#this took forever and a half to write

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter two

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warnings: coarse language, brief mentions of grief

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three]

word count: 10.2k

[1]

A shiver ran down your spine in spite of the sun’s anger that bored down on you. 

You wiped your free hand on your jersey but sweat clung to your hand like glue, yet your fingers remained cold, even the ones on the hand your mother was holding. It didn’t help that your gut had coiled into a knot that you couldn’t loosen; you’d breathed deeply, you’d counted backwards from ten… and still, it remained there.

What was it about this that scared you so much? 

The fear sprung in you the moment you stepped foot out of your home, growing the more you got closer, and now that you and your mother were walking across the parking lot to the building, it threatened to claw its way up your throat. And that was something you really didn’t want to happen. 

You gripped your mother’s hand tighter. She gazed down at you with a soft look, giving your hand a slight, reassuring squeeze, and that was enough to ease that feeling a little bit. 

The door creaked long and loud when your mother pushed it open, reminding you of that old, unused shed by the garden at home that made the same sound when you entered it, and it reverberated against the walls. No one was inside except for an empty desk in front of a wall with chipped, white paint. Just beside that, there was a corridor lined with a few doors, some of which were opened. And at the end of it there was an opening that led to the sunlit grasses of the outside.

At the sound, the head of a woman popped out from one of the open doors. The woman came out, a water bottle in hand which she set on the desk, and she greeted you and your mother with a friendly smile. Even still, you took a step back and hid behind your mother.

“Hello! I’m sorry for making you wait! How can I help you?”

“No need to apologize, we just came in.” Your mother laughed as she waved a hand in the air. “My daughter is actually here for her first day of training with the club.”

“Oh, is she?” The woman gasped and clapped her hands together in delight. She beamed down at you and stooped low to offer her hand out, and then she cooed, “Hello, love, I’m Teresa.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as you took her hand and shook it, telling her your name in a whisper. Teresa smiled at you again before she straightened her back. 

“I’m so glad you got here just then. We don’t usually get people around this time so we tend to lock the front door, and I was about to head out back to bring the girls some water.” She explained to your mother and then she gazed back down at you again. “Are you excited to meet the girls?”

At your silence, your mother answered for you, “She is, it was all she could talk about. She’s just a bit shy.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, love. The girls are just as lovely. Will you be joining us?”

“Are parents allowed to stay?” When Teresa nodded with a hum, your mother continued, “I see. Perhaps another time. I have somewhere to be.”

“We could schedule for another time.” Teresa nodded in understanding before she regarded you again, “Now, shall we meet everyone?”

Fear rose in you again and your eyes darted to your mother’s. There, you found an encouraging light that grounded you and without really intending to, you agreed with Teresa. Shortly after, your mother left but not before she told you, “Now, my little firecracker, you behave yourself. And remember, have fun and show them what you’re made of.” 

Something akin to fire lit up in your chest at your mother’s words, and its warmth spread all the way to your fingers and toes. It was a soothing calm similar to the one you’d get from a cup of warm milk and honey in winter. And when she pressed a goodbye kiss on your forehead, a sense of safety blanketed over you even long after she’d left. 

Teresa took your hand after she locked the front door, and occupied the other with holding the rack of water bottles, and she led you down the corridor. As you passed through, it became clear just how tiny the facility actually was but it held everything that you needed; Teresa had pointed and named the areas with a jut of her chin: the toilets were here, the nurse bay just beside it, and the lunch room was just across. 

“It isn’t much but it’s home for the club.” Teresa smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. And her eyes were clouded with an emotion that made you feel a sudden urge to hug her. The emotion passed quickly and in the next moment, you found yourself surrounded by heat as you stepped down a threshold that led you outside. 

Squinting and putting your free hand over your eyes, the sight of the field came into focus. It was surrounded by a metal, wire fence, and its entrance opened up at the end of this path you were on to the middle of the nearest sideline. Through the fence, girls of seemingly different ages ran about in one half of the field, shouting and laughing as they passed balls to each other. And you found your nerves returning but it was soon replaced by giddy anticipation. 

You and Teresa were close enough now that your presence drew the attention of the girls. Upon catching the sight of you, they stopped and stared. And even from a good distance away, the weight of their eyes pressed on you and heat rose to your cheeks again.

A shout and a clap made the girls whip their heads–as well as your own–towards the direction of the sound. It came from a woman who said something to the girls you were too far to hear, but by the end of it, the girls resumed their training as if they never stopped. 

From the lack of attention, you sighed out a breath. 

Then the woman began her way to the sideline just as you and Teresa arrived there. Teresa set the water bottle rack down by her feet while your eyes wandered over from the walking woman to the other girls. For the most part, they all looked the same age and height, but a few towered over the rest with their great build and height, and that did nothing to quell your brewing fear. There was only one girl that was smaller than everyone else, younger too, whose height looked to be similar to yours. 

The girl was last in the line she queued for and as she stood there waiting for the ball, she had her head turned over her shoulders to look at you. She had short hair held back by a headband, and her shirt ballooned at the waistband of her shorts, which fell all the way down to her knees. Instead of fear, an urge to greet her rose in you, but as you raised your hand to wave at her, she whipped her head back to the front just in time to receive the next ball that was passed to her. 

“Ah! Our new addition to the family is finally here!”

The exclamation had you turning yours to the front, and you found the woman there with both hands planted on her hips. She towered over you–like most adults did but she was taller than most–and the angle made the fine lines around the corners of her eyes and lips look deeper from the harsh sunlight. Her blue eyes were light, inviting and warm, and they held a calming force that reminded you of your mother’s. When she stuck out her hand, you noted the way her skin clung to the surface of her flesh, almost translucent in the sun, but you found yourself unafraid to shake it immediately.

“Welcome to Sabadell Girls’ Football. My name is Catalina but you may call me Madam Cata. Remind me again, how old are you, little one?”

“I just turned eight.” You said, and you nearly forgot to add, “Madam.”

Madam Cata’s smile brightened and, to your surprise, she let out a small laugh. At her amusement, you found yourself smiling, too.

“Very young, indeed. Well then, I’ll take you from Teresa to meet the rest of the girls.”

Your heart jumped at the thought and you turned to Teresa. She must've seen a hint of your apprehension because she gave you a soft, encouraging smile and said, “You’ll be just fine. You’ll see.”

Somehow, you believed her. So you nodded and thanked her, and with another smile and a wave of her hand, she left you with Madam Cata who began to lead you away with a gentle hand against your back.

After you’d crossed the small distance from the sideline to the middle of the field, Madam Cata called out to the girls. They gathered and now that they were closer, your shoulders curled inwards under the weight of their stares, and you kept your eyes down at the red laces of your boots, which your cheeks and ears probably resembled now as they heated from the attention. 

You felt the weight of Madam Cata’s hand on your shoulder. 

She was smiling at you and then she said softly, “Don’t be afraid, little one. These are your friends and sisters. Go on. Tell them your name.”

Finally, you looked at the girls. And as if drawn by a force, your attention immediately locked on that girl, and for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, a sense of calm washed over you. 

The girl stared at you like the others did, but it was different. It wasn’t a look you found to be negative, more curious and attentive. Her head was tilted slightly to the side as if the change in angle would help her figure you out. She wasn’t quite smiling or frowning; she impressed you with a leveled attitude, an expression you typically saw on people who were significantly older than you, and you were surprised to see such a face worn by someone as young as the both of you. 

Her eyes traced an invisible path along your face all the way down to your boots. She was sizing you up, you knew this. You’d played enough games at recess and after school to know how kids scrutinized each other for weaknesses, but you felt it wasn’t the same with this girl. Her gaze was more appraising than critical, as if she was imagining how you would affect the team. You could almost see her calculations playing like a movie above her head and you barely stopped yourself from giggling at the image. 

She must’ve seen your amusement because she straightened her head in attention, and her brows knitted to a slight frown. The change should’ve given you grief but it only made you all the more interested to get to know her for reasons you couldn’t quite understand. There was just something about this girl… something that you wanted to discover. And so, right there and then, you decided that you were going to befriend her. 

Feeling a bit better, you finally introduced yourself with a wave to the others before you locked your gaze on the girl again.

The girl’s frown deepened. 

Your smile widened. 

“Now, girls, introduce yourselves.” Said Madam Cata. 

And so they did. 

A couple of the older girls gave you a smirk that reminded you of the older cousins you’d see at family gatherings, or the boys at school who thought you were easy picking whenever you played with them. The rest looked friendly and introduced themselves with a pleasant smile and a wave.

It was the girl’s turn now.

“Hi. I’m Alexia and I play as a midfielder.”

Alexia. Somehow, the name suited her just right, like she was born to be one. The fact that she was the only one who stated their position wasn’t lost to you. It was an assertion–a claim–and this again should’ve intimidated you but it only made you smile. 

Now that introductions were done, the girls dispersed as per Madam Cata’s instructions. 

“Alexia. Come here, my child.” Madam Cata called out which stopped Alexia from running away with the rest. She froze midstep, her eyes darting to you then back to Madam Cata, before she reluctantly turned and shuffled until she was beside the woman. 

“Seeing as the both of you are the closest in age, Alexia, I’d like you to make her feel welcomed.” Madam Cata began, placing a hand on Alexia’s shoulder, and then she continued, “You two are the youngest in the club and I have high hopes that you two will become friends.” 

Madam Cata smiled at you, then to Alexia. “What do you say, Alexia?”

Alexia said nothing and only stared at you. You stood your ground and stared back, waiting for Alexia’s move. In this moment, doubt crept in and your resolve wavered. Were you mistaken? Did she really not like you? She hasn’t even given you the chance, yet… You thought in disappointment. 

And then Alexia, instead of replying to Madam Cata, stuck out her open hand to you. “Let’s go?”

You couldn’t help it. You grinned.

Giving Madam Cata one last look, you took Alexia’s hand. It was sweaty and warm, and her grip was gentle. And then she was pulling you forward, easing you both in a run. And as you took off hand-in-hand across the yellowing grass of the field, Alexia turned her head to you and a tentative smile crinkled the corner of her lips, and you found the rest of your worries melting away.

You squeezed her hand, smiling.

And, this was the best part:

She squeezed your hand back. 

[2]

By the end of the day, Alexia’d introduced you to everyone, and all the other girls had warmed up to you, including the ones who’d intimidated you at first. Alexia may be young, but you saw how the other girls respected her. Despite this, Alexia remained sincere and kind, and this fact made your admiration for her grow

Training-wise, Madam Cata separated you from the rest at first, testing your stamina and evaluating your technical skills before she eventually let you join in on the 7-a-side matches that ended today’s training. You were slightly disappointed that you didn’t end up on the same team as Alexia, but it was fun defending against her. To your surprise, it didn’t even bother you that your team lost. Maybe it was because you got to witness Alexia shoot the winning goal, but of course you kept that information to yourself. It was late afternoon when you finished, and all the other girls had been taken home by their parents, except for you two.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait inside, girls?” Miss Teresa called out from the front door. 

Alexia shook her head to answer for the both of you. 

“We’re fine here, thank you.”

“Alright. Just stay in sight, okay?” 

The both of you called out in agreement and finally satisfied, Miss Teresa returned back to her desk. There were two large trees that flanked the path towards the front door, and under their shade were benches built to wrap around their bases. Under one of those trees, you and Alexia waited for your parents to pick you up. 

