#originally this was supposed to have shading but i didn’t like how it looked so flats it is

[korokonas]

Regicide

#my art #illustration #artists on tumblr #unicorn #fantasy art #digital art #blood #click for better quality ffs this site is shite with compression #I’ve been working on this for about 2 weeks and i think i like it enough #originally this was supposed to have shading but i didn’t like how it looked so flats it is

[randombush3]

dies irae

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three

words: 12425 (sorry not sorry)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In the sand?” 

“Sí, in the sand.” 

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

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

“You are so annoying,” grumbles Alexia. 

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

“Mm. You are magically both.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’m here. Hi.” 

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

“She has her own team, you know.” 

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheated. 

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

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

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

“Thank you.” 

“Are you… alright?” 

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

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

Intimate, huh. 

They are practically snogging. 

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

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

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

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

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

Love goes up in flames before your eyes. 

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

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

“Where is Lena?” 

“Dormida, aún.” 

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

“Vale. Te quiero.” 

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

It has been six hours since you found out.

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

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

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

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

“Why? What have I done?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. 

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

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

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

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

Everything is ruined because of her. 

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

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

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

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

“¿Ahora yo mando? ¿Como me dijiste?” 

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

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

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

But this is how it goes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico shrugs. “Don’t care.” 

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

“She sounds funny.” 

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

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

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

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

…

Alexia does not know what to do. 

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

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

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

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

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

Pina runs, she passes the ball, Alexia turns. 

Something goes wrong. 

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

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

Maybe. 

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

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

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

A second later, she is unconscious. 

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

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

She whispers it over and over again. 

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

…

The call is unexpected. 

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

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

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

…

Pain becomes part of everyday life.

Crutches, too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia, The Ruiner. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead. 

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

Eli sits back in her chair, shocked. 

“What have you done?” 

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

…

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think she wanted to–” 

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

You cringe. “Don’t be crass.” 

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

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

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

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

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

You swear. 

“What time’s our train leaving?!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leah doesn’t ask whether you are still married. 

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

You smile. “Really?” 

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia’s frustration brings tears to her eyes. 

She quickly blinks them back. 

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

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

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

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

“Soy perfectamente capaz de manejarlo–” 

“Isabela,” Isabela supplies. 

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

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

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

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

Alexia begins to get nervous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ona stands to one side and you pass. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

Judgement Day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?” he pouts. 

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I miss Mama.” 

His statement, unbeknownst to him, is uncomfortably relatable. 

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

“Really?” 

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

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

Then again, there are other ways to be petty.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is too young to know what scepticism looks like. 

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

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

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

… 

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

“What, Alexia?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is a baseless accusation. You both know it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It never ends.

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

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

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

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

"And why not?"

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

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

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

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

"Smartass."

"It's just the truth."

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

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

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

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

"You need to fix this.")

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

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #woso imagines #fc barcelona #mapi leon #ona batlle #alexia #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #randombush3

[corroded-hellfire]

Ok, ok, I have a question about As You Wish. Will reader's friends who appeared in "just-a-spark" (Peter and Tony if I'm not wrong) appear again? Because I'm a bit curious about their reaction to the news that she is dating Eddie. if they were teasing her when they met him for one second, I can't stop wondering about what they would say after knowing they are actually together.

I love love love this idea! I feel like this is a little bit of redemption for Eddie too lol. Here’s Just a Spark for anyone who may have missed it ☺️

Words: 2.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie had planned a romantic picnic at the park, complete with your favorite sandwiches, a few pudding cups that the boys are sure to notice are missing later, and a bottle of wine. What Eddie hadn’t taken into consideration though, is that the park is the same place where the playground is, that has children running around, screaming, crying, and laughing. It didn’t make much sense to leave two children with Wayne just to be surrounded by dozens of them.

Luckily, there’s a park closer to your college campus that students like to spend time at. No playground, just a lush green field with large, leafy trees dotting the property to provide shade on the sunniest of days. 

It’s mildly crowded there as you and Eddie arrive and pick a spot near a small trickling brook that runs over smooth stones in shades of grays and browns. Your boyfriend shakes out and lays down a yellow checkered blanket and sets the tan wicker basket down smack down in the middle. 

“After you,” Eddie says, sketching an overdramatic bow and gesturing for you to sit. With a soft giggle, you tuck your legs underneath yourself and settle down on the ground. The moment his body is seated next to yours, you’re lunging over and slipping your arms around his neck. How were you supposed to contain your happiness when your handsome and thoughtful boyfriend did all of this just for you? 

Eddie chuckles and lets out a puff of air as he’s knocked back slightly, originally leaning forward with the intention of opening the picnic basket. Before he can open his mouth to ask what this affection was for, you begin pressing kisses all over his face. A peal of laughter rings out of Eddie as your kisses become more fervent, as if you’re trying to make sure you didn’t miss a single inch of the skin on his face. Large, ringed hands rest on your waist and Eddie manages to bring you even closer to him so you’re straddling one of his legs.

When you inevitably need air and pull back, your lips are kiss bruised from all their work and the scruff on Eddie’s jaw. The two of you look into one another’s eyes as you attempt to catch your breath, reveling in your own personal little bubble.

Eddie’s throat tightens as the pressure of tears builds up behind his eyes. Not only did you just show him some of the cutest affection he’s ever received, but you did it in public. There were people all around. People your age. Probably people you recognized from classes or seeing around campus. But you still attacked him with kisses right here in the open. Almost like you’re proud to be out here with him. Eddie has to clear his throat and wipe his nose to cut the emotion off before it becomes too much. 

No one has ever acted this way with him in public before, though. The most his ex-wife ever allowed was a quick peck on the lips outside of the house. And that was on a good day. Honestly, he was lucky if he got to touch her at all—whether in public or in private at home the last few years. 

“Was that too much?”

Eddie’s attention comes back to the present and sees your brow pinched in concern. He can’t shake his head quick enough to reassure you.

“You have no idea how much I loved that, princess.” One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek. The softness of your face nuzzles against the roughness of his palm and the contrasting textures feel like heaven for both of you. 

“Do you want to eat?” Eddie asks.

You strain your neck to try and peer inside the basket. 

“Did you make this?” you ask, trying to contain your teasing smile. It’s no secret that Eddie could burn water. 

“I made the sandwiches, yeah,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you flush against him now. “Believe it or not, I’m capable of spreading condiments and stacking cold cuts between two pieces of bread.”

“A step up from pouring cereal into a bowl. I’m proud,” you joke, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. 

Eddie sighs and shakes his head as he tugs the picnic basket closer to the two of you. You assist him in unpacking everything before getting comfortable between his spread legs. The taste of mayonnaise and turkey fills your mouth as you lean back against your boyfriend’s chest. He chews on his own sandwich as the two of you sit there in a companionable silence. 

A cool breeze blows through the park, shaking the green leaves that are now dark and full again in the springtime. The babbling of the water falling over the stones and rocks in the brook is one of the most calming sounds you’ve ever heard, and it leads you to closing your eyes. The sounds of nature around you, the wind kissing your skin, and the man you love warm and solid behind you have you feeling a sense of peace that you’re not sure you’ve ever felt before. It seems like there was always something to worry about in the past. A test, a fight with a friend, some stupid boy, money troubles, family drama, you name it. But this moment is serene. Nothing could be wrong when you have Eddie here with you. 

Both of you stay seated like that after you’ve finished eating your sandwiches and the only reason you move is because Eddie’s stomach rumbles so loudly against your back that you can feel the vibrations from it. A cackle of laughter explodes out of you at the sound and sensation as you sit up. 

“Pudding?” you ask.

“Ooh, sounds good,” Eddie says. 

Pushing yourself onto your knees, you shuffle over to the basket and reach in, fumbling around to find the Snack Packs.

“Do you want the van—oh!”

A neon green frisbee landing right next to you on the picnic blanket startles you, stealing your concentration away from the dessert. There’s a black insignia on top of the frisbee and as you lean in to get a closer look, you realize that it’s your college’s crest. 

“I’m so sorry about that!” A voice calls as it approaches you. A familiar voice, you think to yourself. 

Sitting back on your heels, you twist your body to see who’s coming up behind you. 

Surprise steals your breath as you lock eyes with Tony, your friend from college that you haven’t seen in a little while. But coming up behind him is Peter, who you’re decidedly less eager to see. He’d started out as a good friend but after one date (that you’d only agreed to in your attempts to get over Eddie anyway) that was less than stellar, he hadn’t accepted “no” as an answer for a second one. Luckily, you’ve been able to dodge him for most of this spring semester. 

“Didn’t mean to almost nail you in the head,” Tony says with a sympathetic chuckle as you hand the frisbee back to him. It’s not surprising that he’d thrown the disc so far though, since his biceps are the size of your head. 

“It’s okay,” you reply with a small smile. Your eyes flit over to Peter, and you see him watching Eddie wearily. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. Out of the two men, Eddie isn’t the one who you’d have to sleep with one eye open around. 

When Tony’s gaze shifts to Eddie as well and you see recognition spark in his eyes, the memory of them all meeting one another at the Fourth of July Fireworks comes back to you. Where, if you’re not mistaken, Peter was a bit of an asshole and even Tony made some comments that weren’t the nicest. 

Disregarding whether they got a proper introduction that day or not, you scoot back over towards Eddie and curl up against his side. 

“Guys, this is my boyfriend, Eddie.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the older man give your classmates a smug smile as he slips a warm, comforting arm around you. 

“Eddie, this is Tony,” you gesture towards the shorter man who could be The Hulk’s body double. “And this is Peter.” The taller, tanner man nods his head once, his blunt jaw-length hair bobbing with the motion. 

“You two,” Peter says, motioning between you and Eddie, “are together?”

“We are,” Eddie responds, glee dripping in his tone. You can practically hear the thoughts running through your boyfriend’s mind. 

That’s right. She’s with me.

There’s a pregnant pause where no one says a word. Laughter from others in the park and the nearby barking of a dog are all you can hear. 

“Cool,” Tony finally says. His voice cracks at the end of the word, a clear sign of the fake cheerfulness he put into it. 

“Explains why it didn’t work out between us,” Peter says softly, as if part of him didn’t want you to hear him. 

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head as you feel Eddie’s arm tense around you. The eyes of all three men land on you: Tony’s curious, Peter’s worried, and Eddie’s wondering if you want him to say something for you. But you’ve got this. 

“No,” you say slowly, dragging the word out. “That would have everything to do with your shitty personality and the fact that you used a gift card to TGI Fridays on our first date. And you stiffed the waitress, so I left her the tip. And you’re a trust fund baby!”

Peter scoffs, his brown face turning red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He looks away from you and digs the toe of his Reebok sneaker into the grass. 

Tony presses his lips together so tightly that they almost disappear while Eddie buries his face in your neck to hide his laughter. The shake of his shoulders gives him away, though. 

“Whatever,” Peter mumbles. “Have fun with your old man.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” you call out as he begins to turn away, “I do!”

Tony suppresses a chuckle at your words while you can feel Eddie smirk against the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“Well, uh,” Tony says, clearly unsure of how to follow your little outburst. “Guess it’s not Peter’s week. He was badgering Cailee for a date and on Thursday she kneed him in the balls.”

Both you and Eddie burst out in laughter at that, the mental image of the gorgeous strawberry blonde being especially amusing to you since you know the girl. 

“Oh, I wish someone got that on video tape,” you say. 

Tony chuckles and nods his head in agreement. “Well, I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t follow him. But it was nice to see you. And, uh, nice to meet you, officially I guess, Eddie.” Your classmate steps forward and offers his hand to your boyfriend.

Eddie leans forward and grasps Tony’s hand, shaking it and nodding his head in agreement. 

“You too.”

Neon green frisbee gripped in one hand, Tony gives you a small wave with the other before he turns in the other direction and jogs after Peter.

Once he’s gone, you sigh and slump against Eddie’s solid body next to you. 

“You know,” Eddie muses as he slings his arm over your shoulders, “when I saw you with those guys on the Fourth of July, I was insanely jealous.”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head to look up at him.

“Yeah,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I saw you with these young guys, hanging out, having fun. Made me feel even older. I started feeling sorry for myself. But look at me now. Got the girl of my dreams and that shithead got kneed in the balls the other day.”

An airy giggle bursts out of you at the reminder.

“And by the prettiest girl at our school,” you add.

“No,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. He doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s you.”

“Eddie,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes, “you’ve never even seen Cailee.”

“I don’t have to.” He makes it sound final, simple as that. No room for arguing. “Tony doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“No,” you agree. “Just a dumb college boy sometimes.”

“How lucky am I that dumb college boys aren’t your type?” Eddie asks, tilting his head and giving you a shit-eating grin. 

“Hmm,” you hum as you reach up and lightly trace your fingers along his stubbled jaw. “Nope. I’m definitely into sexy dads with tattoos and curly hair that I can really grab onto.”

