, holding his wife against his chest as he fell asleep. Although, there would be a bit of a mess in the morning to deal with.

[cheonstapes]

^^ Hello, how are you. Idk if this is the right place to send a request since I’m new to tumblr lol. I would like to make a request though it may seem a little weird. May I request Miguel O’Hara/Fem Spider-barbie reader. Reader’s outgoing and cheerful she has the aesthetic of a Barbie and gets along with other spiders, she’s not actual barbie doll btw lol. Miguel could be yelling and giving other spiders a hard time but whenever Spider Barbie’s around he’s the complete opposite. Spider barbie always helps calm him down whenever he loses his temper. Maybe one day he’s stressed and angry over a mission so spider barbie decides to calm him down with a back massage. Could also lead to some smut, only if you’re okay with writing that. No pressure. Thanks! ^^

miguel o'hara stars in... 'HI BARBIE! HI KEN!' ヽ(>∀<☆)

a/n ~ first request!!1!! i'm doing great, thank you so much. this isn’t weird at all- i spent all day writing this, it's so cute!! i had margot robbie's cowgirl fit in mind for reader when i was writing this, she's so beautiful omg, i think it suits spider-barbie's vibe really well💕 went a bit heavy with the smut but miguel's hot so it's valid- enjoy my love!

summary; miguel gets some stress relief from his favourite barbie girl.

pairing; miguel o’hara x fem!spider-barbie!reader

wc; 2.3k +

cw; SMUT!!, pining, oral sex, dry humping, facial, throat/face-fuckin, soft?dom!miguel, sub!reader, he's a lil mean but he loves you, praise kink, worshiping, hair pulling, miguel shouts at some people, f!masturbation, squirtinnn, miguel being sexy, NOT PROOFREAD!! i have a headache

“and you didn’t think to fucking report it to me?” miguel was seething, talons digging stripes into his desk as he glared down at the poor recruits below him. yes, they were new, but they fucked up an important mission- he wasn’t about to go easy on them. 

“por el amor de dios, do you three have any idea how serious this is? you could’ve-“  the spiders looked at each other, eyes of their masks comically wide as the drown out miguel’s rants to try and come up with some sort of excuse to justify the failed mission. “-and don’t even think about coming up with some bullshit excuse.” 

they froze, shaking their heads and hands rapidly as they nervously stuttered out, ‘no, of course not’, and, ‘we would never, boss’- miguel’s disapproving gaze boring holes into their masks, he jumps off the platform and stalks up to them. menacingly looming over them as his eyes flash red, lips pulled up in a snarl as his sharp fangs poke out under his top lip.

“don’t let this happen again, cause i swear i’ll-”suddenly, the doors of his lab slide open, a cheery voice ringing through the spacious room as all eyes flit towards the pink figure strutting in. the recruits blush under their masks, hearts beating rapidly at the sight of the sparkly spider- known across the spiderverse as the most perfect spider, spider barbie. 

“miguel? i brought you some lunch! oh- hi guys! sorry i didn’t mean to interrupt, i’m y/n, by the way.” you flash them a bright smile, glossy, plump lips glistening under the lights as you hold up the bag of food- the spiders wave frantically, greeting you with unmatched enthusiasm. miguel’s breath hitches at the sight of you, masking it with a roll of his eyes as he looks down at you- eyes softer compared to the harshness they had when looking at the recruits.

“it’s fine, y/n, we were done here anyway.” that was their cue to leave, the newbies scrambling to get out of the room, feeling the tension rising, but not without sending you shy smiles and whispered goodbyes you reciprocate with angelic kindness. miguel watches you intently, eyes locked on your every move. his eyes trail down the hot pink set you wore, the fat of your tits spilling out the tight top, curvy hips accentuated by the tightness of your flares - fuck, you are perfect.

he lets out a heavy sigh, his bulking frame towering over you as he takes the bag gently from your pretty hands, making sure to brush over them slightly. “what’d you get me this time, hm? empanadas again?” he has a crooked smirk on his lips as he opens the bag, his eyes still trained on you as you sit on the counter, the prettiest smile on your face. “actually, i got you some sushi this time. thought i should surprise you a little.” 

he allows himself to smile, the tension in his face easing in your presence. “yeah? how’d y’know i’d like sushi? you keeping tabs on me?” you giggle, stealing a piece of sushi from the platter. “wouldn’t you like to know. i asked lyla, actually, she’s very helpful.” his eyebrow raises, glancing over at the glowing hologram who appears to be lounging by the monitors, a small smile on her face hidden by a small magazine. 

“right, guess i’m gonna have to install a ‘keep your fuckin’ mouth shut’ feature now.” he mutters, secretly enjoying the thought of you knowing things about him he wouldn’t dare to tell anyone if they asked, relishing in the thread of connection you two share. you stand, moving around him to stand behind him, stretching up to grip his shoulders. 

“you ok, miguel? you seemed upset earlier.” you whisper in his ear, hands running down his arms innocently. he doesn’t think so though, the soft touch of your hands compared to his firm muscles igniting a tingling feeling in his belly - a soft groan leaving his parted lips as he leans into your touch. “‘m fine, the new recruits just pissed me off. nothin’ f’r you to worry ‘bout, pretty.” you smile slightly as he lets the pet name slip out, your hands running more sensually around his upper body, dipping into the crevices and curves of his chiseled body. 

“let me at least help you feel better, mig, your shoulders are tense as fuck.” you smirk playfully, leaning round his body to peer up at his face, eyes widening as you take him in. his eyes were slightly hooded, wetted lips open in pleasure, a faint tinge of red on his face. he looks down at you, panting softly as he sucks in a deep breath, nodding silently as he allows you to lead him wherever.

gently grasping his hand in yours, you lead him towards his large chair, sitting him down as you slide yourself in his lap. miguel’s head races with all sorts of thoughts, the tell tale sign of his arousal pressing against the crotch of your sparkling pants, his hands subtly moving you down to ease the ache in his lap. your lips pull into a empathetic pout, hands moving gracefully along the taut muscles of his shoulder blades, moving down to the ridges of his abs.

“how’s this feel? am i doing good?” the sweet tone in which you speak has him biting back a growl, his cock throbbing as he moves subtly against the plush folds of your cunt through the fabric. “ ‘s great, your- shit- your hands feel amazing, love. jus’…keep doing that, yeah?” you nod, biting your lip softly as you keep up your soft caresses. his head falls back against the chair, eyes closed in bliss- he looks so unbelievably handsome, sculpted jawline, high cheekbones, he’s just so mmh. 

you couldn’t help yourself, not when he was practically offering you a taste of him. his thick neck, littered with veins of various sizes, laid bare for you. you slowly moved in, small breaths warming the skin of his neck, heart pumping and hands trembling slightly. your glossy lips press light kisses on the flesh, shiny, pink, marks left behind. one hand moves up to rest on his chest as you feel a surge of boldness rush through you, leaning in once again to suckle on his skin. 

his eyes flit open, gazing down at you as you mark his neck with deep red and purple bruises, his hand lazily running up your spine as he grinds into you just a little harder. “hm? what happened to givin’ me a massage?” he flashes you a sexy grin, tilting his head at your ministrations- not that he minds of course.  you don’t respond, only small moans and whimpers leaving your lips as you continue to suck on his skin. his hand moves down to your chin, lifting your flushed face to meet his. “thought you were supposed to be makin’ me feel better? i can feel that pretty pussy soaking through y’r jeans, love. this turnin’ you on?” 

you nod, your beautiful face betraying your need for him. he lets out a deep chuckle, hands caressing your hips as he moves you to grind against him, the thin fabrics of both of your clothes letting you feel the engorged tip of his cock brushing against your clit. he breathes out a stuttered moan, gritting his teeth as he stares into your eyes, how could someone be so fuckin’ perfect? you had to have been made to torture him, to make his heart race and cock hard to every time he’s around you- hell, every time he thinks about you.

“miguel…” your whining snaps him out of his thoughts, his focus immediately zeroes back onto you. he pulls you closer, resting you against his bulky chest. “yeah? what’s up, baby? what d’you want?” his thumbs caress your nipples through the fabric of your top, the rough pads of his fingers making your pussy clench tightly, slick coating your puffy folds. you look up at him, hands pulling at the thin fabric of his suit. “i still wanna make you feel better…can-can i suck you off, please?” 

has he died? has miguel died and gone to heaven? or was this some kind of fucked up hell, there was no way he was hearing correctly. you, the sweet, innocent, barbie-esque, spider he’s been silently pining over for months now is asking him, so cutely, to suck his cock. he doesn’t think he’s been as eager to say yes to anything as he was now. he clicks a button on his wrist, his suit glitching away at his crotch. his cock is so pretty. a trail of dark hair leading down his navel, the tip a deep red, the rest tanned, throbbing veins wrapping around his length. it was fat, and shit, it was long too- pre dripping down the side of it as it, twitching the longer you stared at it.

your mouth waters, tongue darting out to lick your lips. your nimble hands wrap around his cock, a small gasp rings out in the room as your thumb runs along his tip, collecting the wetness and rubbing it around the tip. his fangs dig into his lips, speckles of blood pooling underneath the sharp tip. he sinks deeper into the chair, his suit dissipating more to reveal his thick thighs, a large hand coming to rest against one, the other caressing your cheek softly. “gonna wrap those pretty lips around me, baby? ‘m so hard, need you to make me feel better.” he didn’t expect to hear how needy he sounded, but he wasn’t embarrassed, he’s finally got you- and he wants you to know how badly he needs you.

he guides your head towards his aching cock, a hand moving to grip your hair tightly. he angles his length towards your shimmering lips, rubbing the tip all over, smearing his pre-cum along your gloss. a low, rumbling hum reverberates through his chest, quiet curses leaving his lips. he finally forces the fat head of his cock through your lips, simultaneously pushing your head down along the length of his cock. the sounds of you gagging fills his chest with a sense of pride, forcing you to take all of his thickness. it was so, so messy. saliva and creamy strips of cum dripped down the side of his cock, wetting your lips and pooling on top of his balls. he smiles at the sight, head lolling to the side, resting against a hard shoulder. 

“my pretty girl, can’t believe ‘m finally havin’ you like this. i- mm i would worship you, if you’d let me. you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, baby, a walkin’ goddess. and your lips, fuck, those perfect lips.” his mind is all scrambled, the feeling of you sucking the soul out of him rendering him a blubbering mess, resulting in him pouring his heart out to you. smiling around his cock, you look up him, those sexy eyes of yours gazing into his- a silent reciprocation of his affection towards you. at that, your lips suction around him faster, tighter, coaxing him into filling your mouth with his load.

his breathing deepens, sweaty chest heaving. at this point, his suit is gone. he doesn’t bother hold back his moans, deep growls and grunts that make curious spiders stop and listen in as they pass his lab, opting to not investigate what the big boss is up to further. but you, you’re a fuckin’ sight between his legs. mascara running down your hot cheeks, gloss, spit, and cum on your chin, running down your neck and between your cleavage. he didn’t think you could get even more beautiful, but here you were. 

“i’m ‘bout to cum, yeah? gonna fill that perfect mouth of y’rs with my all my cum, ‘n you’re gonna swallow it like the good girl i know you are, ok baby?” his hips buck frantically into your salacious mouth, holding the back of your neck tightly to keep you anchored at the base of his cock, the tip of his cock bumping against the back of your throat. his actions betrayed his sweet words, hands gently running over your face, wiping away stray tears as his cock abuses your poor throat. he catches a glimpse of you sliding a hand down the front of your pants, pushing aside your panties to rub against your sticky clit.

‘so cute’. he smiles, revelling in your soft whimpers and your shaky thighs- the squelch of the three fingers you plunged into you almost drowning out the slick gluck! gluck! gluck! of your throat. “fuck, baby, i can hear her from here. she’s so wet just from suckin’ me off, isn’t she?” your fingers speed up, his voice a sexy, deep drawl- lips quirked back up in a smirk, but it was short lived as he felt his balls tighten, orgasm threatening to take over him.

his leg bounces, your mouth was just so wet, so fuckin’ hot- he couldn’t take it anymore. he’s waited so long to feel you around him, to see you take him so beautifully. his body tenses, a low growl of your name leaving his plump lips. his cum spurts out in steady streams, your cheeks puffing out from the sheer amount he unloads into your mouth. it drips out the side of your lips, you struggle to hold it all in, letting it drip down your neck. 

you choke on the liquid in your mouth, your orgasm squirting out onto the cold floor of his lab. he laughs breathlessly, he was so whipped for you. watching his pretty, little, angel cum so perfectly for him. his cock lets out a few more spurts on your cheeks, twitching again when you struggle to swallow his load down. he wipes away the cum on your cheeks, dipping his thumb back into your mouth to let you lick the remnants off. he smiles softly, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you back onto his lap, running hands up and down your back lovingly.

“s-so, d’you feel better now?”

“mm, think there’s just one more thing i need. spread your legs f’r me, baby.”

*por el amor de dios - for the love of god

-gonna take a cold shower now

[vampire-kiing]

Huskerdust Headcanons!

(Warning brings up panic attacks and hinted abuse!!)

Angel used to say things about Husk in Italian to himself like "Dio, sta così bene" or "Vorrei che mi inchiodasse al bar in questo momento" tell Husk responded back one day after they started dating "Forse più tardi, tesoro"

Husk taught Angel how to play black-jack one rainy day in bed

Whenever Angel's having a panic attack about Val or other shitty things that happened, if Angel signals its okay for Husk to touch him he lays his head on Angel's lap and sitting and purrs, Husk knows he starts to calm down when he feels little pets on his head (ofc nuggs is right next to Husk helping btw)

If Angel asks Husk to paint his nails he'll put all his focus into getting them perfect

On their first date Husk didn't know what to do but he surprised Angel with flowers at the door, when Angel started crying needless to say Husk thought he fucked anything up, Angel was just really happy

Angel love's tracing the hearts on Husk with his fingers

After the first time Angel and Husk are intimate, Angel cries when be wakes up in the morning and Husk is still there sleeping next to him

Angel had a hard time saying "I love you" to Husk because of Val, so one night when Husk is laying on Angel's fluff and Angel's many hands scratching his face and he hears a soft quiet "I love you Husky.." Husk had never sat up faster in his life or death (Ofc he said it right back)

[hippiepowrs]

one night lookin' pretty

eddie munson x fem!metalhead!reader

you and eddie hate school dances, but you decide to go to the prom this year--with someone who isn't eddie. eddie does not like that, but can't say anything.

a/n: this is my first longer fic so i hope you like it. prom season is coming up so this is kinda self indulgent (as if all my fics aren't). this one is for all my weird girls out there! title from one night in the city by dio btw. :)

warnings: hurt/comfort. angsty for a while but gets fluffy. swearing. a guy being a total asshole to reader. reader wears a dress. reader and eddie both self-described as 'freak.' eddie being a jealous and insecure idiot. both are oblivious as fuck. eddie is REALLY dorky. eddie's backstory and parents--i did not read that book so i don't care if it's canon. idiots in love in the end. pretty cliche but i don't care!

wc: 3.8k

It’s prom night, and Eddie is sitting alone on his couch. Without you. 

