#and sorry if I made any grammar mistakes

[poppy-in-the-woods]

Sorry for the interjection, but this is too long to put it in the tags, so here it goes:

I don't think you are a pedophile, however, I think we as a society would like to think teens and preteens Don't Do That, and maybe some don't, but some do.

Kids are starting puberty earlier now (I started mine at 13/14, which was considered pretty standard back then, but it would be pretty late considering the average now). And I don't know if y'all remember what it was, but I remember developing an interest in kissing before I got my first period, and I remember having a questions about what sex actually was after getting my period. And I wasn't getting any, but some of my classmates were having sex at 15/16. Bottom line is: teens and preteens are going to develop an interest in this stuff, and if we don't teach them sex ed, they will turn to the internet (which has some good sources for sex ed but also a lot of misinformation) and porn, and then we're going to have another generation who doesn't know about consent, or safe sex, and STIs and teenage pregancies numbers are going to raise again.

Lots of parents don't want strangers to be teaching their kids sex ed because they feel that's their job, but then they don't ever have those kinds of conversations with their kids because they're very uncomfortable conversations. And then it's too late, they're already watching porn behind their parents backs and thinking that rough sex is what everyone likes, that consent is a mood killer and that each and every woman likes (or should like) to be choked without a warning. And this is just for cishet kids, queer kids have it harder to find any resources that cater to them.

Also, we, as former kids, have internalised that any adult that talks about sex with kids must be trying to groom them, so we cannot longer differentiate between actual sex ed and grooming. The things is, all the studies say that little kids that have received sex ed (and at that ages it's mostly about the correct names of body parts and general consent), they're less vulnerable to pedophiles because then can communicate better that they're being abused earlier after it happens.

If forbidding kids as young as 12 from doing stuff with each other doesn't work (and experience tell us it doesn't), we better make sure they have the resources to do it in a way they are safe, so they don't grow up with the same gaps in their sex education as we did.

PS: As a smut writer I know I can put "minors DNI" all I want, but they're going to read it anyway. The least I can do is trying to make it clear that what you can read in the stories is a fictionalised and stylised version of what sex is in real life (I also try to include that consent can actually be very sexy, and general tools to communicate, but I am not an expert by any means).

I'm not like Mad at anyone who does this and I'm obviously not in charge of how anyone else tags shit on their own blogs, whatever, but it's always bummed me out when my sex Ed posts get reblogged and tagged with 18+, minors dni, etc. personally I actually very much want teenagers to learn about their bodies and safer sex but I guess I'm just the guy who wrote the thing.

[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. 

[bonicedemandarina]

Click for better quality!

Hey guys I'm still into wha btw, here's my art for the deciduous spells zine, just wanted to draw my favorite guys being happy for once.

I feel like my art always ends up being in a modern au idk how, it just keeps happening

[drakyns]

I saw that youre writing hiccup+jack but you also claim you want to take a more """historical""" interpretation with your rps? so which one is it?? you have to pick one or the other :/

hello, happy new year! yes, you’re right; i ship and write one of our beloved 2010s dreamworks nostalgic ship hijack with my wonderful best friend and creative soul-mate, @frystsnow. i’ve been having such a fun time! and yes, you’re right again; i am taking a more historical approach and interpretation with my portrayal of hiccup. but no, you’re wrong; i don’t have to choose one or another. my hiccup (håkan) has a more historical take and is queer (demiromantic and bisexual). one does not interfere with another whatsoever.

first of all, thank you for your question! though i don’t know if it stems from genuine ignorance or a hint of homophobia or hypernationalism. either way, i want to extend the benefit of the doubt and commend you for taking the time and energy to send in your inquiry, even as an anon. as someone who specialises in medieval queerness in my current master’s degree and as a licensed history teacher, it’s incredibly heartwarming to see people questioning things (even when it comes to literal fictional ships). i shall not, therefore, take your question as an attempt at an insult. instead, i will respond to you as i would to one of my students and/or the public at a conference. please let me know if you’d like any clarifications, and i’d be more than happy to oblige. should you need such access, i’m excited to send you pdfs of the following scientific articles, too.

