#I was just thinking about something from last summer

[covenofagatha]

Practice makes perfect

Agatha makes you build up your stamina until she actually lets you fuck her

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: g!p reader, virgin!reader, sex, age gap, fleshlight, degradation, humiliation kink, Agatha is MEAN and reader very much gets off on it, premature ejaculation, masturbation, reader is a walking HR violation, cumming in pants

When Agatha Harkness finds out you’re a virgin, she actually laughs. 

You’re a junior in college interning at your dad’s multi-billion dollar company over the summer, a nepo-baby at its finest, and so what if you have the hots for the general counsel? So what if you get hard every single time she even looks in your direction? 

You try to flirt with her, you’re as bold as you can be without her going straight to HR, and yet she barely even gives you the time of day. Deep down, you can tell she likes you though. She humors you and doesn’t tell you to shut up whenever you start to talk, so that must mean something. The two of you have formed quite the relationship since the summer started, with you saying the filthiest things to her and her brushing them off as if they were casual anecdotes. 

“I’d make you feel so good, Agatha,” you tell her one day. “I’ll fill you up so nicely.”

It might be pushing the limits — it’s your third pathetic attempt this day at getting her to reciprocate, but she’s used to it by now; it hardly even fazes her. Everyone in the office knows that their boss’s daughter has a cock, and they also know that their boss’s daughter has a filthy mouth, always saying something vulgar and sarcastic. No one takes anything that comes from your lips as serious. You’ve been called a spoiled, entitled, rich bitch, told that you’re heartless for not giving a damn about anything, expelled from three high schools for the explicit jokes that you make.

But your “jokes” to Agatha are the only thing you’re serious about. 

She scoffs and rolls her eyes; at twenty-five years your senior, she has had plenty of experience with girls that promise her the world and barely deliver on any said promises made. “I’m not some quick college lay that lets you rub my upper thigh and pretends that you’ve found my clit, you know.” 

It’s your turn to scowl. “Who do you think I am?” you ask and she fixes you with a pointed glare from behind her desk. “I know where the clit is.” 

“How many women have you actually satisfied?” she asks and your cheeks heat up. You figured it would come up eventually, but now you don’t actually want to answer. You duck your head and Agatha makes a noise, not exactly surprised, but almost disappointed. “You think I’m going to let a virgin fuck me? You probably wouldn’t even last two seconds inside me.”

“Hey, I’d last longer than that,” you snap, your head shooting back up to look at her incredulously. You can feel a slight stirring in your lower stomach at the thought of blowing your load the instant she gets inside you and how she would most definitely mock you for it. 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and chuckles cruelly. “Honey, please. Go back to your desk and get your work done. I’m definitely not having sex with someone who can’t finish reading over a simple contract.” 

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, and she makes a face at you before you get up out of the chair in front of her desk you were lounging in. “Might have to go to the bathroom real quick and jerk one off though.” 

She crinkles her nose and waves her hand at you dismissively and you think that you’ve just blown all your chances with her. She’s definitely not going to want to fuck you now. There is some speculation floating around about your lack of experience and that’s why you overcompensate with the explicit things you say — libel you tell them, but deep down it’s accurate — and if Agatha, who has certainly had her fair share of partners, knows it’s real, then she for sure won’t waste her time with you. 

So you go back to your desk and begrudgingly get all your work done, emailing Agatha your thoughts about the contracts when you’re all done. She sends back a Very good job, y/n and you hate to admit that it gets you hard. You’d like nothing more than to go fuck yourself in the restroom but you stay at your cubicle until Agatha walks by so you can see her before she leaves for the day. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you call after her as she breezes by your desk without saying a word. It’s the last day of the third fiscal quarter today, and as a reward, tomorrow your dad is bringing his executive staff to your beach house in The Hamptons for a week. Because you’re part of the family, you get to attend, but none of the other interns do. 

It’s been this way since you were little, but only recently did you start to notice how attractive Agatha was. The way she takes absolutely no shit from anyone, even from your dad. The way she coolly holds her ground in the face of IRS audits, FBI raids, and anything else that got thrown at her. The way she raises an eyebrow at you when you say something stupid and it makes your cock hard in seconds. Everything about her drives you fucking wild. 

Agatha lifts a hand up in response, not even bothering to look over her shoulder at you, and your pants tighten almost uncomfortably. 

The second you get back to your apartment, you undo your belt and unzip your pants, reaching inside to take out your hard and leaking cock. Your hips thrust forward at the warmth from your hand and you gasp, the pleasure already dizzying. You think about Agatha on her knees in front of you, looking up at you through her glasses, telling you that you’re just a pathetic slut who will never be able to make her feel good. 

It takes three strokes of your hand before you grunt and your cock pumps out three long spurts of cum all over the kitchen counter. You grab a paper towel, dampen it, and then wipe up your mess before going to take a shower. 

You might have a serious problem. 

And it’s only going to get worse this week. An entire seven days where you’re going to be around her. There isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’re going to be hard for most of it. Is there a record for the most times a person has cum in a day? Because you think you might break it. 

That night, you have a dream about Agatha, as many of your dreams are. She’s sitting in a chair right by the bed, legs outstretched and open and her feet are resting on the duvet. You’re laying stomach-down, cock hard between your body and the covers, mouth watering. Agatha is completely naked, her cunt glistening, and the dream is so realistic that you can smell her. She laughs when you groan pitifully. 

Then she buries two fingers inside her and your hips lurch against the bed, gasping at the stimulation on your cock. 

“Look at you, humping the bed like a bitch in heat,” she snarls and your rhythm stutters. You garble out something incoherently and she laughs before rubbing her clit with her other hand. “Can’t even fuck me right, so I have to do it myself.” 

You moan loudly, grinding against the bed furiously, and she picks up her thrusts to match your face. “I can, please, I want to,” you beg before she cums all over her fingers. She pulls them out of her and then slides them into your mouth and you cum all over the bed and your stomach. 

When you jerk awake right after that, the first thing you notice is how sticky you are. You must have cum in your underwear from just your dream and it’s just further evidence of how completely fucked you are for the next week. 

There will certainly be no swimming for you because you don’t need the entire executive board and your father knowing that you’re getting hard for the forty-six year old general counsel. 

But fuck, Agatha in a swim suit — 

You cut yourself off from the thought because you don’t have enough time to get worked up again. 

Good thing too, because by the time you do get yourself all cleaned up from your little nighttime accident, you have to leave to get to the helicopters. 

There’s no sign of Agatha yet so you make awkward small talk with Rio Vidal, the head of Human Resources, because you have nothing better to do. She’s new and attractive, but no one gets your cock stirring like Agatha. You wonder if it’s the fact that she’s older and it taps into your mommy issues, or the fact that she can cut you down with a simple sentence and you’ve found that you have a huge thing for degradation, or the fact that she’s never going to let you touch her no matter how hard you beg. 

She drives you crazy and you fucking need her. 

Finally, Agatha pulls up in a company car and gets out, wearing a gray pantsuit, and you already feel your face heating up. She gets into one of the two helicopters without even looking at you and you make a beeline for it before your dad stops you and pulls you into the other one. You can’t exactly tell him that you want to be next to his general counsel, so you grumble to yourself before agreeing. 

It takes only about forty-five minutes to get to the house and the next hour is full of unpacking and the wait staff running around, trying to get everyone everything they need. 

Lunch is served and everyone gathers in the dining room except for Agatha, so you excuse yourself and try to go find her. 

You’re just “happening” to be walking by her room when she opens the door to step out, almost bumping into you. 

“Your quick solo session take a bit too long?” you ask crassly, delighting in the way her eyes roll exasperatedly. “Next time, give me a call and I’ll get you there quickly.”

She starts walking to the dining room, leaving you behind so you have to speed to catch up. “If I ever want someone to cum after three pumps inside me and leave me even more unsatisfied than I was before, I’ll make sure to let you know.”

“Hey, I’d lay you badly, but I’d lay you gladly,” you say as seductively as possible and she snorts. “Come on, you gotta admit you’ve at least thought about it.” 

Agatha spares you a glance. “When I’m trying not to cum. It’s a real turn-off for me personally.”

You also love how she gives as good as she gets. “Please?” you ask, whine, beg. “I’ll be so good for you — I’ll make you feel so good.”

She sniffs and rakes her eyes over your body, pausing at the outline of your cock through your pants. Before you even realize what’s happening, she’s pushed you against the wall and her hand cups your cock and you gasp while bucking into her touch. 

“Really?” Agatha chuckles. You make a muffled sound and try to grind up and she rubs her palm against you, making you throb. “You think you could make me feel good with your cock that’s already about to cum for me?” 

“Yes,” you choke out and she squeezes harder. You’re panting open-mouthed now, trying so hard to hold back from your release. 

She is completely unaffected as she leans in to whisper, “You’re so fucking pathetic,” into your ear and you whimper, your stomach twists, and your cock pulses before pumping loads of cum into your pants. You chant swears under your breath while you cling to her arms for dear life and she watches amusedly as a stain spreads on your pants. 

You’ve never been more of a mess in your life and she just smirks smugly before giving your cock a patronizing pat. 

“I’ll tell your dad you’ll be a little late to lunch.” And then she walks away, leaving you completely agape against the wall, cock still twitching in your pants. 

It’s hard to make eye contact with her the rest of the day without heat flushing through your cheeks and the memory of what she did to you making your cock stir. 

The second you can escape after dinner, you do. You fully intend on spending the rest of the night fucking yourself silly and trying to rid your brain of Agatha.

But around ten, there’s a knock on your door and you swing it open to find Agatha standing there in silk, navy pajamas and black glasses. Your jaw drops open and she brushes right past you to walk into your room and tosses something on the bed. 

A fleshlight. 

“What—” you start to say, but you can’t even finish your question because all the blood in your brain has rushed down to your cock in record time. 

Agatha turns to face you, hands on her hips, lips pursed. “Show me that you can last five minutes with it—” nods at the toy, “—and we’ll see about me letting your cock anywhere close to me.” 

Your breaths come out staggered and you stumble over to the bed, head spinning. There’s no way this is actually happening. You shove down your sweatpants and boxers and your cock bobs up, rigid and hard and leaking copious amounts of precum. 

“God, already?” she snorts and your cock twitches. “You’re so fucking desperate, aren’t you?” 

A muffled whimper escapes your lips and you give yourself a quick stroke. “Fuck.” You reach for the fleshlight, heat completely overwhelming your body, but she stops you first. 

“Spit on yourself,” she orders and you watch her with wide and pleading eyes as a strand of saliva drops from your mouth onto your cock. You feel like you’re in a trance as you spread it out along your length, the wetness of your spit and precum coating your cock and making it glisten in no time. “Fucking pathetic.” 

Her jeers only make you harder and this time, she doesn’t object when you grab the toy. You think you can hear her sharply inhale when you drag your cock against the fake pussy lips and you already know there’s no fucking way you’re going to last one minute, let alone five. 

“Wanna fuck you like this,” you babble before pushing your tip in and instantly freezing at the silicone ridges squeezing around you. You sigh heavily before your breathing quickens and you’re practically panting by the time you get your entire cock inside the fleshlight. 

Agatha’s face is unreadable. “I’m impressed you made it in,” she says, coldly and completely dry, and it makes you thrust into it. It feels so good, even though it’s just a cold, plastic toy and you can only imagine how the real thing would feel. “Well, get on with it. Chop chop, honey. I haven’t got all night to watch your sorry attempt at proving you can fuck me.” 

You grunt and start moving your cock in and out of the toy, whines falling out of you, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to focus on not cumming too soon. You want to last — you need to last for her, because she might actually let you touch her if you. 

“Ah ah,” she tuts and your cock throbs. “Open your eyes.” 

You obey, and the moment you see her, see the slight redness of her cheeks, you know you fucked up. 

With a loud grunt, you cum in the toy, filling it with so much of your seed that it spills out of the fake cunt and drips onto the floor as you continue snapping your hips up. 

Agatha laughs and walks straight to the door. “Not even thirty seconds. Maybe next time.” 

You are absolutely fucked. 

The next night, you’re almost to two minutes while desperately trying to think of anything else other than Agatha standing right there. She’s watching intently, like she’s studying your technique and critiquing it in her head, and you’re doing really well — you think you might actually have a chance to get to five. The secret is thinking about all the boring contracts you had to read this summer to keep your mind off the overwhelming pleasure you’re getting from the toy.

But then Agatha steps closer to you, runs a finger over your lips and down to cup your breast, and says, “God, you really are just a baby, aren’t you?” so sickly sweet. 

It makes you curse before filling the toy up again, your body completely betraying you. 

“That wasn’t fucking fair,” you try to argue. 

She sticks out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Oh, honey,” she coos and it’s so fucking condescending. Your cock twitches inside the toy. “It’s not my fault you’re so pathetic you can’t control yourself.”

“Yes, it is,” you whine and she rolls her eyes. 

“We’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe you should cum before I get here so you might have a chance at lasting for five minutes,” she taunts and you’re too embarrassed to tell her that you already got off before she came tonight. Clearly it did not work. 

You figure that maybe you just need to cum more throughout the day to build up some stamina. You fuck yourself with the fleshlight in the morning after you wake up with morning wood because surprise, surprise: you had another dream about Agatha. When she takes a sip of her orange juice at breakfast, eyes flicking up to meet yours as she sucks on the straw, you have to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and it only takes you about six strokes before you’re cumming all over your hand. It’s a long day of lounging around the pool and hushed conversations, and the moment Agatha steps out onto the desk in a sensible one-piece, you have to wrap a towel around your waist so no one sees your erection through your swim trunks to run back to your room, hastily saying that you forgot sunscreen. You cum into the fleshlight in about three minutes. 

And about thirty minutes before she shows up to your room at 10 pm on the dot, you have another quick session with your hand. 

You are absolutely determined tonight. 

When she strolls in through the door, the air is different. She’s carrying a glass of Scotch and you snatch it as she walks past you, downing the rest in one sip. 

“Are you even old enough to drink?” she asks, eyebrow raised and giving you a once over. 

You laugh sarcastically before setting the cup down on the nightstand and tearing your shirt off over your head, not missing the way her gaze flicks down to your nipples. Usually, you just take your boxers off, but tonight, you want her to see all of you. 

“A little arrogant, hm?” 

Nodding your head, you spit onto your cock and stroke it to full hardness. This is also the first time you haven’t had a raging erection the second she arrived. Before she can say anything, you’ve grabbed the fleshlight and started thrusting your cock into it. It feels good, but you’ve become so desensitized to it, just from today, that you’re feeling more confident than ever. 

Agatha realizes this, sees it on your face. “Wow, look at my slut,” she croones. “She finally learned how to fuck herself. Doesn’t mean you can fuck someone else though. I bet the moment you get inside me, you’ll cum because you’re too fucking pathetic to actually make me feel good.” 

The degradation goes straight to your cock and you grunt, pausing for a second before resuming. The smirk on her face is as frustrating as it is hot and only makes it harder to think clearly. 

“You’re just a worthless little whore, aren’t you?” she snarls and your breaths become shallow and your thrusts become more like quick ruts into the toy. 

“Yes, fuck,” you moan quietly, tightly, and god she’s not playing fair at all. The toy is squeezing you so hard and it’s becoming tougher to keep fucking it, but the prize of getting to be inside Agatha is so close if you can just hang on. 

She scoffs sharply but you can see the heat on her face. Fuck. She likes this. “How are you not absolutely humiliated by yourself and how desperate you are?” she says, getting meaner, and precum is leaking out of the toy each time you drive your cock back into the toy. If you weren’t actively using all of your effort to keep from cumming, you think you would’ve filled up the fleshlight at least three times by now. Agatha is trying so hard to break you, but you refuse. 

The most excruciating five minutes of your life finally end, and you are so fucking triumphant. “We had a deal,” you remind her hoarsely. 

“Stop acting like lasting five minutes is an accomplishment,” she scorns and you have to pull the toy off your aching erection or you actually might cum. Your cock bobs up and down, trails of precum dripping onto the floor and down your length. You’ve made such a mess. “Get on the bed,” she orders, and your heart stops. 

You lay on the duvet, resting your back against the pillows, and watch with bated breath as Agatha slowly unbuttons her pajama shirt. You whine when you can see her tits, round and perky, and you need to get her rosy nipples in your mouth immediately. She takes off her shorts and you can’t help but hump the air, your cock engorged and neglected. 

“Please,” you sob. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

She mockingly coos and then climbs onto the bed with her underwear still on, straddles your hips, and she slowly grinds against your cock. A loud, high-pitched keen tears itself out of your mouth and you buck up into her, but she tsks and hovers above you. “Patience, pet,” she says and there are literal tears in your eyes from how hard you are. 

Agatha reaches down and pulls her panties to the side and rubs her clit for a moment. 

“Can I—”

“—touch me? No. There’s no way you’d make it inside me then,” she sneers and you hate to admit that she’s right. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your cock jumping when she slides two fingers in herself. Your head is spinning, completely drunk with need for her. 

She takes pity on you and grabs your cock, angling it at her entrance. “It’s okay, honey. You’re just a little baby. My little, pathetic, desperate baby.” 

And then she slides down on your cock in one slick motion and your hands scramble to dig into the bedsheets and a loud, strangled moan comes out of your mouth, and you cum instantly, the feeling of her warm, wet walls around you too much to bear. 

To her credit, she doesn’t laugh as you rut into her frantically. She just waits for you to finally calm down before squeezing her cunt around you. It makes you gasp. “I knew you couldn’t last,” she says, slowly starting to bounce up and down your cock. 

“Too sensitive,” you whine and she clucks her tongue. 

“Well, you promised that you were going to fuck me, didn’t you?” 

Your cock has softened inside her, your cum starting to leak out of her pussy, and she collects it with her fingers and starts to rub her clit. Her walls spasm around you and you twitch. You nod your head and bite your lip — she is everything you’ve ever wanted. 

It takes a few minutes of Agatha clenching around you to bring you back to full hardness, a speedy recovery even by your standards, and she starts to ride you for real. 

“Good thing you’re the poster child for instant gratification,” she grunts, lifting herself up and then back down. There’s such a mess between the two of you that there’s squelching sounds each time she moves on you. You’re practically frozen beneath her and all you can do is watch as she fucks herself on you. “Just need to make you cum before actually being able to use you. I’ll train you so well, make you nothing into more than a cock for me to fuck.” 

You finally regain the ability to think and start desperately thrusting up into her, needing more than anything to make her moan, to make her cum. She’s riding you faster and harder and her chest is becoming flushed and you think she might actually be getting somewhere. 

But she squeezes around you again and fucking groans and you never stood a chance. “Fuck, fuck, fuck — Agatha, I’m gonna — fuck!” you cry and erupt inside her again, painting her walls white once again. You’re not even sure if you made it five minutes inside her. 

Agatha slows down on top of you and you wince at the overstimulation of her still wrapped around you. 

“Did you?” It’s a stupid question, one you already know the answer to, but you’re hoping that maybe you got it wrong. 

Her laugh tells you that you did not and she slides off you, your cock flopping against your stomach in a sticky puddle, and she grabs the edge of the blanket on your bed to wipe the globs of cum oozing out of her. Fuck. You’ll never be able to use that blanket without getting hard again and you know that you’ll be fucking the fabric every single day for the rest of your life. 

She flops down next to you and you wonder if it would be foolish to ask her to stay. “It’s not that easy to make me cum, pet. But don’t worry. I’ll get you there.”

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights

[pbaz7]

ONE SHOT: HEAT CHECK

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content (whores 😒)

word count: 10.2k

A/N: This idea was not mine at all so all praise to the anon who sent me the prompt. I hope I was able to make your vision come to life lol. Let me know what you think! Very minimal proof reading this time so spare me

—————————————————————————

Paige had convinced herself she was fine, she was great actually. Really, she was.

Sure, her WNBA debut was one of the biggest moments of her life. Sure, she had spent the last 24 hours checking her phone, hoping for some last-minute miracle text from Azzi. But Azzi was in California for an endorsement meeting—one Paige knew was too important to miss.

It’s fine, she told herself again and again all day. She was now tugging at the hem of her warm-up shirt as she stood in the tunnel before tip-off. Azzi had sent her a long, sweet text a few hours ago, promising to watch the game no matter what. Paige could practically hear Azzi’s voice in the words, telling her she’d be amazing, that she’d be right there with her in spirit.

Still, it wasn’t the same.

She had wanted Azzi there. Needed her there, to fall into her arms after the game.

“Damn, P, you good?” Arike nudged her as they jogged back onto the court.

Paige blinked. “Yeah, why?”

“You just look... a little tense.”

Paige forced a grin. “It’s just the nerves.”

And it was. But it was also the fact that the one person she wanted to see in the stands—the only person whose opinion matters—wasn’t going to be there.

She glanced toward the front rows, taking in the packed arena. She couldn’t help but chuckle when she noticed some people.

Ice, KK, Sarah, Morgan and empty seats next to them surely for some other teammates.

They were one row back from the courtside seats, already settled in, talking amongst themselves. KK had her feet kicked out in front of her, looking completely at home, while Ice was scrolling through her phone. Sarah and Morgan were in conversation, but Paige could tell from the way Sarah was laughing that Morgan had just said something ridiculous.

A grin broke across Paige’s face.

But before she could even process it fully, the lights dimmed, signaling the start of player introductions.

She exhaled, shaking out her hands.

Okay. This was good.

Her people were here.

Well… almost all of them.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to focus.

The first half of the first quarter had been a blur. Paige had settled into the game quickly, feeding off the energy of the packed arena, her nerves long gone as she focused on what she did best. She hadn’t even thought too much about Azzi—not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t afford to.

Paige was sitting on the bench during a timeout when the crowd erupted out of nowhere, loud and excited, their cheers rising above the usual buzz of a timeout. Paige, confused, wiped her face with a towel and glanced at the jumbo screen, searching for whatever had them going crazy.

Paige swore her mouth went dry.

Azzi was sitting courtside, waving to the camera like she knew exactly what she was doing. Her hair was in goddess braids—her go-to summer look—but it wasn’t just the hair that caught Paige off guard. It was the entire outfit.

Cowboy hat. Cowboy boots. A very short jean skirt. And Paige’s #5 Dallas Wings jersey.

Azzi was chewing her gum lazily, her glossed lips moving slightly in the process. She turned her head toward the court, her gaze locking on Paige like she had been waiting for this exact moment. A slow, smirk tugged at her lips before she sent Paige a quick wink.

Paige felt her pulse stutter.

“Oh damn,” Lou murmured beside her, letting out a low whistle. “She looks hot.”

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she wiped her towel across her face again, as if that would somehow cool her down.

Azzi just kept smirking.

The timeout buzzer sounded, but Paige was still sitting there, gripping her towel, her mind catching up to the fact that Azzi had somehow made it. Had gone out of her way to be here. Had done it all without telling her.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or drag Azzi out of her seat as soon as the game was done.

One thing was for sure, though—she’d be thinking about that damn outfit for the rest of the game.

After the timeout, Paige tried to refocus, but it was impossible to ignore Azzi, sitting courtside, looking like that.

Paige was doing her best to stay locked in, but every time the ball left her hands, she felt a certain pair of brown eyes on her. When she drained a deep three from the wing, she knew exactly where to look.

Her gaze flickered to Azzi, who was already watching her, the corners of her lips tugging up in the smallest smile. She didn’t cheer, didn’t do anything flashy like their friends in the row behind her—just raised her eyebrows slightly, as if to say, that’s cute.

Paige fought back a smirk as she jogged back on defense.

She didn’t have time to get caught up in whatever game Azzi was playing. Paige and Arike were playing off of each other perfectly. Their ball movement was seamless, as if they had played together for years and the defense was scrambling to keep up. Every time the defense adjusted, they had another move ready, feeding off each other in a way that made it clear just how dangerous this duo was going to be in the future.

But then, late in the quarter, Paige had to inbound the ball—right in front of Azzi’s seat.

She swallowed, walking over as the cameras in the arena turned in their direction. The moment stretched between them, tension buzzing in the air as Paige took her place near the sideline.

Azzi, fully aware of the attention on them, just leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs as she sipped her drink through a straw. It was a simple action—calm, almost nonchalant—but Paige could smell her perfume, that warm vanilla scent mixed with something slightly sweet, and it had her clenching her jaw just a little tighter.

Azzi must have noticed because she glanced up at Paige through her lashes, her lips curving just slightly before she took another sip of her drink, covering her smirk behind the straw so the camera couldn’t see.

Paige exhaled through her nose, biting the inside of her cheek at the attention.

Azzi didn’t say a word.

She didn’t need to.

She already knew Paige was thinking about her.

The ref finally handed Paige the ball, and she shifted back into game mode, shaking her head slightly to clear her thoughts as she got ready to make the inbound pass.

…

As soon as the final buzzer sounded and the win was officially in the books, Paige barely registered anything else. The moment she finished the postgame handshakes, she was already untucking her jersey, her feet moving on autopilot toward Azzi and her old teammates waiting courtside.

Azzi didn’t stand right away. She let Paige greet Ice, KK, Morgan, and Sarah first, all of them pulling her into hugs, hyping her up.

“You were hoopin’ tonight girly,” KK grinned, giving her a playful shove.

Paige smirked, bumping her back. “You know I had to put on a show for y’all.”

Ice threw an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s be real—you didn’t start playing for real until you saw Azzi.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t even argue.

Finally, she turned to Azzi.

Azzi stood, her smile soft and her eyes warm as Paige immediately pulled her into a tight hug resting her head on Azzi shoulder. Paige held on for a second longer than necessary, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume, her heart settling in a way it hadn’t all night.

When she finally pulled back, she let her eyes sweep over Azzi, her gaze dragging over the cowboy hat, the denim skirt, and—most importantly—her jersey over Azzi’s frame.

“You look good,” Paige mumbled, voice just low enough for only Azzi to hear.

Azzi’s lips curled into a smirk, her eyes flickering with something.

“I know.”

Paige let her eyes drag over Azzi, taking in every little detail. She licked her lips without thinking, fingers twitching slightly at her sides.

Azzi, catching the look immediately, gave her a warning glance. “Stop,” she mumbled, tilting her head slightly. “We’re in public, and there’s cameras everywhere.”

Paige barely blinked. “I don’t care,” she muttered, her voice a little low as she reached down and tugged discreetly at the hem of Azzi’s skirt. “When’d you get this?”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Yesterday.”

Before Paige could respond, Lou appeared, sliding into the conversation with a huge grin.

“Azzi, you made it!” Lou beamed, pulling Azzi into a hug.

Paige took the opportunity to really look at her again, her gaze tracing over Azzi’s outfit, the way the jersey fit her just right, the way her legs looked in that skirt, the way she still had that damn smirk on her face.

Azzi felt her staring.

And she definitely wasn’t imagining the way Paige’s fingers brushed the back of her thigh before she pulled her hand away.

For a second Paige spent some time with her family, hugging her mom tightly, dapping up her dad, and joking around with her brothers and sister. The excitement from her first W game in Dallas was still buzzing around them, but before she could fully settle in, one of the staff members called her over telling her they wanted her for a postgame interview.

Before heading back, she found Azzi again, stepping up close as she spoke. “I’ll have Lou bring you the keys in a second.”

Azzi just nodded, her eyes still holding that same glint from earlier.

But before Paige could walk away, a photographer approached them, camera in hand, gesturing toward them for a picture.

Paige didn’t hesitate. She wrapped an arm around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in close, and Azzi melted into her, tilting her head against Paige’s shoulder. Her hand rested lightly on Paige’s stomach, fingers grazing the fabric of her jersey, and Paige swore she could feel the warmth of her touch through it.

The camera flashed.

Azzi smirked.

Then, they adjusted, shifting slightly as the photographer snapped more pictures.

In one, Paige held Azzi a little tighter, her fingers pressing into the soft denim of Azzi’s skirt. In another, Azzi turned slightly, her hand now resting a little firmer against Paige’s stomach.

Without even thinking about it, they turned toward each other.

For a moment, it was just them.

Azzi smiled first—it was small, soft, just for Paige—and Paige couldn’t help but mirror it, her grip tightening slightly on Azzi’s waist.

Click.

Paige barely heard the sound of the camera going off, but she knew that shit was about to be everywhere.

…

After showering and changing in the locker room Paige felt the exhaustion in her body, but the second she stepped into the garage and saw her car, that tiredness melted away.

She couldn’t fully see Azzi through the tint, but she knew she was in there.

A slow smile spread across Paige’s face as she walked past the driver’s side, stopping at the passenger door instead. She opened it, reaching inside and gently pulling Azzi out.

Azzi blinked at her, momentarily confused, adjusting her balance as she placed her cowboy hat on the seat behind her. "What are you doing?"

Paige just smiled, shutting the door before settling her hands on Azzi’s waist. Her gaze dragged over Azzi’s face, then down to her outfit—the denim skirt showing off just enough to make Paige’s pulse stutter.

“You look so good, baby,” Paige mumbled.

Azzi gave a small smile as she wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck. She hummed, tilting her head slightly.

“I know you already told me P.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. The moment felt thick now—like all the tension from the night had finally caught up to them.

She leaned in, her lips hovering just above Azzi’s, “The correct response is thank you baby.”

Azzi rolled her eyes and exhaled softly, her back pressing against the car as she followed Paige’s lead, tilting her chin up just enough to close the space between them.

The kiss was deep and desperate—the kind that made up for lost time. They hadn’t seen each other in over a week, and while that might not have been long for most people, for them, it felt like forever.

Paige’s tongue slid into Azzi’s mouth, her grip tightening as her hands moved under Azzi’s skirt, squeezing her ass.

Azzi let out a small sound at the feeling, a mix between a gasp and a pleased hum, pulling Paige closer as their bodies pressed together against the car.

They stayed tangled in each other for a while enjoying the feeling of the others lips after so long, But then Paige started trailing kisses down Azzi’s jaw, then lower, her lips brushing against the soft parts of her neck.

Azzi let out a breathy laugh, her hands coming up to Paige’s shoulders. “Alright, that’s enough ma’am.”

Paige mumbled against her skin, her voice muffled. “Come on, I miss you Az.”

Azzi smiled, tilting Paige’s chin up slightly so their eyes met. “I miss you too, baby, but we’re in public. And still in your place of work.”

Paige sighed dramatically, pulling back just enough to pout at her. “Fine.”

Azzi grinned before leaning in one last time, pressing a quick kiss to Paige’s lips, then turned toward the car. Paige exhaled, shaking her head fondly, before opening the passenger door for her.

As Azzi stepped in, Paige smiled, landing a playful smack on her butt. Azzi shot her a look over her shoulder, but the small playful smile on her lips betrayed her.

Paige shut the door, chuckling to herself as she made her way around to the driver’s side.

As Paige pulled out of the garage, steering them toward the afterparty, she finally got to ask the question that had been sitting in the back of her mind all night.

“How the hell did you even make it to the game?”

Azzi smiled, leaning back in her seat. “I moved my meeting up.”

Paige furrowed her brows, sparing a glance at Azzi before turning her attention back to the road. “To what time? It was already early as hell.”

Azzi shrugged slightly, like it was nothing. “Six.”

Paige’s head snapped toward her so fast she nearly forgot she was driving. “Six A.M.?”

Azzi hummed in confirmation, barely reacting.

“Baby, that’s crazy,” Paige said, shaking her head, still processing.

Azzi just shrugged again, scrolling on her phone.

Paige narrowed her eyes. “Did you close it?”

Azzi turned to her, giving her a look like she was almost offended by the question. “Of course.”

Paige grinned, reaching over and squeezing Azzi’s thigh. “That’s my girl.”

They kept talking as they drove, catching up even though they had talked every single day. Paige’s hand stayed resting on Azzi’s thigh, her fingers lazily tracing patterns over her skin as they talked.

Azzi didn’t mind. She let it stay there for most of the ride.

But then, at some point, Paige’s hand slid a little too high.

Azzi glanced at her, eyes narrowing. “Can you not?”

Paige didn’t even look at her, barely suppressing a smirk. “What?” she asked innocently, moving her pinky slightly just to prove a point.

Azzi scoffed. “You know what you’re doing.”

Paige smirked now, finally glancing at her. “I don’t know why you wore that skirt if you didn’t want me touching you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “I wore it for you.”

Paige grinned, turning her focus back to the road. “Exactly. So let me be.”

Azzi huffed, shaking her head, but she didn’t bother fighting it.

As they drove through the city, Paige glanced over at Azzi, who was casually scrolling through her phone.

“You know,” she started, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, “if you would’ve told me you were coming, I probably would’ve played a lot better in the first few minutes of the game.”

Azzi grinned but didn’t look up. “And miss the chance to see your reaction when you noticed me on the jumbotron? Nah.”

Paige scoffed, shaking her head. “You’re rude.”

Azzi finally looked over at her, her smile softening. “You looked good out there, though baby I’m proud of you.”

Paige grinned, tilting her head. “Just good?”

Azzi sighed, playing along. “Fine. You looked great.”

“That’s more like it.” Paige reached over and squeezed Azzi’s thigh, then let her hand rest there again. “You staying with me for the whole month, right?”

Azzi nodded. “Yup. Figured I’d get tired of you after two weeks, but I’ll push through.”

Paige scoffed. “You love being around me.”

Azzi hummed. “You’re alright I guess.”

Paige gave her a look. “Bro please be for real.”

Azzi laughed, leaning back in her seat. “Okay, okay, yeah. I might love being around you all the time, just a little.”

Paige smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

They fell into a comfortable silence again, the only sound being the low hum of the car. After a moment, Paige gave Azzi’s thigh another squeeze before deciding to voice her thoughts.

“I want you to keep it on later,” she said, giving no context.

Azzi turned her head slowly, raising a brow. She didn’t need to ask what Paige meant—she knew.

“Who said you’re getting anything later?”

Paige shot her a quick look, deadpan. “Be for real Azzi.”

Azzi bit back a smile, letting the moment linger before finally sighing dramatically. “Whatever. I’ll think about it.”

Paige smirked as she pulled the car to a stop in front of the club. “Yeah, okay.”

As Paige handed her keys to the valet, she turned just in time to see Azzi stepping out of the car, holding down her skirt as she did so. Paige sighed, running a hand down her face.

“Nah,” she mumbled, eyes trailing down Azzi’s legs before flicking back up. “You’re not leaving my sight tonight.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled, reaching for Paige’s hand and interlacing their fingers. “You’re so dramatic.”

Paige just shook her head. “I’m deadass.”

They walked into the venue, the bass from the music vibrating through the floor as they entered. The afterparty was already in full swing, players, friends, family and staff scattered across the club. Neon lights flickered over the bar, where bottles gleamed and loud laughter echoed over the music.

Before they could make it too far inside, a familiar voice rang out.

“P!”

Paige barely had time to react before Arike, already a few shots in, threw an arm around her shoulder. Her grin was as she pulled Paige in.

“We’re about to go crazy this year,” Arike yelled. “Tonight’s just the start rook.”

Paige laughed, nodding along. “You’re not wrong.”

Arike squeezed her shoulder before letting her go, and moving back toward the dance floor.

Paige turned toward Azzi, who just gave her an amused look. “She’s so different from what I expected.”

Paige laughed. “Bro just give her three more shots, and she’s gonna pull out a bible and make them turn off the music.”

Azzi chuckled as Paige nodded toward the bar. “C’mon, I see Lou, Ice, and KK.”

They made their way over, spotting them leaning against the counter, drinks in hand. Ice was mid-sip when she noticed them, setting her drink down with a smile.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Ice teased, nudging KK. “And look at Paige bro.”

KK snorted, giving Azzi an exaggerated once-over. “I see why. Azzi, you tryna get someone in trouble tonight?”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled. “I literally just got here, and y’all are already on me?”

Lou laughed, sipping her drink. “You did walk in looking like that, though. You knew what you were doing.”

Paige hummed, wrapping an arm loosely around Azzi’s waist. “Exactly what I’ve been saying.”

Azzi just shook her head, leaning into Paige slightly. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

Lou raised her glass. “To another season and all of Paige’s sanity being tested.”

…

Paige and Azzi leaned against the bar, the bass of the music making the floor vibrate as they waited for another shot to accompany the drink they already had. The club was packed now. Paige had one arm draped loosely around Azzi’s waist, absentmindedly tracing her thumb over the fabric of her jersey as she barely listened to what Ice, KK, and Lou were saying.

Azzi took a slow sip from her glass, her lips wrapping around the straw before smirking at Paige. “You gonna keep staring at me, or you actually gonna drink yours?”

Paige huffed a laugh, taking a sip, eyes still on Azzi. “Hard not to when you’re wearing that.” Her hand brushed against the hem of Azzi’s short denim skirt, making Azzi arch an eyebrow at her.

“You’re horny,” Azzi murmured, leaning in just slightly so only Paige could hear.

Paige just grinned, shrugging. “I’ve been told.”

Their easy back-and-forth continued as they downed a couple of drinks, the warmth settling in and loosening them up. They weren’t being overly affectionate—just hanging out, laughing with their friends, letting the night settle around them. At one point, Lou challenged them to a ridiculous game of guessing random people’s professions just based on their outfits, and Paige and Azzi found themselves doubled over when KK confidently said some guy was a lawyer, only for him to turn around wearing a DJ staff badge.

Just as Paige was finishing her drink, she noticed Arike waving her over from a section across the club. With a smirk, she turned to Azzi, reaching up to flick the brim of her cowboy hat playfully.

“I’ll be right back, beautiful,” she murmured, her voice just low enough for Azzi to feel it more than hear it.

Azzi tilted her head. “Don’t take too long,” she said simply, sipping her drink again as Paige walked away.

A few minutes after Paige left Azzi was mid-sip of her drink when she felt someone slide up next to her at the bar. She barely had time to set her glass down before she heard a voice— one with a beach accent and distinctly unfamiliar.

“Hi, I’m Sevgi, but most people call me Sev. Or Gi.”

Azzi turned slightly, taking in the dark-haired woman beside her. Sevgi’s accent was thick, her posture confident as she leaned against the bar. Azzi, assuming she was just introducing herself as one of Paige’s new teammates, smiled politely and shook her hand.

“Azzi.”

Sevgi held her gaze, her lips forming into a smile. “You’re beautiful, Azzi.”

Azzi almost choked on her drink. She set it down quickly, grabbing a napkin to wipe her lips before forcing a tight smile. “Uh… thanks.”

Sevgi’s expression remained relaxed, like she hadn’t just casually caught Azzi off guard. “I’ve watched a few UConn games but I haven’t seen you around before. Did you move to Dallas?”

Azzi shook her head, sipping her drink again. “No, I don’t live here yet. I’m just visiting Paige for a while before going back to school.”

Sevgi’s gaze flickering toward where Paige was standing talking to Arike before settling back on Azzi. “Ah, so you’re here for Paige?” She hummed as if processing something. “Seems like a lot of people are, they love her already around here.”

Azzi simply hummed, confused by the comment. Suddenly wondering where the hell Ice and KK disappeared to.

Sevgi took another sip of her drink before smiling. “Paige Bueckers. One of the best to ever do it they say.” Her eyes flickered over Azzi’s face, her voice dropping just slightly. “I think she’s even luckier than I realized.”

Azzi’s brows lifted, her body tensing slightly as she finally clocked what was happening.

Before she could fully react, Sevgi leaned in just a fraction, lowering her voice like she was letting Azzi in on a secret. “I have a thing for shooters,” she said, her tone light but suggestive. “Especially ones with eyes like yours.”

Azzi, not really knowing how to navigate this, just says “Huh….”

Sevgi grinned, her fingers lightly drumming against the bar. “Mm. There’s something about precision, about the way a shooter locks in. So much focus, so much control…” Her voice dipped just slightly as she added, “It’s very attractive.”