You kicked your feet in the air as they hung from the bench, relishing the way the cool breeze soothed the heat around the new bruise you got on your shin. 

“The bruise is getting bigger.” Alexia muttered. She’d taken off her headband and you noticed how short her hair actually was; only the front had enough length to fall over her face, parting in the middle to reveal her eyes. Apples were high in her cheeks and the remaining sunlight that filtered through the leaves played on her skin, and made her hazel eyes look lighter, almost green. She twisted her fingers as her lips curled into a regretful pout. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kick you.”

“Hey, come on, it was a game. It’s fine.” When the pout didn’t leave her face, you knocked your knee against hers and added, “It looks kinda cool, don’t you think?”

At that, an amused smile replaced Alexia’s pout. “Only you would think a bruise looks cool.”

“I’m different like that.” 

“Sure, you are.”

“I am. Why else are you talking to me?”

Alexia rolled her eyes and then she laughed. 

“What time are you getting picked up?” 

You looked at your watch.

 “My mom should be here any minute now. What about yours?” 

“Soon as well,” Alexia answered after she peeked at your watch. And then, she asked, “Do you live nearby?”

“No, I live in Mollet.” 

Alexia squeaked and at the sound, you looked at her and found her eyes were delightfully wide with surprise. “You do? I do, too!”

“Really?” You gasped, mirroring her in your excitement. Elation filled you at the prospect of Alexia living so close. Imagine the sleepovers, the after school football games! “Where do you live? What school do you go to?”

But when Alexia answered you and you recognised that the places she named were on the other side of town, you pouted in disappointment. When Alexia asked you what your face was about, you told her where you lived and your school, and then Alexia started pouting, too.

“I wish we lived closer. We could play football after school!” 

“Yeah! And you could stay over! Or maybe I could?” Alexia whined. “Why do you have to live on the other side of town?” 

“If I could drive a car, I would come over all the time!” You imitated holding a steering wheel, and you blew air through your lips, imitating an engine. 

Alexia slapped your arm, laughing. “Are you speeding? That’s illegal! If you drive like that, I’ll never get in the same car as you!” 

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically. “I won’t speed just for you.” 

“That’s comforting.” Alexia quipped dryly. “No, but I’m serious. I’ll ask my parents if I could stay the night some time. You should do the same!”

“I will. My parents will probably say yes as long as your parents are alright with it.” 

The sound of gravel being disturbed drew both of your attention. A car and a truck parked in the space in front of you, and you recognised the car to be your mom’s. 

“My mom’s here. Is your–”

“Papá!”

Alexia jumped out of her seat and ran towards the other car, a truck, whose door opened to reveal a man, Alexia’s father. He was tall, like really tall, towering over the truck next to him. He had long, loose gray pants on that stretched all the way up to his chest; the upper part reminded you of a bib, and the white shirt beneath was covered with what you supposed to be car oil—your own father had come into the house with the strange scent and feel of it enough times for you to know the look of it from a distance. There was some of it on his cheeks as well, but Alexia didn’t seem to be bothered by it, for she immediately jumped into his arms, and he, with a cheerful laugh, lifted his daughter up with a small grunt.

You smiled at the sight. 

Seeing as Alexia’d gone to her father, you went ahead and did the same, jumping off the bench to meet your mother as she got out of her own car. 

“How was your day, my little firecracker?” Your mother asked after she’d greeted you with a kiss on your cheek, running her hands over your forehead and temple to wipe away the remaining sweat there.

“It was really good, Mamá! I made a friend! She’s over there. Look!” 

In your excitement, you tugged on your mother’s hand and pointed her over to where Alexia and her father were, only to find Alexia doing the same with her father.

Your mother laughed. “I see you’re very much alike, the two of you.”

And then, your mother waved at Alexia’s father, who waved back, before she began to walk over where they were, and you trailed behind her. She was probably going to talk to Alexia’s father, and you were excited to spend just a little more time with Alexia.

Alexia shoved her bag inside the truck before she ran to you. When she stopped right beside you and looped her arm around yours, you told her, “Your father’s so tall.” 

“He is, isn’t he?” Alexia beamed at you, pride in her voice as she looked at her father. “Is your father tall?”

“Yes, but not as tall as your dad.” And then a thought struck you as you looked back at Alexia. There was Alexia’s father, and here was Alexia. “You know, you look like your father.”

“Yeah, I know. People say it all the time.”

“And you don’t get sick of it?”

She looked at you with a confused frown. “No, why would I be?” 

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I’m not really sure why I asked that.” 

Alexia just smiled at you and asked, lowering her voice with mischief.  “What do you think they’re talking about?” 

She’d begun to shuffle forward, taking you along with her because of your linked arms, and now you could hear their conversation.

“–you and your family come over for dinner. I’d prepared so much tonight in celebration of my daughter’s entry to the club. I don’t think we could handle all the food at all.” Your mother laughed, and then she added, “We could also discuss the arrangements then.”

You turned to Alexia with wide eyes and met her gaze, which brimmed with excitement. Turning back to Alexia’s father, you willed him to say yes.

Alexia’s father scratched the back of his head, his other hand on his hip. “We’d love to come over. That is, if you don’t mind having a five-year-old over, of course.”

“No, we don’t mind at all! Please, do come over.”

“Okay, then I’ll tell my wife. What time should we head over?” 

“Nine should be fine.”

Alexia’s father nodded, and that was that.

You couldn’t hold your excitement any longer. You spun to face Alexia, grabbed her hands and both of you squealed. Laughter came from the direction of your parents, but you paid them no mind because all you could think about was that Alexia was coming over for dinner. 

“All right. That’s quite enough girls. Say goodbye now.” Alexia’s father said with a light voice. “You’ll see each other again later.”

Alexia nodded, and then soon she was hugging you. “Bye, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Alexia.” You said, lifting your chin off her shoulder before you let her go and took your place at your mother’s side.

“Alright, Jaume, it was nice meeting you.”

Jaume, so that was Alexia’s father’s name. Jaume waved his goodbye to the both of you with a smile on his face, and then he and Alexia drove away.

On the way home, up until Alexia and her family got to your home, you were practically buzzing with excitement. You ran up to your room to bathe, changed, ran back down, and even then the clock’s hand was still not pointing to nine. 

“Honey, you peeking out through the window won’t make them get here any faster.”

A sigh escaped your lips, and pushing yourself off the window sill with a huff, you whined. “When are they getting here?”

Your mother laughed at that. “It’s only ten past eight, my love. Go to your father and help him. Maybe time will pass quicker that way, no?” 

Dragging your feet with another sigh, you made your way to the kitchen. Your father had his back turned to you when you entered through the archway as he busied himself on the kitchen counter. He stuck his hand into the bag of flour in front of him, and he spread it all over the counter, which caused a plume of white to rise in the air.

“Can I help?” You asked, shuffling closer so that you were beside him. There was flour everywhere on his side of the counter, while two empty baking trays were lined up in front of you. “What are you making, Papá?”

“This, my love, is pan de payés.” He lifted the tea towel in front of him to reveal four domes of raw dough, their surfaces taut with tension. He looked at them, and with a proud nod, he said, “Go wash your hands and help me with them.”

You did, and as you dried your hands, you asked, “Why are you making them? Don’t we have enough food for tonight?” 

“Why, they’re for our friends, of course. You wouldn’t want Alexia to leave here empty-handed, would you now, my love?”

Heat rose to your cheeks as you shook your head.

Your father smiled down at you with warmth. “Of course you wouldn’t. Now here, I’ll prepare this first one; you watch, and I’ll let you do the rest. How does that sound?” 

You nodded, and you watched. He carefully placed a dome of dough in the centre of the floured space, then took another pinch of flour and sprinkled it over the dough, before lightly running his hands over the surface to spread the flour evenly. He took out his bread lame and ran the blade over the surface of the dough, creating four gashes that intersected to form a diamond, and then he placed the dome on one side of a baking tray. 

You did as he did, albeit slower, and with the patient guidance of your father. After your father put the trays in the oven, the heat of it filled the space with warmth and light. As the two of you looked on at your work, your father began, “Remember this, my love. Food is an extension of our feelings and identities. It fills us, it sustains us, and it connects us. It makes us remember. When you eat your mother’s cooking, what do you feel? What do you think about?”

You didn’t even need to think; you answered immediately. “Warm. And I think about home, Mamá, and you.”

Your father smiled. “Good. Now, what do you think Alexia would think about if, say, she ate a piece of this bread for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Us?”

He hummed, and then a small laugh escaped his lips. He bent down slightly so he could tap your nose with his finger. “It’s going to be you, my love. How nice it is to be thought of, especially by a new friend, hmm?” 

You giggled, but a familiar warmth surged through you at the thought.

A knock resonated through the house, and you gasped, looking at your father in excitement.

“Ah, our friends are here. Go on, now.” Your father tilted his head in the direction of the front door, a half-smile on his lips. You gave him a hug, and you sprinted towards the door, only slowing down when a “No running, please!” resounded from the kitchen. 

“Oh, she’s so cute!” You heard your mother’s coo, and when you turned the corner, you saw her fussing over a little girl balanced on her father’s hip, while Alexia’s mother laughed warmly at your mother’s attention, and finally, you spotted Alexia looking up at her sister being pampered with a smile curling her lips.

You walked over to them.

“Ah! My daughter’s finally here.” Your mother placed a gentle hand behind your back. 

“Hello.” You greeted Alexia shyly, eyes fleeting from Alexia’s parents to her sister, then to Alexia herself, who was smiling at you. You stepped up to them to shake their hands, introducing yourself to them, and they did the same to you. You learned that Alexia’s mother was named Eli, and her little sister was named Alba. You offered your hand to Alexia as well, with a playful smile. Alexia caught on, and she giggled before throwing her arms around you.

“Isn’t she a dear? Oh, they seem so close already!” You heard Eli say it with a clap of her hands.

“Believe me, Alexia was all she could talk about the whole night!” 

Your cheeks heated when Alexia laughed against your ear at what your mother said, but in the end, you decided you didn’t quite mind. 

“Hello, welcome to our home.” Your father finally stepped out of the kitchen. He walked up to Jaume, shook his hand, and stooped down to press his right cheek against Eli’s. He cooed at Alba the same way your mother did, and he gave Alexia a wave. “You all must be hungry; please come join us in the dining area.” 

Once the lot of you moved to the kitchen, the evening progressed quite quickly, as it usually did when you were having a good time. Your parents got to know each other after they initially took turns talking about you and Alexia. They laughed and got lost in their conversations, while you and Alexia busied yourselves with Alba, helping her with her food, and who, after finally warming up to you, revealed herself to be a bundle of energy. 

At one point, the conversation moved to the living room, and this was when you and Alexia snuck out to the backyard. Alba’d fallen asleep not long after dinner, and she was safely pressed against Eli when the both of you took off. You’d lead Alexia to your favourite spot; it was a swing that hung from a branch of a sturdy tree, and this was how you found yourself pushing Alexia gently as she sat on it, her hands around the ropes of the swing.

“Why do you play football?” Alexia asked, breaking the silence. 

“How do you mean?”

“Like, are you only playing it for fun? Or, are you serious about it?”

You hummed as you pushed her. “I’m not sure yet. But, sometimes, when I’m in school, I find myself daydreaming about it.”

“That’s the same with me. It’s all I can think about. I dream about it, too.” 

“You’re serious about it.” It wasn’t even a question; you could hear it clearly in her voice. But she turned her head, and the look she gave you all but confirmed it. 