i am assuming, by the tone and content of your comment, that you take vikings to be these white-centric, heteronormative, misogynistic and savage-like people, correct? the good old supreme white and straight men propaganda. they were barbarians, blindly bloodthirsty, and god knows how virile they were! they wanted to conquer the world, behead their enemies, muscles and brawl everywhere, grrrrr grrrr! etc etc. the whole spiel of supreme predators/conquerors. this mythical belief has roots in the hyper-nationalism and romanticism ingrained in 18th century northern europe: to prove themselves as worthy, old societies, germany, sweden, denmark, england, scotland and many others utilised their ties with these old tribes and reshaped (rewrote) narratives to fit into their then-current ideals of power, masculinity and politics. an excellent book on historical representation and its rewritings across geographies and due to political influences was written by f. r. ankersmit and a 38-page preview can be found at this link.

it isn’t far off to claim, then, that the use of symbols, narratives and imagery from old norse cultures have been continuously used to represent politics of hate in various countries with the rise of patriotism and alt-right extremism. just look at how john toll’s braveheart (1995) is a hymn to white supremacists in the usa or how european incels love robert zemeckis’ beowulf (2007). i highly recommend reading verena höfig’s article about old norse myths being used as tools for radical nationalist groups and andrew b. r. elliott’s book on medievalism, politics and mass media. “viking men are straight, hyper-masculine and obey this white fantasy of pure dominance.” this way of thinking, shouted and supported by reactionaries, reinforces whiteness, androcentricity, and authoritarianism. medieval scandinavian societies were highly intelligent: being a viking was a profession, not an identity in itself. diplomacy was important for commerce and cultural trade. battle-crazed lunatics were frowned upon, if not straight up removed from tribal settings, as they represented danger to the whole society. a conscious and perfected balance of violence, peace-keeping, trade, conscious pillaging and sea-voyaging made vikings who they were. how else do you think that they kept in contact with asian and african societies? even indigenous ones in americas, too! they were not interested in expanding and conquering more than they could keep and they valued communal efforts. so when contemporary media (tv, books, comics, games) represent our oh-so-beloved macho vikings as being queer or even not all that violent or intolerant, people tend to frown upon such a notion, thinking they’re ludicrous. this, as i’ve continuously expressed up until now, is political propaganda—an old, outdated and incorrect one.

you might here be thinking: “okay balu, i get it, vikings weren’t all that masculine, nor that savage, nor anything, but were there really queer vikings?” and the answer to that is: YES! first of all, queer people didn’t suddenly sprout from the ground all of a sudden. we’ve always existed from the very beginning of times—queerness is humanity itself. have you ever wondered why loki, a literal mythological norse god, is genderfluid and pansexual? he’s also described as one of the oldest of the bunch, alongside odin himself. if a deity exists in mythology, it’s because they represent societal beliefs and practices. or do you think people made up whatever they thought was cool, and everyone just agreed on their ideas, canonising said things in their literal tribal history just because, hey, it sounds neat? it’s more logical to deduce that, since loki existed, people like him existed, too, no? and not only loki—jess nevins has a superb paper on how most of the old norse pantheon are queer gods and goddesses, from gender to sexuality (it’s the first one of the list, though the others are super interesting, too). contemporary religious practitioners of heathenism and ásatrú also heavily embrace and welcome these queer readings. this is further endorsed by critical analysis of old poems such as the poetic edda, lokasenna and others, which contain concepts such as hvatr and blauðr, which are used interchangeably between men and women and their partners, not to refer to their binary genders per se, but about their role as either more submissive or dominating in a relationship.

if you need more “concrete” evidence other than theological, linguistics and culture studies, do not fret—archaeologists and anthropologists also agree that the “viking” (read: medieval pre-christian scandinavian) societies were more queer than most people think. for example, marianne moen studied graves in norway and, with the little samples she had, she concluded something fascinating: the biological sex of individuals (read by the use of double x chromosomes detections or the absence thereof) did not always correlate with their masculine/feminine social roles, i.e by their clothes and materials they were buried! a woman could be dressed highly masculine, and a man completely feminine. unlike our modern societies (that claim to be o so progressive and freeing), they were not bound by fixed societal norms. they were fluid. moen’s study is also a further contribution to hedenstierna‐jonson’s research team findings: in 2017, they found the body of an elite viking-age warrior in sweden, which many historians and anthropologists hyped. at first, they thought the individual was sexed male due to the “maleness” of the objects found in the grave site. however, upon further investigation, they were biologically sexed female (two x chromosomes, bone structures, as well as ritualistic objects for young womanhood). a lot of people wanted to contest such a finding because the belief that women can be powerful rulers and warriors just like men are is something detested by traditionalists, as we all know. however, what was more interesting is that said warrior individual seemed to socially fluctuate between masculine and feminine roles throughout their life (being accepted and honoured by their tribe, by the way), and had a partner that also fluctuated between masculinity and femininity. they were, therefore, both queer in gender and sexuality. as well, ever since the start of the 2000s, studies have shown that queer expressions of sexuality and gender can be found being supported by religious practices and objects—a book called “queering norway”, edited by pal bjorby and anka ryall is fairly popular on that front. it has the contribution of many historians, anthropologists and more on old norse traditions.

