#make me gayer why don’t you

[cassiebones]

RACHEL BROSNAHAN WAS ON THE WRESTLING TEAM IN HIGH SCHOOL WHAT?!?!?!?

[calmlb]

i will give you fic recs but if you don’t read the ln’s i will also give you serious side-eye

guys stop asking me for bsd fic recs, i will tell u to go read the light novels

[fuckingmeteors]

I have tried to make a transcript of the Radio Adelaide interview! There are a few places where I'm not quite sure what they're saying (especially when they speak over each other), so if anyone is willing to take a look at it, I would gladly welcome corrections! (Also I hope the formatting isn't too shit. If it is, I apologize.)

[introduction]

Host/Interviewer:

I spoke with Dan and Phil, who are on their Terrible Influence tour at the moment. I think they’re in Sydney right now, even though I had to call them on the phone via England [laughter]. They’re gonna be on at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next week, Monday the 16th of December. And these guys, they’re British Internet Youtube radio hosts, they’re critics of games, they’re book authors, Dan and Phil, they’re currently in Australia having their Terrible Influence tour which lands in Adelaide at the entertainment Centre next week and they’re attempting to “take back what the internet took from them”!

So, it’s allegedly a screamingly hilarious live stage show. I have no doubt that it is hilarious. They’re “older, gayer and Phil’s gone blonde” evidently, and nothing is off limits. Now I was brought to their, uh, to the attention of them by some younger folk, who asked me to ask them certain questions, throw some sort of slightly strange questions at them, and I haven’t got time to include all of those questions and also I had a call after the interview from one of the duo suggesting that “oh, you might get trolled if you ask a question like that and people misinterpret it”, because I was asking, uh… I believe they’ve become a couple, I’m not sure if they’ve gotten married, but they may have gotten married or they may just be, like, going steady, but they’re a terrific pair of comic lads, in the vein of Kenny Everett, sort of. They don’t have a TV show as such, they were both youtubers, which means that they had a little bit of youtube shows, and then they started guesting on each other’s show, and then they eventually started doing stuff together. Very interesting lads. And I just really want to play the interview now.

[interview starts playing]

Dan: And I’ve got a mullet now that I’m in Australia because apparently that’s what people do. (?) Australians have more fun and I wanted to appropriate a little bit of the culture while we’re here doing the show.

Phil: I think it’s more of a micro-mullet, Dan, though, you know, you haven’t gotten to full mullet, it’s more of a micro-mullet.

D: It’s a mullet without the T, it’s just a mull-è.

I: Mull-è hahaha, all right! Just with that sort of…

P: Yeah, without the T, yeah!

I: That sort of hard E at the end.

P: Yes.

I: How has your tour been going so far, gentlemen?

D: It’s been amazing to be in Australia, no offense, we loved having a great time in America, but we’re very happy to be in Australia. Although, I know it’s summer, why is it so hot? Nowhere on Earth should be this warm.

I: You haven’t reached Adelaide yet, have you?

D: No, God, don’t tell me it’s warmer!

I: Yes, Yes, we’re in the middle of a very dry, arid area, very isolated, a long way from anywhere, but there’s only about maybe thirty of forty tickets left at your gig here?

D: We’re happy for the people of Adelaide, they’re, you know, they’re out here, in that dry, arid desert, and there’s nothing to do but come to the Dan and Phil show, and we love them for that, they’re all making responsible financial decisions, so we’re very grateful for all the people that are coming to the show.

P: And if there’s forty people listening, come hang out with us, it’s gonna be a fun time!

D: Yeah, what else are you doing on that night?

P: We’re gonna be pumping the aircon out.

D: Yeah, just come to have somewhere cool to sit in the theatre, you know what I mean?

I: Are you collecting things from your hangouts that you’re gonna discuss at the next show? Like before a show, if people hang out with you, give you a piece of art, or a little letter, a note, something like that, do you then discuss it in front of the (?)

D: Oh, a big trendy thing these days, yeah Taylor Swift had started this trend of the bracelets that people, that have things on (?), so people would make these bracelets that say “Dan” or “Phil” in beads, and the other day someone gave me a bracelet that said “vegemite" on it.

I: Hahaha

D: And I was like “what the heck?” and they said, “you don’t understand, this is incredibly culturally important, so I was like “okay, thank you, I will cherish the vegemite bracelet”.

P: I got one that said “koala daddy”, I’m not sure what that meant, but (?)

D: (?)

I: Koala daddy?

P: Yep, I think that’s what they were calling me!

I: Have you actually dipped your tongue into any vegemite as yet?

P: Uh, I would have to say it was one of the most horrific experiences of my life, I’m sorry! [Dan laughter in the background]

D: What, Phil, you don’t like a yeast-based condiment?

P: No.

D: How dare you?

P: Dan loved it, though. (?)

D: I’m just a yeasty kind of guy.

I: Yeah, it’s kind of up there with marmite, isn’t it?

D: It is, but I only eat sweet things, so I couldn’t handle it, but Dan was eating a second portion of toast this morning, and loved it.

I: Yeah, it’s good for you!

P: And last time we were in Adelaide we did a vlog where we explored the town, didn’t we? We got Tim Tams, we did a Tim Tam Slam.

D: Yeah. The national sport.

I: The national sport, sucking coffee through a Tim Tam.

D: Yeah, yeah.

P: I can get down with that.

I: Oh yeah, it’s a lot of fun to do! You realise that our Premier is the one who started the ball rolling with the social media ban for under sixteen-year-olds? You’re lucky that you’re here now at this stage of your career rather than at the beginning of your career, because there’s a lot of young people who have grown with you, who will be able to come and see your show!

D: Yeah, absolutely.

I: Are you relying on them sort of moving forward with you?

D: People have been with us for a long time and people tell us some things that are very disturbing.

P: Yeah, we’ve had some people meet us that are like, “I’ve watched you ten years ago, still watching you now, and I’ve got a whole child now!” and it’s like, what, what is happening!

I: Hahaha!

P: Time isn’t real!

I: It’s kind of a historic moment, you’re probably the first English lads to have linked in to youtube, and the Internet, and gone off the way that you have.

D: Nah(?), we were just… well, we come from an early generation, Phil has been doing it for so long that you couldn’t even make a career off youtube yet, there was no monetization, he was just doing it out of boredom, that’s how terrifying it is.

P: Yeah, I’m a youtube dinosaur, so yeah, I think definitely(?) I was one of the first ones to do it, but it’s crazy that we’re still doing it now, 15 years later.

I: It’s basically become a career for you, hasn’t it?

D: Absolutely, and none of it was planned, it’s been a constant runaway train since day one, and the emergency brake stopped a long time ago.

I: What kind of experiences are you getting to have in your down time while you’re in Australia this time around?

D: Well, I wanted to go to the beach, and then Phil said there’s a high chance you’re gonna get eaten by a shark, and I was like, “a high chance? I don’t know about that” and then we asked a guy and he was like “oh no, they’re out there, I see them every week”; so… [laughter]

P: I am hoping to look into the eyes of a wombat and have an emotional connection.

D: A  Deep spiritual moment? Okay.

P: My favourite animal.

I: A wombat?

P: Yeah, I love a wombat!

D: Underrated.

I: Do you like the hairy-nosed wombat, or just the plain old brown one?

P: I’m not sure of the difference, maybe I should find that out, maybe that’s gonna be my quest.

D: (?) Make a decision.

I: Yeah, if you come face to face or nose to nose with a hairy-nosed wombat, he’s more likely to roll over and let you cuddle his tummy. The other ones have got a (?) and they’re a little bit more aggressive.

D: Okay. Sounds like me.

I: [laughter]. Have the audiences been laughing at all the right spots so far?

D: Definitely, and they’ve been laughing at all the inappropriate spots where they’re not supposed to, as well. But we’ll take it. You either have an audience that laughs all the time even at the inappropriate moments, or a quiet one. And I don’t want a quiet one.

P: Also, a good thing about our show is that we kind of give everyone a recap of everything that’s happened in the last fifteen years, so if you’re like, “oh, I used to watch Dan and Phil a while ago”, you can still come along and you’ll get right up to speed.

D: Oh, we know that people are dragging their husbands, their mothers, their older sisters to the show, and these people are like, “what the heck is going on?”, so don’t worry, we cover the base.

I: Sounds good to me! I hope you have a fantastic time in Adelaide, and you continue to enjoy yourselves.

D: Thank you!

I: Ride the wave, don’t worry about sharks.

P: Excellent, well, yeah, we’re looking forward to it. Thanks, nice to speak to you!

I: You too, cheers lads! Dan and Phil…

P: Cheers!

D: Bye!

I: They’ll be at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next Monday, uh, coming. On the 16th. So, if you are keen to see them do their thing live on stage, go and join the masses that have already bought their tickets, get in while you can.

[hyypnotix-writes]

Part 2

~ hiya! I'm really nervous about posting this, but I couldn't not at least try to give you a second part after the response the last one got! ~

~ I really appreciate everyone reading it and enjoying it as much as you did ..I hope this one doesn't ruin it for you! ~

~ I think this one's around 13k words. so again ..it's a long one, if you have nothing else to do! ~

~ there’s quite a lot of story before Alexia makes an appearance, sorry ..but she does eventually show up! ~

~ I promise to put more of her in the next part if any of you end up wanting one ~

~ I’m really worried this will disappoint a lot of you, but at least you still have the first part to go back to, if nothing else! ~

~ I really hope you're able to enjoy it even just a little bit, and thanks again for loving the first part so much! the response was very overwhelming and I've loved you all reaching out to tell me that you liked it ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.  

One perfect night.  

That’s all it took.  

One perfect night to throw your whole damn life into disarray.  

One perfect night, that’s lead to endless subsequent nights, spent tossing and turning on your own, replaying the memory over on a loop in your mind. It’s only been about a month, but it feels like an eternity.  

A never-ending, exhausting cycle of yearning and confusion.  

It was the most welcome distraction from your ex-boyfriend’s evil escapades, you’ve not really thought about him at all since. 

It should have set you free, broken you out of the chains of mundanity. It showed you a whole new world, a world of women. It gave you a new perspective on life. Unlocked a realm of brand-new possibilities all ready and waiting for you to venture, and yet, you don’t want to explore any of them.  

It's not that you haven’t tried.  

You’d have been an idiot to assume that it’s only her that can make you feel like this. That would be giving her an awful lot of credit. Yes, she was your first woman, but that didn’t mean that she needed to be your last. The way your mind and body reacted to her, maybe you could have been slightly gayer than you thought, but it doesn’t really look to be the case.  

A pair of lesbian sisters always seemed incredibly unlikely to you, and your sister’s already called dibs on the label. Maybe it’s the mere existence of your younger sister that eradicates the possibility of any real queerness in yourself. That’s probably how the handing out of sexualities works, right? 

It’s a working theory, and one that you seem to be proving the accuracy of.  

You’ve been to a few more clubs since your entanglement with the Spanish mystery. Only returning back to that specific one, once. It gave you a headache just stepping through the door. She was still everywhere in the room, her spirit living in the walls. You barely managed to stay inside for even a second before it became too much for you, sending your heart and mind racing.  

You took yourself back home, reminiscing every single kiss you’d shared with her on that fanciful journey back to her hotel together. Looking up at the floor she had been staying on, as you hastily walked past it on your own.  

Even the nightclubs that aren’t haunted by her ghost, haven’t yielded much greater success with you. 

You paid a visit to a smaller bar, a fair few nights after your perfect one, and had found a woman interested in you. More than interested. She was pretty, and friendly enough. She was flirty and bought you a few drinks. She didn’t try to play it weird by aiding you in your consumption of alcohol. There was no intriguing salt and lime foreplay. She was far more straightforward, far less irritating.  

Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Maybe she was too plain. Maybe she was too simple and easy for you to understand. Or maybe it’s the fact that when she pressed herself against you in search of a kiss, an alarm bell rang out inside of your head. You suddenly found yourself all too aware that she was a woman, and you simply no longer wanted to follow through with your curiosities.  

It doesn’t help in your confusion, why the femininity of one woman can leave you feeling more certain of your straightness, while another’s femininity has you still helplessly pining after her.  

It’s not like you were under any illusion with the Spanish woman. You were entirely aware that she was also a woman, and it wasn’t off putting to you at all. You enjoyed her being a woman. She smelt nice, she tasted nice. Her body was beautiful, and her lips were soft, and it doesn’t make any sense that she’s allowed to put a yearning in you that no other woman is able to satisfy.  

That does seem very typical of her, though. She really was very cocky and frustrating.ﾠﾠ

Until she wasn’t, of course.  

Then, she was just sweet and considerate. Cautious and careful. Flirty and undemanding. She took you back to hers and she still had no expectations from you. She was still willing to let you walk away. Maybe you should have.ﾠﾠ

You knew even then that you should have.  

It was daft of you to follow after her. Foolish to lose yourself with her, spending the night together, giggling under the sheets. Sharing kisses as you drowned yourselves in each other. Learning her body, every mark, scar and freckle, and committing them all to your memory. Tracing her curves and her tattoos and discovering what it is that makes her tick.ﾠ

She was patient, and understanding, she wasn’t in a rush with you. She spent the whole night exploring with you. Studying your body, wanting to learn all the things you liked her doing, and the things you really liked her doing. She turned what could have been a terrifying, embarrassing, disaster of an experience, into the most incredible encounter of your life.  