“I am,” she breathed out. “I really am.” 

You gave her another push. “Where do you want to end up?”

“Barça.” Her answer came quickly, like she’d thought it all through. And then she added, “One day, I’ll play for them.”

The conviction in her voice was enough to electrify you with a surge of inspiration, and as you pushed her on the swing, you had no difficulty believing that it would come true. Like Alexia said, it was only a matter of time.

One day.

You smiled, even though you knew she couldn’t see it. 

“I can see it, Alexia. And I know you’ll look great in scarlet and blue.”

[3]

“Yes, Mamá, I got it. Actually, can you text me the list?” 

“Ah, daughter of mine, have you taken so many balls to the head that you can’t even remember two things?” At your mother’s irritated response, a laugh bubbled from your throat.

“Actually, yes, Mamá. Probably a thousand by now. And I was joking, come on.” You waved back at a woman who thanked you as she crossed the pedestrian lane, and then you continued driving. As you turned the corner, you asked, “Why do you need so many drinks anyway? Are you having a party? You know I can’t drink during the season, right?”

“My girl, you have too many questions. Just make sure you come home in time, okay?”

“Yes, Mamá.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone. Have fun at training and give Alexia a kiss for me.”

The sentence made you tense, and you had to will your hands to loosen their grip on the steering wheel. You loved your mother, but there was no way in hell you would do that, even for her. 

You swallowed, hoping your apprehension wouldn’t show through your voice. “Okay. I’m going to go now. I love you. Tell Papá I love him, too. And Nona.” 

“I will. They’re very excited to see you. And I love you, too, my little firecracker.” 

Just as you hung up the phone, you turned the corner and found the parking lot of the Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper. You parked your car and took out your gym bag. The sun was high enough to blind you, so you put a hand over your eyes, and you saw the tall building that sported Barça’s logo. And as if you were greeting an old friend, you whispered, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hello!” 

A cheerful voice addressed you from behind. You turned back, and you saw a woman of slight build, shorter than you, with short brown hair that curled just behind her ear. Some locks fell on her temple and covered her left eye, and the sun made her hair look golden. She was wearing loose, off-grey high-rise pants and a black long-sleeved turtleneck that accentuated the curve of her body.

She was beautiful.

And she was also Tori Favaro, the top-scoring forward for Roma last season and the fourth candidate for last year’s Ballon d'Or. Also, the other half of Barcelona’s new transfers this season.

Of course, you knew about her.

“Hey, Tori,” you said with a smile. 

She was now in front of you, and she grinned, which revealed the dimple in her left cheek. “I didn’t think you’d remember me!”

“How could I forget? The only other time I met you, you gave me a hard time!”

“You’re telling me! We couldn’t get past you at all! The fact that the only goal we got that day was from our own goal is still a bit embarrassing.” She laughed, followed by a sigh–wistful. The two of you walked towards the entrance of the Gamper. “I can’t believe that was more than ten years ago.”

At her wistfulness, you couldn’t help but recall the memory as well: FIFA U17’s World Cup, when Spain and Brazil clashed during the knockout stages. Tori was relentless in her attack, and you barely saved the balls that managed to get past your defenders. Even then, you—and everyone who had eyes—saw her potential, and now look how far she’d come; she was very well on track to getting a Ballon d'Or, and she was never more in her prime than now. 

“Is there any chance of you representing your country again now that you’re back in Barça?” 

“I’m not sure. I’ll just make my decision when they call me up the next time.” You shrugged, hefting your gym bag over your shoulder. The sudden urge to change the topic rose in you, so you asked quickly, “How are you finding Barcelona so far?”

Thankfully, Tori took the bait, and you happily listened to what she had to say about your city as the both of you walked through the lit, pristine corridors of Gamper, which, as you noted in passing, were strangely barren, as you reacted every now and again to whatever Tori said, even recommending her places worth going to. 

As Tori pushed the door to the locker room, a frown crossed her face, and she looked behind her. “Where is everyone?”

“I don’t–”

“Welcome to Barça!” Came the unified greeting and the cheers that suddenly erupted. 

A sign that read the same thing with the letters in alternating scarlet and blue, accented by some yellow hearts, was held between Marta and Alexia while the others stood in a semi-circle, clapping and hooting. A cake was on the centre table, and just behind it were piles of folded fabric, which you recognised to be yours and Tori’s set of training kits. Beside you, Tori wore the same expression on your face: mouth agape, eyes wide in pleasant surprise.

The semi-circle dispersed, and the next thing you knew, you were being hugged, patted on the back, and chatter filled the room.

“Look who’s back! Barça’s prodigal daughter finally returned home!” Mapi shouted, arms thrown up in the air, before she grabbed you by your shoulder to pull you into her.

“Don’t act like you missed me, asshole.” You laughed and punched her arm when she pulled away.

Mapi cradled her arm like you’d just injured her, looking at you with a look of exaggerated pain. She gasped, “Violence, already? Is that how you treat a teammate? I won’t stand for this. Alexia! Captain!” 

At that, you sidestepped around Mapi, but not after sticking your tongue out at her, as you navigated through your other teammates who welcomed you. You managed to get to the edge of the crowd, just at the end of the locker room, and that was when you saw Alexia with Tori. You were close enough to hear snippets of their conversation.

“–expect me to go easy on you.” Alexia said with a laugh, hands on her hips.

“Of course. Just because you’re my–”

An arm wrapped around your shoulder and a presence pressed up to your side. 

“So, did you get me Christen’s signature?” Patri’s voice filtered through your ear. 

You hissed through your teeth, your voice gravely low. “You know, I did ask her. She just doesn’t want to give it to you, dude.” 

Patri looked at you incredulously. “Wait. What do you mean?” 

“I’m not sure.” You shrugged, placing your gym bag on the nearby bench. “Did you say something to her the last time you saw each other?”

“Dude, the last time I saw her was what?” Patri frowned and blew air through her lips. “During the SheBelieves Cup? What–”

Grinning, you pulled something out of your bag and revealed it to her. Delight filled you upon seeing Patri’s eyes widen in recognition, her gaze fleeting between your face and down to the jersey. 

“Oh, you cheeky bastard!” She took the jersey from you, held it up in front of her to appreciate the signature down in the middle, and she embraced you with a force that made you grunt out a laugh. “Thank you!” 

A voice broke the two of you apart.

“Easy there, Patri. Don’t break any of her bones, please. She hasn’t even begun playing yet.” 

It was Alexia. 

Your heart lurched.

Patri looked at you, then at Alexia, and she put her hands up in surrender. Patri gave you one last knowing look—something that you tried hard not to think about too much—before she gave a two-finger salute to her captain, and off she went, leaving you alone with Alexia. 

“Hey,” Alexia greeted you and stepped into your space, arms wrapping around your shoulders. You tensed for a moment before you remembered to relax, snaking your own arms around her chest. “Now, I’m a bit jealous. Where’s my present?”

“I think I happened to spy it on your wrist, or am I just going blind?” You hummed. When you pulled away, you took her left hand and lifted it up. “Oh, look! There it is!”

Alexia threw her head back in laughter. 

The sight, like always, made you feel warm.

“So, I suppose you like it?” You couldn’t help it; shyness bled into your tone, and you only hoped that Alexia didn’t hear it.

“I love it. Thank you. It suits me, doesn’t it?” 

And though the silver band of the watch glinted around her wrist as it caught the light when she lifted her wrist to the level of your eye, you appreciated the way the golden flecks in her eyes shone despite the blue tint from the fluorescent lighting. 

“I’m glad you like it.” You said barely above a whisper, and you berated yourself at the softness that lingered there, but the way Alexia’s eyes became unfocused and lidded, as if she’d thought of a memory, made the slipup almost worth it.

Almost.

“Alright, good morning, everyone!” Jona’s voice pierced through the chatter, and everyone stilled, apt with attention, before sitting down on the bench. Alexia, Irene, and Marta remained standing but kept mostly to the sides. He, and two other assistant coaches, stepped into the room with their clipboards and folders in hand.

You shared a look with Tori. She snuck you a thumbs up, and you pressed your lips together, fighting a grin. 

“First of all, welcome to our new transfers.” A round of applause went around. Jona faced Tori, and he continued, “Tori, thank you for joining us. I hope you’ve settled yourself in the city, and we really look forward to playing with you.”

“I’ll do my very best to help our club. Visca Barça!” At the latter, hoots and claps erupted.

Jona laughed, but when he motioned for everyone to calm back down, the locker room grew silent again.

“And of course, this woman needs no introduction. Barça’s very own Wall has returned.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as cheers erupted once again. And it didn’t help that Alexia was looking at you with something akin to pride while clapping her hands, a soft smile on her lips.

“It’s great to be back, Jona. And like Tori, I’ll do my best to keep our club moving forward.” You caught Alexia’s eyes. “It is home, after all.” 

“It is home, indeed. Well, put your training kits on and meet us down at the fields. The rest of you, please head on over to Pitch 9.” 

Jona and the other coaches filed out. Alexia followed along with the rest, but not before giving you another look. You stared long after she’d gone, not knowing Patri remained in the changing room and saw the whole until you found her with a look of disapproval clear on her face.

She sighed, shook her head as she got up, and left.

Tori was there, too, and her eyes flicked between the door and you, then to the door again, and you could almost see the questions forming in her mind. You quickly took your training kits and entered one of the changing cubicles to spare yourself from any more confrontations. 

[4]

Training went relatively well. For the most part, anyway.

You were with the team for the warm-ups before you were separated—along with the other goalkeepers—for technical training, and then Jona called all of you back for some 5-side matches. 

At one point, your team went against Tori and Alexia’s team. They’d linked up, the two of them, keeping their touches to two at most. They were close now, and Jana was just barely holding Alexia at bay. You spotted Tori’s signal from the corner of your eye, but you needed Alexia to commit to a pass. You kept your weight on your toes. With a body feint to the left, tapping the ball to the right with her outer foot, and a quick cutback to the left, Jana was defeated, and Alexia kicked the ball.

Now!

You sprinted forward to the left, where you knew Tori was, and you leaped. The ball stuck to your gloves mid-air.

“Holy shit!” It came from a surprised Tori. 

You would’ve laughed, but you spotted an unmarked Caro who was making a run for it. You wound your shoulder back right after you landed on your feet and released the ball before Tori and Alexia could even think to get back. 

It sailed right on over to Caro, and she brought it down with her chest. Ingrid was on Caro all at once, but Esmee surged forward to follow a diagonal path from behind Caro, asking for the ball, and it only took one moment’s hesitation from Ingrid for Caro to make just enough space for her to shoot.

The ball went past the nearest post, and you pumped your hand in the air. When Caro saw you with her arm around Esmee, she gave you a thumbs up, and you returned the gesture with a clap.

It was nearing midday when all of you’d cooled down and headed to the gym. On the way inside, Tori ran up to you. 

“You nearly took off my head there.” She said, just slightly out of breath as she patted your back.

“I was going to tell you, ‘Heads up!’, but that would’ve ruined the surprise now, right?”

“Remind me not to play opposite you again.” She joked. “I forgot how aggressive you play. And I think you’ve only gotten worse!”

“It comes with the title.” You said, winking at her.

“Does it now?” She said it dryly, squinting at you. And then the both of you parted ways for your respective workouts.