lastly, in case you wonder if we can read dreamwork’s “how to train your dragon”’s characters as being queer, the answer is, of course, yes. i will not enter into art studies discussions or literature queerness appropriation theories because otherwise this post would be much longer than it already is, but i will say these points: hiccup is literally described, from the first movie alone, as not being like the other kids. this could be read as him being autistic, as him having adhd, as him being queer. as well, the presence of monsters (especially dragons) in media tends to represent queerness/clash with heteronormative ideals (i recommend checking out jeffrey cohen’s seven theses chapter). it’s a queer series by its very theoretical premises and execution.

[d1sapp01ntm3nt]

What does ggy mean

GGY is the name of a story in one of the fnaf books; Tales from the Pizzaplex #5: The Bobidots Conclusion to be exact.

the story is about a 12 year old boy named Tony Becker who needs to write a nonfiction story for his group project in writing class. He and his friends come up with little nicknames for each other during their project, Tony taking the name Tarbell (after Ida Tarbell, a famous reporter), Ellis taking the name Boots (short for Puss in Boots cause he’s a nerd) and Gregory (yes, that Gregory) taking the name Dr. Rabbit. they head to the Mega Pizzaplex to look for ideas and just hang out. Tony finds the initials GGY on a lot of the arcade games with high scores WAY above anyone else’s. He begins to get curious and decides to dig deeper, trying to figure out if this is just a really good player or a hacker messing with the machines. During his searches of breaking into Pizzaplex security and literally his own school after hours to get more info; he finds out that GGY is a lot more than what he thinks. Apparently GGY has a modified guest pass to the Pizzaplex that acts more like a security badge, allowing them into places normal guests wouldn’t be allowed into. We also get a couple of initials of some of his guests, who turn out to be the missing guidance counselors from Tony’s school that I forgot to mention.

Once Tony finishes his story he hands it to his slacker friends so they can edit and revise and get their credit in this little story. Dr. Rabbit (Gregory) doesn’t seem to have much of a positive opinion on it, returning the next day with the story edited beyond belief. One of the edited lines reads “GGY was the Wizard’s most favored apprentice.” This may sound like I’m going batshit insane but GGY/Dr. Rabbit/Gregory are implied to be the same person and also under Glitchtrap’s control (much like Vanessa with Vanny). Towards the end, Tony’s in the library sorting books for detention because he got caught sneaking into the school and using the library computer to do his research. Greg walks in to try and “make things better” by offering Tony to come with him to the Mega Pizzaplex. It’s implied that Greg is going to lure Tony to the Pizzaplex and kill him off because of his extensive knowledge of GGY’s hacks and implied crimes.

ALSO THIS STORY IS FUCKING CANON LETS GO!!! GREGORY HAS CANONICALLY KILLED PEOPLE!!!!! YAAAAYYYYYY!!!

sorry if this makes no sense I’m very insane about this book and this whole thing I just wrote is too big for me to read over rn because I’m so tired.

[thecruleangel]

Polski fandom Bibli ma za mało yaoi.

Przepraszam że moj Polski nie jest za dobry ale ktoś musi coś powiedzieć.

Prubował!m znaleźć Jezus x Judasz w Polskim Tumblrze ale wogule nie mogł!m znaleźć.... Myślę że to duży problem i naprawdę ktosz muszi coś zrobić.

Jeśli jest yakisz tag który ma dobry fanów Bibli to proszę mi powiedzieć.