“Never been so happy to not be younger,” Eddie mumbles, making you laugh. The sound lights up his face and he flops down on his back, tugging you down on top of him. “God, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You lean down and press a quick kiss to his nose. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to say more, Eddie’s stomach growls again, making you giggle. “Pudding cup coming right up.”

Eddie pushes himself up on his elbows and watches as you climb off of him and crawl over to the picnic basket to grab him a snack, an adoring smile glued on his face.

“God, you’re perfect.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS #request

[suashii]

𝒮𝒫𝒪𝐼𝐿𝐸𝒟 — kuroo tetsuro x reader. 0.7 wc. sfw. fluff.

today was normal in every aspect. morning routines within the apartment went smoothly and you and your boyfriend had decent days out before returning home for the evening. the two of you cooked and ate dinner together, enjoying each other’s company for the first time in hours. and when you finished, kuroo, being the gentlemen he is, offered to clean up the table and take care of the dishes while you began washing up.

“have you seen my sleep shorts, tetsu? the blue ones,” you call out from the bedroom.

kuroo had been responsible for the laundry this week. he’s usually good about making sure he doesn’t leave any lone garments in the washer or dryer and he clearly recalls folding the specific pair of shorts you’re asking about. he must have put them away with his clothing by mistake.

“check my top drawer,” he yells over his shoulder, hoping his voice is loud enough to carry over the running water. he hums to himself as he rinses off the last dish, setting it on the drying rack. it’s only when kuroo is shaking the soapy water from his hands that he realizes his mindless blunder. he has been purposely trying to keep you out of his side of the dresser for the past few weeks so as to conceal a certain object.

“wait, don’t look in there!” water drips from the tips of his fingers as he rushes out of the kitchen and down the hall to stop you from finding what he’s been trying so hard to keep hidden.

though, when he finally reaches the doorway of your bedroom, you’re frozen. seems like he was a little too late.

“what’s this?” you inquire, clasping a small velvet box in your shaky hand. your eyes slowly drag away from the unexpected discovery and meet kuroo’s frantic ones.

“… a ring.” if his hands weren’t already covered in suds, kuroo is sure they’d be sweating beyond his control. you weren’t supposed to find that for at least a couple more weeks. scratch that—you weren’t supposed to find it at all.

“for me?” you question, your tone more steady and even than before.

“perhaps,” he answers.

“perhaps? don’t tell me i’m the side piece,” you try to joke. you know there’s no way kuroo would be unfaithful, but you’re having a hard time wrapping your head around the events playing out before your eyes.

“of course not. i just meant that i never got to ask before you found it.” he shrugs, finally stepping past the threshold of the doorway and into the room. “i didn’t know if you’d say yes.”

no matter how hard you try, you can’t think of a time when the air felt so tense between the two of you. knowing that you are partially to blame, albeit unintentionally, you clear your throat with the goal of resolving the mess that you created. “i know you weren’t planning on it, but you can do it now.”

“do what?” he asks, caving and wiping what was left of the foam from his hands onto his pants.

“propose, dummy.” you toss the box to kuroo, which he catches effortlessly. “that’s what the ring is for, right?”

“yeah…”

“then do it. i have my answer.”

a bright shade of red flushes across kuroo’s cheek as he considers your words. you’re right, he had no intention of proposing so soon, but now that the cat is out of the bag, it only makes sense to. even simply thinking of it is nerve-wracking, yet the thought of walking on eggshells around you until he builds up his courage sounds even worse. so, he buries the jitters ravaging his body before opening the box and kneeling down on one knee.

“will you—”

“yes!” your feet are moving on their own, launching you into kuroo’s chest. your body crashing into his sends him flying backward, his back hitting the carpeted floor with a thud. he doesn’t have time to focus on the discomfort of it all before you’re showering his cheeks and forehead in excited kisses.

“you didn’t even let me finish the question,” kuroo chuckles, pulling the ring from its case and sliding it onto your fourth finger. 

“i already ruined your original plan, no harm in cutting the formalities short.” you hold your hand out to inspect the jewelry, a wide smile spreading across your face.

“i guess you’re right,” kuroo agrees, lovingly gazing at you.

“not to ruin the moment any further,” you start, fighting back a laugh, “but we really need to have a talk about your horrible hiding place.”

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: haikyuu #kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kuroo x you #haikyuu x you #kuroo drabble #haikyuu drabbles #kuroo fluff #haikyuu fluff

[codgod]

y’know generally i try to limit colour palettes to as few colours as possible to make things more cohesive but despite my best efforts only jay ended up being able to stick to that </3

ANYWAYS here’s the as-of-right-now fully updated designs for these dickheads. these will no doubt undergo even more tweaking as i draw them more but this is a start i guess. also pls open the pictures to look at them properly i worked so hard LOL

some random notes under the cut yaaaay

chip —

he jingles when he walks. somehow he’s still stealthy. i do not know how

kept the platinum ring that bonded him to gillion in the block! because hey he doesn’t really have a reason to take it off (and it’s a nice reminder of how much gill cares about him, and how far their friendship has come since that ice arena)

his tattoos shift and flicker like actual flames, and sometimes (harmless, purely aesthetic) sparks fly off them when he’s excited

i just think smoke coming out of his mouth when he’s angry would be cool :]

chipped teeth from biting rocks and coins all the time :/

he has scars from the red lightning, they’re just mostly contained to his back and shoulders. they’re a similar red to his coat even once they’ve healed

gillion —

the tail sleeve thing is so he can rest it on the ground without damaging his scales, he doesn’t usually wear it when he’s just on the ship because the wood is soft enough that it’s usually fine + it can hinder swimming a bit. it’s mostly meant for places where there’s cobblestone or gravel streets and such. i think his armour would probably have a version that looks similar but covers the whole tail minus the fins, maybe with some armour plating of its own. i didn’t draw it because there wasn’t any room lol

his scars from the lightning are pink mostly because red stood out too much tbh. they softly glow in the dark the same as his coral and the pink parts of his fins

also kept his ring! his hands aren’t really made for jewellery, though, because the webbing means it won’t sit very secure on his finger. so he keeps it on the same chain as the necklace he got from aslana to keep it safe

tried to make him look a bit bulkier and more his age than in my original design? i feel like i was leaning too much into the naivety and. shortness. originally lol. he also has thicker eyebrows now and i’m still trying to decide how i feel about them but i think? i like it? i don’t tend to give many character thin eyebrows so it could’ve been a unique thing for him but alas

i think i made the sword too small but like ignore that

also forgor to include pretzel </3 that’s okay though she can get her own design sheet later. she’s special like that

jay —

i believe in tall jay supremacy

blue magic! i was considering gold but that’d look a bit more like a canary than i wanted for her wings so. blue jay :]

her hair is supposed to look kinda like fire to mimic her dad ! kinda showing that even if she runs from her family and the navy they’ll always be a part of her. and also i just like drawing messy hair

i gave her sturdier gloves just because i feel like it fits her better. also changed up the shirt to more of a button up solely because i don’t like tank tops very much LOL

i did WANT to make her outfit a bit flashier to match the boys better but i couldn’t quite figure out where to Put the flash. maybe that’ll come later, the way the story’s going i might get to design some cool prosthetics for her or something

overall —

because there’s just so many fucking colours i triiied to add at least one or two colours from each of them into the others designs. jay has her necklace with each of their main colours on it, her wings are the same blue as gillions eyes, her jacket and right eye are the same dark blue as destiny’s blade, her hair is the same orange as the lighter part of chips tattoos. chip has a dark green sash under all the belts, the same as the hilt of destiny’s blade. they all use the same shades of black, gold, and brown

the only real exception is gillion doesn’t have anything from the other two because he has Such a specific colour palette and he already had so much going on as-is orz jay was obviously the easiest to do this with because she has both warm and cool colours in her palette by default lol (and i did her design last, so that helps)

#.png #jrwi #jrwi riptide #just roll with it #jrwi chip #gillion tidestrider #jay ferin #jrwi spoilers #THEYRE FINALLY DONE zoo wee mama #the lines are thicker on the little armour drawings because i did the sketch thing and then went yk what. good enough. and just coloured tha #also got rid of gills button nose it was too annoying to draw #i’m so used to straight and aquiline noses #another thing that could’ve been unique for him in terms of my character designs #but nah #pls ignore that i drew them all standing on diff planes/angles btw i wasn’t trying very hard w that #weirdly proud of myself for managing to give them all pretty unique profiles #that’s normally something i kinda get stuck on. drawing people from the side #in different ways besides nose shape

[saprophilous]

just letting you know that that ask you rb'd about glaze being a scam seems to be false/dubious. I think they're just misinterpreting "not as useful as we had hoped" and interpreted it maliciously, based on the replies?

not positive but yeah!

Ah yeah, I see people fairly expressing that being “debunked” as in, not a scam; I wasn’t personally particularly aligned to whether or not its “dubious origins” are true or not… so sorry about that.

From what I’ve read, I was more focused upon the consensus that it doesn’t work, and therefore isn’t worth the effort. So having a positive takeaway on glaze outside of its “scam or not status”, as potentially saving us from ai learning doesn’t seem useful to pass around.

Correct me if there’s better information out there but this from an old Reddit post a year back is why I didn’t continue looking into it as it made sense to my layman’s brain:

“lets briefly go over the idea behind GLAZE

computer vision doesn't work the same way as in the brain. They way we do this in computer vision is that we hook a bunch of matrix multiplications together to transform the input into some kind of output (very simplified). One of the consequences of this approach is that small changes over the entire input image can lead to large changes to the output.

It's this effect that GLAZE aims to use as an attack vector / defense mechanism. More specifically, GLAZE sets some kind of budget on how much it is allowed to change the input, and within that budget it then tries to find a change such that the embeddings created by the VAE that sits in front of the diffusion model look like embeddings of an image that come from a different style.

Okay, but how do we know what to change to make it look like a different style? for that they take the original image and use the img2img capabilities of SD itself to transform that image into something of another style. then we can compare the embeddings of both versions and try and alter the original image such that it's embeddings start looking like that of the style transferred version.

So what's wrong with it?

In order for GLAZE to be successful the perturbation it finds (the funny looking swirly pattern) has to be reasonably resistant against transformations. What the authors of GLAZE have tested against is jpeg compression, and adding Gaussian noise, and they found that jpeg compression was largely ineffective and adding Gaussian noise would degrade the artwork quicker than it would degrade the transfer effect of GLAZE. But that's a very limited set of attacks you can test against. It is not scale invariant, something that people making lora's usually do. e.g. they don't train on the 4K version of the image, at most on something that's around 720x720 or something. As per authors admission it might also not be crop invariant. There also seem to be denoising approaches that sufficiently destroy the pattern (the 16 lines of code).

As you've already noticed, GLAZING something can results in rather noticeable swirly patterns. This pattern becomes especially visible when you look at works that consist of a lot of flat shading or smooth gradients. This is not just a problem for the artist/viewer, this is also a fundamental problem for glaze. How the original image is supposed to look like is rather obvious in these cases, so you can fairly aggressively denoise without much loss of quality (might even end up looking better without all the patterns).

Some additional problems that GLAZE might run into: it very specifically targets the original VAE that comes with SD. The authors claim that their approach transfers well enough between some of the different VAEs you can find out in the wild, and that at least they were unsuccessful in training a good VAE that could resist their attack. But their reporting on these findings isn't very rigorous and lacks quite a bit of detail.

will it get better with updates?

Some artists belief that this is essentially a cat and mouse game and that GLAZE will simply need updates to make it better. This is a very optimistic and uninformed opinion made by people that lack the knowledge to make such claims. Some of the shortcomings outlined above aren't due to implementation details, but are much more intimately related with the techniques/math used to achieve these results. Even if this indeed was a cat and mouse game, you'll run into the issue that the artist is always the one that has to make the first move, and the adversary can save past attempt of the artists now broken work.

GLAZE is an interesting academic paper, but it's not going to be a part of the solution artists are looking for.”

[source]

#artist asks

[cherry-pop-elf]

Cold hands, Warm Heart

Ghost Fred X Reader

You wouldn’t say you and Fred weren’t the closest, but to say his death didn’t bother you was an understatement. You never got a chance to correct your feelings, and it’s left you hollow. You figured George still deserved to be checked on, as well. He lost his twin after all. Little did you know, someone was praying you would show your face around the shop again.

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Talks About Death, implied suicidal tendencies, it is a fluffy fic don’t worry.

Commissions open

“Georgie-!” You would beam, as George would turn around. It took you a few shouts, but he finally heard you. As if you could sue him. He’s missing an ear, in a busy shop like WWW. The fact he heard you, at ALL, was a blessing from Merlin himself. Oh how it was so vivid, and lively. Despite the war, there was so much love and life still. Fred would be proud. You knew he would be.

“How are you-?” You asked, as you rubbed his arm. Trying to test the waters carefully. Wizard twins aren’t the same as muggle twins, after all. You wanted to see where his head was. He’s your friend, after all. A friend that has seen so much, so young. How it hurt your heart to see the age in his face.