Usually, you guys skip every school event together in favor of watching a shitty movie and smoking half of his stock, but tonight was different. Someone asked you to the prom, and it wasn’t him. 

He’s been acting off for the past two weeks, you noticed. He’s been quiet and snappy, and has been opting to jack up the stereo instead of talk on your drives home. When you asked him what was wrong, he pushed you away. So, you left him alone about it. He made it clear he wanted his space.

He didn’t even want to show up to see you in your dress. You called him last night to see if he would come over–he told you he was sick. He wasn’t fully lying, though. The thought of you going to that stupid school dance with that stupid school boy made him nauseous. It didn’t make sense to him. How did you switch your views on the prom so fast? Months ago, the two of you laughed at the idea of going. Now, you were dressed up all pretty, just like all those popular girls you claimed to hate. He had to watch that sleazy ass car pull into to the trailer park, right up next to his. He’d never admit that he watched you step out of your trailer with that guy, and wished it was him. 

Being completely honest with yourself, your date isn’t even exactly your type. Todd isn’t some freak like you or your friends, but he isn’t a complete asshole either. He asked you in the hallway two weeks ago, and your instinct was to laugh at him. You laughed in his face, but he didn’t budge. He really wanted to take you to the prom, so you told him you’d go. It felt nice to be wanted. It was okay that he wasn’t some rock n’ roll dude like you’re into–it’s not like you’re marrying him. It’s just the prom. 

You and Todd arrive at the Hawkins High gym, hand in sweaty hand. Pushing the anxiety clawing at your throat back down, you give him a smile as you walk to get your photo taken together. The frilly, glittery background reminds you that this place isn’t for you. Again, you push that down. 

The music isn’t really your style, either, but everyone is having so much fun you feel the need to pretend. None of your friends are here, so you’re stuck. Maybe you should have pregamed, you think. Too late now. Todd pulls you onto the dance floor with a fervor you’ve never seen in him. You don’t understand how a person can have so much fun dancing to this shitty music. It’s a lot easier to get through when you pretend that Todd is Eddie, and you’re dancing to mixtapes in his room. You decide not to think about the implications of that right now. When the song ends, you offer to grab punch for the both of you. Maybe it’ll be spiked. 

As you make your way back to Todd, you see him chatting with a few of his friends, and from this distance you can just begin to hear them.

“So, when do I get my twenty bucks from each of you? She’s totally ruining my reputation right now.” He laughs, and your stomach churns.

“Okay, yeah, you proved us wrong. You got her here, you danced, you win.” His friend confirms the fear that’s been looming over you like a dark cloud since Todd first asked you out. 

“You at least better hold onto her long enough to get her home with you tonight, man!” Another friend cackles, and you think you’re going to vomit.

How were you stupid enough to think that he actually liked you?

God, you’re so gullible. 

At least there’s nothing to lose now, you think. Walking over to him, drinks in hand, you dump both of them on his head. They splash on his stupid hair and drench his stupid suit. The music keeps playing. A few people turn to look. The room doesn’t stop for you like some trashy romcom. Everyone just keeps going. 

Storming out to the parking lot, nothing can stop the burning tears from pouring down your face. You slump down against the brick wall, fabric of your dress sticking to the rough sidewalk. The warm spring air feels sticky on your cheeks. You wish you had stayed in with Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You need to call Eddie. Todd drove you here, so it’s either Eddie or walk, and these heels already hurt enough. Your body feels like dead weight as you drag yourself to the payphone on the wall, punching in the number that’s engraved into your heart. 

“Hey.” You greet, choked up. You’re trying to keep your composure. You know it won’t last long.

“…Hey. Havin’ fun with Mr. Popular?” There’s a bitterness to his tone. Usually he would’ve picked up on the fact that you were crying in a split second, but tonight he was too angry.

“Uhm, not really. Could you, uh,” you sniffle, blowing your thin cover, “pick me up? Like, now?”

You can almost hear his demeanor shift over the phone. A beat of silence passes.

“I’ll be right there.” He’s clearly still upset, because he hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. But his one-sided irritation can’t override the facts: he cares about you so much that he immediately hops in his van and starts speeding to the school, even faster than normal.

You sit back at the edge of the sidewalk, staring into the empty night over the parking lot. God, this is so cliché. Freak gets taken to prom as a joke; left crying outside. You know how pointless it is to cry over this guy. You don’t even care about him, to be honest. But it’s not really him you’re crying over. It’s the extensive disappointment you repeatedly put yourself through after expecting different results—it’s the fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about Eddie all night. 

As you begin to probe deeper into the ethical implications of falling in love with your best friend, said best friend whips into the parking lot, tires skidding as he pulls right up to you and parks. He drives just how he lives his life—with a sense of urgency and passion you don’t see in many. His van stops diagonally in the middle of the pickup lane, and he hops out of the driver’s side door, so worried he can’t be bothered to close it before sprinting to your side. 

For the past six minutes—which is Eddie’s new personal record on getting to the school from Forest Hills—his mind has been racing with every possibility of what could have happened to you tonight. Maybe Todd had another girl, or is just boring, or maybe you got totally Carrie’d and some assholes poured pig’s blood all over you. Not likely, but hey, you never know the determination of Hawkins’ resident assholes. At least if you got Carrie’d you’d look metal as fuck. That would be a good album cover. But that’s not the point. What he’s more worried about is the possibility that that dickwad touched you in any way. Just the thought is enough for him to completely light up—he got pretty close to breaking his steering wheel from how hard he was gripping it. 

“What happened?” He tries to act nonchalant, but that’s something he’s never been good at. 

Your head is held between your knees, looking down into nothingness. He’s staring daggers into the top of your head, and you can almost feel the fact that he wants to say ‘I told you so.’ Reluctantly, your wet eyes tilt upwards, the rest of your head following. 

“Let’s just talk in the van.” He sighs. 

You don’t budge. Your legs feel far too wobbly to imagine getting up right now. He has zero patience at the moment, it seems, as evidenced by the fact that he almost immediately picks you up bridal style and carries you directly to the passenger’s side of his van. He fumbles with the door handle for a second before setting you down gently in the seat. You watch him drag a frustrated hand over his face through the windshield as he walks back to his side, and although you know you didn’t do anything wrong, you’re worried that you did. 

The engine roars into life, turning your seat into a makeshift massage chair. Eddie pulls out of the parking lot as quickly as he pulled in, but with a little more focus. He doesn’t turn his music on, which is a bad sign. 

“It was a bet,” is all you can say, voice soft and defeated, “because, of fucking course it was.” You stare out the window, head tapping against the glass as he hits a pothole straight on.

“I told you that asshole was bad news.” His voice is laced with venom. He’s never been good at controlling his anger—especially when it has to do with you. 

You stay silent. Anything you say right now will probably just piss him off more. 

“Why do you—why do you always do this to yourself? You’re always finding these guys that just want to take you out to say they were able to take you out. They treat you like a fucking trophy.” He scoffs. 

You look at him again, tears still silently falling. Even if you wanted to say something to that, you can’t seem to find your voice. 

“I just don’t get it. You’re, like, totally perfect,” he coughs, gripping the wheel harder, “and these guys you find are total douches. You can do so much better.”

“It’s not like there’s anyone better around here,” you mumble while staring out the window, like some kid talking back to their parent for the first time. 

“That’s not my point!” His yell rings out against the hum of the engine, the dull drumming being the only sound left as he hangs a sharp right turn. “I just don’t understand why you’re so eager to find some guy that you throw your morals out the door.” Eddie’s eyes dart to you for a moment before looking back at the road. 

“I haven’t thrown my morals out the door.” You argue softly. 

“Yes, you have! We always said we’d never suck up to the bullshit they want us to do, that we’d never let them turn us normal, and here you are at the fucking prom.”

“Eddie, it’s prom! It’s not like I fucking stabbed my mother!”

“We’re supposed to be the freaks! We’re Hellfire! We piss people off! That’s our whole thing! You can’t just—fuck—just throw that out!” He groans angrily, pulling into Forest Hills, slowing down as you near the Munson trailer. 

“I’m not throwing it out.” You say, much more firmly. 

“You’re throwing me out!” There it goes, the root of the entire issue. He’s always been worried that you’ll find someone cooler, someone less abrasive, someone who will make you laugh and smile more than he can. Logically, he knows that would never happen, but he can’t help his fear. He throws the van into park and slams the door as he gets out. 

Eddie was eight when he met you. He’d been living with Wayne for a little over a year by the time you moved next door, but he was still struggling. His mother left him first, then his father. He missed his mom a lot, but his dad probably caused him more pain, knowing that he had the choice whether or not to stay, but Eddie wasn’t enough. Uncle Wayne was nicer to him than his father had ever been, but that can’t fix a broken kid. 

Then one day, you showed up in your ratty hand-me-downs, a year and a half younger than him. He thought that girls had cooties, but you were different. You didn’t giggle or try to hide your gaze like the other girls did when they made fun of him to each other. Instead, you walked right up to him and said hi. 

You were new, and you didn’t have the best clothes—he could tell you were probably going through something similar to him—so the kids at school kicked you to the curb. You were just as pretty as the other girls, he thought, if not prettier, as much as a seven-year-old can be. But that didn’t really seem to matter to them. Your lunchbox was plain, theirs had characters. 

When the two of you got to be in junior high at the same time, him in the eighth grade and you in sixth, he thought for sure that you would find new, more popular friends. It was incredibly shocking to him that you’d rather hang out with some dorky boy with an ugly buzz cut who’s two grades ahead of you than the other pretty girls, but he wasn’t going to complain. 

He’s lived with that fear constantly since then, always preparing himself to see you walking into school one day in some pastel sweater instead of your band shirts and battle vest. He knows you won’t, he knows you’re better than that, and he feels so guilty for always expecting the worst, but he can’t help it. 

You hop out of the passenger’s side of the van, holding up the skirt of your dress like some elegant princess. But instead of some grand, ornate staircase, you’re simply walking up the concrete steps of the Munson trailer and following Eddie, who’s storming inside. 

“Eddie.” You sound like a scolding mother, tears having dried up a few minutes ago, and you shut the door behind you. “Why do you think so lowly of me?” Your voice cracks with the weight of the question. 

Eyes widening, Eddie never realized quite how much his thoughts could affect you until right now. “I don’t,” he says softly. “You’re the best person I know.”

“You say that, but you always think I’m gonna leave you for someone else. You’re my best fucking friend. I’m not just gonna cut you off at the drop of a hat.”

“I- I know that,” he stammers out, a little shaken. 

“Do you?”

“Look, I,” he sighs, finally turning around, “I’m just scared. I’m scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize how fucking lame I am, and you won’t want to deal with me and all my bullshit anymore.” 

“The world isn’t against you, Eddie.”

He opens his mouth to quip back something snarky, but he closes it as he thinks about your words again. 

“You hate yourself so much that it’s beginning to rub off on me, because I’m friends with you, and if I like you, you think that surely there’s something wrong with me, too.” 

He’s stunned into silence, your words stabbing him straight through the heart. 

“Can you at least tell me why you were being a dick for the past few weeks?” You switch the subject slightly with a sigh. 

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Because of Troy asking you to prom.”

“Todd.”

“Yeah, whatever. He was my problem.”

“Why were you mad at me for that, though?”

“I knew he was gonna hurt you.”

“You didn’t say anything about that, though. You just said he was an ass once and then pushed me away for two straight weeks.”

Standing in the middle of the dark trailer, Eddie is presented with two options: confess his lifelong, undying love for you, or don’t. He knows that the only good and honest explanation he can give you involves a love confession, and he hates lying to you. But one thing trumps the fact that he hates lying to you, and it’s that Eddie is a complete and utter pussy. 

Eddie is, and always has been, a pussy. In middle school, you acted as his bodyguard—self-appointed, and very passionate—which only made him get bullied worse. You didn’t care. You’d defend him until the end of time. You’d take a hundred tugs to your ponytail or face-plants in the lunchroom so that he wouldn’t have to. You weren’t very loud or talkative in school, until it came to defending Eddie. 

To Eddie, you’re this glowing beacon of light and hope in his life. Everything good comes from you. And if he confesses his feelings to you, and you don’t feel the same, that pillar comes crashing down. 

But…what if? What if you did feel the same? That’s stupid, he thinks. Clearly you don’t, because otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to prom with another guy. And he’s sure you already know about his big, fat crush, and you’re choosing to act like you don’t notice.

“I’m sorry.” You can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s fingering riffs on the side of his thigh. 

“You always get so upset when I talk to guys. It’s not like there can be only one guy in my life.” 

“I know that, it’s just–” This is going to be the worst decision he’s ever made, and he knows it, but he can’t stop himself. “--I’m jealous, okay?”

“Obviously you’re fucking jealous, dickweed.” As you call him your favorite nickname, the intent behind his words reaches you, and your cheeks begin to heat up. “…Wait.”

“Have you seriously not picked up on this yet?” Eddie is genuinely surprised at your reaction. “You—you’re perfect, you know that? You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how you do it.” His voice is softer than normal. 

“Yeah, but—like, are you serious?” You ask. 

“I wouldn’t joke about this. I’ve been, like, totally into you forever. I’m surprised Gareth or Jeff didn’t say anything to you.”

“They did a while ago, but I thought they were messing with me.” 

“Okay, I honestly can’t blame you for that.”

A moment passes in silence, and you think about how to respond. 

“You know, I didn’t really want to go with Todd.”

“What? Why did you then?”

“I hoped that you would ask me,” you admit, eyes drifting to your feet, “but it was kind of a stupid thing to expect.”

His jaw goes slack as he hears you speak. 

“I guess that I’ve just kinda had this pipe dream where we’d go to prom together, and I’d be able to dress up all pretty, and we could dance together.” You avoid his gaze, until you hear him scurrying down the hallway. 

He emerges back out with his stereo in one hand and a cassette in the other, scrambling to place it down on the kitchen table and shoving the tape inside. He immediately skips to the song he has in mind. The familiar sound of Tommy Lee’s piano starts from beside you, and before you can figure out what’s happening, he’s offering his hand to you. 

“May I have this dance?” 

A smile grows on your face. “God, you’re such a fucking dork.” Your insult doesn’t come without placing your hand in his. He’s bright red, and he’s never slow danced in his life. 

Mötley Crüe’s Home Sweet Home is interrupted occasionally by the sound of feet stepping on feet and the subsequent ow!’s that follow, as well as the flustered giggling of two idiots in love. 

Eddie pulls you a little closer, his hands firmly planted on your waist. “You look really beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, “sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” 

He feels extremely underdressed compared to you, him in his favorite torn up pair of black jeans and an Exodus muscle tee, and you in your stunningly gorgeous dress, looking prettier than any princess he could ever imagine. 

“Thank you,” you mumble back, flustered, “you don’t look too—fuck!—too bad yourself, you know.” A playful giggle comes with your words, and a huge grin grows on Eddie’s face. 