She brought you more pleasure than your pathetic ex-boyfriend had ever managed to give you in your whole 5-year relationship, in less than 5 minutes of her having your clothes off. She had the most unholy of noises spilling from your lips with her fingers and tongue inside of you, and she wasn’t exactly quiet herself, in letting you know when you were doing the right thing with her.  

She was intoxicating, exhilarating. She was life-affirming.  

She’s a far more dangerous addiction to you than alcohol could ever manage to be. You’ve never been tempted by drugs before, but you can’t even imagine the high from them being able to compete against what she’s done to you.  

It was just one night.  

It was one perfect night.  

________________

Living back with your younger sister isn’t exactly where you saw yourself being at 26. Your London flat had started feeling a little too big for you, without a traitorous arsehole of a man invading your space. So, you invited her to move in with you, not wanting to have to give up your dream property just because he had decided to try ruining your life. You needed help with the rent, and she had gratefully accepted.  

You didn’t necessarily expect her to also invite her idiot new girlfriend into your home with her. That wasn’t really part of the deal, though you didn’t explicitly tell her that she couldn’t. You can’t really blame her. If you were able to spend every waking moment of your life with ‘A’ right beside you, you’d jump at the opportunity headfirst.   

It still doesn’t aid in the dispelling of your confusion. There’s no jealousy when you see them together. Her girlfriend does nothing for you, none of her girlfriends ever have. You both have decidedly different tastes in women. Your sister’s taste is entirely questionable, yours is perfection.  

You haven’t mentioned your Spanish predicament to your sister. She’d probably laugh at you for it, call you tragic, and embarrassing. Tell you everything you’ve already been telling yourself on repeat in your head. She wouldn’t be very helpful; she very rarely is. She’s your very annoying, smart-arse of a little sister, who couldn’t possibly give you any decent advice. She’s 2 years younger than you and she's an idiot.  

She’s not the one who’s still hung up on a stranger after over a month, though. It’s rarely taken her longer than 24 hours to get over someone she’s been with. She’s not the one who’s been questioning herself every night. She’s never questioned herself at all. You’re fairly certain her very first thought, straight out of the womb was about another woman.  

She didn’t really have to come out to the family at any point, she kissed her first girl when she was 8. Always been a bit of a Casanova, your sister. A walking stereotype of a lesbian. Short, brightly coloured, undercut hair, quite a few piercings, heavily tattooed. She’s obsessed with women’s football, always watching re-runs of ‘The L Word,’ and overwhelmingly insistent in trying to prove to you that Taylor Swift is also secretly gay.  

Your sister’s certainty in her own sexual identity isn’t something that’s ever irritated you before. Not when you were always so sure of yourself, too. You appreciated her confidence. It was admirable, given the way people can be with her. She’s your self-assured little sister, who isn’t great at confrontation. So, you support her whenever anyone tries to tear her down.  

Now, however, this too-late-in-life existential crisis you’re struggling with, has you wishing she’d try to be a little bit more questioning herself. Her surety and cockiness about her sexuality is suddenly the most prominent attribute of her personality, and it’s really starting to drive you up the wall.  

It’s a rare evening where it’s only the two of you at home together. You don’t really know where her girlfriend is, and you don’t much care. You only feel responsible for one annoying lesbian, the one who shares your surname.  

She’s being rather antisocial with you, playing video games alone in her bedroom, and you’ve just finished tidying up the dining table after sharing the dinner you cooked for you both. You’re not exactly sure how you’ve found yourself solo parenting your stroppy little sibling when you’re really not much older than her yourself, but there you go.  

Maybe you should try speaking to her. See what she can possibly offer you by way of sapphic guidance. If she’s going to continue having her nuisance girlfriend living here rent-free, she should at least try giving you something to make it worth your while.  

You walk straight through to her bedroom and collapse your head onto her stomach on the bed. Making sure to do so with just enough force behind it to ensure you manage to leave her winded and interrupt her gaming. She grunts under you, and you earn an overly aggressive smack to your shoulder for achieving your goal. As, whatever other little child she’s playing her game against, has just managed to score past her.  

“You’re a twat!” She scolds, and you backhand her face to shut her up. She raises her fist above your stomach, and you flinch, bracing for impact.  

“I have a question!” You shout, before she has chance to attack.  

She pauses her lifted fist above you, and reluctantly agrees to a truce, providing your question is of interest to her. “What?” She groans, and you fiddle with your fingers, trying to find the right wording.  

“Why do you like women?” You ask, your face grimacing as you await her response.  

It isn’t your smoothest ever phrasing, not your wittiest form of delivery. It’s honestly, rather annoyingly, not the most subtle line of questioning. Despite it not being entirely to the point, your sister isn’t stupid.  

“What?” 

Oh ..maybe she is! 

That’s not going to be super helpful with your impending interrogation.  

“Why not men?” You suggest, still trying not to be too blatant. “How did you know you liked women?” 

“I looked at one.” She tells you, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Why?” 

“Do you find every woman attractive?” 

“No, but I find enough of them attractive to sense a pattern.” She explains. “Why?” 

“And you’ve never been attracted to a man? Not even tempted?” 

“No. Not once. Why?” 

“Never ever?” 

“Y/N!” 

“I was just wondering.” You tell her quickly, drumming your fingers on top of your stomach.  

“About women?” She queries. 

“About ..why women. What it is about them.” 

“Aside from the obvious?” She snickers, nudging your arm.  

You quickly bounce your head back against her stomach winding her again.  

“Stop doing that!” 

“Stop being annoying!” You warn her. Your frustration at yourself getting the better of you.

She tries to push you off of her, but you mess with the analogue sticks on her controller, and she turns her focus back to salvaging her match. “You really are a twat! Get out!” 

“I need your help.” 

“I don’t care!” 

“..I’m sorry.” You mumble, and she scoffs at you, pushing you off of her bed unceremoniously.  

You can’t say you blame her, you’re a constant threat to her in that position, it’s too big of a risk. You enjoy bouncing your head and ruining her childish little game far too much.  

“Why do you like men?” She counters, and you find yourself stuck for words as you sit on her floor.  

It’s the question that’s been floating around your own head for a little while now. You’d never thought about it before. You just were. You had crushes on them all throughout your childhood, you’d had meaningless boyfriends in your teens, you met your bastard ex at university and figured that was it.  

You didn’t need to question why you were attracted to them, it just always made sense.  

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, letting out a groan as you grab one of her pillows and bury your head into it.  

“What’s going on?” She asks, as she prods at your shoulder with her foot.  

“Nothing. I was just—” 

“Thinking about women?” 

“No!”  

It isn’t really a lie, you’re not thinking about women, just the one. The one woman who’s been invading all of your thoughts for the past 30 something days. The one who won’t let you sleep properly at night, who won’t let you focus completely at work.  

The one woman who refuses to leave your head for even a second just to let you rest, to let you breathe, to let you remember what life was like, prior to her entering it and recklessly setting fire to everything, before she ran away from you and disappeared into thin air.ﾠﾠ

“I kissed one.” You confess, trying to suffocate yourself with her pillow.  

This really does take her by surprise. You can hear her movements on top of the mattress as she turns her game off and pulls her pillow from you with a rather startling urgency. There’s great confusion on her face as she looks at you. She really must think you’re very boring if that’s enough to render her speechless. Imagine her reaction if you admitted to all the other things you did to the Spanish enigma.  

“You kissed a woman?” She asks, frowning at you.  

You’re not entirely sure why she looks quite so cross about it. You’re not trying to steal her thunder here. You’re not about to start trying to catch up with her numerous exploits of female companions.  

“Mhmm.” You mumble in reply, smoothing your hair back from over your face.  

“Why? For a man?” 

“No! I just wanted to ..I thought it’d be fun.” 

“..and ..was it?” 

“Mhmm.” 

She looks at you with a very distinct air of incredulity. It’s a rather annoying look, weirdly condescending. She doesn’t believe you. Why she thinks you’d bother lying about it, you really do not know. You’re not that desperate for a story to tell her.  

It’s almost offensive that she thinks you’re so incapable. You didn’t just kiss a woman. You went down on one, you had your fingers inside of her. You evoked moans from her, she scratched her nails down your back. You’re not some virginal prude. You’re not inept. It can’t be that shocking and inconceivable that you could share a single kiss with someone of the same sex.  

You were right, telling your sister was pointless. She’s offered you no assistance and no support. She’s a useless little waste of space and her horrible girlfriend is an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Thanks, very much! This was really helpful!”  

Your words are laced in sarcasm as you slide yourself up away from her bed with a sigh, throwing your middle finger up back in her direction as you exit the room, and slam her bedroom door shut behind you.   

You slam your own bedroom door shut behind you too, just in case she hadn’t picked up on how pissed off you are.  

You’re not really pissed off with her. She doesn’t know what’s going on inside of your head. You’re pissed off with yourself, for still being all entirely far too consumed with a woman whose name you do not know. Who wouldn’t even bother sharing her profession with you. It isn’t fair.  

You collapse headfirst onto your bed and let out a rather guttural groan into your duvet. You’re very frustrated. Your brain’s a mess, your sexuality’s up in the air, and you allowed yourself to picture, far too clearly, your memories of having sex with the gorgeous Spanish woman and now that ache that she’d put inside of you is back.  

There’s a knock at your door, and you’re not in the mood. You grab your duvet and burrito yourself in it down to the foot of your bed.  

“Y/N?”  

You don’t even grace your sister with a response. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a swine.  

No, but she really is a swine, as you can hear her turning the doorknob and just walking right into your bedroom anyway. She’s really, unbelievably terrible at reading social cues.  

“Do you want to come to Spain with me next week?” 

See what I mean? What the hell?  

That’s a very serendipitous little offer, though. You didn’t even mention to her that the woman that you kissed was Spanish.  

Did you?  

She can’t have worked that out by herself. That would be insane. She’s already proved herself to not be the sharpest tool in the shed. That wouldn’t make any sense. What an intriguing little invitation.  

It’s very embarrassing that just the mention of the country sends a shiver down the back of your neck. All this instant adrenaline running through you, as if she’ll just be waiting for you there as soon as you land down in a random Spanish airport. Yeah, that seems likely!  

Spain’s not the biggest country in the world, but it certainly isn’t small. You’re not going to accidentally stumble into her again on the beach, or in a marketplace. She’s definitely not going to be staying in the same hotel that you’d be in.  

It shouldn’t have your heart racing like this. The chances of finding her again are so infinitesimally small, so extremely impossible, so overwhelmingly unlikely ..but you do stand a better chance, if you’re in the right country.  

“Next week?” You mumble under the sheets, playing it incredibly cool, as you try to ignore the way your heart’s started thumping at a thousand beats per minute.  

“Yeah.” 

“I thought you were going away with your girlfriend?” 

“..we broke up.” 

Shit. She would make this all about herself.  

You wiggle yourself free of your duvet cocoon and open up your arms for her to crash into you. She might be a useless little swine, but she’s your useless little swine. “Are you okay?”  

“Mhmm.” She grumbles, as she starfishes herself on top of you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not. You never liked her.” 

“That’s not true.” You protest half-heartedly, kissing the side of her head.  

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.” 

“Well, thank fuck for that!” 

“See!” She laughs, rolling off the side of you. “You hated her!” 

“She was horrible!” 

“You could’ve said.” 

“You wouldn’t have left her if I told you to. You’d be getting bloody married to the girl. Twat.” She giggles defencelessly next to you on the bed, because you’re absolutely right. She has always been a contrarian little thing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah. I’ll find someone else tomorrow.” 

“Unbelievable.” You chuckle, shaking your head as you push her away. “You can’t just give me her ticket. Did she not pay for it?” 

The embarrassed little look on your sister’s face is all the wordless response you need. Her girlfriend never paid for anything. She really was an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Where are you going in Spain?” 

“Barcelona.” 

“Why?” 

“Football.” 

“Oh! Give me a break!” You exclaim and roll down away from her back to the foot of the bed. “Why are you going all the way to Spain just to watch some football? You can bloody watch it here.” 

“It’s the Champions League!” She informs you excitedly, and you can’t even pretend to match her enthusiasm. “Chelsea’s playing Barcelona.” 

“Woo.” You respond flatly, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “You watched them play together today, didn’t you? Why are they so bloody obsessed with each other? Even I know there’s more teams than that.” 

“It’s the second leg..” She starts explaining, but none of it means anything to you, and you really just can’t bring yourself to care.  

Going all the way out to Spain to be stuck inside a stadium with thousands of screaming fans? What sort of holiday is that? You don’t care about Chelsea’s success or failure. Your sister’s dirty crush on their star-striker is just another one of her many celebrity infatuations that you can’t make any sense of.  

You don’t want to sit next to her as she gets herself all hot and bothered watching women run around a football pitch. You don’t even enjoy watching men do it, you have no interest in watching women.  

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You tell her, dismissively.  

“Please? We can do more than just watch the football.” She offers, pouting pathetically. “You have to come with me! I’ve just been dumped!”  