“Could be worse….Could be better.” He would admit to you, as you patted his cheek. You wondered who was more hurt by the passing, sometimes. Some days you were kept up at night. Wondering if you said anything, admit your feelings, that things could have been different. It’s haunting, and you tried to push it back.

“Hey, no long faces here. Go and run around. Be a kid again, and all that jazz.” He would quickly call you out, able to read you like a book. You would give a huff, as the taller man ruffled your hair. Those damn Weasleys. Maybe running around the shop would be nice. See what new products he��s come up with.

Up the stairs you went. Enjoying the beautiful sounds, and wonderful colors. How the world was just in this bubble of warmth. You wondered how George was able to keep up such a healthy environment, while being all on his own. Those two couldn’t be separated. Suppose death just wanted to prove that they could.

Once you found an interesting floor, you began to look around. It was up on the higher levels, so you were able to have a bit of privacy. Let you think a bit, as you would hold a potion in your fingers. Such fond memories filled your heart, as you recalled the origins of the product. Oh you swore you would never forgive Fred for sneaking this in your cup. Fred…..

“You REALLY want that? Damn, thought I knew you better than that.” You heard behind you, making your eyes roll. “Har Har. Maybe I’m feeling nostalgic.” You defended back, before placing it on the shelf. You tsked, and turned. Your brow was raised, as you were met with no one behind you. You swore you heard George, clear as day, behind you.

Maybe he was being playful. Apparition and all that, but you didn’t hear the familiar whip crack it echoed. Did he just change the sound? If anyone could, it’ll be a Weasley twin. You brushed it off, as you kept walking. Maybe he just had to snap back downstairs, given he’s the only CEO here again.

Over the railing you looked, as you admired the floors below you. Such as that familiar ginger tending to the kids. Showing them some muggle trinkets, and seeming to still be kicking. That was comforting, until you heard something that made your blood run cold.

“Welcome to the nosebleed seats. Never thought the shop could get this high.” You heard behind you, while your eyes were still glued on George. That’s impossible. George was right in front of your eyes, yet you clearly heard him behind you. Your body felt utterly frightened, and you were drawing your wand. With a spin, your soul wanted to leave your body. Just like how his did the same.

It was Fred. Right there, but not in the flesh. In a mimic of his living twins attire, but in shades of transparent blue. That same hair cut, smile, and eyes. Just in shades of that deathly blue hue. All the same, if not for keeping his ear. He was right there, and your brain was trying so hard to process it. Seems it wasn’t the first time, as the ghost shrugged.

“You really think I would leave George behind that easy? Thought you knew me better than that. I am so hurt.” He gasped, as he placed his hand over his heart. Ever playful, even in the grave. As if you could really register that, as your eyes were watering from the realization. Not the first time for him, as he opened his arms.

“Come on. I’ve gotten this ghost thing down, thanks to Peeves. Bring it in.” He ordered, and you did. You hugged him, with your wand clattering to the ground. It was a strange feeling, as you held him. It was like hugging silk. It was so cold, soft, light. As if embracing a cloud. How those cold fingers would stroke through your hair, and chill you to your core. You don’t know how long you were like this. You just had to cry it out. As if he would rush you. Maybe you were imagining things, but you swore you felt something cold drip onto your head. Fading through, as if just whispering into reality. Just for a moment.

“I know. I know.” He hushed, as he kept playing with your hair, while George got worried on your whereabouts. Having expected you to come see him again. That was the only man to ever make you want to separate from the grips of deaths fingers. The sound of his foot steps were on deaf ears, ironically enough, as you never wanted to let Fred go again.

“If you hug him any tighter, you’ll be dragged to the grave next-!” George snorted, as he found where you were. “About time you saw him. He was begging me to invite you over some time. ‘Oh please George. I miss em so much-! Oh I miss em!’ And ugh-! Out of all the things to wail about-!” He complained, before the dead twin was quick to let go. Now smacking his younger twin on the back of the head.

You couldn’t help your laughter, as you wiped your tears away. You should have known better. Of course Fred would haunt the shop. What were you thinking? You laughed, as George kept hanging Fred’s dirty laundry about you. Suppose the feelings had been more mutual than you thought.

“Is that what will make you move on? Finally getting laid by your childhood crush?” George asked, before things were suddenly flying after him. A very flustered, and angry, ghost isn’t the safest thing to deal with. “OK IM LEAVING IM LEAVING-!” George shrieked, as he quickly ran down the stairs. Leaving you both alone, mostly.

“I’ve never dated a ghost before….I guess there’s a first time for everything.” You tried to be playful, or else you’ll cry all over again. Suppose those were the right words, as it calmed down that angry ghost. Maybe even made him blush, but the dead don’t really have a heart beat to work with. Maybe it was your imagination.

“I mean, us Weasley twins do like to experiment.” Fred tried to play it cool, by resting his hand on a shelf. Leaning on it, like he always did in school. Course, he ended up just phasing through it. Now falling through the stock, and down through a floor. He quickly flew back up, and brushed himself off. “You didn’t see shit-“ He warned, as you giggled.

You wondered how long the feelings were returned, and if he had similar thoughts. Did he regret never telling you, before he died? Were you one of the people keeping him from moving on? Did he think about you, in his final moments? You had so many questions, but you settled on just one. For now, anyway.

How does one, as they say, Smooch A Ghost-?

@george-weasleys-girl

#harry potter #harry potter magic awakened #hpma #magic awakened #ghost fred weasley #dead fred weasley #fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #The Season Of Love Event #Season Of Love Event #fred and george #George Weasley #x reader #valentine #valentines day #hurt/comfort #Weasley twins #weasley wizard wheezes #pinning #friends to lovers #hp magic awakened #second wizarding war #ghosts #ghost #Harry Potter ghost #you really think Fred wouldn’t haunt the shop? #YOU REALLY THINK THAT?! #nah #he would #and you know it

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Devil You Know

Summary: You are caught by a devil in the woods. She wants to talk about deals and you have always been a good listener. (F/F, 2nd person, original story)

-----------------------------.

“Do you want to hear about my deal?”

The woman across the fire hasn’t looked like a regular traveler for a few hours at least. You thought she was at first, but that was back when the sun sat high in the sky and her hat cast a shadow so deep across her eyes it hid the spark of magic in them. She smiles at you, her teeth a shade too sharp, and waits for you to answer.

The clearing rings with silence following her question. Even the crackling fire falls quiet for a moment. The dark from the woods around you presses against your shoulders like a wall. If you run, she’ll catch you sooner or later. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not even before you reach town. But someday, somehow, she’ll catch you.

“Sure,” you say. You lean back into the tree you’d picked to spend the night under. You have the ridiculous impulse to pull your blanket up and over your head like a child hiding from the dark. You return her smile with a lazy one of your own. Too late for hiding. Too late to reach for the tools in your bag that’re supposed to protect you from things like this. “Tell me about your deal.”

“I was a little girl,” she says. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, spirals of dark curls that seem to move under the flickering firelight. She picks up one of those curls and twirls it around her finger. “My town was starving. Not just my family. Not just me. My whole town. A village of the dying doesn’t wail, you know? Wailing happens when there’s someone around to save you. But when you’re all dying, nobody makes a sound.”

Evil things aren’t meant to be spoken this time of night. You look up at the sky anxiously, but the canopy of the pine you’re under blocks too much of your view. When you look back to her, she’s watching the long line of your throat. You swallow. “You lived.”

“I did,” she says. She drags her attention from the hollow of your throat to the harsh line of your jaw, to your eyes. Hers glow like embers when she captures your gaze. “A nice woman like yourself picked me up. Deigned to decide amongst all those damned and dying and doled her deal to dear, darling me.”

There’s a lot to object to, but you hold your tongue. There’s magic in her words, each one falling like the beat of a drum, inviting you to fall into her rhythm. You could…if you were the sort to be swayed by magic. Instead, you say, “You made the deal?”

“I did,” she says. “Devils are supposed to lay the terms, but this one didn’t. She told me I could pick whatever I wanted for one price. She saw me dying and she saw the ruins that had become of my home and she did not tell me she would save me or them. She asked me to choose one thing.” She examines the ends of her hair and then drops the strands with a sigh. “It is a very cruel thing to make a child decide in that sort of situation, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes. A child should be saved, not made to bargain.”

“I agree,” she says. She watches you like you’ve said something interesting. “How would you have saved me?”

That flusters you. Your fingers tangle in your blanket. “I suppose like today. I would have offered you my water and a portion of my rations. I would have lent you my horse to ride if you were injured and taken you to the next town.”

“Even as my family begged for you to save them too?” She leans forward, so close that you know the heat from the fire must be hitting her face. It sends shadows reaching up from under her chin to cross her cheeks and her eyes reflect the flames like mirrors. “Today, it was only me on the road. Then, my family laid behind me in a cluster, preserving the last of the heat with their own bodies. No food for days, no water for most of that too. I had a younger sister, you know, and an older brother.”

You’ve spent too many days on the road to not know what she’s talking about. The famine is an unpredictable beast, bellowing through some towns and slinking through others. You can imagine the smell of the dust and the filth that accumulates in barren areas, can hear the helpless gasps of the dying like dry branches scraping together, can see the vultures circling on high. The road is littered with families like she’s describing, all clutching each other in their last moments. Why, you’ve seen—

Wait.

You frown. “They laid behind you?”

“All in a pile,” she croons, grinning. This close you can see her teeth are too sharp. Her canines come to points just shy of her bottom lip. “Shivering against the encroaching winter and bemoaning the cruel negligence of the land’s lord.”

The land’s lord is always negligent. You wave that away and say, “But why weren’t you in the pile with them? An older brother and a younger sister…Why did you lay between them and the road the devil approached you on?”

The woman pulls back from the flames, retreating into the shadows. She’s back to watching you again, her smile no longer reaching her eyes. “Who knows? It was a long time ago. Perhaps they no longer thought of me as their bodies wasted away. I certainly didn’t think of them when I made my deal.”

Her words are like smoke, so smooth that they feel like a caress. Her eyes burn in the dark. Ask me, they say, ask me about my deal. You have met many evils on this road and she may yet be one of them. But… You have always been too curious and you can feel your caution dissolving in the face of it like smoke into air.

“I would have saved you,” you say. You nod when the words ring true in your chest. “I would have left your family behind. I would have saved you.”

She stills and the world goes still with her. The gentle breeze brushing through the pine quiets and an owl falls silent mid cry. She studies you, brow furrowing when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. “You would.”

“I would,” you say. “The funny thing about saving people – it’s selfish. There’s a choice in it. Today I could have continued on my way to town. I could have had a full dinner rather than split it with you. But I saved you because I was lonely and wanted the company.” And, you add silently, sometimes I get tired of looking for answers. Saving her had been an answer, in a way.

“What would you have gotten out of it if you’d saved me and not my family?”

“Satisfaction,” you say. And maybe the shadows are just as deep on your side of the campfire as they are on hers because she shudders when you smile. “Die alone or die together. There are only two options in this world. Who am I to stop them from choosing the more comforting of the two? Who are they to stop me from saving a child from the lonelier?”

“Huh,” the woman says. All at once the movement of the world rushes back. The breeze licks at your cheeks, stealing the suffocating warmth that had stolen over them. A bird takes flight from deep within the woods. “If only you had found me on the road then rather than now. We both might have had better fortune.”

The fire pops between you. The woman seems so much less frightening somehow. You can see the shape of her. She met a devil once, a long time ago, and she went down a crossroads. Now, like the researcher you are, you push for more.

“I guess that depends on the outcome of our meeting,” you say. There’s something bright in your chest now, replacing the sick fear that had bloomed as you realized she wasn’t human. She isn’t – the teeth are proof of that – but there is something human about her. You nod to her. “Tell me about your deal.”

“I was a child,” she says. She sounds hypnotized, her voice dreamy and her eyes distant. “I was starving. My family did not want to share the last of our stores with me. I was dying and a woman came up the road. She offered me a deal. Anything I wanted in exchange for my soul…” Her words drift off.

You lean forward, so close that you can feel the flames of the fire against your face. “What did you want?” you breathe.

Her gaze refocuses on you. She inhales sharply at your appearance, but says, “What could a dying girl want? What dreams could she have? Let me ask her and the make the deal quickly.” She drops the affected voice. “That’s what the devil must have been thinking when she offered me such an open-ended deal. She must have laughed while she asked me, so sure I would waste the opportunity.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” she says. She comes up onto her knees and shuffles forward, eyes never leaving yours as she approaches the edge of the fire. “I was a hungry thing, I was. I wanted food and water and to live. Those things the devil knew. But I also wanted revenge for being thrown away by the dying things who laid just behind me.”

“Good,” you say. You mean it. You feel elated at the idea, the memory of her knowing too much in the face of a creature trying to take advantage. You croon the word. “Good.”

She flushes. From the heat? From your words? She holds herself still in front of the flames and the wind rushes through the canopy above. “I knew she was a devil and I knew what she would do with my soul. I knew any deal I made needed to be worth it. So I thought quickly in the moments I had. I never wanted to be hungry and I never wanted to be helpless. I never wanted to be dependent again on luck or family or devils.”