“Yeah?” He teases, looking right in your eyes. 

“Yeah.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you giggle, staring right back. 

Leaning in, he lets out a nervous laugh before pressing his lips to yours. It’s not some magical explosion of energy that cures all your problems and fixes world hunger; but his lips are soft and warm, and he tastes like weed, gummy worms and a hint of shitty beer, and it feels right. 

You kiss him a few more times before the song ends, all quick and chaste but completely full of love. Pulling you along with him, not wanting to let go, he pauses the tape and the trailer goes quiet again. 

“Was I better at that than Troy?”

“Todd.”

“Point still stands, fuckface.”

Eddie drags you down the hall to his bedroom, the familiar ambiance warming you like a comforting blanket. Jumping onto the bed with a plop, the boy pats beside him invitingly.

“Can I change first?” You ask, ecstasy of the moment wearing off, allowing you to remember how itchy this damn dress is.

“‘Course. Your shirt is clean if you want it.” He calls it your shirt, but it was his at one point. The old Metallica tee used to be his favorite one, too, which meant it got a lot of wear and tear. But then you started wearing it at sleepovers, and it quickly became your shirt. Eddie didn’t like to wash it afterward because it smelled like you. He always felt like a creep for that.

Your hand tries its best to wrap around and pull the impossibly tiny zipper down, but it doesn’t want to budge. Eddie, watching you as intently as ever, quickly notices and jumps up to help you. His fingers move to your waist, soft and nimble, and gently undo the zipper for you. You let your dress fall to the ground, and he looks away, flustered. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you in your underwear before, but now it feels a lot more serious.

Quickly throwing on the hole-filled Metallica shirt and a clean pair of his boxers, both of you hop back into his bed. You’ve shared plenty of nights here before, but once again, now it feels different. You sense that it will become a common theme for your life in the near future. His hands snake back around your waist and pull you next to him, and you allow your head to rest against his chest.

“So… does this mean you’re, like, my girlfriend now, or what?” A goofy smirk is plastered across his face as he asks. 

You try to playfully shove him off of you, to no avail. “Are you seriously fucking asking me that?” You’re trying so hard to act angry, but your giggles give you away.

“Yes, yes it does.” You seal it with a kiss. Then one on his cheek, and the other, and his forehead, and the tip of his nose.

reblogs and notes always appreciated! | requests are open!

[muppetebbtide]

LOCKED TOMB CHARACTERS X CLASSICAL REFERENCES

explanations for parallels come from here and here

I know I spelt pelleamena wrong and missed off juno zeta btw but it was getting a bit crowded. I could also probably extrapolate more but it can stay like this for now

EDIT: BITS WOT I FORGOT AND ADDITIONS FROM TAGS:

@mayasaura makes a fantastic point about the treatment of gideon's body by BOE being almost identical to the treatment of hector's by achilles, down to animals refusing to touch it and it not rotting or tearing because of divine intervention. hence there should be a light blue line between gideon and hector. this hadn't ocurred to me is and is v cool, here is their post on it (the original asker's point about harrow and priam is also v good)

@iamanoccasionaldoodler points out that Pyrrha is named after Achilles directly, given the 'Achilles taking the name of Pyrrha while on Skyros avoiding the war' thing; I did just forget to draw the line here sorry lol it was in my post! also the tags about camilla and hector... no you're right. they feel so similar, there has to be something.

@zombified-queer mentions I left out dios apate; bugger it, so I did lmao. I was focusing mostly on characters but that's such a big one! in the iliad it's the deception of zeus, hera's plan to distract him by seducing him so that the greeks can regain the upper hand. in harrow the ninth, as we know, it's... not dissimilar! both times in fact it is very similar!

I did also forget Juno Zeta I know, but as it currently stands I don't really know if it has any narrative significance...? Maybe.

I also realised I forgot Protesilaus, god damn it

[tarjapearce]

soccer family wife meeting Miguel’s family for the first time?

👀 Miguel has a potty mouth.

(This is before meeting her family btw)

"So... when you're gonna introduce your girl?"

"A Pitufina?"

Gabriel didn't hold back the ugly snort at the nickname

"God, that's such a terrible pet name."

Gabriel poured the coffee for the both as Miguel prepared breakfast. A bit of Huevos rancheros and fried red beans to pair it with.

"She might come later, she's been busy."

"Right."

Gabriel put two of sugar to his mug as he handed Miguel his. The proceeded to heat up some day old tortillas.

"You're gonna tell mom about her?"

"No."

Miguel's voice monotone, but firm. Gabriel sighed and slanted over the counter, eyes on the tortillas as he crossed his arms in his chest.

"Look, I don't wanna be that guy, but... don't you think it's been years?"

"Yeah. Keep them coming."

"Just do it out of politeness. She'll find out one way or another And you know how mom gets."

He flipped the tortilla and Miguel served.

"I couldn't care less what she thinks. Pásame el chile. Besides that's precisely why I don't want them to meet." (Hand me the chili sauce)

"I just wanna know why you won't talk to her about this. Like... You've gotten a girlfriend!"

"Por Dios, you're so annoying at times. Get over it. Yeah, I'm dating. So?"

"I was worried, Miggy." Gabriel gave a dramatic sigh as he put the other tortilla to heat up, "Thought you'd end up as a true hermit living off caffeine and stress. "

"Cabrón"

"Tú el doble." (You're it double)

"En fín. Cállate y come." (Anyways, shut up and eat)

"I'm just happy for you. I... I know you don't believe me when I say stuff like this. But Im glad that... Pitufina or however bizarre pet name you wanna call her, is with you."

Gabriel sipped his coffee and sighed.

"You've been less of an asshole lately. You have fun even, so I'm glad. Happy you can finally get some peace with yourself and she seems a good woman too. So... Congrats. "

"Thanks." 

"What if she asks to met mom?

Miguel shook his head.

"Doubt it. Mom is troublesome. Nothing is fucking good enough for her. Just like Pitufina's mother."

"Kinda understand why you got together now"

Miguel snapped his head towards him with a glare.

"Ya no te cuento ni vergas." (I'm telling you shit.)

"Okay, okay, terrible joke. Sorry. Just... How bad is it?"

"Bad. Strangers practically. Won't expose her to meet mom and throw at her face her own troubles. Mi niña has had enough as it is."

Gabriel's eyes widened upon his older brother's words.

"I think I might get used to this sappy version of you."

"Make fun all you want but even I know there are limits when it comes to being a dick. So don't mention this to mom." Miguel's eyes fixed him with a staid face as he waved his index finger as a warning to him, "And I mean it, Gabri. Don't want her to also ruin this for me."

"I won't, relax. Is not like we're really close or something."

------

Your knuckles held the wheel tighter as you approached Miguel's apartment. He wanted to introduce you to his family.

So you put yourself in an outfit appropriate for the occasion. A little blazer with a tank top underneath, some jeans and matching low platform espadrilles.

Miguel rarely to never mentioned his family to you, and the sparse times he did, only mentioned his brother.

You had seen Gabriel a couple of times but never interacted with him beyond a couple of words or pleasantries if the situation demanded for it.

You parked and let Miguel know that you were outside. He lived in the second floor of an apartment complex.

He came out after a couple of minutes dressed in his stay at home clothes. A stark contrast on your outfit. You bear hugged him and he kissed your temple.

"Uh... why are you wearing that?"

"What?

You gestured

"I feel so overdressed now"

"You're fine. You're meeting Gabriel."

His arm wrapped around your waist as you made your way towards his apartment.

"Just him?"

"You sound disappointed"

Shaking your head with a smile as you climbed up the stairs. He chuckled.

"I'm not. I was nervous at the thought of meeting your parents but... knowing it's only Gabriel is less nerve wrecking."

He sighed and stopped you as his apartment came in view.

"Long story short, I don't get along either with my mom and the sperm donnor is out of the picture. Gabriel is the only constant one in my life. "

You kissed his cheek and held his hand tightly as you held a little gift on the other one.

"Thanks for telling me. I was thinking in escaping while you distracted them. But glad it won't be necessary. "

He chuckled at your attempt of lightening the mood. His keys tinkered as they turned and opened the door.

"Gabriel?"

The younger O'Hara looked up from his seat in the living room with a smile, turning the tv off

"Hey" He stood and approached you both. You gave him the little bottle of a collectible mezcal bottles.

"Miguel told me you liked this brand."

"You didn't have to, but highly appreciated." The nickname kind of made sense for Gabriel now that he saw you next to Miguel.

You introduced himself as you shook Gabriel's hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, thanks for tolerating my brother enough to date him."

You snorted as Miguel glared holes his way.

"He's not bad. Except when he runs out of coffee"

One of your arms wrapped around Miguel's waist as he held and entwined your fingers with his on the other.

"Ah you tell me. I'm the one that's sent to the store to replenish. Older brother privilege and stuff."

You couldn't help but giggle.

"Didn't know you bullied your brother like that."

"Can't believe you're in his side."

"Hey, I'm the youngest too. Totally relate on that"

"Anyways, a pleasure to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Gabriel.."

"Don't wanna sound rude but I gotta go meet a client. See you guys later."

"Ve con cuidado." (Careful out there)

"Have a nice day, Gabriel."

"You both too."

Gabriel retreated to his room to then leave the apartment with his laptop.

"You can breath now, Pitufina"

"Stop calling me that? Please?"

He shook his head and kissed you.

"Then it wouldn't be fun to do that"

"Ya pues. Dame otro." He kissed you again with a smile and you giggled. (Enough. Gimme another one)

"Wanna watch a movie or you want me to cook for you?"

"Both? Please?"

"Sure"

[rzyraffek]

Guys I suffer from jojo brainrot, I know its not my usual writing , but I need to get this out of my system. NO SPOILERS they/them pronouns, sfw, Request open

Also for obvious (and legal) reasons in josuke and okayasu ones reader is like 16.

Also I didnt finish jojo part4 yet so some stuff might be eee not accurate?

More jjba dating headcanons!!

Including Kars, Santana, young Joseph, Jonathan, Josuke, Speedwagon, Okuyasu

Kars

Homie will litteraly pet them. My guy has god complex, thinks that humans are so so smol and so so tiny

Picks them up like some lil baby and probably carries them around everywhere

S/o mostly just vibes in his huge mansion while Kars plots some evil emo stuff (again)

Quick reminder that this guy was doing ah mimimimi ah mimimimimi😴 for last few centuries so s/o has to explain him a lot of stuff

Imagine him getting jumpscared bcs your phone made a noise, or him just walking up to light switch and turing lights on and off repeatedly. Mans fascinated

Also guy is a walking muscle so no matter how big or smol s/o is they going to be picked up and carried around, probably he uses only one hand too btw

Pls brush his hair he will litteraly melt

Santana

...

"Human why you carry tiny talking square everywhere? Is it magical?"

My guy will take their phone and 'accidently' take 50selfies, but not in sexy way, but in 'his face is zoomed to camera and you see only his eyes and forehead' way

His love language is quality time, understanding and gifts

Hates germans btw

Will give them random stuff, like he will litteraly bring them a microwave and be like "human explain meaning of this". But also gives them shiny rocks, jewellery, hair accessories. If s/o wants a new car, my man gonna litteraly pick up first car he sees and bring it to them

I am convinced he eats food with his bare hands. S/o has to give him tutoral how to use knife and fork, he won't like it >:(

Young Joseph

Homeboy hands are everywhere, if my guy doesn't hold their hand, he is putting his hands on s/o shoulders or waist or just kisses them

Doing make-up together. And nails. And hair. All of this while shittalking his enemies and talking about all the drama.

Tequila Joseph first dragqueen in history btw

Never go on plane with him, no matter how romantinc he promises it will be. Do not

Also makes fun of Ceasar that Joseph was the first one to find a partner not him😍

S/o and Ceasar probably meet up sometimes to just complain about how dumb Joseph sometiems is😭

Will litteraly do anything to impress them frfr

Jonathan

Not boyfriend, but Husband material

My guy will be on walk with his homie speedwagon and litteraly act like teenager girl with crush. All blushy, shy and asking for advices

Gives them handfuls of flowers, but like Jonathan's sized handful (alot)

Loves walking with s/o and holding hands ofc

My boy will blush and die if s/o does first move

Pls s/o beat dio up he sucks

The best boy husband

Josuke

Bros gonna be so protective, like fr my guy will be worried if s/o goes to shop and doesn't come back in more than 20minutes

He will blush if s/o tries to hold his hand

Mumbles a lot about hair routine and hair products, and probably likes to comb s/o hair

Okayasu probably cried when he found out that Josuke has a partner btw

The sweetest boy alive

Guy will accidentally spoil them. Also they are basicly immortal due to all crazy daimon stuff

If s/o sees stands... OMG PLS pls hug his lil man, his stand i mean. It looks very hugable

Playing video games when s/o and josuke lied to his mom that you came over to teach him some school stuff>>

Okuyasu

This dude

This guy

Will litteraly beat anyone up, for no reason anyways. He just do be like that.

He is very dumb, please be patient

Isn't romantic, he tries to act cool and tough, but he is unintentionally cute! Like he will go to s/o house in middle of day, knock on door and he like "sup babygrill I bought you some ice cream"

If you guys play any kind of competitive game he might let them win! But he never tell them that of course

Also he is very physical, but not in romantic/sexy way but in 'dub me up homie/sup give me high five' hes very bromance. he also enjoys just leaning on them, like yall just stand waiting for bus and this dude will put like half his body weight on them

Once he had a nightmare and called them at 3am

Speedwagon

Btw sorry that characters are all over place and not organised, I am sleeby

My guy will shank anyone for you babe

Talks, a lot. So if s/o is a listener type, they will get along well

Goes to Jonathan and asks for advices about relationships!

S/o steals his hat and he pretends that he's offended, but pls dont stop you look cute!

My guy is very very...unorganised... total mess of a men if it comes to life. I dont even know if he has a house btw

Cuddles on couch when he's sure that noone is around>>>

Will read them to bed if that helps s/o fall asleep

He has poor eyesight but he doesnt wear glasses. Bonk him pls

[b1rds3ye]

a farah or valeria × reader perhaps? love ur writing btw ^_^

THANK YOU ANON!! Ngl I would've preferred more detail but I needed to write something for the gals ✌️

Taking What’s Mine

With the 141 being done with Valeria, she’s handed off to you and the Vaqueros to be sent to custody. You should have known better than thinking she would forget you.

Pairing: Valeria Garza x GN!Reader

Genre: Drama, Canon-Compliant, Enemies to more

Word Count: 2.1 k

Warning: Canon typical violence, yandere-ish Valeria? (Valeria's just generally a menace but better safe than sorry)

A/N: Italic sentences are meant to be characters talking in Spanish

You hop out of the driver’s seat of the black transport van to open the back door. Pulling back the door, you offer a mock bow, knowing whoever is entering is the infamous cartel leader, a rabid animal now restrained.

You barely have time to look as Alejandro all but shoves the package into the back seats. Only when you’re behind the package do you peer into the van at the poison of Las Almas. Turning around, she locks eyes with you. Your hesitation is quickly masked as you put your hands on your hips.