“No, you haven’t!” You remind her, laughing at her useless attempt at guilt tripping. “And you haven’t really left me much time to negotiate with work.” 

“You work too hard and you’re due some time off! Your boss isn’t going to refuse you, just bat your eyelashes at him. The filthy pervert.” 

“Hm.” You mumble, drumming your fingers over your stomach as you think.  

She isn’t wrong, about you working hard, at least. You do like to bury yourself in your work. You enjoy your job, and the harder you work, the more you earn. You haven’t had time off in a while, and your boss is unlikely to say no to you, you are his favourite employee. You don’t agree that it’s because he has a crush on you, you get good results for the company, and attract lucrative clientele.  

If batting your eyelashes could get you back in the arms of your Spanish one-night stand more easily, though, you’re not above flirting with him to get you there. You could take a few days of leave, go off to Spain, and possibly run into the woman who’s been living inside of your head.  

It’s such an incredibly remote possibility. An absolute stab in the dark chance of finding her. She probably isn’t even in Barcelona. You’re not cultured enough to be able to pin her accent to a specific city. She’s just Spanish. There’s much more places in Spain than just Barcelona. Barcelona isn’t even the capital. Maybe she’s in Madrid, Valencia, Marbella. She could be a party girl living on the island of Ibiza, you had originally found her in a bar. You don’t get a body like hers drinking yourself senseless every night, though.  

What if you do find her, and she wants nothing to do with you? There was only ever the promise of one night together. You already pushed your luck by spending the rest of the morning with each other, she doesn’t owe you anything more. It’s unlikely that she’s been spiralling quite as pathetically as you have. She’s not going to be fending off a sexuality migraine.  

You undoubtedly won’t have been the absolutely mind-blowing experience to her, that she was to you. She’ll have had sex with countless women. She definitely enjoyed herself with you, that much you’re certainly sure of. You can’t fake every bodily reaction to someone, but the rest of it could have been for show. The display of heartbreak afterwards.  

So, maybe she’s an actress, that would certainly make sense. It would explain why she had money, and why she had a company paying for her hotel. Maybe that was her little ‘business trip’. Perhaps she was in London promoting a Spanish movie. Maybe the entire thing was all a performance, and you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.  

Either way, stalking her in Spain would be far too pathetic. Even if she does want you to find her, it’s so desperate and needy of you to go all that way, and if she doesn’t want you to find her, you end up looking insane. Travelling to Spain, to possibly just show up right there on her doorstep? What a terrifying thing for you to do to the woman.  

But what if it’s a sign? 

Your clueless little sister, inviting you all the way to Spain, with absolutely no idea that the woman you’re harbouring all of these confusing emotions for, lives there? Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s the universe trying to get you back together. Maybe she didn’t fake it, she does feel the same, you’ll find her in Spain and spend the rest of your lives together.  

Please. Behave and be so goddamn serious with yourself. You sweet and simple, delusional little fool.  

“The woman I kissed was from Spain.” You inform your sister thoughtfully, and she sits herself up on your bed to frown at you.  

“You’re still going with that?” 

“Why don’t you believe me?” 

“You’re straight. Straight straight straight.” She points out, with such an incredibly annoying inflection to her voice, it makes you want to bang your head against the wall. “You’re also 26. You were in love with an ugly bastard for 5 years and you’ve never shown an interest in a woman before.” 

“I hadn’t met her before.” 

“Gayyy!” She giggles, and you give her an almighty clack on her arm with the back of your hand, to wipe the smug little smile from off her face.  

“Go with the woman you’re hooking up with tomorrow.” You instruct her. “I’d be a nightmare to watch football with, you’d have to keep explaining things to me.” 

“I don’t mind doing that.” 

“Do you have no other friends to go with you?” You laugh and she pouts dramatically again, shaking her head. “You’re a lonely little loser!” You tell her with a smile.  

“Is that a ‘yes’?” She asks, rolling her eyes at you.  

You take in a deep breath and let out a very heavy sigh. 

What’s the worst that can happen?  

She’s already completely upturned your life. It couldn’t make things any worse for you. Whether you’re able to bump into her or not. You’ll either find yourself some peace, lounging in the Spanish sun, or you’ll be left in exactly the same position you’re in now, but with a much healthier glow to your skin.  

You could even find yourself a Spanish man while you’re out there.  

Mm.  

It’s really not a good sign for your heterosexuality, that that’s no longer an appealing option to you.  

“If I can sort it with work,” you reason, “yes. I’ll come to Barcelona with you.”  

She lets out an embarrassingly girly squeal and crashes her head against your stomach, with just enough force behind it to manage to leave you winded.  

“Twat! I’m making no promises about going to the game, mind. I’m just coming for the tan.” 

“Maybe your ‘Spanish lesbian’ is also a fan of football.” She encourages  

“Mhmm. I’m pretty sure she is.” You admit contemplatively. “Is that an entry-level of requirement for lesbianism, then?” You ask, rolling your eyes. “Because if that’s the case, I really can stop questioning myself.” 

________________

Booking time off work really is as easy as your sister thought it would be. Maybe your boss does have an inappropriate crush on you like she suspects. 

She’s very excited about having you for company, and she tries to educate you on all of Chelsea’s history, the players’ statistics, and their personal lives, all before you go on your little trip together. It really does just go right in one ear, and straight back out of the other. You’re not fussed on the facts and figures; it’s not why you’re going.  

There’s not enough room in your brain to care about the ins and outs of Sam Kerr and Kristie Mewis’ relationship. You’re not interested in the fact that Chelsea currently have 6 WSL titles, and are going for their fifth-straight one, and you really aren’t bothered that the semifinal’s first leg match against Barcelona ended in a draw.  

That is a fair amount of information for you to have retained already despite not being interested. Your sister really has been going on at you, you’re almost a footballing expert.  

Touching down late in the morning in Barcelona, you can’t pretend there isn’t a tiny part of you that’s letting yourself get a little carried away with dreaming. You’ve played through enough countless scenarios in your head of running into the Spanish wonder again back in London, of course your mind’s racing with the possibilities in Spain.  

You drop your bags off at the hotel your sister’s booked for you both, with the intention of heading back out to explore the city together. It’s a peculiar looking building, bright red, oddly shaped. She really never has been one for subtlety, it’s the perfect sort of accommodation for her.  

She insists on wanting to have a look at the Olympic Stadium before the big match, as well as seeing the state of Camp Nou’s renovations, and you really can’t indulge her any more than you already have. You probably will end up joining her for the game tomorrow, but you’re absolutely not walking around the outside of football grounds for fun.  

You’ve seen the exterior of Stamford Bridge more than your fair share of times, Wembley, the Emirates. There’s not that much difference between the lot of them, and they’ve never really been your favourite form of modern architecture.  

So, you agree to go your separate ways for your first afternoon in the city, you’ll meet back up with each other tonight.  

Playing tourist around the streets of Barcelona on your own, is quite an exciting little experience for you. You’re not very worried about getting lost, despite not speaking too much Spanish beyond the basics. Your hotel’s a distinctive looking building, it’s not going to be super difficult to find your own way back to it.  

You get a taxi further into the main hub of town and you’re able to mosey about with a rather unrestrained confidence, turning down tight alleyways and strolling aimlessly along multiple cobbled streets. You manage to find yourself being comfortably led astray, by allowing nothing more than just the warm gentle breeze to guide you as it blows against your body.  

It turns into a more casual exploration of the more authentic side of Barcelona away from most of the tourist hotspots. You have no real idea where you are, and you’re quite enjoying the small rush of adventure.  

A coffee is what you start craving, and you’re not exactly limited by options. Every other building on the peacefully quiet backstreet you’ve found yourself on, seems to be a tiny café. You could start ip dip doo-ing all the individual offerings, but that’s putting far too much consideration into it. You decide to go for the smallest one, the most unassuming. The best coffees always come from the places that aren’t trying to market themselves to any foreign tourists.  

A little bell rings out as you step through the door and the barista almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of you, he clearly isn’t used to getting anyone other than his regular patrons. You offer up your friendliest of smiles and a quick ‘hola’ to show him that you mean no harm, and you tap your finger gently on the countertop as you inspect the board behind his head.  

Choosing the littlest coffee shop might have been a tiny mistake because absolutely everything on the menu is written in what you can only assume, is a rather confusing variation of Spanish. You can’t back out now, the barista already has an adorably excited look on his face at having someone new in his little shop, you can’t break his heart like that.  

You study the chalk written on the board for entirely far too long, in the hope that the words will slowly start translating themselves for you. It doesn’t work, obviously. So, you take a punt at a random one of them, with the rather daring assumption that you haven’t just ordered yourself a troubling batch of Spanish poison.  

“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you surely do not know. It’s recognisably ballsy of her, almost rude.

Her words echo in your ears, as time stands still around you. You’d recognise that voice anywhere, with that unmistakable, and entirely enchanting, cocky little tone to it.  

You can’t really have found her so easily. Life’s never been that kind.  

You can feel your heart clattering around in your chest instantly. Like it’s trying to escape from your ribs, to go off and say hello to hers, all by itself. Your chest’s rising and falling intensely as your breathing shallows and picks up pace.  

It can’t be her; it can’t be. This city’s just absolutely full of Spanish women.

She holds out her card right over you to pay, gently resting her arm down onto your shoulder, and you’ve definitely seen that tattoo before. The ‘11’ printed on her wrist.  

She’d refused to explain the meaning when you’d asked her about it. She wouldn’t give you the backstory behind any of her tattoos. It was too personal; you weren’t allowed to know.  

She thought you might have really fallen for each other if you both started sharing too much information about yourselves, and you only had the single night to spend together.  

“It would be too painful.” She had reasoned with you.

That was very clever thinking on her part. She absolutely managed to prevent you from having an awful lot of heartache and suffering about the whole thing, by letting you know absolutely nothing about her..ﾠ

You still can’t bring yourself to turn around and look. Even though you know it must be her. It can’t be likely that there’s multiple Spanish women that have branded themselves with that specific number on that specific part of their body. Surely to god.  

“..gracias.” You manage to choke out very shakily, in little more than a whisper, still facing forward.  

You have to turn around at some point. You can’t very well drink your coffee on the tiny little counter right in front of the barista when you can’t even have a conversation with him. Just staring at him, silently, neither of you able to speak each other’s language? That would freak him out! You’ll find yourself back on a plane headed for England before you know it, with a restraining order hanging over your head.  

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.  

It’s her. It has to be her.  

The barista accepts the woman’s payment method with a familiar little smile back at her, and she carefully retracts her arm from over your shoulder slowly. You can smell her perfume on her wrist as it wafts back past the side your face. You recognise the scent, and you find yourself following it round you like a lost little puppy, your knees almost giving way beneath you.  

You didn’t accidentally stumble upon her at the beach. It’s not a Spanish marketplace. She definitely isn’t staying at the same hotel that you’re in.  

You’ve found her, while getting yourself lost. In the tiniest little café, on an unnamed, tumbleweed backstreet, right in the very heart of Barcelona.  

There’s a wide smile of disbelief on her face. Which is hopefully an indication, that she isn’t terrified of you being here, she hadn’t faked her feelings, and she, much like you are with her, is a little overwhelmed to see you.  

“Hi.” Is all that drops out of your mouth, as your mind goes blank at the sight of her.  

“Hi.” She says back, with the exact same breathlessness as you, her voice cracking ever so slightly.  

“….Hi.” 

“You’ve already said that.” She reminds you, and she’s clearly able to bring herself back to her senses far more quickly than you are, because there’s that charming little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips again.  

You’re not really sure which one of you instigated it, you both just sort of ended up colliding into each other, gripping at the material of each other’s clothes. It’s a very desperate hug. Even more so than the one you shared outside of the hotel elevator. You melt into each other, merging yourselves together like two corresponding puzzle pieces.  

It’s an embrace, holding not just the 12 hours of curious devotion between you, but over 30 days' worth of frenzied yearning. It has you both clinging to each other with everything you have, as it defies everything you came to accept as truly achievable, that heartbreaking belief in you, that this reunion would never really happen.  

It’s an impossible hug, and it’s one that neither of you want to pull away from. 

“What are you doing here?” You mumble against her, clinging to her shirt as she buries her head in the crook of your neck.  

“I think it should be me asking that question.” She tells you, chuckling. “I have far more right to be in Barcelona than you do.” 

“This is where you live?” You ask. “You’re from Barcelona?” 

“Mhmm.” She murmurs. “Mollet del Vallès.” 

There’s really no reason for that to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It’s only a place name. It’s a good job she didn’t spend much time speaking Spanish to you back in London, you really would have been like putty in her hands.  

“What are you doing here?” She questions.  

“I thought you might want your sweatshirt back.” You joke casually, and she loosens her grip on you slightly so she can face you.  

“Do you not want it anymore?” She asks, furrowing her brow as she studies your face. 

There’s a clear look of uncertainty in her eyes, a small sense of worry, and you do feel mildly guilty for teasing her. “I was hoping ..maybe I could swap it for another.” You smile. “It doesn’t really smell like you anymore.”

She doesn’t allow you to feel guilty for too long. That small air of arrogance that’s always threatening to escape her, does so, in a predictable little smirk at the implication.  