You need to see her better. You find yourself on your knees too and, like this, you meet her eye-to-eye across the flames. “You made a deal.”

“I did.” She grins. “I said, you can have my soul. I said, I only want one thing. I said, I want—” here she draws out the word “—to be you.”

A log crumbles into cinder and sparks fly into the air between you. You feel the shadows pressing in from all around, but you can barely feel their chill. She is like you – a traveler on the road. But the road brought darkness to her doorstep, and she did not let it consume her. No, she sat astride it. She controlled it. She tamed it.

“I have been looking for someone like you,” you say. A confession for a confession. You have traveled this road for years looking for answers. And here she is. Your answer. “I have been looking for you.”

The woman isn’t listening. She smiles up at the sky, hands held palm out beside her. “The magic took hold before she knew what I had done. My soul for changing me into a thing that didn’t need one. My soul for power. My soul for freedom.”

“Yes,” you say. She is beautiful. She is transformed. You leap to your feet. “That’s it! That’s it exactly!” You rush around the fire. She jerks up to her feet, eyes widening, but you aren’t attacking her. You fall to your knees beside her and grab her hands. “You—you are perfection. Wonderful, truly!”

She looks down at you with her flaming eyes, mouth slightly agape. “I—what?”

“Thank you,” you say. You mean it. You are so sincere that you kiss the back of her hands. “I have searched for over a decade for my answer.”

She does not pull away, though her expression is unsure. “An answer to what question?”

“What do we mortals do when the world kills us? Why, we die, of course. But what do we do when the world is cruel? When it bites and claws and murders? When dark things crawl from our nightmares to devour us whole?” You look up at her rapturously. “Why, we become you.”

“I’m…not sure what I’m supposed to say here,” she says. She finally does pull her hands from yours, stepping back. There’s a deep wrinkle between her eyebrows. “This whole day is turning upside down. You know I’m a devil, right?”

“But you were human once,” you say. You sit back on your heels, beaming up at her. “You are the first person I’ve ever met who has bridged the gap between human and supernatural. I am a researcher, you know, and I have the authority to say that. You are unique.”

She flushes, the red across her cheeks darker than the red in her eyes. “I am trying to steal your soul,” she says.

Is she pouting? You nod and fold your hands in your lap, so you don’t reach for hers again. “Yes, I know.”

“If you know then you should run—”

“I want you to have it.”

She gapes at you. Closes her mouth. Presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Look. Traveler or researcher, whatever you are. I appreciate your sympathy in regard to my deal so I’ll let you go.”

What? No! “No!” you say. You scramble up from the ground and step towards her. You are a tall woman and she is not. You stop short of her to keep from looming. “Please, please, take my soul!”

“I don’t have a deal for people who want their souls to be stolen,” she snaps. She takes a half-step back and then firms. She glares up at you. “Anyone else would be ecstatic at the mercy I’m showing. Not many people escape a devil once they’ve shared a campsite—”

“I don’t want to escape!” You wring your hands together. “I don’t want us to part! I want to hear more about your transformation and your life after your deal. Do you collect souls to survive? Is it an instinct? Is it for fun? There are so many things I need to ask you!”

“You can ask any devil you find—” Her jaw drops again. “Wait, is that why you saved me? You just save people along this road, hoping they’re devils?”

Usually, yes. But tonight you really did just want some company. It can get awfully lonely traveling alone, especially when the merchants you used to travel with refuse to put up with you any longer. Something about losing too many of their people to the supernatural dangers you seek out.

“Saving people is selfish,” you remind her. “I never said I do it altruistically.”

She actually does take a step back this time. “What do you do with the devils you find?”

“Not all of them are devils—”

“What. Do you. Do. To them?”

You glance guiltily at your bag and then back to her. “If they answer my questions, I let them go. Honestly.”

“I don’t know if I believe you,” she says, but she stops backing up. She purses her lips. “If I answer your questions, will you let me go then?”

You hedge. “I don’t know if I can ask them all in one night,” you say. “If you let me stay with you for as long as I have questions, you can have my soul after.”

“You seem like a troublesome soul to collect,” she says. Her eyes narrow. “You didn’t tell me what you do to devils who don’t answer your questions.”

You widen your eyes and bat your lashes, hoping it looks as innocent as it did when you were a little girl. “They all answer my questions.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Liar.” She looks uneasily in the direction of your bag. “You’re a very troublesome soul indeed.”

“You can smell lies?” you ask, delighted. You want to get your notebook, but you’re worried she’s going to run if you take your eyes off her. “Or is it more of a sixth sense? Can you tell partial truths? What about—”

“How about this?” she blurts out, holding out one hand to stop your onslaught of questions. She looks somewhat harried which is ridiculous. You only just met. She runs a hand through her hair. “I’ll answer your questions.”

“I’ve got a lot of them though so it’d be easier if you took—”

“You can travel with me for as long as it takes,” she says. “In exchange, you won’t do to me whatever you did to those other devils. And you’ll stop bothering me about taking your soul.”

“But it would really be much easier if you did,” you say in your most reasonable voice. You wave your hands to your bag. “I’ve got years worth of questions. If you take my soul, it’s guaranteed that I’ll have enough time to ask them.”

“You can’t possibly have so many questions that you need an extended life to ask them,” she says, rolling her eyes. When you don’t respond, her eyes widen. “You don’t, do you?”

“Well, I don’t know,” you say. “I’ve never been able to ask them all before the devil tries to run.”

“Tries to run?” she asks.

You go back to smiling at her.

“The deal—the promise,” she corrects herself hastily, “is this: I’ll answer as many questions as you want for one year. During that time, I won’t run and you won’t… do whatever it is you do to devils that try. In exchange, you won’t ask me to take your soul. Good?”

Not good. You consider her, eyes sliding to the trees just beyond her shoulder. It’s the first time selling your soul would be worth it. She’s uniquely positioned to understand the specific differences between a human and a devil. She can answer all of your questions, but will a year be enough time? The one time you want to use your soul productively and she doesn’t want it.

Then again, a year is an awful long time to negotiate…

You grin. “Deal.”

“It’s a promise,” she says, emphasizing the word. She watches you for a moment, lips pressed tightly. “A promise is not a deal. Say it”

“A promise is not a deal,” you echo obediently.

She doesn’t look like she believes you. “This has been a long talk. You can ask your first question tomorrow morning.”

Ugh, that’s hours away. However, compromising is the key to a good relationship on the road. You nod. “Sounds fair. Do you want me to take the first watch, or…”

“I’m a devil,” she says. She shakes her head, finally turning her back on you to go back to her bedroll. “We don’t need a watch.”

You make the appropriate impressed noises as you both settle in for the night. The fire is low, but the night is unseasonably warm. You watch her from your peripherals, your blanket pulled tight to your chin.

She may be comfortable not setting up a watch, but you aren’t. You’ve seen too many devils try to run away when they think you’re asleep.

You grin into the dark. You can’t wait for morning.

-----------------.

Thanks for reading! I love adding twists to stories where the power shifts between two people so dramatically. The MC may have won this round, but only a very clever woman makes a deal like this devil did.

If you’d like to read all sorts of short stories that I’ve written as well as stories like this, I post a week early on my Patreon (X). 

Next week’s short story:

The Apartment

Summary: Emmaline isn't lonely. The AI in her family's apartment makes sure of that.

Thanks again for readin’!

#my writing #second person #my devil deals #deals with the devil

[ataraxiaspainting]

(troupe member of your choice) reacting to a cheating accusation

“this is all a game to you isnt it?”

decided to do this request with machi! <333

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, thoughts of kidnapping the reader, manipulation, stalking, and implied violence (not on the reader).

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

If there was one word you could use to describe the expression on Machi’s face, it would be nothing more or less than slight horror.

It’s ever so subtle, like how an astrologer would count the stars and find one missing, or find another new one that went unnoticed in the moments before it, no matter how small or insignificant it seemed then, in the past, or the present or the future. But you have learned to read Machi, have learned from how messy her hairstyles were to tell how annoyed she felt at your neighbors, have learned from what hoodie she was wearing to tell how much she spent on gifts for you. Most of all, you have learned how to differentiate the different shades of blue her eyes can change into, become, simply from how the sun hits or from how tired she is. You can read her, but can she read you?

When two mirrors face each other, what does one of them see?

What does the other one see? Will they see themselves, or one another?

When you look into Machi’s eyes, her eyes stare back at you too, don’t they?

“...What?” She’s confused, caught off guard perhaps, at your question, from how she crosses her arms in a defensive stance to counteract the glare from your eyes.

“That friend of yours, Pakunoda… she’s with you a lot.” You don’t want to accuse your girlfriend of anything, but with how secretive she can be sometimes confrontation is the best solution.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’ve also… been avoiding me.”

“Have not.”

“You have!” You blurt out, hugging yourself even tighter as you continue to weep. “If you don’t like me anymore, just say so! She’s prettier and wealthier and obviously is a much better fit for-”

“[First], please calm down.”

Machi simply notes that your insecurities are getting the better of you again.

But why?

Then, everything she has seen today while following you to work clicks into her mind, this breakdown of yours being the final missing piece in this puzzle. It’s definitive.

An investigation of sorts, to see which clues fit in what order.

A familiar face comes into her imagination. Two, actually.

Then… the number goes up all the way to twelve.

But the two original ones stay under bright light, while the others are cast in shadow.

The green-haired girl from your job, the one that always seems to pick on you, and Chrollo.

Her boss speaks first. Even in her mind, a landscape that is supposed to be only hers, he always seems to be the early bird, putting a few words in before anyone else could.

Machi, I think you are too merciful to obstacles. Continuing to be that way will only slow you down even more.

She thinks on those words. 

Impulses spread around her like a mist. Impulses she has kept down for so long for your sake, your happiness, whether that be putting pills in your food when you visit her or slicing the throat of that man who catcalls both of you whenever you walk by him at that park you like frequenting when the weather is warm.

Then that girl’s voice comes into her ears, and the mist looks red and sticks to her palms and stinks.

You’re such a low score. That girlfriend of yours can do much better.

The urge, as dark as blood, for Machi to tear everyone who has ever crossed you limb from limb.

“...I’ll be back.” She turns around, walking toward your apartment door, the needles in her jacket pocket feeling even colder in her hands. “We can talk about this later, alright? Just please calm down.”

“...Don’t break up with me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She interrupts, gripping the doorknob so tightly she must focus on something else entirely to prevent her from breaking it.

“B-But then where are you going? If I’m not a good girlfriend just s-”

“Sh.” 

You sniffle. At the sight and sound, she is reminded of Pakunoda taking care of her when she was so young, crying and pulling on her sleeves, begging her to not leave her too. Those memories are bitter, most days, but sometimes they are all she can hold on to, to prevent herself from falling apart.

“Machi… you aren’t leaving me?”

“No. Never.”

“Then where are you going?”

She doesn’t answer.

You choose not to pry anymore, but the anxiety still gnaws at you from within.

Perhaps for a different reason. This gut feeling… It's horrifying. 

But you don’t know where this feeling came from. At least not yet, or maybe not ever, if Machi continues to have it her way.

#yandere #yandere x reader #aya abstractions #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere machi #yandere machi x reader #yandere hunter x hunter x reader #yandere hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #machi x reader #hxh x reader #200 followers event

[ilovewriting06]

could you write a story where the reader(human) and kol are friends and reader asks kol what it’s like to be bitten, and asks if he could bite her?? maybe a little steamy?? totally ok if you don’t want to-

Being friends with a vampire, an Original at that, was interested to say the least. You learned things you didn’t want to know or didn’t even know existed and questions would circle your mind constantly, which leads to my current question, “Kol?” He glances at me from the corner of his eye still watching tv and hums. I sigh before deciding to get his attention, “Would you mind if I date Klaus? I mean me and him have hooked up a couple times and he is fantastic in be-,” I was cut off my Kol yelling, “YOU DID WHAT? WHEN? WHERE THE HELL WAS I?”

I laughed as I cupped his face to calm him down, “I was joking Kol, relax.” He calms down a little bit before turning to me, “So? You and him have never actually…” I scrunch up my nose, “Ewww, God no, he’s like the annoying older brother that pops out of nowhere and decides to stab everybody.” Kol laughs before asking, “Did you need me for something?”

I nodded blushing a little as he cocks his head to the side like a dog before asking, “What could possibly be embarrassing to ask me darling? We talk about your periods and such what could be worse?”

I give him a look before taking a deep breath and jumbling out a string of words, “Will you bite me?”

He looked at me, blinked a few times and then asked, “What? I think I heard you wrong.”

I shake my head before sighing, “No, I’m being serious.”

“Why on earth do you want me to bite you love?”

I honestly don’t know, maybe hoping it will lead to something else, “I dunno I just want to know what it feels like.”

He nods before sitting back on the couch in thought, “I don’t know Y/N/N, it hurts and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Welll, distract me from the pain.”

He looks at me with furrowed eyebrows, “And how do you suppose I do that?”