Azzi exhaled through her nose, half amused by the attempt, half uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure if Sevgi just had a naturally flirtatious personality or if she genuinely had no idea that Azzi was very much taken.

Just as she opened her mouth to say something—anything to shift the conversation—she felt an all-too-familiar presence beside her.

Paige, who had returned from talking to Arike and was now standing between them with an unreadable expression.

Azzi barely had time to react to her presence before Paige’s hand was resting on the back of her neck.

“You’re a little close there, Gi, no?” Paige’s voice was light, but there was a slight edge beneath it that Azzi caught.

Sevgi turned her attention to Paige, offering a smooth smile. “I was just getting to know your—” she glanced at Azzi as if choosing her words carefully, “—your beautiful friend from UConn.”

Paige’s jaw tensed slightly, but she didn’t let it show, her fingers subtly tightening against Azzi’s neck. “Yeah? Well, my beautiful girlfriend doesn’t need any new friends tonight.”

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek, holding back a smirk.

Sevgi’s smile didn’t waver. “You know rook, in my culture, we don’t limit beautiful women to just one.”

Paige’s jaw tightened at that comment. “Look, Gi,” she said, her voice calm, “I really don’t know you that well yet, so I don’t know if you’re trying to be disrespectful or not, but I really hope that’s not the case.”

Sevgi held her gaze for a moment longer before raising her hands in mock surrender. “No disrespect. Just an observation is all.”

Paige didn’t blink. “Yeah? Well, here’s another one since we’re giving out observations—you’re standing too close to my girl.”

Sevgi exhaled, taking a small step back. “Noted.” She gave Azzi one last lingering look before saying, “Still… you’re stunning.”

Paige let out a sharp breath, her patience wearing thin.

Azzi, deciding to cut things off before Paige really lost her temper, gave Sevgi a polite but firm smile. “Appreciate it, but I’m good where I’m at. Really.”

Sevgi smiled but didn’t push further. “Fair enough.” She grabbed her drink and disappeared back into the crowd.

As soon as Sevgi was gone, Paige turned fully toward Azzi. Her jaw was still tight, but her eyes softened slightly as she took in Azzi’s amused expression.

“I leave you alone for two seconds,” Paige muttered, shaking her head.

Azzi laughed, looping her arms around Paige’s neck and pulling her in closer. “Not my fault I look good.”

Paige huffed, her fingers tugging at the hem of Azzi’s skirt. “It’s because of the skirt.”

Azzi let out another laugh, glancing down. “You can barely see my skirt—I’m sitting down.”

Paige hugged her tighter, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear as she said, “Exactly. It’s too short.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You weren’t saying that when you were grabbing my ass in the garage.”

Paige’s expression flickered for a moment before a smile spread across her lips. “Mmm… you make a good point.”

Before Azzi could respond, Paige pulled her up from her seat, and palmed her ass with both hands, squeezing firmly.

Azzi gasped, half-laughing. “Paige—”

“What?” Paige murmured, leaning in, voice dropping lower. “You were making a good point baby.”

Azzi exhaled, biting her lip as she shook her head. “You’re a perv.”

Paige rolled her eyes, completely unbothered. “No, I’m not. You’re my girl.”

Azzi huffed like she was annoyed, but the way she wrapped her arms fully around Paige’s head said otherwise. She pulled Paige in, pressing their lips together in a kiss. Paige responds immediately, squeezing her closer. The music and noise of the club faded into the background, the warmth of the moment making Azzi’s fingers tighten slightly in Paige’s hair.

Paige gave Azzi’s butt another squeeze, deepening the kiss, but just as she was about to take it a step further, Azzi mumbled against her lips, “I’m bored.”

Paige pulled back just enough to look at her. “Kissing me is boring now?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, fingers still playing with the hairs at the back of Paige’s neck. “No, us being here is boring.”

Paige smirked. “Oh yeah? What you wanna do then?”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, eyes flickering over Paige’s face as she tugged at the jersey she was wearing. “Go home,” she murmured. “Maybe show you how much I miss you… wear this for you like you want me to.”

Paige let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah come on, we’re leaving.”

The drive back to Paige’s apartment was quiet, the soft hum of music playing in the background as the Dallas city lights blurred past them. Azzi’s hand rested lightly over Paige’s, which had been sitting comfortably on her thigh since they got in the car. Neither of them had spoken much.

Paige was focused on the road, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against Azzi’s skin, but then she felt Azzi’s hand shifting, guiding Paige’s palm higher up her thigh. Paige’s grip instinctively tightened for a brief second before she shot her a look.

“Azzi,” she warned.

Azzi just hummed, acting innocent as she leaned over the center console, playing with the short hairs at the back of Paige’s neck. Paige swallowed hard, keeping her eyes locked on the road.

“You’re gonna make me crash,” Paige muttered, her jaw clenching slightly.

Azzi smirked, watching her with that look in her eyes. “Then keep your eyes on the road, baby.” Her fingers still tracing over Paige’s skin, her nails lightly scratching at the nape of her neck just to make her shiver.

Paige exhaled through her nose, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her spine, but then she felt Azzi shift closer, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to the side of her neck.

“Azzi.” This time, her voice was rougher.

“Hmm?” Azzi responded innocently, her lips grazing against her again.

Paige let out a slow breath through her nose, gripping the wheel a little tighter as she cast a quick glance at Azzi. A smirk was playing on her lips like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“What you doing, baby?” Paige asked, her voice lower now.

Azzi’s lips brushed against her jaw again, just barely. “I just miss you,” she murmured, her fingers still tracing soft patterns at the back of Paige’s neck.

Paige exhaled sharply but didn’t stop her. “You’re making it hard to drive, pretty girl.”

Azzi leaned back slightly, but not enough to fully retreat, still draped over the center console. “You’ve done more while you were driving before.”

Paige shot her another side glance, smirking now. “I remember. You couldn’t wait until we got home.”

Azzi hummed, tilting her head slightly. “Exactly. I had on jeans if I remember correctly.”

Paige swallowed, her jaw tightening as the memory rushed back to her. She nodded, gripping the wheel a little harder.

Azzi’s gaze flickered down to Paige’s hands before she spoke again, her voice quieter, almost too casual for what she was implying. “I have on a skirt now.”

Paige’s knuckles went white on the wheel.

Paige glanced at her, eyes flickering over her face before settling on her lips for just a second too long. “You drunk or something, baby?” she asked.

Azzi met her gaze. “No,” she said simply. “I told you, I just miss you.” She shifted slightly, her nails tracing absentmindedly over the back of Paige’s hand. “You think I dressed like this for fun?”

Paige swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling dry. Without thinking, she moved her hand up, her pinky brushing lightly against Azzi’s inner thigh.

Azzi let out the softest sigh, barely audible over the low hum of the music. She didn’t say anything, just leaned back and watched her.

Paige exhaled, shaking her head as a slow smirk spread across her lips. “You really tryna kill me tonight, huh?”

Azzi smiled, leaning her head back against the seat. “No. Not yet.”

Paige’s pinky traced slow, deliberate circles against Azzi’s underwear. She kept her eyes on the road, but the slight smile on her lips told Azzi she was enjoying this.

Azzi exhaled softly, shifting just a little, her breath hitching when Paige’s fingers pressed firmer for half a second before retreating, barely there.

Paige hummed. “You were saying?” she mused.

Azzi bit her lip, eyes dark as she glanced over at Paige. “I said… not yet.” Her voice was breathier now, betraying the effect Paige’s teasing was having on her.

Paige chuckled under her breath, her fingers tracing lazily along Azzi’s center, never quite moving where Azzi wanted but never pulling away either. Every so often, her knuckles would graze a little firmer, making Azzi’s legs tense slightly before relaxing again.

Azzi let out another quiet sigh, her fingers curling against the seat. “You’re playing too much,” she said, her voice laced with some frustration.

Paige turned her head just enough to meet her gaze, her smile growing. “Oh, now I’m the one playing?” She pressed her fingers a little more firmly, dragging them slowly along, savoring the way Azzi’s breath hitched again.

Azzi inhaled sharply, her whole body tensing in anticipation the moment Paige’s hand slipped beneath her underwear. Her eyes fluttered shut, a soft breath escaping her lips as she waited.

But then, suddenly, the warmth of Paige’s touch was gone completely.

Azzi’s eyes snapped open just in time to catch Paige lifting her thumb to her mouth, sucking on it.

Paige’s expression was casual, her eyes locked on the road, one hand steady on the wheel.

Azzi let out a sharp exhale, half frustration, half disbelief. “You’re such an asshole.”

Paige hummed around her thumb before popping it out with a smirk. “Oh, now I’m an asshole?” She flicked her gaze over to Azzi, blue eyes sparkling. “But I thought you missed me?”

Azzi clenched her jaw, narrowing her eyes as she shifted in her seat. “I do.” Her voice was firm, but there was a slight pout forming on her lips.

Paige chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. “Then be patient, baby.” Her hand returned to Azzi’s thigh, but this time, it was just resting there.

Azzi huffed, crossing her arms. “You’re mean.”

Paige fired back instantly, her smile only growing. “And you’re a brat.”

Azzi scoffed, shifting in her seat again so she was leaning away from Paige. “Maybe if you weren’t being so mean, I wouldn’t have to be.”

Paige let out a chuckle, squeezing Azzi’s thigh before pulling back again, just to be a tease. “Oh, is that how it works? So it’s my fault?”

Azzi turned her head to look at her. “Obviously.”

Paige bit back a grin, keeping her eyes on the road. “Sounds like someone needs to learn the word patience.”

Azzi let out a scoff. “I think someone needs to stop talking and drive faster.”

Paige hummed in amusement. “Oh, now you want me to focus on driving?” She shot Azzi a quick glance, lifting a brow. “Wasn’t that an issue, like, five minutes ago?”

Azzi exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “That was different.”

Paige laughed softly, reaching over to tug at the hem of Azzi’s jersey, pulling her slightly closer. “Mm. Convenient.”

Azzi let out a quiet groan, flopping back in her seat. “I hate you.”

Paige just chuckled again, squeezing Azzi’s thigh one last time before finally giving in and stepping on the gas just a little harder.

As Paige pulled into the garage, she barely had the car in park before Azzi was already unbuckling her seatbelt and pushing the door open.

Paige watched in amusement as Azzi slipped out, her long legs moving toward the house without so much as a glance back. Paige let out a chuckle, shaking her head as she turned off the engine.

By the time she made it inside, Azzi was by the entryway, bent down as she worked on taking off her cowboy boots. Paige let her eyes roam, taking in the way Azzi’s skirt rode up completely with the position, exposing more of her toned legs. Smirking, Paige stepped up behind her, hands easily finding her hips before she rolled her hips forward, playfully pressing into her.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” Paige murmured.

Azzi sucked in a sharp breath before immediately shoving her off, making Paige stumble back a step. She stood up, kicking off her boots without sparing Paige a glance before walking deeper into the house.

Paige chuckled, licking her lips as she followed. “Oh, so now you’re ignoring me?”

Azzi still didn’t say anything.

Paige smirked, enjoying this way too much. “Why you being like that, baby? I thought you missed me?”

Azzi exhaled, her hands clenching briefly at her sides, but she kept moving.

Paige trailed behind her grinning. “Mmm. What happened to all that talk in the car?”

Just as she reached the bedroom door, Azzi stopped. She turned her head slightly, finally meeting Paige’s gaze.

Paige smirked at that, stepping into the bedroom with an easy confidence. Azzi followed closely behind, her eyes immediately catching on something new.

“When’d you get that?” Azzi asked, nodding toward the large mirror now positioned perfectly in the room.

Paige’s smile grew, as she leaned casually against the dresser. “Got here yesterday.”

Azzi hummed, her gaze flicking between the mirror and the bed, taking in the angle, mentally mapping it out. Her lips curved slightly. “I like it.”

Paige pushed off the dresser, stepping closer until she was right in front of Azzi, tilting her chin up.

“That’s why I got it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes and tried to walk away again, but Paige was quicker, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back with little effort.

"Stop being a brat.”

Azzi just looked at her, lips pressed together, refusing to respond. Paige wasn’t fazed. Instead, she tugged her closer by the waist, dipping her head to press a kiss to Azzi’s neck.

"Let me get rid of that attitude for you," Paige whispered, her lips dragging against Azzi’s skin.

For a moment, Azzi’s resolve wavered. Her breath caught, and she instinctively tilted her head to the side, granting Paige more access. But just as quickly, she remembered why she was mad. With a sharp exhale, she planted her hands on Paige’s shoulders and shoved her back—not hard enough to truly push her away, but enough to make a point.

Paige only laughed, her tongue brushing over her bottom lip as she grinned. "Oh, you’re really mad, huh?"

“Yes you called me desperate.”

Paige’s jaw dropped. “Bro, no I didn’t.”

Azzi’s glare was instant. “Don’t ‘bro’ me.”

Paige sighed, pulling Azzi closer again, her hands resting firmly on her waist. “Baby, I did not call you desperate.”

Azzi didn’t budge. “You basically did.”

Paige huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head before dipping down to press slow, open-mouthed kisses against Azzi’s neck. “I didn’t,” she muttered between kisses. “But even if I did, it doesn’t matter.” Her lips traveled lower. “You know I love it when you’re like that for me.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her body betraying her as her head tilted again, granting Paige more access. But she didn’t fully give in—her hands remained stubbornly at her sides, her posture still carrying the weight of her petty grudge.

Paige smirked against her skin, nipping just lightly before pulling back. “What I gotta do to make it up to you, baby?”

Azzi’s lips finally formed a smile at that, looking at her. “I wanna go back to the car.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “We have a whole house, baby. Why you wanna go to the car?”

Azzi shrugged, but there was a glint in her eyes. “Because we haven’t fucked in your new car yet.” She let that sink in before adding casually, “And it’s bigger than your Jeep.”

Paige scoffed, about to respond when Azzi leaned in close, her breath warm against her ear.

“And,” Azzi murmured, right before biting down softly on Paige’s earlobe, “you can’t run from me in the car.”

Paige swallowed hard, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief second as she licked her lips. She nodded—maybe a little too eagerly—before mumbling, “Okay… yeah, we can go to the car. Whatever you want.”

Azzi beamed at that, turning on her heel and heading toward the closet immediately. Paige watched her, smirking when she saw the first thing Azzi grabbed. But then her smirk dropped completely when she saw the second.

Her brow furrowed. “What’s that for?”

Azzi barely glanced at her as she responded, “You know what it’s for.”

Paige’s stomach tightened as she watched Azzi casually walk out of the bedroom, clearly expecting her to follow. She hesitated for a second before trailing behind her, saying, “I almost died last time we tried that.”

Azzi threw a smile over her shoulder. “Well, you shouldn’t have called me desperate.”

Paige groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “She’s about to kill me,” she mumbled under her breath, shaking her head as she followed Azzi out of the room, through the house, and straight into the garage.

Paige got in the car first pushing both front seats forward to create more space. She moved with ease, but there was still an underlying tension in her movements—anticipation low in her stomach as she adjusted the seats. Once she was satisfied, she leaned back, expecting Azzi to climb onto her lap like she always did.

But instead, Azzi leaned forward, connecting her phone to the car’s Bluetooth. Paige watched her, eyebrow raising slightly as Azzi scrolled through her playlists, carefully ensuring the engine wasn’t actually on before the speakers filled the car.

Paige exhaled through her nose, smirking as she rested her hands on her thighs. “You settin’ the mood or something?”

Azzi didn’t answer. She took her time, adjusting the volume, tilting her head as if she was testing how the music sounded in the space. Then, finally, she settled in the back seat, straddling Paige hips, her hands finding their place on Paige’s shoulders.

Paige’s smile grew as her hands settled on Azzi’s waist. “That a yes?” she teased.

Azzi smiled, leaning in so her lips just barely brushed Paige’s. “Stop talking.”

Paige nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, ma’am.”

Azzi didn’t give her a chance to add anything else before she closed the distance, her lips molding against Paige’s in a kiss that she led with confidence. Her tongue slipped past Paige’s lips, exploring her mouth like she owned it, and Paige let her—let her take, let her have, let her do whatever she wanted.

Paige’s hands found Azzi’s butt, pulling her in until there was nothing between them, her fingers flexing underneath Azzi’s skirt.

It was always a miracle how long they could stay like this—kissing and learning each other over and over again—until their lips were almost raw and they were both burning from the inside out.

Paige was completely under Azzi’s control, gripping her like she was afraid to let go, as Azzi’s hand wrapped securely around her neck. Every time Paige tried to shift, to gain a little more, Azzi only tightened her grip, keeping her where she wanted.

When Paige finally broke away from the kiss, her breathing was uneven and her lips were tingling. “Baby, please.”

Azzi looked down at her. “Please what?”

Paige groaned, her hands sliding up Azzi’s back in frustration. “I need something.”

Azzi hummed, tilting her head as if she was considering it . “Mm.” She leaned in, brushing her lips over Paige’s jawline before trailing down to her neck.

Azzi smiled, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck, tugging just enough to make Paige suck in a breath. She moved up, her lips barely grazing the shell of Paige’s ear as she whispered, “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Paige let out a shaky exhale, her fingers flexing against Azzi’s thighs before she murmured, “That’s the problem, baby.”

She tried to slide her hands up, reaching for the hem of Azzi’s skirt, but before she could make contact, Azzi caught her wrists, intertwining their fingers as she pinned them down. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

Paige sighed, tightening her jaw as she let her head fall back against the seat in surrender. She was burning with impatience, but she knew better than to fight Azzi on this—not when she was playing her little game.

Azzi took full advantage of the position, tilting her head to press slow, open-mouthed kisses down the side of Paige’s throat, occasionally nipping at her skin just to feel the way Paige shuddered beneath her. Paige sighed heavily, groaning here and there, murmuring pleas in between sharp intakes of breath. But every time she tried to coax Azzi into more, Azzi only chuckled against her skin, whispering smug remarks in return.

“You getting desperate, baby?”

Paige groaned. “Azzi—”

Azzi licked a long trail up her neck. “Mmm. You’re cute when you beg P.”

Paige scoffed. “I’m not begging.”

Azzi pulled back slightly, tilting her head. Then she smirked. “You don’t want me?”

Paige swallowed hard, her hands twitching where Azzi still had them pinned. “Course I do.”

Azzi hummed in satisfaction before whispering, “Then beg for it.” She bit down a little harsher this time, drawing a sharp inhale from Paige before soothing the spot with her tongue.

Paige held firm, refusing to give in so easily. She just let Azzi work her way along her neck knowing exactly how to unravel her. But Azzi knew this little front of Paige’s all too well. Knew the stubbornness. Knew exactly how to break it.

So she shifted, pressing her hips down just a little more, her breath fanning against Paige’s ear as she let out the softest moan.

Just like that, Paige cracked. “Fuck—Az, please, baby.”

Azzi smiled. “Please what, Paige?”

Paige groaned, her voice rough. “Lemme get you right.”

Azzi chuckled at that, pulling back just enough to meet Paige’s gaze. “Oh? Is that what’s gonna happen?”

Paige only hummed in response, her hands finally breaking free to palm at Azzi’s butt, pulling her in closer.

Azzi just smiled down at Paige as her fingers worked at the buckle of Paige’s belt, taking her time, teasing her without any words. Paige just watched her, eyes hooded, a small grin tugging at her lips.

Azzi caught the expression and arched her eyebrow. “What are you smiling at?”

Paige exhaled a soft chuckle, tilting her head back slightly against the seat. “You look good.”

Azzi hummed at that, feigning nonchalance, but the way her lips curled told a different story. “Yeah?”

Paige’s eyes flicked between Azzi’s hands and her face, her grin widening just a little. “Yeah. Real good.”

Azzi shook her head, amused, but didn’t argue.

Once Paige’s belt was undone, Azzi slipped off her lap simply saying, “Take off your clothes,” as she began to unzip her own skirt.

Paige immediately obliges, tugging at her clothes, ripping them off as if they were on fire. Once they were off, she reaches for the harness silently praying Azzi doesn’t remember what else she grabbed.

Azzi chuckles at this, reaching over Paige to grab the small vibrator she had sitting there. She looks at Paige expectantly, not saying anything as she pushes it toward her.

Paige sighs as she takes it from Azzi’s hand and slides the vibrator into the slits of the harness, turning it on before she pulls the harness against herself, taking a sharp breath immediately at the feeling.

Once Paige was situated Azzi climbed back onto her lap, settling on her thighs first as she gathered her long braids, moving them to one side. Paige watched her, eyes hazy, the desire in her eyes unmistakable.

“Nah,” Paige murmured, voice rough. “You need to get on it now.”

Azzi chuckled softly, dragging the moment out just a little longer before she lifts her hips up and eases herself on top of Paige slowly, letting out a quiet sigh as she did.

Paige’s reaction was instant. Her head fell back against the seat, a deep groan escaping her lips. “Fuck baby,” she breathed, arms lifting to rest on the back of the headrests, fingers flexing as she tried to keep herself from reaching for Azzi knowing she wouldn’t last long if she did.

Azzi kept her eyes locked on Paige as she rolled her hips moving like she was putting on a performance just for her. A teasing smile on her lips as she watched Paige try not to unravel beneath her.

Paige’s head was still thrown back against the seat, arms stretched over the headrest like she was watching a show—but the longer Azzi moved, the harder it became for her to keep up the act. Her jaw tightened, eyes fluttering closed as she swallowed hard.

Azzi smirked at that. She leaned forward, grabbing Paige’s arms from the headrest and guiding them around her waist, forcing Paige to hold her. As soon as Paige’s hands found their place on Azzi’s hips, Azzi tangled her fingers into Paige’s hair, tugging gently as she whispered near her ear, “You’re supposed to be watching, baby.”

A low moan escaped Paige’s lips. “I can’t, baby.”

Azzi hummed in amusement, her movements never faltering as her own breath got a little uneven. “Why not?”

Paige sucked in a breath, struggling for words. “Because…”

Azzi chuckled, her breath warm against Paige’s ear. “That’s not a full sentence,” she teased, letting a soft gasp slip as she pressed herself closer.

Paige groaned, tightening her grip on Azzi’s waist as she felt the deliberate push against her. Azzi pulled back slightly, her fingers grazing the hem of Paige’s jersey she had on, lifting it just enough to make Paige’s breath hitch. The slow, torturous pace was getting to her.

Paige was never one to let Azzi have all the control. Wanting to turn the tide in her favor a little, she lifted her hips into her, just enough to catch Azzi off guard. Azzi let out a sharp moan, her eyes fluttering closed as the movement sent a jolt through her.

Mmm, what happened, baby?” Paige purred, her voice dripping with amusement as she tilted her head, watching Azzi’s every move. Her hands slid down to Azzi’s ass, fingers tightening as she pulled her even closer, grinding against her slowly. “Getting a little lost, huh?”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her hands gripping Paige’s arms for leverage. “Probably you more than me.”

Paige’s grin widened as she felt Azzi’s breath stutter, the slight hesitation before she recovered. “Mmm, I don’t think so baby,” Paige whispered as she lifted Azzi’s hips completely before pushing them back down.

Azzi’s jaw tightened, refusing to let Paige see just how much she was getting to her. Instead, she retaliated, rolling her hips, pressing down against Paige in a way that forced a sharp inhale from her lips.

The smirks on both of their faces never fell as they pushed and pulled, challenging each other for dominance. Paige’s fingers dug into Azzi’s hips as she tried to hold her still, but Azzi countered by shifting forward, her hands sliding up Paige’s arms before pressing into her shoulders for leverage.

Neither wanted to give in, their bodies moving in sync as they played their little game—one teasing, the other taunting, both determined to win. Little sounds slipped from their lips, unintentional reactions to the tension between them, to the way their control over the situation teetered with every movement.

Azzi leaned in, her lips hovering over Paige’s, their heavy breaths mingling. “You sure you’re winning this one, baby?” she taunted, her voice just barely above a whisper.

Paige swallowed, as she smirked. “You’re not.”

Azzi, not liking that, rolled her hips down again, watching as Paige’s head fell back against the seat, her fingers tightening around Azzi’s waist. Paige sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to her composure, but Azzi caught the way her body twitched under her.

Paige recovered quickly, exhaling sharply as she dragged her hands up Azzi’s back.

She flipped their positions pressing Azzi back against the seat, her hands pinning Azzi’s wrists on either side of her head. Azzi’s eyes widened in surprise before she let out a soft chuckle, biting her lip as she looked up at Paige before pulling her in for a kiss.

Paige groaned against Azzi’s lips, her fingers gripping at the jersey, bunching the fabric in her fists as she deepened the kiss. Azzi hummed into her mouth, pulling Paige closer, her hands sliding up Paige’s back before tangling in her hair. The kiss was messy, all tongue neither of them holding back as they pushed and pulled at each other, fighting for control even now.

Paige nipped at Azzi’s bottom lip, pulling away just enough to murmur, “You look so fucking good in this, baby.” Her voice was thick, her eyes heavy as she tugged at the jersey again.

Azzi smirked against her lips, tilting her head slightly. “Yeah? You like it?” she teased, running her hands down Paige’s back before gripping her waist, and flipping their positions back. Paige barely had time to react before she found herself against the seat again, Azzi now on top, straddling her once smirk again.

Paige's grip tightened instantly, her fingers digging into Azzi’s skin as her head fell back against the seat. “Fuck, I can’t, baby,” she groaned, her voice strained, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to hold on. “I’m close.”

Azzi, still in full control, shook her head. “No,” she murmured. “Not yet.”

Paige let out a desperate sound, her hands gripping harder as her breath came out in uneven pants. “I—I can’t control it, mama,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly as she fought against the overwhelming feeling.

Azzi hummed in response, bringing Paige’s hands up to place them firmly on her chest under the jersey. “Yes, you can,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against Paige’s, their breaths mingling. Paige whimpered, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet Azzi’s gaze.

Azzi smirked, tilting her head as she kept her rhythm steady, teasing, pushing, and pulling Paige right to the edge but never letting her tip over. “I want you to hold it for me,” she mumbled against Paige’s lips, her fingers sliding into Paige’s hair.

Paige's jaw clenched as she let out a shaky breath, her entire body tense beneath Azzi. Her hands trembled slightly as she squeezed Azzi’s hips, desperately trying to focus, to obey, even though every fiber of her being wanted to let go. “Fuck I can’t,” she groaned, voice hoarse. “You’re killing me, baby.”

Azzi chuckled, pressing a kiss to Paige’s jaw. “No, I’m making you feel good.”

Paige’s grip faltered as she instinctively moved her hands away from Azzi’s waist, gripping the leather seats beside her in a desperate attempt to ground herself. But Azzi wasn’t having it. She grabbed Paige’s hands, guiding them right back to her hips.

Paige let out a shaky breath, her body tensing beneath Azzi’s as she struggled to maintain even a sliver of control. But Azzi knew exactly what she was doing—exactly how to unravel her.

Pressing soft, lingering kisses along Paige’s neck, Azzi hummed against her skin. “Why do you keep moving your hands, baby?” she whispered, her voice low, teasing.

Paige swallowed hard, her fingers twitching against Azzi’s waist. “I—I don’t know,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

Azzi smirked, kissing just below Paige’s ear. “Mmm. You don’t know?” she murmured, trailing her lips lower as her fingers traced slow circles against Paige’s wrist. “You always get like this when I take my time.”

Paige let out a frustrated groan, her fingers gripping Azzi’s hips even tighter. “Az..Fuck—Az please,” she breathed, her head falling back.

Azzi chuckled, running her fingers through Paige’s hair before gently tugging. “Did you like my outfit today?” she asked.

Paige let out a shuddering breath, her fingers flexing against Azzi’s waist. “What?”

Azzi kissed along her jaw, her teeth biting against the sensitive skin. “I saw you looking all night,” she continued, her tone light. “You think I wore it just because?”

Paige squeezed her eyes shut, her body reacting before she could even think of a response. Azzi was relentless—and completely in control.

“Tell me,” Azzi whispered, biting lightly at Paige’s ear. “Did you like it baby?”

Paige’s breath hitched, her hands gripping Azzi’s waist harder as she struggled beneath her, the tension in her stomach pulling with every word. “You know I did,” she admitted, her voice nearly breaking.

Azzi hummed in satisfaction, kissing down Paige’s neck again. “Good.”

Paige’s entire body was taut beneath Azzi, every muscle locked as she tried—desperately—to hold on. But Azzi kept dragging out every second.

“I’m close baby,” Azzi whispered, her voice strained, her hips still moving in perfect rhythm.

Paige groaned, her grip on Azzi’s waist bruising as she fought to keep herself together, her breathing ragged. “Baby, please,” she gasped, eyes fluttering shut, her resolve hanging by a thread.

Azzi leaned in, capturing Paige’s lips in a kiss that stole the last of her restraint. It was deep and possessive, sending a sharp, overwhelming heat rushing through Paige’s body.

That was all it took. Paige tensed beneath her, a strangled moan leaving her lips as she completely unraveled, her hands gripping Azzi like she was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality as her body started to shake.

But Azzi didn’t stop.

Even as Paige trembled beneath her, trying to catch her breath, trying to get Azzi to slow down, she kept moving—dragging her lips along Paige’s jaw, whimpering softly in her ear as she chased her own release.

Paige whined, her hands sliding from Azzi’s waist to her thighs in an attempt to stop her movements . Saying desperately, “Az, baby it’s too much. I can’t—”

Paige barely had time to finish her sentence before Azzi’s lips were on hers again, swallowing every whimper and shaky breath. Azzi kissed her deep, desperate, as if she was chasing something only Paige could give her.

Within seconds, Azzi’s body tensed on top of Paige, her grip tightening in Paige’s hair as she gasped into the kiss. Paige felt it—the way Azzi’s body shuddered, the way her fingers curled into her scalp, the way she bit down on Paige’s bottom lip to stifle the sound that threatened to escape.

Paige groaned into the kiss, overwhelmed by how good Azzi felt against her, by the way Azzi clung to her like she never wanted to let go. She held her close, letting her ride it out despite the tension rapidly growing in her stomach again as she pressed soothing kisses against her jaw as Azzi's breathing came in soft, uneven pants.

“Damn, baby,” Paige murmured, her voice rough, her hands still gripping Azzi’s waist like she needed something to ground herself.

Azzi let out a breathy chuckle, her forehead resting against Paige’s as she tried to collect herself. “Told you I wasn’t desperate,” she whispered, a smirk pulling at her lips despite how dazed she looked.

Not being able to take anymore Paige pushed Azzi off of her as she struggled to pull the vibrator off of her. Azzi chuckled as she watched Paige struggle, her chest still rising and falling unevenly. She leaned back against the seat, completely unbothered, while Paige ran a hand down her face, trying to collect herself.

But Paige wasn’t having it. With a huffed breath, she reached for the door handle, muttering, “We’re going upstairs.”

Azzi smirked, tilting her head as she reached for her skirt thrown on the seat. “Yeah?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Paige shot her a look, jaw tight, eyes still clouded. “Yeah,” she confirmed. “Now.”

Azzi hummed, pushing the car door open as she stepped out, stretching her arms lazily as if she wasn’t still feeling everything that just happened. As Paige moved to follow, Azzi turned back, biting her lip before murmuring, “I’ll be by the mirror baby.”

Paige turned off the car, taking a deep breath to steady herself before stepping out.

Azzi was already heading inside, her skirt discarded on the floor, leaving her still in nothing but that damn jersey that barely covered anything as she made her way upstairs. She didn’t even look back—just walked with an effortless sway that had Paige gripping the door frame for a second longer than necessary.

Paige smirked, licking her lips as she shut the door behind her. “I’m about to fuck her up,” she muttered to herself, rolling her shoulders back in confidence.

She followed Azzi up the stairs, her cocky smirk only growing as she shut the bedroom door.

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter four

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warning/s: coarse language; mentions of: grief, death, drowning; not proofread

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

word count: 13.1k

[1]

‘Can you meet me at the playground?’ was Guille’s message the night after your graduation, casting a blue streak over a relatively warm summer night. The short hand of the clock hovered over eleven when you got it, and you had half a mind to ignore it–because how dared he do this now?–but you sent him a reply before heading out of the door.

The playground was less than ten minutes away but you took the corner; the one that led around the block. He could wait, you thought. After all, you’d been giving him just that: the luxury of time. But he never did anything with it did he, so why would you rush? And what could he possibly want now after months of ignoring you? Was this a final goodbye? After everything you’d been through together, was this really how it’s going to end? 

You sniffled and ran the back of your hand over your eyes as you walked the last few yards to the park.

Tap tap tap.

The distinct sound of football-to-shoe brought you back. Ahead under the yellow glow of the lone streetlamp that lit the playground, with his back turned to you, was Guille juggling a football. A breeze brushed your cheek and it carried the familiar sweetness of Guille’s body spray. You remembered when he started using it—it was around the time you’d complained to him about how you found the scent of guy’s deodorants repugnant, and that you could only stand the new scent that he bought. And after that, it was all he’d ever used. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was around the time he started liking you, and the thought made you recoil. 

The ball reached another high, this time going over Guille’s head, making him turn, but it never connected to a touch. Instead, it landed on the ground. Its momentum carried it to a stop just a few paces away from you but you made no move to kick it back. You dragged your eyes away from the ball and found his finally.

For a moment, it was as if the world stood still. You soaked in the state of him: there was a heaviness that swelled in the skin beneath his eyes which were devoid of their usual light; his arms sagged heavily by his sides, contorting the contours of his silhouette to a shape that displaced the confidence you’d seen him wear so easily growing up. Even in the low light, the jagged cut that interrupted the line of his left brow remained prominent, but it was gone from view when dark curls fell to cover it after Guille ran his fingers through his hair.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, yet his voice still broke over his words. 

“Hey. Uh–thank you for coming,” he smiled a little. “Can we talk?”

You eyed him carefully, letting a moment of silence settle in the air as you crossed your arms. Only after you noted a slight movement in Guille’s throat did you skim the sole of your foot over the ball, sending it his way. When you met his eyes again, something akin to relief shone in them––or maybe it was gratitude?––before he kicked the ball towards you again. That went on for a while; back and forth the ball went during which no one said a word. From the way Guille kept clenching and unclenching his hands, you doubted he knew what he even wanted to say, least of all how to say it.

Still, you waited. 

Another moment, he stopped the ball, wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt before stuffing them in his short pockets, his posture awkward and stiff. He opened his mouth and in the breath before he spoke his first word, your heart dropped to your stomach and you braced yourself.

This was it.

“I–I want to apologize!”

You blinked. That… was unexpected.

“I know it’s probably too late, but I don’t think I can live without saying it, you know?” He shrugged as he smiled, but it was too crooked, and his eyes shone. 

“I’m really sorry. For what I did, and what I said. Those hurt you… I hurt you.”

He released a shaky breath, bit his lower lip as he swiped a thumb at the corner of his eye.

“I’m not expecting to be forgiven and I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I just–I’m sorry. And I want you to know that I had the best time with you.” 

His lips curled up to a smile but the quiver of his chin broke the curve and his tears spilled. 

He looked so young then, so much like a lost little boy who looked nothing like the boy you met when you were eight: newly-transferred Guille who became the smallest out of all the boys in your class yet, with his quiet confidence, he towered over them with his head held high. You remembered him as he was then when he first introduced himself to you, his cheeks rosy from playing too much under the sun and just a little out of breath when he asked you to be in his team during recess. He did it too without any snide remarks, something you’d gotten used to from playing with the other boys in class. He never brought your being a girl up even when your team lost, and it was the first time you were treated as an equal on the field at school. 

And he just stuck with you, and you with him; all the shared lunches, the laughter, the late night banters… there was no way you could let this friendship go. 

This was so stupid. 

“This is stupid,” you choked as you hastily wiped a tear away but it was quickly followed by another. “Come here, you idiot!” 

You surged forward and wrapped your arms around him, the force of it nearly knocking the both of you over. It took him a second but when the weight of his arms settled on you––when his comforting warmth finally seeped in––you were hit by just how much you’d missed him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” were the strained words spoken against your ear as he hugged you tighter. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled on his shoulder. “It’s going to take some time but we’ll be alright, I forgive you. And I want us to remain friends, under two conditions if you’re up for it.” 

He pulled away slightly to wipe his cheeks, and gave you a small smile. He was a bit breathless when he said, “Anything.” 

There was a light lilt in his tone and you understood he meant it, so you nodded, returning his smile. He followed you when you went to sit on one of the benches, situating himself so there was enough space between you for one person.

Looking him in the eye, you started, “I know it’s a lot to ask but if you have any plans to wait for me, I want you to forget about it. I love you and I care for you, but I need you to understand that a brother and a friend is all I will find in you.” 

His eyes strayed downwards and they clouded over. He closed them with a sigh and when they opened, he looked at you and you found a lightness in them that comforted you; his face bore a friendly warmth that you haven’t seen in a while.

“I understand, and you don’t have to apologise.” 

He scooted closer so he could bump his knee against yours, now grinning. His playfulness made you smile.

“And one more thing,” you added after a moment, and he nodded for you to continue. “You… you have to make amends with Alexia.” 

The grin fled from his face and you didn’t miss the way he flinched. His knuckles whitened and tension brewed in his muscles. And when his eyes darkened, you couldn’t help but frown at the change in his demeanor. You reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Guille––”

Then, like a spring, all the air of rigidness left him. He threw his head back and released a laugh that caught you off guard. When he regarded you again, the curve of his lips remained.

Then he said in a tone filled with mirth, “You know, if she hadn’t knocked some sense into me that night, I’d probably still be wallowing in self-pity like an entitled prick.”

At the reminder, your eyes wandered to the scar on his left brow but they lingered only for a second.

“And yes, done. She hates my guts,” you opened your mouth to protest otherwise but when Guille gave you a pointed look, you closed it immediately, “but I will patch things up with her. Besides, I need to thank her for straightening me out.”

You gaped at him.

“It’s that easy?”

He shrugged, still smiling.

“I mean, yeah? It’s either those or losing you, and I know I value you more than I do my pride and ego.”

There it was again, his quiet confidence. It diminished though when he brushed a finger over the bridge of his nose, eyes darting down to his feet briefly before meeting yours again. And when he spoke, there was more than a little uncertainty that bled into his tone, and maybe a little bit of hope. 

“Besides, we’re friends. Right?”

You scrunched your nose at him in answer as you grinned.

“Damn right,” you confirmed. Then you punched his shoulder for good measure. His jaw dropped open in an offended gasp. He sat there wide-eyed for a moment before he locked an arm around your neck, his free hand mussing up your hair in an instant, and you could only shriek and chortle at the action. 

In that moment, you felt as if a weight had finally been lifted off your shoulders. And there was no better way to truly feel the lightness of being than having somebody to laugh with. Then a comfortable pause washed over you both as you caught your breaths. In the silence that settled, you leaned back on your hands and kicked your feet up idly in the air. 

It was Guille who spoke first. 

“You don’t have to answer, but do you like someone?”

Your feet stilled. And then, without bidding, a series of images flashed through your mind of brown hair, freckles, hazel… Warmth coiled and gathered in your chest as if the ghost of a hand hovered over it. 

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

A distinct pop went off somewhere in your neck from the speed by which you gaped at him. Guille’s eyes remained trained ahead and his face was relaxed, void of any judgement… Surely, he didn’t say what you thought he said, right? 

You swallowed, throat dry, and choked, “What did you say?”

“Alexia.” He turned to you then, and smiled; small but not unkindly. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Blood thundered in your ears, and your heartbeat tripled. 

“No! I–That’s ridic–”

Warmth over your hand; Guille had taken yours into his, and the ice in your skin thawed instantly. Only when Guille tightened his grip to still your hand did you know just how badly you were shaking. 