[elevant39]

It´s a wizard and fairy kinda thing

So... I decided to drop another post here... I am so sorry it´s so long... This time about the connection between Wizard 1 and Pixy. (I will refer to Wiz 1 as Lucan for the rest of the post) Mostly because for how little we get, the implications do have a pretty big impact on Pixy as a character (his motives to join AWWNB specificaly). At least that is what I believe. So once again I am need to reference the perfect guide: https://www.skywardfm.com/aczpg-ace-pilot-profiles Now let´s get started. Connection between Pixy and Lucan Thanks to the Perfect guide we can get a really important clue about Pixy and Lucan right from the start. And that is that they are a long time acquaintances. This on it´s own gives us a verry important info about Pixy´s idiology. Pixy most likely had anarchist views before the start of the game. We just never heard about them before Directus because well... Up until that point Pixy didn´t really have a problem fighting in Belkan war. It´s only after he is kinda forced to be part of the counter attack (aka he is on the offensive side) he starts to talk about some of his views. Mission 7 and 8: "Nuclear inspection”, huh? What a joke…"; "Hey Cipher, you hear me? Just look at the view. There’s not much difference between those countries from up here." This does kinda beg the question about how they know each other: Are they long time acquaintances because Pixy always had anarchistic views? Or are they long time acquaintances because Lucan was the one who introduced Pixy to these views? Unfortunately we can only guess because this is all we get from their past. That being said it´s obviose that Pixy does trust Lucan, now I personaly can´t say how mutual this is with Lucan acting like a cult leader and all that. But concidering that Lucan is the only person who calls him by his 1st name in the middle of combat (a furrball no less). And this is the only time something like this happeneds in the game. I honestly wouldn´t be suprised if it was mutual (not to mention with the whole Larry thing it almost feels like Pixy is getting some special treatment from Lucan). However another factor in this is that Pixy is a Belkan war orphan who grew up in a foreign orphanage. Who after leaving became a merc pilot. Meaning that Pixy most likely doesn't have a secondary education, and might not even have primary one depending on how much access to education the orphanage he lived in provided. To tie it back, it makes sence that Pixy would probably trusts Lucan with some of his more philosophical ideas, since Lucan is described as "A deep thinker and has philosophical thoughts. Often pulls quotes relating to philosophy from books and poems." And that is not mentioning that there is 10 years between them. This leads to another conclusion. Lucan is clearly the one who has more intellectual influence in this dynamic. We can actually see this influence if we look at how Pixy talks before Stage of Apocalipse and later in Avalon. Before he is more straight forward with Cipher and PJ. While in Avalon he starts to use more metaphor and more symbolic language (like Lucan). Notebly Lucan and Pixy are the only members that talk about how they will cause a lot of destruction to create the new world. Lucan with his whole "new creation of destruction" and Pixy with his "reset to Zero". Gault 1 mostly talks about his problem how politicians are the one in control and how they never had to go through what they did, Sorcerer 1 is mostly concerned about how borders will create new conflicts in future and how getting rid of them will libare them..

Another interesting connection is that both Pixy and Lucan are the only enemy aces that will use obvious technological advantages against the player in Zero (when I say this I mean something only Belkan magic can explain). Lucan with his Black Widow YF-23 (which somehow has the power to be invisible?) and Pixy with Morgan (I don´t even want to get into to levels of Belkan witchcraft needed for that ECM system).

Now am I saying that Pixy was brainwashed into joining AWWNB? I am honestly not sure, but I would have to say no. Mostly because I think that Pixy is not a case of brainwashing but a case of slow radicalization and how his few connections and world around him as well as his past shaped him into thinking that lauching V2 was a good and moral idea (from his point of view). But that is only how I see it. With all of this out of the way I will focuse on their 2 conversations and what they mean. In game interractions 1) Mayhem Wizard 1: Wizard 1 here, the enemy has broken formation, take them out. Larry, can you read me? Pixy: Looks like you’ve still got the touch. Wizard 1: It’s happening just as you thought, it’s about time we got out of this dead-end job. Pixy: Not just yet. So this one tells us that they know each other but there is something more important. Lucan already gave Pixy an invatation before this mission to join AWWNB and Pixy is considering it. And not turning it down. Meaning that he was probably thinking about joining AWWNB before Hoffnung. That being said just look how casualy this is said in the middle of a giant furball. Implying that they might be more in contact that we think and this is not the 1st time Lucan is suggesting this to Pixy. Also notice that it almost feels like Lucan is trying to push Pixy to accept his offer. Another interesting fact is that after this conversation Pixy´s and PJ´s talks about fighting for peace takes place. If you do keep in mind that Pixy is thinking about joining AWWNB the convo creats another dimension to it. Mostly that PJ is kinda accidentally acting like an intrusive thought to Pixy, basically telling him all the reason why Pixy should join AWWNB while Pixy is trying to grownd himself with every exuse he has. 2) Stage of Apocalypse Wizard 1: Larry, can you read me? Your fairy godmother’s here, Cinderella. Pixy: How could you after what just happened? Wizard 1: [laughs] Today is your lucky day, Larry, just like your birthday. Pixy: And you’re here to pull me off in a magical carriage, huh? to hell, I suppose…