I looked at him hoping I wouldn’t have to say it and I felt my heart start hammering against my ribcage and he perks up a little his ears turning a shade of red, “Oh, oh, you mean like that.” It wasn’t a question but I nodded in hopes he would say yes but knowing he probably didn’t feel the same way. I looked down disappointed, “You know what, just forget about it. Forget I ever said anything.”

He cups my face before turning my head up to look at him, “No darling, I’ll do it, I’m just surprised is all.”

I sit up on my knees with a smile on my face, “Really!?” He chuckles, “Yes, however I will say, I have never seen someone this excited to get bitten by a vampire before.”

I blushed and shrugged my shoulders as he stood and offered me his hand. I stood up holding his hand and followed him to his bedroom. As he sat in the bed he held my hands in both of his while I stood in between his legs before he asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? Because if we do, we can’t go back to the way it was.”

I squeezed his hands with a small smile on my face, “I don’t want it to go back to the way it is, I want more.” He smiled, “Good, I was getting rather tired of pretending I was happy with just friendship.” I laughed before choking on it as he pulled me in for a heated kiss. I instantly submitted to him and let him control the kids as he pulls me onto his lap. Once in his lap I weave my hands through his hair and moan into his mouth when his tongue enters mine. He pulls away when I’m in need of air before standing up while holding me and then gently placing me on the bed.

I look up at him through my lashes while biting my lip causing him to groan, “I have a love hate relationship with your habit of biting your lip.” I chuckle noting that it turns him on as he takes off his shirt and pants before crawling onto the bed and looking in my eyes. I smile and sit up when he grabs the hem off my shirt so that he can take it off.

Once our clothes were discarded he ran his hands down my sides as if I were some china doll that was easily broken, “God, you are so beautiful.”

I blush and then moan as he starts kissing my neck, instantly finding my sweet spot. He smirked before pulling back and lining himself up with my entrance before looking at me for confirmation one more time. I nod my head and almost immediately moan in pain and pleasure of the stretch of my walls. I’m not a virgin but I haven’t had sex with anyone in three month and he was way bigger than anyone I’ve ever been with.

As he thrusts in and out of my he places sweet kisses up and down my neck before seemingly looking for my pulse point. Within minutes I’m ready to cum and in response Kol starts sucking a deep mark into my neck.

I furrow my eyebrows confused as to why he hasn’t bitten me when I scream in complete ecstasy as his fangs pierce my skin. Did it hurt? Yes. Did I like it? Hell yes. It hurt like hell but it also pushed me over the edge throwing me into the most intense orgasm I have ever had. As I come down from my high Kol licks the bite to soothe it before pulling back and licking the blood off of his lips. When he meets my eyes he looks at me with concern until I smile and pant, “Dear. God. We have got to do that again.” He laughs as he pulls out and I grip his arm as he laid beside me. “Kol, you didn’t finish.” He laughed before nodding, “Yeah, I did. The same time you did but you didn’t notice with all the new sensations.”

I chuckle before wrapping my arm around his torso and laying my head in his shoulder before concern makes it’s way into my brain and I look up at him in question , “So, what does this make us?”

He looks down at me before answering, “I was hoping you would be my girlfriend. If you would like that.”

I smile before pulling him into a kiss, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

#vampire diaries #the originals #kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson x reader #request #smut

[gay-dorito-dust]

Fic idea by @alathan13 (I kinda tweaked it a little but I hope it still stays faithful to what you originally had in mind.)

If this is shit -which it is- it’s cuz I’ve been recently struggling with writers block and a severe lack of motivation. 🦝🦦

Adam didn’t know what to expect when it came to asking his fellow guardians for advice on how he should go about impressing you -the person he’s been so obviously infatuated, according to his teammates- but it went about as well as any normal team conversation could; contradictions and misunderstandings which over time built up towards a full blown disagreement between the more stubborn headed of the guardians.

Some had suggested that he proved his strength in battle and show you that he was capable of keeping you safe, some suggested that he should just be forthcoming with his feelings and just tell you straight up, whilst others suggested that he should try and find situations where you would be in need of his help but Adam didn’t think that any of them felt like the one he could go through with wholeheartedly.

Due to the lack of a satisfying conclusion, Adam had been left at a complete loss as to figuring out his own way of winning your hand, soon discarded to the back of his mind when he had remembered that he was supposed to be meeting up with very soon at a spot you had originally found, before then kindly offering to sharing it with him when he had accidentally stumbled across it after a particularly stressful mission; With that in mind, Adam left the unsuspecting guardians to continue their squabbling, plan already formulating.

You were waiting for the arrival of your dear friend Adam for a while now and you were beginning that he might’ve forgotten, which was unlikely considering how it seemed that Adam never forgot a single outing you took together to your shared spot, or was called as backup for a last minute mission and wasn’t given the chance to inform you of the change of plans. No matter the reasoning you were about to check up on him and his situation when you found yourself not looking where you were going and having walked into the equivalent of a brick wall, almost stumbling backwards and landing painfully on your ass had you weren’t caught in the strong arms of the very person you were looking for.

‘Adam?’ You said, looking at him and becoming hyperaware of how close you were to one another that it left you feeling heat rush up to greet your cheeks. You already knew Adam was a handsome lad with his golden skin, soft hair along with his bright golden eyes but upon seeing him up close and personal; you soon realised that you had merely caught a brief glimpse of his true beauty. Adam’s skin looked as though they withheld the ethereal glow of a million miniature stars with the way the glimmered and twinkled under any forms of light, no matter if it was florescent neons or natural, Adam looked just as godly as he was intended.

‘I’m sorry,’ Adam started, helping you back to a standing position but not making any effort in pulling away. ‘I was almost late to our regularly scheduled outings because I was…preoccupied with asking my fellow teammates an intimate question…concerning you.’ He finished almost sheepishly as he averted his eyes from yours in an uncharacteristic move of…embarrassment? And were his cheeks a deeper shade of gold, Was Adam perhaps flustered? But most importantly why was it that upon hearing this did you begin to feel an overwhelming amount of warmth dispersing throughout your body; from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, all you could feel was warmth, but it was nice, addicting form of warmth rather then one that made feel as though you were burning from the inside out.

‘Is there any reason why you’d go to them for advice instead of just coming to me?’ You asked with a hint of playfulness. ‘You know they’re too stubborn and hardheaded to come a joint conclusion that they can all agree on? You’d be better off getting advice from literally anyone else.’ You both chuckled, knowing firsthand this to be very much the truth but you couldn’t help but wonder what was about you that Adam needed the guardians help for? Did you come off as intimidating to the golden lad? Or did he not wish to be a burden to you as he paves himself a new road to wander; one where he was in control and what he said goes instead of remaining steadfast in his position as the ever faithful foot soldier. Thankfully you didn’t have to wait long for your answer.

‘The primary reason why I didn’t seek out your advice was because I wanted what I’d do to be a surprise.’ He said vaguely, still looking a little sheepish. It was adorable to see him like this as it just means that there was more sides to Adam that you weren’t privy to yet but hope to in future, should fate be so kind to the both of you. ‘And what kind of surprise would that be mr warlock?’ You said softly, bringing your arms to his shoulders as your fingers fiddled with the golden strands at the back of his neck. ‘I wanted to impress you because as of late I’ve been finding myself indescribably drawn to you, and it wasn’t until recently that I’m informed that what I feel for you was described as feeling such as infatuation, adoration and or in some instances, love.’ Adam admits, making sure to look you in the eyes whilst doing so as though to prove that his words were his truth, which was usually the case with him being rather straightforward with his wording that made him extremely endearing.

You smiled softly as you brought your forehead against his, brushing your nose against his, glad to finally having put your worries out to rest. ‘You never needed to impress me Adam,’ you told him softy, hearing the breath hitch in his throat, ‘you already had me impressed from the start, my golden skinned warrior.’

#adam warlock x you #adam warlock imagines #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock fic #adam warlock fluff #adam warlock imagine #adam warlock x y/n #mcu x y/n #mcu fic #mcu imagine #mcu imagines #mcu x reader #mcu x you #marvel fic #marvel x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #marvel x you #marvel imagine

[infernalodie]

Hi there, could you do Samantha Carpenter x male!reader where y/n is her boyfriend for 3 years. His also a soldier who is part of the black ops. Sam told him about her past and her dark secret (her biological father is a serial killer Billy). During the movie y/n went with Sam to Woodsboro when she found out her sister was stabbed, also to keep an eye on Richie since he doesn't trust him.

When he finds out Richie and Amber were behind this and doing all of this because they are so obsessed with the original film and how genuinely amazing they believed it to be, their desire for a better sequel serves as their motivation. He went ballistic and said that's STUPID AND Their STUPID and proceed to attack them and win.

a/n: There is two versions of this that I couldn't decide upon, so I put them both in. For warning, it is brutal.

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲 || 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫

"𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘴"

Inspo: Nirvana - Something In The Way

Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Male!reader

Summary: Samantha saw a darkness in you...

Warnings: Umm, just super violent and gore, so read at your own discretion.

Words: 2237

DNI IF YOU'RE YOUNGER THAN 18 AND ARE SENSITIVE TO THE WARNINGS ABOVE!

These fucking idiots.

That’s all Samantha could think of with a gun in her face. These fucking idiots don’t even realize the bullshit they have stirred. And even though blood leaked from her interlocked fingers, she knew what was bound to arise. You stood opposite her, a blank look on your face with your eyes focused on Richie. The man raves about why he and Amber decided to murder. Why they wanted to make and be the perfect source material for a slasher movie. How nowadays, they were all shit and basic.

And the longer she looked at you, the longer she saw a thick shade of darkness surround your figure. Like a pure wave of dark energy enveloping your body like a demon clinging onto your back and being absorbed by your body. She’d seen this before many times and it didn’t change the fact that she felt fearful when you entered that state of being. But when she continued to keep her eyes fixated on you, she saw her dad, Billy Loomis. He was whispering in your ear with his eyes focused on her. As if breaking the wall of the dead to give you the extra push needed to enact a bloodbath on these two psychos.

Your nose twitched hearing Amber yell, jaw clenched as you exhaled through your nose. “You killed unarmed civilians?” Your voice was like a drum that silenced the room. From its deep tone and how suddenly it came. Both killers looked at you, almost having forgotten you were even in the room.

Amber couldn’t help but laugh at the question. “Of course!” She exclaimed. “How were not supposed to get everyone here and create this masterful cinema experience? Why? You have some sort of moral compass that doesn’t align with our beliefs?” She mocked.

Glancing out the window, you looked back at the two. “Do you know what I do?” You inquired. “Why this night isn’t going to be easy for the both of you?”

Richie’s face twisted into amusement, looking at his girlfriend who scoffed. “Uh, yeah,” he chuckled. “You’re a construction worker. Grew up in L.A. before going to Modesto to find a quiet life. That’s where you met Samantha and you two happily got together.”

A soft laugh fell from your lips as your fingers began to twitch. Something so small, but with Samantha still able to see her biological father staring at you, lips curved into a smile, she knew hell was rising to the surface. The hardwood floor cracked with the screams of the damned emitting from them and all chanting your name.

Licking your lips, you looked at Richie. “I kill people for a living.”

Both killers couldn’t contain their laughter as they looked at one another. “You?” Amber questioned. “No. No, you build shit for a living, dumbass. You are just canon fodder for the writers to make some side character.”

Samantha’s eyes flickered down to your hand, able to see it close to the glass cup that was on the counter behind you. When she met your gaze, your eyes moved past her and she slowly turned to see a knife. Understanding the message, she nodded. “My job doesn’t look great on an application form,” you said. “But it makes it great to not suspect me of cutting your fucker’s heads off.”

Grabbing the cup, you tossed it at Amber and it hit her in the face, the girl yelled in pain as she dropped her guard. Allowing Sydney Prescott to grab the knife on the island and stab the girl in the stomach. Samantha took the surprise attack and stabbed her knife, stabbing Richie in his shooting hand, making him drop the gun and fall to his knees as he stared at the knife pushed through the back of his hand and through the palm.

Marching towards Richie, you grabbed the handle of the knife and forced the blade into the counter. Causing the man to yell in agony as he held his wrist. “You motherfucker! Fuck!”

“Richie!” Amber sobbed, screaming as she ripped the knife from her stomach and charged at you. Stabbing you in the side, enabling a yell to fall from your lips, slapping Amber across the face where she fell and hit her head on the side of the counter, putting her in a daze. Puffing out breaths, you grabbed the knife in Richie’s hand, ripping it out and slicing open his throat. His eyes were as wide as saucers, hands coming to his throat to try and stop the spurting of blood from the open wound. But you simply grabbed his head and continuously smashed it on the side of the counter.

The three women watching in shock were forced to see the man’s head be cracked right open and pieces of brain matter stick to the pristine counter. But once you were done, you shoved his body to the side and looked down at Amber. Her eyes clouded in tears and fear as she looked between her boyfriend and you. Unable to help the sob that fell from her lips as you stepped over Richie’s body and grab the girl by the ankle.