“Hey, look at me. It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” his voice was soothing and he squeezed your hand for good measure. “I think, deep down, I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why I treated everything as a competition because I felt threatened by her. And I never understood why you always gravitated towards her like she’s your own Earth. But now I know. If… If I ever made it difficult to come to terms with your feelings for her, I’m sorry.” 

His words and their sincerity brought a calm with them, stopping the surge of panic in your veins. And, like a tide, it receded. Finally finding your voice again, you spoke. 

“You–you’re not angry?”

His brows rose.

“Why would I be?”

Then he gave you another smile. You understood it was meant to reassure you but you couldn’t help but notice that the corners of his lips were somewhat weighed down with sadness. Still, judgement made no home in his eyes. 

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. And if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

A brief pause as his eyes wandered. 

“I–Maybe not for a while. It’s not that I want to, but I think some distance will do me some good. I want to respect your boundaries, and for me to do that, I need to get my feelings sorted out. I’m… I’ve made up my mind anyway. I’m leaving the city.” 

“What?” You choked. “When? Where are you going?”

Then a spark of anger went off. You jabbed at his shoulder. Guille yelped suddenly, his eyes became wide with surprise. 

“You jerk! Is that the reason why you’re finally saying sorry?!” 

“I–No, of course not! I mean, yeah, but no!” He gestured in the air. “What I’m trying to say is… I’m here because I want to make amends, not because I feel like I had to. Besides, I won’t be leaving for another two months.” 

Oh.

“Oh.” Your cheeks felt warm. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He repeated with a sarcastic note but a playful spark lit up his eyes. 

You apologised sheepishly. Then, “Where are you headed? And what are you going to do?”

Guille shrugged, leaning back against his arms as he looked up at the night sky.

“I don’t know yet. I was thinking of travelling for a bit, maybe go around Europe first? Do you remember how Aunt Aloma lives in London? Yeah, she told me I could stay with her if I ever planned to go there for university.”

When he mentioned London, a lead sank into your gut. Logically, you knew it wasn’t too far away; the three-hour long flight would be a small price to pay to see Guille again. The fact that he wouldn’t be an arm’s reach away like he was right then—that childhood was departing—made your chest ache. You didn’t know you’d teared up until you felt Guille’s hand on your shoulder and the consequent squeeze there. 

“Don’t cry on me now, I haven’t even left yet.” He said lightly but his eyes were glazed over, too. “Hey, don’t worry, it won’t be for good. Before you know it, I’ll be back here to annoy you. And you know, maybe once I’ve settled in London you could even visit.”

You took his hand and squeezed it back, saying, “Just say the word and I’ll be there. 

[2]

“He’s studying what now?” 

“Sports Psychology. Pay attention.” You swatted at Alexia’s hand but she ignored you. She continued to pinch some more grass from beside where she was laying and let them get carried by the breeze as she threw them into the air. The blades of grass flew freely but some of them landed on her chest and stomach where a bunch of them had begun to pile up. Still, she continued her endeavor. She looked ridiculous but warmth filled you nonetheless, and you smiled as you leaned over to pick them off her jersey. 

Alexia hummed with a note of surprise, “He works fast. He’s only been away for four months?”

“Well, we are talking about Guille here.” 

“Hmm, I always thought Lover Boy would end up in physio–Hey!” 

Alexia yelped when you jerked your thigh that her head was resting on.

“Stop calling him that,” you reprimanded with a light flick to her forehead. At the reminder though, your cheeks warmed. 

She rubbed her forehead as she narrowed her eyes at you, then with a huff and a pout, “Fine, fine! No need to get defensive. Why is it such a big deal anyway?”

“Because, Alexia, we’re all trying to move on.”

“You make it sound like the two of you broke up or something.” She snickered before adding, “Which begs the question, why didn’t you ever go out with him? Minus the fact that he gave you a concussion, of course.” 

Her tone changed at the end, an inflection of something bitter—a bit of her protectiveness showing through—that you chose to ignore. Yet you found yourself unable to answer her anyway. 

You recalled the conversation you had with Guille that night, the way he figured out who held your heart so easily. Ever since, a question gnawed at the edge of your mind, the same one that whispered to you now: were your feelings so transparent? So obvious? 

A brush against your jaw pulled you back and, upon looking down, you were met with the question still in Alexia’s eyes. You shrugged, pulling away from her touch as nonchalantly as you could. 

“Guille is a friend and only that.”

“But you were so close,” she commented.

“Proximity doesn’t always mean intimacy, Alexia.” You were grasping for straws, you knew this. Your eyes wandered before you admitted with another shrug, “Besides, I can’t really see myself in a relationship. Not right now, anyway.”

“Oh.” The sound Alexia made was gentle, barely audible, that you thought it was the wind’s whisper. And then in a tone so soft, “Really? You don’t like anyone? Anyone at all?”

There was something in the way she asked that beckoned you to look back down at her. The scattered rays of the sun dappled her freckled cheeks with flushed amber, and her eyes that were normally a deep shade of ochre shone golden in the light. There was a softness in them that made your heart stutter, and another thing you couldn’t quite figure out, almost a plea, but about what?

You dragged your eyes away from her lips to meet her eyes.

“No, I don’t think it’s for me,” you murmured.

She stared at you for a long time. It felt like being swallowed into their depths and you could do nothing but be swept away, keep the contact somehow, lest she’d find something she shouldn’t see. So you stared right back. 

Eventually, she whispered, “Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet.”

The lump in your throat remained even after you swallowed. Finally looking away, you hummed out in half-agreement.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

A pause.

“Do you miss him?” 

“I do. I really do.” You admitted with a sigh. 

After another moment of silence, Alexia continued.

“Would… would you join a club in England?” 

Your gaze flicked back down to her, frowning a little.

“It’s either Barça or Bayern for me, Alexia. You know this.” 

At that, Alexia averted her eyes, picked a fallen leaf, twirled it between her fingers, and then looked at it as if it held the mysteries of the world. 

Carding a finger through her hair, you prompted softly, “Why would you ask that?” 

She shrugged, quirking the corner of her lips downwards. Then she met your eyes with barely concealed vulnerability, voice hesitant when she asked, “So, you’re staying?”

“I am,” you said firmly, smiling at her. “Besides, we’re in this together, aren’t we? Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” 

Finally, her lips broke into a grin.

“I can’t wait to play with you when we get on the first team.” She said with such certainty you couldn’t help but grin back.

“Do you really think we’ll make it?”

“Yeah. We will, you’ll see.”

And you did.

There reflected in her eyes the vision of a future. That familiar splendor of passion—that unwavering resolve—shone untarnished, and the mere sight of it filled you with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Instead, you leaned down and pressed your forehead to hers.

Alexia accepted the contact with a sigh, and then she whispered, “Sorry to say, but you’re stuck with me, too.”

[3]

You got into Barça’s first team—the both of you did. 

There was a moment where you thought it was too good to be true, and that surely the other shoe would drop any time soon. 

And it did.

Maybe deep down, you hoped otherwise; that the universe would prove you wrong. But the universe had a wicked sense of humor, and you would’ve laughed at the cruelty of the joke if anguish had not choked your laughter tight into tears. The taste of achievement was still fresh on your tongue, still on your way to relishing it, before that same sweetness quickly soured to bitter disappointment. 

Not a year after joining Barça’s first team ranks, the news reached you. Our funds were not enough, they said, and they were sorry they had to cut the women’s team. There was no other way, the club didn’t have enough money to keep the team in the league.

The fact that you got a taste of your dream only to have the rug pulled beneath you was maddening, and it made the pain from the fall all the more worse. The news hit you hard, but Alexia took it the worst.

There was a thin line between perseverance and obsession, and some would even go so far to say that the two were opposite sides to the same coin. You know this. And you also know that Alexia had tossed that coin so many times now that she’d probably forgotten what each of those faces meant, progressively confounding one for the other until they were now one and the same.

Looking back now, the signs were all there: you were blinded by your own loss and your admiration for Alexia that you failed to see it or what it really was—a festering obsession. The signs were there in your time with Espanyol, especially during the first few months after the news of Barça’s restructuring broke; they were present in the way Alexia behaved compulsively, always seething with barely concealed hunger, her tenacity both on and off the field magnified to the tens. It waned somewhat during the season but now with the both of you facing another move—to Levante this time—her obsession resurfaced with renewed vigor, corrupting each knot of her muscle to constrict to their breaking point.

“Ale, do you want to come over to mine?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe of Alexia’s bedroom, while Alexia remained hunched over a folder filled with formations, the same one she’d been studying since last match day.

“Why?” She threw over her shoulder, not even turning to look at you.

You picked at your thumb. 

“I don’t know. Just come and sleep over? Mamá and Papá have been asking about you, you know?”

Finally she turned and her eyes found you. They were flat and the skin under them looked darker than they were yesterday. A slight crease was present between her brows, and her lips drooped slightly at the corners, seemingly unimpressed.

“I just saw them yesterday.” 

Okay, maybe that was a lie.

You shrugged it off, “Doesn’t matter. Come visit anyway.”

“I have other things to worry about,” Alexia grumbled with annoyance, turning around to assume her previous position.

“That’s not going to run away from you, Alexia. Come on.”

 Without letting her get another word in, you took her wrist in a gentle grip and tugged her away from her table. Although you had to admit, it was difficult not to remain unfazed when Alexia got like this, especially considering what she’s going through. Another part of your brain was saying the opposite; that it was because of what she’s going through that you had to intervene like this.

“Hey, wait! What are you doing?!” Alexia protested halfway down the stairs.

“Dragging you to my place, of course.”

“What about my things?”

“You have clothes there. Or, you can just wear my stuff.”

“But we have training!”

“It’s only a light session tomorrow.” 

“But—”

“Alexia.” 

You fixed a stern eye at her over your shoulder and she opened her mouth, as if to say something, before she shut it, sighing in defeat.

The both of you just made it down the stairs to see the front door swing open. Eli entered first, Alba trailing in after. At the sight of her family, Alexia strode to where they were to greet them; she kissed Eli on her temple, and Alba on top of her head.

“How’s Papá?”

Eli gave her daughter a small smile, but the skin around her eyes remained taut, weighed down by something inexplicably heavy. 

“He’s stable, love. The same as when you saw him this morning.” Eli’s gaze flicked to you. “Are you girls heading out?”

You nodded.

“I’ll be stealing away Alexia for the night. Is that okay?”

Eli smiled at you, “Of course.”

“We made some food for dinner. They’re on the stove top.”

“Oh, thank you, my girls.” Eli said, hugging you goodbye after you’d put on your shoes. Then she whispered in your ear, “Thank you.”

In response, you only hugged her tighter. Without meaning to, your eyes fleeted over to Alexia who was having a hushed conversation with Alba. By the end of it, Alexia embraced her little sister, placing another kiss atop her head only this time, Alexia’s brows were deeply creased. 

When you pulled away, you said, squeezing Eli’s hands. “Get some rest, Má. I’ll bring her back first thing after practice tomorrow.” 

And with that, you and Alexia headed out. 

The transit to your place was punctuated with a vacuous silence. Alexia sat beside you, less than an arm’s reach away, but her eyes were trained at somewhere far on the horizon; and she, even farther. But you let her be, there was plenty of time to talk later after all. 

By the time you got home, the lights were already off save for the small night light in the hallway so the both of you climbed the stairs on your toes, making sure to avoid that one creaky spot by the corner.

“You can clean up here, I’ll use the other shower. “ You said, jutting your chin to the direction of the shower. 

Alexia only nodded.

When you returned to your room, the bathroom was empty, a fresh glass of water stood by your night stand, and Alexia was nowhere to be seen. You were just about to head downstairs when she padded into your room with a towel draped over her head and a damp spot from her hair on a shirt you recognised to be yours. 

She must’ve seen the question in your eyes because she muttered, “Double-checked the door lock.”

You hummed as she walked past you, back into the bathroom, and you heard the tap run. 

“Thanks for the water,” you said while taking a sip from the glass she put there.

A sound of recognition came from Alexia.

When Alexia finally finished her business in the bathroom, hair slightly ruffled and almost dry, you were already settled in bed, the sheets on her side pulled off in silent invitation. But Alexia remained standing there, by the golden cast of your night lamp, looking a bit lost for reasons you understood.

Softly, you coaxed, “Hey.”

Alexia’s eyes flicked to you and your heart ached at the sight of them so dulled and weary. It took her another moment but she finally slid in next to you, the warmth of her finally arriving home and seeping into your bones. When her feet brushed over your legs as she shifted beside you, you joked with a hushed giggle to lighten the mood, “Get your cold feet away from me.” 

It worked because her lips quirked up slightly, eyes rolling in jest, but not a second later, her eyes dimmed again, and she looked away. You propped yourself up on your elbow to see her clearly but she refused to meet your eyes. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, you whispered, the words cracking under the weight of your emotion.

“Ale, talk to me.”

Silence.

A breath.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” came the hoarse reply.

Breathing deeply, you buried your fingers in her hair to try and soothe her. And again, you spoke in whispers. 

“You know, it’s okay to grieve about it, to be angry about it. You don’t have to be strong all the time, Alexia.”

Her eyes flashed with something red then and she growled.

“And what will grieving get me? The way through is forward and only forward. Do you think the world will stop to give you enough time to grieve? To be angry?”

She continued, each word exhaled with urgency. 

“No. The moment you stop, you will be left behind. And I can’t stop. Not now. Especially not now.”

“Having a moment for yourself isn’t stopping. You can’t expect yourself to go on like this forever. Sometimes, you have to do what’s good for yourself, Alexia.”

A scoff.

“It doesn’t matter what’s good for me. What I need is to get back to Barça. Then, and only then, will I feel at ease.”

“At the expense of what, then? Killing your passion for the sport by making it your duty?”

Alexia startled you when she ripped herself away from you, sitting up so abruptly that the headboard banged against the wall. And when she glared down at you, you found a look in her eyes similar to that of a desperate animal’s; a look where the distinction between fear and anger blurred into something wild. 

Then, through her teeth, she hissed in a low voice.

“It is my duty! It always has been. Don’t you see? It has always been more than a sport to me. It’s not the same for you and I don’t expect you to understand because you—”

She stopped herself, facing forward in an instant, pinching the bridge of her nose as she setted her arms over her folded knees. 

Slowly, you rose, and only the sound of sheets settling around your waist filled the air. This momentary reprieve was mainly for Alexia’s sake—she was overwhelmed, that was clear to see—but maybe you needed a moment yourself because what she said hurt you. Still, you soldiered on because this was for Alexia. 

She tensed upon your touch, her muscles rippled beneath your palm as you dragged it from the small of her back, tracing the contours of her spine to the nape of her neck, but by the time your hand finally settled on her opposite shoulder, some of the tension had melted away.

“No, you’re right, I don’t understand,” you began, voice strained. “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant in destroying yourself. This—this shutting your family out with what’s happening with you. Your mother is worried sick. She’s asking about how you are, Alexia, do you know that? Your own mother!” 

Alexia released a weary sigh and then said in an even wearier tone.

“She has no need to worry.”

You almost scoffed at that, but stopped yourself although you couldn’t help the severity that bled into your next words.

“How could she not when you’re working yourself to the bone? Tell me, how do you expect us not to worry?” 

Silence. Then the murmur of folding fabric when Alexia curled into herself, head buried in the arms folded over her knees. In that cavern of her own making, a ragged breath echoed, followed by the shuddering of muscles. You ached at the state of her, and there was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow. 

And barely above a whisper, you breathed, “You cannot carry the whole weight of the world by yourself. You’re not Atlas, Alexia. Let your family in.”

“Ale,” you tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Red eyes peered from the darkness of her arms and it broke you, but you had to plead, “Talk to me. Please…”

“I–I’m scared,” she choked out finally. “He’s getting worse. It’s the second attack this month and I—”

Her fingers dug into her arms when she tightened her grip.

“I thought winning the Copa de la Reina last year would give us enough exposure but it wasn’t enough. So, I wanted to do it again this season to prove that we belong in Barça but instead, we lost to them.” A ragged breath. “And now we’re going to Levante. I just–”

She looked up at you, lips quivering with a whimper, “I just want us to go home.”

“Oh, Alexia.” 

Without saying another word, you put your arms around her, forehead pressed close against her ear and the hitch in her breathing resounded loud and clear.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it, how far we seem from getting back?” Alexia’s back tensed in answer but you only hugged tighter. “But that’s not true at all.”

You felt Alexia lift her head and you moved away just enough to see how she eyed you with confusion. You gave her a small smile as you grazed your knuckles over her tear-stained cheek.

“On top of your club activities, your national performance has been nothing short of exemplary. Those matter. And with all the articles they’ve been writing about you, it’s only a matter of time now.” Brightening your tone a little, you added with a playful smile, “you probably won’t finish your season with Levante before Barça gets their hands on you.”

A corner of her lips lifted up upon your remark so you pushed on.

“I know it’s not the same as being in Barça, but what you’ve achieved so far has got to count for something, Alexia. Your father… he’s so, so proud of you.” Your tone shifted, now firm. “And I doubt he’d be happy to know that his daughter is pushing her body past the point of injury to get into Barça. You know your mother and sister have been covering your ass, right? Uh-huh, yeah, I thought so.”

“You need to let yourself breathe,” you kissed her temple, then her shoulder. When your eyes met again, you found a soft look in hers that reminded you of when you were younger. Smoothing her hair again, you asked, “Can you do that, Alexia? Not for us, but for yourself?”

Alexia regarded you for a long, silent moment. Then she closed her eyes, opened them a breath later, and nodded, her lips curling up to a sincere smile. In response, you couldn’t help but grin back at her.

Sensing that her mood had elevated, you placed one last kiss on her temple before you reached over her, towards the lamp to turn it off, leaving your room illuminated by the blue glow of the moon. Alexia needed no guidance to rest her head against your chest and immediately, you wrapped your arms around her. She sighed deep in the crook of your neck and you were filled with a sense of belonging—of wholeness.

Your eyes fluttered shut to the rhythm of  Alexia’s heartbeat pressed against your side.

“I’m sorry”, came the whisper.

“What for?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did, about you not understanding. That was wrong, and I know all of this means everything to you like the way it means everything to me.”

“I appreciate that, Alexia. Don’t worry about it.” 

“And I’m sorry for—”

“Ale,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss on her crown, “you don’t have to apologise for anything.”

A pause before a deep exhale heated up your neck.

“Thank you, then.”

You hummed, already halfway to dreaming. And with one last reassuring squeeze at her hip, you found yourself murmuring, “I got you. Good night, Ale.”

“Good night,” Alexia said with a kiss to your neck and you slept with a smile on your lips.

[4]

“Alexia! Can you please—Shit!” 

It was too late. 

The box on top of the one you were carrying slid and fell, and all you could do was cringe as it spilled all of your toiletries by the front door. 

“Oops, sorry.”

You turned to Alexia with a glare of slight annoyance, but when you saw her sheepish expression, with the corners of her mouth pulled down and an eye twisted to a flinch, you let it go. With a roll of your eyes and a slight shake of your head, you signaled for her to proceed ahead as you held the door open with your weight. Once inside, she settled her boxes down on the tiled floor, letting out a small grunt as she did so, before she took yours. 

You’d just finished picking up the toiletries when Alexia asked, “That’s the last of it, yes?”

Turning to face her, you saw her wipe the sweat off her temples before settling her hands on her hips. She scanned the would-be living room occupied by some stacks of boxes. Apart from the couch and mattresses, almost everything else needed to be unpacked and organised.

You placed the toiletries on the nearest counter and made a beeline for the couch. On your way, you patted her back and replied. 

“Yep. Just let me take five, and then we can open ‘em up.”

You face-planted on the couch with a groan, which then turned to a sigh not a second later. Those boxes took more from you than you’d anticipated, making the stiffness of the couch feel as soft as clouds to your bones. 

The strain from your eyes began to dissipate the moment your eyes fluttered shut, and you could feel the peace that awaited you in that velvet darkness when you were ripped back to wakefulness the moment a warm, crushing weight pressed onto your spine. 

Alexia had taken it upon herself to drape herself over you like you were the couch itself. 

“What—Alexia!” You yelped, “Get off me!” 

But of course, she did the exact opposite.

“Why? I was just getting comfortable,” Alexia deadpanned. 

She shifted on your back and she at least had the decency to prevent her elbows from digging into your back as she did. The next thing you knew, her front followed the curve of your back, blanketing you in her warmth, while her arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

Your heart thundered in your chest and you tried not to think too hard about it so you snorted out, “I hope you’re comfortable.”

“Since you asked, yes. I very much am, thank you.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

“I carried those boxes for you.” 

“You didn’t have to if you didn’t make me drop the toiletries.”

“I told you to tape up the box, but you didn’t listen to me, so whose fault is it exactly?”

You rolled your eyes. She was right, but you weren’t about to tell her that. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly right, yes.”

See? You didn’t have to tell her. 

You scoffed, “Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because you love me,” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone that made your heart jump. “Now shush. Let’s nap for a bit and then unpack.”

Alexia yawned, snuggling closer into you. If she heard the way your heart pounded, she didn’t comment on it. As you drifted into a warm slumber, there was weight that pressed against your chest—a realization of some sort—but about what, you didn’t know. 

Only after you woke to find Alexia had unpacked the boxes containing essential items and ordered a bag-full of takeaways; only after the both of you finished dining on paper plates, crossed-legged on the tiled, living room floor, laughing with your mouths full when Alexia made a mess of her food because of her inability to use chopsticks; only after Alexia found her Polaroid camera and took photos of the two of you, her arm slung casually over your shoulder, her lips pressed against your cheek. Then, and only then, did you recognise what that weight was for what it was. 

You knew then: you were utterly and irrevocably gone.

You were in love.

And you could only pray that the heat from your cheeks wouldn’t sell you out. 

[5]

With all the changes that came with moving shelters and clubs, there was no time to think about home. Between getting used to your new club schedules, being acquainted with your new coaches and teammates, and familiarising yourself with the local area, your mind had no energy left to ruminate by the end of the day. And the difference between staying over at Alexia’s—or vice versa—for a few nights and living under the same roof together for the foreseeable future became increasingly obvious as you settled in your apartment in Buñol. 

It was all new but the both of you managed and even somehow established a sort of routine. While you did most of the cooking and half of the cleaning, Alexia did the groceries and, thanks to her natural affinity for the sun—her words, not yours—she insisted on doing the laundry. You teased her about it but more often than not, her weather predictions proved accurate to the forecast, saving the both of you the trouble of dealing with damp clothes. 

But as routine fell into place, so did the yearning for home.

The thing about missing home was that it brought on a different kind of longing. It was the kind that burrowed deep, the kind that dug a gaping hole in your chest and left you at a loss for how to fill it. It provoked the desire to turn back the hands of time, live in a memory, and step back into a moment already gone by. 

Yes, there was a sense of freedom that came with living apart from your family, and sure the distance between Buñol and Mollet was only a three-hour drive or a five-hour train ride away. All of those things are true, but you’d be lying if you said being away from home didn’t feel heavy. 

No more was the comforting presence of your parents at hand nor the jovial company of Alexia’s family nearby; it was just you and Alexia.

And the world never felt bigger than it was now. 

You were lucky, though, to have Alexia with you. She was a piece of home that you took with you, and just having her by your side helped ease the ache somehow. But you have to admit, living with her brought on a different kind of pain. 

Ever since you realized just how deep your feelings for her ran, being around her had only gotten more difficult. Everything and everywhere reminded you of her, and everything she did would send a jolt to your heart that left you breathless. Something as simple as her running her fingers through her hair, or a small smile; a brush against your cheek, a hand against the small of your back—you were sure you were this close to going mad.

The intensity and frequency of these… stutters had only seemed to increase by the day, and frankly, it was beginning to scare you. That, and the questions that had been nagging you lately.

What would Alexia do if she found out that you liked her way more than a friend should? That you liked women? Could Alexia like women? She probably didn’t. She would hate you for this, wouldn’t she? What about your parents? How would you even go about telling them? Would they still love you? What if—

The sound of the key being slotted into the lock, followed by the opening and closing of the door cut your thoughts short. And then came a soft sound, barely audible.

“Alexia?” 

You called out but there was no response so you padded over to the living room. Just before the end of the corridor a small movement caught your eye. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips even if you tried.

“What—”

The kitten mewled softly again, rubbing itself against the beige tone of the walls as it took you in with those large, yellow eyes. Its coat looked bright and pristine, nearly as white as the petals of the tree heath flowers that bloomed at home in spring. The same flowers that filled the garden of your home with their sweetness. 

“Hey, there. How did you get in here?” You cooed, crouching slowly, before you reached out your hand towards the kitten. It took a cautious step back but you waited patiently, keeping your hand where it was. A moment later, it seemed to have found the courage, stepping forward tentatively to sniff at your finger, before it licked your knuckle. Then it ducked down, nuzzling its head against your palm, its eyes closing from the contact. 

Warmth flooded your chest and you whispered, “Oh, you’re so adorable!”

“She’s yours.”

Your eyes flicked up to find Alexia leaning her weight against the wall, her arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side; her eyes lidded with something you couldn’t quite recognise but you felt their warmth. The soft smile on her lips made her face look radiant and beneath her gaze, you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your cheeks.

As an excuse to hide your face, you dipped down your chin to pick the kitten who only yawned in response. 

“Mine?” You asked as you stood up and walked over to where Alexia was, stopping just an arm’s length away.

Alexia only hummed in agreement, her smile still as soft as ever.

At that, you reached and draped your free arm around her neck, whispering against her ear, “Thank you.”

She moved, finally, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“You’re welcome.” Her words, murmured though as they were, curled through the smile you knew she still wore and made their home in your heart. 

“What are you going to name her?” Alexia asked.

“Nona.”

“Nona?”

You hummed in confirmation. You pulled away just enough to make space to look at Nona, and you tried hard not to focus too much on how Alexia had settled her hands on your hips. 

“Mamá, Papá, me” you began, putting up a digit on your free hand as you listed each one, “You, Alba, Eli, Jaume, Guille…”

“And Nona,” Alexia finished for you, smiling down at Nona. Alexia met your eyes again.

“Your family of nine?”

“Mine,” you nodded, “And yours, too.” 

Alexia beamed down at you but then she scrunched her nose. 

“Does Guille need to be there?”

“Alexia!” 

[6]

It was raining when Alexia told you.

On a damp Monday night, a few months following your move to Levante—after the both of you found an apartment in Buñol, and after that fateful day of realisation—she said something that changed everything. 

Throughout the day, you couldn’t help but notice how strange Alexia was behaving. She’d twisted and fiddled with the hem of her jersey during today’s practice enough that she’d torn a hole through one spot. She’d twirled that loose lock of her hair so many times that you’d already lost count, and on the drive home, more than once, sped through a yellow sign. Even now, she was silent beside you as she helped cook the meal for you two tonight when usually, she would have gone over what happened at practice twice at this point. 

And at the rate she was going, she’d end up gnawing off the skin of her lower lip. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and clean up first?” You said as casually as you could, taking both of your plates off the table and moving towards the sink.

Alexia eyed you. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked. You caught a sight of her over your shoulder, sitting up, more alert than a second ago. 

“No, nothing. Why do you ask that?”

A pregnant pause.

“Because you normally let me help with the dishes.”

You shrugged, turning back to the sink. “Seriously, Alexia. It’s nothing. You just look tired. Now go so I can shower. We can put on AHS after.”

Another pause and then finally, you heard the scrape of her chair against the tiles.

“Alright,” she mumbled before her footsteps receded.

Much later, when you’d finished cleaning up and showered, the two of you wounded up on the couch, wrapped in each other with an episode of American Horror Story playing in the background. Alexia’s head was tucked in the crook of your neck while you played with a loose lock of her hair when you finally asked her.

“Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been worrying about all day, or should I keep pretending that I haven’t noticed?” 

You kept your tone light, almost teasing, because you had a feeling that whatever Alexia was about to say had weight to it. And surely enough, as soon as the question had left your mouth did Alexia stiffen against you and her breathing stilled. It took her another moment to pull away, untangling herself from you, before she reclined against the couch. 

Without so much as looking at you, she countered, “Could you hate me?”

The question jarred you and you couldn’t help but frown in confusion. What kind of question was that? You looked at her—searching for answers as to why she would ask such a thing—but Alexia kept her eyes fixed to the TV while the flashing images made shadows play on the smooth neutrality of her forehead and cheeks. You found no answer, so you replied truthfully. 

“No. Disappointed maybe, but hate? I can’t think of anything that would make me hate you.”

At that, her shoulders curled forward, arms crossing over her chest, and her chin dipped down so low it almost looked uncomfortable. 

She said softly, “Just think about it.”

Silence settled—heavily. 

You gnawed your lip, turning over everything in your head, as you tried desperately to come up with something. But nothing.

“Honestly, Alexia, unless you killed someone, I really can’t think of anything else.”

“I—” Alexia started but a choke cut off the rest of it. 

The sound came out so suddenly that it seemed to reverberate, bouncing off the walls and resounded loud in your ears. You sat up, alert, fully facing Alexia who now had her hands over her face, shielding her eyes from your view. She drew in a breath, and what she released was something shaky. 

You’d never seen her like this before, and you’d faced more than a handful of adversities together. What could possibly be making her hurt like this? Your gut twisted at the sight of her and you were filled with an overwhelming urge to take her in your arms. Instead, you settled for a light touch to her knee.

“Alexia,” you began softly, “What is it?”

Under the shield of her hand, you saw her lips quiver. Then a tear ran down her chin.

You ached at the sight but you remained silent.

“I’m—” Her lips twisted to a grimace. “I—I don’t know how it happened I just—”

Another pause.

“I like women.”

For a moment, the air stilled; almost like a vacuum had swallowed up all sounds. And then something swelled: blood rushed into your ears, and, as if life had broken a shell, a flood washed over you, filling each and every bone; and it felt a lot like hope. 

The raw sob that escaped Alexia’s throat broke you from your epiphany. She must’ve misunderstood your silence because now, she’d curled even further into herself, palms digging into her sockets. You shook yourself, mentally scolding yourself for getting distracted, before you moved closer to her.

“Oh, Alexia.” She flinched away when she felt your arms around her but you only clung tighter. “Thank you, Alexia, for trusting me with this. I want you to know that you don’t have to hide from me, that this doesn’t change anything no matter how that voice in your head might tell you otherwise. You’re still Alexia, and I—I love you all the same. I don’t hate you, I promise, and I won’t. I’ll always be here.”

When you whispered those words into her ear, she finally sagged into your embrace, turning her head so it rested, again, in the crook of your neck where she released a sob. This time, it sounded more from relief than from grief. 

There, on the couch, you held her until she fell asleep. 

“You know,” you whispered in the dark, tucking a lock of Alexia’s hair behind her ear long after she’d fallen asleep. Alexia didn’t stir, and you continued to no one in particular, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And there with your whole world in your arms, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to hope.

[7]

When you were seven, just a few months before you met Alexia, an idea dawned on you. Sick and tired of the kid’s pool, with its small and, if you were being honest, slightly unkempt water, the large one next door offered freedom—a tantalizing concept for a child. You stood at one end of that pool and found a face of determination reflected back at you. You were going to do it; you would swim across the length of the pool and make it to the other side. 

And then, you jumped in.

It took about a minute or two before your muscles started burning, hardening to a cramp with every stroke, and yet the other side didn’t look any closer. That was when it sank in; the pool was far too large. There was a brief moment when you gasped for air and remembered to swim towards the nearest edge, just like your father taught you, but by that point it was already too late.

Water rushed into your nose and mouth, bringing stinging hopelessness in their wake, clogging your throat with a muffling silence that stifled your scream.

Your father barely caught you in time.

Yes, you remembered all too well that burn in your lungs. 

If that pool was a frozen lake, what would drowning feel like? 

In Barcelona, the lakes never froze in winter. Even the westerly winds that brought the Atlantic squalls slithering under each door in the city in cold February weren’t enough to make the chill settle in. The only time your bones truly felt the bitter meaning of winter was when you’d gone to Norway to attend a relative’s funeral, and the occasion did nothing to lessen the cold. It was also the first time you’d ever stepped foot on ice, and the fear that lanced through you at the sound of the first crack—seemingly almost like a thunder out of the blue—left you rooted to the spot, fearful that a breath could put you under.

Waiting for death felt just like that; like walking on a slate of ice. 

And the aftermath? 

A drowning of a different kind.

Every phone call was a step on that thin slate of ice; every step a space closer to certainty, each one a crack on that fragile surface, another moment closer to a falling in. The thing was, death was as true as the ice giving way but no matter how inevitable the end may be, or how slow the unfurling of that mortal coil may seem, the force of the fall was no less devastating. The ice would shatter and there would be a split-second when you’d feel suspended, held by a single thread of hope for one last miracle—the only miracle that mattered—but there was no saving you from the freezing waters. 

And nobody ever told you about how quickly you would sink under; about how the cold would bite their way down to the bones while your blood sang that familiar rhythm of life, a bitter reminder of the clear division between past and present—the antecedent and the aftermath; and just how painful it would be to be stuck in-between remembering what once was and what could have been.

In that space, in that frigid depth, no amount of screaming nor air could prevent you from drowning. Without the arms of a father to save you, how could you not drown?

And the worst part?

There was no bottom to grief; you either float or sink in that frozen lake.

And Alexia sank. 

[8]

Days passed, weeks, then months; the world kept turning. Life demanded you to be present and compelled you to move forward like everyone else. And yet still, even after changing everything in its wake, grief lingered as it always did. 

There were still times when you’d catch Alexia turn from every mirror, eyes casted down almost out of fear of what she’d see. How could you look at your reflection when every bit of skin there held the reminders of what you’d lost? Every reminder brought with it a memory, and what were memories if not a mouth full of teeth? It was a mouth that took every opportunity to bare its teeth, to gnaw at that hole in your chest until the edges were raw again—like they never healed to begin with. Again and again, it bit; its teeth, painting themselves red.

But if anything could transcend time itself, it was the resilience of the human spirit. Even if her father was never far from her mind, Alexia pressed forward; now for two hearts instead of one. 

Winter ended finally, and the sun rose again. And when summer arrived, so did the news. 

“Llorens spoke with me today,” Alexia spoke over the running of the tap. You looked at her over your shoulder, she was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. She said the next part in a tone so soft that you barely caught it.

“He said… They asked me to rejoin Barça.”

Your eyes widened and it only took you a moment before you ran to her, wrapping your arms around Alexia’s neck, while Alexia returned the embrace by putting her arms around your waist. 

“Holy shit, Alexia! That’s amazing!” You practically screamed into her ear. Pulling away to look at her, you found pride shining in her eyes but for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, there was a weight that burdened the corners of her lips. You knew just how much this meant to her, getting back into Barça, and it worried you that she wasn’t celebrating like you’d expected her to.

You asked gently, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

At that, she sighed heavily, tightening her hold around your waist as she did. She gnawed at her lower lip, brows creasing.

“You haven’t heard anything from them?”

“No,” you admitted, ignoring the twinge in your chest. “It doesn’t matter, Alexia. This is your opportunity to go back. When are you due to leave?”

“I—I told them I’d get back to them tomorrow.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“What! Alexia, what’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Finally, you recognised what it was that was casting its familiar shadows in her eyes: worry. Although you were grateful that she was, it was completely unnecessary and borderline irrational. She shouldn’t throw away what she worked hard for because you couldn’t perform at the same level, and no way in hell would you let her feel bad for your own inadequacy. 

You took her face into your hands, looking into her eyes as you enunciated each word slowly.

“Alexia, listen to me. You will meet with Llorens first thing tomorrow, and you will put that pen to paper, do you hear me? And then you will leave Levante without me—” when she opened her mouth, as if to protest, you pressed a finger to her lips. “You will leave Levante without me, and you will play for Barça come this season. There are no ‘buts’ here, Alexia. You have to do this. You owe yourself that much.”

Alexia remained quiet but she looked at you with large eyes that made your heart ache the way it always did for her. 

And then, “What about you?”

“I will work twice as hard. And I will meet you there,” you whispered, losing yourself in the depth of her eyes. “I promise.”

Alexia nodded and slowly, a smile made its way onto her lips.

“You better.” She mumbled. Then she added playfully, “Now get your hands off of my face, you’ve made it all wet.”

You flashed her a devilish grin before you wiped one of your hands down her face. 

[9]

It wasn’t until a month after your first game with Barça that you saw Diana again. 

With her line of work, it was no surprise that she was an incredibly busy person. That meant her stays in Barcelona were brief enough that she couldn’t make it to any friendly hangouts the way your other friends’ partners could, only ever having the time for Alexia which was the most important thing. So when Alexia messaged the group chat last night that she and Diana would be lunching with you, Patri, Tori, and Mapi today, everyone received the news with barely hidden enthusiasm. 

And this was how you found yourself sitting at the head of the table with Patri sitting on the other end, Alexia and Diana to your left with Alexia’s arm draped casually over the back of Diana’s chair, while Mapi and Tori sat to your right. As you all waited for your food to arrive, you engaged in a light and friendly conversation. Mapi and Tori were a lethal duo when it came to jokes, almost having all of you keel over from laughter, causing the eyes of the other patrons in the restaurant to flit to your table, and you were sure you saw barely hidden amusement on the face of the waiter that served you. 

Lunch was going well—for your part especially—with all things considered. So you took this time to appreciate Alexia and Diana together just like this because you never got the chance to. And it was clear that the both of them made quite the pair; so beautiful that they almost looked untouchable. They kept their displays of affection sparse and yet the smallest of gestures held a thousand words. In Diana’s presence, Alexia seemed so happy and she had an air about her so light she was almost like the sun. 

You couldn’t help it, you smiled at the sight. Seeing Alexia like this was enough for you, and you knew this. She deserved this. If only Patri could stop eyeing you with worry, you could keep pretending that twinge in your chest didn’t exist. 

Everything was going well, but the universe—as it seemed to become accustomed to lately—was adamant to prove you wrong. Or, maybe you should’ve just crushed your feelings under foot once and for all. It was when the food arrived that things took a turn for the worse. 

When the last dish was delivered by the waiter, Tori, Patri, and Diana fell in a conversation. Mapi, you spied, was not so subtly texting someone beneath the table—Ingrid, you guessed, by the way her eyes shone and her nose crinkled in delight. Alexia on the other hand was left to fend for herself… against her food. 

After all this time, Alexia still couldn’t eat properly with chopsticks. It was definitely the bulkness of her hands that made her clumsy with the delicate tools; you’d told her as much before. You bit your tongue before you could tell her that again. Instead, you teased her.

“Are you playing with your food?”

Alexia glared at you but still, color rose to her cheeks as she grumbled. 

“Shut up. You know using these things is difficult for me.”

“Stop sulking. Besides, I already taught you before.” You rolled your eyes. Then you instructed, “Open your palm.”

She pouted but she did what you asked anyway.

“Your hands are too big so you have to hold them at the very end. Let the bottom one rest in the crook of your thumb, yes, that’s it. And hold the top like you’re writing with a pen. Loosen up a bit, you’re too tense.”

You adjusted the placement of the chopsticks slightly, “Just close your thumb over the sticks and move your—That’s it! You got it, you got it.”

With a triumphant smile, Alexia finally succeeded at her attempt to pick up her food. And when her smile curled over the food she put in her mouth, a warmth flooded the cavity of your chest. The sparkle in her eyes just then somehow made you feel like a teenager again. 

You didn’t know what it was that drew your attention to her, but your gaze flitted over to Diana. You weren’t sure what you expected; maybe that she was still talking with Patri or Tori… only she wasn’t. She was staring at you with a face set in a stoicism so neutral—her lips drawn to a careful line—that you had this unsettling feeling that she was everything but impassive. Her eyes betrayed her the most: they were sharp, barely narrowed, and there was an attentiveness in them that made you feel transparent—exposed—as if she could see right through you; as if she’d found something. 