It was going relatively well, but at one point, your attention moved to Alexia without meaning to. Alexia stood watch over Tori, who was lying down on the bench and lifting, attentive, and they conversed with a familiarity that transcended more than that of acquaintances. And you knew, then, that they’d probably hung out outside of sporting functions.

For some reason, the sight made you ache. 

Then a sigh came from somewhere beside you. You turned and found Patri there with her levelled expression, but her eyes were knowing with the way they looked at you. She tilted her head and patted your back before making her way to the exit. You hesitated for a moment, but, as if it had its own volition, your body stood up and followed her out to the sunlit pitch. 

Patri was further away now; she hadn’t stopped walking, and you had to jog to catch up with her. It took a moment, but you finally matched her stride, and without even looking at you, Patri began, “How are you?”

You stuck your hands into the pockets of your shorts. “Fine.”

Patri hummed, obviously unconvinced. She took a breath and let it out loudly through her teeth. Your shoulders locked at the sound, and you prepared yourself for the weight of whatever she was about to say. 

“I saw you looking at her,” Patri said, straight to the heart of the matter, and your body coiled tighter with tension. “You went through all that trouble. Yet, you’re back here again and still not over her. In fact, I think you’re—” Patri sent you a look, though this one fleeted so quickly that you weren’t able to decipher it. She blinked, returning her gaze forward. “Never mind.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it fucking does!” Patri exclaimed. “You were doing better! And then you ghosted me for months. The last time we talked, everything was going well with—"

“Don’t.” The word came out firm—a warning. “Patri, please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Patri’s voice softened. “So... something did happen.”

“Patri. Drop it.”

Patri stopped walking just several metres away from the gym tent; you’d finished a lap around the pitch. She frowned at you, and you were ready to fight back if she insisted on talking about it, but she shook her head, and the frown melted away, and in its place was a look of pity.

“Okay. I hope you know what you’re doing. Just ready yourself.”

A pause and a hesitant look flashed through her face. But Patri was a good friend because she was direct, almost callous in the way she called everything as it was, and it was something you’d always liked and admired about her. Now it was no different because she said, “I think you know yourself already, but I just thought I’d let you know. Alexia has a girlfriend.” 

Despite yourself, your heart dropped. And you ached.

Oh.

Patri must’ve seen something on your face because that pitying look deepened with a hint of sympathy. She patted your back gently before she headed back in. You breathed deep, and it came out shaky, but you steeled yourself as you parted the entrance to the gym. 

Alexia’s laughter filled the air, drawing your attention immediately. And there she was in the same spot, holding onto Tori’s shoulder for support, bent over in her amusement, while Tori looked at her with a dimpled smile. 

You turned away.

[5]

A grunt escaped your lips as you got out of the car, your muscles bearing a pleasant soreness. You turned your headlights off and parked in front of your parents’ house. It was later than you’d expected, but the additional technical session and the meeting with Jona caused you to be one of the last ones out of the Gamper. 

With the cake and drinks you promised your mother to get in hand, you knocked on the door and waited. There was a lone light that filtered from the living room, which you found a bit odd, but tiredness won out, and you decided to pay it no mind. Maybe your parents were just relaxing on the couch. 

No one answered. 

Frowning, you placed the drinks on the porch step, and you balanced the cake on one hand as you opened the door with your key. 

You let yourself in, and the hallway was dark.

“Mamá? Papá? Where–”

The lights in the hallway and the kitchen flashed on in quick succession, nearly blinding you.

“Surprise!” The resonant cheer came, and the cake box jumped in your hand, nearly slipping. 

You found your mother’s face first, and you laughed, “Oh my god!” 

“Welcome home, my love!” Your mother embraced you, and you barely had enough time to angle the cake away and put the box of drinks down so she could do it properly. You leaned down, and she placed a kiss on your cheek, and then the other. 

“Hello, Mamá.” You muttered, closing your eyes, soaking in her presence and the peace that came with it. Oh, how you missed her. Another pair of arms wrapped around you; it was your father’s, and suddenly heat rose to your eyes at the warmth that seemed to blanket over you, both inside and out. 

“Let me grab that for you, my love.” Your father said, taking the cake box from your hand, but not before kissing your temple as a greeting. 

When you pulled away, you saw it wasn’t just your parents there. There were Eli, Alba, and Alexia, with little Nona in her arms. Nona’s white coat was a stark contrast to the dark shirt that Alexia wore. There was a tender smile on her lips, her eyes almost wistful as she caught your gaze. And could you really blame your heart if it ached beneath the weight of her gaze?

“Oh, sweetie, have you grown taller?” Eli asked as she stepped into you, hugging and kissing your cheeks like your mother did. 

“I’m not sure about that, Eli.” You giggled into her ear. “How are you?”

“Growing grey hair, love. You went away, and I had no one else to keep Alexia in line. Alba doesn’t help; in fact, she encourages her sister’s wiles, and Alexia does the same. Partners in crime, these two!” 

Alba’s laughter resonated in your ear when you hugged her next, and you chuckled at the exasperation in Eli’s voice. Alba retorted, “Má, how else could we keep you on your toes?” 

“I’d very much not want to be kept on my toes. Thank you very much.” 

“Eli, I’m sure Alexia couldn’t be that bad. She’s always been a good girl.” At that, you caught Alexia’s gaze with a smirk. Her eyes twinkled with recognition, probably remembering what the both of you got up to behind your parents’ backs. She shook her head slightly, mouthing, ‘You’re an asshole.’

You gave her another smirk before you added lightly, "Alba, on the other hand...”

You didn’t even finish the sentence before you got a well-deserved punch to the arm from Alba herself—a punch you knew would surely form a bruise. Cradling your sore arm, you yelped, looking at Alexia for help.

“Alba, please don’t injure our new goalkeeper. We need her.” Alexia said calmly, and you looked at Alba triumphantly. Alba opened her mouth to protest, it seemed, but Alexia cut her off. “There’s no need for that. I’ll just ask Jona to make her do some extra laps during warm-ups in our next training session.”

“Yeah, that’s right—hey!” Realising what she said, you scoffed while Alba threw her head back, laughing. Alexia’s lips were curled up in a satisfied smirk, looking much like someone who’d gotten the last word. 

“Ha! That’s what you get—” 

Eli cut Alba off. “That’s enough, you three. I swear, when you’re together, you act like you’re all still ten!” 

“It’s a bit endearing, though, isn’t it, Eli?” Your mother laughed, putting a placating hand on Eli’s shoulder. “But Eli is right. We should take this all to the dining table, no? The food is about to grow cold.”

[6]

In the two years you lived in the States, you spent most evenings alone, and the food you’d cooked from the recipes you took with you never tasted like home. It’d been so long, you nearly forgot how filling food should be—both in mind, body, and spirit. But now, in the presence of your family, with their love laid out in front of you—your mother’s arrós negre, Eli’s fricandó, and your father’s pan de payés—with their laughter and their warmth, you were finally filled again. 

You ate mostly in silence, soaking in the scene and the ruckus with a smile, and the detail of that one empty chair wasn’t lost to you either. The reminder drew your attention to Alexia. She’d tied her hair in a low ponytail and left two locks of her hair to frame either side of her face, which made her look all the more beautiful. In this light, Alexia’s image seemed to split in such a way that you could almost feel a presence in that empty seat beside her, looking on at this scene as you were.

Grief gripped at your heart, but love was quick to soothe the pain with its gentle caress. 

The minutes flew by, and many times you caught Alexia sneaking peeks at her phone, sometimes even texting while she wore a tender expression. If anyone saw it, no one called her out for it—well, maybe except for Eli, who, upon spotting her daughter on her phone, gave her a reprimanding smack against her arm, followed by a hissed scolding. Alexia looked so much like a child just then, with her wide eyes, that you nearly spat out your drink. She caught you staring, and she squinted her eyes. To that, you blinked innocently at her, curling your lips slightly to let her know you saw the whole thing. 

“So, are you in a relationship, dear?” Eli’s unexpected question made the water go into the wrong hole, and you spluttered. Alba patted your back while Alexia eyed you with concern and curiosity. Eli asked, “Are you okay, love?”

You gave her a thumbs up.

“Alright. Where was I? Right. Being in America for two years, surely you must’ve met someone.”

After composing yourself finally, you answered, “No, I’m not, Eli. I’d been so busy that I had no time for it, really.”

“What? A pretty girl like you all alone? I don’t quite believe that!” Eli exclaimed. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you with anyone.”

“Apart from that poor boy... What was his name?” Your father added. He snapped his fingers. “Ah! Guille! Nice boy, he was. Where is he now anyway?”

“We were never together, Papá.” For some reason, you felt the need to clarify that. “And he’s in London, finishing his PhD at York.” 

“Wow, that’s amazing. And I never knew you kept in touch.” Your mother’s brows shot up in surprise, and you thought you heard a hint of awe in her tone. Teasingly, she said, “Are you sure you’re not seeing him?”

You sighed internally, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You smiled and said, “Yeah, sometimes. I haven’t seen him in a while, though, but the last time we talked, he and his girlfriend were looking for a new apartment.” 

“Oh, he has a girlfriend, does he? That’s unfortunate.” 

“Not for me. I’m glad he’s happy.” You shrugged before you sipped your water.

“Are you waiting for someone, maybe?” Alba teased, wagging her brows.

You tensed, and you'd paused too long, it seemed, because Alba gasped. 

“Oh, she is! Who is it?” 

“Alba,” came Alexia's warning tone.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m just excited.” Then Alba sighed dreamily, “I just think it’s kind of romantic.

You could feel the weight of Alexia’s eyes on you, but you dared not look up. You kept eating.

No. It wasn’t romantic. 

It was painful.

[7]

After you helped clean up despite your mother’s insistence not to, and after an hour of sitting in the living room conversing, the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with you. You needed to be alone, so you took little Nona from your lap and into your arms and snuck out into the garden. The light that streamed out from the living room was adequate enough for you to spot your old swing. You went to it, and, after inspecting and deeming it fit to take your weight, you sat on it and began a gentle rhythm, running your hand over Nona’s head, who purred at the attention.

The sound of grass being disturbed pricked at your ears, and you knew it was Alexia even before she spoke.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

You turned your head to the side where Alexia’d rested her back against the tree trunk, half of her face bathed in the incandescent glow of the living room light. You hummed in answer.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You’re on your swing.” Alexia spoke as if that fact held the answer to your question. “You used to come here and sulk.” 

You scoffed. “I didn’t sulk.”

“You did. You’re doing it right now!” Alexia teased.

“Now I am because you’re bothering me!” 

“Fine, I’ll leave then.” 

You knew Alexia was joking, but when she made an exaggerated move to leave, you spoke softly, “No, stay. Please.” 

Alexia froze, and after a moment, she leaned back on the tree again. 

“I’m sorry about Alba if she did cross a line.”

“She didn’t; don’t worry. Thank you, though.”

“Are you sure? You seemed uncomfortable.”

“I was uncomfortable because I happen to not like talking about my love life.” You said, a bit defensively. “Wouldn't you feel uncomfortable too if I started grilling you about who you’re with right now?” 

Alexia remained silent. You huffed, “Exactly.”

A silence settled in the air. 

You gripped the rope of the swing, and the texture felt off. You inspected it; the rope was new.

“Yeah, uh, I had them replaced.” Alexia admitted, and when you faced her, she was rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “I kind of broke it when I was here last.” 

Another pause. “I hope you don’t mind. Sometimes, I like to come here to think. Plus, I get to visit your parents and Nona, so, yeah.” 