“You’ve been wearing it that much?” She asks you proudly, and you push your tongue against the inside of your mouth as you roll your eyes at her typical display of cockiness. She carefully closes the small distance between you both again, gently pressing herself flush against you. “Does it smell of you?” She whispers in your ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down the side of your neck. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Mm. Maybe I could be persuaded to make a trade, then.” 

She’s impossible for you to resist when she’s like this. It’s still an intriguing talent she has, evoking such a physical reaction from you, by doing hardly anything at all. A quiet little whisper in your ear and your body’s immediately burning up next to her? You’re still so incredibly tragic.  

You might no longer be certain of your sexuality, but maybe it really doesn’t matter. Why do you need to understand it? Why does it need an explanation? No one else in the world is important at all when she’s standing here in front of you. No one else would ever really stand a chance. How could you ever be interested in anyone else, when you know that this woman right here exists? How could any other person ever truly compare? 

There’s a desire in you that’s clearly also felt in her, when she moves herself to look at you. It’s written all over her face, the twinkle in her beautiful eyes, and the fact that her lips are so incredibly close to yours.  

You lean in, and so does she, but it’s like something quickly shoots through her body, as though she’s suddenly being brought back into the room. She does a quick scan of the café, and she collects herself before she lets you both get carried away.  

“We can’t kiss in here.” She tells you quietly, and you frown at her as you pull yourself back.  

“Why not?” You ask, doing your own quick search to try and find what she saw to put her off.  

No one seems too interested in you, though there’s admittedly a couple of people discreetly watching her. She is very beautiful, so it’s not surprising, but you do sort of wish they’d stop their gawking. This gorgeous woman is here with you, and you’re not really in the mood for sharing.

“There’s not another bloody homophobe about, is there?” 

“No!” She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know, actually. I haven’t asked around, but we just ..can’t kiss in here.” 

It’s curious. She didn’t have any issues kissing you in front of people before. Spanish people are very famously more physically affectionate with each other than British people are. So, it seems unlikely that the two of you would turn too many heads just by kissing.  

“Okay..” you accept reluctantly, pouting a little at the rejection, “so ..should we just quickly nip outside to do it then, or?” You joke cheekily, pointing to the door with your thumb.

She chuckles with you, resting her forehead to your shoulder. “You’re still as straight as ever!” She grins, as she wraps you back up in her arms.  

It’s quite nice just losing yourself in her embrace. Burying your head in her neck and holding her tight against you. Having her arms back around you, her perfume overwhelming your senses. The rest of the coffee shop fades into a blur with her in your arms. She’s comforting, reassuring. She’s real, and she’s here.  

“Ale!” Is called out by the barista not a minute later, and you’d have very happily paid it no attention at all. The immediate flinch from the woman that you’re holding, in response to it, however, tells you that you might have just found out a very valuable piece of information indeed.  

You repeat it under your breath, as she pulls away from you and goes to collect your coffees from the counter.  

She says a quiet ‘moltes gràcies’ to the barista, and she narrows her eyes with a small grimace as she returns to you. There’s still a clear reluctance in her to give too much away, she’s not entirely grateful to her little coffee friend for unknowingly revealing slightly more to you than just her first initial.  

Ale. It must still be short for something, you figure. You start reeling off name possibilities at her in quick succession. Alessia, Alex, Alexis, Alexa. You’re like a dog with a bone, because she makes it clear that you’re getting closer, but she still shakes her head at every guess.  

It’s very frustrating, as she offers you absolutely no assistance with your guessing, but it can’t be as convoluted a mission as trying to discover Rumpelstiltskin’s ridiculous name. Thankfully, it isn’t. It’s on only your 5th attempt that you cause the same small flinch in her, and she smiles softly at you before looking down very quickly. You’ve struck gold.  

Alexia. 

It’s a beautiful name. Your favourite name, you’ve decided. It rolls off your tongue with so much ease, you want to repeat it again and again. 

“Now you know too much.” She sighs whimsically, handing you your coffee as she walks past you to collect her bag from the table she was previously sitting at.  

She gestures for you to follow her and leads you to a quieter area away from the other customers right at the back of the shop. She pulls out your chair for you to sit down, and you can’t not smile at the tiny act of chivalry. She really is very sweet. It’s a shame that she won’t let you kiss her.  

You reveal your own name to her, as she joins you on the other side of the table and she repeats it back to you quietly. Whether it’s the sexy Spanish accent, or just the fact that it’s her saying it to you for the first time, you’re not entirely sure, but your heart skips a few beats after hearing it. 

“Now we both know too much.” She tells you, and she takes a small sip of her coffee.  

There’s the tiniest level of nervousness, that blankets itself over you both as you sit together. It’s a little absurd, you’ve seen this woman naked. She’s seen you naked. It isn’t technically a first date between you, neither of you asked the other to be here, but you both clearly have the little jitters of being on one, coursing through your bodies.  

You find yourself just watching her a few times as you talk over your drinks together. You still can’t really believe you found her so quickly. So, you don’t want to risk taking your eyes off of her for too long, in case she just disappears into thin air while you’re not looking.  

She’s also the most beautiful sight in the café. So, why would you want to waste your time looking at anything else? 

You’re not being very discreet about your staring at all, and neither is she, really. You keep exchanging shy smiles over your cups as you catch each other looking. Both of you blushing and quickly averting your eyes as they meet, and then gradually repeating the whole thing all over again. You’ve definitely caught her gazing a few more times than she’s caught you. So, maybe she’s even more tragic than you are.  

The little coffee you ordered by chance, is Alexia’s usual order, so she tells you. It’s not the most life-changing piece of information for her to share with you, but it’s something else for you to know about her, and you’re absolutely sure to make a note of it. It probably keeps you on an even tally too, she already knows that you enjoy drinking a tequila.  

You’re still not allowed to kiss each other, for whatever obscure reason, but she has reached for you hand under the table. Interlacing your fingers together isn’t a new thing between you both, and neither are those tingles that immediately shoot up through your arm at even the most innocent of touches from her. She really does have an incredible effect on you, it should probably be more terrifying to you than it is.

“Why are you really here?” She asks after a moment, as she strokes her thumb over your knuckles.  

“My sister dragged me here.” You answer. “It’s a very important football match tomorrow, apparently.” 

“The one against Chelsea?” She asks, with an unmistakable look of interest in her eyes, that has you rolling your own lightly back at her.  

“I think she’d say against Barcelona,” you point out with a sigh, “but yeah, that one.” 

You had managed to work out that Alexia was probably a bit of a football fan. She has a little stick figure tattoo of a footballer on her leg, the outline of a baby being given a ball on her back, and you have exceptional detective skills. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.  

So, it isn’t a surprise that she’d be excited by your footballing interests, but it is unfortunate that you really don’t share the same passion for it as her.  

“Unless you’re a very daring rebel,” you start, “I assume you’ll be supporting Barcelona tomorrow?” 

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, with a small twinkle in her eye, “and you’ll be supporting Chelsea?” 

“Not emphatically,” you admit with a smile, “but I’ll be in that section of the crowd, yeah.”  

“You don’t really care about football at all, do you?” She asks knowingly, with an edge to her smirk that’s intriguing, as you shake your head at her in apology. “Maybe you should introduce me to your sister instead, then!” She winks, and you very quickly remove your hand back out of her hold.  

“Don’t.” You tell her. “Please. Don’t even joke about it.” 

It’s admittedly a little cute that she finds herself quite so hilarious for her disgusting little joke, but you are very unamused by the idea. If the childish look of mischief on her face wasn’t so entirely endearing to you, you may very well have got up and left her right then and there.  

She rests the back of her hand on your thigh with her palm outstretched, and you roll your eyes at her before placing your own hand back into it. She raises it to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your fingers, leaving you with the faintest of blushes across your cheeks. So, maybe you can find it in yourself to forgive her just this once.  

“I have a sister.” She reveals. “Her name's Alba. She’s a few years younger than me. I’m the older sibling, like you are.”  

“Uh oh!” 

“What?” 

“Well, now I really do know too much.” You tell her with a wink.

“My sister’s Emily.” You inform her rebalancing the tally of facts you keep sharing with each other. “Though she’d kill you for calling her that. I think she’d change her name completely if she didn’t think it would upset our Dad so much. She just goes by Em these days ..so ..she probably would have enjoyed your silly little initial idea, actually,” you admit thoughtfully, frowning a little at the realisation, “maybe I really should introduce you to her instead..” 

“Por favor.” She says quietly, quickly shaking her head at you and raising your hand to her lips once again. “Don’t even joke about it.” 

“Will you be going to the game tomorrow?” You ask, a not-so-subtle attempt at finding out if you might be getting to see each other again so soon. “We’d be like star-crossed lovers in the stands. Very Romeo and Juliet of us!” 

“I don’t know that we want to be comparing ourselves to those two! I don’t remember it ending very well for them.” She reminds you, narrowing her eyes at you as her intriguing little smirk returns to her face. “And no. I’m working tomorrow, I won’t be in the stands.” 

“Boo. You can’t be that big of a fan, then!” You tut in disappointment. “I’ve come all this way to support my team!” 

“Your team!” She chuckles. “Will you be there in a Chelsea shirt?” 

“Absolutely not. I’ll be in very neutral colours.” 

She smiles, nibbling at the inside of her mouth as she lowers her eyes to look at the table. She knocks her hand gently on it a few times before turning her attention back to you. It’s impossible to know what she’s thinking, but she’s definitely debating something silently in her head.  

“I could give you a Barcelona one?” She suggests a little cautiously, and you have to smile at the idea. Your sister would certainly disown you if you took one of those back home with you. It’d be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

“You have a very weird habit of offering me your clothes.” You tell her slyly.  

“Mhmm. I really like seeing you in them.” She admits sultrily, and your breath catches as her eyes darken looking at you. “I think I have one in my bag, if you want it.” 

It’s a surprisingly sexy little offer, and you do quite like having her clothes on your body. It’s hard not to laugh at her peculiarity, though, even your sister isn’t that crazy of a football fan.  

“You just ..carry it around with you at all times?” You ask, furrowing your brow as you chuckle at her. “That’s really weird of you! Do you sell them? You go round offering them to unsuspecting tourists? Is that your job? Is it a fake? Are yo—”

“You need to stop trying to know things about me.” She interrupts softly, shaking her head as she chuckles.  

“And just ..blindly accept that you always have a football shirt on you?” 

“Mhmm.” She giggles, and you narrow your eyes at her.

She really is very curious.  

She pulls it out from her little duffle bag from under the table and hands it to you with a gleam in her eye as you take it from her. You push your empty coffee cup to the side and spread the shirt out over the table to study it.  

They’re not exactly your colours, but you can probably make them work. You hold it up against you to check that it will suit, and she bites her lip as she watches you. There’s a name printed on the back of it, you realise, and you smile a little as you read it in your head.  

“Don’t most adults keep it blank? Or just go for their favourite player?” You ask smirking. You turn the shirt around and rest it over yourself, and she gently bites at the skin around her fingernail as you trace the lettering over your chest. “I thought it was just little kids that got their own name on the back. Do you quite like pretending you’re also on the team?” 

“Mhmm ..maybe.” She mumbles, stifling a giggle as she rests her head in her hand. She smiles at you fondly, as she continues gazing at your little shirt inspection.  

“That’s really very cute of you.” You tell her, placing the shirt back on the table and leaning over it as you trace your fingers over the number. “Why ‘11’?” 

“Hm?” 

“11. You have it tattooed on you. You’ve chosen it for your shirt.” You point out. “Is it your birthday? You were born on the 11th? You were born in November? Born on New Year’s Day? Is it just your lucky number? Is it—” 

“Stop, trying to know things about me.” She interrupts again quietly, reaching for your hand and meeting you across the table to rest her forehead to yours.  

“But I want to know things about you.” You whisper. “I want to know when your birthday is. I’d like to know your surname. I want to know what you do for a living, how you got those scars on your knee, how much you weighed when you were born. The name of your first crush, where you went to school, the meaning behind your tattoos. I want to know each and every incredible milestone you’ve ever achieved, and all the unfathomably boring things that you got up to in between each of them. I want to know every single detail about you, and your life, Alexia. I really, really want to know you.”   

It’s quite the thing for you to confess to the poor woman after only meeting her on two separate occasions, but the way her grip on your hand kept tightening as you spoke, the slight clenching of her jaw, and the fact that her lips are dangerously close to yours once again, probably means you haven’t just completely scared her off with it.  

“We’d have to spend a lifetime together, trying to learn all of that about each other.” She whispers to you, her lips lightly brushing against yours.  

“Is that a proposal?” You chuckle, gently bumping your nose to hers. Your eyes trail to her lips, and it’s really very hard to not act on your impulses. “Am I really not allowed to kiss you in h—“ 

It seems that you are allowed to kiss her in here, when it’s right at the back where no one’s watching. Or she’s allowed to kiss you, at least, because there's no doubt which one of you instigated this. Her lips move against yours, and your pulse reacts to her immediately.