So this dialogue is important because when exactly it takes place. It mostly happeneds right after the 7 nukes are set of, but more importantly it´s also probably happened in the moment that Pixy is most likely in the worst possible psychological state he can be (with Hoffnung before and all that). And right at that moment Lucan just appears out of nowhere and (at least how I read this) starts to reassure Pixy that everything will be alright now that his fairy godmother is there to make things right and pull him of on that carried to that beautiful ball in that fairytale castel that is Avalon. Just like Fairy Godmother did with Cinderella. In her darkest hour she just appeared and helps her and reassures her that everything will be right now that she is here. This is where I once again do need to get into more of a interpretation territory, from what I can come up there could be 3 explanation why Lucan appears at this moment: 1) Pixy already contacted Lucan that he would be joining Meaning Lucan was there to ensure that Pixy would be able to not only join but also to leave to AWWNB,it's just that 7 nukes worked in his favor. 2) Pixy still hasn´t decided yet and so Lucan wanted to give him one last chance to choose and it was an acident that he just so happened to arrive at the perfect moment when Pixy would be most likely to join him. 3) Lucan already somehow (most likely his connection to Gault 1) knew what will happened and just wanted to make sure that Pixy would be in a state where he will not refuse his offer to join AWWNB. Unfortunately this really is up to how you see it. It could be one of them, or a combination of all of the, or it could have been something completely different. I personally fall into a mix of 1 and 2. But this is most likely because of my own personal reading here. That being said every outcome ends the same. Pixy does accept "help" from Lucan and joins him and his organisation. Bonus mission 16: In Wizard squadron fight (knight route), Lucan does mention with his line Pixy, implying that they did talk to each other. "It's just as he said. He flies with aggression." Interesting thing is that only Lucan said this implying that Pixy might have out of the 4 squadron leaders only talk to him about Cipher. With this I believe I already said everything I could from the text it self. However I would still like to talk about some other interesting parallels between Pixie and Lucan that I found.

Parallels of this relationship Morgan and Merlin It´s interesting that Pixy and Lucan seem to mirror the student/mentor aspect of this relationship. Not only is Pixy parallel to Morgan, but Lucan does share some similarities of Merlin too, with his Nick Name “the Blue Magician”. Combine "Often pulls quotes relating to philosophy from books and poems." As well as the fact that you know he literally has Belkan witchcraft on his side (I still have no idea how you can even explain the invisible jets). Cinderella and Fairy godmother I already mentioned this connection in my dialogue 2. I just wanted to mentio it here. That being said this again goes back into the idea that Lucan is the one who holds more authority in this dynamic. Like a guardian over their and ward (at least at that moment). ACE Combat 3 spoiler START Rena and Dision So for those who haven´t playid it. I will be droping some important spoilers here so... yeah.... It´s interesting that they do seem to hold similar position in their organization respectfully. Both Dision and Lucan are leaders (well in Lucan´s case we can only believe that he is, but even then HE is the one who actually has connection to all the interview pilots so make of that what you will). That want destruction of the world Dision for his revenge and Lucan...honestly I do personally believe that he really is just that zealot and believes that is will create a new better world. And Rena with Pixy being the pilots of Super Planes (Rena being the one in charge of Night Raven while Pixy is the last plan of AWWNB with Morgan). The more interesting parallel is also that both Rena and Pixy are recruited and how.

Rena was groomed (and later even brainwashed) to join Ouroboros and be the pilot of Night Raven. Simular thing could be said for Pixy that he was slowly radicalise by war and probably Lucan to join AWWNB and was later choosen to be the Pilot of Morgan. And this is all I could find since I unfortunately have´t played AC3 fully (this is all that I could find from essays and wiki) ACE Combat 3 spoiler END

Ok so another thing my sleep deprived brain forgot to say is that there is also another parallels in how they are after Avalon and their interviews. After Avalon They are both the only members that still try to somehow continue in the ideology of AWWNB. Gault 1 is death, Espada 2 only was there because of Espada 1 and Sorcerer 1 gave up and lives a normal life (as normal as being watch by Osea can allow). On the other hand Lucan continues in his ideas same as before. Even trying to recreate AWWNB and even trying to assassinate the President of Osea. But was later lock up and turned kinda insane. Kinda going deeper into the dark both metaphorically and literally.