Straddling her waist, you ripped the knife from your side, grunting. Wrapping your hand around her throat, you plunged the knife into the left side of her chest. Once, then twice, and after thirteen times with Amber’s limbs twitching as she stared up at you, choking on her blood. But before you stop yourself, you looked up at Samantha. Her eyes showed shock and a genuine look of fear on her face. But with her, she could finally see the emotion in your gaze after what felt like hours of you being silent. You’re eyes simply asked, “Do you want me to do this?”

And what felt like a beat of a second, she nodded. Leaving you to look back down at Amber and ground your teeth. “You’re wrong, kid.” Placing the tip of the knife to her forehead, you growled. “I’m the reminder.” With a yell of fury, you brought the knife down and plunged it into her skull. Letting go of the knife and began to pound your fists into her face.

The sheer force and impact shook the house. And each powerful, Samantha flinched until she couldn’t help herself and left. Sidney and Gale followed as they found Tara and helped her out of the house. Stopping at the door, Samantha saw you stand to your feet, your chest rising and falling with your face painted in the blood of someone her sister once considered her friend. Your gaze lifted to her as your nose twitched, sniffling. “I’m sorry.”

Samantha shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I would’ve done the same if you weren’t here to protect me,” she reassured. “But let’s go home.”

Nodding, you stepped over the bodies and made your way toward your girlfriend. She stayed still, feeling the warmth you always provided to her get warmer and warmer until you stood a mere inch from her. Your eyes searched her face, trying to find any source of fear that you had once seen. She was disturbed, but that was natural. Fear from the girl you’d spent three years of your life with shouldn’t be afraid of you after all the things she’d heard you done. If anything, you should be scared of her because she was the daughter of a famous serial killer. But you still slept soundly in the bed with her every night. Even at peace with the possibility that one night she might snap and you would be her first victim.

“Are you afraid of me?” You questioned, voice wavering evidently as your eyes batted back the tears. Not wishing to share too much emotion that you had closed off for so many years. But when her hand touched your face, holding you softly in her warm and smooth palm, one tear slid down your cheek. Glistening under the lighting of the front foyer.

She shook her head, smiling shakily. “I could never be afraid of you, sweetheart.”

(Version 2)

“Richie!” Amber sobbed, screaming as she ripped the knife from her stomach and charged at you. All you did was catch her arm holding the knife, kicked out her feet and resulted in landing on her back. You straddled her waist, ripping the knife from her grasp and holding the tip to her throat.

“What did you call me again? The side character?” You questioned darkly. “You are just another person to be lost in time, sweetheart.” Slapping your other hand on the butt of the knife, you propelled the knife into the center of her throat. Causing her to choke and struggle with your arms which forced her to experience a slow and painful death. Trying to cry and speak, but only finding your hardened features staring down at her with very little to no sympathy for the girl. “And I’m going to make sure your boyfriend is unrecognizable when I’m done.”

When she fell ill of movement or life, you stood to your feet and looked up at Richie. He could only stare at his companion. His partner in crimes. The girl that was lucky that she wouldn’t have to see what you were going to do to her boyfriend.

“You sonofabitch! You fucking killed her! I’m going to fucking kill you!” Richie yelled, thrashing as he tried to reach out toward you without worsening the wound in his pinned hand.

You simply stared at him, blinking blankly at him for a few moments before looking at Sydney. “Take Samantha and Tara, wait outside for the police.”

“What are you going to do?” Samantha questioned, not able to avert your eyes from the crying psychopath. In her mind, she truly believed that her father, in some way, had taken parts of your mind. A demon. A parasite corrupting your mind until you finally were able to rid yourself of its hold.

But after a beat of silence, you grumbled. “I’m going to kill him.” It was straightforward and wasn’t much to be added on. Sure, there were a few ideas of how to make this as painful as possible for him, but you were saving Sam from hearing such traumatic things from your own lips. She’d known the things you did in other countries in the name of America. And you knew about her father being a psychopath and one of the original Ghostface killers. But you didn’t want her to see what you had to do. “Go outside and call the police. I’ll be out by the time they’re here.”

Unable to find a splice of emotion in your eyes, she took your word and helped Gale out of her chair before rushing to get Tara out of the house. Stopping at the door to see you grab a meat tenderizer and turn to Richie with a blank look in your eyes.

“This is not how it’s supposed to go,” Richie exclaimed. “I am supposed to kill you! You and your bitch of a girlfriend are supposed to die! Not this!”

Without leaving so much as a moment to spare, you swung the meat tenderizer and hit Richie across the face. Making the cough and groan from the pain as you grabbed him by the throat and forced him to look at you. “Whatever you thought to be on your side–God, a psycho fandom, that means fuck all now.” Leaning down into the man’s face, you smiled. “You’re in my world now, bitch.”

Finally, when Samantha stepped beyond the threshold outside, she heard the yells and screams belonging to Richie. And with due time, she heard your yell, one final hoorah as she suspected you smashed his head in.

The cops and ambulance arrived. But Samantha and Tara still stared at the house, waiting for you to step out. When the police officer’s urged them toward the ambulance, promising they would make sure the house is secure before they would do questioning, the front door opened. And just like how she saw you before you killed Amber, you stood there with a black essence surrounding your figure. Holding both Amber and Richie’s body by the collars of their shirts. But that didn’t disturb them as much as seeing blood splattered across your face. It was that whatever was left of Richie’s skull and the head was mush. Thin strings of brain matter hanging on by a thread with the man’s skull fragments scattered in the flesh.

Seeing it as well, the cop raised their weapons. “Put your hands up!” Hearing their order, you tossed the bodies off the front steps where they hit the pavement with a thud. “Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head!” You held emotion when doing so, only the faintest twitch of your nose to be seen as the police officers cautiously made their way to you. Looking down at the bodies and visibly paling at the sight of brutality created by you.

But your gaze lingered on your girlfriend, her eyes clouding with tears as you clenched your jaw. “I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

Being handcuffed and forced into the back of a police cruiser, Samantha never let her eyes linger away from you. Because she knew that you would keep true to your promise.

#samantha carpenter #samantha carpenter imagine #samantha carpenter fanfiction #samantha carpenter x male reader #scream 5 imagine #scream 5 fanfiction #scream 5 samantha carpenter #samantha carpenter x male!reader #samantha carpenter x reader #x male!reader #x male reader #x reader

[bobbybutterfly]

I’m back ya’ll with more art! I had all the characters designed for a while but didn’t get around to posting them. Now I’m going through sort of an art block. I’ve got lots of ideas for stuff but everything I draw is crap. So I thought I should catch up on my other stuff. Like talking about this squirrel design for Apple Jack. Now isn’t she cute!

I really like the colours on the powered up ponies. Though I did give her a different shade of pink I thought suited her better. I also gave her a bolo because southern. These uniforms aren’t supposed to be realistic. More like something they would wear in promo images. Lastly look at the little band I put in her tail. I should do something like that with other squirrels.

I made her a squirrel because they’re farmers and Apple Jack’s personality is farm. Nah. I don’t approve Apple Jack hate. I didn’t think of her all that much, when I watched MLP as a kid. Now as an adult (it feels so weird writing that) I find her relationship with her family quite interesting. She always puts herself last. Probably because she was parentified, by having to take care of Apple Bloom and the farm. One of these days I got to write an Apple Jack / Rainbow Dash fanfic. I think she contrasts well with Rainbow Dash’s selfishness.

In the Squirrel and Hedgehog universe she would be raised very patriotic. She would often be the voice of reason. Though she would butt heads with Pinkie Pie over leaving her family and Fluttershy for not wanting to serve her country.

I don’t know why my ramble about the first character is always so long. Anyways. One of my best designs, Rarity! Originally I wanted to make her a mouse and reserve the weasels for the alicorns. But come on. Rarity deserved all the glam only reserved for high ranking military officers.

She was born into a royal family. Given a high ranking position in military since birth. Rainbow Dash had to earn her high rank through blood sweat and tears. With both of them having quite strong personalities they would of course hate each other. Rarity likes being in the military and bossing animals around. Though she can be a bit too much sometimes, she has a soft spot for mice. She doesn’t see them as her equals, but treats them better than many weasels.

Lastly Twilling Sparkle! My best design. It’s the bangs and eyes. I specially didn’t put any highlights in them. The idea for her came from my IRL friend. She told me Twilight Sparkle should be a lab rat. Technically she’s a lab mouse but the joke still works! Once I get over this drawing problem I might do the honorary seventh members. Sunset Shimmer (probably a fox) and Starlight Glimmer (definitely a hedgehog).

Until now I haven’t thought of how Twilight became a scientist. She probably started as a regular soldier. Then one day they needed a lab assistant. She would prove to be quite good so the scientist decided to teach her the ways.

Now I guess I should mention my idea for this MLP Squirrel and Hedgehog fanfic. Basically the mane six would crash on a deserted island. They would have to throw away all their prejudices to survive. Proving friendship is magic. I should do some research how war prisoners are transported. And some research on military ranks too. I’m not sure who is captured. I thought it would be the weasel side considering there’s a scientist amongst them. But on the other paw how would a group of ordinary soldiers manage to catch such high ranking animals?

If you got any ideas for this story, please write to me.

#my art #squirrel and hedgehog #mlp fim #redesign #mlp redesign #fanart #procreate #digital art #furry art

[qtipcottonbuds]

𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥 '𝟭𝟲 ; 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗦𝗨𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡 [CNC + STUCK IN WALL]

a little gift for @lovinglyselfish​ thank u so much for this idea, you absolute genius my bro <333333 this is technically a prelude to one of the other upcoming kinktober entries yes yes, i will also link it here also mayb this wwas too long oh hoo boy anyhoo I FINALLY DID IT. Am I embarrassed yes. But it's 2 in da morning. Whatevs

warnings ;; CNC, dubcon, (this is a roleplay), robophilia, robotfucking, possible mild language, stuck in wall, fingering, oral sex, fear play, worker!reader, reader is scared of the dark too, cumflation, excessive cum, hinting at a glory hole situation, uhhhh oh yes dacryphilia, i think thats it for now ??, also praise kink and petnames etc

by qtipcottonbuds 2022. do not repost.

𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗬!𝗦𝗨𝗡+𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥;

Of course, it naturally seems to be that when it’s allegedly ‘too late’ most realisations come to light, or rather stab you in the back. A double-edged sword. You’d opted to take on the graveyard shifts, swapping them for the daytime shifts you’d originally been scheduled to work on - it wasn’t anything to bring home about. Aside from the lecture given to you by one of the higher-ups that even when working after-hours on a day shift, it wouldn’t contribute towards after-hours pay. If anything, the supposed after-hours payment was a complete scam for the newer workers in the Complex. 

An easy way to get more done with less hassle. What a load of shit. Sure enough, working the graveyard shifts allowed you a higher pay raise - and God knew you needed it - the original payment from the prior shift you were on barely covered insurance for questionable injuries.

Worn out, you unintentionally allow yourself to be caught off guard by the overwhelming bright lights occupying the Daycare Centre, almost blinding. In any other case, you’d be more aware, noting not to look up when easing yourself off the padding flooring - but it was late. Probably past midnight. You weren’t exactly used to these shifts. This being the first one of many more yet to come. You liked to think you’d get used to it - at some point, practice made perfect, regardless. 

You did have to admit, the new working hours weren’t all bad, if you had room for some honesty. The animatronics, you had yet the pleasure of meeting, both offered some form of company at least. Being both alone, and in the dark, was something you could never bring yourself to get accustomed to. You’d suspected it was nothing more than a childhood fear, something to grow out of as you grew older, but it stuck firmly. If anything, it grew more intense; the fear of the unknown. The feeling of something being there. Maybe you didn’t have to see it, catch a glimpse of something moving about, away from your line of sight. But, it was the feeling of knowing something could be there. The feeling of feeling something there.

Wiping down and disinfecting the toys, no doubt having been touched or better yet, coated in substances you’d prefer not to think about (especially in the production of how they came to be, exiting a child’s body) you finish up, finally, squirting the disinfectant spray for one last time onto the scrub. A small touch up over the surface of the front desk. 

Setting them down, you sigh. The term graveyard shift, wasn’t exactly an understatement when you thought about it. Your body ached. In more places you considered plausible. Yet, the quicker you got the job done, the easier it would be to head home and sleep for at least the next century. You could at least offer yourself a small break, you muse.

As you prepare to gather your belongings from underneath the main desk within the Center, you pause, catching on to the shade of an obscenely pink plastic ball from the ballpit, just near the entrance of The Cove. It wasn’t that you had any personal vengeance against the colour pink, or any of the selected colours within the Daycare Center (being nothing more than visual simulation for the little ones). It was more that they weren’t exactly gentle on the eyes. Close enough to migraine inducing from the vibrancy. No doubt some of the little children throughout the day had brought them in there. The entrance, near enough to a perfect circle, was just wide enough to crawl through. But, it was dark. Too dark. The soft fairy lights used for decoration had been turned off a few hours ago. Something about saving electricity - a fair enough point.