So this was the famed El Sin Nombre, who you now knew to have the name Valeria. She was formidable. Even sitting down, arms pulled behind her back, her attention on you had your hand instinctively covering your holster. Everywhere her eyes went was a purposeful action, picking apart every piece of the environment, every person. It settles on the space between you, Rudy and Alejandro - or the lack thereof - and you can see the gears turning in her mind. This was undoubtedly a seasoned fighter, finding potential weaknesses within a moment’s silence. Finding bonds, calculating potential damages. With no other form of retaliation, you slam the door shut, unable to see her reaction from the tinted glass.

Offering goodbyes and good luck to the rest of the 141, Alejandro and Rudolfo brief you for your next mission outside the van when your new allies leave. You’ll be personally keeping guard of Valeria for the foreseeable future until better arrangements can be made to detain someone in such high demand.

Alejandro drives, Rudolfo takes shotgun, and you’re given the unpleasant seat in the back beside the druglord. You figured the ride would be tense simply because the others had served together. Betrayal made the air heavy, it had Rudolfo dipping his head and exhaling heavily. Alejandro, ever the passionate one, was a lit fuse, jaw constantly clenched and screwing tighter with every second.

You were sure they had plenty to discuss, but what you didn’t expect - and prayed to not happen - was Valeria’s interest in you. You kept your head to the side, the back of the head is far less identifiable than the front. But you could feel it, the Nameless inspecting every aspect of you down to the pores of your skin, probably taking note of how you had forgotten to secure one of the velcro straps on your uniform. Amongst the silence of the van your swallow was audible in your ears and you swear she could hear it.

“I remember you,” Valeria states and you flinch. You can hear the smile in her voice. “I don’t remember faces often, they’re disposed of before they do anything memorable.”

You dare turn your head to look straight forward, only greeted with the back of Rudolfo's seat.

“Two months ago, southeast port, you sabotaged my shipment. You were pretending to be an independent vigilante taking matters into your own hands.”

You’re hyper aware of every process in your body. Every inhale takes a little more effort and your back is now straighter with every bump on the road unpleasantly smacking your spine. And you’re also aware that Valeria is tracking every single response, even the ones you're not conscious of, down to the hairs on your arm that now stand up straight.

“You don’t have the patch but I know a vaquero when I see one.”

Valeria turns back to the front, Rudolfo is eyeing her as Alejandro keeps driving.

“Alejandro. Dios mío, making your own a mercenary and having them do your dirty work. I thought you were better than that. I thought the Vaqueros prided themselves on cleanliness.”

“You can’t offer better,” you retort on behalf of Alejandro, to defend his honour. It came out before you could stop it but Valeria raises her eyebrows at you in amusement and you’re cursing yourself.

“I never said I could, but I don’t corrupt. Las Almas does that for me.”

Valeria shakes her head dismissively and she rests back in the seat. There’s a small smile on her face and it’s as dangerous as it is pretty. If you didn’t know any better you would think it was a smile of fondness.

“You even held me at gunpoint. Do you remember, vaquero? But then I begged and begged to return to my family and you took pity.”

There is only the sound of the van engine exerting itself through the crumbling terrain of Las Almas. You’ll no doubt end up discussing your mission once again with your colonel. Through the rear view mirror Alejandro spares a glance at you but there’s no disappointment, only understanding.

You grimace at the memory, that night at the port. It was early into your mission, the cartel weren’t even aware you were there hidden behind freight containers, save for (who you thought) was a single sicario stumbling into your little hiding spot. Even though you lost the element of surprise, you managed to bring her to her knees, gun pointed to her temple. But you did not operate like a cartel, you could not kill indiscriminately. You succumbed to those wide eyes that gazed up at you, frightfully admitting they were prey, and so upon taking all her weapons and military gear, you sent her off.

You realise now that you only shed off the sheep’s clothing and were now staring straight at the wolf. You can no longer call yourself a hero who delivered forgiveness. You mistook the shine in her eyes for tears when really it was the gleam of malice like a blade under the moonlight.

“How do you feel now, knowing that you were so close to ending El Sin Nombre but only lost from your own cowardice?”

“They have nothing to do with you.”

Alejandro’s grip on the wheel tightens until his knuckles are white. You want to speak up, to tell him it’s okay and that you can defend yourself, but you knew what Valeria wanted and you refused to give anymore.

“Oh but they do,” Valeria snaps and she regards you once again, you can see it in your peripheral vision. “You take away my profits and I will get them back."

Your square your shoulders, shifting in your seat. Your next swallow is so dry it hurts.

"See, I don’t forget fighters like you. People like you are risky for business. Like a cockroach you corrupt my supplies and never die.”

Her tone is teetering on a dangerous balance between spite and admiration. You suppose it’s not everyday someone screws up her orders and lives this long to tell the tale. Such skill and luck would be ideal to work in a cartel, you muse and just maybe you’re starting to piece her together as her unwavering gaze freezes the side of your skull. She’s already poking and prodding with her words, seeing if you can break, no, bend around this lawless nation. Las Almas can corrupt anyone, after all.

“I could make use of someone like you,” Valeria pursed her lips in contemplation. “I suppose you could say there are a few slots left open.”

Alejandro and Rudolfo had warned you of Valeria. In particular they warned you of her fire. She burned hotter than the buildings that baked under the Mexican sun. Her tongue held a venom that she inflicted liberally to anyone who dare cross her. And yet there was no aggression in her words. Her tone was deceptive all the same, but the sickly sweetness had you wondering what the hell you ever did to deserve such different treatment.

“I lost some of my best that day,” Valeria huffs like a child that lost their toy.

“My condolences,” you grumble half-heartedly as you focus on the individual fabrics of the back of the car seat. One piece of fluff is sticking out and you’re itching to pull it off, fingers twitching over your holstered pistol. “But you have the wrong person.”

But Valeria does not relent. Instead, she leans towards you, across the small middle seat that divides you and as far as her restraints will let her. Her breaths are heavy, strong enough that the tail-end of it warms your skin. Your cold sweat feels ever colder.

“Let me remind you, that I do not lose. I trade, cariño.”

“Leave them alone!” Alejandro bellows as he dares peel his eyes off the road and back at Valeria. His reaction is enough for her to pull away from you, bound wrists up in mock surrender with a satisfied smirk on her face.

“You’ll learn to accept losses,” you state, easing back into your seat in a pathetic attempt of confidence. “Solitary confinement teaches you a lot.”

“If anyone is learning anything, it will be you,” she argues. Shooting you one final look, she then switches her attention to the window, idly watching as the rugged yet beautiful terrain of Las Almas pass her by. “I’ll be out within twenty-four hours, and your precious vaqueros will be gone in half of that.”

So perhaps Valeria lied that time. She can only sigh upon running into her own men, almost mistaking them for other prison guards amongst the flashing red lights of a prison break. Months of suffering in a tiny cell that was as empty as your threats of solitary confinement, but even then the bite in your words provided her plenty of entertainment until the next time you’d pay a visit to her cell to make sure she was indeed still there.

“What the fuck took you so long?” She snarls at her own, already walking past them as they try to blurt out excuses for their tardiness. She only switches the safety of her rifle off in response and the rest of the cartel hurriedly follow her towards the exit of the prison. Stepping past fallen bodies and only narrowly avoiding the pools of blood that could dirty her boots, Las Almas cartel always knew how to make a statement. A sadistic smile settled on her face at what the Vaqueros would think of their parting gift.

Her reverie is broken by the distant call of her title and Valeria stifles a groan, stopping in her tracks.

“Is this the one?”

Valeria rolls her eyes before looking back at one of her lackeys, curses already on the tip of her tongue until she sees the little gift her subordinates prepared for her - upon her orders of course.

A man walks up to Valeria, hauling you in tow. He kicks the back of your knees, shins cracking against the cement floor. Your whole body joints at the pain, and you further jerk your bound wrists in a vain attempt to get free, but he only tugs back to contort your arms into an impossible angle.

“Fucker took out seven of us,” he spat at you, and even through the fear of being held captive you feel proud of the disdain in his voice, even as you feel the back of your head catch the offset of his saliva.

Valeria tuts as she walks up, spending a good moment with you having no choice but to look at her boots. Until her hand grips at the back of your collar like a baby animal, she yanks your uniform back to look at her as she squats down to your level.

“You are taking more of my assets,” she mutters and despite the chastising tone that coats her voice she doesn’t sound entirely disappointed. Her face is now closer to you as she inspects the blood that is dribbling down your temple.

With her other hand she wipes it away with uncharacteristic sweetness. She takes her time, as though there wasn’t a prison break and you weren’t her prison guard for the last half year. Even the dribble of her own subordinate is wiped off by her as she reaches over to the back of your head. The red lights cast shadows over her face as she looks down at you, but even through the darkness you can tell her features hold a smile only for you as her unkempt fringe falls across her face.

“Fortunately for you, that only increases your worth in my eyes, cariño.”

With no time to even question her, Valeria jerks her head as a sign for your handler to haul you back up to your feet.

“Damage the package and you will only be another ghost to The Nameless.”

You warily check the other cartel members but none of them look confused in the slightest, only nodding at the new orders. A bag over your head obscures your vision entirely and you’re shoved forward, being led to what you can only assume to be the depths of hell.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[headcanonenthusiast]

Rodolfo Parra NSFW headcanons

This was made with gender-neutral readers in mind.

I kinda struggled with writing this ngl..as much of a Rudy girl as I am, I don't know why it took forever for me to come up with headcanons for him. But I was determined to finish these because Rudy needs more content out there. 

Enjoy!

(I completely understand that this type of content is not everyone's cup of tea, and that's ok! But, please scroll and ignore if this type of content isn't your thing as opposed to leaving any sort of negative comments.)

NSFW under the cut. 

-Being with Rudy, even in a non-sexual sense, is basically like being a God/Goddess with a loyal follower at your side, ready to obey and worship your every wish and whim.

-But in the bedroom? He cranks that worshipping up to 500. 

-Will get on his knees before you, hands gently grasping your hips as he kisses down your stomach, whispering the softest praises in Spanish. 

-"Oh, Dios mío, amor. This body..tan jodidamente increíble." 

-And on his knees he will stay until you're satisfied, either carefully jerking/fingering you as he admires your face and the reactions you make. 

-"There we go, moan for me, mi vida. Feels good, doesn't it?" 

-3 inches soft, 5 inches hard. (Normalize realistic dick sizes in headcanons please 🙏) 

-Whether he's dominant or submissive depends entirely on his partner. 

-If you prefer to be on top, he's happy to let you take full control of him. 

-But if you prefer to be on the bottom? He's more than willing to dominate you, albeit very gently. 

-Your body is like glass to him. An absolutely precious temple made from the finest sand that he has the pleasure of worshipping. 

-And to show his appreciation of your existence, he kisses you everywhere. Literally not a single spot on you goes untouched by his lips. 

-His greatest pleasure is when he's balls deep in you, slowly but deeply thrusting and seeing how you react to him. 

-Makes him feel confident, honestly, seeing the way he's able to make you completely melt and turn your mind to mush despite how gentle he's being. 

-"Shit..estás haciendo mucho ruido. I'm hitting all the right spots, aren't I, querido/a?" 

-Also, Rudy with a voice kink? Rudy with a voice kink. 

-A big fan of morning sex. He goes even gentler than he normally is, enjoying the sight of your messy hair. 

-And the fact that you're still half-asleep makes your moans more hushed and whimpery, which nearly makes him cum on the spot. 

-I feel like he enjoys the sounds you make. He needs a more vocal partner. 

-As such, he prefers intercourse in a private space, preferably at home, on the bed or couch. 

-Really isn't that kinky, but if there's one thing he loves, it's making you talk. 

-"Vamos, cariño. Tell me how good it feels." 

-Then, when you're in the middle of answering, he'll give a sudden harsher (but not too harsh, you're as fragile as glass to him, afterall) snap of his hips and smile innocently at your glare. 

-"Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt you?" 

-If you already speak Spanish, most of what he says will be said in Spanish. 

-But, if you don't, he basically becomes a living Duolingo and tries to teach you Spanish while fucking you. (Love a man who can multitask 💅)

-"¿Quieres correrte? Dime lo bien que se siente, entonces. En español. Vamos, amor." 

-And if you get something wrong or can barely respond, he'll frown in disappointment. 

-"No puedes correrte hasta que hagas lo que te pido, cariño." 

-But then when you do cum, he honestly doesn't punish you at all. That's not really his style. 

-Well, maybe a little overstim, but on very rare occasions and not for very long, either. 

-He'll also ask for your permission to cum in you, even if he's on top. 

-Its more of a consent check than anything, though. (Which is very important btw) 

-"Fuck, I'm so close. Can I cum inside, amor? Is that okay?" 

-And if you give your consent, he's cumming deep in your ass/pussy. 

-His main form of aftercare is cuddling and talking. Talking about what you liked, what you didn't like, etc. He just wants to hear your voice. 

-"Yeah? You liked me talking in Spanish? Suppose I'll have to do it more often, then. Necesito mantener a mi mujer bonita/hombre bonito feliz." 

-And I hope you like cuddling, because y'all are gonna be cuddling for the rest of the night, Rudy's voice going soft as he whispers praises in your ear and kisses the back of your neck and shoulders. 

Lord, do I love me some Rodolfo Parra 😫. He's so FINE and criminally under appreciated. Feels so nice to finally write about him, too. I had a lot more ideas for this one than I thought I would starting out. 

And here's the Spanish translations for stuff (forgive me if anything is inaccurate, the only Spanish word I can say correctly and with confidence is gato 🥲).

Querido/a = dear

amor = love

cariño = sweetheart/honey

Dios mío = my God

Vamos = come on 

Estás haciendo mucho ruido = you are making a lot of noise

Tan jodidamente increíble = so fucking incredible 

¿Quieres correrte? Dime lo bien que se siente, entonces. En español. Vamos, amor. = Do you want to cum? Tell me how good it feels, then. In Spanish. Come on, love. 

No puedes correrte hasta que hagas lo que te pido, cariño. = You can't cum until you do what I ask you to do, sweetheart.

Necesito mantener a mi mujer bonita/hombre bonito feliz = I need to keep my pretty woman/pretty man happy.

Hell yeah, another one down! Imma make another poll on who to do next. Hope you enjoyed! 

[shineonyoucrazyyandere]

Hello!!

I'm a bit new to the asking game, but I have a headcanon request! What if the Stardust Crusaders met the daughter of DIO, who had a bright and extremely sweet personality with a stand who has techomagic abilities (able to create advance technology, extended knowledge in technology). I apologize if this doesn't make sense! This would be platonic btw!

— 🧠 Anon!

I think I have a grasp of what to write for this ask finally. Darling is still a child of DIO it’s just that makes my title even wordier than it already is. Decided to do one character per bullet point btw

Platonic! Yandere! Stardust Crusaders w/ a technomagic stand darling.