It's a kiss harbouring an awful lot of emotion, for two people who still hardly know each other. It's slow, passionate, careful, and every confusing little worry that's been plaguing your brain since the last time you kissed, instantly melts away into nothing as her tongue slips back into your mouth. You're the only two people in the world when her hand's pulling you in by the back of your neck, and you’re tugging her closer by grabbing at her shirt.

It’s probably a good job she did decide to take you further away from everybody else, because it doesn’t stay an entirely family-friendly kiss for very long. It’s not wildly inappropriate, you’re not animals, and the bastard table’s in the way of you doing too much with each other. Thank goodness it is, because it’s been over a month, after all, and you’re both clearly quite a bit needy. You really can’t be doing that in public.  

“I’ve missed you.” She murmurs against your lips, pulling you impossibly further into her.  

“I really missed you too.” 

Hours feel like minutes, in Alexia’s company, as you spend the afternoon roaming Barcelona together. She still refuses to tell you everything about herself. You don’t learn her surname, and she still won’t tell you what she does for a living, but you do both share other things about yourselves with each other. 

It doesn’t matter how insignificant any of the details probably are. Every single one of them still feels important to you, because it’s another little glimpse into her. Every single fact, story and secret that she shares, is what makes Alexia, who she is, and she was absolutely right, you do find yourself falling more for her, with all of the little things you keep discovering.  

She eventually agrees to tell you her birthday. Which makes the whole ‘11’ obsession even more intriguing to you, because the 4th of February ’94 does absolutely nothing to clear that little mystery up. It does tell you that the man in his twenties that you were looking for the night you first met, didn’t even turn out to be a woman in her twenties at all. She turned 30 nearly 3 months ago. She’s absolutely decrepit! 

She gives you a tiny tour on your stroll together, bringing some clarity to the Catalonian streets you’ve been carelessly walking down. Explaining the extra confusing writing on the menu board, and casually revealing to you that she can speak 3 different languages. So, your drunken boast about your GCSE level German, probably wasn’t very impressive to her at all.  

You’re both approached a fair few times by people asking for directions. You can never understand what it is that they’re saying, and you're not really of much use to them just standing there being awkward. So, you hang off a little to the side taking in your surroundings, waiting for her to help them out, before she excitedly returns back to you. You’re not at all bothered by the interruptions. Your patience with it keeps earning you a quick discreet kiss from her as she wraps her arms around your waist, and you return the same display of affection, for her unrelenting kindness to strangers.

Alexia insists that she isn’t a tour-guide, and she’s also not an actress. So, you are very slowly whittling down the options of what it is she could possibly do for a living. She asks you about your own career, which is incredibly cheeky of her, considering. So, you simply refuse to tell her.

Maybe it’s that competitive streak in you, but if she wants to play it secretive, you can absolutely match her for it. You only agree to give her the corresponding facts to the one’s she’s willing to give to you. That way, if she’s falling for you with each new piece of information the same way that you’re doing for her, at least you’re both crashing down for each other, at exactly the same speed.

There’s slightly less careless abandon with being too physical with each other, walking hand in hand around Barcelona. It’s arguably tame compared to how you both were back in London. Whether it’s the lack of alcohol that’s keeping her more reserved, or maybe just because it isn’t yet nighttime, you’re not entirely sure.  

You’re still stealing kisses as you waltz along the streets, but you’re not pushing each other up against the walls of buildings out in the open. Maybe that would be a little indecent of you both. You’re pulling each other down quiet alleyways, instead, pressing yourselves together in secret coves.  

It doesn’t feel entirely necessary, the streets you’re exploring aren’t particularly packed with people, but you don’t question it too much. You’ve really just missed having her lips on yours, and whatever capacity she feels comfortable doing it in, you’re more than willing to oblige.  

You couldn’t really care less who sees you kissing her. You all but forget that they exist when she's pulling you into her and leaving her mark on you. It is arguably far more exciting, however, trying to be sneaky about it with each other. You're both almost actively searching for places that you're unlikely to get caught in. Finding hidden areas and seeing how much you can get away with together.

Your hands find their way under her shirt on more than one occasion. She really does have the most beautiful body. She jokingly reprimands you for it each time, but she doesn’t really discourage you from doing it. She does continually tease you, for your ever-decreasing signs of straightness, though.

Each newly shared kiss with Alexia, is somehow even better than the last. Whether she’s passionately throwing caution to the wind with you, by kissing down your neck, or trapping your bottom lip between her teeth. Even when she’s just being painfully frustrating, by giving you the quickest of pecks before skipping away. Every single one of them still sets your soul on fire, and they still manage to pull all the air right out from your lungs, every single time.

Alexia waits with you, as it turns to evening, on a bench by the road for your taxi back to your hotel. You try not to let the mild burning in your eyes ruin your final moments with her, but you can feel yourself starting to break.

She pulls out the football shirt from her bag again and holds it out for you to take with a shy smile. “I really hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.” She says, and you try to allow yourself to chuckle a little while nodding your head. 

“Mhmm. Thank you, I’ll try.” You tell her, throwing her shirt over your shoulder and quickly rubbing the corner of your eyes. “I’ll have to get Em’s permission to wear this, first. She’ll be very unimpressed with me.” 

“Just don’t let her burn it!”  

“I won't.” You promise, interlacing your fingers with hers and placing a kiss to the back of her hand. “The other fans might throw tomatoes at it, mind!” 

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, and there’s that familiar sense of dread in your stomach, as you watch the road, knowing your time together is quickly running out again.

You catch her gazing at you as you turn to her, and maybe there’s a little butterfly or two in your stomach as well, at the way her eyes are watching over you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhmm. You haven’t even gone yet,” she tells you smiling, tucking your hair back behind your ear, “and I already can’t wait to see you again.” 

“You’re really that certain that you will? You’re still sure you don’t want us to swap numbers?”  

“We’ve already bumped into each other a couple of times now. I have no doubt we’ll manage it again.”

It’s nowhere near as reassuring to you as it seems to be to her, but there’s a certain level of romance in her conviction in fortuity. Maybe you are beginning to believe in the possible existence of fate, though you're not completely enamoured by continuing to leave your encounters with Alexia, entirely up to chance. She cradles your head in her hands and gently wipes the tears that are threatening to spill from your eyes with her thumbs.

"I'll never forgive you," you warn her weakly, "if this ends up being it for us."

"Trust me." Is all she asks of you, and she pulls you back into her, resting her head against yours as she runs her fingers over your back.

It feels like an unspoken promise from her, to keep at least trying to find you, and there's a power in her certainty that has you desperate to believe in it too.

It’s still a little hard for you both to say goodbye to each other, but she’s already told you she has a busy day tomorrow, and you can’t really bring her back to your hotel when your sister’s already sharing the bed with you. You share another long hug, and a few more secret kisses before your taxi pulls up, and you finally hesitantly agree to part ways. She places a kiss to your cheek, by way of goodbye as you clamber yourself into the back of the car, setting off without her once again.  

You try to reassure yourself, on the taxi ride back to your hotel. You've ran into each other twice, in two separate countries, by pure dumb luck. It can't be impossible for it to happen again. Maybe there’s something connecting you both, an invisible string, an intangible little bungee cord, that's making sure that neither of you is ever able to truly stray too far away from the other. Alexia has ‘no doubt’ that you’ll manage another meeting again, and you take some comfort in knowing, that you still have 2 days left in the city, to do exactly that.

________________

Collapsing back down to lay on the bed in your hotel room, you have a sneaking suspicion, that you’ll have a far better night’s sleep than you’ve managed to have in a long time, tonight. Your mind isn’t spiralling with confusion anymore, and there’s no longer a gaping hole inside of your chest.  

There’s an excitement in you, a warmth. An encouraging little hope that you really have found something special. Someone special. That once-in-a-lifetime connection with another person who’s also trapped in this world along with you.  

It definitely isn’t the someone you expected to intertwine your soul with. Any younger version of yourself would be very confused about where she’s ended up. It isn’t a connection you want to keep questioning either. It’s not one you really have any doubts on the existence of at all. She’s just it for you, and maybe it’s okay that that’s all you can say to justify it.   

You don’t need to be attracted to other women; you don’t really care about your weakening attraction to men. It just makes sense when you’re together with her. There’s no confusion, no uncertainty, there’s no warning alarms ringing out in your head. There’s just Alexia, and the existence of anything and anybody else, will always pale in comparison to her. 

Your sister arrives a little after you, plodding back into the hotel room, clearly wiped from whatever individual Spanish adventure she got up to today, and she flops herself into one of the armchairs with a very heavy sigh.  

“Long day?” You ask. 

“Mhmm.” She mumbles, frowning at you suspiciously. “You look very happy?” 

“I am very happy!” You tell her with a smile. You excitedly roll over and reach down the side of the bed to retrieve your souvenir of the day from its hiding spot. You launch it right into your sister’s face and she grunts a little under the impact. “Will you hate me, if I wear that tomorrow?” You ask, trying to contain your newfound enthusiasm. 

She pulls it off from where it’s wrapped itself around her head, and she gives you a very unimpressed look. “You bought a Barcelona shirt?” She asks, clearly disgusted with your choice of fashion.  

“I was given it.” 

“By?” 

“..a woman.” You tell her, gently biting your bottom lip as you smile up at the ceiling.  

“Mm.” She mutters with a sigh, moving to join you over on the bed. She thwacks the shirt down over your stomach and lets out a huff next to you. “Well, at least she has good taste.” She tells you. “Or she’s just a bit basic.” 

That’s a little rude ..and very confusing.  

“What do you mean?” 

“Going for the best player on the team.” 

That’s less rude ..but even more confusing.  

“..What do you mean?” 

“Are you joking?” She asks, with a very clear tone of annoyance to her voice. She grabs the shirt and thwacks you with it again. “A woman gives you a shirt with a name on the back, and you don’t even care enough to ask who the bloody player is?”   

Maybe your head is racing again. That’s incredibly confusing. It really doesn’t make any sense. It’s her name, not a player’s name. Maybe they just share a name. It’s not an incredibly rare name, that’s not impossible. 

Your Alexia has a mild interest in football, she’s not playing it professionally. Who would keep that a secret? She’s reticent with sharing information, that’s for certain, but she’s not a bloody liar, and she told you she wouldn’t even be there tomorrow.  

No.  

She said that she was working tomorrow, and that she wouldn’t be in the stands with you. 

Your mind has started racing, and so has your little heart.  

“What. do. you. mean?” You repeat slowly, trying to keep yourself calm.  

“Alexia Putellas.” She tells you, very nonchalantly, and your brain all but short circuits at the name.  

“Who is Alexia Putellas?” 

She thwacks you again with your shirt in dismay, and you’ve really had just about enough of being treated like a piñata. You sit up, pull it from her hands and thwack it across her face as you ask her to explain herself.  

“She’s a footballer, for fuck’s sake!” She shouts, rubbing the palm of her hand against her eyelid. “She’s Spanish. She plays for Barcelona!” She pulls out her phone, to search for her Instagram and bonks you on the head with it. “That’s Alexia Putellas, you twat.” 

You look at the profile, and the hotel room blurs around you. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, hear the blood pumping around in your ears.  

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.  

She doesn’t sell shirts for a living, she’s not an actress nor a tour-guide, she really isn’t even a spy. Though she’d probably make a pretty good one, the way she never gave this piece of information away.  

Your unexplainable connection with another human being, and she plays football for a living? Clearly very well too, as 2 of her pinned photos have her holding a massive award for it right next to her face. Every other post on her page is about football. She’s Barcelona, through and through.  

She’s verified, she has over 3 million followers. She’s been out here, existing on the world’s stage, all this time, without you ever knowing. Your own sister’s been privy to more information about her than you have.  

She was in London a month ago for football, according to her Instagram posts. The cryptic little ‘business trip’ she was on, was a quarter-final match against Arsenal. An embarrassingly easy win for Barcelona, she must have been out celebrating it when she found you in that club.  

She was back in London again last week for football. You could have seen her then. You missed a chance at an earlier reunion with her, because you refused to go with your little sister to watch her in the first leg against Chelsea.  

Your breathing’s very shallow as you scroll through the endless stream of photos. Your mind is absolutely spinning. It’s all a bit much to take in. You lock your sister’s phone and place it back on her chest as you try to collect yourself. You really don’t want to risk learning too much about her. You want her to tell you everything, you don’t want to find it all out behind her back.  

You’ve been waiting with bated breath all afternoon, savouring every little piece of information she’s given you, and your smart-arse little sister could probably tell you loads about her if you asked. Lots of the details you’re so desperate to know about Alexia are probably only a quick google search away, but you feel guilty enough just knowing her surname without her having been the one to tell it to you.  

She hadn’t been super willing to even give you her first, and no wonder! It’s the single name that’s plastered on her shirt, it’s the name she’s known mononymously as. She’s women’s football’s answer to Beyoncé, Adele. 

Of course, she didn’t want to kiss you in front of people in the café, out there on the streets. It’ll be why she only kissed your cheek in front of the taxi driver. She probably is a little liar, because she almost certainly wasn’t giving directions to people when they approached you both. She presumably isn’t old friends with the two men who wanted a photo with her. They all just know who she is. The whole damn city of Barcelona knows exactly who she is.  