While Pixy thanks to seeing ground Zero and help from people (and probably the fact that he no longer is in contact with Lucan) is able to reflect and learn from all of this. He realizes that V2 wasn't the solution and that to fully understand the situation he needs to learn more about why borders exist and why people creat them. He in a sence returns to light (like there is a literal shot where beams of light are shining on him his last speech)

So yeah I somehow forgot the one thing that make me create this post..... sorry about that....

This is really the end (I hope this time), I hope that you all liked reading this brainrot of mine. So yeah... thanks for reading all of this and sorry for how long this was... and how I forgot to put the last part here Have a nice day

[deus-ex-mona]

up next on chapter 36 of idol sengen… _(:3 」∠)_

[jamieedlund]

Loved the answer and art you left! Pretty sweet. Do you have any animal headcanons? Like animals they like or dislike? Looking forward to that Aaravos thesis btw!

⚠WARNING!⚠

Another long answer with comics so strap in, sit down, get some popcorn and enjoy.

pst not related to the question but they can talk about anything and this genuinely brings a smile to my face how Aaravos can just easily carry Callum like that ok --

First of all, thank you - I feel blessed since I actually really enjoy working on asks like this. It’s a good excuse for me to draw them together outside of my thesis. But also this ask has been the only thing I've worked on for the past 4 days... So i really hope you enjoy it because I'm a long long way from finishing my thesis---

When it comes to their relationship, “animal headcanons” probably wouldn’t effect much of the dynamic so I haven’t thought about it much until now for this specific question asdfghjklkl — anything that happens during this ask just kinda exists in my head as I go so fair warning: I am not responsible for any of my brainrot nor is any of this actually canon as far as I know of🤣😂🙏

—And because I’m me this ask gets 13982398290 ugly doodles attached to it

Author's extra note: For the sake of everyone involve, Callum will speak in black letters and white bubbles; Aaravos will speak in white letters and black squiggly bubbles. There's also my narrations sometimes but I think it's pretty easy to tell when it's me speaking ❤. Okay let's go!!!

Callum likes to act weak in front of Aaravos and pretends like he's bad at most things. I think he secretly just wants to be pampered.

And now- for the extra extra brain rot probably relating to animals but also is here because I feel like this is very on brand for the both of them. Enjoy~

Again, this is not canon but it would be hilarious if it’s true, I didn’t bother looking up about these monkeys that’s how much I despise ss4. But if Ray’s pet is just a baby right now that means she’s raising a 100lbs death machine and Cally made the right call to dip with Aaravos. This idea came from a video I watched about some family keeping a chimp as a pet and it literally murdered them all.

Author's note #2: I will always acknowledge that there IS anger and contempt within Aaravos. No amount of sunshine and possitive energy can possibly recover him from those traumas - but this can be navigate in the best way possible when you consider the fact that he is also a known genius, both in normal and emotional intelligence. I think this fantastically synergize with Callum's curiosity but extra kind and understanding self, leading to some very special moments and facial expressions. Something they completely destroyed forever in the show and I will always be angry with that.

Thank you for making it till the end, this was a very long ask despite the question being fairly simple. I love these two character with all of my heart, and as always, I am so blessed to have at least some people here to share my undying passion for them ❤💗💜🏃‍♂️

[anotherfandomtrash]

SIX the musical but it’s Kuragins messing everything up as ghosts

[crazycafinecat]

What was Space Morty's dynamic like with the other Smiths? Has he made an friends since going into space? :0

omg i totally forgot to answer these sorry....

i planned a bunch of comics to explain space morty's backstory but I've been really busy so it's probably gonna take a while to draw all of them, so I'll just explain it roughly now and then go into more detail in the comics eventually.

ok so this universe is actually very similar to the main one in the show in terms of family dynamics and stuff. the big difference here is that morty comes out as transfem (she/her pronouns btw) and things kinda derail from there?? like summer is super supportive and their relationship actually improves, rick is supportive (because he's also trans in this universe but he's stealth so no one knows) but he doesn't show it very directly, beth is trying her best and jerry is confused and refuses to understand.

so that's what makes morty run away, she's alway felt like her family never really appreciates her or like she's the unwanted child (even tho that's technically summer lol) so seeing her dad not even trying to understand something that's important to her, and her grampa's usual apathetic behavior on the matter (which she interprets as unsupportive) make her snap and she impulsively runs away.

she's kinda emotionally unstable since she ran away so she hasn't made any friends, and avoids other ricks and mortys from other dimensions because she tends to not get along with them and she's been to the citadel before it got destroyed and stole a random rick's portal gun lol.

she did meet morty prime tho, he got lost in space and she helped him find his grampa or something like that, and they kinda become friends after that even tho she refuses to admit it. i was also thinking about a possible interaction with evil morty but they're so similar i dont think they'd like eachother.

sorry this is so long ahshdh i think it's all but I'll add more if i realize i forgot something. thanks for reading my incoherent rambles🫶

[wenellyb]

I have a question, and I would love to hear some thoughts on this.