You’re likely a huge help on the technological/engineering side of things for the crusaders. If you met them right at the start of trying to find DIO. Your first observation is probably akin of “Mr. Joestar you know you probably don’t need to break that expensive camera to use your stand right?”. Before long you have it repaired and ready to go, Joseph is wildly impressed and is quickly endeared to you. There is at least also one instance of him asking about fiddling around with a vending machine (for science of course), to maybe get something a little extra.

Avdol can see the trouble coming with you and Mr. Joestar a mile a way. Your eagerness towards technology is commendable and a little worrying if you get too caught up. Which is pretty often, and Joseph tends to be an enabler when it comes to anything he finds cool. He personally loves it himself but does his best to be your guide. He’s the one to most likely sit next to you in whatever transportation you’re in, it’s almost stifling but you barely notice most likely as you keep yourself entertained. There is quite a few times he does let you “loose” to do your thing, just because he enjoys your company so much.

Kakyoin is a bit more reserved in his reactions, the biggest thing that lures him to you is how well you utilize your stand in much of the technology you all run into. If you happen to bring up games out of boredom, his interest is piqued as you likely explain how you fixed a perfectly good console that was thrown in the trash. You tell him some people just don’t understand there’s things worth saving and there’s usually a fix that perfectly restores it. His feelings deepen when you tell him you believe him with the Death 13 fight. His hands are almost shaking, (In this scenario he is very likely to become a romantic yandere pretty quickly)

Polnareff bounces off your personality pretty easily, likes asking you a ton of questions and you manage to answer just about every one of them. He’d just wish you would relax a little bit and enjoy the smallest bit of relaxation (as you can when getting constantly chased by enemy stand users). So he usually nudges you with some kind of treat or even just doing something casually where it doesn’t seem that your brain is running on full power constantly. There’s a dozen times he’s even carrying you up the stairs, you deserve it. You saved his skin so he certainly has to return the favor. (This Frenchman would also be likely to end up a romantic yandere)

Jotaro is one who comes in when things go a little too far, especially if gramps or Polnareff are going what he considers over board, so if he wants to be around you he will find a way to do so. Not that he doesn’t occasionally indulge your tinkering with a little thunk to something with either his strength or Star Platinum’s. He definitely tells you to go to bed when you’re up too late for his liking while on the trip. Don’t ask why or how he got in your room, or even ponder if he was outside of your door guarding you. He can handle himself even if he is a bit hypocritical with some advice. Speaking of he is quick to tell you to lower your use of your stand, keeping it hidden so no potential danger catches everyone off guard. Especially when you’ve helped him out with Wheel of Fortune and Strength. He does let some of his eccentricities out with you and the others when it feels reasonable. But he’s still keeping one eye open at all times when he can.

If anyone’s wondering if there’s any worry about you being the daughter of DIO, I’d like to think Avdol was the one to keep an eye on you for trustworthiness before anything happened. (Even if none of them knew you were his daughter).

[putellas11]

A/N: Finally! So happy I was able to get this up in time to celebrate Alexia's return!!! Similar to Just a Girl, this was a big challenge for me and I was determined to see it through. This is a story of how love can shine a light in the darkest of moments. btw this is a long one so settle in.

The Missing Piece (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

In the blink of an eye, everything changed. 

A life once lived passionately and carefree, now overwhelmed with uncertainty and trepidation. How else are you supposed to feel when faced with the possibility of losing what you hold most dear? If you lose your guiding light, will you make it on your own or will you wander aimlessly through life?

These are the questions that have invaded your mind. It’s all you can think about. They keep you up at night and leave you exhausted the following morning. You feel their weight on your shoulders dragging you down. They leave you gasping for air as you struggle to just keep your head above water. And the one person who can help you and protect you from it all, is the very person you’re at risk of losing. 

The only thing that can distract you, even if it’s for the briefest of moments, is art. It’s the only way you can convey what words simply cannot express. When you feel crippled with pain and see no hope in sight, art is your only escape. With your brush, you create a world filled with light and hope. Because unlike life, art is forgiving. When you make a mess, you can paint over it. You can try again. 

Unlike life, art gives you second chances.

"Dios mio, that storeroom is a mess!" your coworker, Carla exclaims, appearing by your side. She drops a box of coffee beans on the floor and with the back of her hand, wipes a drop of sweat from her brow. “Took me 10 minutes just to find this.”

Behind the counter, your attention is on the sketchbook in your hands. When the crowd dies down and you get a little break from taking orders, the small sketchbook comes out from under the counter. Everything from the small details of the cafe to the faces of those who visit it, are you sources of inspiration.

“You mean the one we spent all night organizing last week?”

Annoyance radiates from Carla. “That can’t be us making all that mess, right?” she says, hands on her waist and her foot tapping repeatedly against the floor. “I’m convinced someone is sneaking in at night and trashing the place.” 

The absurdity of the statement makes you laugh, and she finally gets your full attention. “So, they don’t sneak in to steal anything? All they want to do is make a mess?” 

Carla nods with confidence. “It’s the only logical explanation.” 

How she manages to keep a straight face, you do not know. But her eyes certainly give her away. Like you, Carla has no intention of being a barista forever. Put two people together who don’t take their job too seriously and what do you get? A messy storeroom. 

“You’re ridiculous.” With a smile, you shake your head and return your focus back to the sketchbook. 

Carla leans in to take a peek at what you’re drawing, and it doesn’t take long for her to pick out your subject: a young woman sitting by the window, completely immersed in a book. You picked her out because of her auburn hair and the way it shines so bright bathed by rays of sunlight.

"How's the exhibit coming along, by the way?" Carla asks.

It's a simple question that elicits a deep sigh from your lips. Just the mention of it forces you to close the sketchbook and tuck it away under the counter. "It's going...good."

Carla raises her eyebrow, catching on to your very obvious hesitation. "But…" she says, encouraging you to spill whatever it is that’s bothering you.

"I've gotten great feedback from everyone I've shown the pieces to, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. It's like there's something else I need to say, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what that is."

It’s been nothing but sleepless nights staring at a blank canvas just waiting for inspiration to strike.  All the other pieces came so naturally to you. Granted, all of them are dedicated to your mother. But still, you've never experienced something quite like this and with the exhibit only a few months away, you're getting a little restless.

You hope Carla might have some words of wisdom to break you out of the funk you’re in, but the door of the cafe creaks open, and a woman walks in.

Break time is over. 

Like clockwork, Carla takes her position by your side at the brewing station, ready to prepare whatever order the customer might want.

"Hola! What can I get you?" You give the woman the same greeting and smile you give to them all.

The woman glances at Carla, and for a brief moment, it gives you the impression that there might actually be some meaning behind it. But you dismiss it — it's probably nothing.

"Just a cortado, please."

"And the name for the order?" you ask, busy staring at the screen. 

"...Alexia."

It takes the woman a second too long to say her name, but again, you pay it no mind. You've taken thousands of orders by now, and they're all a little different from the last. Some customers are chatty and some straight to the point. Either way, you take their order and send them on their way. You don’t have the energy for anything else.

Carla, an expert by now, has the order done in a second and leaves it on the counter. She shares a look again with the woman, and this time it does spark your interest. You make a note to ask Carla about it later.

The door opens and closes, and now there's one less customer inside the cafe to worry about.

"You know," Carla says, swinging her arm over your shoulder, "that thing you're missing? It might just be standing right in front of you."

You scoff in response, "if only it were that easy."

Carla's expression hints that she wants to say something else, but instead, she gives you a comfortable squeeze on the shoulder.

You’re about to ask her about those looks she was sharing with the woman, but you’re interrupted by the phone vibrating inside your apron pocket. 

It’s a simple message and it doesn’t deliver any bad news, but no matter how many times you receive it, your heart drops to your stomach.

"Todo bien?" Carla asks.

You nod, typing away your response. "Mama just finished her treatment. Tia is taking her home now." Tucking the phone back in your apron, a soft "merde" escapes from your lips. 

Only a year ago, you were living in France with the world at your fingertips. Everything was absolutely perfect. It’s where you went to art school and poured your heart and soul into every sketch and painting with the ultimate goal of perfecting your talent. And when you graduated, all your hard work paid off when Cécile Guth — a painter you deeply admired — granted you the opportunity to be her apprentice. In France, life was art, and art was your life.

But that all changed when your mom got sick.

Leukemia.

That’s when everything came to a halt. The cloud you had been living on suddenly evaporated, and you came crashing down, face first into a harsh reality. You had no choice but to leave France. At first, you didn't miss the life and dreams you left behind. You were so focused on taking care of your mom that everything else was deemed irrelevant. But as the months have gone by, you wonder if you'll ever be able to return. And if you ever do, you fear you might not be the same person. 

"How's Lídia doing?" Carla asks, bringing you back to reality.

"She's a fighter," you say with a sad smile. "She tries to be strong for my sake, but I can see she's suffering. Chemo is supposed to help but honestly, I feel like it's hurting her more than that damn cancer ever could."

Without a second to waste, Carla opens her arms and pulls you into a hug you so desperately need. You've only known each other for a year, but she's been by your side during the most difficult time of your life.

"On a happier note, the flyers for the class are done," you say, wiping away the single tear from your cheek.

Carla, sensing the need to lighten up the mood, claps her hands excitedly. "I'm telling you, you should have had them made a long time ago!"

It was Carla’s idea to have flyers made to promote your small art class, The First Brushstroke. Working at the cafe isn’t exactly making you rich — not that you need to be, but you definitely need an extra source of income with your mom obviously not able to work. 

“I’m picking them up on my way home. If I can get just three more regulars, I’ll be good.” 

Carla waves your doubts away, “trust me, I’m a genius. I bet that you’ll have to find a bigger studio in a few months.”

The door opens once again and it’s time to repeat the routine all over again. You’re not sure how much longer you can take this.

“I hope you’re right.”

__________________________

Once again, you find yourself sitting in front of a blank canvas, just staring at it intently with no hope in sight. All the colors and shapes that once flowed so naturally through your mind seem to have vanished. You’re left staring at nothing, feeling frustrated and helpless. Every time you dip your brush into the paint and make a few strokes on the canvas, it feels forced. Art isn’t supposed to feel forced. It’s meant to feel effortless and natural.

With a sigh you set down your brush and lean back on the chair. Looking around the room, you see a clutter of art supplies and splotches of paint decorating the floor. Very few traces are left of what was once your childhood bedroom. It was actually your mom’s idea to turn it into a little studio when you moved back home. Her way of helping you keep your passion alive, you suppose. 

Admitting defeat, you stand up and walk away from the canvas. The missing piece yet to be found.

You find your mom in her room, tucked under the blankets with a book in her hands. Physically, she has changed so much. A strong woman capable of running mile after mile is now barely able to walk a few feet on her own. Thick, luscious hair is now thin and falls off at the slightest touch.

And yet, in her eyes, you see the same woman who used to run all over the house with you playing hide and seek. The same woman who held you on her hip as she made pancakes with chocolate syrup smiles. Inside, she still has that raw passion and intensity as when she danced flamenco. She’s still your mom but it’s like you lose a little more of her with each passing day.

“Hi, mama,” you greet her, peeking your head inside the room.

The moment she sees you, a big smile appears. “Hola, mi vida. Come in.”

The book is placed to the side, and her arms welcome you as you lay down next to her. She doesn’t want you to ask about today’s treatment or how she’s feeling. She’s tired of only giving you bad news. Even when you’re the one that is supposed to look after her, her priority is still looking after you. 

So instead of asking, you let her gather her strength and run her fingers through your hair. She asks about your day, and you tell her everything to the smallest detail. She gets a nice chuckle out of Carla’s suspicions about who keeps messing up the storeroom.

“And that missing piece of yours?”

You shake your head. “Still missing and I’m just about ready to give it up. Honestly mama, I think it’s just me being a perfectionist.”

She hums but doesn’t say anything in response right away. “I think…” she says, “that if that heart of yours is telling you that something is missing, you should listen.”

Growing up, your mom would never allow frustration to consume you to the point of giving up. She would guide you through whatever you needed until you came out on the other side. She has always been your guiding light when you just can’t seem to find your way.

You look up at her and smile. “You’re so wise.”

A familiar mischievous glint that you rarely see nowadays appears in her eyes. “Well, one of us has to be.”

“Mama!”

But the two of you share a laugh, and it’s a sound you hope to hear forever and never forget.

__________________________

Tuesdays are slow. The early morning rush of customers has come and gone, and now the café is left with only a few scattered customers. On days like this, there’s only a need for one person behind the counter, and today that lucky person is you. 

With Carla not around to keep you company, the only goal is to keep yourself busy. Occasionally, you’ll take out the sketchbook, but nothing seems to maintain your interest for long. You’re in a proper funk, and rather than fight it, you have decided to embrace it. Even though you still can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing a piece for the exhibit, at this point, you’re only driving yourself crazy.

If the missing piece wants to be found, it will make its way to you eventually.

The door of the coffee shop swings open, and it takes you a second, but you recognize her as the woman sharing those looks with Carla.

“¡Hola, bienvenida!”

The woman gives you a soft smile, “Hi,” she says, tapping her fingers on the counter, “A cortado, please.”

With a nod, you input her order on the screen, “name for the order?” 

Once again, the woman takes just a second too long to respond. This time you glance up just in time to catch a glimpse of sadness in her eyes. 

“Alexia,” she says with a breath. 

As you prepare the order, you can see her taking a keen interest in one of the flyers for your art class. You left them up on the counter so that everyone could see, but as you expected, barely anyone has paid much attention.

Alexia, on the other hand, not only takes one from the stack, but she seems to be genuinely curious. If Carla was here, she would urge you to talk to her. But the truth is, you’ve never been good at selling yourself. You’ve always preferred to let your art speak for you, and for itself.

You place her cortado within Alexia’s reach and as casually as you can, ask, "Interested in taking an art class?" 

Alexia shifts her weight nervously and chuckles, "I'm not very good."

Out of fear that you’ll come off too eager and scare her away, you grab a towel and start wiping the counter that clearly doesn’t need much cleaning. “More reason to sign up.”

“I’ll sign up if you ask me to.” 

Your hand stills at her words. “Um…” Something about the way she said them makes you hesitant to look at her. “Yeah... you should sign up.”

But she doesn’t let you off the hook that easily. 

“Look at me and ask.”

And when you do look at her, you’re left speechless by what you see. This is the first time you look at her — really look at her, and it makes you feel vulnerable, exposed. Alexia’s not just looking at you - she’s looking through you. All of your flaws, insecurities, and imperfections seem to be on full display. 

You feel seen. 

You struggle to speak, the words seemingly stuck in your throat. “Please, sign up for my class.” 

“Finally.” Alexia says and she doesn’t say anything else for a few seconds, almost as if she’s relishing the moment. Eventually, the corners of her lips tug upwards in a smile, “I’ll think about it.”

You want to say something to convince her, but you’re left speechless. No one has looked at you like that in a very, very long time. It's a scary feeling, but at the same time, there's a sense of excitement brewing in the pit of your stomach. 

With the flyer and coffee in her hands, Alexia gives you a little nod. “Nos vemos.” 