“No, of course I don’t mind. This is your home as much as it is mine. We’re family.”

Alexia opened her mouth while a hurt look flashed behind her eyes. She seemed to change her mind because she closed her mouth and bit her lip before she eventually said in a hoarse voice, “Yeah, of course.” 

Alexia was standing right there, but you’d never felt farther from her than now. There was a rift between you, but it was only you who could see it—you could feel it widening and deepening. Maybe Alexia could feel it, too, but you were sure it wasn’t like the way you did. 

It didn’t cut her the way it wounded you. 

Nona meowed softly in your lap as she stood, nosing at your chin and dragging her head on your jaw. You cooed as you scooped her up, pressing a kiss into the warmth of her fur, and you giggled when she licked your cheek and began purring. Alexia kneeled in front of you, running a finger under Nona’s chin, who purred even louder from the added attention. 

“She really missed you, you know.” Alexia whispered, and as she did, she gazed up at you. The warm light made her eyes shine and her cheeks glow with an earnestness that you longed to caress, that invited you to trace the outline of her brow and to feel the soft skin just beneath her eye. 

She was so beautiful. 

She’d always been.

You could never tell her that, and it hurt.

“I missed her, too.” You breathed softly, “So much.”

And still looking into her eyes, you murmured even softer, “You have no idea.” 

[bitterie-sweetie]

Heyyy! If you’re open for requests, there’s this TikTok that I saw where a pregnant lady had her husband lift her heavy belly for a few minutes and it gave her some relief. I somehow could see Mingyu do that. His wife having a hard time getting used to her growth and him trying his best to help her 🫠🫠🫠

baby ⇢ mingyu x reader, 1k, fluff, domestic au ⇢ warnings: pregnancy, "baby" as a term of endearment, mingyu being his usually sweet self (mostly), established relationship

"This is all your fault, you know."

At the sharp tone of your words, Mingyu looks up from his phone. 

"This," you gesture at yourself, at the unmistakable way your stomach now protrudes, a little larger each day as time creeps closer to your due date. "This baby is already huge and we're not even halfway there. It's all your fault, Kim Mingyu. You and your—your stupidly big bones and your long limbs and your giant frame and, and—" 

It's another empty complaint, that's all. Lately that's been much of what comes out of your mouth the moment your sore feet touch the floor, having to support your new weight, and when you're rushing to the bathroom again after just having left it. And when you hear Mingyu's mom lament about how heavy he was at birth, you don't even want to think about how the next few months are going to go. 

This pregnancy is both a blessing and a curse.

You get up from your chair, eager to crawl into bed and let sleep magically melt away your problems if it comes at all tonight. But before you can take a single step, Mingyu is there. It takes him two steps to cross the room and come to your side, and while he usually wears a big smile whenever he looks your way, now it's been completely replaced with a frown. A solemn expression.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says softly, gingerly pulling you into a hug. 

"W-what? What are you apologizing for?"

"All of it."

You take a step back and try to wiggle out of his arms so you can properly read his expression. "Hey, I was just joking—"

"Y/N," he says, shaking his head as he loosens his arms, "it's hard going through all this alone. You know I would help if I could." 

He's being genuine—that much you can see, but that makes you all the more concerned. Is there something going on? What does he mean? So much of your attention has been focused on preparing for the baby ever since finding out the good news that you hardly had a moment to stop and consider his feelings in all of this, and for a second your heart drops at the thought that there might be something wrong. 

Mingyu's never been one to hide anything though. He always wears his heart on his sleeve and speaks without a filter—which is only a bad thing when he showers you with overly cheesy compliments—and even now, one look in his eyes tells you exactly what you want to know. You can see the excitement floating in his eyes, the absolute adoration at the start of this new chapter in your lives, the nerves of being a parent for the first time. 

But also mixed in there is a ton of guilt. 

While none of it is his fault, you can tell that he's feeling the immense guilt of watching you suffer to bring a child into this world while he is, well, still very much his regular self. 

"Mingyu, you are helping. You've been doing all the cooking and running around to get me whatever I'm craving, which has been a lot these days. You set up the baby's room all on your own, and then there are your massages—I'm going to get so used to having this luxury that I'll be asking for them even after all this." 

His frown only deepens. "Baby, that's not enough. I hate seeing you in pain and being unable to do anything about it. I wish I could take it from you." 

"Hey, look at me." You heave a sigh, reaching to take his face between your hands. "I'm fine, Mingyu. You know how strong I am, right? I can handle it. In fact, you should worry more about what this kid might do in the future."

"Knowing the two of us, that's probably true." He wavers for a second before a smile starts to creep onto his face, but he holds it back, almost shyly. "Y/N, can I try something?"

"Like what?"

Mingyu steps closer until the space between you diminishes, leaving only your belly pressed against his. Then in one motion, he takes his hands and carefully places them under your belly, and then lifts. 

"Does this help at all?" he asks, face gleaming with tentative hope.

You slowly relax into his hands and take notice of how everything shifts. The weight pressing on your bladder is alleviated immediately, and your sore lower back feels much better. Even your feet aren't quite as in pain as before. "Yeah, actually. This helps a lot. Thank you, baby." 

"Good. Then I'll do this for you all day." Then he nuzzles even closer to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your arms around him as much as you can. There's still too much space between you with the baby in the way, but when you close your eyes and listen to the sound of Mingyu's steady breaths, it's enough to spread a warmth in your heart that takes you back to the early days of your relationship. 

"Hey, Y/N?" Mingyu pulls back slightly to look at you.

"Hmm?"

"Do you really think we should be worrying about how our kid might turn out? What they might be like?" 

You study him, looking beyond the spark of anxiety in his eyes. "Well, yeah, but they'll be fine. Trust me, if they have your genes, they'll basically be perfect already. You were a perfect kid." 

"I guess I kind of was." He stays still for a moment, but when he meets your eyes again, there's a mischievous smile threatening to creep across his lips. "Yeah, see, I wasn't exactly worried that the kid might turn out like me." 

"Hey, Kim Mingyu!"

[quirkle2]

first amv be nicies to me about it or else

[alilbatflies]

I wrote a short continuation of this amazing prompt by @thepenultimateword, which goes as follows:

“What are you doing?”

Alex jolted violently, nose still buried in the watermelon musk of Ben’s hoodie as they whirled around.

“Uhhh…”

Ben stared dryly between their open locker and Alex’s wide eyes.

Alex held the hoodie out in front of themself, face suddenly twisting in confusion. “Wait, a minute, this isn’t mine. Did I get the wrong locker?”

The scrutinized the numbers a few seconds before clapping their hand dramatically to their forehead. “Will you look at that, I’m in the wrong row! Sorry, Ben, I’ll see you later.”

Alex went to march away but was promptly caught by the collar of their shirt and yanked a couple stumbling steps backward. “You still have my jacket.”

“Oh.” Their cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and displeasure. “So I do.”

They reluctantly let the soft fabric fall back into Ben’s long, scar-nicked fingers and bustled away before their coworker could ask something stupid like: “Why were you sniffing my clothes?”

They should have walked faster.

...

for sake of clarity and my sanity (seeing the word henchman so many times while editing nearly melted my brain), I named those two:

Henchman A = Alex, Henchman B = Ben

... ... ...

Avoiding someone who works for the same person as them was... Manageable. 

Alex would know, for they managed to avoid Ben for all of two weeks despite their shared tasks, appointments and whatnot. 

Were they caught sniffing Ben's clothes again? Not yet. At some point Alex assumed Ben knew and just rolled with it. Which was odd, since Ben never rolled with anything, spare the orders from their boss. 

And yes, they could just say your scent helps my powers calm so uh... thanks but wouldn't that just be the creepier? Openly admitting it wasn't Ben they were fixated on, but their smell? How fucked up was that.

Besides. A rational, well-mannered, unimpressed Ben. Getting their quirks and unexplained tendencies. Not happening.

Alex prepared for all alternatives, avoiding serious conversation and hiding behind excuses to leave the moment work was done. See that spider on the ceiling? Gotta go. Bye. It wasn't their best but it worked despite all the confusion that it caused.

What Alex did not factor with was outside of work. 

Much like seeing a teacher at a grocery store was odd, seeing Ben leaning against their apartment door hit them like a mirage. Not quite there. Not quite right. A miracle kind of pleasant surprises, except somehow out of place and chilling in its suspiciousness.

Ben nodded at them in greeting, unimpressed eyes focused with unfair intent. They meant business when they looked like that.

Alex was so screwed. 

“Good evening.” 

Alex's head reeled at the greeting. Deep and quiet, yet perfectly clear. Politely blank, just there. 

Manners, Alex. Your fucking manners.

“Evening,” was all they managed, searching for their keys. They had to find out what Ben was doing there. “Thought you lived downtown?”

“Thought we had things to discuss the boss doesn't need to be involved in.”

Alex's blood ran cold. They swallowed. It helped nothing. 

Ben tilted their head to a side. “Don't we?”

“I guess.” Alex was pretty sure their voice did something weird. They gestured inside once they managed to open the door. After you, except they didn't say it, because they would stutter for sure.

Ben slipped inside, waiting for them to pass by only to follow close behind. Maybe they didn’t know which flat Alex lived in exactly. Maybe they did but didn’t want to be obvious about it. Maybe they wanted to make sure Alex wouldn’t bolt.

Alex let them slip into their flat without comments. Their mind chanted a really not helpful chain of I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead.

“So.” Ben looked around curtly. They leaned against the door.

Alex considered inviting them further in. They also considered Ben’s stance and decided maybe Ben would take it as an attempt to avoid the conversation, and so they fiddle with the straps of their bag and waited.

The realisation that Ben was effectively blocking the way out really did nothing to calm them down.

“You’re avoiding me.” Ben tilted their head again, focused look studying every shift in Alex’s expression, no doubt reading them like an open book. “Is it because of the locker accident?”

Accident. Not on purpose. Alex nodded their head perhaps a little too vehemently.

Ben didn’t look like they were quite buying that. “What were you doing there?”

“Uhhh…”

One would think two weeks was a reasonably long time to think of an excuse. One would be wrong.

Alex did not have an excuse ready. There were really not that many plausible, normal-looking excuses for being addicted to someone’s scent.

Ben looked like they wanted to talk again. It startled Alex’s brain back into function. They didn’t think they could handle anything that came out of Ben’s mouth next.

“I have the same hoodie at home,” Alex blurted, “it just… smelled different.” Lies. “Different but good.” Oh gods, shut up.

Ben was staring into their eyes and somewhere behind, presumably scanning their soul and weighting how well they could hide their body from everyone and their absence from their employer.

“It uhhh… caught me off guard.”

“What about all the other times, then?”

Alex felt their soul leave their body. They know about the other times. They needed to sit down. They didn’t think they were getting such chance.

Ben let them suffer in silence. They reached into their bag, searching for something.

Alex closed their eyes, hoping that whatever it was, it would at least kill them quickly. I won’t have to clean the mess if I’m dead. It was a small reassurance.

“Here.”

Alex blinked. Their vision was not blurry and it was not tears. They blinked a few times and finally managed to focus on what Ben was holding out to them.

“Shampoo…” they managed weakly. It was two bottles… Watermelon scented shampoo and shower gel. They were smelling those clothes. Right.

“You could have just asked, you know?”