A chill ran through you, and you shuddered internally.

Quickly, you averted your eyes back down to your meal. Developing an excessive interest in your food, you receded into yourself and tried to school your face to what you hope was impartial nonchalance. A little later when you finally felt brave enough to chance a look at Diana, you saw her talking to Patri and Tori again, laughing and smiling as if the moment between the two of you never happened.

You relaxed and you found breathing easy again. 

Maybe you were just being paranoid.

But really, you should’ve known better.

[10]

Time, with its infamous predisposition to fly, had snuck up on you. 

A blink of an eye found you stepping out of a plane in the middle of August and the next thing you knew, December only had days to breathe. Ending the year at the top of La Liga, together with your clean sheets, was nothing short of a relief. It was a testament to how you’ve integrated yourself with the team so far, but you knew enough that this shouldn’t call for complacency. In fact, it demanded the opposite; you needed to work harder especially with the match against Lyon looming closer in the horizon. 

For now though, rest was due. 

Most of your teammates had either flown themselves home or somewhere far warmer than Barcelona’s dropping temperature. For those who stayed, like you, you needed to find a way to amuse yourselves without freezing. Tonight, it seemed that the club was the unanimous choice: what better way to stay warm and have fun than to get drunk and dance? 

That was how you found yourself under flashing lights nursing your own glass while you watched the rest of your team get their freaks on from the bar. You knew Patri was already four shots down—you all had only been here an hour; Mapi and Ingrid were getting a little too cozy in a secluded corner, which you couldn’t fault them for since it was Ingrid’s last day in the city before she had to go home; Alexia had vanished with Diana to do who knew what, while Aitana and Ona were losing it on the dance floor. 

Aitana and Ona spotted you hanging out at the bar so they began to wave you over with enthusiasm. You shook your head at the display, smiling, and made to move off the counter you were leaning on when a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. But before you could turn to see who it was, a familiar voice pierced through the music. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Standing behind you was a woman; the stewardess that ushered you off your plane. Out of her work clothes and the dull setting of a plane, her beauty shone through untarnished. Gone was the sleek hairdo and instead, she’d opted to leave her hair down. Her short hair barely grazed her collarbones, you noted, and as you traced their outline, you found the piercing in her sternum glinting in silent invitation. She was wearing a simple black dress that revealed just enough of her chest to entice, the thin fabric of it accentuating the curves of her waist, and it stopped just halfway down the length of her thighs to reveal the intricate lines of floral tattoos on her side. 

Finally catching yourself, you tore your eyes away and found her gaze. What you found reflected in them was amusement and you tried to stop your cheeks from burning. 

As casually as you could, you said, “Oh, hey, it’s you. I… actually never caught your name.”

“Micah,” she replied, extending out a hand. You took it as you told her yours. She leaned on the bar, waved the bartender over who gave her the drink she asked for, and took a sip. Then she turned back to you. 

“You know, I never expected to see you again. And in a gay club, of all places.”

“Why not a gay club?” You asked with a small laugh.

She shrugged, one corner of her mouth quirking up almost sheepishly.

“I may have searched your name up after I met you. No history of relationships, just multiple pictures of you with the same guy. I thought he’s your boyfriend, so.”

“Is it a guy with curly hair?”

“Yeah.”

At that you let out another small laugh.

“That’s Guille, my best friend. He’s like a brother.”

“Oh.” Micah’s cheeks flushed. 

You gave her a grin, “Yeah. But just to clarify, I am, in fact, into women. Exclusively.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Micah’s demeanour shifted, eyes now smouldering. The change affected you in ways you didn’t anticipate and with your slight height over her, it became difficult to keep your eyes where they should be, especially when the silver glint of her piercing tempted your eyes downwards. But just as the alcohol had thinned your blood, your self-control frayed all the same; your eyes roamed down to her cleavage which you admired briefly, before you met her gaze again.

That seemed to be the signal Micah was looking for because she stepped into your space, her drink now sitting forgotten on the counter. She dragged her fingers up your arm, all the way to your exposed collarbone where she traced the skin there while she watched you with dark eyes, her plump lip between her teeth. 

You shivered; she was so close now that the heat of her body washed over you. 

“Really? Prove it, then.” Micah whispered, ghosting her lips over yours.

You leaned forward when she pulled back slightly, as if magnetized to her lips. Then you asked, “How?”

“Dance with me.”

She dragged you to the dancefloor and you let yourself be swept away in the sea of bodies moving to the same rhythm. And then the both of you danced, her body against yours, your hands tracing her outlines as you pulled her closer as she did the same to you. 

Time blurred into a singularity after that but it existed again when, at one point, Micah took your cheek into her palm to pull you down for a kiss. Her lips were searing hot when they branded yours that you couldn’t help but gasp and moan into them, a sound which Micah gladly swallowed. 

It had been a while since you’d been touched and you didn’t realise just how much you missed it: the skim of skin over skin, the languidness of your blood turning to molten rush; how you missed the deprivation of air from your lungs and the delicious ache that came with it. And how you missed touching another. Your hands sought the exposed skin of her back, relishing the softness beneath your palms as you settled them there, respectfully just above her ass, to pull her in, flushed to your body.

She sighed and she looped her arms around your neck; deeper, hotter.

And in the heat, you lost yourself. 

You couldn’t remember how the both of you made it to your apartment, only that she ended up on top of you, head between your legs as you gasped out her name in the dark. And when she braced herself against her elbow, her other hand working you over the edge once more, you couldn’t help but note how beautiful she was with her curtain of brown hair, her lips slightly parted, eyes shining in the dark.

And when you came on her fingers with her lips on yours, you had a nagging feeling that this felt a lot like when you were nineteen. 

[11]

Clutching your head, you tried to soothe the remnants of your hangover as you headed over the door. You squinted at the light that shone through when you opened it and when the blob in front of you assumed a semblance of familiarity, you croaked out a question.

“Alexia? What’re you doing here?”

“Wow, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” Alexia teased but when you glared at her, she finally answered your question. She lifted her hand and that was when you noticed what she was holding. “Got your jacket. You left it at the club last night.”

You blinked at her, eyes still squinted, and enunciated each word slowly. “You drove all the way here. To drop off my jacket.”

She nodded.

“And you couldn’t have waited until dinner tonight?”

“Nope. The jacket was of utmost priority, obviously. Second priority, of course, is to check that you haven’t dropped dead yet. Third, to make sure you show up at dinner on time.” Alexia stepped back and gave you a once-over. “And by the looks of it, you need more than just a check up.” 

“Fuck you.” 

At that, her brows only creased as she threw her head back to laugh. 

“Rough morning, huh?” 

“I’m glad you find my hangover amusing.” You grunted, turning to shuffle back into the kitchen to make the coffee you were about to prepare before a clown interrupted you. “Close the door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Okay, Grumpy.” Alexia said behind you and you heard the door close. A rustle of fabric, and then, “Go drink some water and maybe then you can actually hold a conversation.”

You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see your face. 

“Shut up. I’ve only been awake for an hour.” 

“Sure.” Alexia dragged out her answer like she believed what you just said—she didn’t.

You turned on the coffee machine and pressed the button for a double shot. The sound of whirring filled the air.

“You want some coffee?” You asked, looking at Alexia over your shoulder who you found was not-so-subtly craning her neck to look down the hall. When she saw you looking at her, Alexia flashed you a questioning look.

“Are we alone or… ?” Alexia trailed off but before she could finish the question, you nodded. She walked to the counter and picked an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Oh, okay, good. And no, thanks, I already had a shot before I left home this morning.” 

You returned to your coffee, placing the cup aside so you could prepare the milk. 

Beside you, you heard the running of the tap and then a rustling of clothes followed by a slight thump. From the corner of your eye, you spied Alexia leaning against the counter. 

You just finished pouring the milk into your cup when you heard Alexia hum before the unmistakable bite to the flesh of an apple. Lifting the cup, you took a sip and welcomed the bitterness of caffeine on your tongue. 

“You know,” Alexia started, “you never told me you liked women.”

You froze. 

The lingering euphoria from last night—along with the excitement from Micah’s proposal for a next time when she left early this morning—immediately vanished. There was something about the nonchalant way that Alexia got you; it cut you deep. And the wounds you thought were long healed now bled through their stitches. A dot of coffee stained the white countertop, followed by another, and before your cup slipped from your grip, you put it down and pressed your shaking hands flat on the countertop. 

“What?” Your tone was tame but you were everything but. Pressure rose in your veins because how dared she. How dared she.

“I’m not mad or anything, I’m just surprised that’s all.” Alexia laughed lightly but the sound grated at your ears. 

“Was that a recent development? Did you find that out in the States?” Then she continued with a bit of guilt seeping through her voice. “If you found out before you moved to Angel City, I hope I never made you feel as though you couldn’t share that with me. And if I did, then I’m—”

“Please, don’t insult me, Alexia.”

As if finally detecting the ice in your tone, you saw her head turn towards you from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to look at her. 

 “I’m not insulting you. It’s just–I’m a terrible friend for never seeing the signs and that I couldn’t be there for you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scoffed but it sounded more like a choked sob than anything. The world blurred before you and you watched as your tears mixed with the coffee stains on the counter. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Came Alexia’s concerned voice before you heard a rustling of clothes, and then the touch to your shoulder. The reaction of your body was visceral: you stumbled back as you slapped her hand away as if she’d burnt you.

“Don’t touch me!” Heat pricked around the skin where she’d touch you, and you felt as if something was crawling beneath. “Get out.”

“What?”

Finally, you looked her in the eye and the force of the movement made your tears fall. Alexia stood there frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide and brows knotted in horror. You couldn’t care less; looking at her hurt and you wanted her out of your apartment—now. 

“I said leave.”

Alexia ran a frustrated hand through her hair and she pleaded, “Tell me what I did!”

“Get out, Alexia!” 

She opened her mouth, stopped midway, and finally shook her head. With one last look at you, she turned for the door but before she stepped out, she turned back to you. She sighed then said in a small voice.

“I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry anyway. I… I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, the door closed. At the click of the lock, you slid down to the floor; your back against the surface of the cabinets with Alexia’s half-eaten apple by your feet. 

She really did forget, didn’t she? And you were the only one who remembered because between the two of you, it was only you who cared enough to latch onto the memory. She didn’t care, and you doubted she ever did to begin with. Why did you think otherwise? Why?

Your face fell into your hands, and you sobbed. 

Stupid.

You were so fucking stupid. 

[girl-lostconnection]

Little angst to sprinkle, but Helldiver!Reader who are tired.

God, you are so fucking tired. None of this matters, none of this makes any fucking sense at this point.

You climbed the ranks and you did your due and you paid in blood and flesh and chips of your own sanity. You gave and you gave and you gave.

You trained new cadets, explaining the terminals and heavy nests and fortresses. You have been everywhere command allows space jumps to.

Your ship a big menacing thing, a blade forever suspended in the vast cosmic nothing. Weightless and creaking whenever you have to engage orbital thrusters, chief engineer muttering something under their breath. You never ask what. Engineers can have their superstitions.

You can’t afford to have any.

You can’t afford much at all nowadays, prices biting harder than they ever did, missions deadlier.

You have less and less divers with each year — numbers of your branch diminishing quickly. Frankly, you don’t blame them.

Average age of Helldivers is 18 to 22 years old.

Average survival time out in the field — less than half a minute.

Even with all the propaganda and enlistment perks command simply cannot supply new meat to the frontlines. There is simply no more new meat.

Conditions get worse for rookies, their chances of survival dropping through the crust of the earth. At least when you were starting out you still had a med bay.

At least you managed to scramble some manuals for proper ammunition assembling.

You drag yourself onto the ship, steps heavy and tired — there are black spots in your vision, your head is swimming and you are pretty sure you no longer have anything in your stomach.

Bloody stims devour any available energy source to power your body through the life-threatening injuries.

No wonder you are still limping. Your mind doesn’t understand why the leg that got torn off is in place again.

You don’t really notice Price chatting up your chief administrator when you drag yourself in — bloody and tired, limbs so heavy it’s a miracle you are still standing.

But you can’t call it a day, there are three more missions. Then you can rest.

There are black spots swimming in your vision, you are lightheaded and nauseous, stomach aching — it clenches around nothing, trying to dissolve the food that isn’t there anymore.

You whip out the stim you didn’t dispose after the last mission, needle sliding in your thigh with practiced ease. Your body filling with energy, your vision brighter.

You can finally fucking think again.

There is a heavy silence you don’t notice immediately, too high on the endorphins stims bring. Pain free for the next two minutes or so.

“Captain?”, Price is hovering just behind your shoulder, your fingers twitching around the base of your secondary weapon — you are jumpy straight out of the mission. Automatons start looking like people after too long.

Down on Chort-Bay is hell likes of which you haven’t seen before.

You are not looking forward to jumping down there again. But duty calls, right? No one else would do that. No one is on the orbit right now but you.

“Captain”, you hum, eyes flickering to him for a moment. You have to wipe the visor of your helmet to properly see him — one of the diver’s got blown up on a landmine, his blood is still on your armour.

You don’t have time to wash it off. Not if you want to finish mission before you will need to be up for the next order.

“I noticed…the syringe.”, Price starts after prolonged silence, brows furrowing as he watches you. Eyes the softest blue you ever saw. The summer sky.

You remember the one you saw back at home. The time before helldiving now feels like a feeble attempt of your imagination to cushion the fall from the height of your exhaustion. The time before helldiving feels nowadays like a fairytale.

“Didn’t know you were sick”, he continues and you chuckle, typing in your coordinates. It’s cute that he worries about your health, though understandable. You are still alive and therefore a valuable asset to the command.

“Not sick. Just fucking tired out of my mind. We get a shit ton of stims with every resupply. Probably the only thing we get for free”, your laugh is a dry static-y thing, distorted from helmet, coming out of dynamics in your helmet feeling wrong and twisted.

But Price looks at you now like you have three heads and you try to explain. Perhaps SAS don’t get any of these. Though not like they need the thing, they got actual medics ready to stitch them up as needed.

They got off days and luxuries you cannot afford.

God, you might consider marrying on one of these days. Purely for tax benefits.

“Stims are used to patch us up on the go. Don’t have a whole lotta time to waste. We use them sometimes as energisers as well. A tired soldier is a sloppy soldier and a sloppy soldier is a dead one”, you say, brain fog finally lifting, god, this is good.

“Wouldn’t that constitute addiction with how often soldiers use it?”, John is a heavy stare and deep frown in the line of his mouth, his eyes the prettiest summer sky. “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

You shrug, checking your gear before getting yourself in the pod and locking your ankles in place.

“Command told us they had scientists test drive the things and they aren’t addictive. Honestly I don’t know much, Captain. You might wanna ask someone with actual degree about the stuff”

You salute him for the road and then the pod slides you down, all ready to go.

Down there hell awaits. Down there torn off limb is the least that could happen.

Down there you could use any help you can get.

Price watches you getting launched down the orbit and turns away, tension coiling in his shoulders.

Price whisks away one of the stim vials, hiding the thing in the pocket and walking away. He will need to have someone check the bloody thing.

There is no way godsend ambrosia that cures torn off limbs and massive bleeding is not addictive.

John remembers the way your whole body buzzed with energy from the moment you pushed it in. Like there was no more pain, no more exhaustion, no more fear.

Like you were high.

And that’s for sure that sloppy soldier is a dead one. But so is the drugged out one. So is you, if his suspension is right.

[daechwitatamic]

Cinnamon || KMG {teaser} - coming Feb. 7!

(banner by @sailorsoons)

Written for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab!

Cinnamon mingyu x fem!reader (nicknamed Sunny for Reasons), reader x male oc for a while fluff smut angst best friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, idiots to lovers all apply NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You finally decide to try and move on after years of waiting for Mingyu to return your feelings. But when you start bringing your new boyfriend around more often, things with Mingyu get... difficult.

WC: 19k teaser wc: 900

Warnings: language, recreational drinking and overdrinking, a brief mention of throwing up from a hangover, angst and hurt feelings, not miscommunication but definitely refusal to communicate, kissing (some with mg and some with a male oc), arguments, reader and mingyu are both imperfect people who make mistakes and do things wrong... theyre not bad or toxic people but their choices can be hurtful... theyre humans who mess up have to just do better going forward, quick and prosey piv smut

teaser warnings: language, angst, drunkenness

a/n: beta'd by @sailorsoons and @eoieopda smooch smooch love yall

--

Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothing else exists - in his wake.

“You better watch out, Mingyu,” Jeonghan says from the couch, and your blood runs as cold as that field of ice, because you know he’s about to start some shit. “Sunny got flowers from her lover today. That guy’s coming for your woman.”

You’re opening your mouth to reprimand him - tell him to shut up, or something - but Mingyu beats you to it.

“Sunny’s not mine,” he says simply. 

All that ice evaporates in an instant like it was never there.

“My lover,” you echo with a frown, when you can speak again. “Don’t say it like that, you weirdo.”

“Well, isn’t he?” Jeonghan asks innocently.

You head for your bedroom with a roll of your eyes. “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“That means yes,” he sing-songs, and you slam your door shut.

Wonwoo’s voice floats through the door. “Who pissed off Sunshine?”

Mingyu responds with a growl, “Who do you think?”

–

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unspooling with cricket song and a smattering of flickering stars above you. His arm touches yours and you can feel his chest shift as he breathes deeply.

You feel content - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those blinking stars. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your light goes out, just like theirs. 

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek. 

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You startle awake, heart pounding, and you’re immediately furious. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, punching your mattress once. 

The pathetic truth is you dream about that night in undergrad all the time - you and Mingyu on one of the last nights before summer break, leaving a party together and laying in the grass behind the advising department building watching the constellations rotate above you. 

The pathetic truth is the dream never follows the script, always turning the scene sideways, making it something different than what it was.

The pathetic truth is that Mingyu had been blacked out, more fucked up than you’d ever seen him, and you’d laid in the grass because you physically couldn’t keep him upright any further than that and you’d had to text Wonwoo to come help you. 

You hadn’t said anything to Mingyu - at least not something meaningful. You might have said please don’t puke on me, or god, you weigh a ton, or how many jaegerbombs did you do? 

He had said he loved you - had slurred it, eyes closed. 

You had laughed, even though it had sent a dagger through your chest. “Okay, Romeo,” you’d teased, and checked your phone to see if Wonwoo was on his way to help. 

“I do,” he’d insisted, one hand patting the grass next to him like he was trying to find you. “Sunny, I love you.”

You didn’t know how he meant it - still don’t know, to this day, because you don’t think he even remembers saying it and you’d been too afraid to bring it up.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, when you were blacked out last night, you said you love me… do you mean like… platonically… or…? 

God. The idea of it is just as humiliating now, years later, as it had been in the weeks that followed that night. And though he’s said it regularly since then, he never said it like that, and you never pushed it. 

Now, awake and furious and sad at three in the morning, you grab your phone and climb out of bed. 

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s only making this worse for you. But you make your way on light steps through the dark and silent apartment to Mingyu’s door and push it open.

Is it mithridatism, this thing you do? Microdosing on the poison so that a full dose won’t kill you? No, that isn’t right. A full dose of Mingyu won't kill you. It’s an absence of Mingyu that you need protection from.

You climb into his bed and poke at his calves with your toes until he grunts as he wakes. Then, as he gathers his senses, he rolls to look at you over his shoulder.

“Bad dream?” he asks, voice kind of breathy with sleep.

“Mhm.”

He rolls the rest of the way, lifts his arm so you can scoot a little closer. You breathe easier immediately. It makes no sense that the thing that hurts you is also the only thing that makes you feel better. 

“Won’t your lover object to you getting in bed with me?” he asks, and you can hear the edge in his voice as clear as day.

You let out a single, wry ha. He’s got a point, but Daeyoung isn’t your boyfriend, you aren’t exclusive, and what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Nah,” you say easily. “I’m not his.”

--

Welcoming to the world the fic I have lovingly dubbed Cinnamingyu!!! Coming Friday, February 7th!!!

[moanz111]

i stumbled upon this while scrolling and it's such a well-written post that i just had to share my thought on this too!

first of all, i've been a fanfic reader since i was very young so i know what it feels like to be on the other side. i've been anxious and nervous to reblog or write comments and have never even thought of messaging the authors i read and liked just because i was terrified of being perceived. but trust me, writers are so incredibly grateful for every little interaction they get. i know it can be nerve wracking but you will never be judged for what you have to say! every single piece of feedback and opinion i get means the whole world to me and every time i get a comment, a reblog or an ask makes me so happy, it seriously makes my whole day.

i've been on the writer side since summer 2023 and a couple of months ago i came back after an extremely long hiatus and was so scared and worried because almost a year had passed since i had last promised updates yet i had failed to come back due to many reasons. but then i saw that people still cared and even though i lost most of my readers from back when i first started writing, i was so happy to see that new people were getting interested and were actually willing to talk to me and share their feedbacks. so thank you, to those who have been doing that <3

i don't judge people who decide to stay silent but trust me, there's nothing to fear! writers don't bite, we're human too so of course, naturally we thrive off interactions too, just like anyone else. there isn't a barrier between the two groups - all of us are fans of the same things and share the same interests, this is always a two way relationship.

writing is my hobby and something i like doing but sometimes the silence is killing me especially after coming back from a hiatus 😭 i don't write for notes, i do it for my own enjoyment but still, hearing something nice about your works always feels good and validating!

and about the genres - i see too what's more read and what's popular but it's so sad to hear that authors force themselves to write something that they don't originally really want to just to have someone read their stories. every story is worth giving a chance and authors shouldn't be required to fit themselves into certain boxes just so people pay attention. no one can be forced to read anything of course but my whole point is to be kind to authors and give them a chance because sometimes you can find such gems when you least expect it.

of course, there will always be genres that are more generally liked but we need diversity too so please, writers do what you want and what you love - the right people will appreciate it.

and on that note...i've been mostly writing smaus/texts so i feel like like sometimes it's even harder to get feedback and i think these are not as read as before but i still think it's worth keeping even this genre alive just because it's so fun (at least to me).

i just hope our community here stays alive for longer and starts thriving because it's so sad to see so many people leave :(

just be brave, interact and encourage others to do so too! support your favourite writers because they all are amazing and deserve all the love in this world!

to a dying? atinyblr

i don't usually speak about these things, but a lot of blogs (amazing writers) are leaving this platform or taking time off bc of lack of engagement which serves as a big demotivating factor. especially and specifically in this atiny fandom, some things have come to my attention and i just want all readers and writers to take a look at this post and refresh some reading and writing etiquettes, as well as revive the essence of being a part of this fandom.

feedback:

i understand that there are a lot of silent readers on here, but since tumblr is dying and our fandom is not very huge, the least you can do to show the writers some support is like the post. 

which brings me to the point that the like function didn't even exist in the past. this site still runs on reblogs. as readers, to show your favourite writers some semblance of support, you should be reblogging with tags. a simple ‘#ateez x reader’ or ‘#ateez fics’ is enough. it's literally not asking for much– reblogs are the only way writers can get reach.

if you cannot do that bc of your blog's aesthetic or whatever, side blogs exist. if you still cannot do that, a simple anon ask appreciating the writer sometimes saves them.

also, what has happened to the quality of reblogs? readers consume years of writers’ work and efforts in mere hours and don’t even leave any feedback? art in general in all forms is very underappreciated and with all sorts of problems like plagiarism, ai writing and everything, true art and writing is dying and needs to be appreciated now more than ever. we’re literally the last generation witnessing ai take over in all fields of arts. appreciate content creators before it’s too late, don’t be a content glutton!

updates and requests:

asking writers for updates when they specifically mention that they would prefer posting at their pace is wrong for so many reasons– we all have a real life. you, the reader, do too. just like you don't always have time to read, writers don't always have time to write. do you ever see the writers asking their readers 'why have you not read my latest chapter?' 

most of the times, writers mention in their bio/faq post or elsewhere that they do mind being asked about updates. respect your writers, please, and do a little scroll before you send such demanding asks (also, sugarcoating when asking for updates does not make it any better!)

if you are only asking about updates, it demotivates a lot of writers bc these same people will disappear when it is time for feedback. writing is a form of art. we can write, artists can paint, musicians can compose music, but all of it has no meaning unless it is shared with an audience and appreciated. readers are just as important as the writers but there is no way of knowing fics are valued unless feedback is given.

the same goes for requests. you can only send a request when the requests are open, which is usually mentioned in the writer’s bio/faq post. it’s literally not that hard to check if requests are open and it’s basic decency to not send a request when the writers specifically mention that requests are closed. when sending a request, please be courteous. a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ are examples of being courteous when sending requests.

the fanfics in atinyblr:

i understand that you can read whatever you like, but why is it that in the atiny fandom, fics that do not contain smut hardly ever get attention? as a writer, i enjoy writing and reading smut, and while i am not specifically a smut blog, i have noticed how fics containing smut get far more reach than fics that do not contain smut– not just in my case, but other amazing writers as well. 

there are such amazing fictions in this fandom. all fics are crafted with dedication and care, yet stories without smut often get sidelined. writers are not able to express themselves in their writing freely anymore and they simply conform to a genre they know readers will consume, as they are forced to consider adding smut to their stories so they can get more reach in this fandom. i have heard accounts from a lot of writers who were inclined to add smut to an otherwise smut-free fic just for reach.

this is by no means hate to the smut writers. i am also not placing blame on them. smut drabbles have always been in this fandom, and there are amazing smut writers out there, doing their thing. it is the readers here who are failing the writers. readers are quick to talk about the lack of ‘good fics’ or ‘plot’ yet will not even bother searching for these works. there used to be a good balance and appreciation for all genres alike.

i know that smut is what's hot and trendy these days, and drabbles in general, no matter the genre, are easier to read when you want to take a short break. but there is such a lack of longfics in this fandom, especially as of lately, and as someone who has personally witnessed the ratio of longfics decrease exponentially, i felt the need to point this out. appreciate all writers! appreciate all genres! longfic writers need as much validation and encouragement as drabble writers, and vice versa! don't be too harsh on longfic writers for not pumping out fics at the same speed as shortfic writers.

and on that note, smut drabble writers experience a lack of quality feedback despite the high engagement, so readers, please don't hesitate to point out exactly what you liked about a fic, even if it's a short drabble! be kind to those writers, give them time to write and be kind when sending requests! they may post more often but they, too, have a life.

tags:

this is specifically for the people who will post a very normal picture of a member, no caption, but tag it something like #ateez smut, #ateez hard hours, #ateez x reader. and for the people who tag their asks with irrelevant tags– literally learn to tag your post properly, and stop crowding the wrong tags. you're just proving the point that if you don't tag a post with the smut tag or something similar, it won't get reach. if you've posted with a caption, that makes sense (though it still doesn't warrant some of the tags being used there).

as for writers, also learn to use your tags appropriately. fics that do not contain smut should not be tagged with smut related tags. believe in yourself. i get that there is the problem of reach but do not overcrowd tags with irrelevant material.

disclaimer:

this is by no means about me. if i cared about the notes, or lack thereof, i would have stopped writing a while ago. while it is challenging to be a writer here, especially as of lately, i still enjoy posting whatever i write no matter the genre or the word count. but it's a bit disappointing that my planned out fics get much less attention than a simple smut headcanons post that i wrote in the heat of the moment with my friend in literally a few hours as a joke (which has reached almost 10k notes btw in a span of 2 years). sure, it has exposed my blog to new readers but that's about it.

this post is for all the amazing writers who have left, are thinking of leaving, or are struggling to voice these problems because they are afraid of being marked as 'problematic' or a 'hater' or something worse. i am not afraid to voice my opinion on here, and if you think that i am wrong, feel free to interact with this post and correct me because i am not claiming that i am right about this.

these are just the observations i have made as someone who has been actively writing on this platform for about 4 years now, and since i have a decent number of followers, i hope this post gets more reach. do not be afraid to reblog this if you agree, and even if you do not, reblog this so someone else gets educated. i may have missed some points so feel free to add if you want too.

[eddiesghxst]

hellow, i’m officially done with school for the next year or so which means (if u haven’t already noticed) i’ve started to write 50 wips <3

so anyway, here’s a snippet of something im writing about dom!eddie who’s also a tattoo artist who just so happens to own a tattoo parlor that’s right next to a ballet studio which just so happens to be owned by ballet instructor!reader

18+ — MINORS DNI

It was a series of unfortunate events.

You had spent the last five years of your life building your ballet school from the ground up, but when your old studio was sold out from under you, you were forced to find a new home for your students.

It wasn’t easy. There weren’t many options for you to choose from and most buildings either needed an immense amount of work that your pockets couldn’t afford or were too far away and would inevitably cause you to lose students.

But then you stumbled on a dream. The new studio was perfect— freshly installed tiling, beautiful acoustics, and the fee to install the mirrors wasn’t all that bad— except for one small detail: the tattoo parlor next door.

For the months that you spent preparing the studio for your students, you were tormented with the constant buzz of needles and the faint scent of ink lingers in the air all day, mixing with the sharp fragrance of floor polish and irritation that comes with summer heat. It nearly drove you insane.

But what started as a nuisance soon flourished into something else entirely. The tattoo shop’s owner, a tall, inked-up man named Eddie, was there every morning, the storefront always open to the bustling world outside. Your first conversation had been brief— you introduced yourself, explained how you ended up here and he wished you a good start to your new building.

It wasn’t until a few months down the line that you finally caved and complained about the noise, telling him it was difficult to focus with the loud sounds from his shop and Eddie— surprisingly, since you had somewhat painted him a villain in your mind— apologized and said he’d try to keep the noise down— “I can’t promise the same on the days I don’t work, though. My team tends to never listen to me.”

And so then you and Eddie formed a very nice, casual, and polite relationship. Something like a work relationship. A nice smile and wave in the morning, small and quick conversations about the week— and sometimes, he would get you a coffee and slide it on your desk while you’re busy with your morning class.

But as weeks passed, your casual exchanges became… something more— quick morning greetings turned into full blown conversations and free coffees turned into free lunches— “The deli down the street always gives me an extra sandwich.” And you almost think he’s lying about that, but he never really leaves you room to further pry about it. Lingering looks, shared laughs, and an unspoken connection grew deeper with each passing day.

But it started and ended at work— there on Blackburn Avenue where your ballet studio and his tattoo parlor share a sidewalk— and it never left. And you never expected it to be more— Eddie is more of a work crush anyway. You talk and flirt for the few hours that you share a wall, and when you go home you watch your reality TV shows, eat dinner, and think nothing of it.

But what the hell do you do when you walk into a BDSM club and see your work crush on a stage, knuckle’s deep in a pretty girl, with a bunch of strangers watching— including yourself?

What do you do when the pretty boy that owns the shop next to your studio is on a stage, whispering dirty praises in a girls ear and finger fucking her until her thighs shake? What do you do when you realize— oh fuck, I should probably leave since I actually know this guy and we’re kind of coworkers, but you stay like the idiot you are?

And what do you do when his pretty brown eyes (which look even dreamier when they’re blown out and dark with lust) glance up from the woman below him and just happen to immediately land on you?

What the fuck do you do?

[ariesprincesss]

Super Random Astro Observations Pt. IV

as always, i am not an astrologer just a silly girl that knows a ton about astrology🤓

View more observations in this series here:

Super Random Astro Observations

Super Random Astro Observations Pt. II

Super Random Astro Observations Pt. III

‧₊˚🌈 sun conjuct pluto synastry first meeting was so insane!!

‧₊˚🌈 upon reading into these aspects everything makes sense with my last situation… i also had mercury conjuct pluto with him and as pluto there was a huge obsession over him and intrigue the instant i met him & he def had secrets and a hard time opening up i could tell that he kept cards close to his chest.

‧₊˚🌈 as a gemini venus & mars and the only coworkers ive made instant friends with being geminis is so crazy to me😭 i swear, they love to chat with me & i love it with them !!

‧₊˚🌈 back to the gemini energy, i can ALWAYS feel when someone has gemini placements like omg. every gemini sun ive gotten close with makes a point of like talking about everything ever , asking questions they probably shouldn’t ask, & just being overactive in that way😭 i will say that i feel like gemini in sun sign is kind of weak just in the sense that other placements can reallyyyy mellow their sun out.

‧₊˚🌈 2nd house venus in lunar return chart i spent money with absolutely no care lol. it was also in a taurus degree & i spent it solely on beauty products & clothes LOL

‧₊˚🌈 as an 8th houser (mercury especially) i have like a super big thing with being inconspicuous & using indirect language in conversation with ppl im just getting to know whenever they ask me questions, because i just don’t feel like they should know things ab me😭

‧₊˚🌈 so im like 2/3 months away from my solar return and am seeing it show up in real time… 6h stellium in my natal 7th is making me focus on work relationships & i don’t usually make friends w coworkers and ive already made 2 friends , one coworker i just met yesterday and another that i met like two months ago lol

‧₊˚🌈 after experiencing 8h synastry it rlly felt like the year was almost separated from before i met him and then after because of how different life felt for me afterwards

‧₊˚🌈 I noticed SO many 9h northnode celebrities having very similar life structures. Affluent or well off religious parent(s), moving homes often when young or in adulthood, having teachers or being guided by someone, studied their future profession in school/college, and lastly a lesser commonality i noticed was adopting a different religion at some stage in their life. i think above all with this placement leaving your birth town/ your place of residence could be important in your life story. (Ex: Donna Summer moving to Europe to preform in the musical ‘Hair’ which jumpstarted her career!)

‧₊˚🌈 also random but i noticed that a lot of virgo rising celebrities with 9h northnode were the youngest of 3 siblings & i am too so i thought that was super interesting lol or being one of 3 siblings, being the 3rd child birthed could be significant

‧₊˚🌈 leo mars musicians and being effortlessly good at playing instruments/having the ability to create their own special way of doing something /putting their own spin on something in their music… ex: Jeff Beck, Paul McCartney

‧₊˚🌈 so i always reference a life changing event in these that altered everything about my existence but i never reference what my solar return showed for that year. i had a 12th house stellium (sun,jupiter,neptune,chiron) and mercury, northnode, and uranus in my first house. it literally reads like a hidden part of myself is finally let out and expands, and it was almost like “ fate” for me to change mentally and physically that year. i also had pluto 10h and this feels like it manifested in a public change, or a change in public image and i literally had customers at my job going “you look different everytime i see you” 🫢, my natal sun sign was on the ascendant too and that year i started to come more into myself or i guess i became more like myself if that makes sense!(astrology is scary & almost so overt at times , it’s funny)

‧₊˚🌈 a year when i was overly promiscuous i had 8h moon & vertex in my solar return…

‧₊˚🌈 the month i got covid last year in my lunar return i had neptune & saturn retrograding in 6th house ,neptune square my midheaven & i was out of work for weeks lol

‧₊˚🌈 this one is less of an observation more of a question for the culture😭 has anyone else seen how lunar returns, solar returns, transits ,etc. kind of like hint that something or someone important is coming towards you? i think that is SO interesting because the month i met my ex online ,i had 7h vertex, chiron, & northnode but i remember at the time not considering him until the day before my lunar return chart switched to the next month when he made a big impression on me & asked to take me out and in that lunar return chart i had 7h juno & then 7h vertex again!

‧₊˚🌈 3 months before i met my ex, my ascendant progressed into libra in my progressed chart🫢

‧₊˚🌈 some transits i had for meeting him in person were transit south node trine venus and transit venus sextile northnode! i 1000% consider him as one of my first big karmic partners. you guys can read more about this meetings transits here !

‧₊˚🌈 I’ve recently been introduced to solar arc progressions which is a form of predictive astrology and found out i’m supposed to have a fated meeting with someone february 10th🫢 solar arcs only work to predict something like this if you have confirmation from 3 different chart sources tho!!! For me My Solar Return, Lunar Return, and transits confirm this meeting.

———————————————————————————

Thank you so much for reading! Comment what other Astrology content I should make bc i have no idea lol. I hope you guys enjoyed these observations ♡

[favefandomimagines]

I Know Places 2 (r.c)

Summary: Rafe goes to Y/N at the bait shop and his presence is not celebrated

AN: part 2 of ‘I Know Places’ and I’m deciding to go the traditional route! I’m used to the old school way of fics so this will be fully written out and not SMAU! Though I do love how that’s on trend right now!

Previous part

The next morning, Y/N Maybank was up before the sun had fully risen, her mind too restless for sleep. She had spent the night tossing and turning, debating whether or not to tell JJ and the Pogues about what happened at Tannyhill. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep secrets—she just didn’t know how to explain the strange feeling of being pulled into Rafe Cameron’s world, if only for a fleeting moment.

By the time the bait shop was ready to open, she was already elbow-deep in her morning routine: feeding the live bait, checking inventory, and wiping down the counters.

Summer was here, which meant the shop would soon be crawling with locals and tourists alike, and she needed everything to be in order.

The small bell above the door jingled, pulling her attention away from the tank of minnows. She glanced up to see Rafe Cameron standing in the doorway. His broad shoulders filled the frame, his usual air of arrogance replaced by something quieter.

“Hey, Pretty Girl,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Y/N quirked a brow, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. “Rafe Cameron on the Cut? You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.”

“Funny,” he replied, stepping closer. “How’s business?”

“It’s early,” she said flatly, then tilted her head. “How’s your head?”

“Better,” Rafe said, though his hand instinctively went to touch the bandage she had applied the night before. “Still aches.”

“Maybe now you’ll listen to me and see a doctor,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “What if you’ve got brain damage? You must have if you thought coming here was a good idea.”

Rafe chuckled under his breath, but his expression quickly sobered. “I need to talk to you about last night.”

Y/N set the container of fish food on the counter, her brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

Rafe leaned against the counter, his blue eyes scanning the shop briefly before landing back on her. “How many people did you see leave the house?”

“Three,” she said slowly, thinking back to the shadowy figures slipping through the side gate. “They looked like men, but I couldn’t see their faces. They had black hoods on.”

She watched as Rafe’s jaw tightened and his eyes clouded over, clearly running through a mental list of possibilities. It didn’t take a genius to realize there was more to the break-in than he was letting on.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Y/N asked, her voice softer now.

Rafe shook his head quickly. “No. Don’t worry about it.”

“Rafe, someone broke into your house and assaulted you. You need to tell Shoupe,” Y/N said firmly.

“I’m sure they didn’t find what they were looking for,” he replied cryptically.

“What does that even mean?”

Rafe ignored the question, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “I just... I wanted to see you. And to thank you again for helping me last night.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “It’s no problem,” she said, though her voice faltered slightly. “But you should probably go before JJ finds you talking to me.”

“Do you always do what JJ wants?” Rafe asked, but there was no malice in his voice.

Y/N hesitated, his question catching her off guard. Did people really think that? “No,” she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just that a fight is bad for business.”

Rafe returned her smile, a rare softness in his expression. He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. “Here. Put your number in. You know, in case I need another house call.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, her instinct screaming at her to say no. But Rafe seemed... different. The last time they’d spoken, he’d been consumed by grief and arrogance, still reeling from his father’s death and struggling to take over the family business. But now, he seemed calmer—more grounded, though still carrying an edge.

She grabbed his phone and began typing her number. Her head was screaming at her to not do it, don’t give him access. But she did it anyway.

“Rafe?”

Both their heads snapped toward the dock, where Sarah Cameron was walking toward the shop. Rafe stepped back from Y/N, his demeanor instantly shifting.

“What are you doing here?” Sarah asked, her gaze narrowing suspiciously.

“Thought someone broke into the house last night,” Rafe said smoothly. “I knew you parked outside when you went to that party, so I came to see if you saw anything.”

Before Sarah could respond, Y/N interjected. “I already told him I didn’t see anything. We were still at the party when it happened.”