You watch as she walks out of the cafe, leaving you to grapple with the unexpected feelings she sparked in you. 

The rest of your shift goes unbearably slow. With barely any customers to keep your mind busy, it keeps wandering back to Alexia. The exchange was confusing, unexpected, and strange. And yet, you want to talk to her again. 

It’s only when you get home that you’re distracted enough to not think about her, and it’s not for a great reason.

Your mom has good days and bad days and when you got home, your aunt’s expression told you all you needed to know. Today is a bad day. 

On the bad days, there’s very little you can do besides make sure she is comfortable. These are the days that hurt the most. You feel powerless and the questions that keep you up at night gain power over you. You try so hard to put on a brave face for her. She can handle the cancer, but not the sadness in your eyes.

After dinner, you’re lying in bed with her watching a movie. It’s a bad day ritual. It’s the perfect way to embrace a new world — a new reality in which your mom is not sick and everything is as it should be.

Halfway through the movie, your phone buzzes softly beside you.

A notification lights up the display: Alexia Putellas has registered for The First Brushstroke class.

A warm, tingling sensation spreads through your body as you read her name. You can't help but whisper it out loud, "Alexia."

Your mom's voice, curious and gentle, interrupts your thoughts. "Did you say something, mija?"

Quickly you lock the screen and shake your head. "It's nothing, mama."

There's no point in explaining how one simple look from a stranger has shaken you to your core.  How can you possibly explain something you, yourself don’t understand? 

__________________________

There’s a vibrant energy that flows through the narrow, winding streets of La Vila de Gràcia district. Before moving away, Gràcia was where you would spend most of your time. You felt understood and encouraged by all of the artists displaying their artwork on the streets. So, when you moved back and needed to find an art studio to host your class, you knew exactly where to look.

The art studio itself is small but fulfills your needs and most importantly, it’s within your budget. The walls are decorated with various pieces of artwork, from sketches and charcoal drawings to oil paintings. At the bottom right corner each one are your initials, and the only hint of the paintings being created by your hand. At the front of the room is a large wooden easel, holding a blank canvas that in a few hours will be brought to life with vibrant strokes of color.

The class is for beginners, so you don’t put too much pressure on yourself. There’s no need for everything to be perfect. In fact, you encourage mistakes. Most often than not, mistakes have the potential to become something unexpectedly beautiful. 

With the class set to begin shortly, those who signed up start trickling in. A couple takes a seat in the back of the room and right away you can tell it might be their first date. He hesitates to scoot his stool a little closer to her, and she tries to hide the blush in her cheeks when he finally does. 

A few of your regulars have the confidence to immediately go and collect their paint brushes, tubes of paint, and containers of water without being told to do so. Their confidence spreads through the room, and eventually, everyone has what they need to start the class. 

Only one easel stands alone. 

You glance at the clock on the wall and feel your heart sink a bit. It seems Alexia changed her mind and won’t be coming after all. You try to pretend it doesn’t bother you, but disappointment is an unwanted visitor tonight. Still, you gather the supplies she might need and leave them for her by the easel. Just in case. 

“Hello everyone, thank you all for being here” you offer a smile to the faces looking at you with anticipation, “tonight, we’ll be focusing on blending colors to create a gradient effect. If this is your first time —” 

The door swings open and everyone's heads snap in its direction. Alexia steps inside the studio and you forget whatever it is you were about to say. 

She stops at the entrance, her eyes locked on you. 

Alexia’s presence sparks an excited chatter amongst the class but their voices are muffled in your ears. You’re entirely captivated by her.

“Hi,” you greet her. 

“Hi,” she says with the softest of smiles.

Finally taking notice of the others in the studio, Alexia gives them all a quick nod before taking a seat.

Before, everyone’s eyes were on you. Now, you see them all taking not-so secretive glances at Alexia. You can only assume it’s because she made a late entrance, but deep down, you have a feeling there might be more to it than that. 

You clear your throat and bring everyone's attention back to you. “Um… yeah, I as I was saying,” but it takes you a second to regain your train of thought, “right —  if this is your first time, feel free to follow along to what I paint, it will be something really simple. But, if your mind or your heart calls out for something else, don’t hesitate.” 

As promised, your painting is of a simple sunset with silhouettes of pine trees. You show the students how to mix the colors together with a blending brush, starting with a light shade and gradually adding darker tones for a seamless transition. A painting of this simplicity would normally take you a few minutes, but you take your time to explain the different techniques and all the possible color combinations. 

With the painting done, it’s time for you to walk around the studio and give each student your individual attention. You encourage those who are hesitant to be bold and give praises to those that show improvement since the last time you saw them.

Eventually, you make your way to Alexia. When she notices you, she looks down somewhat embarrassed. 

“It’s so bad,” she says softly, avoiding your gaze.

You take a closer look at her painting. It's a striking red and blue background with the silhouette of a young girl holding a ball against her hip. Despite the simple composition, there's something poignant and personal about it. From your experience, most beginner students choose something generic, easy. But It's clear that Alexia’s painting is anything but.

"It's not bad," you say gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's personal, no? I think that’s what makes it beautiful."

Your words seem to give Alexia a little bit of confidence because she looks up at you, “gracias.” Her eyes drift down at your hand still on her shoulder, a soft sigh through parted lips. 

Fearing you might have crossed an invisible line, you pull away swiftly and give her a little nod. “You’re welcome.” 

The rest of the class goes by in a blur but all throughout you feel overwhelmed by Alexia. You feel her eyes on you the entire time. And while you certainly hope you didn’t make it too obvious, every time she flicked her hair, you noticed. When she scrunched her eyebrows in deep focus, you noticed. 

The students stand up and get ready to leave, but before some walk out of the studio, they do something that surprises you. They walk up to Alexia with a glint in their eyes, and ask her for a picture. She complies with every request.

Clearly, Alexia is someone important and you feel embarrassed for not knowing why. 

Only the couple and Alexia remain in the studio. You start cleaning up all the supplies scattered all while pretending not to listen. With what you do manage to catch of their conversation, your best guess is that it has something to do with a football club which is something you know very little about. Sports are not really your thing and it has nothing to do with being forced to play goalie once when you were six, and then proceeding to get a ball kicked at your face. Repeatedly. 

Alexia and the couple exchange farewells and the conversation comes to an end. With your back turned, you only hear the sound of the door opening and closing and then, a brief silence. 

“Do you usually stay and clean?” 

Alexia’s voice startles you, causing you to jump and let out a shriek. You assumed she had left like everyone else. It’s not like she has a reason to stay. 

“Oh!” she says, taking a step closer with a look of concern, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Slightly embarrassed at your reaction, you take a deep to calm your beating heart. “No, uh,” you say with a light chuckle, hand on your chest. “I stay and clean up. It’s part of the gig.” 

Alexia looks around, noticing all the dirty brushes and containers that will surely keep you occupied for another hour. Without a word, she follows your lead and starts picking up as well.

“Wait, you really don’t have to.” 

She stops and looks at you with the same intensity she did at the coffee shop. “I want to.” 

Once again, you're left speechless by one simple look and unable to make any further protests. Alexia seems to have this power of you that you find both unsettling and strangely exhilarating. 

With all the brushes and containers in the sink, you notice she has no intention of leaving until the task is complete. 

“I wash, you dry?” you suggest, turning on the faucet to allow the water to remove the excess paint from the brushes. 

“You wash, I dry.” Alexia stands next to you, her arm bushing ever so slightly against yours. 

It’s a small studio, so it’s a small sink. You’re acutely aware of the warmth radiating from her and you feel it spreading through you.

"I know it's a little obvious since you're the teacher and all," Alexia says, meticulously cleaning the brushes with a level of care and precision most people wouldn't exhibit. "But you’re really talented."

Your laughter is warm and appreciative. "That's quite a compliment based on just that small painting I did."

Alexia shakes her head slightly and her gaze drifts up to the paintings and sketches adorning the walls of the studio. "These are all yours, right?"

You don't bother looking up at the paintings. You're well aware of the pieces she's referring to. Instead, you fix your eyes on her, astonishment subtly etched on your face.

"You noticed."

Alexia meets your gaze. "Hard not to."

For a brief moment, both of you remain silent, allowing the compliment to linger in the air. But you feel flustered, so you look away and try to think of something to change the subject.

"Do you mind if I ask what you do?"

Alexia straightens her posture with an unmistakable hint of pride. "I play for Barça."

And you feel like idiot for not knowing that. "No wonder everyone was so starstruck when you walked in."

Alexia's lips curve into a tight, shy smile. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that," she says, as she finishes drying the last of the brushes.

"Don't be," you say, shifting your weight against the sink. "I should apologize for being from here and not recognizing you. I feel like I'm committing some sort of crime."

Her laughter is light, and she leans in ever so slightly. "You know, I think there's a reward for turning in people like you," she teases.

Biting your bottom lip to stifle a grin, you reply, "And if I offer a better reward for keeping my secret?"

Alexia edges slightly closer, curiosity dancing in her eyes. "What do you have in mind?"

Her proximity sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "How about a private class next Friday? You'll have the teacher all to yourself."

Alexia pretends to ponder it for a moment, but eventually extends her hand, and you take it without hesitation.

"We have a deal."

__________________________

Over the next few days, you find yourself more attentive than ever at who enters the cafe. Every time the door swings open, your head instinctively turns in its direction. Not only that, you’re so lost in thought that you struggle to remember even the simplest of orders.

After you botch the third order of the day, Carla's curiosity gets the better of her. "Okay, I have to know," she says, her arms crossed over her chest, "what's got your head in the clouds?"

"Sorry... I just have something on my mind, that's all," you reply, trying to dismiss it. "It’s stupid."

She seems willing to let it go, but when you reach for the whole milk, she has to intervene. "He asked for oat milk," she points out, swapping the milk cartons for you. "Alright, spill it — and I don't mean the drink."

With the customer only a few feet away, you lower your voice so only Carla can hear. "I met someone…"

Carla's eyebrows rise in intrigue. "I like where this is going."

You quickly complete the order under Carla's watchful gaze and hand it to the customer with an apologetic smile.

Once he walks out of the cafe, Carla swivels back to you. "You were saying."

"She was at my class last week even stayed to help me clean up. You know I haven't exactly flirted with anyone in a while, but I'm pretty sure that's what happened. And now…" you take a deep breath, "I can't stop thinking about her,” you say rather quickly, almost embarrassed.

“It doesn't help that she's a regular here so I'm expecting her to walk through that door any second, and it has me on edge."

"Wait," Carla says, holding her hand up, "she's a regular?"

You nod. "Yeah, it’s Alexia. I think you know her actually."

You still haven't forgotten the glances her and Alexia have shared in the past. But with everything that has happened, you never had the chance to ask Carla what it all meant. 

Upon hearing Alexia's name, the broadest grin spreads across Carla's face.

"What?" you ask, puzzled.

"It's about damn time!" She exclaims, a tad too loudly. The few customers in the cafe glance her way, and she quickly apologizes.

"What do you mean, it's about time?"

After releasing her excitement with a few soft claps, Carla places a hand on your shoulder. "Querida, Alexia has been coming here for like two months just to see you and you barely paid her any attention. La pobre, she would get so sad whenever you asked for her name."

It all starts to make sense. So much has been happening around you but you’ve been oblivious to it all. 

You playfully slap Carla on her side. "Why didn't you say anything?!"

Carla shrugs, her smile beaming. "What can I say — I'm a romantic! I didn't want to force it." Her smile dims slightly. "Besides, I figured you had a lot on your mind with your mom and the exhibit. I didn't think you were all that interested in dating."

Carla's right: dating hasn't exactly been a priority. You haven’t gone on a date in a year and it’s a fact that hasn’t exactly kept you up at night. How can you seek out love when your heart is in danger of being broken in a million little pieces? If your worst fear becomes a reality, there might not be a heart left to give. But even so, you cannot deny that while it still remains in tack, it beats a little faster at the mention of Alexia. 

"You're not wrong," you concede, "but a woman like that is worth moving up the priority list."

Carla snickers and wiggles her eyebrows. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?"

"Very."

__________________________

It's Friday night and you can’t stop staring at the clock in your art studio. Its hands seem to mock you. Each tick echoes through the empty space, driving you mad with anticipation. It's your fault for arriving an hour early, but you just couldn't bear waiting at home any longer. You haven't felt like this in so long, and you just don't know what to do with yourself.

Back in France, you only dated casually. Some relationships were more serious than others sure, but you never really saw a future in any of them. Your heart and mind were too committed to your art, so it was difficult for anyone to compete.

But this time it feels different. Your art, which used to consume you, now seems to be somewhat in the background, and thoughts of Alexia have taken center stage.

The art studio is still. The easels and art supplies waiting in anticipation for Alexia. You set two easels in the corner next to the large windows that reveal the night sky, dotted with stars.

And if you're not staring at the clock, you're staring at the blank canvas, trying to envision the scene you want to create. But of course, your thoughts drift to Alexia, and all you can see is the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.

The door to the studio opens and Alexia walks in. Immediately, you feel the heat rise in your cheeks.

"Hi," she greets you, choosing to remain standing by the door.

You fight the nerves threatening to consume you and take the necessary steps to reach her. "Hi," you reply, hands intertwined nervously behind you.

Alexia looks at you for a moment, a smirk teasing her lips. There's no doubt she can sense your nerves. "You know, I ran into some officers on the way here."

"Oh yeah?"

She hums and nods her head, "They were actually looking for someone that reminded me a lot of you."

You bite your bottom lip to suppress your laughter. You've missed being teased like this. "Well, either you led them right to me, or you kept your end of the deal."

Alexia takes a moment, a mischievous look in her eye. "She's right here, officers!"

This earns Alexia a playful nudge on her shoulder. "Alright, you got me," you admit, your laughter filling the studio.

“Are you ready to get started, captain?”

Alexia nods and follows you to the easels by the window. She doesn’t try to be slick when she scoots her stool closer you. She makes it very obvious and, you of course, make no protest.

In the beginning, you focus on giving her a few pointers on how to work with charcoal. It's all very professional, which does help calm the butterflies in your stomach.

But then Alexia glances over at your canvas and asks, "How do you do that shading thing you do?"

You give her a smile and lean in closer to her canvas. With the proximity, you can smell her perfume, her breath against your hair, her knee pressed up against yours.

When you finish explaining, you turn to Alexia, only to realize that she hasn't exactly been paying much attention to what you were doing.

"Did you listen to a word I said?" You ask teasingly.

Alexia blushes, a sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry, I got distracted," she admits, her eyes flickering to your lips for a moment. "Show me again."

And you do so, not just because you want her to learn, but because you like the feeling of having her close.

After a little while of working in peaceful silence, Alexia decides to speak up. "So, in the last class, you mentioned that you moved back here from France?"

You give her a nod, "Yeah, almost a year now."

"Why did you come back?"

Your hand stills and hovers above the canvas. It doesn't matter how much time has gone by or how many times you've had to talk about it, your mom's illness is and will always be difficult to put into words.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Alexia says, sensing your hesitation.