You contemplate for a short while, exhaling loudly. It wouldn’t hurt putting a few more plastic balls away - there were roughly around 10 to around 20 of them at the most, nothing too heavy. But, it was dark. It wasn’t the most appealing of situations, regardless of how small the hideaway was. There was no source of light occupying The Cove, aside from the overhead lighting cutting through the entry point partially. 

Nibbling on the inside of the cheek, you shift your weight from side to side. 

Quickly striding over (fear fueling your confidence more than anything), you kneel down, leaning into the circular crevice. You’d prefer not to spend any time in that area longer than you needed to. Five minutes at most if you jogged back to the main desk. Mindful of your shoulders bumping into the plush material, you reach in further, blindly palming around until the cool plastic connects with your hand. Latching on to it, you continue the process, taking out one ball at a time, steadying yourself. Nearly done. Squinting, you note there’s one ball further in than the rest, just about illuminated by the light seeping in. 

You could just leave it there. No one would truly notice, most likely until at least the next morning. Yet, you knew, begrudgingly, that even if you had proceeded with leaving it there, you couldn’t risk any mistakes. Not at least on your first night on a new shift - what would that say about you? You needed the pay - you couldn’t risk the possibility of having your check being docked over something so trivial. 

You tap your hands along the smooth material of the entrance, debating. 

“Just one more, that’s all. Then you can rest.”

Exhaling deeply, you lean in for a final time, stretching further in. The entrance walls dig uncomfortably into either side of your ribs, hiking up your work shirt. Abruptly, you find your weight leaning more onto your upper half, leaving you unbalanced - much quicker than you’d anticipated. 

Attempting to pull yourself back with the guidance of the entry point, you find yourself tilting further, having to support yourself reflexively, hands planted firmly on the cushy material - the plastic ball rolling farther in, engulfed entirely in the darkness. 

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. 

You try to breathe through your nose calmly. In. Out. In and out. 

This was no biggie; you’d just overestimated yourself, that’s all. There wasn’t exactly much to the hideout (according to what you were told), mainly occupied by plushies of varying sizes. Nothing more than a safe space. Without the lights on. The majority of the light had now been overshadowed by your shoulders and head, only just filtering through the sides of your neck. Sweat begins to collect in the middle of your hands, hot and balmy, and you opt for shifting your weight onto your knees, internalising thanking the management who gave the green light for the padding flooring; the plausibility of being stuck here longer than you believed, becoming a real possibility.

Pushing backwards, with more urgency this time, you allow your shoes to dig into the flooring, giving some leeway for space as you attempt to twist out of the small hole - you shoulders hunching up together uncomfortably, elbows unable to move, limited by the only space they’d been occupying prior.

Who exactly would still be here? As far as you knew, you were the only one on the said shift, on the said ground floor of the Complex. If anyone else was working this late, they’d at least be working within another sector of the building entirely. The only chance of another hired employee stumbling across you would be nothing more than a coincidence, and that was excluding the possibility of them not even being able to hear you behind the double-glazed glass.

Vanessa; she’d normally finish up around a quarter to midnight, after doing a patrol, both on the security cameras and on foot - and it was already well past the time you’d arrived here initially. Rolling your wrists, allowing a brief break from the strain, you conclude that the only real nearby available help, at the very least, were the animatronics themselves. Either one of the two - Sun or Moon. 

Sun, he was somewhat unnerving, his looming presence of being at least over 8ft tall did initially startle you. And was during the daytime shifts. Although he was mainly jovial, a natural part of his coding system - he was eager to please, eager to learn. Sweet in personality, overall. Moon, on the other hand - your constant fear of the dark did nothing to truly help your possible future interactions with him. You’d only briefly encountered him once, hiding away in the shadows on the ceiling, suspended by wires and bolts. He seemed nice (you hoped at least), you had no real reason to make any judgement but - he was absolutely fucking terrifying in the dark. 

Sucking up your pride (the urge to remain quiet and pretend you’d never even involved yourself in such a stupid situation for a first time shift), you weakly call out, almost sheepish.

“Is, uh, is anyone back there? Hello?” Panic begins to creep into your voice, growing louder in volume. You were becoming increasingly aware of time, knowing that at every even hour, the power breakers would switch off. “Hello? If anyone can hear me, at least, could you help me, please? Hello?”

Nothing. Fuckfuckfuck.

You were okay, you were going to be okay - this was nothing more than a slight blip, a hold up.

Yet, the passing of time, from where you’d started your shift and had gotten stuck, had begun to bleed into one. Every so often, your eyes would drift, just about on the cusp of sleep. You were okay. It was just dark, nothing more, nothing less. The shadows in the corners luckily left nothing to the imagination, engulfing the majority of the given space into one black mass. 

Blinking, you hear the faint whirring of fans and the heavy padding of feet somewhere within the Center. It’s dull, repetitive, a sleep-addled brain unsure of whereabouts it was coming from entirely - but you opt, albeit sleepily, to call out once more.

“Hello?” It’s slurred, weak. “Is… that you, Sun? M’stuck. I don’t… I can’t get out. Could, could you help me, please?”

“Ah! Hello! You’re the pretty new assistant, aren’t you, sunshine? Of course I can help you, silly! Sillysillysilly. It’s what I’m here for.”

Cylindrical fingers, soft and padded, tentatively grasp around your waist. And yet, it’s only until Sun allows his palms to rest on your hips, you acknowledge just how large his hands truly are. Dear God. Each of his fingertips meet across your lower stomach, thumbs kneading your lower back reassuringly - palms large enough to encompass your stomach entirely. 

You were finally going to get out. To go home, brush off the simple mistake and get a much needed sleep.

In spite of the short relief at the thought of being freed, Sun’s fingers skim over the bottom of your work shirt, flicking up the fabric, curiously. His fingers, although coated in a plushy silicone material (for the benefit of preventing accidents), are cool to the touch, not too warm, but not too uncomfortable either to squirm away. 

Still, the animatronic had still made no inclination to pull you out as of yet.

It could be that he was just surveying the situation, that’s all. Looking for the easiest way to pull you out without allowing you to be harmed, is what you tell yourself silently.

Sun’s hands still linger. They trail lower and lower, curling around the belt hoops of your slacks, tugging at the fabric.

“Suh- Sun? Is everything okay back there? You… You haven’t pulled me out yet?” The longer the silence draws out in response to your question, the more the growing unease settles heavily in your stomach. 

Why hadn’t he pulled you out yet?

“You’re so soft, fragile. Plush - compared to me. Sososososo small! Little thing. Pretty sweet thing. All for me.” 

“What?”

“Tiny and pretty, so small in my hands. Well-behaved.”

“Sun, I’d like for you to get me out now… Please? If that’s alright? I need to get home-” You’re more alert now. You don’t like the dark.

He hushes you softly, accompanied by the humming of his sun rays most likely rotating, “Shh. None of that now, sunshine. We don’t talk in our outdoor voices, do we? No; nononono we don’t. That’s naughty. Indoor voices only. Only.”

It’s phrased as a command, rather than as a question - with no room for argument.

Panicking, noticing his presence more closer to you than you anticipated, you struggle in his hold, legs kicking and thrashing about. You needed to leave. Get out of whatever this fucking was. You wanted to go home.

A palm jolts away from your waist, firmly encasing your ankle.

“Sunshine.” You halt in your movements, his voice taking on a deeper tone, breaking with static. “That, that, wasn’t very nice. Was it?”

A meek ‘no’ slips out before you could stop yourself. You couldn’t see - at all. To some extent, you were grateful for it, not being able to see the permanent drawn up smile positioned from cheek to cheek behind you, milky white eyes, too big in proportion to be considered something wholly human, but human enough to recognise the sentiment of certain emotions flitting through his optics. 

You couldn’t see - but you could feel him. Behind you. Looming. 

“I won’t ask you again.” A threat. You consider briefly fighting back - but what good would that do, truly? You were limited by your humanity, and him, it, whatever this was, was beyond that of a human. The bruising hold Sun had left on your legs would no doubt leave marks for days at most.

Sun supplies no response in return to the slight whimper you let out, instead, continuing on, his hands returning to where they originally had settled - metallic thumbs hooking around belt hoops once more, and shimmying your work slacks downwards. Fine hairs across the expanse of your thighs instinctively raise upwards at the sensation of cool air hitting your skin. 

He was far from gentle.

He’s humming now, a tune you can’t say you’re too familiar with, and proceeds to trail his fingertips over the bare skin, up towards your underwear, rubbing over the outline of your sex. As if he was studying it, acquainting himself with your anatomy. 

“Sososososo soft. Delicate. Made for me. A toy.” The last part glitches out, nothing more than an electric warble.

Hooking around the material of your underwear, the fabric strains from the force, sex now bare, embarrasingly so, and Sun, Sun, is nothing near to gentle. Mechanical hands follow around the surface of your rim, feeling across the muscle for a moment or two, before forcefully breaching in, dry and cold. It hurts. It fucking hurts. There’s no room to breathe, letting out a choked gasp of air, as his fingers bear down deeper and deeper, curling and rotating, searching. 

Biting down harshly on your forearm, compelling yourself to avoid honing in on the burning pain, Sun carries on, almost jovially, twisting and spreading his two forefingers apart in a scissoring motion.

It hurts. It hurts and hurts and hurts.

“So warm, wet! All for me. Pretty and warm and lovely and-”

Unable to hold back the drawn out whine, bubbling in your throat, you just about hear the whirring and whooshing of a contraption sliding open, accompanied by a slight hhhhhssssh! and a thick, silicone textured tendril, sloppy and coated in an unknown liquid, brushes up against the fat of your thighs.

It feels like forever and an eternity.

“Wanna fill you up, sunshine, breed and breed, fillfillfill and fill you up just right! A gorgeous, little dolly just for me. For us. Love you, always - always loved you. Watched you, sunshine; talking with the parents, guiding the children if they needed help. Sosososo helpful, so sweet. Good little service worker. Servicing me. Us.”

You wait for him to stop. For it to end.

And yet he doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop. Sun continues to spill and spill and spill himself into you, thick and searing hot, whining helplessly; your stomach beginning to paunch from the volume, settling heavily in your tummy.

Unbearably warm and syrupy, you cringe at the feeling of the liquid seeping between your thighs, starting to cool and stick from the cold air. 

Eyes glossy, you barely notice the feeling of him guiding himself back out, a slight surge of liquid landing on the padded flooring with a wet squelch! in doing so. You can faintly hear the rustling of fabric behind you - Sun casually tucking himself back into his loose fitting pants, but you’re all too oblivious to the chilled sensation of neon marker pens gliding across your heated skin - crudely drawn arrows all directed towards a specific spot.

You hardly take note of the said warmth of his presence leaving you, overstimulated and fucked dumb from the varying sensations - time once again passing. Merging into one and all the same. Joined by nothing but the darkness, you sag, mumbling weakly for ‘help’. You weren’t entirely sure if help would even reach you at this point - if anything, it was more for your own comfort, knowing at least you could hear your own voice, grounding yourself.

Until there’s a slight chiming of high pitched bells, jingling.

The strain in your neck, slack and weak, pulled forwards from gravity, becomes too much to handle, and you glance upwards, only to directly look onto two pin prick dots - a vibrant red, peering back at you from the darkness. You just wanted to go home. 

Sniffling, you writhe, hastily urging yourself to get out, your shoulders burning from the movement.

“I can’t, I can’t. Please, I won’t tell anyone, I promise - just, please… Please help me get out of here. It hurts.”

The bells jingle in tandem, Moon crawling on all fours towards you from the shadows, and he coos. He fucking coos.

“Shh. Shhhhhh. Sun didn’t take care of you, did he? Left you messy. Messymessymessy indeed. And, you will go home, little one.” A smooth thumb rubs over your bottom lip, his faceplate unbearably close to yours, smiling. “Soon. Soon. Your words don’t match the sign left on your back. Not at all. You’ll go home when we’re finished. We’re not done yet.”

You make an attempt to respond, only to gurgle instead; Moon drives his forefingers into your mouth, as if aiming to reach your uvula, until you ultimately gag on reflex, drenching the digits in saliva. 

As he draws his fingers from within your mouth, you immediately hunch over, coughing harshly, eyes blurred - your workplace badge, brightly coloured, now discarded onto the floor with an annoyingly chipper motto of ‘Hi, how may I help you?” with a neatly printed smiley face.

#kinktober #kinktober 2022 #kinktober with qtipcottonbuds #fnafsb #fnaf security breach masterlist #fnafsb smut #fnaf smut #fnaf daycare attendant #moondrop fnaf #fnaf moon #sundrop fnaf #fnaf sun #sun x gender neutral reader #sun x male reader #sun x female reader #moon x gender neutral reader #moon x male reader #moon x female reader #gender neutral character #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral insert #x gender neutral reader #x female reader #x male reader #fnaf security breach

[xxmarcxline]

001 - THE GETAWAY CAR - “enchanted!”

Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x Wolfstar!Daughter!Reader

ENCHANTED MASTERLIST!