“Someone broke into the house? Did they take anything? Are you okay?” Sarah questioned. “I’m fine. It didn’t look like they took anything. Just a window and a door I have to replace.” Rafe answered.

“I uh, gotta go, I’ll see you around.” He added, his gaze fleetingly on Y/N.

He walked past Sarah and up the dock, leaving Y/N standing there, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn’t fully understand.

“Was he bothering you?” Sarah asked, stepping into the shop.

“No, no,” Y/N said quickly. “He just wanted to ask if we saw anything.”

But even as she spoke, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Rafe’s visit meant something more. And as much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t entirely mind.

“JJ is going to freak when he finds out.” Sarah commented. “We don’t need to tell him. I’m sure Rafe came here looking for you but I was here.” Y/N quickly replied.

As Sarah stepped closer, Y/N busied herself with the container of fish food on the counter, her mind racing. She could still feel the heat of Rafe’s presence lingering in the room, and her stomach twisted at the thought of Sarah catching onto something she hadn’t even figured out herself.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asked, crossing her arms as she studied her friend.

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, hoping her casual demeanor would be enough to shut the conversation down. “Nothing.”

“Since when does Rafe come to you for answers?” Sarah’s tone was skeptical, her piercing gaze making Y/N feel like she was under a microscope. “And why didn’t he just ask me?”

“Maybe because you were at the party too?” Y/N said, raising a brow. “I don’t know, Sarah. He didn’t exactly give me his whole life story.”

Sarah frowned but didn’t press further, instead moving to grab a soda from the mini fridge behind the counter. “Still... I don’t like him showing up out of nowhere like that.”

Y/N let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “What, you think he’s gonna rob the bait shop? Pretty sure we’re not hiding any family heirlooms in the minnow tank.”

Sarah snorted, but her expression remained thoughtful as she leaned against the counter. “I just don’t trust him, Y/N. You know how he is.”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. Sarah wasn’t wrong—Rafe Cameron was trouble. He always had been. But last night, when he was bleeding and vulnerable, he didn’t feel like the same guy she’d written off.

“Yeah, I know,” Y/N said quietly. “But he’s your brother, Sarah. He can’t be all bad.”

Sarah gave her a sharp look, clearly not expecting that response. “You’re defending Rafe now?”

Y/N shook her head quickly. “No, I’m not defending him. I’m just saying... people can change, right?”

Before Sarah could respond, the bell above the door jingled again, and John B strolled in, followed closely by JJ, who was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning, ladies,” John B greeted with a grin, grabbing a bag of chips from the shelf. “What’s the gossip?”

“Rafe was here,” Sarah said bluntly, making both boys freeze in their tracks. Y/N glared at her friend, eyes saying ‘why the hell would you do that?’

“What?” JJ’s tone immediately turned sharp as he walked over to Y/N. “Why the hell was Rafe Cameron here?”

“Someone broke into his house,” Y/N said quickly, trying to downplay the situation. “Wanted to know if we saw anything suspicious last night. That’s it.”

JJ’s jaw clenched, and he let out a humorless laugh. “Since when does he care about what we saw? He’s up to something.”

“Relax, J,” Y/N said, placing a hand on his arm. “He wasn’t here to start trouble. He just... wanted answers.”

“Well, he better not come around again,” JJ muttered darkly, his protective instincts kicking in. “I don’t care what he wants. You don’t need to be talking to him.”

Y/N bristled at his tone, but before she could respond, Sarah spoke up. “Let’s not make this a thing. Rafe’s gone, and he’s not coming back here.”

JJ muttered something under his breath, clearly still annoyed, but he let it go for now. Y/N, however, felt a tinge of annoyance in her chest. She loved her brother, and it was just the two of them at the end of the day so it makes sense he’s protective. But he’s not her father, she’s 20 years old, she doesn’t need her brother telling her who she can and can’t talk to.

||

The fire crackled softly, its orange glow casting warm shadows on the Pogues as they lounged in the cool evening air. John B was sprawled out on the sand with Sarah curled up beside him, their laughter intertwining as they recounted the story of JJ’s infamous fight with Topper outside the country club.

“And then Shoupe shows up, and Y/N’s out here sweet-talking him like she’s auditioning for a soap opera!” JJ exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis.

“Sweet-talking?” Y/N interjected from the hammock, her tone dripping with mock offense as she rolled another joint. “I’ll have you know I was using logic and reason to keep your ass out of juvie.”

Kie snorted. “Logic and reason? You told Shoupe Topper started it and then cried about how JJ was just trying to defend your honor.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said with a smug grin. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

JJ grinned back, leaning over to flick sand at her. “I owe you for that one, Sunshine.”

“Damn right you do,” Y/N quipped, expertly twisting the joint closed.

The group dissolved into another round of laughter, the kind that came easy after a long day and a few too many hits. Pope was stoking the fire while Cleo leaned against him, teasing him about his terrible impression of Shoupe. It was one of those rare nights where everything felt simple—just them, the stars, and the stories they carried.

“Hey, Sunshine!” JJ called, breaking through the chatter. “Toss me one of those masterpieces!”

Y/N smirked, flicking the newly rolled joint in his direction. JJ caught it with ease, holding it up like a trophy before lighting it.

As she reached for another paper, her phone buzzed against her thigh. She picked it up without much thought, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the name.

Rafe.

The text was simple but enough to tug at her carefully guarded smile.

RC: Hey, Pretty Girl.

Y/N: Can I help you, Cameron?

RC: What are you doin’?

Y/N: Currently? I’m rolling a joint.

RC: Lol, save one for me?

Y/N: Maybe.

The next text froze her in place.

RC: Just wondering, is asking you out against doctor’s orders?

Her breath hitched, her mind racing. Was Rafe Cameron—Rafe Cameron—really asking her out? She stared at her phone for a moment too long, trying to process what this meant.

Y/N: Hm, that might be bad for your health

RC: What if we don’t tell anyone?

This wasn’t the Rafe she’d known before. The old Rafe was reckless, arrogant, and self-absorbed. But now? He felt different, quieter. Something had shifted, and Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

RC: Did I lose you, Pretty Girl?

She glanced around the fire. Her friends were laughing, oblivious, completely immersed in the stories of summers past. Sarah was teasing John B about his failed attempts at surfing, JJ was leaning back with a lazy grin, and Kie was high enough to be softly singing to herself.

Y/N was the odd one out—always had been in a way. The one without a partner, without a storybook romance. And yet, there was something undeniable about the way her chest had tightened in Rafe’s bathroom, how she’d felt something she couldn’t ignore.

Y/N: Better plan a good date

The reply came seconds later.

RC: Is that a yes?

Y/N: It’s a yes. Don’t mess it up.

Y/N set her phone down, the smallest of smiles playing on her lips as she leaned back in the hammock.

“Who are you texting?” Kie’s voice came from beside her, making Y/N jump. Kie had slid into the hammock, her eyes glassy but curious.

“My cousin,” Y/N lied smoothly, reaching for another paper. “We need more weed, and he’s got the good stuff.”

Kie leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, her movements sluggish. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Y/N froze, the lie suddenly feeling heavy in her chest. “Of course, Kie,” she murmured, though her voice felt hollow.

“You’re my best friend,” Kie continued, her words slurring slightly. “You and me, we’re a team, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Y/N said softly, guilt twisting in her stomach.

But as Kie drifted into a half-asleep haze against her shoulder, Y/N’s thoughts drifted back to Rafe. Whatever this was, it wasn’t something she could tell them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

[bekolxeram]

A whole day late to @bucktommyfluffebruary's day 1 prompt: non-sexual intimacy. Inspiration strikes suddenly, what can I say?

You can also read it on AO3.

Golden Hour

rated G | 1027 words

“Morning, team!” Buck walks into the firehouse with an extra bounce in his step, looking the most carefree he’s been for months.

“What got you so… woah,” Hen begins questioning, but stops in the middle of the sentence once she fully turns around and takes a good look of her strangely jovial co-worker.

“What’s wrong? Is there something on my face?” Buck instinctively touches his face in response to Hen’s reaction. He has a hard time deciphering her expression; She seems… surprised, astonished, but at the same time, shocked, and confounded.

“No! Not really. You seem… happier,” Hen puts on a reassuring smile, “but the bags under your eyes seem like they came straight from the Milan Fashion Week, and your hair looks like you’ve just rolled out of bed.”

The entire 118 bore witness to Buck’s post-Tommy heartbreak. Yes, he obsessively checked his phone and got addictive to baking, maybe he let his stubble grow out a day or two more than it should, but he never, ever, neglected personal hygiene or grooming. He always made sure to dress like a functioning member of the society before heading to work, what happened outside of shift was his own business.

“I used to know someone like this at school,” Chimney joins in. “His girlfriend dumped him just before summer break. Then he came back to school looking like a hobo, but at the same time, happy as the Buddha. He told me he went on a trip to discover himself.”

“But Buck was with us last shift, 48 hours ago. What life-changing destination could he have gone to in such a short amount time?” Hen furrows her brows in confusion.

“By trip, I mean an acid trip,” Chimney snickers, then he turns to face Buck in chorus with Hen, waiting for an answer.

“I can assure you, I’ve never taken any mind altering substance before coming to work. That would be irresponsible!” Buck objects, attempting to halt this dangerous speculation at once.

Just as Hen and Chimney are about to interrogate further, Eddie chimes in while slowly sipping on his coffee, “Buck and Tommy are back together without telling us.”

Gasps, then cheers fill the room.

“Wait, how? Did Tommy tell you?” Buck asks.

“No one told me anything,” Eddie takes another sip from his mug, “I can just tell, from your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Hen’s whole face is lit up by her realization, “the hair thing, right?” She vaguely gesture at her head.

“Exactly.” Eddie snaps his fingers at Hen.

“What hair thing?” It’s now Buck’s turn to be utterly confused.

“I don’t get it either,” Chimney turns his attention to his brother-in-law. “Is Tommy bad at picking shampoo? Or hair product? Can’t you just bring your own?”

“Um… I don’t know.”

“You’ll get it once you’ve spent enough time with them,” Eddie sighs.

“I’ve spent plenty of time with them. One is my oldest friend, the other is my brother by marriage!”

“With both of them together, as a third wheel,” Eddie adds.

Chimney grimaces. “Ugh, no! Is it a sex thing?”

“It’s appropriate safe in public,” Hen clarifies, “as long as you don’t find two people of the same gender being in love inappropriate.”

“Oh, okay,” Chimney nods in understanding, “but, what about the bags under your eyes?”

“Um… Tommy and I…”

Buck’s interrupted by Eddie.

“Stop. That one’s definitely a sex thing.”

It takes Chimney another few months to figure out what the “hair thing” actually is.

Buck and Tommy have been invited to dinner at the Han’s.

The four of them were anxious about the possible awkwardness, but Chimney and Tommy settle right back into their old buddy dynamic once the conversation starts flowing.

“I think you two fixed my brain when you showed up all sooty at the hospital. I was groggy all week, but connecting the dots that you guys had been making out? That was the first time I felt like I could finally think clearly,” Chimney recounts his experience coming down with viral encephalitis, and marrying the love of his life at a hospital.

“A hospital, what is it?” Tommy asks, barely containing his giggle.

“It’s a big building with patients, but that’s not important right now,” Chimney bursts into laughter in unison with Tommy by the time his finishes his sentence.

“Um… What’s the joke?” Maddie asks, while both Buckley siblings frown, seemingly puzzled.

“Airplane! The greatest comedy movie of all time!” Chimney exclaims.

“And the most quotable,” Tommy supplements.

“Neither of you have watched Airplane? Tommy, you didn’t introduce your man to the most influential film in your life?”

The Buckley siblings shake their head.

“Alright, we’re watching it after dinner.”

Chimney has seen Airplane! countless times before. The simple, sometimes childish humor of this classic has been his go-to for years whenever he needs a pick-me-up.

He may have the ability to recite the entire movie from start to finish, but the source of the enjoyment now comes from watching his friends and loved ones’ reaction to this comedic masterpiece, to experience the amusement and wonder anew from their fresh eyes.

“We have clearance, Clarence.”

“Roger, Roger. What’s our vector, Victor?”

Chimney turns to focus on the viewers’ reaction, instead of the screen.

Maddie’s almost crying with laughter, while shoving a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth. Popcorn with butter and pickle juice, the exact snack she’s been craving.

Buck, on the other hand, is laying his head onto Tommy’s shoulder.

And Tommy, he absentmindedly anchors his hand into Buck’s hair, and ruffles the curls around.

Chimney himself would gladly push off whoever dares to touch his carefully styled hair, but Buck’s happily leans into his boyfriend’s touch.

“Is that correct phraseology in aviation?” Buck beams at Tommy, half flirting and half genuinely asking to satisfy his curiosity.

“Yeah, more or less. That’s why it’s a classic,” Tommy gazes back at Buck softly, hand still messing up the younger man’s hair.

Buck shows his dimples, nestles his head at the crook of Tommy’s neck, and continues watching the movie.

My brother is in good hands.

Chimney tells himself silently.

[shieldedreams]

come with me (where you go i'll follow) (m.m.)

summary ⇾ minho's going on a journey of self-discovery over the summer... but he'd like to have you by his side details ⇾ 3,339 words / minho moon (xo, kitty) x female!reader / 🌸 a bunch of soft feels / a sprinkle of curse words / reader calls minho 'min' / kitty being the biggest shipper / reader shares a couple dorm with kitty only [!] spoiler disclaimer below the cut! + very stinking cheesy rom-com plot

[!] spoiler disclaimer: in an au where the roles of minho and kitty are somehow switched at the end of season two! (just a little!)

minho has had the million-dollar question in his head as the days count down in his mind to his departure for the summer break. more and more students begin to leave campus with luggages in tow; some askew, some perfectly wrapped and some... a work in progress whenever minho swings by your shared dorm with kitty (feigning the need to check on her only to constantly peep if you're anywhere near done packing or pry a little on your plans for summer).

today is the last day minho'll have that chance considering–"w-what? you're almost here?!" minho tries to keep his voice leveled, but with the way kitty gasps from the spot on her bed and the soft thud from the kitchen, she has an inkling of what's about to happen.

"yeah, sure," minho sighs, rubbing his face, "n-no, i haven't asked yet. i don't–"he groans–"okay, okay! i'll get to it now. give me at least thirty minutes!"

with one last sigh, he hangs up and now looks up to meet with kitty's eyes as she shakes her head.

"minho, you have to ask her now!"

"i don't know what you're talking about," minho clears his throat, stepping out of the kitchen but kitty scurries to get in his way, "minho!" she grabs his arm, giving him a good shake when he faces her with wide eyes.

"this is it," she grips onto his arm, "when will you ever get a chance like this again?"

the boy opens his mouth, only to find himself at a lost for words when he glances over kitty's shoulder to see your packed suitcase, ready for the leaving... and he has no idea where you're headed... but he'd like to be with you wherever that destination may be. that's what scares him. that despite the uncertainty... he's willing to take a chance on it with you.

but he has a bigger fish to catch when he doesn't even know what your plans are.

a bigger, bigger fish?

his flight leaves in an hour.

and it's not to say he left it down to the last minute but–

"c'mon, minho. you can do this," he mutters under his breath, shaking his hands dry as he turns off the faucet. clearing his throat, he tries to man up as he exits the bathroom and heads on out to the living room.

he stands a distance away, watching you play uno with kitty, q and yuri. there's occasional banter and the flicking of cards back and forth but just as minho's about to call for you, it seems like you're a step ahead when–"min!" you wave him over, "come play!"

the boy gulps, swallowing the lump in his throat as he shakily replies: "y-yeah, sure. in a second. but could you–"he clears his throat, "c-could i ask you something?"

that grants the attention of everyone in the room to look at his direction, following your line of sight as you watch him with a small smile. "of course. what is it?"

like a deer in headlights, he did not expect you to respond in that way, but now he looks back and realises he should have called you out to speak with him rather than ask in front of everyone. he tries to think of a way to get out of this situation, only for kitty to catch on to save minho's ass with: "oh! i think we were thinking of ordering pizza earlier,"

that seems to draw the crowd to kitty as she whips out her phone to order, even your attention is now on her. minho mouths a quick thank you, covey, only for kitty to snort and act invested in which pizza flavour to get. another time, minho thinks, now joining your side physically, and decision-wise in supporting which pizza toppings you wanted.

fast-forward to a couple of days later... this is it, now's the time, minho thinks. in the space of the kitchen where the two of you are alone (kitty gave him a heads up she'll only be back in an hour so now would be a great time), cups of warm tea in possession and him... being lost in the conversation with you as he always does makes him lose track of time.

maybe it was the way you always give him your undivided attention. with the things he's able to talk to you off the bat; the good, the bad, the things that keep minho up at night and you see him past all of the things that hold him captive. being in his father's shadow, drowning in his parents' wealth, his status–it all seems to strip to nothing to just... himself.

and you look at him like love is ever-present in him.

like it is in you.

he doesn't know how to bring it up or whether he can bring it up but when the door swings open, minho sighs when you giddily set your cup down to–"kitty! i got you something!"

the girl remains frozen as she watches you flee from the kitchen, grabbing something from your bag discarded on the floor next to the sofa. kitty turns the cheek to look at minho, who remains his head hanging low as he sinks so far down he might as well be glued to the kitchen counter. that alone gives her the answer that he probably has not asked you the important question and that brings you to–"minho!"

the boy blinks back to reality and kitty sees that. this reality where he minho hasn't manned up and at least give it a try, he's going to regret it for the next few weeks. he frantically fishes out his phone and–"she's not answering her phone!" minho yells. oh my god, he's yelling. he can't help it, the volume came out louder than he had intended but–"go find her! at least try!" kitty spins him around and gives him a nudge. minho can't think straight but his body kicks into overdrive as he dashes out of the room.

once he's out and the door slams behind him, he freezes on the spot. his heart is pacing so fast, he thinks he's about to pass out but... no. no, no, no. this can't be the way. not like this. minho keeps trying to dial your number as he starts going down the list of places you might be at.

library? no. cafeteria? not there either. in one of the classrooms you decide to linger around every now and then–fuck's sake, classes aren't even on anymore, why is he checking here?!

his feet reroutes him to the next best thing: out of the buildings and in the open where he can think of where to go to next. through it all, though, he keeps cursing himself in plenty colourful languages in his mind. the one that keeps repeating itself is: i can't believe i'm a fucking idiot!

his mind is haywire, nearly set on fire the entire time he's scouring the campus for a glimpse of you. he feels like the upper hands of the universe must be laughing at the turn of events. mocking him for his failure with each location he tries to go to only to no avail; left with the dust of loneliness when you're nowhere to be found. he curses under his breath, not knowing where the hell you are especially when you're not reachable through phone.

his feet brings him out of the buildings, through the flush greenery and–the familiar sound of his ringtone vibrates in his pocket. he frantically pulls it out and processes your name flashing across the screen. he manages to answer the call with trembling hands, only to be greeted with: "hey, min! sorry i didn't get to your calls. i didn't realise my phone was dead and i just plugged it into my power bank–"

"where are you, y/n?" minho cuts you off, almost feeling bad for doing so but he doesn't have much time. hell, he hasn't been keeping track of it just so it feels like he has more time to get to you.

he hears you chuckling, and he hates that at a time like this, he can't indulge in the feeling of making you laugh; be it intentional or not.

"turn around, min."

it takes the boy a second or two before he processes your words. he spins around once his mind registers your words and... and there you are. phone to your ear with your power bank plugged to it and... that stupid smile on your face that renders him breathless (including all that running he's been doing for the past ten to fifteen minutes).

his eyes soften at the sight of you, despite his heart doing somersaults because that was the effect you had on him. the power that makes his knees weak and... and...

"are you okay?" you snort, waving a hand in front of his face as you've shoved your phone into your bag, tilting your head at him. he's still catching his breath, heaving as the sweat trickles down his forehead. it seems to catch your attention when you use the sleeve of your sweater, lightly dabbing it to his forehead, "jeez, what were you doing? running a marathon?"

he answers truthfully: "i was looking for you."

"oh," you chuckle, retracting your hand to gesture it to yourself, as if to silently say well, you've found me.

"min," you call softly, swallowing thickly after, "i-is everything alright?"

minho doesn't know where to begin or how to begin. but with the countdown he has in his mind, he knows he has to start somewhere.

"i'm leaving," the words fly out of his mouth quicker than he can stop himself, and when he manages another deep inhale, he appreciates that you wait until he continues. "f-for summer, i'm following my family on the summer tour. my flight's in an hour."

"that's great!" was your immediate response, but when the seconds pass by and the longer you're staring into minho's eyes, it seems like there's more than meets the eye. "w-wait, is that not good? am i supposed to have another reaction?"

minho hates how you're hesitant to say anything further when the smile you have on your face is slowly fading. it's not that he doesn't want to smile, but it just feels like he can't. you see how minho's not returning your smile and something feels off. you can't put your tongue on it and it begins to near scare you but everything comes to a halt when you watch as minho puts his phone into his pocket so his hands are free to... reach for your hand.

he's gentle, as if any sudden movement will scare you away. you're trying to make sense of the situation when minho gives your hand a squeeze, cupping them in his hands as he builds the courage to look up to you, connecting your eyes once more.

"a-and i'd like it if you'd come with me."

he watches as his words sink into your system. how your eyes grow wide and your jaw hangs open but it doesn't look negative... yet. minho feels his heart racing; this could either make or break his summer. him knowing very well despite him going on the tour will unlock new sides to himself... he would love it if he got to spend it with you and just... exist in the world with you while experiencing new sides of the world. the thoughts alone has left him dreaming with a smile... and that's when he knew he wanted to try to make it a reality. to at least give it a shot and now, in this moment with you... he's well-aware it was a fifty-fifty chance.

and that was a chance he was willing to take.

"me? on the summer tour?" you glance down to your hand in his and gulp, blinking back up to him as the words try to formulate themselves: "is there something i'm not catching on here or–"minho's actions makes your words fall into themselves when he steps closer into your personal space bubble. he's... gentle with his advancements despite the urgency lacing his words. yet, the sudden movement doesn't make you back away.

if anything, you lean in when minho's closer to you.

"i... i know it sounds crazy but," he licks his lips, blinking down to the gap between your bodies because he doesn't know if he can look you in the eye as he says: "i wouldn't have anyone else to come with me if it's not you."

the silence is deafening; past the ruffles of the leaves that float on the ground. the low murmurs of passerbys and their footsteps padding away in the distance. the heavy breathing from minho, catching his breath from all the running and the anxiety biting at the back of his neck.

"what if i said no?" you try asking, not that it was your intention but it was a thought you let out loud. you watch as your question makes minho a little sad but he still manages a smile. bittersweet. "then i'd wish you a good summer break... and hope i'd still see you back here."

you nod slowly, your eyes gazing down to watch your hand in his both. you give his hands a squeeze and he reciprocates, still cupping your hand tenderly.

"and what if i said yes?"

those words alone sparked hope into minho's eyes, and you feel it when he tightens the grip out of his subconscious. he takes in a deep breath and exhales shakily, licking his lips before he says: "i can't begin to imagine what it would be like if you said yes. but for starters," he looks up to you, the glint in his eyes is what makes your heart race and calm at the same time–this unspeakable comfort that makes you know, no, feel that being with minho... feels right. "it would make me happy," he murmurs, lowering his eyes from yours to smile to himself, seeing how your feet goes between his feet due to the proximity, "very, very happy."

though it was sudden, though it was out of nowhere, you can't deny that in your heart, this... felt right. it scared you and makes you wonder of all the possibilities of what could go right, wrong but you know regardless of it all, not going with minho would be something you'd regret if you let this chance go. (plus, you didn't have much of a real plan of where to go for the summer anyway. so this was a big step ahead.)

"we have so much to unpack here," you chuckle, shaking your head as you grip onto minho's hand, feeling him return the gesture as he uses a hand to hold onto yours properly, the other cupping the back of the hand of yours he has captive.

"and we'll have time," he says, gazing up to your eyes with the kind of happiness that makes your heart swoon.

"my luggages are still in the dorm," you snort, just now realising they're in the corner of your dorm living room.

"not exactly," minho chuckles, using his eyes to point over your shoulder and you look over it to see kitty and q, out of breath, hunched over your couple of luggages as they try to keep themselves upright with a feeble thumbs up from a distance. you can't help but laugh at the sight before the feeling of minho holding your hand reels your attention back to him.

you watch as he gulps, his hands are beginning to get clammy and you know when minho's nervous. it wasn't your intention to keep him waiting but it's not everyday that someone just asks you to join them to tour several countries in less than an hour. it makes your heart race just thinking about it but... one thing's for certain that you need to clarify: "are you sure?"

minho can't help but laugh. he's been thinking about this for the longest time since he's made the decision to go on the summer tour alone. when the thought of you joining him became a possible equation, it's–"i've been right and wrong about a lot of things," minho murmurs, taking the brave step to lean his forehead onto yours, "but this..." he's already looking at you when you tilt your eyes up to meet with his, "this i'm certain of."

you let your eyes flutter shut with a soft exhale. minho feels the nervousness take over his system with each second that goes by and you don't say anything. then, he feels your fingers filling between his own. before he can bask in the feeling, before he can jump to his conclusions, you say a single word that makes his breath hitch.

"okay."

it's like radio silence. the only thing minho can hear is your voice that he has to be clear on this.

"o-okay?" he leans back, eyes widening with the flood of joy he can't contain when your smile grows first, before your eyes open and now the two of you are a pair of smiling idiots.

"yes, i would love to!"

minho lets go of your hand to pull you into his arms. you're surprised, but it's like your body and heart knows what to do when your arms welcome him in to wrap around his neck. you squeal when he spins you around; feeling him laugh against the side of your ear as he squeezes you tight.

the two of you are about to indulge in the feeling; being in each other's arms but–"i hate to be the bearer of bad news but minho, y/n, continue this at the airport!"

"oh, shit!" minho pulls away from you to let you know that–"the driver's here! we have to go!"

"what?!" is the only thing that comes out from your mouth, the shock renders you speechless that you've conveniently forgot that minho clearly mentioned flight's in an hour.

"hug, kiss, do whatever you want but later! get to the airport!" kitty's voice gives you the nudge you need. you barely have enough time to hug either kitty or q properly and say your goodbyes. minho's grabbing onto your hand, the other grabbing some of your bags and nudging you to do the same before you're left running to where his driver's parked.

from a distance, you can hear kitty and q squealing, but really, all you can focus on is the adrenaline fueling your veins with minho's hand in yours and occasionally glancing to his smile.

(("all of this feels surreal," your words come out in a mere whisper as your eyes drink in the details of the lavish seats; marble panels, the vast space between the seats and quite frankly, the lack of seats which makes everything feel more spacious. you hadn't realised you had said it out loud when you hear minho saying: "yeah, it does," while you're talking about the grandeur of it all, it seems like minho's talking about something else when you meet with his gaze. the warmth and excitement that radiates his pupils makes you smile, even more when you follow his line of sight down to between your bodies. he has his palm facing up, resting in the space between your bodies. his fingers are a little shaky as he lifts his hand up and rests it on your thigh, close to your knee. you try to be calm and collected but minho doesn't miss the way you press your lips together to avoid smiling too wide as you place your hand in his. his fingers fill the spaces between yours; like you were made for him to hold and he cherishes it. he gives your hand a squeeze before he decides to close his eyes. you do the same, only difference is that you scoot a little closer towards him to rest your head on his shoulder. he instinctively shifts lower to let you slot your head perfectly and minho's already smiling as he drifts away to sleep. knowing that the weeks ahead, the dream he has of you following him on the summer tour, is now a reality when he feels you close to him and the fingers of yours between his own.))

[staticscreenwriting]

I took the good times, I'll take the bad times II Joel Miller

Summary: Joel doesn't think he's deserving of love after all he did and all he went trough. Or maybe he's just scared. Either way he can't let himself fall for (Y/N). Now if only she'd stop sending him those damn postcards.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (I always try not to describe the reader physically, if I missed something please let me know so I can change it and make this "applicable" to every reader. Thank you!)

A/N: This is my entry for the dear-uary challenge by @jolapeno . My prompt was "Character A keeps finding X and traces them back to Character B, who might be leaving them intentionally—or not." And I chose Postcards as my form of epistolary.

TW: This is mostly angsty fluff. There is some talk of self doubt and loss of a child but I think that should be it.

Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.

It all starts with a simple postcard tucked into the side pocket of his bag. Joel almost doesn’t realize it’s there, folded twice into a tiny square. It’s only when he’s looking for the list Maria gave him of all the things to look for on this run, that he grabs a hold of the card. 

His gloves make it hard to unfold the small paper but it’s way too cold to take them off. Joel was never big on winter and snow, even before everything went to shit. He doesn’t like the way it lingers, the way it consumes you from the inside out. Now, an unforgiving cold is all he feels as a thick blanket of snow has settled upon Wyoming. 

Bold bright letters scream out to him from the wrinkled paper “ Greetings from Tampa Florida. Wish you were here!”.

It’s one of those campy vintage ones where the letters are filled with drawings of landmarks and beaches. He remembers sending one just like this to his High School girlfriend when Dad took him and Tommy on a trip to Nashville when Joel was 16 maybe 17. It was a good trip, the last one they ever took together. Sometimes Joel wonders how his dad would deal with all of this. This new reality. This fucked up world. He always seemed so strong, so fearless. That man was unstoppable force and immovable object all at once. Every vulnerability Joel finds in himself, he’s sure was absent in his father. Maybe if he was a little more like his own dad he could’ve saved Sarah, could’ve spared Ellie the pain of living in this limbo of knowing and not knowing. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Joel moves closer to the fire, his only light source other than the stars. There’s writing on the back, blue ink on off-white paper. It’s not a handwriting he knows and for a second he wonders if the card has been there ever since he found the bag years ago, back in Boston. But he would know that, right? Would've found it by now. This must be new. This must be meant for him.

“ I know you hate the cold. I know it makes you sad and gloomy, well gloomier than usual. So let me tell you about the hottest day I ever experienced. I was a kid, maybe 7 or 8 and my mom took me to Florida. Not Tampa (it was the only postcard I could find at the library), but Orlando. We went to fucking Disney World!! We didn’t have a lot of money back then so mom must’ve saved a long time for this. Anyway, Joel, it was so hot. Unbearably hot. My clothes stuck to my skin and my hair got all frizzy. Maybe July wasn’t the best time to go. The air was so thick and heavy, so moist (ew). It felt like breathing in honey, syrup maybe. I still had the best time. I know it doesn’t take away the cold but I hope I can take you away to that hot and humid Florida summer for one small moment. If not, there’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag. Made it myself. You never told me what your favorite color is. I hope you like blue. xx 

P.S.: I wonder what happened to Disney World.” 

A chuckle falls from Joel’s lips and forms a cloud against the sharp winter air. He's never been to Disney World. The Millers just weren’t a Disney World kind of family. They were more of a local fair kind of family. All corn dogs and funnel cakes and first kisses behind the bumper cars. Sarah would’ve loved Disney World though. Ellie too. Ellie who doesn’t even know what the hell Disney is. 14 years and the girl has no idea who Mickey Mouse is. What a surreal thought. What a strange world. More than 20 years and it still feels strange. Joel wonders if life will ever let him settle in this new reality. If one day this feels like home and not a bad dream. Not a cosmic punishment. A bad joke that no one’s laughing at anymore.

His eyes travel back towards the blue swirly writing. It’s not Ellie’s bad chicken scratch, he could pick that out of a line-up any day. This looks much neater, more deliberate, and thoughtful. 

“There’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag.”

Quiet, as not to wake up the others sleeping just a few steps away, Joel opens the zipper on his bag and rummages through it with a gloved hand. There’s a bunch of stuff in there, food rations, ammunition, a second pair of gloves. Going on supply runs is not something Joel enjoys but it is a way for him to give back. To Tommy and Maria and the entire community. Jackson and its people have taken him and Ellie in as one of their own without much hesitation. They provided them with food, with shelter, with trust. He has so little to give in return. Going on a supply run to look for medicine and other necessities, that’s the least he can do. 

Something soft and squishy meets his hand and he pulls out a dark blue woolen scarf. There are so many holes and even in the dim light of the campfire, Joel can tell those holes are not there on purpose. Maybe it was Ellie after all, but then she never showed any interest in knitting, and the idea of her doing just that is far too ridiculous. No matter how imperfect it is though, Joel has to admit the scarf does make him feel warmer as he wraps it around his neck. 

“Hey,” Adam, one of the other guys on the run, speaks up from beside Joel, “you can catch some sleep if you want. I can take over the watch.” 

It’s a strange thing, how sometimes you don’t notice just how tired you are or how hungry you are until someone points it out to you. Until they offer to take it from you. Then it hits you like a brick to the face. A wave pulling you under. 

Joel feels his eyelids grow heavy and nods at the younger man. "Thanks". 

This mystery, it can wait until tomorrow. Until then he will bury his face in the warm soft wool of the scarf and think of that Florida sun. And though it most definitely is just his imagination, Joel could almost swear the night feels a little less cold.

His boots leave deep imprints in the white icy blanket as he makes his way past the Tipsy Bison and the community hall further towards his house. His home. 

No place has really felt like home in years. Not since all of this started. Everything was temporary. 4 walls and a roof. He wonders if this place will ever start feeling like home? Will he ever get to a point where he doesn’t wait for the second shoe to drop? It all feels like he’s Charlie Brown and life is Lucy pulling the football away at the last second. And it always ends with him falling. He’s so tired of falling. So tired of getting back up.

Joel almost expects the house to be silent as he steps inside. Ellie is slowly making friends with the other teens living in the settlement and is spending more time at their houses than she is at home. He can’t blame her. If he was more like his father he’d find it in himself to start conversations with people, get to know them, forge connections, make friends. Of the Miller boys, Tommy is the one who inherited their dad’s social gene though, Joel only got the snarl and the crippling inability to talk about his feelings.

Laughter echoes through the house as Joel rounds the corner connecting the entryway to the living room. Ellie’s laughter, loud and bright and light. As if for a moment all the horrors and the pain and the trauma have been taken from her.

When he steps into the kitchen, Joel understands. 

(Y/N) is standing by the counter, a smile on her face so soft and radiant it might just rival the sun. That joy she brings out in Ellie, it’s familiar to Joel because he feels it too whenever (Y/N) is around. Not always but sometimes. It’s a spark of warmth that starts in his chest and crawls up his spine. It settles in his lungs, his heart, his brain. Like a parasite. Like a virus. Like a wonderful dream. He doesn’t allow himself to feel it all the time but sometimes, sometimes he can’t deny himself this little bit of warmth.

Joel can’t even remember when exactly (Y/N) became a part of their life. It’s like one day she was there and refused to leave. And really that’s kind of how it went. She works at the library and the school, lives across the street from him and Ellie and for some reason, she’s taken pity on them. Joel isn’t sure if it's him or Ellie she pities. Maybe a mix of both. Either way, she brought over some soup one day and that’s the beginning and end of it all. She’s wormed her way into Ellie’s heart and by extension his too. Whether he likes to admit it or not. Doesn't hurt that she's so damn beautiful too.

“Joel, you’re back!” 

Ellie pulls him in a tight hug. It’s something Joel still has to get used to. Ellie isn’t a particularly affectionate person. She’s definitely not a hugger. And neither is Joel — not anymore at least. So when they do hug, it’s still a little strange. Not bad strange just unfamiliar. 

“Yeah, I’m back. 

“How did it go?” (Y/N) asks and meets his eyes over Ellie’s head. A silent conversation happening between her and Joel. It’s that thing she does where she doesn’t need to say a single word but Joel can tell exactly what she’s thinking just by the look in her eyes. He sometimes wonders if this is a them thing. 

“Did someone die” her eyes are saying. “Did someone get hurt?” 

“Did you get hurt?” 

He quickly shakes his head answering her unspoken questions. Not this time. 

“Good. It went good.” 

Maybe the relieved sigh he sees her let out is just his imagination. But Joel doesn’t think so. Joel thinks it's very real.

“Did you bring us something? “ 

He can’t help but smile at that. It feels good to smile. In a world that gives you grief and sorrow, you start to count the moments when it gives you a reason to smile. They are few and far between but the number has surely increased since Ellie stepped into his life — and since (Y/N) did. 

“I brought food and medicine. Isn’t that enough? “

A determined “no” falls from both their lips in a chaotic harmony. 

“Geez, you guys are demanding.” 

“Well — did you bring us something?” 

Joel just rolls his eyes and rummages through his bag for the goods. 

“For you— “ he says and throws the old wrinkled comic book towards Ellie who regards it with that endless sense of wonder she does possess. It’s the kind of spark that flickers and dies once you grow old. Or maybe just his did. Maybe grief leaves no room for wonder. 

Placing his bag on the ground, Joel moves into the kitchen and holds out his loot to (Y/N). Green background. White goats. Yellow bubble letters.

“Oooooh, you did get me something. Pet Sounds, nice!” 

There’s a spark in her too. Dulled and dusted from time but it is there and it flickers and grows every time Joel brings her a vinyl record from his trips outside of the settlement. In a world with so little joy, music seems to be one of the few things that hasn’t changed. In the face of immeasurable pain, humans turn to music. They have done so for a long time and judging by the world as is, they always will. 

“I hope it works still. Didn’t really have a record player to try it out.” 

“I’ll try it out as soon as I get to the library. Feel free to come by and listen with me.” 

“Sure.” 

“Thank you, Joel. I hope you didn’t have to do anything stupid to get this.” 

He didn’t. Not this time. He would’ve though. It scares him how willing he is to put himself in danger just to get her something that will put that radiant smile on her face. He’d walk to the end of the earth if he knew there was a record there she wanted. That thought scares the shit out of him. It’s bad enough he cares so deeply about Ellie, about Tommy. The more people you care about, the more you open yourself up to hurt. Losing either of them would tear him apart. Joel is not sure he can handle opening his heart to yet another person no matter how much his heart wants just that. 

“ Nah. No issues.” 

“Good.” 

She just looks at him for a moment. All soft eyes and gentle smile. There must be something she sees in him, Joel thinks, something he doesn’t see. A version of himself that he isn’t, that he will never be. A version he once was, maybe. A version he so desperately wishes he could be. For her.

“Well,” (Y/N) says and snaps him out of her enchantment “Ellie and I made some stew. I know you must’ve been freezing outside, some good warm stew might help warm you up a little.” 

“It smells great.” 

“You have impeccable timing because we just got done. So, dig in. And uh — I guess I’ll see you guys at the movie screening?” 

He doesn’t want her to leave. The devil and the angel on his shoulders are both screaming at him to ask her to stay. And if he was any stronger a man, any more like his own father and more deserving of good things, he would ask her. To stay for dinner. To stay forever.

But he isn’t. And he doesn’t ask. Just watches as she wraps a scarf around her neck and slips into the thick jacket that's a few sizes too big on her.

“I left the recipe by the fridge. Just in case you ever want to cook it yourself.” 

“Thanks.” 

And he really is grateful. For her. For everything.

“Oh Joel,” she says and stops in the doorway. “I like that scarf. Blue looks really good on you.” 

And then she’s gone, swallowed by the cold winter air. 

Joel hasn’t thought about his favorite color in forever. It’s something you stop thinking about once you start growing hair on your chest and fantasizing about girls in a way you haven’t before. Kids talk about their favorite colors all the time. Sarah did. It’s just once you grow old you lose that sense of self, define yourself through different things. 

Looking at the scarf now, all holes and imperfections, there is no doubt in his mind that his favorite color is blue. 

“Have you ever been to Paris?” 

The lights are dimmed in the big community hall, the movie playing on screen providing the only source of light as the people of Jackson have gathered for another movie night. 