But you shake your head and smile, your eyes glistening. "No, it's okay," you say, voice soft but steady.

"My mom was diagnosed with cancer, and of course I had moved back to be with her. I used to say that it would take something really big for me to move back here, and… it turns out I was right."

Alexia listens intently to your every word. "I'm really sorry."

You finally gather the courage to look at Alexia, and you see two things: a sense of understanding and a little smudge of charcoal on her cheek.

"Thank you," you tell her with a small smile, which only grows bigger the longer you look at her.

"What?" she asks, confused.

"You have a little charcoal…" you tell her, pointing to the smudge on her cheek.

"Oh," she says and immediately tries to clean it off herself but fails to actually reach the spot.

"Let me help." You lean in closer to her, and with a soft, careful touch, you reach out and gently wipe the smudge away with your thumb.

Time seems to stand still as you both sit there, faces close in a moment of pure, unspoken emotion.

Slowly, you pull away, your cheeks flushed and your heart pounding. The moment is broken, but the feelings remain palpable. 

“Gracias,” she says, her hand on where she felt your touch.

Unlike the last class, this time there's no excuse for Alexia to stay and help you clean up. So, with the drawings done, you're both just standing a little awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do next.

"Would you like to go for a drink? I know a bar nearby."

Your eyes widen in surprise, and then a smile lights up you face. "I'd love that."

And that’s how the two of you end up at Las Vermudas, a cozy bar tucked away in the Gràcia district. 

You follow Alexia to a booth in a far corner of the bar. Once you both have settled in, the bartender comes over to take your orders. You can’t keep your eyes off her as she orders her drink and when she catches you looking, she smiles.

It’s like the two of you are in your own little world. The conversation flows effortlessly and eventually, it leads back to your return.

“I felt so settled back in France. Everything just made sense. I was making all the right connections through Cécile, my mentor. It’s actually thanks to her that my work will be featured in an exhibit in a few months. Now, I have no idea where or who I’ll be next year.”

Almost like she can read your mind, Alexia asks, “What are you afraid of?” 

“When I go back — if I do ever go back, I m scared that I just won’t be the same. That nothing will be the same. And that maybe I lost my chance to be truly great. It’s not just talent to succeed in my world, it’s a lot introductions with right people.”

Once again, you see nothing but understanding in Alexia. Her finger trails the edge of her glass, eyebrows slightly furrowed in thought. 

"You know, there was a time when I wasn't sure I'd ever play again," she admits, her voice wavering slightly. 

Your eyes widen in concern, and you lean in, eager to hear more.

"Two years ago I suffered an ACL injury and I was out for almsot a year. No matter how many times I told myself that I would come back stronger, there was still that little bit of doubt that would keep me up at night. I was so scared that I would not be the same player and my career would just be a what if."

“And are you the same player?” 

A smirk tugs on her lips. “No,” she reaches for her glass and takes a small sip. “I’m better.” she says, and her smirk transforms into a proud smile. 

And so you raise your own glass to her in admiration. It’s one thing to overcome an injury, but it’s another thing entirely to overcome the doubt that so desperately wants to hold you back.

After a little more back and forth and occasional teasing, you feel comfortable to bring up something that’s been on your mind.

 "So, I have to admit something," you say, hesitating slightly. "You know my coworker, Carla?” 

Alexia shifts in her seat “Si, we’ve talked a little here and there.”

You have a pretty good idea of what they’ve talked about — particularly how blind and clueless you’ve been for months.

But even though Alexia is no longer a stranger and you know for a fact that she’s interested in you, it doesn’t make it any easier to take that leap forward and be vulnerable with someone.

“Well, I kept getting distracted at the cafe, like I couldn’t get an order right to save my life.” You look down at the glass in your hands, “and I’m not the best barista by any means, but Carla could tell my mind was somewhere else.” 

Alexia remains silent, but you feel her scooting a little closer to you.

“What were you thinking about?” 

Your finger taps the glass repeatedly as you prepare yourself to reply to a question Alexia probably already knows the answer to. 

“I was thinking about you.” 

She scoots again a little closer, but this time actually reaches for your hand. It gives you the confidence you need to look away from the glass, and into her eyes. 

“And when I told her I was thinking about you she got really excited, because as it turns out… you’ve been thinking about me too.”

A light blush spreads across Alexia's cheeks. "I thought you’d never notice me,” she says with a light chuckle. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

Your eyes drift down to your hand and you watch how delicately Alexia trails over your knuckles.

"Every time I saw you at the cafe, I would try to find the reason to talk to you, but you wouldn’t even look me in the eye. So, I just waited and hoped that maybe, just maybe, you'd just look up."

Unlike so many times before in the cafe, this time you do look up. The intensity in her eyes no longer scares you. You welcome it and embrace it as the urge to close the distance and taste her lips becomes irresistible.  

Everything indicates that she feels it too. You don’t think about it too much. You just do it.

When your lips finally meet, it's as if a spark ignites, sending a wave of warmth and desire throughout your entire body. The kiss, tender and sweet, makes the world around you fade away, and all that exists is the sensation of her lips.

When you pull away, breathless and exhilarated, you rest your forehead against hers and whisper, “I don’t think I’ll ever notice anyone else ever again.”

__________________________

With Alexia by your side, life takes a pleasant turn. After months of nothing but stress and just expecting the worst, she has brought a little light to your darkness. Not because she showers with grand gestures of affection. No, it’s the little things she does that mean the most. Like waiting for you outside the cafe after your shift so you’re the first person she sees. And it doesn’t matter how tired you are, seeing her waiting for you is like a breath of fresh air.

Because she makes you feel like this, it’s easy for you to embrace her world and her passions even though they differ so greatly from your own. It took a little bit of convincing and a lot of kisses, but you eventually agreed to let her teach you how to play football. You stumble and fall more often than not but Alexia is patient and encouraging.  However, it’s hard for her to suppress her laughter at how many times you miss the ball and just kick the air. 

But what surprises you the most, is that other than at the First Brushstroke, you’ve had no interest in painting. No longer are you driving yourself crazy with the exhibit and the damned missing piece.

“Oye,” Carla calls out to you, “stop thinking about Alexia and help me stock up the pastry shelf.”

You roll your eyes with a smirk in response but don’t bother to defend yourself. She’s right after all. “Fine, fine.” 

“By the way, the owner just texted me that he might stop by tomorrow,” Carla informs you and her expression shows that she’s not all that pleased.

You throw your head back and groan, “of course he is.” 

Every once in a blue moon the owner of the cafe decides to show up and pretend like he actually cares about the place. Just the mention of his possible visit makes you want to take off your apron and quit.

What makes matters worse is that Alexia won’t be waiting for you outside today. She’s traveling back with the team and you expect her to go straight home and get some rest. 

The two of you are just about done restocking the shelf when the door to the cafe opens.

“Ale?” 

Her eyes immediately find you and she gives you a big, beaming smile. Your heart skips a beat as you return her smile, a tangible connection passing between you even from across the cafe.

“Hola, preciosa.”

Within a second you’re in her arms, face nestled in the crook of your neck. “You’re back,” you mumble against her skin, giving a quick peck on her cheek.

“I am,” she says with a little squeeze. 

Behind you, Carla clears her throat to get your attention. "Hey, can you bring out the rest of the apple puff ones from the back? I'll cover the counter."

You glance at the shelf and see more than enough of the apple puff-pastries and you, of course, catch the hint. “Will do,” you reply with a grateful smile.

You take Alexia’s hand and guide her towards the storeroom. As you pass Carla, you faintly hear Alexia say “thank you,” to her. 

The moment the two of you step into the room and the door closes, your hands reach up to cradle Alexia’s face and pull her in for a slow, passionate kiss.

It’s as if all the days you've spent apart melt away. "I missed you," you murmur repeatedly against each other's lips, the words barely audible. 

Alexia with her arms around your waist, draws you even closer, and you lose yourself in the warmth of her embrace. 

When you finally pull apart and catch your breath, you can't help but playfully reprimand her. "You had such a long flight. Why aren’t you at home and in bed right now?"

Alexia shakes her head as if that was the last thing in her mind. "I wanted to see my girlfriend,” she says as she trails gentle kisses down your neck.

Your eyes widen in surprise at her words. Gently, you grasp her face with your hands, "I'm your girlfriend?" This is the first time the title has been uttered, but it has certainly been swirling around in your mind. 

She nods with an undeniable confidence because to her, it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Yes, and I am yours."

There’s a saying: actions speak louder than words. So, rather than proclaim how much her words mean to you, you capture her lips once more for a kiss. Hands find their way underneath her shirt, tracing the curves and lines you've come to know so well. And as the intensity continues to build, Alexia attempts to back you against a wall, but when you take a step back you end up tripping over a box, stumbling backward.

Alexia tries to catch you, but her foot gets caught up in something and she ends up losing her balance as well. You find yourself in a tangled mess of limbs and unable to control your laughter. 

“You weren’t kidding,” she says, extending her hand to help you up. “This place is a mess.” 

You nod in agreement, hands on your hips, "Someone keeps sneaking in at night and turning the place upside down."

"Really?"

“No,” you drop the facade and smirk, "Carla and I are just incapable of cleaning up after ourselves."

Alexia chuckles and shakes her head, a fond smile playing on her lips as she takes in the chaos that surrounds the two of you.

"I've got to go back” you wrap your arms around Alexia's neck, drawing her closer for a quick peck on her cheek. “Duty calls.”

Alexia nods in understanding. "Can’t leave our girl stranded.”

Walking out of the backroom, you’re relieved to not see Carla overwhelmed by a long line at the counter. 

“We really need to get that place in order,” you tell Carla, pointing back to the stockroom.

Carla grimaces, “I know,” she says, “I hate to say it, but we might need to stay late today and clean up in case that idiot actually decides to show up.”

Alexia, who has been listening to the conversation, raises her hand. "I’m happy to help if you need an extra hand."

Carla looks at Alexia, then back at you with desperation in her eyes, “we definitely do.” 

A part of you wants to say no because you know Alexia needs the rest, but you can already feel the muscles in your back start to tighten from all the heavy lifting that awaits you. With Alexia's help, the task of cleaning the backroom would be much more manageable.

So you give in, “Ok,” you point your finger at Alexia rather sternly, “go home, get some rest and we’ll see you here at closing.”

"So bossy,” Alexia playfully blows a kiss to you and says, "I’ll see you soon.”

Again, it’s the little things that make you fall more in love with her day by day.

__________________________

Tonight, your mom is teaching you how to cook her famous Fideuà which also happens to be one of Alexia’s favorite dishes. So, it’s only fitting that she’s by your side, helping you cook and correcting your many, many mistakes.

“Now, add the stock and wine and bring it to a simmer.”

Your mom, feeling a little too weak to stand, sits nearby at the counter, offering her guidance and expertise on the dish.

The atmosphere in the kitchen is light and filled with laughter as your mom and Alexia tease you mercilessly. The two hit it off right away, so much so that sometimes you feel like the third wheel. And while you may pout and complain, you love to see your mom regain that spark in her eyes that you love so much. All she’s ever wanted is for you to be happy. Your happiness is her happiness. So, when she sees you with Alexia, laughing and smiling, she’s satisfied.

“Oh, my beautiful daughter has always been a handful, Ale. I remember the day I found a nude magazine under her bed.”

Alexia chokes on the wine, a little bit spilling from the corners of her lips.

“Mama!”

Your mom brushes you off, a smirk on her lips. “She gave me this ridiculous excuse, saying it was to study the female form for a painting she was working on.”

“It was!”

“Mi amor, you’re a woman — all you had to do was look in a mirror. You didn’t need three magazines for that.”

You cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, “dios, please make it stop.” 

Alexia shares a look with your mom, and they burst into laughter.

Thankfully, the teasing comes to end, and you can focus back on the dish that you so desperately don’t want to mess up again.

"I tried so many times to make this when I was in France, but wow, it tasted terrible," you confess, shaking your head.

Your mom speaks up, her voice gentle but firm. "You see, that’s why it's important that I teach you these things while I can."

Feeling as though someone has punched you in the stomach, you turn your back to her, and you try to suppress the tears that threaten to spill. Her words serve as a painful reminder of the possibility of losing her.

Alexia quickly notices your distress and kisses your shoulder, providing you with that little bit of comfort you need to gather your emotions. To lighten the mood, she shares a few of her own cooking horror stories, making you laugh and successfully distracting you from the sadness that had momentarily gripped you.

After dinner, you take Alexia by the hand and lead her to your childhood bedroom turned art studio. Her eyes go wide with curiosity and admiration. "So, this is where the magic happens," she says. "I love it," Alexia breathes, her gaze darting around the room, taking in every detail.

You walk over to a corner where several canvases lean against the wall, each one partially covered with a cloth. Gently, you pull them away to reveal the paintings you've been working on for the upcoming exhibit.

Alexia gasps in awe, her eyes drinking in the vibrant colors and intricate details of each piece. "Incredible, mi amor.”

You feel your cheeks flush at the compliment. "When I got the news of my mom, I felt like I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I had so much built up and I needed to just let it all out. And this is what came out.”

It only takes Alexia a few seconds to understand the meanings behind every piece. She reaches her hand out to you, and you take it seeking the comfort you can only get from her touch. She wraps her arms around your waist and rests her chin on your shoulder, "I can’t tell you that everything will be ok, but I can promise that I will be here for you, no matter what."

You believe her.

__________________________

Your favorite nights are the ones spent with Alexia. In her arms you feel safe and at peace. Somehow, she keeps your anxieties and worst fears far, far away. As your fingers gently trace the contours of her face, you feel a warmth and happiness you never want to go a day without. It turns out this isn’t just a fleeting infatuation, after all. Your love for her is real. 

"I love you," you murmur, voice warm and sincere.

Alexia eyes flutter open and she smiles, "I love you too.” 

Her words ignite something in you that has laid dormant in you for far too long. Your mind begins to race with ideas, colors, and compositions. It's as if a dam within you has burst, releasing this desire to express your love for her through your art. It's a powerful sensation that you simply cannot ignore and it demands you to act on it immediately.

With a sense of urgency, you jump out of bed and run to grab the sketchbook you carry with you everywhere in your bag.

“What are you doing?” Alexia calls out, her voice full of curiosity and a hint of amusement. 

With no attempt to explain yourself, you reach for her vanity stool and place it a few feet away from the bed. The pencil in your hand starts to glide across the paper capturing the lines and curves of her body. Carefully, you study the gentle curve of her neck and the way her hair cascades over the pillow.

Alexia, now catching on to the reason behind your outburst, remains still. A comforting silence takes over the room, broken only by the sound of the pencil dancing across the page.

But the more you look at her and take in every detail of her body, the more restless she becomes. Her hands grip the bed sheet, teeth tugging on her bottom lip. With one swift motion, the sheets that cover her body fall to the ground as she gets up from the bed and walks over to you.

Hovering above you, she takes the sketchbook from your hands and sets it aside. Looking up at her, she brushes a strand of hair from your face and tucks in behind your ear. “I love how you look at me,” she whispers.