Alex laughed. It wasn’t an entirely comfortable laugh. Better than bursting into tears, they supposed.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m…” Alex realised, belatedly, that it was a really nice gesture. A solution. Ben was always good at finding solutions, but that didn’t mean they had to go out of their way and get Alex things instead of beating them up and threatening them to stop. It was a gift. Ben was being nice to them. “I’m alright.”

They were so not alright, although admittedly for a different reason than a few seconds ago.

“I’m not mad,” Ben said. “So, stop avoiding me.”

Alex nodded.

Ben looked like they wanted to add something, but then shook their head. They pushed away from the door and turned to leave, hand on the doorknob already when Alex found their voice.

“Surely you could uhhh... Stay back for dinner?” 

Ben's lips quirked into the tiniest of smiles. “I have a bus to catch.”

“…maybe you don’t.” You could stay here. With me.

Ben tilted their head in confusion. “And how else would I get home, silly?”

Stay, I’ll lend you a sleeping bag. Stay, there’s a spare blanket here somewhere.

“Right.” Alex nodded, backing off. “Right.”

Ben left through the door, and Alex absolutely did not think about the fact that the way they said silly sounded all too much like silly little thing, and how they would probably fall and never get up if Ben called them their silly little thing. Nuh-uh.

Alex kept thinking about the tiny smile. And the gift. They used it. It did smell like what they were used to. They missed the smell of something indisputably Ben underneath it, that little bit of their presence that stayed behind.

Alex kept thinking about little gestures and everything Ben made. They saw Ben once during a particularly bad magic moment and they did something so unavoidably Ben (like that weird shrug of shoulders) and Alex immediately calmed down and oh. 

Shit no. It might be more than just their smell after all.

Not to mention Ben was the villain’s best attack dog. Killing machine. Quite like the rest of them, except, well, much more dangerous. Alex kind of hoped Ben assumed their avoidance was based on some kind of fear of them after fucking up and ending in the wrong locker by accident instead of… whatever it was. However much they were not afraid of Ben. Maybe that was the issue from the beginning. If they were afraid like everyone else, they wouldn’t have bonded so well.

But then Ben went out of their way to fix it. As if that wasn’t the most gesture thing to happen to Alex in forever.

It was the smallest of gestures. It was the most thoughtful of gestures. Attempting to solve the situation instead of pushing in. 

Strangely, ironically, it was making Alex's craving worse.

Alex refused to think of all those utterly menacing and dangerously enchanting moments of Ben that they’d witnessed over their shared time together at work. Or outside of it. They thought of them anyway. They were so utterly, profoundly doomed. It wasn’t even funny.

They managed to stay in the clear for all of eight days after that, before they found themselves picking the lock of Ben's locker again. Breaking in. Like a creep. 

“Maybe they should just kill me instead of being so fucking endearing.”

Except they couldn’t find the hoodie this time. They ruffled through the bag and patted the notebooks and pens scattered over the upper shelf in the locker. Nothing. Just work stuff.

Alex had exactly two seconds to stare into nowhere and notice the steps stopping next to them.

“What are you doing?”

Alex flinched and slammed the locker closed, facing Ben on instinct. Their mouth opened and closed with no words to form—their brain was refusing to cooperate properly.

Ben was wearing their hoodie. Their hair was wet and they were holding both their bloodied uniform and towel, meaning they probably had been sent home to rest after killing someone.

Wish for death and dead you shall be. Except Ben’s expression was not murderous in particular.

Alex found themselves gravitating towards them. Before they came to themselves, they already stood close enough to Ben to touch. By the time they tried to jerk away, Ben was already holding their upper arm, keeping them steady.

“So,” Ben whispered into the silence between them, “what’s the matter?”

Alex wanted to say something. They really did. Instead, their magic tugged them forward and they buried their face in their shoulder.

Ben went still.

Alex inhaled their scent, calming and there. Their magic settled. They melted.

“Is it my hoodie?” Ben’s voice flowed quietly, almost from afar.

“…just you.”

“Sorry?”

Alex realized what slipped. They wanted to pull away. They wanted to stay close forever. They needed to leave. They needed to cling to Ben.

Their dilemma was solved by those strong fingers curling into the back of their shirt, pulling them closer.

“You might want to elaborate on that,” Ben whispered.

“I’m…” Alex was content with keeping their face hidden.

Ben was drawing circles on their back now. Oh dear. Not even their grandma could help them anymore.

“I might have a little problem, and… it’s you,” they mumbled into Ben’s shoulder eventually. “Except it’s not the appropriate sort of problem at all.”

“Well, lucky you then.”

Lucky you. And of course Alex was lucky, were they not? If it was the villain or one of their higher-ups, there would be far worse consequences, wouldn’t they?

“We might have a similar kind of problem.”

Alex felt their magic settle. Their brain stopped. Their breathing probably stopped, too.

Their heart did the exact opposite, galloping forth.

They tried to look up then, but their head was held in place and pressed back into the shoulder.

“Invite me over, hm?” Ben petted their head. “I won’t catch the evening bus.”

And Alex did.

[bri-does-art]

Well, well, well... Here we are again.

This chapter is massive, folks. Nearly 30k words in total. Take your time chipping your way through it. *fingerguns*

[ckret2]

For a while I thought it might be a bit of a cop out to have the characters start to learn a bit about Bill's history by having them literally go read Flatland Flatworld-which-is-totally-the-same-thing-but-everything-gets-a-goofy-parody-name-in-Gravity-Falls

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that, narratively, it's probably a good idea. Because any reader who's already familiar with Flatland WILL assume that the dimension Bill's from is Exactly The Same As Flatland in every way possible, unless a particular way is addressed in fic as different.

Like, if I go "colors weren't illegal in Bill's universe," a fair amount of readers WON'T go "ah, I see, if colors were legal then this suggests the entire political history of Bill's home might be different, I shouldn't take anything for granted." Instead, they'll go "okay, so colors were legal; but probably everything else—up to and including the shape hierarchy and the eugenicist attitudes toward irregular shapes—is still exactly the same, or else that would have been mentioned too." Etc etc.

And it would be weird to shoehorn a bunch of unnecessary discussion of the details of Bill's world into the fic, just to ensure people aren't making assumptions based on an outside book I never claimed was gospel truth for the fic!

By having the Pines family pick up a copy of Flatland """Flatworld""", I can make the discussion necessary. Mistaken assumptions about his home world can become an explicit part of the narrative—even a deliberate part of the narrative, if Bill is hiding the truth of what his dimension was like behind the implicit lie that it was exactly like this old Victorian satire written by a human. If the readers and the characters believe that Bill's world is Exactly Like This, it'll actually MEAN something when he goes "lmfaooo you're so wrong about everything." It'll be an interesting part of the story, rather than me having to do damage control on readers' preconceptions.

[screechingsandwichhologram]

AUGGHHHHHH !!!!! HAVING LANGUAGE ISSUES !!!!!!

my grandmother calls my mom and also me sometimes this one word. it sounds like it would be spelt "pit" but i'd wager its not that. i don't know what exactly it means and i don't know how to spell it but its french canadian and is a term of endearment. help.

[grismavessel]

Idea for your vessel au with Ingo being the vessel of Zekrom either the present or the one from Hisui's time

ive been thinking about this for a while because I love the idea of there being more vessels and also it gives me an excuse to draw an emmet version <3

(time to ramble about the au <3<3)

The theory that 'oh ingo and emmet must be the two brothers of ideals and truths' works really well with this since Ingo is stuck in the past until further confirmation!

The vessel au was mostly just centered around the creation trio but I like the idea that other legendary pokemon can have this effect on people too. I mostly intended for it to be a very unpleasant experience, strange at best because it's not a natural thing to become almost a puppet of a legendary pokemon.

But then I thought about how some legendaries aren't at war with one another constantly. Like Lunala and Solgaleo, they're chill right? Zamazenta and Zacian?

Reshiram and Zekrom are meant to be a balance of two things that oppose one another. Truth versus Ideals. But they still work together, having once been just one dragon. So I think they'd be pretty chill.

For the au I think the purpose of the duo needing to find a human to make into a vessel would be just to solely find a set of humans that resemble their fabled trainers from their legends, the two brothers that took care of them. One who favored Ideals and one who favored truths, that way the legendaries could maintain balance no matter what. Each would have their trainer again, each would have insight into their region/domain, and protect either's respective duty.

The twins represent that the most since Emmet smiles even when he isn't supposed to, but he's honest in his words of choice, he tells the truth and seeks the truth. Ingo is expressive in everything other than his expression, he seeks ideals because he cannot show it physically. (if that makes sense) and it goes hand in hand with the theory that Ingo and Emmet are the original brothers.

So Reshiram and Zekrom live comfortably with the twins since in the usual story of the au, neither host or pokemon live in harmony which causes side effects. Of course the twins look do change, Emmet gets whiter and a little more smokier than usual and Ingo gets darker hair and sparks that emit from his eyes and a few scales since Reshiram looks more feather/cloud/smoke like and Zekrom looks more made of metal/solids and they both get almost yin yan like halos

BUT

If one half of the duo/balance gets yeeted into the past and suffers from memory loss, there could be dire consequences.

Ingo loses his memories via in the process of traveling through time and space or through some injury upon arrival, it would cause his mind to break in a sense, which also affects the legendary that's made it's home in his mind.

In this au of an au of an au Zekrom would be amnesiac like Ingo too! Only, it doesn't take it very well. If you are a being made to be apart of a balance, a duo, and you are missing that other half, but no longer know why/who/what that other half was suppose to be you would also lose a sense of purpose as well. And for a 'God' that would be very distressing.

So it would lash out, giving Ingo the typical good ole' vessel au side effects of headaches, fatigue, and even more warped features.

In terms of how Gris and Ingo would interact if they were to find out Ingo was also a vessel would be sort of bittersweet?

Ingo and Gris both get to bond over a strange thing happening to the both of them, but also both would know that neither are doing well with the fact that neither can physical handle having their minds so full of angry/distressed god pokemon.

And Zekrom would be able to recognize Arceus and Giratina's presence in Gris, it gets scared while on the other hand, Giratina couldn't care less about the minor god. Arceus however knows there's even more mess to clean up.

[drainbangle]

wait omg i’m curious about your unpopular thoughts about temenos writing wise.. i love when people discuss octopath writing it’s really enriching to see what we all have to say about certain story elements. plus you’re like a temenos representative to me. your thoughts about temenos make me go “so true!”

Aw, thank you! It took a while for me to decide on what to write here, since honestly I could go on for… frankly any aspect of this guy, especially in regards to treatment in fanon. But for now, I'll focus on my thoughts regarding how people treat tragedy in Temenos' story— namely, Crick's death— and why I personally dislike it as a writing decision and why I disagree with the idea that it is necessary.

Note: Goes without saying, but this is my personal opinion. If you believe otherwise, then that's all good. I'm not writing this to say that any one person is wrong, just to talk about an issue I have with the game's writing itself.

To start, I'll say that my main reason for disliking Crick's death in SH route is a matter of practicality. Killing him off causes Temenos to lose the main person that he had a fantastic relationship and banter with, and in my opinion, Temenos works best when he's bouncing off another person; not unlike most under the Sherlock-archetype.

Also, genuinely? It works wonders to keep Crick alive, if just because it provides a fantastic avenue to explore Temenos' institutional trauma. Having a character that's lived a different experience but within the same harmful institution opens up ways to explore the scope of its harm. And yes, this is for Crick specifically; not Ort, not the travelers, but Crick.