Maybe she was testing you, waiting for you to crack, to confess to knowing everything about her. How couldn’t you know about her? How unbelievably rude of you.  

She’s a celebrity footballer, and you’ve treated her like she’s one of the most normal people in the world. You’ve flirted with her, teased her, kissed her, slept with her, and she’s welcomed it all with that adorable little smirk.  

So, maybe she’s liked that you didn’t know, that you really had no idea about who she was at all. You can’t have had any preconceived thoughts about the woman when you’ve had no prior knowledge about her. Perhaps it’s been part of the fun for her, just being with someone who really couldn’t care about the noise surrounding her. Maybe that’s the reason she didn’t really want you knowing about it. Her fame could have changed things, pushed you away.  

It wouldn’t have. She’d have to do something intrinsically evil to frighten you off. Especially now, after the afternoon you’ve just spent together, learning more, and falling deeper for her. She’s still just the woman that baffled you with a lime in a nightclub, wound you up by kissing someone else. Rescued you from a night of undeniable regret, and turned it into the start of something magical.

She’s your once-in-a-lifetime connection, your confusing, and frustrating, perfect one-night stand companion. She’s the woman that's turned your whole world on its head, and it just turns out, that she quite likes to kick a ball around, with a bunch of other women for a living, and people from all over the world, have been watching her excel at it for years.

She has to know that you’ll have found out already, you’ve told her your sister’s football obsessed. Even if your sister didn’t know who she is, there’s bound to be other people wearing her name on their backs tomorrow. Probably not many of them were given their shirts by the woman herself. There’ll be even less of them with one of her sweatshirts in their bag.  

Maybe she’s excited for you to connect all the pieces together. Giving you her shirt was far too bold a move for her to still not want you to know. She’d have just talked you out of going to the game, if that was the case.  

She wants you there, being a very daring rebel, with her name boldly resting between your shoulder blades, rooting for her and Barcelona, right in the middle of the Chelsea fans. You’ll probably stand out like a sore thumb with your red stripes in the sea of blue you’ll be standing in, and maybe that’s exactly what she’s hoping for. She had ‘no doubt’ that you'd see each other again, after all. 

“She’s the best player on the team?” You ask your sister dreamily, collapsing back down on the bed and clinging to the shirt in your hand as you hold it against your body.  

“Mhmm. Best in the world.” She tells you, and there’s that exhilarating little thrill shooting right up through your body.  

“Oof. I’ll tell Sam Kerr you said that!”  

She scoffs to the side of you and flicks your forehead playfully. You lift Alexia’s shirt, holding it out in between your fingers to study her name again in disbelief.  

You're falling in love, with the ‘best in the world,’ and she seems to be falling for you, too. A little nobody from London, who’s spent the past month pining after who she thought, was a little nobody from Spain. She’s once again turned your whole damn world on its head.  

She really is absolutely everything.  

“I will hate you if you wear that thing tomorrow.” Your sister warns you, as she hits the shirt with the back of her hand. “I offered you a Chelsea shirt and you gagged at it!” 

“I’ve not gagged at this one.” You point out with a grin. “It’s a shame you won’t be friends with me tomorrow.” You tell her, resting the shirt back out over your torso.  

“You can’t wear it!” 

“I bloody can, and I very much will.” You inform her. “You should rethink wearing a Chelsea shirt. You’ll be very disappointed when we beat you tomorrow.” 

“‘We?’ You really are a twat. You’re Barcelona’s biggest fan all of a sudden?” 

“Too bloody right, I am!” You tell her decidedly, hugging the shirt against you. “I’ve always loved football, me.” 

[marigoldwriter]

I'M STILL WONDERING TO KNOW WHY THEY DIDN'T PUT THIS DIALOGUE BETWEEN RED AND CHLOE IN "Fight for Our Lives", IT MAKES EVERYTHING BETTER! MAKES IT EVEN MORE GAYER!!

"How naive to still believe you'll get a happy ever after. A privileged little princess, a fairy fail disaster."

"Spoken like a slacker, Red, you're seeing someone else. I worked hard for every single trophy sitting on my shelf."

"You need help!"

"You're a poser with a bad attitude."

"That's not true! You don’t know the things I've been through."

"Neither do you."

"Well, then, tell me, little goodie two shoes. What do you think we should do?"

Gosh, they're sooooo gay, I love them so much!!

[dictatortirah]

Gura x Nero for the Squirm fans

I wrote da first draft and @jestbii made everything better and gayer

---

“Whelp, that’s another job well done, Nero!” Hemlock proclaimed, clapping their hands together triumphantly- a cloud of chalk puffing from their hand, mostly to hide fingerprints. It erupted a sneeze from their snout, rather embarrassingly as they immediately faced away to deal with it. 

  Nero let out a weary groan that filled the air, his body protesting as he yanked the hatchet free from the cultist’s lifeless form beneath him, which was in the worst of state, considering death via hatchet was on today's menu. The force of the tugging nearly sent him tumbling backward, but he had quickly steadied his lumber body, glancing down in disgust at the grim sight before him. This never did get any easier…and it reminded him of very bad times. Blood pooled around the body like dark ink on parchment, and he couldn’t help but hope fervently that this cultist would stay dead- they’ve come back before, after all. With a final, forceful tug, he freed the hatchet, its blade slick and glistening in the dim light.

  His jacket was ruined, splattered with crimson chunks and remnants of the awful task adorning his whole entire body. Even if he wasn’t a fashionista like Vitr, it were up to him, he would never allow himself to get this dirty again. I mean, he had promised Sniper he’d leave killing behind—especially after his past experiences in the cult’s twisted rituals. He still thought about those sometimes at night…well, at least until he showed up. Besides that, the thought made him shudder. Never again would he go back to those days.

He glanced at Hemlock, his boss, who was scanning the area for any witnesses around the area, obviously a bit frantic. They nearly got caught last time, and things like this would surely cost them their citizenship- or lives. The act of assessing their surroundings with every darting eye made a wave of dizziness wash over Nero, whoever, and he suddenly realized just how exhausted he truly was. Days of tension and sleepless nights had taken their toll on his already sick and weak body. He wobbled over to Hemlock, who noticed his unsteady gait and caught him as he nearly collapsed against him. Jesus, what had gotten into this man? 

   “Damn, Nero! I didn’t think this one would wear you out this much!” Hemlock exclaimed, alarm flashing across their wrinkled face as they steadied Nero quite carefully, brushing imaginary dirt from his shoulder. All this did was slather their hand in the all too familiar blood, however…Nero swayed slightly, struggling to regain his balance. “You don’t look so good. Worse than usual…and that’s sayin’ something, since you usually look like shit.”

   In a sudden, impulsive gesture, Hemlock yanked off Nero’s hat, causing the sickened man to flinch in confusion and near offense. It was a move that always annoyed him; yet it happened almost every single day! It felt like a violation of his personal space—unless, of course, it was someone special doing it. He wouldn’t retaliate or anything, though- he respected hemlock and he was also much too tired to deal with it. 

  “Hey! Why did you—”

   “Nero! When was the last time you slept?” Hemlock’s eyes bore deeply into him, concern etched deep into their wrinkled features. “Your eye—one of them looks like it’s about to pop out! No wonder you’ve been slacking lately. Jesus, boy, haven’t I told you to sleep?” They had asked, gripping the hat, almost in frustration yet mostly concern. 

   “I’m fine—” Nero stuttered, admittedly shocked from Hemlock's concern…he’d be heart warmed, if he hadn’t been fading in and out of consciousness as they spoke. 

  Scoffing, Hemlock held their temple. “No, you’re not. I don’t trust you to go home and rest once we wrap up here. I hate that you make me do this, but dammit, I’m sendin’ you home myself!” Hemlock declared firmly, stomping their foot to emphasize their point, firm in their decision. Nero was their best worker, after all…in fact, one of the only ones. 

  Nero wasn’t going to have this, though- 

 “What?!” Panic surged through Nero, and he quickly recoiled, snatching his hat back from the worried boss of his. That was unnecessary! What if Sniper asked Hemlock about their work? What if Hemlock released all of the details of their excursion? The blood smeared on both the detective's jackets would certainly raise questions, that was for sure, no matter how blind that bunny was! He instinctively took a step back, distancing himself from Hemlock, mostly out of discomfort. 

    Realization dawned on Hemlock as they noticed Nero’s distress. Oh…Nero probably wouldn’t like it very much having his boss roam around his place, huh? Especially with the little friend he had…Hemlock paused, before sighing, rubbing their head out of discomfort and embarrassment..

 “Agh, don’t worry about it, bud. We’ll wash up first. I’ll just have your little rabbit friend make sure you get some rest, you worrywart. Now, let’s go.” Hemlock began to head toward the nearby river, and Nero hesitated, trailing behind quite awkwardly. He felt a bit bad for being so quick to react, but there were more pressing matters in his mind… 

   “But…But I can’t go to bed.”

  Hemlock halted, turning to face him. A look of puzzlement adorned their face, yet they never shifted their body to turn to him. What was he on about ?

 “And why not? You’ve got a bed at home, don’t you!” 

   “Uh… y-yes, but.it’s because I…” Nero’s voice trailed off sheepishly, his head pounding. He felt dizzy again, nearly tripping over his own feet. He was clumsy, yes, but…his vision began to fizzle out, and things were becoming hard to discern. Had that been a bush he was approaching, or was it Hemlock? 

   Hemlock, having now fully turned towards the dizzy busybody, was currently studying him, concerned deepening in their gaze yet again. “Ah…yer an insomniac, huh? I’ve had my bouts of insomnia before. I have the proper meds for it. I’ll tell your friend to give them to you once we get home. Okay? Okay. Come on. We need to hurry..” they mumbled, turning, a bead of sweat dripping down their head from stress. 

    As Hemlock began washing off their coat with urgency, Nero followed hesitantly, the cool water splashing against his face doing very, very little to clear his muddled and messy mind. He cursed silently, repeating the motions in a futile attempt to wash away the grime—both literal and metaphorical. But, no matter how much he slapped his face with cupped hands of water, it never did anything besides cause him to shudder..

   Insomnia. Yeah, right.

    He had been depriving himself of sleep for a reason that weighed heavily on his heart- and his weakened mind. It had been three days—maybe four—since he last even closed his eyes or gotten a lick of sleep. And, guess what? Gura hadn’t visited him in dreams since then- and to put it plainly, he just couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. However, with each passing night, the pressure of the worm’s gaze loomed larger in his mind, paranoia gnawing at his every thought, his body shutting down due to the lack of sleep. Was Gura watching him, lurking in the shadows? How much longer would he hold out against the creeping dread of sleep? Would he ever be free from that piercing gaze? And those rough hands that would plunge him into the darkness?

    Nero shook his head, fighting against the wave of anxiety, not wanting to appear pitiful in front of his boss. What could he say to convince Hemlock he was fine, and that he didn’t need sleep? He feared that if he succumbed, he’d awaken in the warm embrace of Gura’s fluffy ever sprawling tendrils, and the thought alone sent a shiver down his spine. 

    …Fluff. Even if he didn’t like it, he couldn’t help but think of the comfort it brought him, being wrapped in the fluffy embrace of the multicolored fur…suddenly, the prospect of sleep felt enticing, as if Gura’s hands were beckoning him, pulling him into the deity’s soft, vibrant form…where Nero belonged. 

He hated to admit it, but..he missed Gura. He envied the thought of. 

   “Nero, seriously, Jesus Christ, are you okay?” Hemlock’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts like a sharp kitchen knife slicing a soft tomato, causing Nero to jerk up. Nero looked down, realizing his hands were trembling, his vision blurring, the ultimatum of his deprivation finally flowing through his body. Exhaustion was finally catching up with him; his body was on the verge of shutting down, and god did it feel awful.

 “I-I’m..yawn…I’m..fine..”

   No… he couldn’t let himself fall asleep, not now and not ever again. Gura would be furious with him, and he’d never let him live it down. But, no matter how much Nero fought, the forceful feeling of the worm’s presence loomed closer, waiting for the moment he had surrendered to darkness, ready to be snatched up. 

   Ultimately, the man could no longer run. As his thoughts twisted in a downward spiral, his weak and shaky legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed onto the ground, right on the bank of the river. The last thing he heard before surrendering to unconsciousness was Hemlock’s frantic voice calling out to him, being shaken with the grip of a worried boss-

---

And as suddenly as it all went downhill, with just a few mere seconds, he was awake again. 

“Nero… Oh, Nero!” Called a cocky, alluring voice.

Panic flared in the man’s tightened chest. No, no..

“Do you really think you can hide from me forever, Nero? Hehehe..aren’t you a cutie pie?”

Dammit…he let it happen…again. 

Nero took a deep, shaky breath, steeling himself before opening his eyes. He knew it was coming, but he’d never truly be able to handle it…

   The worm god loomed above him, his eyes swirling with an intense fury that filled and coursed through his elongated body, hands on his hips in sassy manner. Gura had a way of making himself appear larger when he was angry, his immense form casting a shadow that felt oppressive…yet, Nero couldn’t force himself to be scared of the God before him. 

    Even if he wasn’t scared, an odd sense of exasperation coursed through Nero, but he forced himself to maintain his composure. He wouldn’t let this cocky God get the upper hand…not again, and hopefully, never again. 