A glimpse into a world that was but no longer is and never will be again. And for some of them, like Ellie, a world that never was to begin with.

Ellie is sitting in the front with some of the other teens, her friends, Joel supposes. She has friends now.

“Joel, have you?” 

A soft hand rests on his arm, shaking him from his gloomy thoughts. (Y/N) sits next to him, eyes focused on the pictures dancing across the screen. Ilsa and Rick, falling in love over and over again in Paris. The beginning of a love story doomed from the start. 

“I uh — no. Never.” 

“Me neither. I would’ve loved to go though. It looks beautiful.” 

He doesn’t know why or how it happens but the words just flow from his mouth like a waterfall. For the first time in a while, he finds himself wanting to talk more. About the past. About Sarah.

“My daughter, Sarah, went to Paris once. Some school exchange program. They don’t usually do it until later but her French class was above average and I guess they won some contest. I don’t know it was a long time ago.” 

“Sounds like she was a smart cookie.” 

"Oh, she was. Too smart for me, that’s for sure. Was hard letting her leave and fly to a whole different continent though. I was scared out of my mind until she was back home. Drove Tommy crazy for a whole damn week.” 

(Y/N) turns her face away from the screen and regards him with that infinite sense of something more. Soft and endearing. If he was a different man he would call it love. He would see the way she looks at him and he would kiss her stupid and life would be all sweet dreams and gentle touches. 

But he is the man he is. Not worthy of whatever she is willing to give.

“What’re looking at me like that for?” 

“It’s just sweet how much you care. About everyone. I think you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time.” 

“Do what?” 

“Care for others. For Ellie and me and all of us. You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I just wish you’d let someone take care of you for a change.” 

He doesn’t need to be taken care of. He can do it all on his own. And anyway, he is not as good of a man as she thinks he is. Good men don’t have the blood of their loved ones stuck to their hands. Good men don’t let their daughters die in their arms. Good men don’t kill. Good men don’t do all the things he did. 

Joel doesn’t want to be a good man. He just wishes he was good enough a man to allow himself to be with (Y/N).

“I ain’t a good man. And I don’t need someone to take care of me.” 

“You wore that scarf, did you not? You allowed me to take care of you then.” 

That damn scarf. He had a hunch it was her. The handwriting on the postcard matched the one of the recipe stuck to his fridge an awful lot. But it’s something else entirely to hear her say it outright. 

“That was you, huh? Had an awful lot of holes that thing.” 

“Hey, I never said I was good at knitting. You wore it anyway.”

Joel turns back towards the screen as Rick and Ilsa share a loving kiss. 

“Yeah, I wore it anyway.” 

And to the sound of bombs and tanks, (Y/N) rests her head on his shoulder.

That’s what you do for the people you love. Even if you don’t allow yourself to love them.

You wear the scarf anyway.

The mailbox flag is up. Bright red against the sharp white of the winter's day. 

It’s never been up. People around here don’t get mail. It’s but an ancient relic of a life they used to live. Remnants of a society long gone. 

But Joel is nothing if not curious. So he stomps up to the mailbox, leaving deep imprints in the freshly fallen snow. 

It’s another postcard. Only this time it doesn’t come with a mystery. This time it comes with that silly little feeling that makes his heart beat just a little faster. That makes his head swirl with stupid thoughts of stupid dreams.

“From Paris with love,” it says on the front. Fucking Paris, of course.

Sometimes the way he feels about her is infuriating, confusing, scary.

And sometimes, like right now, it feels like a ball of warmth settles in his ribcage and warms him from the inside out.

“Dear Joel,

We’ll never have Paris. Not in this life at least. And while I would’ve loved to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle with you and make you eat a croissant (which you would’ve pretended to hate but I think you would’ve enjoyed it secretly), I am glad to get this life with you at least. Or alongside you. Whatever it is we are, I am glad this life gave me that in between all the pain. Despite what you like to tell yourself, Joel Miller, you are a spark of fire, a light in the dark. You are more than the sum of your failures, you are more than your pain. All the good that is in you, that counts. That’s all that matters in the end. And there is so much good in you.

I wish you’d let yourself see it. 

We will never have Paris. But we’ll always have Jackson and that is enough for me. I hope it’s enough for you.

Here’s looking at you kid! ;) “

There’s a tragedy in knowing someone else sees all your good parts and none of the bad. A tragedy in knowing how much they like those good parts and being awfully aware that seeing all the bad parts would destroy them. 

A tragedy in still wanting to show them all of you, even the ugly soul-destroying parts.

But if she thinks he’s a good man, then Joel needs to be just that. A good man who keeps those ugly parts hidden and away from her. Even if that means denying himself the one thing he wants. 

“What’s that?” Ellie speaks up from beside him, a curious look on her face.

“Postcard.” 

“Like what people would send from vacations and stuff?”

“Yeah, how do you know about that?” 

She rolls his eyes at him and it’s one of those moments where he feels like a dad again. Those little moments that mean the world to him because he gets to feel like the old him. The Joel he thought was long dead and buried beside the bones of his own child.

“I watch movies? I talk to people? I read books? Take your pick.” 

“Wow, when did you become such a smartass, huh?” 

She shrugs his shoulders at him “Was born that way. Nothing I can do about it.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Hey, you’ve grown to love me! You wouldn’t want me any other way.” 

And she isn’t wrong. Ellie, with all her curiosity and her bravery and her lust for life, whatever that life may look like, is exactly what he needed. Which makes him wonder if saving her from the fireflies was ultimately more of a selfish act than that of a heroic savior. 

“Who’s it from?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Oh, so (Y/N).” 

His eyes flick up and he is met with that satisfied, mischievous grin that is so uniquely Ellie.

“What makes you think that?” 

“You always change the subject when I bring her up. And that way you just jumped when I mentioned her? Yeah, you’re not slick, old man.” 

“Hey! Who are you calling an old man?” 

“You! Old and scared!” 

“I’m not scared!” 

Like hell he is. Terrified even. But there ain’t no way in hell he’ll admit that to Ellie. She’ll never let him hear the end of it. 

“Then go talk to her! She likes you, you like her. Why do you have to make it so complicated?” 

If only she knew all the ghosts swirling around inside of him threatening to break free. Things could be so easy. Only nothing ever is.

“Mind your own business, kid! Anyway, don't you have someplace to be? Think Dina came by earlier asking for you. You two are getting along well, huh?” 

“Aaaand on that note. See you for dinner, old man!” 

She’s gone before he can even hurl a reply at her. It pulls his lips into a smile. There’s no better way to get a teen to shut up than to bring up their crush. Nice to see that some things never change.

Another run. Another record. 

Joel feels silly, standing here in front of her door with his heart beating fast and heavy as he clutches the vinyl record in his hand. 

If Ellie saw him now, she’d surely make fun of him. Tommy too. Sarah even. 

What happened, Joel? You used to be so brave. What makes you so afraid now? 

Life, he thinks. Life has made him scared and bitter and sad. 

“Did you wanna knock or — ?” 

Joel turns around as the voice calls out to him. There it is again, that softness, that smile. 

“Uh, yes.” 

“Okay, good. Did you come to see me? Sorry, I was helping Maria at the farm.” 

“Yeah no uh — don’t worry about it. I just came to drop this off” 

Her eyes grow wide as she catches sight of which record it is he’s holding up. 

“No way! The stranger! You found it.” 

“ I did.” 

He had to clear an old dilapidated bar full of clickers to get that record. Almost lost his damn arm in the process. But her smile, that god-damn, life-ruining, world-shattering, heart-beat-faster, smile of hers makes it all worth it. He would give both arms, all of him. He would give it all to see her smile.

“Do you wanna come in and listen to it with me? Got my player fixed so I don’t have to use the one at the library anymore.” 

Say no. Just say no and go home. Be a good man! Be a better man! 

But he’s not. For this one moment, he can’t be that man. He’s just as weak as the rest of them. 

“Sure.” 

This feels so — normal. So before everything. Different and twisted and warped. But normal.

It’s scary and comforting all at once. Like a tipsy dream when you know you’ll wake up with a headache for sure.

(Y/N) is twirling around her living room, a beer in hand and a smile on her face. Joel leans against the door connecting her living room and her kitchen and all he can do is stare. At this woman who means so much to him. Too much for him to ever put into words. If he even knew how to. He’s never been a poet. 

“I said I love you, that's forever

And this I promise from the heart, mmm

I couldn't love you any better

I love you just the way you are, right”

“I love this song. Can you imagine someone loving you enough to write something like this about you?” 

Yes, he thinks. If only he WAS a poet. He would write a hundred songs. A thousand. And all of them would talk of her smile and her eyes and the way there is no single thing about her he would change. 

But words fail him. They always do. 

So he just nods.

“Joel,” she says and moves closer. The bottle of beer now placed on her couch table, her hands find his chest. So warm. So soft. And all he does is stare. 

“I know you got my postcards. I know you know how I feel. And sometimes I think you feel the same. I see the way you look at me. I know the dangers you put yourself in to get me those records. I just — you never say anything. So am I making a fool of myself here? Please tell me if I — “ 

“You’re not.” 

Wow, so eloquent. 

“I’m not?” 

Her voice sounds so small. So unsure. He hates that he’s the one who put the uncertainty there. Be a better man, Joel! Be a good man for once! 

But all he does is stare. Words fail him. Again. again. again.

“Then can I — can I do this?” 

(Y/N)’s gaze falls to his lips then back up to his eyes. She is so close. He can feel her warm breath on his skin. Can smell the scent of her shampoo. Notices the tremble of her fingers as her hands rest on his chest.

And he wants to kiss her. Every version of him that ever was and ever will be wants to kiss her. But all he does is stare.

All he does is stare and pull away.

And it breaks his heart to see hers break in that moment. 

“I uh — oh I’m sorry Joel.”

Tears gather in her eyes, fill them with sorrow, fill his heart with rage. He can’t do anything right, can he? Everyone he’s ever loved, he’s disappointed. But how can he let himself love her, how can he let her love him, when he is so broken? When all he does is break things?  Taint them with this infinite sadness that lives and grows inside his bones? 

“It’s not you.” 

“Oh please, Joel. I made a fool of myself already. Don’t make it worse.” 

“I ain’t trying to. It just ain’t you. It’s all me. It’s always been me”

His palms are sweaty and he feels like someone has reached into his ribcage, cracked every rib on the way to his heart, and ripped it out with bare hands. Snapping veins and arteries and all.

“I want you. I want this but I can’t have it. You think I’m a good man but the truth is, I am not. I do bad things all the time, over and over again and time and life have made me so numb to it. But you, you are so good. You deserve someone better. Someone whole.”

It’s like once he’s started it all comes flowing out like a fucking waterfall. All his fears and insecurities and pain. It’s all there for her to be disgusted by. Because god knows there is no way she won’t be. He is. All the time.

“I have not been the same since this all started. Since Sarah — since she died. I live with this immense grief. It surrounds me. It IS me. All of me. And I so desperately want to claw my way out of it. Rip it apart and leave it behind. But at the same time, I want to bury myself in it. Because what if I do leave it behind and I start to forget? Her and all that she was? How is it fair that I have to remember her far longer than I got to know her? So if I get better, if I become the man I need to be to be worthy of your love, am I still gonna be the man she knew? Can I still remember? Because that is all I have. And that is not a burden I can put on you. Not you and not Ellie.”

Joel takes a breath then another but it does little to calm him down.

“You two mean everything to me and I am sorry I am bad at showing it. That I can’t say it. I need you to know, it’s all me that’s the problem. It was never you. I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t wait for her to say anything. He doesn’t think he has the heart to hear a reply anyway. It’s like he just ripped himself open and spilled all his guts, his heart, his lungs, and all his inside out on her living room floor. 

If he was any better of a man he’d pick them up and try to rearrange them.

But he is not a good man. Maybe he never was.

“There was something for you in the mailbox” Ellie exclaims and slumps down on the couch next to him. “I was this close to opening it but I didn’t want to make you even more grumpy than you already are.” 

“I’m not grumpy” 

He has to admit, the tone in which he said those words does not do much to counter her point. Ellie knows too, judging by the way she raises her eyebrow “Sure, you’re not.” 

She drops a sunflower yellow envelope on his lap. ‘Joel’, it says in that swirly handwriting he’s become so familiar with.

It’s been a few weeks since he’s seen (Y/N). Since he spilled all his sorrows and worries to her and then ran. And, surprisingly, Jackson makes it very easy for someone to avoid another person if you only try hard enough.

Maybe Ellie has a point, maybe he has been exceptionally grumpy lately. No correlation to any recent events though. Absolutely zero.

“Sooo are you gonna open it?”

Ellie looks at him with curiosity and that little spark of mischief as if she knows something he doesn’t. 

“Not with you watching over my shoulder, I ain’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Cause it’s none of your business.” 

“Excuse me? I have to live with your grumpy ass because you guys can’t get your shit straight. I think it very much is my business.” 

“Jesus, Ellie. Language!" 

“Sorry,” she says and gives him that pseudo-sheepish look he’s grown familiar with. “You guys need to get your stuff straight.” 

He used to scold her for it but really, he isn’t one to talk. 

“Anywayyyyy, I’ll go stay at Dina’s tonight … just in case you decide to go over and apologize for whatever it is you did and you guys finally sort it out and need some privacy later.” 

“Why do you think I did something?” 

And there it is again that sassy eyebrow raise. The same one he’s seen on Sarah so many times before. It truly is a woman’s world and he’s but a fool living in it. And they let no opportunity pass to remind him of just that.

They are also absolutely right.

“My lawyer advised me not to answer that question. Anyway, be nice. Have fun. Byyyye” 

Her voice trails off as she grabs her bag and rushes outside leaving Joel alone in this big empty house with nothing but his demons and this mysterious envelope.

Carefully he opens the seal and shakes out the contents. A postcard, a photo, and a — cassette tape? 

His eyes find the photo first. It’s a polaroid of him and Ellie and (Y/N). All 3 of them smiling, yes even him. He remembers that day back last summer. It was one of those warm but not yet hot days. (Y/N) was wearing that agonizingly beautiful red sundress. The one that made his heart beat twice as fast. She brought over a whole basket full of cherries from the tree in her garden. A pie too. And that damn Polaroid camera. 

Of course, Ellie was enamored by it, wasted almost the whole damn film. 

“Come on Joel, let's take a picture together,” she had called out to him and pulled him to sit down next to her and (Y/N) on the blanket they had placed on the lawn. 

“I’m not a picture guy,” he had grumbled, “ ain’t nobody want to see my old mug.” 

“Oh shut up. Joel, you are so handsome, don’t even pretend like you don’t know that.” 

It was the first time (Y/N) had ever called him handsome. It was hard for him to believe it then, hell it still is. But she has done it a lot more since then. Calls him handsome and gorgeous and pretty all the time. At first, he thought she was just humoring him but slowly but surely it dawned on him that she meant it. Means it still.

“We don’t know how many good sunny days we have left. Ain’t no shame in trying to remember this one, right?” 

Her eyes held so much honesty then. Vulnerability too. And gratefulness for all they had then after all they had lost. It made him smile then and it makes him smile now.

The Postcard is next, big bold letters spell out TEXAS and in the corner, there’s a drawing of the Texas State Capitol in Austin.

When he turns the Postcard over, there it is again, that swirly writing he’s grown to love so much. 

“Joel, the ‘Postcards from around the world’ book I got from the library didn’t have an Austin one but it did have a Texas one so that’ll have to do. I’m not even sure if you're going to read this. I hope you do because you didn't give me a chance to say my part when you stormed off & I think I deserve that.

You're not the man you were in Austin, you lived through the worst thing imaginable and it changed you. But you are not just your pain. It is part of you but it doesn't define you. I know you see all the bad but none of the good but believe me I see it! Ellie does! You are your pain but you are also the smile on Ellie's face when you bring her a new comic or teach her a song. You're the guitar chords echoing through the air on a warm spring afternoon. You are those fluttery feelings in my heart whenever you look at me.

Joel Miller, I understand if you don't want to be with me but if it's only because you don't think you're good enough then I think that's a choice I get to make. Taking that from me is a dick move. 

You said you're bad at showing love but you're not. You showed me through all those records. Through all those songs. Now let me love you back.”

Joel can’t quite name the feeling spreading through him. It’s both foreign and familiar at the same time. Like an old friend. A hazy memory. Pictures blurred and dulled by time and age. 

Maybe he was wrong, and he hates admitting that. Maybe he ain’t a good man but maybe that is hers to decide. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

He takes the cassette tape in his hand and squints his eyes at the tiny writing on the label. God, he really is getting old. Those eyes ain’t what they used to be.

God only knows - The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds

You’re my best friend - Queen - A Night at the Opera

Just Like Heaven - The Cure - Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (you should!) 

In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel - So

Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper - She’s so unusual

Your Song - Elton John - Elton John

Can’t Help Falling in Love - Elvis - Blue Hawaii

Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton - Slowhand

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs (!!!! LOVE SONGS!!!)

Just The Way You Are - Billy Joel - The Stranger

"You gave me all these records with all these songs and all these words to tell me you love me and I’m not sure you even knew.” 

And she’s right. He got her those records because he knew they’d make her smile. Because that smile means everything to him whether he wants to admit it or not. He got those records to show her that even when he’s gone on a run, she’s always on his mind. He believed it to be a curse, a ghost haunting him for all his past mistakes and taunting him with what he shall never have.

But maybe it’s not a curse. 

Maybe it’s a blessing. A sweet song to remind him that someone back home is waiting. A gentle reminder that life can and will go on and good things can come from immense tragedy. And moving on doesn’t mean forgetting, in fact, it means remembering. Remembering the bad and believing that there can and will be good and that it’s worth it to go on. Even if you are a different you. Not worse or better, just changed. And that you deserve love. And kindness. And warmth.

Joel drops the envelope and its contents on the table and grabs his thick winter jacket as he rushes outside. The cold feels only half as bad as it nips at his skin, he barely notices. There is a fire inside him now, burning away all the doubts and hesitation. 

He’s back at her door, only this time he doesn’t wait to knock. He’s spent so much time denying himself the one thing he wants that he can’t lose just one second more. The rapping of his knuckles against her door echoes through the winter day. Oh, how he can’t wait for the spring and the summer and her in that gorgeous dress. 

“Joel?” 

Back before — everything, Joel remembers a movie night with Sarah. She got to choose and despite being an avid fan of trashy action and horror movies, that time she chose a romantic comedy. All things considered, Joel can admit that when Harry met Sally wasn’t the worst choice but he still would’ve preferred Star Wars or Terminator. 

He does remember the ending though, the grand finale. He remembers Sarah trying to wipe away tears without him noticing. And he remembers Billy Crystal’s words “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” 

Back then he thought it was some silly, cheesy movie speak. No one feels that way, right? It’s grandiose and kitschy for the sake of movie magic.

But no, he’s sure now, that one is true. Because it’s how he feels.

“I love you!” 

That confession should come with ribbons and flowers and fireworks but it doesn’t. It comes with honesty and that is all that matters. It comes from the heart.

“Huh?” 

“I got your postcard. The photo too and the tape. And I love you.” 

“I know. Took you long enough to figure it out.” 

“I’m sorry. I — I still believe that I am not a good man and that you deserve better. But it would be selfish to punish you for my own insecurities. I love you and I want to let you love me. If you still want to, that is.” 

“Joel Miller?”

“Yeah?” 

“Please just fucking kiss me.” 

Joel remembers a lot of kisses in his lifetime. Some rushed, some clumsy. Quick kisses in secret. Long drawn-out smooches in smokey bars. Loving, fast, aggressive, and soft. 

This one is different, as cheesy as it sounds.

This kiss makes him feel like all he’s ever been and all he ever will be can live in peace with one another. This kiss makes him feel like none of it matters as long as he has her. 

She tastes like peppermint and sunshine and he’s sure he’ll never get enough of her. The feeling of her skin against his as he gently cradles her face in his hand. The soft movements on her chest as she breathes. The twitch of her lips as she smiles into the kiss.

For the first time in his life, Joel is sure that a kiss is more than a kiss. It’s a healing hand on a shattered heart. It’s a new path to a new future. It’s sunshine melting the ice from his bones.

It’s a promise to try every day and to be better and to be enough. ---

[jimpagne]

HARD agree on your last post. The whole of it. And meanwhile, you have Jimin crying happy tears because he sees a grandpa pushing the wheelchair of his old wife while looking content, and Jungkook being so emotionally open and vulnerable with us. Like... are we even talking about the same people ?

You think that these two big romantics are doing what they're currently doing just so they can have sex in a cupboard or something? People need to go touch grass, for real.

I think a lot of the disconnect apart from the blatant homophobia/fetishization also comes from people viewing the military more like summer camp rather than a government institution built on forced conscription, isolation, and bloodshed. They are there to learn how to kill. How to defend their country from potential attacks. They had to give up everything they know and love to live with strangers and to view their family during approved days off. It’s a loss of mobility, a loss of personal choice, a loss of overall independence.

I don’t really think the members are preoccupied with sexual proclivities. And if President Y*** had been successful with his martial law attempt, they could’ve been held in the military indefinitely… so no, I don’t really view this entire experience as “fun” or “cool” — or god forbid “sexy” by the accs that salivate over them in a required uniform.

These boys have far bigger fish to fry.

Maybe certain toxic taekookers thought the military would be like that one comic by humanlou— whatever their name is. But the truth is far more grim.

I mean hell, have you SEEN Namjoon’s Instagram posts? That man is basically gnawing at the bars of his conscripted “prison” like a rabid dog. Hoseok even told Jin he was willing to do anything for their RUN episode as long as they didn’t end up back in Gangwon-do (where he was stationed).

All of this is just… rough. Drives me right up the wall.

[toasttt11]

jealous?

June 30, 2023

Hayden was driving Luke and her back from the airport as they stayed two days longer in Tennessee than Jack, Quinn, Jim and Ellen.

They were heading to the lake house that will be filled with friends and teammates within a few days, right now only Trevor, Alex, Cole and Matt are at the lake house having got there all yesterday.

Luke and Hayden grabbed their bags heading inside and was not surprised to not find anyone inside and saw everyone outside.

Archie came running in to Hayden and Luke and they both petted her.

Luke and Hayden went upstairs to their rooms and dropped their bags off and they both changed into swimsuits and headed downstairs.

“Hay Hay!” Cole yelled seeing Hayden first and he ran over to his best friend squeezing her so tightly her feet lifted off the floor.

“Cole!” Hayden laughed squeezing him back.

“Move i want a hug.” Trevor whined pushing Cole away and pulling Hayden into a hug spinning her around.

Hayden laughed use to Trevor always spinning her around and the second he set her back down Alex was hugging her squeezing her tightly rocking her back and forth.

Matt waited patiently as he always does and smile his soft smile reserved for Hayden and opened up his arms letting Hayden fall into his arms, “Hello Hart Trophy winner.” Matt whispered teasing making Hayden’s cheek darken slightly and her smile turn softer and she squeezed him once more.

“Hi Matty.” Hayden shared a soft smile with Matt before hugging Quinn and Jack before she was immediately pulled into the water by Trevor and Alex.

All of them spent most of the afternoon messing around outside in the lake until Trevor whined enough about going to the bar that everyone started to agree.

Hayden just came out down in a simple outfit, blue jean shorts, black cropped tank top and her black converse she uses specifically for bars and parties mostly during the summer and her hair was half up in a french braid.

Hayden offered to drive as she doesn’t drink often and everyone squished in and Hayden drive them to their favorite bar in Michigan.

Hayden shook her head to herself seeing Luke looking comfortable heading into a bad and it still shocks her sometimes how her baby brother isn’t a baby anymore.

Hayden walked in and plopped down next to Quinn in a corner booth, usually where she stays most bar nights with Quinn or they do darts with Luke until one of the other boys drag them into something. Alex plopped down next to Quinn seeing fine to just sit and drink.

Jack and Cole ended up coming over and scooting into the booth.

Trevor sprawled over Cole and Jack.

Matt and Luke came over together as they had a drink for Quinn and Hayden, Luke squeezed in between Hayden and Quinn and Matt sat down next to Hayden.

Matt smiled as one of Hayden’s favorite Noah Kahan songs came on and he stood up making Hayden look at him and he just grinned holding out his hand.

There was reason this became the groups favorite bar because it’s a dancing bar and most of them love dancing.

“Absolutely not.” Hayden playfully scoffed, she is not a dancer.

Matt just smiled and leaned forward grabbing her waist gently and pulled her out of the booth making her stand up, Hayden squeaked so shocked by his actions.

Trevor started cackling watching Matt just pick Hayden up and take her to the dance floor.

Hayden couldn’t help but laugh as Matt pulled her closed and spun her out making Matt beam seeing her laughing.

Jack’s face softened seeing how happy his sister was as he shared a look with Quinn.

“You think Hay feels the same yet?” Alex asked curiously watching the two with an interested look. He doesn’t see Hayden and Matt together much anymore but he knows they are still very close. They all knew of Matt’s feelings for Hayden but were always unsure what Hayden felt.

“Maybe they are together?” Trevor suggested he’s noticed the change between Matt and Hayden over the last few years and has been waiting for them to be together.

“No they aren’t. Hayden would say something.” Jack firmly said he knows Hayden would never keep something like from him or their brothers. He knows she doesn’t realize her feelings for Matt yet but he had a feeling she would soon.

“I ain’t proud of all the punches that i’ve thrown.” Hayden sung quietly as Matt pulled her closer again and his hands rested on her lower back.

Matt spun her around and he had the most sappy look on his face seeing her laugh.

Matt pulled her back and his nose just nudged against her neck and his heart squeezed painfully as he doesn’t get to have Hayden like this when he wants and not how he truly wants.

Hayden glanced up at Matt with her bright sparkling smile and her eyes shining happily and she titled her head feeling her heart beating out of her chest but she wasn’t sure if it was because of the dancing or as her nose brushed just slight against Matt’s nose.

Matt breath got caught in his throat being so close to her and he opened his mouth to say something when he felt a weird hand on his arm and he flinched away making Hayden pull back and out of his touch.

They both turned to see a girl standing there a lot shorter than Matt and long black hair, “I thought you could use a better dance partner.” She smiled sweetly up at Matt.

Hayden raised her eyebrow at the girl but didn’t say anything use to other girls being rude to her because of her friendship with her boys.

Matt immediately started shaking his head, he did not want to dance with anyone that is not Hayden, “Oh no it’s okay i’ve got a partner already.” Matt quickly and awkwardly stammered out.

Hayden clenched her hand unknowingly and shook her head confused why she feels just annoyed, “It’s okay have fun Matt.” Hayden’s tone was a bit colder than usually and she didn’t realize as she sent a tight smile and turned away letting out a lot breath.

Hayden is completely overwhelmed with the amount of emotions she is feeling in the last few minutes, she walked over to the table not noticing how the entire table was watching her.

“I’m gonna walk back and get some rest.” Hayden told the table and nodded walking away.

Jack gave Luke a look, “I’ve got it.” Jack muttered reassuringly to Luke who was worried about Hayden and Jack hopped out of the booth following after Hayden.

Jack just looped arms with Hayden not saying anything letting Hayden process what she needs to.

Hayden missed how Matt completely ignored the girl and finally got her to leave him alone and headed back to the table seeing Hayden gone.

Hayden was confused, she felt her heart beating out of her chest dancing with Matt and rush of emotions and suddenly she felt annoyed and almost jealous.

Was she jealous? why would she be jealous?

Matt can date whoever he wants, Hayden doesn’t have feelings for him so why would she be jealous. She shook her head knowing she couldn’t be jealous.

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Triangulum - Chapter 8 - Pin The Fist On The Triangle

 — — — — — — —

“You sure you know where we’re goin’, Dip?”

“Positive.”

A twig snapped beneath Dipper’s shoes as he hopped onto a nearby log. “Granted, we only went to the bunker, like, once last year,” he explained, shielding his eye with one hand to get a proper look at his surroundings. “But I did read Ford’s journal cover-to-cover a few dozen times, so I at least know what the tree hiding the entrance looks like.”

He flashed Stan a grin. “Plus, you know—found the journal itself near the bunker. And I’m never going to forget that day as long as I live.”

“Heh, yeah, I’ll bet,” Stan added. “Still can’t believe you managed to keep that a secret from me for over half the summer.”

The hand above Dipper’s eyes was slapped flat against his forehead. “I know, right? And I can’t believe you managed to hide all the portal stuff even longer than that! Man, if we’d just…said something to each other sooner, maybe we could’ve gotten Ford back a lot quicker!”

“Preachin’ to the choir with that one, pal—huh, hang on, now I need t’ breathe—”

With a wheeze, Stan propped himself against the nearest tree with one arm. “Can’t help Ford and Mabel out if one of us drops dead from ‘no-air-in-lungs’ disease before we get there.”

Dipper looked down at him and folded his arms in amusement. “You know if Ford was here, he’d probably correct you with the phrase ‘oxygen deprivation’.”

A grin of his own tugged at the corners of Stan’s mouth. “And if Mabel were here, she’d point out how you sound like just as much of a giant nerd as he does for knowing that.”

The two of them shared a laugh, one that petered off into a gruff sigh on Stan’s end as he shifted to a position with his back against the tree. “So, uh—that little birdie from before didn’t really explain why the two of you crafted some kinda plan to run off and help Ford. Or why you were the one to stay behind at the party instead of your sister.”

He winked playfully at him. “No offense, kid, but you ain’t the first person in the family I’d turn to when it comes to bein’ a party expert.”

“None taken, it wasn’t the original plan,” Dipper explained. “I offered to go after Ford myself, but Mabel was pretty set on being the one to go help him. Said she wanted to spend more time with Ford this year. But—”

The rest of his sentence fell with both his expression and body as he hopped back down from the log, and Stan quirked an eyebrow. “But, huh? Feel like sharin’ those thoughts you’ve probably been twistin’ yourself into knots over all day?”

“More than all day,” Dipper admitted. “Mabel’s just been acting kind of off lately. Not even lately, actually—ever since we got home last year. Every time the topic of Weirdmageddon comes up, she just gets so—okay, I know it’s the most obvious way to describe it but weird.”

A shrug. “She didn’t want to talk about it with Mom or Dad, and I didn’t really want to either. They had a lot to deal with last year, and we kinda just…agreed to keep that one to ourselves—”

“Smart call.”

“—but she also just kinda goes out of her way to avoid talking about it at all,” Dipper continued. “Even with me. Which, you know, I get it. I don’t really like thinking about it or talking about it much either. But with her, it just feels…different, you know? Like there’s something I’m missing that’s so obvious, but at the same time, it could just be me overthinking things like I always do.”

He pressed his hands to his face with a drawn-out groan. “Ugh, I kinda hope it’s that second one. I mean, Mabel and I are supposed to be a team, right? I thought after last year, we’d be able to talk to each other about anything that was bothering us. If we can’t do that…”

His words trailed off once again as he cast Stan an uncertain look. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about all this,” he said “You were going on and on about how much of a Pines man I’ve become, and here I am—still getting anxious over stuff that’s probably nothing.”

He let out a weak laugh as his gaze fell to his hands, while Stan kept his own locked on Dipper for a moment of quiet consideration. One that he was quick to break before he could get too lost in it with a light nudge to the boy’s arm. “Hey, come on—you’re just worried about your sister havin’ something that worries her, and thinkin’ she can’t share that worry with you,” he pointed out. “‘Cause when you’ve got a twin, you would think that one of your worries is both of your worries. And then when it’s not, you’re left with your own batch a’ worries about their worries, and whether or not you’re worthy of knowin’ about their worries in the first place—”

He circled a hand in the air. “And now I’m talkin’ in circles and ‘worry’ doesn’t even sound like a real word anymore. Point is, it’s practically a Pines family tradition at this point to get yourself tied up into thought-knots over your twin’s safety and wellbeing.”

Dipper cracked a small smile up at him, one that fell into a knowing look almost immediately after it had formed. “Is that what’s been happening with you and Ford?”

A grunt was Stan’s response, his actual reply going unsaid for a few seconds longer than he would’ve preferred. “We’re talkin’ about you and Mabel right now, aren’t we?”

“We are,” Dipper agreed. “But you did say that ‘no one else was stepping up to help Ford out’ before we headed out here. Is that why you were spending all day on the boat? You wanted to find a way to help Ford?”

“I said we’re talkin’ about you,” Stan insisted, before pressing a hand to his own forehead and peering through a cluster of nearby trees. “So, either keep yappin’ about how worried you are over your sister or go back to pointin’ me in the direction of the bunker.”

BANG!

A loud gunshot echoed through the surrounding wood, snapping their attention towards the direction of the sound. “Huh, I think Ford might’ve just picked an option for me,” Dipper said.

“That, or some random hunter who’s late to the Shack party,” Stan added. “Either way, a gunshot usually means the opposite of anything good.” 

He pressed a hand to his chin. “Unless you fired it yourself, but even then it’s only good if you succeed in takin’ out whatever you were firin’ at in the first place. If it was dangerous enough to fire a gun at to begin with, you don’t wanna go and mess that up. Consider that some kinda life lesson or whatever.”

“Considered,” Dipper said. “But if it was Ford who fired the gun, that could mean something went wrong in the bunker. Him and Mabel might need our help!”

BANG!

Another shot being fired enveloped the area, and Dipper sped off through the underbrush in a hurry. “Wait, Dip—hold on a sec,” Stan called as he quickly followed after him. “Probably a bad idea to go running after the sound of a gun in the middle of the woods at—”

His warning was cut off as he stepped through a pair of bushes, only to immediately lose sight of Dipper between the dark trees. “ —night.”

He let out another sigh—one that finished just before a third shot was fired, and he took off running again with the faintest, stupidest hope that it really was just a random hunter with a complex for being fashionably late to parties. Those probably existed somewhere, right?

…Even in a town with as much weirdness as Gravity Falls, Stan still wasn’t sure how much of that he could actually buy.

 — — — — — —

“Stop running, Bill! You know we’re faster than you!”

Bill peered out from behind the tree he had ducked behind for protection, one hand resting against the trunk while he cupped the other around his mouth: “Question for you, Shooting Star: do you really think that asking politely is gonna make me obey?”

From where her and Ford stood a short distance away, Mabel stomped her foot with a huff. “Well, I’ll never know unless I try!” 

Ford remained silent during their banter, gun raised once again as he took aim at Bill. He had already fired several shots, all of which had been targeted at a non-lethal part of Bill’s body; legs, arms, even maybe a shoulder. 

Unfortunately for Ford, the number of bullets that landed a hit had been a big, fat, goose-egg of a zero. But now the chance to once again lodge a bullet into Bill’s skull had presented itself to him. A clear and easy shot if he moved quick enough.

Yet here he was—a hesitant finger trembling half an inch above the trigger.

He still hadn’t quite processed what had happened down in the bunker. One second Bill’s lifeless body had been sprawled out across the control panel, and the next he was barreling out the door towards the exit like he had never been shot in the first place—the only evidence to the contrary being the slowly-drying blood that still decorated the control panel.

All of which had taken place outside Mabel’s line of sight, an option that was no longer available due to the jabs and jeers from his right side.

He dared to pull his attention from Bill for a moment to watch her out of the corner of his eye. How did she feel, as she countered Bill’s retorts with her own? Had she concluded that any attempt to kill Bill had merely resulted in failure, and simply not dwelled further on that train of thought? Did she still harbor a grudge towards Ford over a mere attempt—successful or otherwise—to kill someone who so strongly resembled her brother?

“Grunkle Ford, shoot him!”

…Well, clearly the evidence presented to him suggested otherwise.

But despite Mabel’s insistence, Ford’s gun remained unfired. Even if Mabel herself truly held no negative feelings towards the ordeal, there was still plenty of other things to worry about when it came to the option of shooting Bill again.

What exactly did it mean if Bill was able to survive a gunshot to the head? Ford had originally assumed that Bill had been goading him into firing a shot as a means of escaping his vessel, but he had popped back to normal while still inside said vessel. Had a mad dash for freedom while his captor was too stunned to react properly been his real real plan all along?

His gaze returned to Bill. And what did that mean? That Bill simply couldn’t be killed at all, and he wanted Ford to be aware of that fact? Had that been his actual plan? What did it mean if—

“Grunkle Ford, he’s getting away!”

A tug on his sleeve and another outcry from Mabel finally snapped him from his thoughts entirely, just as Bill finally ducked out of sight and took off running again. Biting back a curse, he gestured for Mabel to follow as the two hurried after him—Bill’s devilish laughter trailing behind him and encircling them like snares around the necks of unsuspecting rabbits—

“ACK!”

—only to be completely cut off by a yelp of surprise and the sound of something tumbling to the ground just beyond a set of bushes. As Ford and Mabel finally drew closer and stepped through, they were greeted by the sight of Bill on his knees in the middle of a clearing—hands slapped to his forehead as if he’d collided hard with something at full speed.

And as their gazes travelled further over to the right, they were quick to realize that had been the exact scenario to unfold as someone else came stumbling out of a patch of nearby shrubbery.

“Dipper?”

Sure enough, Dipper now stood before them in the middle of the clearing—clothing a stained mess of dirt and mud and a hand pressed to his own forehead with a pained: “Ugh, did I just run into a wall?”

“Hey, you’re the one who ran into me,” Bill griped. “Seriously, Pine Tree, where’s the fire? What, did you mistake me for another redhead you never had a snowball’s chance of getting with in the first place?”

“Hey, I—”

Rather than acknowledge him, Dipper’s hand trailed all the way up to his hair and patted the top for a moment. “Aw, man, he knocked off my hat,” he muttered in annoyance before his gaze fell to his clothes. “And got dirt on my—ugh, come on, I just washed everything too! How is there this much mud out here, I’m pretty sure it hasn’t rained in a while…”

While he attempted to brush some of the dirt from his clothing, Mabel bounded quickly over to her brother’s side. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” he pointed out, directing an especially-perturbed scowl at one of the stains on his shirt. “Weren’t you supposed to be down in the bunker?”

“Ugh, tell that to him.”

Mabel followed up her reply with a scowl in Bill’s direction, one he reciprocated before pulling himself back to his feet. “Yeah, well, wouldn’t want to intrude on this touching family reunion, so if you don’t mind—hey, HEY!”

Before he could make a move to start running again, a strong hand grasped the back of his jacket and hoisted him up off the ground with a sharp yank—seconds before something cold and metal was pressed against his cheek.

Well, guess someone did mind after all.

Despite being quite literally caught off guard, however, Bill eyed the end of Ford’s gun with an unimpressed look. Now that he knew about Tangy’s rule of not being able to truly die until the game was over, any threats on Ford’s end were about as threatening as—

—well, honestly as threatening as they would’ve been back in his original form. What’s the worst that Ford could do now, put another bullet in his head?

Just for good measure, Bill cast a sidelong glance at his left wrist for a quick look at his speck. Most of it was hidden by his sleeve, but he could still make out the topmost—bottommost? It didn’t mattermost.—points just barely peeking out from beneath his cuff. Just enough that would be easily missed by anyone who wasn’t looking for it, but still noticeable for those who knew it was there.

He risked letting his gaze linger on it for a millisecond longer before his pupil shifted back to Ford. If he had had no way of knowing about Tangy’s little respawn trick until it mattered, then there was even less of a chance that Ford knew how it worked. Poor Fordsy’s mind had to be racing with possibilities about how he popped back to life down in the bunker—likely with no clear answers about how it happened and a million theories branching off in just as many directions. 

The corners of his mouth twitched with devious intent. Well, when the driver already had little control over the wheel, the best thing to do was to grab it with both hands and veer him so off-course that he went carreaning over the side of a cliff!

And sure, Bill might’ve no longer had access to the car dubbed Ford’s Mind, but he still had ways to tamper with the breaks. “So how’re we gonna do this, Sixer? You feel like trying to shoot me again?”