Why don't people ever talk about "censorship" when talking about LGBTQ+ representation in the MCU?

I've often seen people talking about Queerbaiting even when it wasn't the case and they were using that word without knowing the meaning. But I never hear people talk about the way Disney execs, or decision-makers could be banning or suppressing a certain type of content in their movies.

The reason I'm talking about this is because several of MCU characters had Bi, Gay or Lesbian characters but in the end, the explicit scenes were cut from the final project. Even thought those scenes had been shot. The writers wrote the scenes, the actors played their part, the filmakers shot those scenes, but in the end they had to be removed from the movie.

In the first Black Panther movie, there was supposed to be an explicit moment between Ayo and her partner, but it never made it into the movie. And in Black Panther : Wakanda Forever the little scene Ayo did get with her girlfriend in the movie make it seem that it was the only gesture they would be allowed to show. A lot of people could have missed that kiss on the forehead if they weren't paying attention. Or they wouldn't even notice the 2 of them are dating.

Same with a scene with Valkyrie and a woman in Thor: Ragnarok that never made the final cut.

It wasn't Queerbaiting when the cast a crews were teasing/talking about those scenes. The filmakers and writers weren't lying to lure in the audience, those scenes were shot, and then removed at a later stage.

It seems that even when those writers wanted to include more explicit content for their characters, they weren't allowed too. And it also potentially mean that there is so much more characters or movies where this happened, and the filmakers didn't even bother trying anymore.

Even when "recently, Loki came out as bisexual in the Loki show, it was done in a way that could be easily misinterpreted. I know that some people who watched the show didn't even realize that Loki was saying he was Bi (I have to admit maybe some stuff for lost in translation but still...)

There seems to be some "progress" in the right direction but it's always so small and so slow, as if they had to make it as subtle as possible. Like America Chavez's pride pin in Doctor Strange's Multiverse of Madness.

I would love to hear some thoughts about this.

[hammill-goes-fogwalking]

after some pretty tough months of feeling like an imposter and now, after these depressed episodes (October 2023-June 2024), I found the main reasons for most of my self-reproaches

1. I found out what Autism™ is and constantly searched for autistic traits in my behaviour, it followed me on every step..... I couldnt even focus on what I was saying because my inner voice tried to self-diagnose all the time (eventually all of the online tests I took said Im NOT autistic but I didnt believe them)

2. My friend who looks like a Bombshell, I was constantly comparing myself to her (and other perfect, neurotypical influencers with perfect face, perfect body, perfect social life)

3. Negativity, it took me a looong time to take off that pessimistic lens (and I'm still working on it)

[thefairyfellermasterstroke]

ello ello it’s me again, John Lennon (@john-winston-ono-lennon)

Uh…George found out I stole his biscuits. My personal suggestion is that you RUN.

JOHN HELLO OH MY GOD

I HAVE TO RUN AWAY OVERSEAS HOW WILL I DO I HAVE TO SAVE MY PED BIRD NAMED ARTHUR O-

NOOOOOOOOOO HE ATEEEEEEEE ARTHURRRRRRRRR NOOOOOOO

I'm running away. I have a heart necklace with my lovely bird pet Arthur photo on it. All of this for the biscuits. How will I do this john...

[lilysnotes]

Personally, I like when simple images tell a story. By that I mean that when I look at some illustration, and most importantly, when I draw, I look for that spark that brings everything together and it's capable to transmit a feeling. It's not easy, it's not simple. To be able to set a scene and shower the spectator with emotions is a talent, one that shouldn't be taken for granted.

We see amazing artists everyday in our feeds and sometimes I feel people sleep on what art really makes you feel, the way it moves you, us. And sometimes I encounter an artist like this, an artist that freezes me, that shocks me and wakes up. I'm thankful.