  “H-Hey, Gura,” he said, trying in a nonchalant tone. “So, uh… it’s been a while.”

  “Been a while?!” Gura’s voice boomed as he circled Nero like a predator assessing its prey, sizing him up to see just how well he could devour him. “So, you tried to avoid sleeping to avoid ME for FIVE days? And when your body finally shuts down, you act this cocky with me?! I never thought you’d be such a fool…and so harsh to me, too. Oh, and I’m not going to pretend I haven’t noticed you KILLING my cultists!”

   A hand shot out, gripping Nero’s quivering jaw and forcing him to look directly into Gura’s eyes, grinding his soft fur covered fingers along the goats mouth, feeling his gums. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, toy.” 

   Nero scoffed, forcing himself to meet Gura’s spiraling gaze, eyes darting as his hands gripped at anything he could- which had happened to be Guras own arm. Despite the rage flickering in the deity’s eyes, a strange calm washed over him as their gazes locked, and Nero’s breath hitched as the pit in his stomach slowly but surely dissipated. The moment lingered before Gura snarled, growling, shoving Nero’s jaw back and sending him tumbling into something soft and plush, causing Nero to audibly yelp! 

    He gasped as he landed, recognizing the familiar sensation of Gura’s fluffy form slowly enveloping his body, wrapping around every part of him in a warm, soft hug. A part of him revealed in the comfort, fingers instinctively sinking into the warmth, squeezing and shuddering.

    Gura turned away momentarily, muttering to himself in frustration, and after a pause, he had faced Nero again..a giggle crawling out of the deity's throat, and his once harsh scowl morphed into a teasing grin. 

 “Oh, Nero! Where are my manners? Now that I have you in my grasp, we might as well make our time worthwhile. We have plenty to talk about. Plenty...”

    With a swift motion, Gura coiled around Nero, forcing him to sit down along his…stomach? This god was truly hard to understand, his stomach could be just about anywhere with just how infinite his body had seemingly been. A part of his body shifted upwards, bending into a makeshift table, balancing two cups and a teapot for them to share. Gura loved being able to mess with Nero with this..it entertained him. 

  “U-Ugh, seriously, again with this?” Nero grumbled, glancing up to find Gura’s sharp gaze locked on him. The worm’s grin was wide, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface, making Nero uneasy. He shrunk into himself, but the fur only scraped along the intimated man’s body once again, and he let out a yelp from the sheer feeling of it.

   “Hm..well, then, let’s catch up,” Gura said, taking a sip from one of the cups..although, he had recoiled, as he was never very good at brewing his own tea, quick to set the cup back down and lean forward, hands folded beneath his chin. “This past week, you’ve successfully killed three of my disciples with that boss of yours…Impressive, I must say. Trying to thwart my plans as usual, I see… You’ll never stop being such a pain, will you?” He leaned closer, his face inches from Nero’s, their breaths hitting one another’s, the tensions in the room enough to cut with a knife.

  “Killing is what my cult endorses, isn’t it? Aren’t you a little afraid of becoming like them again? Hah, you’d do good in my cult..wearing a little robe, whispering my name..” 

    Flustered, Nero interjected- “A-Absolutely not! I know what I’m doing,” Nero shot back, his voice stronger than he felt. In reality, he felt..soft..this fur was soft. But still, he fought back, much braver sounding that he really was in his heart. 

  “Ugh..If it takes a bit of blood spillage to stop you, then so be it…I’ll never let you lay a finger on the people I care about.”

   Gura sighed, feigning an overly exaggerated exasperation, hand along on his temple. “Still playing the hero, huh? You really are a pain. Why don’t you just drop it and join me…?” His hands began to grip upwards along Nero’s body, causing him to writhe in the most playful ways... Gura loved the yelps Nero made…as his hands tugged all along Nero’s body, Nero grimaced, shuddering. 

   “W-well… wouldn’t it be easier for you to just kill me? Get it over with, huh?” Nero stammered, feeling the shift in the air, causing him to uncomfortably writhe in the deities grasp. He could sense where this was headed, and he didn’t like it…it was all too familiar. 

   “…Kill?” Gura repeated, raising an eyebrow, intrigued. He never really thought of killing Nero, before…but his implications of the want excited him. “Hah, you think I’d want to kill you?” 

 “Yeah…yeah, you could’ve killed me since day one- But you chose not to, isn’t that right?” Nero pressed, a spark of defiance igniting within him. He knew gura hated when he became bratty like this..

 “While I was… staying up, I noticed things. Whenever Mallet is about to finish me off, you stop him…you may not be able to speak to me, but you keep me alive. You don’t want me to die. Are you that weak?” 

    Gura’s expression darkened, but he pulled Nero even closer, his grip tightening. His hands, coiled around Nero’s squirming body, gripped and tugged against his clothing, hands squeezing and digging at his calves and gliding along the man’s thin waist to earn a shudder or two.

  “Hah..you always bite back when you never should. You know I don’t like it when you fight back..but, oh, if you think you’re so clever, why not keep talking?”

   Nero gulped, hands twitching as he tried his best to look away, biting his lower lip.  

Jesus Christ, he hated when gura acted like this..so malicious, and he always knew exactly where to touch to irritate the man more and more. 

 “U-uh… i’m just saying how…i- i uh….” He gave up quite quickly, his bravado shattering under the stress of the direction. He may have accidentally dug his own grave…

   Gura began to giggle, knowing he won…oh, Nero was so adorable like this! 

 “Oh, baby, that’s what I thought. You’re always so much more obedient to your god than you’d like to admit.” A single hand trailed down Nero’s cheek, grazing down to his collarbone to tap it, trailing as he brought his head in to smell Nero’s fear. 

  “Haha..you’re still lovable as always, Nero… if you won’t say it, then i will.”

    An arm slowly began to coil around Nero’s neck. “I hate you, Nero. But that’s what makes you so very, very entertaining to me…and I can’t have you dying on me when things are about to get fun.. Death is an escape for you mortals. And I don’t want you to escape just yet. The satisfaction of death…only I need to give you satisfaction.” Another coiled around Nero’s body, the hand lying on his waist squeezing his body in the most rough way he could. 

  “You’ve ruined my plans so many times, my little disciple…and I think a punishment is due. And what’s a better punishment than being my little punching bag for the night? heheh..” he trailed his long, snake-like tongue along Nero’s cheek, tasting the sweat beads like a primal beast as Nero groaned and recoiled in disgust. Even he had standards! 

  Nero placed his hand on the arm coiled around his neck, tugging, but the arm remained firmly. “S-so now you want to spend more time with me?” Nero forced a chuckle. “I didn’t think you missed me that much...let me go, I’m not plaything..”

  “Mmg..shut it.” The arm suddenly tightened around his neck, causing him to choke and gag, legs flailing slightly against the Gods fields of fur. 

 “Nero…Last I heard…dolls don’t talk back.” 

  As Nero struggled against him, Gura laughed, clearly enjoying himself and the power he dominated over Nero’s body. He missed seeing Nero like this. Begging for mercy, writhing, squirming… “Besides being entertaining, you’re valuable to me. You have something I want…. Your smarts- your mind. And I’m not letting you walk out there freely while holding what should be mine..”

  “O-oh really..? Hf… give me all you got. I’m not ever going to give in to you.” Nero retorted, disheveled into breathless groans, his eyes daring. 

  “My, my..You can keep trying to struggle, Nero. But I can do this forever if I wanted to.” The worm snickered, his face now an inch close to Nero’s, a smirk along his face as his heart raced. “Not even old age can save you from this one, boy..forever and ever you’ll be mine..my disciple to play with, and mine to devour the fear from as much as I please.”

   The coiling arm around his neck suddenly released its tantalizing grasp on the man’s neck, and Nero took a deep gasp and caught his breath- but, before he could think of a smart retort, hands held his cheeks, and the worm suddenly forced him into a kiss.

   An oddly sweet scent filled the man’s nose as Guras fingers dug deep and tender into his cheek, the worm squeezing and rubbing along Nero’s stomach and chest to put him in a snake-like death lock. Gura loved how Nero fought back..with groans and hisses between every slip of their lips. It drove the deity mad with empowerment.  

 Nero struggled at first, but quickly gave in. It had been a while…and he couldn’t help but love the utter excitement he derived from the attention, their lips pressing in a confusing symphony of lust and toxicity. 

   And, after a moment, Gura had pulled back, and left them both breathing heavily as if they had just ran a marathon. Gura loved seeing Nero’s grumpy face after a kiss, his pouting lip made him seem adorable.

With a whine, Nero glanced back into the worm's spiraling eyes…and, as he gripped the Gods snout, he sighed, leaning in to press their foreheads together. 

 “Fine…I may have missed you..a little.”

[darukee]

This is Fucking Gay - Part 2

Part 1 here

On a break between classes, Nicole and Jecka went outside to smoke. Jecka takes out two semi-expensive cigarettes and lights both up, handing one to Nicole, who approaches and takes a long puff of it, blowing rings of smoke soon after.

— … Were you serious about fucking me? — Jecka breaks the confortable silence.

— Fucking you in what.

— Leather?

— Oh. I thought you were saying that I was fucking you in some subject.

— That’s also true, I really cannot skip more history classes.

— Why are you bringing that up? You know I would not fuck you.

— Somehow, I cannot decline neither accept you fucking me.

— Yeah, I have this power. So, does that make you gay? — she puffs again.

— Oh no, I’m not gay. I just kiss girls because all the boys suck. — she blows smoke.

— Damn, you’re right. I should start doing this too.

— Have you ever kissed someone here?

— I did kiss Ari at some point. You?

— I kissed Kelly at a party. — she looks down, not fully accepting what she just said.

— Really now? Kelly? Come on, I’m prettier than that.

— Yeah you are… I was, like, super drunk. — Jecka looks up again and takes one more, excited. Nicole chuckles between another puff of the cigarette. A very genuine laugh. Then, she looks down on her own cigarette, smirking.

— So I'm prettier huh?

— You're saying that like you don’t know it. — Jecka grins.

— I think you’re prettier than me.

— Well, duh, but your dad is dead and that’s hot.

— You wished your dad was dead, that is also hot. — they stare each other for a while, not even putting her lips on the cigarettes. Jecka looks down, smiling, and talks.

— You’re more fucked up. Like, you are a damned sociopath. You make me question reality sometimes. Like, if I had made some screwed choice somewhere I would end up arrested and it would be your fault somehow.

— … — this small… confession? Maybe that’s not the definition, but it surely was enough to make Nicole’s eyes widen. After recovering, she smirks. — That’s hot. What is with you today, you keep making me turned on. — she teases, using a more sexy voice.

— You just proved my point. — Jecka smiles, looking at Nicole. The brunette approaches Jecka and rubs her cigarette against hers. — … Somehow, that’s gayer than gay sex.

— I saw this on tumblr, like, some girl puffed some smoke on the mouth of the other girl and they kissed.

— I don’t know If I think this is hot or terrifying.

— A bit of both?

— I’m not trying.

— Yeah, I’m too straight for kissing. — Nicole chuckles, eyes trading views between Jecka and the cigarettes rubbing.

— And you are too straight to do what the hell you are doing right now? — Jecka raises one eyebrow, amused.

— We do drugs together, it is worse than this. — Nicole takes some steps back, returning to smoke normally. — Like you would not fuck me. — Jecka chuckles, rolling her eyes softly.

— I feel like this conversation is returning to the same point.

— Yeah, I’m repeating myself because I know that if I repeat myself long enough you will agree.

— Do you want to do gay sex?

— Do you?

— … Again, I do not have an answer.

— Fuck. Just say yes so I can reject you.

— Why? I’m freaking hot.

— So? I can resist. — Nicole’s eyes squint in a sensual way.

— I passed out last week on your bed and you gave me water when I woke up, that's pretty gay.

— That’s the bare minimum! — she smiles, still trying to keep the fight.

— Well, you never do the bare minimum, how should I know when you are flirting and when you are being a bitch?

— Joke is on you, I do both at the same time. — she blows more smoke.

— True though… — Jecka follows.

— Should we kiss to end the debate?

— It is pretty gay to keep asking me to kiss you.

— True. — Nicole puffs some smoke. — … You think I’m a homossexual?

— Honestly, I’m pretty high on percs right now, I'm not thinking about anything.

— Yeah, this is going nowhere.

— Is it wrong to fuck a girl?

— We should not fuck. We are too pretty to fuck each other. It will cause an imbalance in the world.

— Can we kiss though?

— I guess a peck would be fine.

Nicole throws her cigarette on the ground and steps on it. After that, she approaches Jecka, who puts her cigarette down. Without hesitation, Nicole grabs Jecka’s chin and pulls closer, as the blonde leans to a peck – which should be brief. It lasts a bit more than expected, and, as Jecka’s hands pull Nicole closer, they both start to put tongue on it. After probably some minutes, as they lost track of time, Nicole takes one step back, separating the two. Jecka takes a second to breathe. As soon as she can talk, Nicole wipes her mouth and exclaims:

— Bitch, is this the $1 lipstick from that atrocious store at the mall? — Nicole seems actually upset.

— It is strawberry, thank you.