The gun clicked as Ford turned off the safety. “Stop talking.”

“Make me stop talking, then,” Bill goaded further.

From where her and Dipper stood, Mabel’s scowl lowered further for a moment before she turned to her brother with a brighter expression. “You said you lost your hat?”

“Yeah, might’ve landed in the bushes somewhere,” Dipper said, and started fumbling through the leaves. “He ran into me pretty hard—oh, wait, there it is—”

“I think I heard ‘em over here!”

As he rose to his feet with the hat clutched tightly in hand, the sound of footsteps approaching caused both children to take a few steps back—just in time for Stan to step out into the clearing. And upon seeing the group, he called behind him with a: “Yep, they’re h—”

A pause, before he looked back at them with several blinks of confusion. “Hang on a sec.”

“What’s wrong?” a voice called behind him, seconds before another person stepped out into the clearing to reveal—

“Wh—Dipper?”

Sure enough, a second Dipper now stood at Stan’s side, giving his sister a wave as he slowed to a stop. “Hey, Mabel, what’s—”

And suddenly his words were interrupted as well as he also took in the sight before him. “—happening?”

The entire group was silent, befuddled gazes shifting from one Dipper to the other. Even Bill couldn’t help but glance between them with a raised eyebrow of his own. “Well, this night’s just full of surprises, isn’t it?”

“You stay out of this!” Mabel chided him, before giving the identical boys another unsure look. “But…yeah, this is pretty weird.”

“Okay, so what’s goin’ on here?” Stan asked, pointing a finger at the Dipper next to him. “We got one—” He moved the finger to the Dipper who had originally crashed into Bill. “—two—”

And finally, to Bill himself. “Somethin’ ain’t right here. This one of your tricks, pal?”

“First of all, Goldfish, why would I tell you if it was?” Bill asked. “Second of all, what would making two Pine Trees accomplish for me personally?” 

He flashed his teeth at the rest of the group. “Heck, it’s bad enough that one of ‘em exists already! Personally I think not bringing another one into the world is just me doing the rest of you a favor!” 

He let out a cackle. “Meanwhile the faker’s just performing a microaggression against everyone else’s peace of mind! Haha!”

“Ugh, do you seriously have to lay it on that thick?” The Dipper from Stan’s side piped up in annoyance, before pressing a hand to his forehead. “Nope, no—not focusing on you right now. First we’ve gotta figure out why there’s currently two of me standing here.”

“Who cares why there’s two of me?” The other Dipper added. “I think the actual thing we need to be focusing on is which one’s the real one—”

He looked over at Ford. “Or, you know—getting rid of him, like I’m guessing you were trying to do until now? I just came out here to help you find a solution.”

“Hey, that’s why I came out here, too!” The Dipper beside Stan added, narrowing his eyebrows at the doppelganger. “And I’ve even got Grunkle Stan to back me up for that first thing! We’ve been together the entire time!”

“Darn right we have,” Stan agreed loyally, pointing a finger towards the other. “If anyone here’s some kinda fakey-fakerson, it’s that one!”

“Thank you,” the Dipper beside him said appreciatively.

“...Sure, there were a few seconds where the two of us got separated in the woods, but other than that, the kid hasn’t left my side once!”

The same Dipper cast a flat look up at him in annoyance. “Really?”

“Well, I’m not a fake!” the other Dipper insisted. “Ask Mabel, she’ll back me up! Right, Mabel?”

He cast a hopeful glance to his sister, only to be met with a lukewarm, so-so hand gesture in response. “I meaaaaan, we did just run into you a few seconds ago,” she pointed out. “I want to trust you’re the real Dipper, but you do have a weird trend of ending up with clones that look exactly like you.”

“That’s what being a clone means!” The Dipper beside her insisted. “Of course we’re going to look alike!”

“I don’t want to agree with him,” the other Dipper added. “But he does raise a good point, Mabel. It wouldn’t be a clone if it didn’t look exactly like me.”

“Alright, alright, everyone just calm down for a sec,” Stan ordered, turning his gaze to his brother. “Ford, any input on this whole Seein’ Double ordeal?”

Bill felt the tip of the gun withdraw from his cheek the slightest amount, and he once again cast a glance up at its owner. Ford had remained silent throughout the whole doppelganger reveal, and his expression was studious as he looked between the two of them.

Despite the concentration he put up for the rest of the group, Bill could feel the hand on the back of his jacket trembling just the faintest amount. A fact that once again returned the smile to his own face.

Perhaps Ford was genuinely trying to figure out the correct answer to the issue at hand. Or perhaps the sudden reveal of yet another Pine Tree was only scrambling his brain matter even further than it already was, leaving him open for further scrambling until his thoughts were completely servable with a side of mind bacon and a glass of mind orange juice.

And boy howdy, did Bill need himself a good plate of mind breakfast! The middle of the night was the best time for it, after all! 

Yeesh, first a mind car, then a mind breakfast? He was going all over the place with his metaphors. Point was, some higher power was being overly generous with all the opportunities they were granting him to mess with Ford’s head. And with the entire family—plus one—as witnesses, maybe revisiting the events of the bunker would succeed in agitating him further.

Worst case scenario, he got another bullet in his head for a few minutes. But in turn, the rest of the family got some trauma outta the ordeal and he had another opportunity to escape while they were too shocked to react.

“Sounds to me like there’s some pretty damning evidence on both Pine Trees’ sides,” he said aloud with a grin. “Perhaps a classic case of ‘shoot them both in the foot and see which one of ‘em cries harder’ is in order.”

“Absolutely not,” one Dipper replied sharply.

“Not in a million years,” the other added in agreement.

“I’m just saying, it’d probably be an effective method in finding the fake Pine Tree,” Bill pointed out, with a wink up at Ford. “Unless Ford would rather just give them both the same treatment he gave me down in the bunker instead.”

The gun was pressed against his cheek again in an instant. “Stop. Talking.”

He felt the hand on the back of his shirt tense, curling his smile further. “What, Fordsy, not up for a repeat performance now that you have an audience to see what you did?”

His grin widened as the rest of the group’s attention immediately shifted from the dopplegangers to Ford with varying levels of confusion. “Grunkle Ford, what’s he talking about?” one of the Dippers asked.

“Yes, whatever is he talking about~?” Bill asked, batting his eyelashes up at his captor. “Feel like sharing with the rest of the class? Or, I guess, showing the rest of the class? You were sooooo quick to do it when it was just the two of us down there, weren’t you?”

He continued to stare up at Ford with a smug expression, far too pleased by the malice in his own features as he pressed the trip of the gun further into his cheek. Oh, such malice might intimidate a lesser being into behaving properly—but for Bill, it only further confirmed what he’d known since the second he’d regained consciousness the day before.

Ford was terrified. Terrified and confused and desperate to keep control of the situation. And with the new information he’d learned down in the bunker, the cracks in his armor were becoming clearer and clearer—

“Who cares what happened down there?” Stan piped up. “Like we’re gonna listen to anything that’s coming outta that twisted mouth’a yours.”

“Yeah!” Mabel chimed in. “And anyway, why would we even think about shooting either of the Dippers! That’s the dumbest idea ever from the dumbiest, dum-dum ever!”

Momentarily caught off-guard by the interruptions, Bill cast them both a nasty look. One that only fell further when the grip on the back of his jacket relaxed again. Spoilsports. “Well, I don’t hear the rest of you coming up with any solutions.”

“You know, I might have a solution that doesn’t involve listening to him,” the Dipper beside Mabel spoke up. “In fact, that’s why I came out here in the first place. Well, sort of, I was already looking up a way to help you out with him—” A gesture towards Bill. “—but then I spotted something else in the journals that we could probably use to solve this issue, too.”

With a grin, he reached for Mabel’s hand and gave it a tug to pull her along. “So all we have to do is go back to the Shack…and—”

When the hand-pulling ceased to be effective, he looked back to see her giving him a confused stare. “Woah, woah, pop the breaks for a sec, Bro-Bro,” she said, pulling her hand away. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“What do you mean what am I talking about?” Dipper asked. “I’m talking about the journals. You know, the ones full of all the weird and wacky creatures and magic stuff? The ones that he wrote?”

He gestured over to Ford for support, only to be met with a look of suspicion in response—all while the smile on Bill’s face returned in full force. “Well? Isn’t anyone going to answer him?”

The Dipper blinked in disbelief, the grip on his hat tightening as he looked over to where Stan and the other Dipper stood. “Come on, back me up here—”

In response, Stan moved to place a protective hand in front of his Dipper. “Think you might’ve just given us the answer we were lookin’ for, pal.”

“What are you TALKING about?” the other Dipper asked, tone rising in anger. “Is this some kind of elaborate joke, or do none of you seriously remember the journals?!”

“Oh, they remember,” Bill chimed in with a smirk as he glanced at his nails. “It’s just that they’re no longer an option for any sort of help.”

The smile twitched wider—revealing most of his teeth—as he pressed the hand to his chest. “Since yours truly set them all on fire last year~! Hahaha!”

“And when they did return to normal,” Mabel added with a suspicious glare at the other Dipper. “Grunkle Ford tossed them down into the Bottomless Pit!”

“They did what?! He did what?!”

Bill’s smile vanished in an instant as his gaze whipped back to Ford. “You did what?! Yeesh, Sixer, way to break your toys so no one else could use ‘em.”

“The point being made here,” Stan spoke up. “Is that the real Dipper would’ve known that by now.”

“And he does!” the Dipper near him chimed in. “He very much does!”

“Yeah, so give it up, you faker!”

Fists raised, Mabel took a step back towards the rest of her family as they all stared at the newly-dubbed fake Dipper with suspicious realization. The fake Dipper who was twisting the hat in his hand with a vice-like grip and blinking an unusually rapid rate.

But rather than blink the usual way, his eyelids appeared to open and close sideways, similar to some kind of reptile or insect.

In fact, a lot of the faux-Dipper’s mannerisms had grown a lot more insect-like now that he was under suspicion. His arms and legs twitched with jerky spasms, ones that grew too sporadic for him to keep hold of the hat, and it tumbled to the forest floor. 

And not even the dirt and grime that had stained it in the earlier collision could mask the familiar pine tree symbol on the front of the hat. 

A telltale sign that the group had correctly identified the imposter. 

An imposter who’s body suddenly began to morph and shift into a large bug creature—its tendrils waving about widely as it let out a violent, animalistic roar that shook the forest around the Pines. “What the heck is that?!” Stan asked, hands slapped to his ears.

“Shapeshifter.”

Ford’s gun had moved from Bill to the massive being without a second thought, as it slammed one of its front appendage to the forest ground with a menacing thud. “Well, if this isn’t a pleasant reunion,” he spat at them with clear disdain, gaze landing on the adults. “Old Six-Fingers returns after thirty years—”

A quick morph and he now resembled Ford.

“—and a second, just like him!”

Another, this time with Stanley’s appearance as the end result.

“And who could forget the kids~?”

Dipper, then Mabel—before he turned his gaze on Bill, still clutched tightly in Ford’s hand. “And the detested one with the big mouth, of course! Ooh, this one’s new.”

A final morph and the group found themselves face-to-face with a short, blonde boy. Despite every instinct telling him to kick Ford in the ribs and book it while he was distracted, Bill found himself momentarily stunned as he continued to stare as the shapeshifted being before him. 

By process of elimination, he was now staring down at the spitting image of his vessel’s appearance.

As initially speculated, the resemblances to Dipper were clear as day—with the hair color and eyes being the main differing factor. But outside of that, it was like he had jumped back about a year—poking and prodding at his new flesh-puppet’s face while he stared into the mirror of the Mystery Shack’s attic while the kid’s spirit watched on in horror.

Overall, highly unimpressive and disappointing. Just the face and body of some twelve-year-old brat.

A final morph and the shapeshifter transformed into a horrific conglomeration of all five of them, one that proceeded to launch itself at Ford for an attack. Unprepared, Ford stumbled back as he raised his gun to fire off a defensive shot to the shoulder—

—only to release his grip on Bill’s jacket in the process, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Despite his appreciation for the incomprehensible horror before him, Bill knew a distraction to take advantage of when he saw it, and that it was definitely time to book it outta there! Which is exactly what he did; scrambling to his feet and taking off like a shot into the woods. An escape attempt that went unmissed by Mabel, who had quickly moved off to the side of the fight with the rest of her family. “Bill’s getting away!”

“Not for long,” Stan said. “You kids go after ‘em, I’ll stay here and help Ford with this oversized caterpillar!”

Despite the attack, Ford managed to get a few bullets on Shifty, causing him to retreat backwards for a moment. “What—no, nobody go after Bill!” he ordered, moments before Shifty leapt at him again. “I’ve just got to—”

Seconds before Shifty could make contact, Stan’s fist collided with the side of his face and sent him crashing against the nearest tree. “Go after Bill!” he repeated to the kids. “I doubt I need to tell you not to let him get away!”

“Stanley, I just said—”

“Yeah, and I said what I said!” Stanley countered. “You’ve got the gun, and that’s gonna be needed to take this bastard down. I stay to help you here, and the kids get Bill.”

“We’re on it, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper said, with a gesture to his sister to follow. “Come on, they can handle the shapeshifter on their own!”

“Right!” Mabel agreed. “Don’t worry, Grunkle Ford, we’ll get Bill!”

Before Ford could protest further, the younger twins took off running in the same direction as Bill, leaving the adults to grapple with a furious shapeshifter. One who was quickly shifting between several different forms in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

Eventually he settled on the form of a vicious mole-creature before launching his entire body at Stan, earning himself a brass-knuckled punch to the jaw. “Come on, Ford,” Stan said, fists still clenched as he jumped back in time to avoid a swipe from the being’s claws. “I know I ain’t exactly the best at puttin' that three-sided jerk under by twice as many feet, but you can’t tell me you don’t at least trust the kids to get the job done right.”

Despite Ford’s attention being mostly fixed on unloading a round of shots into Shifty’s body, he managed to cast Stan a look of genuine confusion. “Stanley, what are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talkin’ about!” Stan protested, taking a fighting stance as Shifty decided to crawl up a nearby tree for an aerial advantage. “That’s why you didn’t want me helpin’ you out today, right? Because you think I’m gonna screw it up like I did last time—”

Stan was cut off as Shifty lunged for him in the form of some giant, wolflike creature, and the two of them disappeared into the dark underbrush of the forest.

“Stanley!”

Ford was hurrying after them without a thought; darting his gaze around for even the tiniest sign of movement against the darkened woods.

Any sign at all—any sign that Stanley was okay—

And suddenly he popped into view again, clearly in some kind of physical battle against whatever was on the other side of the tree that obscured Ford’s line of sight, until it finally ventured out into view to reveal—

—another Stanley.

Oh, no.

— — — — — — —

Despite his exhaustion from once again having to run with legs clearly not built for the task, the temptation to direct mockery at the footsteps behind him was simply too tantalizing for Bill to resist.

And if the sound of footsteps wasn’t enough, a quick look over his shoulder that confirmed Dipper was hot on his trail only set him further in his decision. “What’s wrong, Pine Tree~?” he called with delight. “Can’t run with those short little leg—ACK!”

His smack talk and removal of attention from the path ahead proved to be immediately karmatic—for it was only a second later that his foot snagged on a tree root and he was sent tumbling forward to the ground. 

And as he attempted to pull himself to his feet again, a sudden kick to the ribs—one accompanied by a yelp that trailed beyond him and onwards ahead—brought him back down in an instant, face bouncing hard off a nearby boulder.

Despite the pain quickly spreading through his ribcage and lip, Bill forced himself back to his feet just in time to see Dipper slow to a stop just a short distance ahead of him—fists raised as he took on a defensive stance. “Apparently my short legs can still run better than yours.”

At a glance, his pose and smart comeback might’ve implied a sense of control. But the slight wobbling in his legs, uneven footsteps in the dirt, and earlier yelp implied that the kick he had delivered to Bill’s side might’ve been more accidental as opposed to deliberate.

Heh, Pine Tree had absolutely tripped over him when he’d fallen and was trying to play it off like he had the upper hand in this situation. How precious.

The taste of metal brought a hand to Bill’s mouth, crimson staining his pale skin as he scrubbed away the blood. Looks like even with Birdbrain’s little respawn abilities, his body could still bleed.

Even with that kind of power, there were still weaknesses to be found.

His grin returned as he wiped his hand clean on his pant leg. No matter how tough Pine Tree tried to pretend he was now, he was still the weak, pathetic, anxiety-riddled twerp he had always been. All Bill had to do was find the right ways to make him bleed.

Another thoughtful glance down at his hand as the grin twitched with malice. Well, if it had worked on Ford—

“You think you’re soooo tough, don’tcha, Pine Tree?” he jeered. “But now you’re stuck out in the middle of the woods with me~! And you can act as tough as you want, but I know how terrified you really are of me.”

He winked at Dipper with wicked delight. “And I think we both know why, don’t we?” 

Despite his attempt to keep his stance firm, even Dipper couldn’t hide the way his shoulders tensed at that question. A motion that brightened both smile and wickedness further as Bill cupped his chin in one hand. “Nostalgic, isn’t it? Staring directly into your own face and body while someone else is at the wheel?”

Ooh, if that didn’t completely wipe the mask away from Dipper’s expression and display his fear in full force! “Y-you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh, come on, kid, I think we both know I do,” Bill taunted, pressing a finger to his cheek. “What, you really thought I didn’t know what was happening here? Thought I just picked this body without knowing full well what I looked like—”

THUNK.

Bill’s mockery was swiftly cut off by something hard smacking firmly against his forehead, and he slapped a hand to the spot with an offended look. “Did you just throw something at me?!”

From where he stood, Dipper tossed another rock up and down in his hand with a proud grin. “Huh, guess even a nightmare demon’s not immune to monologuing long enough for someone to chuck a rock at his head.”

With a furious shout, Bill launched himself at Dipper to try and knock him down. An attempt that seemed to work, with Dipper collapsing to the ground beneath their combined weight and the rock he’d been juggling rolling just out of reach.

With the weight of his body keeping Dipper pinned, Bill quickly fumbled at the nearby ground for his own rock and raised it over Dipper’s head with a manic little giggle. Heh, looks like he’d get a chance to spill some blood outside of his own tonight~!

And just so Pine Tree knew his intent—“Well if I’m not immune to getting my pasty human brains splattered everywhere, then I know for a fact that you’re not immune to it either!”

He reared his arm back to give himself more force, but the attempted impact was thwarted by Dipper’s hand gripping his wrist in defense. Tightly and successfully gripping his wrist, for Dipper apparently possessed enough strength to keep Bill’s arm locked in place. 

Weird, Bill could so clearly remember Pine Tree’s body being too weak to race around a stage for more than a few minutes last year. Where the heck was all this new muscle coming from? “I mean, it’s not my go-to method for getting rid of you,” he continued, voice strained as he fought against Dipper’s grasp. “Would’ve preferred a more creative approach, like flinging you off the nearest water tower—”

“Get off of me!” Dipper protested with an attempt to wriggle himself free.

“But hey, when in Rome: bash a kid’s skull in with the nearest heavy object!”

Despite Dipper’s admittedly-successful attempts to keep him at bay, Bill fought just as hard in return to overpower him. To overpower him, to bring the rock clutched so tightly in his hand that his palm was beginning to hurt down on his stupid, pathetic face, to force him to stare directly into his own twisted reflection as it delivered painful blow after painful blow, until the light slowly but inevitably faded from his eyes for good—

“Hey, Bill!”

Before Bill had time to process another voice behind him, a ropelike object was thrown over his head and pulled taut around his throat—his focus snapping away from Dipper long enough for the other boy to knock him off and send the rock scattering out of his reach.

Luckily for Bill, his assailant released the grip on whatever they had used to try and strangle him once Dipper had tossed him aside. And he was quick to his hands and knees again, one pressed against his throat as he cast an irritated look towards whoever had thwarted his little murder attempt. Although he had a pretty good idea of who the culprit was, even before his functioning eye landed on her ridiculous popcorn sweater.

Sure enough, Mabel now stood several feet away from them, a braided rope of streamers in one hand and a fierce expression on her face. “I’ve got something I’ve wanted to say to you all day—”

“Did you seriously just try to choke me out?” Bill asked, rubbing the sore spot with a wince. “Yeesh, Shooting Star, I gotta stop underestimating your bloodlust.”

“Wh—” Mabel started, confident demeanor faltering for a second. “I mean, yes, I did, but—”

“Guess I’ve also gotta stop underestimating your creativity, too,” Bill continued. “I mean, choking a guy out with streamers? Not a bad play, I’ve gotta admit. A lot more creative than Pine Tree just throwing a rock at me.”

“Hey, I’m trying to say something here!” Mabel said, stomping her foot with an indignant pout.

“Yeah, well, I was trying to bash your brother’s head in with a rock,” Bill pointed out in return. “So I guess none of us are getting what we want, are we?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Before Bill had time to respond, a pair of arms had wrapped themselves around his legs and yanked backwards, bringing him back down to the forest floor with a hard thud. “I think I’m getting what I want pretty easily!”

While Dipper let out a delighted laugh at his success, Mabel hurried to join them with a proud fist in the air. “Nice one, Bro-Bro!” she cheered. “Can’t believe that actually worked with him, too!”

“Haha, I know, right?!” Dipper agreed excitedly, the lower half of Bill’s legs still clutched tightly in his embrace. “Sorry to interrupt what you were trying to do there—I saw what it was, I just couldn’t resist.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Mabel insisted. “I wasn’t entirely sure if it was the right time or not anyway, so not a huge deal.”

She scowled down at Bill. “Plus he interrupted me first, so the moment was ruined anyway!”

From the ground—face once again smushed into the messy soil—Bill was seething. At this rate, he was going to have to slot ‘being knocked to the ground and forced to consume a mouthful of dirt’ near the top of the list of the most annoying things he’d been forced to endure across the past day. Maybe right above ‘falling to the ground while tied to a chair’ and just beneath ‘people giving him headaches, under several definitions of the word’, given Dipper’s stupid little rock stunt.

As he moved to press a hand to his forehead again in bitter pain, his eye landed on the speck still barely peeking out from beneath his sleeve—the thought to ask Tangy for help bubbling to the front of his mind. 

No, he knew the answer to that before he even considered it further. Even without their little cooldown remark in mind, Bill was beginning to question just how resourceful they actually were when it came to helping him out. Sure, he’d had more than his fair share of moments where he unfortunately had to give them credit for thinking ahead, but there were just as many moments where they had conveniently forgotten to tell him something important about their little game.

As for the game itself, Bill was also beginning to question if Birdbrain’s special prize truly was worth all this trouble. Was the destruction of the town barrier really worth racing around in some fleshy little bone suit, being constantly hunted down by Ford and his stupid family? Was it really worth all the secrets on Birdbrain’s end, all the rules they conveniently forgot to tell him ahead of time?

Yeesh, at this rate he was better off finding a way to just torture the information out of Ford again. Sure, that’d be more difficult the second time around, but at least he wouldn’t be caught up in some wild goose chase. 

Yes, he’d already used that bird pun before, but it was also the most accurate one for his situation! Not only was he practically being chased from one side of the valley to another by Ford’s stupid family, but he was so busy trying to escape from his stupid captors in general that he had no idea where to start looking for any pieces of Tangy’s stupid charm—

A cawing sound overhead pulled Bill’s gaze upwards, and he narrowed his eyes at a crow that had settled in the tree above him and the kids. Great, just what he needed—another annoying bird.

His irritation earned him another caw before the crow shifted to preen itself, the shifting of its wings revealing something shiny and golden clutched in one of its talons.

Bill’s eyes widened, all previous gripes about the game momentarily forgotten as he squinted closer to try and get a better look. Could that really be the first piece of Birdbrain’s stupid puzzle? It was a longshot for sure; for all he knew, the crow had just snatched some random person’s jewelry. Completely-unrelated-to-the-other-annoying-bird’s-game jewelry.

“—should probably tie him up, huh? Think those streamers of yours will work as a rope?”

“Psh, you know they will! Remember what I told you earlier about using them to scale a tree?”

“Oh, yeah, you did do that, didn’t you? Speaking of which, actually—why didn’t you just use your grappling hook?”

“I haven’t unpacked it yet, and the streamer thing was way cooler anyway!”

Shoot, the brats were starting to wrap up their conversation. Heck with it—even if it wasn’t a part of Tangy’s charm, Bill wasn’t going to be able to find any actual pieces if he ended up restrained again. He needed to get away from them as quickly as possible.

Before Mabel could approach him with her streamers in hand, Bill reared back his left leg and kicked as hard as he could—his efforts rewarding him with a painful yelp on Dipper’s end and the grip around his legs being released. Taking quick advantage of his freedom, he scrambled back to his feet and dashed off once again.

Rather than immediately follow after him, Mabel was at Dipper’s side in an instant to examine his face. “Dipper, are you okay?”

“Fine, fine,” he insisted, pressing a hand to his sore nose. “Nothing broken, just surprised me more than anything. …Honestly, I think Waddles might’ve had more of a powerful kick than he does.”

A pause. “Not sure what that says about my kicking abilities from last year, though…”

“Let’s keep chasing after him, then,” Mabel said, gripping her streamers tight. “I’m gonna call that triangle a dumbass to his face at the right possible time if it kills me!”

Before Dipper could reply, she took off like a shot into the night—leaving her brother standing alone in the darkness. And with a sigh and shrug, he hurried after her with a: “At least stay close enough to where you can hear me, we already had to deal with one shapeshifting fake-out tonight!”

“Who’s fault is that?” she called back to him.

“...Not mine? I wasn’t even there when he got out!”

— — — — — — —

“Ford, shoot him!”

“I refuse to partake in this nerdy clone trope, just shoot both of us if you’ve really gotta do it!”

The hand around Ford’s gun trembled as he watched the two Stans before him struggle to gain the upper hand over each other. After spending several years raising a shapeshifter and watching him transform into other beings during his research, one would’ve thought that he had picked up the ability to tell Shifty apart from the original being he was imitating.

And yet, here he was. Forced once again to aim a gun at his own brother, while he struggled desperately to distinguish him from an imposter.

“After all, you are the expert in destroying those who are just trying to help you, aren’t you~?”

His grip on the gun tightened as Bill’s earlier words from the bunker flooded his thoughts. He shouldn’t have let Bill get under his skin, shouldn’t have let his temper flare up to the point where he made such an amateur mistake as not double-checking the storage room before he left. He should’ve stayed behind and make sure Shifty and the others that had been locked in the cryogenic chambers were taken care of first and foremost—

“Come on, Sixer! Just—take a page outta the triangle's book and shoot us in the foot or whatever! I can walk it off, you know that!”

“He does not know that! What he does know is that I ain’t as young as I used to be, and there’s no way I’m getting anything done with a busted-up foot!”

“Watch it, pal, I ain’t that outta shape—ack, was that cracking sound your back or mine?”

“Think it mighta been both of them, actually.”

The sound of the Stans’ protests snapped Ford out of his thoughts. “I’m not—I don’t want to shoot you, Stanley!” he insisted aloud, barrel of the gun shifting between them. “Regardless of body part!”

“Aw, come on!” one of the Stans argued. “You really think I can’t handle one measly bullet to the foot? ‘Sides, the sooner you take care of this, the sooner you can get back to chasin’ after Bill, right?”

Bill…

That’s right, Stan had been saying something about Bill before Shifty had attacked him. Something about screwing up like he had done last time?

If Shifty had no way of knowing about Dipper’s change in style or the fate of the journals, there was no way he would know what the real Stan had meant by that. And if Ford could get the real Stan to explain that further—

“What did you mean a few minutes ago?” he asked aloud. “About me thinking that you were going to screw it up like last time?”

One Stan gave him a confused glare as he succeeded in pinning the other to the ground. “Wh—seriously, Ford?! I’d rather just take the bullet in my foot!”

“Yeah, at this point I might actually prefer the bullet too,” the other added.

“I am not shooting you. Answer the question.”

A grunt as the Stan on the ground managed to swing a fist into the jaw of the other, causing him to lose focus long enough for the first Stan to slam him against the nearest tree. “Look, it’s not a big deal, okay?” the tree-pinned Stan called out with a struggle, the other’s arm pressed against his neck. “We both know the little triangle demon was supposed to burn up in my head, and that didn’t pan out like we wanted. I screwed up like I always do and now you feel like you’ve gotta handle all this Bill stuff by yourself again.”

He swung a fist into the other’s gut and it was the other Stan’s turn to stumble back while the first returned to a fighting stance. “And I don’t blame you for not wantin’ my help this time around, alright? After all the other times I’ve ruined your life in the past, I wouldn’t want my help again either.”

He barely managed to dodge as the other lunged at him. “But you can’t just keep dealin’ with him all by yourself, either! I know just how badly that little jerk messed with your head, even if you don’t ever talk to me about it! So even if I’m still the world’s biggest screwup, lemme at least help you by doin’ the one thing I’m actually good at—takin’ a hit for you!”

Both expression and posture sank, the fight momentarily forgotten. “And yeah, yeah, I know I’m not actually all that good at it. But I’m pretty sure even I can’t screw up gettin’ shot by an actual bullet—”

BANG!

Stan was knocked to the ground by a swing of the other’s fist, an inhuman howl escaping the attacker as if he’d been the one to be injured instead. And after a painful grunt from the impact, Stan quickly realized that had been the case when his eyes landed on the doppelganger’s shoulder—blood now gushing from a wound the exact size and shape of a bullet.

Stan’s gaze traveled further over to where Ford stood, landing on the faint whisps of smoke trickling out of the still-raised gun barrel. “Give it up, Shifty! You’ve been found out.”

The other Stan let out another roar of pain before his body morphed and shifted back into his usual form, blood from the wound splattering across the forest floor as he scuttled backwards from Ford. “You think you’re so tough, don’t you?” he spat at Ford, tone laced with metaphorical—and potentially literal—venom. “Think you can just come crawling back after thirty years and keep ordering me around?”

“Yeesh,” Stan said, backing up on his hands towards Ford. “Remind me who this ugly mug is again?”

“Like I said before, he’s a shapeshifter,” Ford explained, keeping his gun aimed forward. “I hatched him from an egg, back when Fiddleford and I were doing our research. When he got bigger, he started seeking out—let’s call them questionable ways to get ahold my journals so he could learn more dangerous forms to imitate. Eventually it got so bad that I was forced to seal him away in one of the cryogenic chambers.”

“You thought you sealed me away,” Shifty corrected. “I spent countless years wandering around that wretched bunker, desperately trying to claw my way to freedom. Until those brats of yours sealed me back into one of the chambers during one of their little escapades.”

His mouth curled into a snarl. “But not even they could stop me from finally escaping that wretched hole in the ground. They couldn’t stop me, you couldn’t stop me—and you are NOT taking me back!”

A swing of his fist shook a nearby tree, scattering a flock of nearby birds into flight. And with another roar of anger, Shifty’s body shrank to their size and took flight—soaring up and through the tops of the tall pine trees that made up the forest and vanishing out of sight and reach.

With a sigh both full of relief that the fight was over and full of weight at what was to come of Shifty’s escape in the future, Ford shakily turned to help his brother up from the ground. “You alright?”

Stan groaned, his joints cracking several times as Ford pulled him to his feet. “You’re askin’ the guy who took down an army of mutant crabs off the coast of Jamaica if he’s alright after dealin’ with some overgrown grub? Or—what’d I call him earlier? A caterpillar? Whatever, a giant bug’s a giant bug.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Stan’s expression fell as they stared at each other in tense silence for a moment—

—before a synchronized shout of “The kids!” hurried them off in the same direction that the younger twins had taken off after Bill.

— — — — — — —

“Stop running!”

“Once again, Shooting Star, do you really think asking politely is going to get me to do anything?”

“I’m optimistic!”

A blur of pink went sailing past his left side, the streamer unfurling as it whizzed past and tangling itself in a nearby bush. Guess she’d resorted to throwing her remaining streamers at him in an attempt to stop him from running.

Welp, at least it wasn’t a rock this time. Maybe Pine Tree had been spooked enough by his earlier stunt to not reconsider the idea. Or maybe they just couldn’t grab any while racing after him.

Either way, Bill kept running—much like he’d been doing throughout the past day. Running despite the annoying pain in his stupid, flesh legs and annoying burning in his stupid, flesh lungs, and annoying footsteps of the stupid, flesh pursuiters behind him.

He heard another caw overhead, pupil shifting upwards in time to see the crow from before soaring straight ahead, the unknown item from before still clutched firmly in its left talons. From where he stood—or ran—it was still too difficult to tell whether or not it truly was a piece of Birdbrain’s puzzle. But when the bird veered hard to the right, Bill was quick to follow regardless—letting out a small cackle at the sound of frantic skidding and leaves crunching behind him. 

Haha, sounds like the brats need to give their breaks a fresh can of oil!

A zinger he probably would’ve said out loud, if his attention wasn’t sorely fixed on the path and bird ahead. Hey, whether or not the bird was carrying one of Tangy’s charm pieces was still a win-win on Bill’s end if he caught up to it.

If it was a charm piece, he was that much closer to winning their game. His earlier thoughts about giving up on the game entirely were irrelevant—he could always change his mind again once the piece was actually in his hand.

If it turned out to just be some random piece of jewelry—well, that just meant he’d get a random piece of golden jewelry out of the ordeal! One he desperately needed as a way of accessorizing the incredibly generic suit that Birdbrain had stuck him in; seriously, what was with their sudden interest in not picking the tackiest, gaudiest outfit this side of the Multiverse?

And if it turned out to be fake gold? Well, looks like he’d get that chance to bash someone’s brains in with a rock, after all. Or rather, something in the form of the little birdie who’d put him through this chase in the first place.

Man, he was really on his head-bashing-based torments tonight. He blamed Ford’s little stunt down in the bunker—it just wasn’t fair if his brains were the only ones that got to be used as decorative wallpaper.

The bird soared onwards through the wood, towards a series of bright lights that began to poke through the gaps in the trees—ones that came with the addition of faint music and joyful chattering. Almost as if he were approaching some kind of massive gathering or—

Oh, right.

Sure enough, when Bill slowed to a stop between a pair of birch trees, he was greeted by the sight of the Mystery Shack—with hundreds of partygoers crowding the property on all sides. 

So the knuckleheads had gone through with having their party after all, huh? And not too shabby a job, by the looks of things. Pretty nice turnout, building itself covered top-to-bottom in an excessive number of decorations. Heck, Bill was almost impressed. Almost. He definitely could’ve done a better job if they’d put him in charge of things.

More cawing overhead reminded him of his mission, and he looked up in time to see the bird exiting the forest and circling above the crowd for a bit, before finally settling for one of the letters on the busted roof sign.

He let out a low chuckle. Looks like Bill Cipher was finally slipping back into Lady Luck’s favor tonight~! Not only would it be easy enough to climb up to the roof, but the large crowd meant shaking his pursuers would be as easy as taking candy from a baby.

“Bill!”

Speaking of which—

With a smug grin cast behind him—and fond remembrance of a time where he’d stolen a lollipop from Paci-Fire—Bill took off into the crowd just as the kids finally caught up to his hiding spot.

“He’s getting away,” Mabel said, making a motion to continue after him—

—before a hand on the back of her sweater stopped her in place. “Hold on a sec,” Dipper said. “If we just go charging after him in front of all those people, someone might catch onto what we’re doing and start freaking out. Remember what Grunkle Ford yesterday?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mabel said thoughtfully. “It’d be pretty hard to explain the whole ‘Two Dippers’ thing to people without revealing that one of them’s actually Bill.”

She tapped her chin. “I guess we could always try passing him off as our long-lost cousin or something, but eugh—” A shudder. “Even just pretending that he’s related to us makes my skin all creepy-crawly.” 

“Ditto.” 

Dipper peered out to the crowd again with silent contemplation as he searched for any sign of Bill among the partygoers. Lazy Susan was holding a conversation with a random barf fairy—a conversation that ended as stomach-churning as expected and Dipper quickly forced his attention away with a look of disgust. A group of non-barfing fairies all gathered around the punchbowl while Pacifica’s parents conversed with them—Dipper’s gaze lingering on Pacifica herself for a second too long before he tore it away with pursed lips. All the Manotaurs were still gathered around the Meat Table and still just as loudly passionate about their food of choice—

“Kids!”

The sound of someone else’s voice behind them drew both Dipper and Mabel’s attention from the party and back to the forest behind them—just in time to see both Stan and Ford emerging from the darkness. “Are you two alright?” Ford asked as they slowed to a stop.

“Are you?” Dipper asked in return. “That was a pretty quick fight…”

“Come to think of it,” Mabel added, peering closely at them. “Are you sure you two are actually you?”

“Yeah, no, we’re not doin’ that again,” Stan said, before pointing between himself and Ford. “I’m me, he’s Ford, and what’s-his-face-when-it’s-not-his-face turned into a bird and flew off after Ford shot him in the leg. If you don’t believe me, I can just rattle off all the different joint pains I’ve gotten from running around the woods all night.” 

With a wince, he gingerly tapped his left foot against the ground. “Think I might’ve regrown a couple’a old bunions in the process too if you really need hard proof—”

Mabel winced in disgust. “Eugh.”

“That’s what I thought,” Stan said, flicking a thumb at himself. “There’s not a shapeshifter alive that can truly replicate a guy like me.”

"Definitely Stan,” Dipper said.

“No doubt,” Mabel agreed, before casting a suspicious look to Ford. “Although…”

“Stan and I have been together since the fight ended, and we can discuss shapeshifter-proof codewords at a later time,” Ford said, his grip on the gun tightening as he peered out at the party. “Where’s Bill?”

“Oh yeah, that’s him alright,” Mabel said with certainty.

“We chased him all the way here, but lost him when he took off into the crowd,” Dipper explained. “Only reason we haven’t followed after him was because we didn’t want to start a panic with the whole—”

He gestured to himself, then proceeded to form a triangle with his fingers. “—thing.”

“I appreciate you kids taking my initial concerns into account,” Ford said. “With a crowd as big as this, there’s a chance he could start yelling or attracting the attention of any nearby onlookers if we found him.”

He pressed a hand to his head in exasperation. “Although, I guess that’s not all we’d have to worry about now, is it?”

His words trailed off, the rest of his explanation lingering in an uncomfortable half-silence that was only broken by the sounds of the nearby party. “So, uh—” Stan began awkwardly. “Wasn’t gonna give the little jerk the satisfaction of knowing that he actually got me curious about it, but I’m gonna guess your bunker plan didn’t go so well?”

“Yeah, I was wondering about it too,” Dipper admitted. “What happened down there? Why were you two chasing Bill through the woods, and having to deal with the shapeshifter? And what did Bill mean by ‘not up for a repeat performance now that you have an audience’—woah, hey, Grunkle Ford, are you okay?”

“I—”

It was only at that moment that Ford processed just how much of his body weight he’d sank against the trunk of the nearest tree, and just how badly his entire form was trembling on legs that were barely keeping him upright—

Nope, there they went as he finally collapsed into a kneeling position, any attention to regain his footing immediately thwarted by matching pairs of hands in his own. “Grunkle Ford, no,” Mabel scolded lightly from one side. “Don’t make yourself stand up again.”

“Yeah, you look like you’re about to pass out,” Dipper added from the other. “Have you…eaten anything today since breakfast?”

Between the younger twins, Stan knelt down with a narrowed glare. “Did you eat breakfast at all?”

“I…” Ford started. “Did you?”

“We’re not talkin’ about me, and that tells me all I need to know,” Stan said, folding his arms. “Gonna guess you probably don’t have some kinda magical refrigerator that restocks itself down in the bunker, either. Or any of those nutrition pills you used to take before you remembered actual food exists?”