I think it really adds something that Temenos was raised by the church while Crick converted as a teenager during a really difficult time in his life. These two are good for each other. Crick sure as hell makes it a lot easier to write Temenos in fic.

(If you have a different experience, again, that's cool. I'm glad for you. I, however, will never fail to take the easy way out.)

(This is a lie, I'm over here making up fantasy church law for fic stuff but that's not related to this answer.)

I won't pretend that disliking Crick's death is an unpopular opinion. I mean, "Stormhail Fix-it" is an entire genre of fic on the OT2 Ao3 tag. What I do feel tends to go unaddressed though, is the fact that the idea that Crick's death is canon, therefore it is necessary, therefore it is the best decision; an idea that I wholeheartedly disagree with.

Within the text itself, Crick is killed off in order to give Temenos a personal reason to pursue Kaldena, thus putting him at odds with Kaldena's motivations being driven by her ideology and worldview that, "because humans committed the massacre, it was the gods' mistake to put us here". I also won't pretend that Kaldena's writing here isn't fucking awful, because Crick's death is also a device to make the player want Kaldena defeated even though she is just as much as a victim of the church; and that's to say nothing of her portrayal as an indigenous and dark-skinned woman.

These decisions are ones I disagree with. Killing Crick off was unnecessary to give Temenos reason to pursue the culprit, because Temenos already had someone close to him killed; and that's Pontiff Jörg. He raised Temenos from infancy, but due to the lack of focus on him outside of banter conversations, it's never relevant to his motivations outside of the desire for truth because a crime was committed. 

We also didn't need to kill Crick off to show that the church was a terrible institution, because Roi already went missing in action. The Sacred Guard is the main body of law within Eastern Solistia, it's not unreasonable to think that the reason why Temenos dislikes them is because they clearly didn't do shit to investigate his disappearance.

However, one thing I really don't agree with is the idea that Crick's death is necessary because Temenos' story is a tragedy. And if you asked me why, I'd ask this in turn: why is death the only form of tragedy? Furthermore, why must a tragedy contain only tragic events? That in mind, what gives anything value in a tragedy, then?

Pretend we cannot completely rewrite Temenos' story. Even then, changing Crick's death to a permanent injury, a coma, or whatever is still a tragic event; and that's nothing to say of living with the consequences. Isn't losing your faith a tragedy? Isn't losing something you worked for years to do a tragedy?

Similarly, I'd still argue that it's more valuable to make Stormhail a near-death experience because not only does it show Temenos succeeding in making someone question the church but also the terror that is feeling like you're doomed to repeat tragedy. Even if you really aren't, it's hard to dismiss that feeling; especially when it has to do with being victimized by institutions.

And before someone says, "but bad things happen to good people in real life", I'm not treating these characters as living, breathing people who are subject to things like gravity, hunger, and exhaustion. I'm treating them as choices, and choices made that I disagree with. 

It's why I make different choices. I choose to make Crick have to deal with chronic pain onwards. I choose to make Temenos realize change is still possible. I choose to let them both leave Stormhail alive. Are these better choices? I don't know. But I'll never stop questioning the ones made by the writers regardless; much less stop disagreeing with them.

So, in summary: I dislike Crick's death. I dislike Temenos having to spend the rest of the story without someone he can talk to so easily because Crick's absence weakens a lot of his scenes in Temenos 4. But more than that, I dislike the idea that tragedy is necessary on top of the idea that it is superior. Tragedy's good, I adore the genre; but written in mindful doses and all that.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

the name of someone i no longer know

“Do you like… know who you are? Like, your identity?” Tachihara asks Gin and Hirotsu one day, fiddling with the strings on his jacket.

He doesn’t know why he brings it up. Well, he kind of does. He’s just… really confused. Because he’s a Hunting Dog, he isn’t really a part of the Port Mafia. And yet…

Somehow, he feels like he’s been here his whole life even though it’s only been four months. Working with Gin and Hirotsu and even Higuchi and Akutagawa is different from working with the Hunting Dogs. It feels more natural here. And he hates it because he does love the rest of the Hunting Dogs—they’re basically his family at this point.

It scares him, how easily he slipped into this.

[or, 5 times tachihara asked someone about their identity & 1 time he knew his]

🌘4,979 words | tachihara-centric🌒

written for @zukkaoru's birthday!!! ily babes <333

[blackjackkent]

The back room of the House of Grief always strikes me a little like those rooms in a museum where you go to watch a little movie about the subject matter before being let loose into the exhibit.

I had Rakha instruct Shadowheart to take the lead here, but it just occurred to me to see if you actually get to do the "mapping" if Shadowheart doesn't take the lead - and you do! And actually I feel like it's pretty interesting for Rakha under the circumstances, and I didn't do it with Hector, and I'm always a sucker for scenes that entail plumbing an OCs emotional depths.

So we're going to play around with this after all.

-----

Rakha really does intend to let Shadowheart take the lead through the Sharran facility. All she does is sit down on the bench while Shadowheart examines the room - and as she does, she feels a wrenching in the Weave behind her, the twisting rip of a dimension door.

A voice at her elbow makes her jump. "You seek to be Unburdened, yes?"

The voice is unfamiliar - dark and low and surprisingly gentle. An equally unfamiliar woman has appeared at Rakha's side, slender in build with dark violet skin visible through slits in the black fabric of her robe.

She tilts her head as Rakha glances at her. "The Mapping of the Heart can reveal the way... yet there is another here whose need is great."

Shadowheart, standing next to the others at the wall, has gone deathly still. "That voice..." she whispers. "Allow me-- I think I'm supposed to do this."

And she should. She should step aside. This place is Shadowheart's past, not hers. The fight that certainly lies ahead is Shadowheart's fight. Their very presence here is on Shadowheart's behalf.

And yet... and yet...

You seek to be unburdened, yes?

The beast, the Dark Urge, is gone from her - but its absence has not healed the grief or guilt or rage or pain that it left behind. And in the end she still carries the same need that led her to follow the Emperor for so long - the desperate, futile hope that there is some magic by which all the damaged parts of her might slough away, leaving behind only a peaceful and unbroken whole.

These people are enemies, and yet she must see what succor they offer before she destroys them.

"Keep back, Shadowheart," she mutters hoarsely. Her fingers curl into fists in her lap.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the anger that flashes across Shadowheart's face - but the cleric waits, as instructed.

Amusement touches the stranger's voice. "You cow her so easily? I had thought I sensed more strength to her. Perhaps not..." She snorts softly, a barely audible exhalation. "We shall begin."

Rakha turns towards her, eyes narrowing. The mocking at Shadowheart's expense has briefly struck through her own preoccupation, prodding up a hint of anger- but the woman cuts across her before she can speak. "Do not look upon me."

And Rakha goes still, turns away. There is no resisting that voice; it hums with power, it is soothing, it is steady and unrevealing as stone.

"This is your time, not mine," the woman murmurs. "Look inward. See what will be discovered."

Rakha realizes suddenly that she is trembling. She has hurled herself headlong into this moment, but it should have been Shadowheart's, and whatever peace might be on offer, she does not want to look inward to find it. Inward is a place stained with blood.

"Perhaps this was a mistake," she mutters, and moves to rise.

But again the stranger's voice seems to freeze her in place, helpless before that implacable calm. "Hush..." she croons. "You have already taken the first difficult step. Now you merely have to sit here a while and talk to me..."

-----

"What is happening?" Wyll hisses under his breath. "Who is this?"

"The Mother Superior," Shadowheart answers in a low, flat voice. Her eyes are wide with apprehension. "I hope Rakha knows what she's doing."

"I think we can be quite certain," Jaheira says darkly, "that she does not." One of the Harper's hands rests on the hilt of her scimitar, and her eyes are fixed on the barely visible outline of the stranger's face.

"Chk. Then let us attack," Lae'zel mutters. "She places herself in danger. And this is not why we have come here."

Jaheira frowns. "And put the whole place on alert? No," she answers curtly. "Settle yourself, Minsc," she adds curtly to the Rashemaar, who has begun to straighten to his full height.

"But Jaheira, do you not see that it is--"

"I said be calm," Jaheira snaps under her breath. "This moment sits on a blade's edge, ranger. Do not tip it into chaos."

-----

"You are here because something grieves you," the stranger says softly. "Perhaps you know what that is. Perhaps you merely think you know. The Mapping will reveal your heartform. Then the healing can begin."

Rakha's breath catches raggedly in her throat. She should never have begun to listen, but now that she has, she finds she cannot stop. What healing might this woman offer her?

The woman's head lifts a little, a thoughtful tilt to one side. "Answer the questions I put to you. And answer honestly - the lips may try to deceive, but the heart will offer the truth in the end. Let us begin..."

A minuscule pause, and then she asks, "What last caused you to shed a tear?"

(A/N: Doing a little tweaking on some of these answers to make them more Rakha-ish. As usual, the text in italics is in-game dialogue, text not in italics is mine.)

Rakha has only a few memories of crying. But she remembers the last instance with painful clarity. She sat in a pool of her own blood and sobbed as Withers told her that there was more to her than the beast that had been ripped out of her soul.

"Hope,"(*) she whispers.

"So be it," murmurs the woman. "The second question - what is your unspoken desire?"

So many desires have crossed through her in the past - the hunger for blood, for chaos, for destruction. But those violent desires are gone now, leaving behind softer and subtler things - and in the end there is only one thing she has ever truly wanted, even while the violence ravaged her.

"To be at peace,"(**) she answers.

"Your heartform begins to take shape." The soothing tone takes on an edge now, feeling the hook set and steady. "The third question - what is your greatest fear?"

Rakha's jaw works. She has far more of these than desires. But in truth one of them stands out far above the rest now, because the thought of it is wreathed in a memory of overwhelming pain and blood and everything she has most hated about herself.

"My father,"(***) she whispers.

The stranger hums softly. "The heartform grows clearer again. Such a burden you carry... but we can help." Rakha hears the subtle shift of fabric as the woman turns slightly towards her. "The fourth question. How would you spite one who wronged you?"

Rakha says nothing for a long time. This question, she finds, has a simple answer, and she does not like it. She would have liked to believe that all the violence in her nature vanished when the beast was torn from her, that now in her rebirth she can, without any struggle, manifest Wyll's gentleness, Minsc's good humor, Jaheira's wisdom.

But the answer to this question is the same as it has always been, because she is still her in the end. She might be a little softer, a little slower to strike, and her violence is no longer founded on helpless, animal hunger. But she is still blunt and direct, and she has not forgotten Lae'zel's words that formed the core of her world when she had nothing else to guide her. Attack with purpose and savor your kills.

"I would kill them," she admits flatly.

The woman laughs softly. "So simple? As you wish..." A slight pause, then: "The final question. How would you feel, if all your burdens were lifted?"

Another long, long, long silence. Yes. This is what she wants, what she hoped for in even seeking this conversation. A lifting of her burdens, a sanding off of the scarred places in her soul.

And yet... even in answering these questions, she has seen a new and uncomfortable truth. Much of her has been emptied out by the removal of the beast; if the scars are taken away too... there will be nothing left.

"I would be lesser," she admits, very low, almost inaudible. "My burdens molded me."

The Sharran woman's voice turns dryly approving. "You know the value of suffering. Good. Life is full of it - whether you welcome it or not."

She turns her head. "It is done. Your heartform has revealed itself to me." Rakha catches a glimpse of intense violet eyes peering at her from under the black hood. "You possess a violent heart. Rage grips you. Blood inflames you. The House of Grief knows such burdens - and can lift such burdens."