Her touch is so tender, and her words so genuine that makes you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

You feel compelled to drop down to your knees.

Hands run up and down the back of her thighs, nails digging in ever so slightly into her skin. You press your lips against her navel, and then trail down ever so slowly.

Alexia’s breath hitches with each kiss. She rests her hand on your head, her fingers threading through your hair as she gasps your name. The sound of her voice, breathy and filled with desire, sends a shiver down your spine.

When your tongue reaches her most sensitive spot, Alexia lifts her leg and rests it on the vanity stool, allowing you better access to her.

“Oh…”

With every gentle stroke and teasing touch, you proclaim your love. And in response, Alexia's holds you firmly in place, a clear indication she has no interest in ever letting you go.

And then her eyes lock onto yours, you see that same intensity that left you speechless when you first saw her — really saw her, but now you also see love in her gaze. Ever since that day in the coffee shop you have been at her mercy. But now as she trembles with pleasure by your hand and tongue, she’s the one begging for it.

Throughout the rest of the night, you take your time exploring and memorizing every curve and dip of Alexia's body with your lips. You're determined to commit every detail to memory to ensure that when it’s time, you’ll be able to capture her image her to perfection on the canvas.

__________________________

With a step back, you take a moment to appreciate the progress you've made on the painting. In a trance, the hours you've spent working on it have flown by. The creative block that has plagued you has lost its control over you.

And you have Alexia to thank.

The painting is inspired by the sketch you made that night. The sheet drapes over her body, revealing just enough of her silhouette to create a sense of mystery and allure. The image draws you in and entices you to want more, to see more. Although covered, you can see the toned contours of her body, from the definition in her arms to the powerful muscles in her legs.

Her knee peeks out from the bed sheets and a small yet very significant scar can be seen. The scar tells a story of overcoming obstacles and pushing through no matter. It’s a testament to her strength and her ability to rise above challenges and come out on top, stronger than before.

You continue working late into the night, each brushstroke bringing you closer to immortalizing Alexia. The painting still requires a lot of work to reach the level of perfection you desire, but you’re determined to have it done in time for the exhibit.

It’s the final, missing piece. They very piece that alluded you, and the very one you had given up on. But liked you hoped, it did make its way to you eventually. And it did so in the shape of the woman you fallen in love with.  

__________________________

Waiting for the doctor always feels like an eternity. You hate everything about the room you’re in. The sterile environment, the faint smell of disinfectant, and the uncomfortable silence that only serves as a constant reminder of the pain and suffering your mom has had to endure.

Incapable of sitting down, you remain standing, hands wringing together as your heart beats rapidly in your chest. Each visit to this room has been a roller coaster of emotions, leaving you with a sense of dread every time you step foot inside. Even the ticking sound of the clock feels like a signal of impending heartache.

"Is Ale nervous for the game?"

Every time you've been in this room, all you've heard is bad news after bad news. The crushing weight of your mother's cancer hangs over you like a dark cloud, making it nearly impossible to focus. You long for the day when you can walk into this room without feeling like the world is collapsing around you.

"Mija?"

"Hmm?"

"The game against Real Madrid is later today, right?"

You manage a small smile, appreciating her attempt to ease your tension. "Yeah, it's today."

She smiles, her eyes sparkling with pride. Unlike you, she’s made her peace with it all. "I'm sure she'll do great."

Just as you're about to respond, the door opens, and the doctor walks in, a gentle smile on his face. Your heart races as you brace yourself for the news.

"I have good news for both of you," he begins, his tone warm and reassuring. "Lídia, the treatment has been effective. The latest blood tests show that you are in remission.”

As the doctor's words sink in, disbelief, relief, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude wash over you in waves. After so long of only getting bad news, it's hard to believe that this moment has finally come. You've spent countless nights lying awake, fearing the worst. 

You glance over at your mom, searching her face for any sign that this is just another cruel dream and that you’ll wake up from. But her eyes, filled with tears of joy, tell you that this is real and for the first time in so long, you breathe a sigh of relief.

"Really? Are you sure?" Your mom asks, disbelief and hope mixed in her voice.

"Yes, Lídia, I'm certain," he confirms. "The next step is consolidation treatment help prevent a relapse, but as of now, you're in remission and that is very good news."

Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you rush to her side, enveloping her in a tight embrace. She holds you close, tears of joy and relief streaming down both of your faces.

"You’re going to be ok," you manage to choke out between sobs.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions, you remember that Alexia had asked you to text her about the results. She wanted to know and be there for you, regardless of the outcome.

With trembling fingers, you pull out your phone and type a message to Alexia:

📲 – she’s in remission!!!!!!!!

📲 – we’re still shock but I’ll tell you everything later

📲 – good luck today!! I love you ♥️ ♥️ ♥️

The two of you make it back to the house in time to watch El Clásico. Even though you’re not there in person, you can tell the atmosphere in the stadium is electric. Every time Alexia appears on the screen, your heart swells up with pride.

The game is tense. Both teams are playing their hearts out, and while you try to pay attention to everything and every player, like Alexia has taught you, you're especially focused on her performance. Suddenly, she intercepts a pass from a Madrid player and makes a break for it.

Your heart races as you watch her weave through the defenders, getting closer and closer to the goal. Your eyes go wide when Alexia strikes the ball and sends it soaring into the net. The crowd goes wild, and you and your mom jump up from the couch, cheering and clapping.

Alexia's teammates swarm around her, congratulating her on the goal. Instead of walking away back to her position with the rest of the team, she points at the camera and then lifts up her jersey.

 To your surprise, she reveals the words "Un pasito más, Lídia!" written on her undershirt. Just one more step.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you glance at your mom, who is just as shocked as you are. Tears fill her eyes as she covers her mouth, touched by Alexia's dedication to her.

The little things matter, yes. But sometimes, the grand gestures sure do mean a lot too.

__________________________

Some time has passed since your mom went into remission and although there have been significant improvements in her health, there are still days when she doesn't feel her best. Today is one of those days, and unfortunately, it also happens to be the opening of the art exhibit.

As you gather your things to leave, you glance at your mom sitting on the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket, looking a little pale and weary. Disappointment is evident in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, mi niña" she says, her voice heavy with regret. "I really wanted to be there for you tonight.”

You walk over and sit next to her, taking her hand in yours. "Mama, you’re not missing anything crazy. Besides, you’ll be there for the next exhibit, the one after that, and the one after that."

Your mother smiles weakly and nods. "I'm so proud of you,” she says, “tell Carla and Ale to take lots of pictures!”

“"I will, mama,” you say with a chuckle as lean down give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Tia should be here in a few minutes. Please, get some rest.”

When you step outside and close the door, you allow yourself to feel the disappointment you hid from her. Considering that all but one of the pieces are dedicated to her, of course you wanted her there. But still, you’re determined to make the most of this night to honor her and everything she has been through.

At the exhibit, you're accompanied by Carla. The gallery is buzzing with excitement, and your art has garnered a lot of attention and praise. However, you find it hard to take in the moment because Alexia is running late. Very late. The fact that she hasn't replied to any of your messages certainly doesn’t help.

Carla noticing your concern, rests a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, I'm sure she'll be here any minute.”

You nod, attempting to stay focused on the event, but it's difficult not to let your emotions show. “I’m just worried that’s all.”

“I know, but she’s probably stuck in traffic or can’t find parking. You know-” of the sudden, her gaze drifts past you and towards the entrance and her eyes go wide.

Confused, you turn around to see what caught Carla’s attention. By the entrance, you see Alexia walk in with your mom by her side, holding on to her hand. Your mom looks tired but determined.

You rush towards them, shocked and tears threatening to stream down your face. "Mama! You're here!”

Alexia grins sheepishly. "I was on my here when she called me to pick her up and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I see where you get it from."

Still holding on to Alexia, you mom smiles and reaches out for you. "I couldn't let you down, mija. I just had to be here with you."

You embrace them both, overwhelmed by their presence. “I’m so happy you’re both here.”

With them by your side, the night becomes even that more special. Nothing feels better than being able to introduce your mom to fellow artists and attendees.

Eventually, a reporter from a local arts magazine pulls you aside for a brief interview, asking about the various pieces you have displayed at the exhibit.

He’s particularly interested in one. "The Missing Piece is truly something special," the reporter says, his eyes locked on the painting. "What’s the significance of its title?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, your gaze lingering on the painting. "At first, it felt like there was a piece missing for the exhibit, but it turns out that it was something I was missing from my own life."

You glance over at Alexia, who is admiring your artwork with your mom and Carla. "And when, I finally found it, everything changed. My missing piece brought me a sense of completeness and balance that I desperately needed.”

The reporter smiles. "Your feelings are evident in this piece, and it's no wonder it's drawing so much attention tonight."

"My mentor used to say that wherever the eyes go, so does the heart. And wherever the heart goes, so do the hands. The piece will live forever, and a hundred years from now someone will look at it and they’ll feel exactly what feel.”

“And what’s that?”

You glance over at Alexia once again. Almost as if she senses your gaze, she turns to meet your eyes. With a knowing smile, she winks at you, acknowledging the connection between the two you and the inspiration behind The Missing Piece.

“Love.”

[vaguely-concerned]

I have seen people question whether dios apate minor really needed to happen the way it did. it's the 'this could have been an email' of htn. 'augustine this did not have to be a threesome', I hear people saying. and boy do I have an obnoxious amount of things to say to protest this perfectly sensible assertion so here we go haha

1) yes it absolutely had to be like that. It says so on this piece of paper *hands you a piece of paper that says "because I said so and also it's narratively and thematically Sexy"* in my half-legible handwriting. seeing tamsyn muir describe harrow the ninth as a book about being a kid and realizing your parents probably had sex has given me such validation, I am unstoppable now. (to be serious for a moment, harrow the ninth is essentially a bildungsroman, and the threesome scene does a whole lot of thematic heavy lifting around harrow glimpsing elements of adulthood, relationships, and sexuality she clearly finds at the same time repulsive, bewildering and fascinating, and around opening her and especially our eyes to how much john is just a man with human longings still, under the god stuff. dios apate is crucial plot- and character-wise too -- it's a loadbearing threesome in terms of delivering the clues you need to piece together the mystery plot of the book, which is simply delightful -- but even more so thematically. and then the scene at the end where they confront john gives gideon some of that same opportunity to peek into adulthood and go '...well shit I guess', as a sort of mirror, just without the french kissing that time and more murder. the things magnus and abigail model for the girls about love and adulthood? mercy and augustine are providing the opposite-day batshit insane version of that fhdskjfa, you know, for contrast and spice)

2) listen... it gets lonely out there in deep space with your 'legendary unamorous' brother, two infant pathetic baby kitten sisters who you'll probably have to kill one day when you take another stab at god if they don't manage to get themselves killed along the way on their own, and the two people you've spent the last ten thousand years having separate yet connected married & divorced arcs with and also btw one of them is god... honestly a threesome over the dinner table is probably The most well-adjusted reaction one might hope for under those circumstances

3) on a characterization level I think Augustine is actually doing something incredibly deliberate with it: he's presenting John with yet another chance to admit what he did. which is notable especially since the deal he and mercy agree on as a condition for the threesome to happen at all seems to be that they're going to give the ol' godslaying another game try sooner rather than later. (I get the sense that it's not so much that he disagrees with her ultimate goal so much as that he thinks she's being dangerously indiscreet and hasty going about it, before. “though I think it will be the death of us,” huh.)

notice how he's structuring the whole thing: he's invoking the intimacy and love in their strange little threeway relationship and how long it's been by truly playing along with john's 'we're a happy family really when we're at home! :)' delusion (helped along by lowered inhibitions via enormous amounts of alcohol and what I've previously described as a joint mercy/augustine leyendecker themed thirst trap. ah, a classic). he brings up alecto and what happened to her -- or rather, he is clever enough to make john bring up alecto and how she is totally dead, right?? by seeming to make a careless statement that leads there and then acting contrite about it after. he (helped along by mercy, who I think realizes exactly what he's doing -- this is very much a two-man con) brings up how much they all loved their cavaliers, and wow funny how that's been haunting us for ten thousand years now huh :) wow, a lot of our other lyctor friends slash family sure are super dead in the name of some unknowable greater reason neither of us quite grasp and that you won't fucking tell us, aren't they. these are all the main grievances he and mercy confront john about at the end of the book, but put forth much more subtly and not phrased as an accusation -- he's baring his and mercy's vulnerabilities as bait, essentially. if john had, say, a conscience where his conscience should be instead of a black hole, it probably should have stirred something in him.

(also let me just say... the way augustine just takes a pneumatic drill to the TWO tender spots g1deon seems to have and then has the audacity to be like 'oh dear. did that upset him. ooof my bad *loooong dead-eyed slurp of his wine*' is just sooo... he's such a bitch!!! he's the only person who could ever have held their own in a ten-thousand-year bitch-off with mercy and I love him so much. well even if it wasn't all to get g1deon into murder range for harrow I think he wouldn't enjoy sticking around for the 'getting our tongues on god' part of the evening so maybe it's a kindness, really, and totally not pent-up aggression from the last twenty years or so breaking through)

he is all but shaking john by the lapels begging him to just... come clean about it already, to stop thinking he's still kidding everyone else along with himself. it's clear throughout the book that augustine knows exactly what john is at this point -- and all of the most cynical things he does say about it turn out to be distressingly right. john is always less sentimental than you'd think. john wouldn't forgive mercy, he will abandon in a heartbeat anything that isn’t necessary to him anymore, whether emotionally or in some other way. and still he seems to hold out some desperate absurd hope that the man he wants, the man he thought was there, is in there, somewhere deep deep down, if he just gives him the chance to show himself.

(mercy definitely has her own side of this whole thing, I'm just focusing more on augustine because this evening was like. his idea in the first place and I feel like we can Read Some Things into that fact lol. now that we have both ntn and htn to go from I sort of have this sense that the things augustine wants from john are more... personal? more interpersonal? they both love him equally, but mercy's love seems tinged slightly more towards the religious (augustine accuses her of knowing 'only worship without adoration', which like... also the eight house's entire Vibe lol) -- mercy at the end of that book is totally a person breaking up with GOD, not just with john -- while augustine's vibe is more like a man in the last not-with-a-bang-but-a-whimper days of a marriage that sort of felt like it could have been something real and good once but all your illusions about it have since been taken from you and trampled underfoot into the mud and you've had the divorce papers signed and ready in a drawer for over a year now, hell, as it turns out, is other people etc. lmao)

having a threesome over the dinner table with god is one thing, having a threesome over the dinner table centered on the one man and god who has yet again let you down in a way so fundamental it can barely fit into words and who you both still love in a way anyway, miserably, and also just reaffirmed your joint resolution to murder (all under the pretense that it gives your baby sisters the chance to murder your brother of ten thousand years yeah that's why this is happening no other underlying aching emotional motivations here haha)... listen mercy and augustine are simply on a different level, theologically. they've added horny shrimp colours to the religious spectrum. who else does it like them