“That would be…a fair guess.”

“You didn’t eat ANYTHING while you were down there?” Mabel asked worriedly, reaching into her sweater pockets. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ve got plenty of snacks left—ooh, I haven’t even finished off half the corn dogs in my corn dog pocket!”

She fished out a fully-cooked corndog and held it up with a flourish, causing Dipper to raise an eyebrow. “You have a corndog pocket in that thing?”

“I’ve even got one that doubles as a cooler for soda,” she said, patting the other side of her sweater. “I told you I was set for the day.”

“Alright, alright, forget Bill and the bunker for a sec,” Stan said. “You’re gonna get some food in your body first, Sixer.”

“Stanley—”

“No Stanleys, pal,” Stan insisted. “You’re not gonna get anywhere near catching him again if you keep on going the way you are now.”

Ford stared hard into the face that mirrored his own—just as he had done many times across the past few days. Into the face of the man he had successfully picked out of the earlier fight with his doppelganger, without having to resort to firing a bullet in him.

“Lemme at least help you by doin’ the one thing I’m actually good at—takin’ a hit for you!”

But the main concern there hadn’t actually been piercing out the real Stan, had it? The main concern had been Stan’s insistence on taking a bullet for him at all—and the reasoning behind said insistence in the first place.

Ford could feel his insides twisting with a mess of emotions—guilt, realization, potentially hunger as his focus passed lazily over the corndog in Mabel’s hands. Did Stan truly think that he’d denied his help because he thought he had failed to stop Bill the first time? Stanley—brave, heroic Stanley who had sacrificed so much more than anyone should sacrifice, thought himself a failure? 

It wasn’t as if Bill’s return had been his fault—and even if by some misfortune it had been his fault, Ford could never bring himself to truly blame Stan for that. Out of anyone in the world, Stanley had to know just how important he was—

“I screwed up like I always do and now you feel like you’ve gotta handle all this Bill stuff by yourself again.”

He…had to know that, right?

“After all the other times I’ve ruined your life in the past, I wouldn’t want my help again either.”

“After all, you are the expert in destroying those who are just trying to help you, aren’t you~?”

Bill’s taunting words from the bunker echoed through his mind as his gaze and palms found the forest floor, nails digging sharply into the topsoil. Loathed as he was to give anything Bill said the time of day, they blurred so neatly, so perfectly with Stanley’s own claims that he could feel his insides twisting further from a sensation that he knew for a fact wasn’t from hunger.

Had his own insistence to keep Stanley away for his own safety truly strengthened that negative view of himself? Further pushed him to think that the only way he could possibly be useful was to take another bullet for someone? All this time he had been trying to protect his brother, but had he simply just made things worse—

“Sixer?”

Ford lifted his head again, eyes once again meeting the features that mirrored his own to a near-perfect degree. Meeting them, before immediately falling back to the ground in a dazed lull as he tried to refocus his vision. As much as he hated to admit it—the rest of his family had a point. He truly was running on less than fumes at this point, and Bill had already escaped his clutches several times over as a result. 

Even if he somehow managed to catch him again in his current state, he no longer had his gun as a failsafe option—with or without all the surrounding partygoers—and there was always a chance that Shifty had destroyed the cryogenic tubes in the bunker before his escape to freedom.

Taking all of that into account alongside his ever growing concerns about Stanley—

“You’re right.”

Stan blinked at him in surprise. “Wh—come again?”

“You’re right,” Ford repeated, lifting his head again. “I’m not going to catch Bill if I keep on going the way I am. I need you to take charge of this situation for me.”

“Wh—” Stan started, taking a confusing look around him as if he half-expected Ford to be talking to someone else. “Okay, I know what I said before, but you’ve gotta be delirious from hunger if you’re seriously expectin’ me to take charge of this whole thing.”

“Even if I was, it’s all the more reason to pass this matter into someone else’s hands,” Ford insisted. “And I can’t think of anyone I trust more to take over for me than you.”

His gaze shifted to the younger twins, a worn smile tugging at his lips as he stared at Mabel. “Well, you and the kids, of course. After all, a braided rope is stronger than a singular rope, isn’t it?”

Mabel’s expression lit up as she dug out a roll of streamers with her free hand. “Yeah! Braids solve every problem!”

“Not that I don’t think you should take a break or anything, because I do,” Dipper said, holding up a finger.  “But, uh—are you sure you want us to take over for you, Grunkle Ford? I mean, we don’t even have a plan on how to catch Bill yet.”

“Kid’s got a point, Ford,” Stan added. “Plus I can’t promise it’ll go as smoothly as it would if you were the one leadin’ the charge.”

His expression fell. “Can’t even promise that we’ll be able to catch the little bugger.”

“It can’t turn any worse than how I’ve handled things so far,” Ford pointed out. “Under my lead, I’ve managed to lose hold of him and unleash a shapeshifting monster onto the town.”

He reached a shaky hand towards his brother’s and gave it a tight squeeze. “And…even if you do somehow manage to beat me in that regard, I will never regret turning to you for help in the first place, Stanley.”

Stan’s hand lingered in place for a moment—and Ford could almost feel it squeezing his in return—before he finally retracted it with a gruff laugh. “Hey, come on, Poindexter—what’d I tell you about gettin’ all sappy and makin’ the squirts wanna blow chunks on their first day back?”

While Dipper and Mabel exchanged looks of amusement on the side, Ford simply cast him a weak smile. “You realize that it’s now their second day back, don’t you?”

“Then that just means they’ll blow twice as many chunks!” Stan countered with a low cackle of his own. “And if they’re too busy blowin’ all those chunks, then they’re gonna be too busy to help me with Bill wrangling!”

“We’ll never be too busy for that, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel said delightedly, gripping both corndog-stick and streamer roll alike with a look of determination. “We’re gonna catch him if it’s the last thing we d—oh, uh, wait, we still need to come up with a plan on how to do that first, don't we?”

“We do,” Ford said, pulling himself into a sitting position. “And there’s no time like the present for us to start.”

“Bup, bup, bup—” Stan said with a warning snap of his fingers. “If you’re puttin’ me in charge of this mission, then I’m orderin’ you to leave us in charge of the thinking while you go ahead and get some food in your belly. Mabel, corndog.”

With a serious nod, Mabel held out the corndog towards Ford. “Let me know if you want anything else,” she said, patting the front of her sweater once again. “I’ve got this puppy loaded with just about every snack you can think of! Mom says I save our family a bundle in snacks every time we go to the movies!”

“Just the corndog’s fine for now, Mabel,” Ford assured her, before raising it slowly to his mouth for a bite—

—one that admittedly made his smile falter. “Oh, that’s…an interesting flavor.”

“Yeah, even when we’re saving a bundle, Mom still goes for the generic ones instead of name brand,” Mabel explained.

“Generic or not, you’re gonna eat it anyway,” Stan ordered.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Ford reassured him with another bite.

While the rest of his family conversed, Dipper cast another thoughtful look back out at the party guests. Specifically the Meat Table, where Mayor Tyler was cheering on its inhabitants from beneath one of Manly Dan’s massive arms—seconds before Soos strolled into view with a barrel of freshly-brewed meat.

Dipper stared at Soos for a moment, then back to Mayor Tyler, and finally down at his own hands. Hands he had used to grab Bill’s wrist earlier. Hands he had also used to yank Bill down on his face.

Hands with fingers, ones he slowly touched to his own arm, then face, before finally forming another triangle shape with his fingers—

“Hey, I…might have an idea,” he said aloud. “It’s a super risky one and would go against Ford’s original request to keep Bill’s existence under wraps as much as possible.”

A shrug. “But if we succeed, it shouldn’t incite a panic and we should still be able to recapture Bill without anyone catching onto what we’re doing.”

Stan looked to his brother. “Whaddaya say, Sixer?”

“You’re the one in charge now, Stanley,” Ford reminded him. “It’s your call. But I do have one request at least.”

"Oh, here we go," Stan said with a roll of his eyes.

"Promise me you won't do anything reckless to go and hurt yourself."

And suddenly Stan's eyes were back on Ford again, staring hard into his features as if that were the last thing he’d expected to hear. Rather than comment on it, however, he simply pointed to Dipper. "I mean, pretty sure that's up to the guy with the plan," he pointed out. "Can't go promisin' anything if I don't even know what he's got up his sleeve yet."

"He won't do have to do anything reckless," Dipper assured both of them. "And if anything, the only one who'll get hurt is Bill. Plus it’ll probably be really embarrassing for him, which I think is just an added bonus."

"Then I have no objections," Ford said. "I leave this in your capable hands, Stanley."

More staring followed, almost as if Stan expected him to go back on that claim if he waited long enough. And when Ford simply followed up his words with an encouraging nod, he finally turned to Dipper proper. “Alright, kid, lay it on me. Whatever it is, I’m in!”

“Me too! Me too!” Mabel added excitedly. “I wanna help embarrass Bill!”

“I’m happy you say that,” Dipper said, a smile forming as he looked to his hands again. “Because you two are gonna be playing the most important roles…”

— — — — — — —

Despite her earlier protests, Wendy could only hide out in the boat for so long before the call of the party outside eventually beckoned her to join.

Regardless, she did give pause on the deck to scan the crowd for any sign of the Pines family among them. Any sign of that familiar old hat she had plopped on Dipper’s head the year prior, any random bursts of glitter from Mabel, any heads of grey hair from the Stans—

Her gaze landed on the Meat Table, its inhabitants still devouring the spread before them with their usual amount of gusto and chanting. Currently said chants were aimed towards her father at the far end of the table; an overly-sized drumstick clenched tightly in his raised fist and his other arm draped around—

An annoyed scowl made itself at home on Wendy’s face as she stared at Tyler— his usual trademark of “Get ‘em! Get ‘em!” cheered with more enthusiasm than the entire group of Manotaurs combined—before she forced her attention to the rest of the partygoers. Well, at the very least, she now knew where he was, and knew which side of the party she needed to avoid—

“—yeah, no, he was acting super weird, right?”

“I don’t know if I’d say super weird, but regular weird for sure.”

The sound of voices trailing beside the boat made Wendy peer down over the side, where she was greeted by the sight of Candy and Grenda passing by with cups of punch. “Heya, squirts,” she said, folding her arms and leaning over the railing with a grin. “Enjoying the party?”

Both stopped in their path to look up at her, and Grenda’s expression brightened. “Hey, Wendy!” she greeted, waving her arm so passionately that the punch went flying out of her cup. “Where’ve you been?”

“You missed out on one intense Meat Eating Competition!” Candy added, flexing her own arms in such a way that caused her own punch to also spill out onto the ground. “Womanataur never stood a chance against us!”

“Aww, sick,” Wendy said proudly. “You finally won against her?”

“Oh no, we lost real bad,” Grenda clarified. “...We didn’t specify what kind of chance she stood against us.” 

“Thought we might’ve had a shot against Manly Dan, though,” Candy added. “What with him spending half the time going all googly-eyed over Mayor Tyler, and all.”

Despite her scowl threatening to return, Wendy ignored it in favor of giving the girls an amused wink. “Eh, don’t sweat it too much, you two will get a win one day,” she assured them. “And to answer your question from before, I’ve been up here on the boat. Needed to get away from all the weirdness for a bit.”

“Ugh, don’t I KNOW it?” Grenda agreed with a gruff sigh. “I swear, getting this much of the town together in one spot has to, like…mess with the air or something and make everything even more weird than it already is!”

She placed a hand on her hip. “At least, we’re pretty sure that’s what happened to Dipper.”

Wendy tilted her head curiously. “Dipper? What happened to him exactly?”

“Well, everything was fine when we talked to him earlier,” Candy explained. “He had that usual amount of anxiety and cryptic-ness that only Dipper Pines could provide.”

“You know the amount, you get it,” Grenda added.

“But then when he raced past us over by the punch bowl, he was laughing to himself and talking all strange,” Candy continued, touching her free hand to her head. “Also his hair was blonde, for some reason?

“And he was dressed up in a yellow-and-black tux,” Grenda pointed out with a look of confusion. “Dunno why he picked yellow, though, it’s soooo not his color. Mabel’s the twin with the right complexion for bright colors for SURE!”

“They look much better on her,” Candy agreed, before her eyes lit up. “Ooh, you know what it might’ve been? Maybe it was part of the surprise he was talking about earlier? The one with Dr. Pines and Mabel that he couldn’t say much about?”

“Augh, that would make perfect sense!” Grenda agreed, tossing her hands in the air and spilling the last of her cup’s contents out onto the grass. “That lying jerk, telling us he had no idea what they were up to when he knew all along!”

“Maybe he was respecting the element of surprise,” Candy pointed out.

Wendy’s expression stiffened with a mix of realization and annoyance. A blonde-haired Dipper in a yellow-and-black tux running past them and acting all weird?

…Yeah, so there was a high chance that something had gone wrong over at the bunker. Which probably meant that Bill was now wandering around the party somewhere and the Pines were hauling tail back to the Shack to try and recapture their escaped prisoner.

She glanced out at the crowd again. And if they weren’t here already, they were probably going to need someone to be their eyes in the meantime.

“Aw, who cares about Dipper and his secrets?” she heard Grenda say below. “Come on, Candy, let’s go refill our punch before those old-timey ghosts pull their ‘expired juice’ prank.”

“You know you can say they’re spiking the punch, right? Because they are.”

“Yeah, just still feels kinda weird that I can say that now.”

Wendy caught the girls hurrying back towards the crowd out of the corner of her eye, before she pulled out her cell phone—

—and as if right on cue, a series of text from Dipper popped up on her screen:

[Dr. Fun Times: Sending out a mass text to everyone still at the shack: Bill escaped and is somewhere on the premises.] [Dr. Fun Times: It’s a long story on how he got there, but Mabel, Stan, Ford and I are gathered at the edge of the forest near the shack.]

Another text joined the conversation, this time from Mabel:

[Unicorn Punisher: We’ve got a plan to catch him, but we’re gonna need some help getting eyes on him before we can put it into action!]

[Bossman: So you need us to keep our eyes peeled, in an ironic twist on HIS weird, all-seeing-eye thing that he has going on??] Soos added a few seconds later.

[Dr. Fun Times:  You got it, Soos.]

[Bosswoman: We’re on it, Dipper. Wendy, I see you in the group, are you able to help out?]

Melody’s question prompted Wendy to mash out a quick reply:

[Wendy: Waaaay ahead of you guys on that one. Caught wind from Candy and Grenda that they saw a blonde-haired ‘Dipper’ run past them earlier.]

[Dr. Fun Times: Ugh, GREAT.] [Dr. Fun Times: It’s bad enough he LOOKS like me, now other people are starting to think he’s ACTUALLY me?]

[Unicorn Punisher: I mean, isn’t that important for your plan?]

[Dr. Fun Times: Yeah, but I don’t have to LIKE it.]

[Bosswoman: Like Soos said, we can keep an eye on the crowd for him. Anything else you need?]

[Unicorn Puncher: Uhhh, the Shrink-and-Span! And the Manotaur’s stage!]

[Bosswoman: I can get both from storage, and have guests clear out a space for the stage.] [Bosswoman: I assume you’re going to regrow it to its usual size?] [Bosswoman: Assume with only a fraction of certainty; I’ve quickly learned to expect the unexpected with this town.]

[Unicorn Punisher: No, no, you got it right the first time!!!] [Unicorn Punisher: We’re about to give this party and Bill a surprise they’re NEVER gonna forget!!!]

[Dr. Fun Times: Thanks again for the idea, Soos, it’s really saving our butts!]

[Bossman: You’re welcome, dude!] [Bossman: What idea was that again?]

[Dr. Fun Times: You’ll see soon enough.]

[Bossman: Works for me! Soos Search And Locate Freaky Triangle Dude, go!]

[Bosswoman: I’ll get what you need and be waiting by the gift shop door.]

[Wendy: Keep an eye out for the little jerk performing identity theft, got it.]

With that, she tucked her phone back into her pocket and cast one last look out over the crowd, this time in the hopes of spotting any telltale signs of black and yellow—

—just in time to see a flash of blonde hair dart beneath the very dirty tablecloth on the Meat Table.

Narrowing her eyes, she hopped straight over the boat railing and landed with a hard thud on the ground below. Ugh, great—he had to go and pick the one table she was trying to avoid.

Eh, maybe she’d get lucky and the little creep would so get freaked out by the sound of fists slamming on the table, that he’d book it outta there before she got closer. 

— — — — — — —

The good news for Bill was that it looked like his plan to lose the kids in the crowd had worked.

The only issue with that was the size of the crowd itself.

Yeesh, Question Mark’s little girlfriend hadn’t been kidding when she said they were having a party! Felt like everyone and their six-footed, googly-eyed grandma now crowded the grounds of the Mystery Shack.

BANG! “Meat Table!” BANG! “Meat Table!” BANG! “Meat table!”

Speaking of which…

Bill cast a glare upwards at the table he was crouched beneath, one that shook with every pound of a fist from the Manotaurs crowded around it. Not the quietest hiding spot in the world, but maybe the gang of massive meat fanatics would be enough to keep the Pines family at a distance.

Still, he couldn’t hide here forever. 

He peered out from beneath the meat-stained tablecloth and looked towards the roof of the shack. The bird he’d been tailing before had settled up there, right next to a woodpecker and a couple of Eyebats. A sight that brought a frown to Bill’s face as they scanned the crowd with innocent curiosity, as opposed to their past behavior of turning any moving beings into petrified statues. Somebody must’ve found a way to placate them during his absence, or had a large supply of eyedrops on hand to keep them mellowed out. Traitors, the lot of them!

Eh, at least sneaking up to the roof would be easier without the threat of re-statue-i-fication looming over him in the process.

After a quick look around, Bill darted out from beneath the table and hurried towards the shack’s nearby storm drain—one that was conveniently within reach of the nearby metal awning. And after a quick hope that his stupid noodle arms had at least enough strength left to climb, he grasped it with both hands and began his ascent up the side of the building—

“Hey!”

—his quick ascent as he heard a voice call out behind him. He didn’t bother looking back, just kept his focus on getting to the top before whoever had spotted him could get to him first.

Sure enough, he felt a rush the air pass his foot caused by the sensation of a hand just barely missing its grasp on him as he scrambled up and onto the awning to safety. Once he knew he was properly out of harm’s way, he finally cast a glance down at his attempted assailant—mouth spreading into a wide grin at the sight of flannel and a familiar pine tree hat atop a head of red hair. “Well hey there, Red! Enjoying the party?”

“Save it, pal,” Wendy called up to him, eyes narrowed. “And get your three-sided butt back down here before I climb up there after you. Pretty sure you know I can and will do it, too.”

“Once again, it must be a night where people think asking me to do something I don’t want to do is going to make me comply,” Bill taunted, hands cutely tucked under his chin. “I’d say it’s funny how dumb you all are, but really, it’s just getting redundant now. Come on, gimme something new.”

“Oh, I’ll give you something new—”

She balled up her fists and gave her knuckles a crack, giving Bill the incentive to hop to his feet and scramble further up towards the roof. With a huff, she made a dash for the nearby porch to scramble up the railing and follow after him.

Before she could pull herself up and onto it proper, however—

“There you are, Wendy!”

Her mouth fell into an annoyed scowl as a nearby voice called to her from behind, one that lowered further as she turned around and saw Tyler approaching from the Meat Table. “Been looking all over for you!” he said delightedly. “Great party, isn’t it?”

“Super,” Wendy replied in a deadpan voice while she returned her attention back to the railing. “Can’t talk right now though, Tyler, I’ve got something to deal with. Official Mystery Shack business or whatever—”

“Oh! Well, that’s alright,” he said, cheery tone wavering the slightest amount. “Just wanted to stop and say hello—”

“Wendy!”

The sound of another voice from her right once again gave Wendy pause from her current task, although her expression did brighten at the sight of Stan and Mabel approaching them. “We~ell, if it isn’t Stan and Mabel Pines!” Tyler said with delight. “And here I was starting to think you Pineses were deliberately trying to miss your own welcome back party!”

Mabel pressed a solemn hand to the front of her sweater. “Mayor Tyler, I would never miss a party—welcome back or otherwise—of my own accord! Who do you think I am?”

“My feelings vary by event, but I got a good reason for bein’ so scarce ‘til now,” Stan added, with a look to Wendy. “In fact, that’s why Mabel and I are here. Need to talk to Wendy about the uh—the thing we’ve got planned for tonight.”

“The thing!��� Wendy agreed, pointing a finger at them. “Yeah, I know the thing. In fact, I was just on my way up the roof to take care of the thing.”

While she made an obvious motion with her pupils towards the top of the roof, Tyler clapped his hands together in excitement. “Oh~hoh, the thing, you say? That thing wouldn’t happen to be the big, mysterious surprise that’s been keeping most of you Pines away from all the fun this evening, would it?”

“It sure is!” Mabel said, and held up a finger. “And while it’s not finished yet, we should have everything ready to go very soon! So go spread the mayor-ly word to everyone about gathering on the other side of the shack for the big surprise!”

“Just make sure they stay outta the way of the exhibits area,” Stan added. “That’s where we’re gonna be setting up the stage.”

“The stage?” Tyler repeated with delight. “Ooh, this really is gonna be quite the surprise, isn’t it~?”

He gave a whimsical little wave to Wendy. “Sorry for dashing so quickly, Wendy, but duty calls—”

“No need to apologize, just go,” she quickly assured him.

With that, he turned and hurried off with a spring in his step—leaving the three of them to watch him go in silence. A silence that was quickly broken by Wendy with a: “Triangle’s climbing the roof, was about to follow after him when Tyler showed up. Catch him and meet you guys over there for whatever you’re planning?”

“You got it,” Stan confirmed with a nod.

“Good luck, Wendy!” Mabel said with a thumbs up. “See you there!”

With a thumbs up of her own, she pulled herself up onto the railing and finally made a reach for the awning above. Leaving the two of them below as Mabel whipped out her phone again. “Gonna let Dipper and Grunkle Ford know that Wendy’s hot on the target's trail.”

“Of course the little jerk would try scalin’ the roof,” Stan muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Big man’s always gotta be towerin’ over everything, huh? Desperate for everyone else’s eyes to be on him…”

“Hehe, well, he’s gonna have allllll the eyes on him once we’re ready,” Mabel said, casting a cheeky grin up at him. “Isn’t he?”

Stan returned her grin with one of his own. “You know it, Pumpkin! C’mon, let’s go find Melody.”

— — — — — — —

Bill knew it was only a matter of time before Wendy made her way onto the roof after him. If he wanted that piece of Birdbrain’s puzzle, he had to move and move quickly.

And move quickly was exactly what he did—roof tiles slipping down the side as he bounded across them like stones on a river, in a mad dash for the bird that waited atop the brightly-decorated sign.

As he approached, most of the gathered beings took off in a rush—the Eyebats fluttering out of place and into the air and giving Bill pause to shake his fist in their direction. “What the heck are you irised idiots doing, getting all cozy and domestic in some backwoods town?! Go turn a baby into stone or something!”

One of the Eyebats narrowed itself at him, seconds before a burst of energy erupted from its cornea towards him and giving him barely enough time to dodge. “ACK! Not me, not me!”

More tiles shifted as he dodged another attack, but luckily the Eyebat didn’t attempt a third and simply fluttered off after the others into the night. With an exhale of relief, Bill’s gaze moved back towards the bird still situated on the sign—one that had somehow remained despite the chaos around it.

Luck continued to be on his side, for the bird had been far too distracted with pecking at one of the nearby streamers to pay any attention to him. And distracted it remained until Bill grasped a hand around its throat, a strangled caw of surprise escaping the poor bird as he drew it closer with a proud flourish. “Hehe, looks like a bird in the hand really is worth more than just two in the bush!”

Despite the bird’s frantic wriggling in an attempt to free itself, Bill managed to wrestle the piece out of its talons. He did earn himself several scratches to his hand in the process, but if a straight-up bullet to the brain wasn’t enough to kill him, then potentially catching Cryptococcosis was of little concern to him.

And once the mysterious object of gold was clutched safely in his hand, he raised it to the sky to investigate further.

Now that he could get a clear look at it, there was no doubt in his mind that it was one of Birdbrain’s charm pieces. The colors of the surrounding party danced across its golden surface, giving it an otherworldly shine. And on top of that, Bill could feel a familiar, confusing warmth from within the charm piece. An odd, almost alive pulsing that spread from his fingertips to the rest of his body as he gripped it tightly in his hand.

Almost as tightly as he continued to grip the bird's neck, a shark peck from its beak to his arm finally enough pain for him to release it into the night sky.

Whatever, who needed some stupid bird when he’d gotten what he’d scaled the roof for in the first place?

“Cipher!”

Right, he still had one other problem to deal with.

After tucking the piece of the charm into his pocket, he backed up towards the edge of the sign platform just as Wendy pulled herself onto it from the other side. “I’d say I appreciate you giving me a chance to get away from the crowd,” she said. “But catching you after you keep wriggling out of everyone’s grasp is really starting to get old.”

She flashed him a condescending grin. “Come on, jerkface, it’s your turn to gimme something new.”

“Throwing my own words back at me, Red?" he asked with a smug wink. “I’m flattered, but I’ll have you know that unlike the body I resemble—I’m not so easily smitten by a redhead in flannel.”

Wendy gave him a flat look and began to crack her knuckles again. “...Yeah, alright, first of all: I’m going to break your legs. Second of all, I’m going to break your arms.”

“Ah, ah, wait—” Bill started quickly, taking another step backwards. “Don’t forget Fordsy’s little rule of not killing me!”

Hey, if Wendy wasn’t aware of what happened down in the bunker, he wasn’t about to go and spill the beans. Especially if it prevented her from kicking his ass from here to the other side of the valley. Just because it wouldn’t kill him didn’t mean he was interested in dealing with levels of pain that intense. Yet.

“Who said I was going to kill you?” It was her neck’s turn to get cracked. “I said I was gonna break your arms and legs. You can easily survive that, but you’ll probably wish you hadn’t.”

Son of a—

Bill’s foot met air as he tried taking one more step backwards and he went tumbling down the other side of the roof with a yelp, barely managing to grab onto the gutter before he could fall—

—only for the gutter to give way in seconds, sending him the rest of the way down to the waiting ground below with a hard thump.

The impact hurt, but nothing felt broken as Bill pulled himself up with a drawn-out groan and a nasty look towards—

—the dozens and dozens of people around him, all staring him down with looks of curiosity and wonder.

Sure enough, it felt like every party guest’s attention had fully locked onto him as he slowly rose himself to his feet. While he was more familiar with being the one to do the ogling, Bill was no stranger to being ogled at himself. If anything, he relished being treated like some kind of sideshow circus oddity or incomprehensible eldritch horror in his usual triangle form.

Being stared down in this small, pathetic human vessel, however? He was staring to feel like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. The subject of everyone’s attention, but in the most unenjoyable way possible.

Which was, obviously, no fun at all and an issue he neede to rectify immediately.

Alright, Cipher, time to think fast! The majority of the townsfolk had only seen him in his glorious, triangle form—and that same majority probably had no idea about his ability to possess people. He just had to play things cool, get out of sight before the rest of the Pines caught wind of his location—

His left hand subtly shifted to his pocket where the piece of Tangy’s charm lay hidden as a smile threatened his lips. Hmm, counterpoint: he had the first piece of the charm that he needed. If he announced his return, it would potentially incite a panic big enough for him to either sneak off into the night undetected.

Either that or it angered them so much that they took a page out of Ford’s book and tore him to pieces—which would eventually result in him popping back to normal and sneaking off into the night undetected.

Either way, it guaranteed an escape. And much like his original plan back in the woods, at least one of the options came with the added bonus of leaving a few folks with some lifelong trauma! Yay!

“Haha, how’s everyone doing tonight~?” he asked, tossing his arms in the air with gusto. “Havin’ a good time at your little shindig? Little hurt that you didn’t invite me of all people~!”

He pressed a hand to his chest with a wicked grin. “Although I guess any party’s gonna pale in comparison to the one I threw for you suckers last year~!”

A wicked laugh bubbled out of him, resulting in a tidal wave of gasps from the surrounding crowd. Bill’s smile widened as he braced himself for either the sound of frantic screaming, or the sensation of being beaten to death by an angry mob. He wondered what kind of tools or weapons the townsfolk use in this specific instance; he knew the Falls population was often drawn to the usual ‘pitchfork and torch’ approach, but the surrounding party embellishments might allow them to get a bit more creative—

“Aww, isn’t that adorable? Dipper’s gone and dressed himself up in a funny little Bill Cipher costume!”

…Wait, what?

The remark from somewhere in the crowd earned a series of affectionate sounds from the rest of the partygoers, and Bill blinked several times in stunned confusion. “Who’s done what now?”

“Aww, look at his little suit!” Tyler cooed with delight. “Why, this must be the surprise that the Pines family was planning!”

“Oh, that explains the blonde hair and the yellow!” Grenda piped up, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I was wondering, and now I know!”

“Told you so,” Candy added with a grin.

“That’s right, everyone~!”

An arm was slung across his shoulder before Bill had time to react, knees buckling slightly from the impact as he turned to see Mabel standing beside him. “And there’s more to the surprise than just some silly outfit!” she continued with a grin. “While Dipper’s wearing this outfit, him and Grunkle Stan are going to do a recreation of Bill’s defeat—just so everyone here can get a chance to see Bill Cipher getting punched in his stupid, triangle face~!”

…Second verse, same as the first—wait, what?

Actually, no, he was saying that out loud—”Wait, what?!”

“And now it’s your turn to be right, Mabel!”

Bill was suddenly scooped up into the air by a much larger hand, and he turned his head to see Stan standing before the crowd with a familiar, scheming grin on his face. “I mean, the only one who got to see the little bastard get his lights punched out was me, right? Seems only fair that you folks get to see it too, right? …For te—twenty bucks a person, obviously.”

A beat. “Make it thirty…plus ten!”

There was a scattered murmuring of agreement amongst the crowd as Stan stared making his way through them, Bill still clutched tightly in one hand while money was placed in the other. “That’s right, keep it coming.”

As the townsfolk hooted and hollered with delight, Bill cast a glare at their surrounding faces. “Are you nerve-driven flesh mounds really that dense? There’s no way you people are stupid enough to fall for such an obvious lie!”

Despite his insults, the audience still seemed to eat it up as Stan approached the waiting stage at the edge of the property. “Aww, listen to him!” one audience member cheered, hands clasped to their cheeks. “He’s even got the attitude down to a T!”

“Normally, the thought of Bill Cipher’s return would be quite the cause for alarm,” Preston Northwest added. “But when it’s the little Pines boy in a ridiculous costume, well—that’s just downright humorous!”

"Indubitably," Priscilla added with a haughty laugh.

“He’s really keeping in-character!” one of the Manotaurs agreed loudly. “It strengthens the illusion! And strength is GOOD!”

While the rest of the herd slammed their fist on the table with hearty agreement, Bill stared in disbelief. “They’re really that stupid…”

“Don't tell me you're actually surprised by that one,” Stan muttered quietly.

Bill crossed his arms defeatedly across his chest as they headed up the stage’s steps. “No, no you’re right—that’s my fault for expecting any sort of intelligence out of them.” 

Voice still low, he raised an eyebrow at Stan. “So, which one of you Pineses came up with this whole idea? I can’t imagine Fordsy would be too keen about you flaunting me in front of the entire town.”

“Psh, shows how much you know, pal,” Stan replied. “As for who came up with the idea…why don’t you take a look in the mirror?”

Stan gestured subtly towards the curtain at the back of the stage, and Bill cast a look towards a thin crack between them to the sight of Dipper and Ford—the former casting him a smug grin complete with a lewd hand gesture.

“Aww, isn’t he just the cutest in his little tuxedo?” Lazy Susan piped up. “It almost makes me not want to see Stan punch him in the face! ...Almost~!”

“Oh, well, it’s great that you say that, Susan!” Soos said from the middle of the stage, microphone in hand. “‘Cause the entire surprise is ruined if you folks don’t wanna see the hit!”

“Come on, party people!” Mabel added excitedly. “Don’t tell me you wanna miss out on seeing Stan give Bill another black eye!”

This got a bout of enthusiastic cheers from the partygoers and Stan flashed Bill a grin. “Better grit your teeth this time, wise guy.”

“Don’t you da—ACK!”

Bill’s order felt on deaf ears as Stan’s fist collided with his face, the force of the hit sending him through the air, and hitting the hard stage a few feet away.

Naturally, the audience clapped and cheered with delight, as Stan flexed an arm with pride. “That’s right, I still got it~! Now pay up, I know for a fact some of you yahoos are tryin' to stiff me! And while I respect it, I ain’t about to let it slide!”

While the audience tossed their money at Stan with enthusiastic abandon, Bill let out a pained and irritable groan as he pulled himself up with his hands, barely having time to react before someone else grabbed him with a: “Thanks a lot, folks! Hope you enjoyed our little recreation!” and began to pull him through the stage curtain.

With a wince from the pain that was once again swelling around his eye, Bill cast a dirty look up at Ford. “You’d better hope none of those idiots noticed just how real that looked,” he warned. “Might be bad news for dear old Stanley if rumors started going around that he gives his precious great nephew black eyes for profit.”

“It would be,” Dipper piped up from Ford’s side. “If I wasn’t about to do this!”

With that, he hurried out to the other side of the curtain, and the audience roared with applause. “Haha, yeah, thanks so much, everyone! Yeah, that was…that was fun, right? We have fun here.”

“Yeah, give it up for the kid!” Stan added. “Ain’t he talented? …So talented, in fact, that praisin’ him’s gonna cost another ten!”

As the audience continued to cheer from the other side, several more folks—Soos and Mabel to be exact—ducked back behind the stage’s curtain to join Ford. “I think it worked!” Mabel said delightedly.

“That was such a good idea, dudes!” Soos added. “It’s like…we wanted to keep Bill’s return a secret, and now we’re still keepin’ it a secret because they think he’s actually Dipper!”

He made an explosion sound next to his head. “Like, boom: Mind. Blown!”

“Yeah, Dip really outdid himself with this one,” Stan added as both he and Dipper ducked behind to rejoin them. “Thanks for bitin’ the bullet on that one, kid. Probably wasn’t easy to see a guy who looks like you gettin’ socked in the face.”

“No bullets bitten whatsoever,” Dipper said proudly. “It’s not like I’m taking the hit myself.”

“Oh, well—aren’t you so clever for putting this much thought into such a mediocre party trick?” Bill asked bitterly as he dangled in Ford’s grasp. “I wouldn’t expect a call from Daniel Raine anytime soon, though, Pine Tree. Pretty sure even a kindergartener could come up with something like that.”

“You’re just mad because it worked!” Mabel said proudly.

“It probably helped that you went and ran your mouth as much as you did after falling off the roof,” Stan said, smug grin returning as he gave Bill’s arm a nudge. “Heh, still can’t resist the chance to try and be the big man in charge, eh, Cipher?”

Bill could only glare at him with a burning rage that was sure to be turning his face red, as Wendy also joined the group behind the curtain. “Melody’s getting the crowd back into regular party mode,” she explained. “So we’ve probably got at least a few minutes before someone comes poking around the other side of the stage to investigate how you did your little swap act.”

She gave a thumbs up. “By the way, that was awesome!”

“Sounds like got just as much time to get this jerk outta sight as quick as possible, then,” Stan added, and held out a hand. “I’ll go stick him in the Shack until the party’s over—gift shop side should still be cleared out enough if I run and use the woods as a cover. Unless you’re feelin’ up to the task, Sixer?”

“You know, I think I’ve dealt with enough of Bill for tonight,” Ford added. “You take care of him for now, Stanley. Soos, the rope?”

Bill could feel his face getting hotter from a mix of rage and humiliation as he was passed from one twin’s hand to the other, once again with as much ease as passing a small kitten from one hand to another. Only this time around, Bill couldn’t even find it in himself to be as smug as before while Ford retied a rope around his body, once again tightening it with just as much spite as he had possessed earlier in the day. In fact, Bill was finding it a struggle to be truly smug about anything as he was once against clutched like a sack of luggage in Stan’s fist and lead back towards the dark wood that waited just a few feet from the stage—

“Grunkle Stan, wait!”

Stan paused at the sound of Mabel’s voice behind him, and Bill was spun back around to the sight of her hurrying towards them. “I’ve been waiting to say this to Bill all day!”

She held a fist to her mouth to clear her throat, then pointed a finger at him with a fierce expression. “Get pranked, dumbass!”

Behind her, the rest of the group melted into amusement—Dipper nudging her with a laugh while Wendy plapped the top of her head with a proud: “Nice one, Mabel!”

And with a laugh of his own, Stan gave her a thumbs up before turning both of them back to the forest that waited ahead. Leaving Bill to stew in that one last insult to injury as the party raged on behind him.

No doubt in his mind at that point, he definitely would’ve thrown a better one.

[guillemelgat]

Language Goals 2025

As I said in my last post, I'm slowly getting better at figuring out how to set goals which both push me out of my comfort zone and which actually orient me towards what I'm trying to do. This year my main goal is to just remember how to be a learner again; I feel like recently I've gotten a little too in-my-head about how I need to be perfect before I speak, and actually this tends to be a problem I have in general - I won't talk to people unless I feel like I can talk perfectly, but that's not how you learn. I'm also trying to get better at setting reasonable timelines for what it takes to get to a particular level of language, which I have a better feel for at this point, and taking into account how much time I'm spending on the language every day (it shouldn't feel overwhelming if it's supposed to be a brief warmup). With these in mind, here are my goals for the year:

CATALAN

This year, I really want to speak Catalan with more people. That's the bottom line. I'm at a level where I need to be doing language immersion, and that means not being shy about not knowing how to say things or starting off the conversation wrong or any number of things (this historically has been less of a problem for Catalan with me, but for some reason I was absolutely taken out last summer and essentially went partially mute from social anxiety, so we're going to find out what was up with that and try to coax me away from it). I also want to learn to speak the Valencian dialect of Catalan better, and hopefully I'll get the chance to do that!

I'm planning to continue my reading challenge as well, but I'm going to make a separate post about that.

BASQUE

I want to improve my Basque vocabulary, and also my listening comprehension skills. I want to finish Eskamak kentzen and also watch/listen to more things in Basque. I think I just need a whole bunch of audio input - I know a lot of the words, but it's still very hard for me to parse them in speech. In order to improve my vocabulary, I want to do a quick vocab review every day when I get to the library, before I start my work. That way, I'll have a constant, easy, long-term exposure to a wider variety of words, and hopefully after a few months I'll start remembering some!

WELSH

I'm not entirely sure what I want to do with Welsh this year - I feel a bit directionless with it, so I might put it on pause until it feels like the right time to take it up again. But I'd also like to get more listening and vocabulary practice - I can understand large portions song lyrics without looking them up, which is a huge step forward for me. If watching Rownd a Rownd seems like the vibe, I might try to take that up again. We'll see, this one is more open.

MALAYALAM

Mostly, my goal with Malayalam is just to keep taking class, but also I'd really like to get over my fear of speaking. I struggle to pronounce a lot of the letters, and I don't know a lot of words, but if I work on these, I think I'd feel more confident. (I do also just need to feel okay with looking like a fool, though.) By the end of the year, I hope I'm able to have conversations in class or with my family without wavering too much, even if I forget something or mess up the pronunciation.

OTHER LANGUAGES

One main thing I want to work on is learning how to learn a small amount of a language but still being able to use it with people. There are a few different languages which I've wanted to learn for a while but haven't had the time - I'm hoping that maybe I can work up the courage to learn a few phrases, talk to someone, and perhaps learn a thing or two. This is very open-ended, but it's more a challenge for me to expand my comfort zone.

Aaaand that's a wrap! Here's to 2025 being a good year for languages, at least!