(A/N: Wellp. Ouch.)

Yes. It is true. She has seen flashes of it in the last few minutes, the painful realization that has been waiting for her to notice it, ever since the temple of Bhaal. The beast is gone, but the soul it shaped remains, and the path to peace is no easier now than it ever was.

But this woman will be no help to her. She already knows what Wyll would tell her, if she could make him understand this revelation. It is her path to tread, and no other's - least of all this Sharran, Shadowheart's enemy. She should not have sat here and listened in the first place.

"You're wrong about me," she says quietly. Not wrong in your description, but wrong that you are the ones to save me.

"This is your own judgment of yourself," the woman says calmly. "Embrace the truth your heart shares - however painful." Again the sound of shifting fabric, this time as the woman stands. "Our help comes at a price, one that cannot be discussed here. We will talk further - but first, an introduction."

Rakha turns in time to see the woman pull the hood away from her head.

"I am Viconia DeVir," she says coolly. She is a drow, Rakha can now see - not unlike Minthara in her violet skin and pale hair. "The House of Grief is mine. But what lies beneath - that belongs to my mistress, and that is where you must go."

"Viconia DeVir," Jaheira says icily. One of the scimitars is out in her hand now, in spite of her earlier admonitions, and her eyes have narrowed to tight slits with dislike. "Alas, I know you a little too well to follow you into a dark hole in the ground."

"You," Minsc snarls at her side, unable to restrain his own anger any longer. "Boo would have caught your foul scent, had you not confounded his nose with evil Sharran incense."

"Always a pleasure to see old acquaintances," Viconia answers sardonically. "But you would be wise not to interfere in what is to come." Her eyes drift from Jaheira to Minsc, then to Rakha, and then finally to Shadowheart, where they settle with a cool sneer.

"We will talk more down below," she says, and vanishes.

----

(*) Under the hood there is an actual calculation going on between several different possible results here, so I selected the nearest equivalent in the available options - "A beautiful sunset."

(**) In-game selection: "To be held."

(***) This one was pretty hard to find an equivalent for in the available options and, unfortunately, affects the way the fight later plays out. In the end I chose "Darkness" but we may end up headcanoning a different manifestation for this in the battle.

[loderlied]

Can I have a Shana fact pls 🤲 (I know u said there are no fun facts. So an Awful Fact would be good)

i will. try to give you something without feeling The Guilt TM. part of a deleted essay where i explain some of his basic story premise which might be good to know lol

though shana graduated a year later than planned, he almost immediately got accepted into a prestigious medical school due to otherwise perfect grades and extracurriculars and and and etc etc etc. while he prefers the social aspect of it, he is someone who does not have to try very hard to not just succeed but excel in academic settings. i mentioned this a while back but even before graduating he was already fairly certain of what he wanted to do later on, partially because he enjoys that dichotomy of being a monster and a doctor (the joy the wolf in sheep’s clothing gets from deceiving the sheep and such), with the other big reason being that he is simply very good with his hands on a kinesthetic level and learned that he likes cutting people up with them. he knows and likes what he likes.

i see shana as something along the lines of like a general or trauma surgeon primarily, but did undergo training for a specialty. something regarded as particularly difficult to master. you’ll see why in a minute. not fully decided the specifics here yet because i’ve been playing around with all of it in my headspace and such lol

i imagine he’d find a place to work in a more rural and/or poorer area, somewhere he is needed and absolutely irreplaceable, and like in all versions of his story, undoubtedly exploiting especially poor, mentally ill, and otherwise marginalised people in desperate need of medical care for his sick thrills. people that would not be listened to, be laughed out of the station at best even if they do remember and decide to speak out against his misdeeds against them. those primarily being deliberately fucking with his patients’ anaesthesia intending to have them paralysed but not nearly numb enough to not feel what’s happening. essentially deliberate anaesthesia awareness.

he’s insanely skilled at what he does and like. 9.5 out of 10 surgeries are not in uh. this style. especially in the beginning. (to his credit, even during those that are he doesn’t like. cut people up unnecessarily. he still “just” does the planned procedure.) this gets him enough respect and trust for certain uh. privileges. how he sees it at least. an insanely high pay that honestly is fucking predatory especially if you compare it to some of his underpaid coworkers (some probably even underpaid mainly just to pay him more) to keep him there instead of moving to a “better” area where someone of his “level” would certainly be accepted with open arms immediately, and this is certainly very nice and all, he can’t complain, but what shana’s really after is more. let’s say uh. privacy. this hospital is severely understaffed, no, the best of the best doesn’t need an anaesthesiologist surpervising the patient the entire time and this nurse and that nurse and those nurses could really be used better elsewhere. medical malpractice everywhere the eye can see. woo.

the worst part is that shana is genuinely extremely beloved and well regarded/respected not just in that specific community but enjoys an undeserved good reputation as a doctor/surgeon in general. eugh.

hope this is okay 👍 yay 👍 pukes

[brightest-colors-forever]

[There’s a video. It appears to have been recorded by Kinkajou’s Rotom phone. Watch?

Kinkajou is at the wall that separates the Wild Area from Hammerlocke. Mango the Eevee is fainted on Kinkajou’s back. She doesn’t seem too heavily hurt.

Kinkajou begins to fly, Mango slipping off on Kinkajou’s back. Mango falls off, and Kinkajou turns around and catches her midair with her talons. Kinkajou says something in Dragon, which just sounds like roaring and growling to the average human.

Kinkajou flies above the Motostoke wall, she camouflages her scales, causing her to seemingly disappear. This results in it looking as if an unconscious Eevee is somehow floating over the Motostoke entrance.

They land in Motostoke, right in front of the Pokémon center. Kinkajou’s scales return to their normal colors, showing that Kinkajou is too big to enter the building.

She pokes her head in and calls out in Dragon, holding out Mango.

The people inside, reasonably, are afraid of the weird gigantic new Pokémon that none of them had seen before that was also roaring and growling.

Kinkajou pauses for a moment, and then says, in Galarian, “Help.” She nods at the unconscious Eevee.

Most of the people in the Pokémon center just stare at Kinkajou.

Then the nurse there picks up Mango. They look up at Kinkajou, nods, and takes the Eevee to the back of the center.

A few moments later, they come back, Mango following. “Alright, this Eevee should be all good now.”

Mango runs over to Kinkajou, making happy sounds.

Kinkajou smiles and says something in Dragon, then stops, trying to remember something. “Tankyu!” She calls.

Kinkajou removes herself from the doorway and flies away, Mango riding on her shoulder.]

[nevaronn]

Tangled Up [Branches In A Flood] Chapter 1: The Red Siren of Rukon is now live on AO3, FFN, and LiveJournal! (Links Below)

Pairing: Yumichika Ayasegawa/Ikkaku Madarame Rating: M Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Status: On-Going (1/20) Tags: Slowburn, Enemies to Friends to Sort of Lovers, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary:

“So what do you say, Ikkaku Madarame?” Yumichika meets Ikkaku’s gaze. “Shall we be friends?”

Ikkaku heaves a sigh, lays back on the blood-soaked earth, and glares at the clouds.

___

The life of Ikkaku and Yumichika before the main Bleach series

______________________________________________________________ Please go give her lots of love, and do tell me what you think<3

For clarity, this is part 1 in a 3 part series-- TUBIAF itself set to have 20 chapters. See you all soon~ -Nev

AO3 FFN LJ

[guesswhosaninja]

do you ever hear the phrase "I was so scared of wasting a day that I nearly wasted my life" and have it haunt you for a month

there are so many times I've felt like I simply lost years, and you'll finally do something and realize you spent six months saying "I should do that soon" without doing anything or "I should get back to that" each day for months on end

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

ARC: Lenas first day back to work

CW: panic/anxiety attack

(again, if you're not familiar with this series, I recommend you catch up, as there's a lot of back story)

---

When Sam is asked to stay home for Lena’s first day back at work after the tower collapse, she’s quick to acquiesce. Between the incident and Lena’s return to their shared home, she has yet to deny any of Lena’s requests. So when Lena leaves for the office with briefcase in hand, Sam boots up from home.

She tries not to worry, tries not to hover even remotely. (She’s proud to say she only checks in once over lunch– the fact Lena’s reply is curt and cursory is shoved from her mind.) But she’s prepared when Lena comes home, wound tight as a spring. She doesn’t take it personally when Lena blows past the kitchen where she’s waiting and heads upstairs, and she only follows when she doesn’t hear movement from Lena’s bedroom for a good ten minutes.

She finds Lena seated at her boudoir, left hand clutching the edge of the dresser with a white-knuckled grip. She barely breathes, her features stormy as she stares tearfully at the dresser top.

“Oh, honey,” Sam murmurs.

Just like that, the dam breaks. A sob bursts out of Lena, rough and jagged. She releases the boudoir only to clamp her hand over her mouth as the sobs come hot and heavy. All Sam can do is wrap around Lena from behind, a grounding rod in the storm of tears and emotion.

“I-I k-kept trying t-to shake their hands,” Lena heaves between sobs.

“I’m sorry.” Sam rubs Lena’s arm. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

“I-I couldn’t even– sign my own name!” 

Sam knows that’s not entirely true– weeks of occupational therapy has ensured Lena can fully write with her left hand, both print and cursive. But Sam understands what happened– Lena had fallen into old habits, habits as reflexive as breathing, only to be sharply reminded that she’s no longer the same.

Lena gasps sharply, her hand flying to her chest, and Sam knows what’s coming. 

“I– I can’t– I can’t breathe!” 

Sam centers herself behind Lena and breathes deeply, letting her belly expand to press against Lena’s back. All the while she continues to rub slow and soothing circles against Lena’s arm.

“Breathe with me,” she urges quietly. “It’s okay, you’re with me in your bedroom. Just focus on me. Breathe in… and out…”

The attack passes– longer than Sam would like but shorter than others they’ve worked through– and Lena finally deflates like a balloon, exhausted. She sniffles, releasing her death grip on Sam’s wrist to wipe her face.

“I’m sorry–”

“Lena Luthor.” Sam’s voice cuts sharp through the air, brooking zero argument.  “Don’t you ever apologize for needing comfort.” 

Sam moves to crouch beside Lena, getting on her level to look her in the eye. “It’s what I signed up for– what I promised when I married you.” 

Mentioning their marriage is risky. They haven’t truly discussed what relationship they share now, let alone mended the things that drove Lena apart from her and Alex. But as far as Sam is concerned Lena is still her wife. Her wife who needs her, even though she hates to need anyone.

Sam takes Lena’s hand and presses the back of it to her lips. 

“I will always be here for you– for better or worse. And I will never think less of you, not for anything.” She offers a gentle smile. “And I am so proud of you for what you’ve done today. It wasn’t easy, but you did it. Just like I knew you would.”

For Lena’s part, she leaves the marriage comment alone. Instead she gives the smallest of damp, tremulous smiles. “Thank you,” she says quietly. She gives Sam’s hand a squeeze. “Give me a minute?”

Sam nods, and rises to leave the room. ONce downstairs, she listens for a moment and is relieved to hear Lena getting changed and washing up. She knows they’ll likely never talk about what just happened again, but Sam pulls the exchange close to her heart and holds it tight.

Not only had Lena shown her vulnerability, she had allowed Sam to help comfort her. And that, more than anything, is enough to give Sam hope that their marriage may not be over after all.

//prompts are closed