I can't help but be amazed at the way a story develops Infront of me, through a static image. And to be honest I'm quite jealous at how she is capable to do this, since I've tried for years, and I rarely achieve it. It's so personal to me when people are this talented. I'm impressed, I'm fascinated, I need more people to see this, are you seeing the same thing I am? I'm speechless. What was that phrase that says "slices clean in half- slices in a clean half"? I don't remember it but I'm certainly torn into pieces by this.

Well, just check the artist, let her drown you in dramatic colours and fierce brush strokes. I really really hope you see what I do, everyone should, at least once every lifetime.

[ruins75]

Hii its me crow anon!! I've been wondering what charaters do you see tracy and violetta being friends with :3 do they have any friends in common? Are there some people where the other kinda feels like "i think you shouldnt hang around with that one the vibes are off"?

Yeah! Here they are. I wrote a a lot lol (⌒-⌒; ) Hope it answers your questions

Tracy’s friends are Luca, Charles, Victor (sort of), and Alva (sort of) 

Victor because I like to think he was the local mailman of the area. He knew pretty much everything about the “accident” with her father and was the kindest to her during those tough times. I say “sort of” because 1) they don’t really see each other much 2) Victor is /very/ secretive of his life, and she often feels like she doesn’t really know much about him which was upsetting. 

Luca is her closest friend. Sees him as her best friend and as a brother at the same time. She met him before his arrest and they developed a relationship really fast because of their similar interests, careers, and personalities. After his arrest, that didn’t change. Meeting him again in the manor, however, their relationship sours but she still doesn’t let him go.

She didn’t meet Charles until she arrives at the manor. They didn’t know each other but similarly to Luca they got close quickly because of their interests . She also wanted to help him with his terrible self esteem and attitude towards his work. He’s also the reason the relationship between Luca and Tracy soured .. cause Luca was being a dick towards him and Tracy stood by Charles’s side. 

She met Alva through Luca. She was intimidated by him but also fascinated by literally everything he does. They couldn’t meet often because they both lived in completely different parts (Alva in an affluent area while Tracy in a middle class common area) . Her respect for Alva was lost after Luca’s arrest.

For Violetta, she’s friends with Margie, Murro, and the rest of hullabaloo (but it’s really just Margie and Murro but she’s unaware) 

Margie and Violetta have a bittersweet relationship. They do things like each others makeup, dress up, sing, and regular chatting. Sometimes Margie would sleep in Violetta’s room whenever she was too uncomfortable with Sergei, and she’s the only person she could trust to do that. But Violetta, ignorant to what’s going on between Margie and Sergei, often praises him for his excellent performances which turns Margie vexed. They also have this fall out and it’s because of Sergei. All of their problems stem from Sergei. They started talking less and Margie got caught up in her problems. 

I think the friendship between Murro and Violetta can be easily explained.. Unfortunately he leaves the circus and Violetta isn’t left with anyone 

Some friends they have in common would be Margie, Murro, and Luca (like how Luca was gushing about Alva to Tracy end then he later introduced her to him. Tracy was doing the same thing but with Violetta lmao) Tracy has a rather interesting relationship with Margie. I want to illustrate it sometime soon. 

For “I think you shouldn’t hang around with that one the vibes are kind of off,” it would probably Tracy to Violetta with Mike, Sergei, and Bernard. 

Mike just unsettles Tracy. And the way Mike (sometimes) speaks towards Violetta can be rather condescending. He’s just a little scary. Put on contacts please

Sergei. Know how I said Tracy and Margie have an interesting relationship? They’re pretty close, and Tracy knows all about the kind of man he is. She does not want her around that man 

Bernard is a tricky one.. because Violetta wants to get closer to him and make him proud, something she couldn’t do with Max. But Tracy knows how Bernard feels about Violetta. He’s so comfortable making crude jokes about her with Tracy thinking that she’ll be amused. Tracy does eventually tell her how much she really dislikes Bernard, and Violetta.. actually agrees, but she still has this hope that he can see her efforts and embrace her as a star. Tracy wishes Violetta could open her eyes.

Violetta likes Tracy’s friends so she has no qualms with them

Honorable mentions: 

Tracy and “Vera”: not necessarily friends.. but they’re cool with each other, I guess. Around the area of the circus is the perfume store Vera owns. Tracy goes there because after seeing Violetta, she grew this urge to take care of herself more, and it’d be nice to not smell like book dust and metal.

Violetta and Galatea

… kill me. Can’t think of anymore. I do plan on drawing these friendships