By no means do I support R*wling’s biased views! This profile is meant to be a safe space promoting escapism <3

TW: none ( although, please feel free to message me if you believe i missed some!! )

THE WEASLEYS’ FLYING CAR LET OUT A distant honk that broke the quiet of the woodland night. It drew your gaze off the several critters that chittered in annoyance as you set your sights on the sudden brightness from the other side of your window.

For two months—two months too long, Harry Potter had given you and everyone else no sign of life. He had yet to reply to any of the mountains of letters you, Ron, and Hermione had sent over the eight weeks that had passed.

That day at King’s Cross Station, he had asked everyone to keep in touch over the summer, that everyone (he not-so-subtly turned specifically to you, Hermione and Ron affirmed upon exchanging a silent gaze) remember to send their owls and exchange letters about everything and nothing at all. And that had been exactly what you did—that was the case for three of you, at least.

At first, golden boy’s silence had been, what you believed, was but a delay of Hedwig’s travel. Godric knows that poor owl would lack nutrition in a madhouse like the Dursleys. But as weeks, and eventually, months went by, all three of you had grown all the more concerned, eventually evoking this ingenious escapade.

“You have got to be joking!” you breathed, jaw slack in awe as you tugged your window open. “Please tell me at least one of you has a clue about what you’re doing. . .”

The redheads simply grinned, exchanging a humorous look between them, as though a joke had been told and you were the only one who lacked its context. Ron was leaning out of the back window of the old turquoise blue car, which was parked in midair.

“Stupid question,” he scoffed in amusement. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t, now would we?” His tone was almost incredulous as you stared at the three brothers, eyes blown wide and locks going a shade of bright blue and lilac.

The near-silent squeaks from the top of your head drew everyone’s attention to the little bowtruckle that had climbed from its original place on your shoulder. “Oh, ‘ello Bowie!”

The said creature only chittered angrily. Unlike your puffskein and that troublesome owl, Hermes, Bowie hadn’t been as pleased with the thought of sharing you. Having been present from when you were but a babe wrapped in blankets and to this day, stood in a sweater and trousers before the open windowsill, he has grown in your company and become an extension of you; leaving your side for Hogwarts had not been a choice, as he snuck into your pockets, just as he had every time you left the cottage.

“I was under the impression that we’d be flying there—”

“Exactly what we’re doing—” The twin sat in the driver’s seat (you believed it to be Fred) interjected dumbly.

“I meant on our brooms, you idiots!”

To that, they exchanged a baffled glance. To think they wondered how you’d known about their illegal flying contraption.

“Never you mind,” Ron shook his head, “Now come on! We’re burning moonlight!”

You only gazed at them for a moment more. It was an astonishing, and admittedly impressive sight. Without a thought of self-preservation, you climbed aboard the flying contraption, not a care in the world for the ground that promised great risk fifteen feet below you.

As the car took off and you glanced to where your father stood, waving you goodbye, you couldn’t help but fear that this would be the last you would see such a sight. While you trusted your friends deeply, you hadn’t a clue if your life was truly all that safe in their fumbling hands.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some form of insurance, would you?” you gazed at Ron’s elder twin brothers, who grinned at you from over their shoulders. “And what the bloody hell is that supposed to be, little Miss Mood Ring?”

To that, you could only sigh, gazing down with pursed lips as Bowie moved to hide within your sweater’s pocket.

This was going to be a particularly long night.

Time passed rather quickly for the four Gryffindors, blanketed from Muggle eyes by the car’s invisibility feature.

Meanwhile, at number four, Privet Drive, Harry Potter dreamed he was on show, in a zoo, with a card reading ‘UNDERAGE WIZARD’ attached to his cage. People goggled through the bars at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. He saw Dobby, the house elf from earlier in the crowd, and shouted out, asking for help, but Dobby called, “Harry Potter is safer there, sir!” and vanished. Then, he saw you, effortlessly pretty with your bowtruckle atop your head as always, gliding through the crowd unbothered, clueless of his struggle. He wanted to call out to you, beg for you to save him, when the Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, mocking his pleas.

“Stop it,” Harry muttered as the rattling pounded in his sore head. “Leave me alone. . . cut it out. . . Please. . .” your name spilled his lips as he muttered in his sleep.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining through the bars on his window. And someone—rather, a pair of familiar faces were giggling through the bars at him: a freckle-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone alongside the very face he had subconsciously conjured and yearned to see again.

Ron Weasley and [Y/N] Black-Lupin were outside Harry’s window.

TAG LIST 🏷️

@mythicalmo @jjsblueberry @edmundstxrch

( Leave a comment if you wish to be added to future tag lists ^^ )

#edmund pevensie x reader #chronicles of narnia #edmund pevensie #narnia #reader insert #harry potter #crossover #wolfstar

[onthecourtbugs]

Hey girl so I was thinking a tall reader with Nash and Jason possibly maybe more of jabberwock I haven’t seen a lot of people write for the rest of them..probably because they barely got any screen time like how Nash n Jason did,but if you can try that would be nice!!

Tall Gyal

Pairing: Jabberwocks x Tall!FemReader

Warning(s): None

A/N: You’re absolutely correct, we don’t see a lot for them! Allen’s is kinda short tho, ngl.

Summary: The Jabberwocks like tall girls too, don’t even lie and say they don’t.

-----

Jason

Still pinching and smacking and grabbing you everywhere. You thought being tall was gone save you? Uh-Uh. If anything, this makes it worse.

Or better? Maybe you like that.

Jay certainly does. It’s nice to not have to lean over or bend his knees to get a little action.

He loves it!

What he doesn’t love is the fact he can’t hide nothing from you. He’s used to putting stuff up high where he’s the only one who can reach it. Out of sight out of mind, right?

Wrong, cuz you can pull up a chair and see just fine. That and he’s not very original with his hiding spots so he’s practically inviting you to see all the snacks, surprise gifts and stuff you’re not supposed to know about.

He still hasn’t gotten used to the fact that someone else can and will reach up in his zone and take all his goodies 😫

You got that man frantically opening cupboards and swiping the empty spaces on top multiple times cuz he swore he put his Cheetos up there!

“Y/n!”

“Whut?” Laid out on the couch with the remote and an orange bag, watching your favorite show without a care in the world. The great thing about Jason’s place? Everything is bigger than you, even the shower.

“You seen my Cheetos?!”

You roll up the half-empty Cheeto bag with loud, telltale crinkles and start on licking your fingertips clean of evidence. “Nope! Check the cupboards!”

“I looked there already!” He sticks his head in the living room and glares at you as you quickly tuck the bag under your body.

You pull your thumb out with a loud pop. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me! I saw that!”

You smile, not even the least bit guilty. “I figured since Nash put you guys on that special diet, you wouldn’t need them anyway?”

“Nash don’t run nothing up in here!” He snatches the remaining Cheetos from underneath you and looks pitifully at them. “Damn, girl! You put a hurting’ on these didn’t you? Always eating my stuff…"

“Didn’t you take my goldfish and never gave em back?!”

“Mannn, why you bringing up old beef?”

“It was last night…”

“Like I said, in the past.”

You just want to snatch his piercings off sometimes.

Zach

He prefers tall girls anyway. Not to say he won’t go for average/short girls, but he def has a favorite in tall babes, and an even bigger favorite in you.

When you’re his girl, it’s a wrap, DMs are closed. Ain’t nobody else getting in.

He looks scary to some but trust me, he is totally and irreversibly whipped for you.

Makes grumpy grunts and whines and moans when he doesn’t wanna do something but ultimately does it anyway.

Gives you plenty of attitude when he’s mad but will never put his hands on you. He’ll reach for you and you flinch thinking he’s about to get physical, but he just picks you up and puts you in the bedroom for a time out.

Always tries to butter you up with food and hugs and kisses after he makes you mad.

Always has you on the inner part of the sidewalk.

Makes any excuse to touch you respectfully. -turns to look at Jason over the rim of my shades-

Want to wear heels, but feel insecure about being too tall? Zach is not about to let that slide.

He’s buying you heels and that’s final!

And not only that, he’s sliding them on your feet in the store and buckling/tying them up before taking your hands and helping you stand up in them.

Let somebody say sum to make you feel insecure about it.

“Go head! Say it with your chest! It’s not gone come out a second time so make it count.”

Happens to be a very talented dancer, and loves taking you to parties so he can show you off. Tends to reel back just so he can watch you do your thing in the shoes he got you.

Sometimes gets impatient for the slow songs so he can hold you close.

Sometimes doesn’t even wait and intimidates/bribes the DJ into putting on your favorite slow song to dance to.

Can’t even imagine a feeling better than holding you.

Nick

He’s just so happy you like him back.

All the girls usually go for Nash. 🥲

Shows out on the court when he notices you’re in the stands watching one of his games.

Jabberwocks ain’t never seen this man hustle so hard.

Cuz yeah, he did invite you and all, but you actually showed up 🥹

Like, you don’t understand, his heart is doing backflips in his chest. He cannot embarrass himself in front of you right now.

His teammates notice he keeps looking over at you and get nosy.

“Dayummmmm! She kinda bad tho!”

“That your girl, Nicky boy?”

“Yup~.”

They start setting Nick up for passes while having a whole interrogation in the middle of the game. 💀

Since when did he have a girl?

How come he’s never brought you around?

You were way too fine for him… but did you have a sister?

Nick stopped in his tracks and passed to Zach so he could fix Allen with a stare.

“What?”

“Really?”

“Quit being stingy! We could do double dates!”

Gets super excited when the game is over and you’re waiting for him to come over to you.

You looked so cool, leaning back on your ride with your shades propped up on your head and one ankle crossed over the other.

It was also easier to notice something about you that wasn’t so obvious when you were sitting… not that it mattered but…

“She kinda tall tho…”

Zach rolls his eyes. “Allen shut up.”

“I see why Nick was scared earlier, she bout as big as he is!”

Allen squints at Jason. “I know you ain’t calling nobody big, Paul Bunyan.”

“Cut it out.” Nash acts bored with the whole thing but he’s definitely watching from the corner of his eye.

You grab fistfuls of his jersey and pull him in for a kiss.

Allen

Allen’s not a complicated dude. He likes video games, anime, and basketball.

He doesn’t like getting into arguments with you and is generally chill with you.

Also likes that you’re closer to his height so he can grab you up.

He’s a straight clown and will act a right fool with most girls, but around you, he gets extra shy and acts aloof.

Thinks you’re kinda intimidating at first, but when he gets to know you he lets out his inner goof a bit and makes you laugh.

Nash does not let this man sit next to Jason when traveling, cuz when those two get together it’s over for everyone. Allen’s assigned seat is next to you.

Which is okay with him, if he can’t crack jokes with Jason he’ll just show you the newest Ninja Turtles movie trailer.

Has a million different playlists that he trades with you.

Doesn’t mind if your feet are in his lap when he plays video games.

Gamer lovers~

Tucks you in when you fall asleep before him, carefully removing your shoes and settling blankets over you.

Is extremely private about his relationship.

Has a whole system for buying consoles and games and will get you whatever you want.

Will carry you in any multiplayer game.

Is all for equality so if you’re higher than him he will let you carry.

Nash

Obsessed with your legs and loves to run his hands up the length of them when you’re in his lap.

They belong everywhere, on the couch, on the dashboard, heck, put them around his waist, he ain't mad.

Traveling first class is a given and that extra space is heaven.

Zach and Nash are brothers in arms when buying shoes for their baby girls.

He doesn’t care how tall you are, you’re still getting them.

So, remember when Jason couldn’t stand you cuz Nash is always letting you have your way?

He figured out how to take advantage of that 😂

Like you’ll actually have stuff in common and so seven times out of ten, when he wants something and knows Nash ain’t rolling with it, he’ll try to get you to ask for it.

Like when you want that one cousin your mom likes to ask if ya’ll can do something cuz you know if you ask she’s gonna say no?

You, my friend, are that cousin.

“Bro, you trying to go bowling again?”

Nash gives him a thumbs down and makes a buzzer noise. “Pick something else.”

“Mannnn.” He immediately turns to his trump card when you walk in “Yo, Y/n! YOU tryna go bowling again?”

“Are we going for real?!”

“What? No.”

“Aww, but why?” You drop into his lap a little too hard and he grunts but pulls you up against him into a more comfortable position.

“We went bowling yesterday,” he drums his fingers on your hip, “pick something else.”

“Well, we could do whatever you want first and then go!” You look up at him with soft eyes and just… ugh. The begging. He could handle attitude but was weak against the begging. “Please, baby?”

There was no way in hell he could refuse. You did give his interests first priority… His head falls back and he lets out a loud sigh before giving your thigh a light smack.

“Go get your shoes.”

#courtsidehcs #courtsideasks #courtsidewith #courtsidewithjs #courtsidewithng #courtsidewithallen #courtsidewithnick #courtsidewithzach #jason silver x reader #jason silver #nash gold jr x reader #nash gold jr #knb #kuroko no basket #kuroko no basuke x reader