— Holy shit, you’re poor as fuck.

— Bitch, I bought Starbucks.

— And you kiss me with this lipstick??

— Bitch, I buy you adderall every fucking week.

— And you chose to kiss me with that lipstick.

— Like I would know I was going to kiss you.

— You have to be prepared everyday to kiss me.

— … — without response, they stay in silence for some seconds — Should we do it again or…

— No bitch, your lipstick FUCKING SUCKS.

— YOU KISSED ME FOR SEVERAL MINUTES.

— ‘CAUSE I AM A GOOD FREAKING ACTRESS.

The bell rings. Their free time is over, Unfortunately, they cannot miss every class or they will fail school.

— Ugh, I have chemistry now. — Nicole rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

— No we don’t.

— The subject, bitch.

— Oh.

Nicole grabs her bag and starts to walk into the school again. On the top of the staircase, she looks back at Jecka and says:

— Buy better lipstick for next time.

— For next–

Before hearing any response, Nicole walks away, towards the Chemistry’s class. Jecka is left there, confused. After thinking for some seconds, she grabs her stuff too and goes to her class, but not before leaving a remark:

— … What an asshole fucking bitch. AND gay. She’s just… All the wrong in the world. — And she takes her steps, at a normal pace, going towards her class. She fixes her make up a bit, smiling.

[oroontheheels]

Daddy’s gonna be real honest with you kittens.

I’m disappointed with current Venom Run. Let me be real CLEAR here. I don’t hate it. I don’t have beef with its creator. So for a long period of time I was telling everyone “it’s a mess, but it’s better that Donnie Cates”.

But I think comparing them is not correct and let me explain why.

So Donnie Cates. Our boy. Extra edgy, made some terrifically BAD retcons, hated symbrock, tried to make Eddie Brock as trad as possible (giving him human son and all). Plus he ignored the fact that Sleeper was a child of Venom and Eddie. “nOt BioLoGiCalLy” Eddie’s but he called Eddie “father” and they both deeply cared about each other. So Donnie Cates couldn’t allow this either.

But! Donnie Cates while fighting the yaoi made the story ironically even more gayer. It was a train wreck but at the end of the day at least it was fun to laugh at this “closeted shipper” as I like to call him.

And most importantly? At the end they were still “Venom family”. All 4 of them. In Donnie Cates comics.

Now Al Ewing and Ram V… It was… ok. I like Dylan, I like Venom, I like Sleeper. I didn’t like that they “killed” Eddie right at the start of the story and sent him running solo trough time traveling shenanigans. I liked him interacting with Doctor Doom. I liked Meridus being gay with Kang and with that one old man.

But what I lacked is interactions between Venom and Eddie. They almost didn’t interact.

But like, okay. Let Eddie do his thing, let Venom singlemom it out. Also did I mention Ewing and V made Dylan Venom’s son? That was NICE. That’s I liked. A LOT.

And immideatly got my hops up.

Which was a mistake.

So the problem is where Donnie was closeted shipper, I’m starting to believe that Ewing and V don’t actually see Venom and Eddie as a romantic partnership. Or even all that important partnership.

If you check Spider Man Venom War comics, Venom talks A LOT about how much “Saint Peter”(Parker) means to him. It’s very gay very romantic very deep. But at the next pages it also downgraded Eddie role in Venoms life?? Venom is like “so yeah Peter taught me to save lives so I saved Eddie from offfing himself”. And that’s almost it. No emphasis on their bond, on Eddie’s feelings, of their bond. Almost nothing, really.

And now it’s Venom War and Venom says “wow Peter and I are sooo perfect, also it feels nice punching Eddie in the face”.

So what. Venom hates Eddie now? After all those years of forgiveness?? And it wasn’t elaborated in the slightest??

I would hate it but I WOULD understand if they wanted to make Parker new host for Venom for a while. But they don’t?? Apparently Al Ewing planing to give Venom new host (all of the candidates SUCK for the role btw). And if I understood one of his interviews correctly he want to send all the characters their separate ways.

Here’s the statement

Which annoyed me. A LOT. Like i understand that cis hetero males bring all the money to Marvel. We little faggots don’t bring so much cash. So our feelings and wants are not important. But isn’t there big ass FANDOM for symbrock? People who advertise comics for free with their art and activities?? Are we not important whatsoever? And on top of that wasn’t EVERYONE celebrating when Eddie got Venom back (in 2016)?? Don’t we all love homoerotic weird ass bond these two have??

And what does it even mean “yeah it’s been a while since Eddie and Venom have been together”. It wasn’t. Donnie Cates first made Venom into amnesiac DOG, then sent him into exile and then kept him and Eddie from having meaningful interaction until the very end of his run. Everyone who loves symbrock were STARVING.

And Al Ewing and Ram V story separated Eddie into his own story line.

And now Al Ewing tilling us “yeah it’s been too long, it’s time to move on”.

It’s like giving starving person a cup of water and saying “well now you are fed, let’s go on a 20km hike”.

“My work here is done” Tuxedo Mask meme

So like… yeah.

If they’ll make Sleeper a traitor this will be so bad. This will drop from 6/10 to 0/10 immediately.

Not looking forward to Venom future.

And the WORST part? I feel like they are pulling out “this relationship is toxic so it’s cancelled” card on symbrock. They never do that on hetero ships, but they happily destroy gay ships with that argument.

It sucks.

I hope I’m wrong. But like Venom gets new host this December. There’s not much room left to give us decent amount of Symbrock IF writers even want that.

[ninja-muse]

Well, this was a surprisingly strong start to my reading year! I don’t normally give out super high ratings, and especially not so close together, but The City in Glass and The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door deserved nothing less. I also had a nice surprise in In Veritas, which was honestly a “what the heck do I read now” selection, and a very fun time with Greenteeth. I’d review that one but I’ve already done two reviews this month, so just know that if you want a cozy-ish fantasy that’s a shade or two lighter than T. Kingfisher but with the same darkish humour, it’s one to pick up.

Sadly, I also had one DNF. Yield Under Great Persuasion is a fun cozy queer fantasy romance, but the particular character tropes and dynamic just didn’t work for me. And that would’ve been my only queer book, which is also something of a surprise. (Queer authors, yes. Queer-norm worlds, yes. But no queer focus.) I can only hope that February will be gayer, more trans, or more ace, but I’m a mood reader. It’ll be what it’ll be, I guess.

But yes, if you’re counting, I’ve read primarily fantasy this month, including two novels with fairies pretty close together. One of the ARCs I brought home was the third Emily Wilde book, which I’m eager to get to, but it’s going to fall tonally right in the middle of “amusing light fantasy” and “female academic studying fairies” and I can recognize that I need to read at least one book before I pick it up, to give myself space. Which is why I’ve pulled The Prague Cemetery off my shelves. It’s about as different as I can get while staying fiction, I think. And yes, I did look at nonfiction choices. None of them spoke to me.

I’ve decided to add the occasional read-like to my wrap-ups. There have been a few books this month that have reminded me of specific things, be it authors or books or other things, and that’s usually the case in a month. I thought it might be fun to make those notes when I have them, since the way I’m doing my “reviews” here is so compact.

As for my book haul, after not receiving the last two October Daye novels for my birthday or for Christmas, I had to go out and rectify that situation—and of course, the Wayward Children novellas are auto-buys. The other book I picked up was The Myth of Normal, rescued from our damaged books shelf at work because I’ve been on the fence about it for a while. I figure I’ll either find it an interesting or infuriating read, but who knows when I’ll get to it.

In other news, I’ve started writing again, at least a little, and I’ve manage to jot down a couple bunnies that may or may not make good short stories. There’s nothing much else to report. Just working and reading and, oh yes, getting a cold. Don’t get colds, folks. They’re not fun.

And so, without further ado, here’s what I read this month in order of personal enjoyment…

The City in Glass - Nghi Vo

When the demon Vitrine’s city is destroyed by angels, she sets herself to rebuilding while an angel, caught by her grief, tries to understand.

10/10

for fans of: Strange the Dreamer

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (sapphic, achillean, trans man)

warning: war, death, grief

library book

The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door - H.G. Parry When Clover’s brother returns from the trenches carrying a faerie curse, she vows to cure him. Step one is earning a place in the magical university of Camford—but the friends she makes there, and the secrets they uncover, have a much longer, wider, darker reach.

9/10

for fans of: Babel, Pip Williams, Susanna Clarke

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (gay), Indo-British secondary character

library book

In Veritas - C.J. Lavigne

Drawn by her synaesthesia and a dog/snake/shadow, Verity encounters a hidden world of magical people in an Ottawa theatre—a world threatened by technology and in need of saving.

7/10

for fans of: Charles de Lint

neurodivergent protagonist, secondary character with permanently injured leg, Black and East Asian secondary characters, 🇨🇦

warning: suicide, murder, knife violence, false commission to psychiatric facility

library ebook

Genealogy of a Murder - Lisa Belkin In 1960, an ex-con shoots a cop and a doctor could have stopped him—but what was it about their lives that shaped them into who they became?

7.5/10

for fans of: deep-dive true crime podcasts

warning: discussions of poverty, domestic abuse, child abuse, alcoholism, deaths of children and parents, dubiously ethical experiments

library ebook

Adrift in Currents Clean and Clear - Seanan McGuire When Nadya’s adoptive parents give her a prosthetic in their bid to make her a perfect American girl, she finds refuge in the world of Belyyreka.

7/10

protagonist with arm hemimelia and a prosthetic

bought/off my TBR

Greenteeth - Molly O’Neill When a witch is thrown into Jenny Greenteeth’s lake, the two women band together to get the witch’s life back, but it won’t be easy. The new parson has brought something old and dark and wrong to their village, and they must go on a quest to rid Britain of it. Out in February

for fans of: T. Kingfisher, Diana Wynne Jones

7/10

🏳️‍🌈-coded protagonist (ace)

warning: animal death

reading copy

And Put Away Childish Things - Adrian Tchaikovsky Harry Bodie is a washed-up actor descended from an author of second-rate portal fantasies. He is definitely not the heir to the throne of Underhill, because Underhill. Does. Not. Exist. (He’s in for more than a bit of a rude awakening.)

7.5/10

for fans of: Paul Cornell, postmodern takes of children’s classics

warning: Covid-19 pandemic

library ebook

A Daughter of No Nation - A.M. Dellamonica Sophie’s returned to the world of Stormwrack, to learn more about its ecologies and her birth father. But when she learns something horrific about him, Stormwrack’s politics and legalities suddenly become a darker web.

7/10

for fans of: adult portal fantasies

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (gay, lesbian), secondary characters read as Black and South Asian, 🇨🇦

warning: slavery, violence

library book

Fifty Places to Travel Solo - Chris Santella and DC Helmuth Some suggested destinations for single travellers.

7.5/10

interviewees of diverse backgrounds, orientations, and body types

library book

Interference - Sue Burke

The Pax colony is thrown into turmoil by a mission from Earth, and it looks like Humans, Earthlings, and Glassmakers might not be the only sentiences out there.

6.5/10

off my TBR

Picture Books

Knight Owl - Christopher Denise Owl wants to be a knight and when knights start disappearing at the castle, he gets his chance!

Bunny Made Tea - Amanda Baehr Fuller

Bunny wants a cup of tea but unfortunately, so does Possum. Out in February

DNF

Yield Under Great Persuasion - Alexandra Rowland Tam has hated Lord Lyford since they were children. Tam and Lyford have been hooking up regularly. When Tam learns that Lyford is favoured by his goddess (which he doesn’t deserve), it’s the last straw and he must confront his feelings and his actions if he wants any hope of a better future.

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (gay), 🏳️‍🌈 love interest (achillean), 🏳️‍🌈 author

library book

Currently reading

The Prague Cemetery - Umberto Eco A journey through the social upheavals of 19th century Europe, through the eyes of a forger who hates everyone, believes every conspiracy, and is trying to piece together lost time and a secondary identity.

warning: anti-Semitic protagonist and secondary characters; protagonist also xenophobic, racist, and misogynist

off my TBR

The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle Victorian detective stories

disabled POV character (limb injury), occasional Indian secondary characters

warning: racism, colonialism

Monthly total: 10+2 Yearly total: 10 Queer books: 0 Authors of colour: 1 Books by women: 8.5 Authors outside the binary: 0 Canadian authors: 2 Classics: 0 Off the TBR shelves: 2 Books hauled: 4 ARCs acquired: 3 ARCs unhauled: 1 DNFs: 1

[carletes]

Thanks now i really need them to sing that in my life 🤣🫶🏼

Lando was surprised at how excited Carlos was at the prospect of karaoke. It didn’t seem to square with his image of his teammate. Carlos had seemed so serious, so careful, maybe even intimidating and, if Lando was to be very uncharitable…kind of boring.

But then, Lando mused as they made their way to the place George and Alex had suggested, a lot of things Lando had expected of his new teammate hadn’t turned out to be true. Yes, Carlos was serious—but that didn’t stop him from laughing like one of those Lion King hyenas. Yes, Carlos was careful—but that didn’t stop him from manhandling Lando in ways that made him squawk in outrage and maybe other things. Yes, Carlos seemed intimidating—and then he smiled encouragingly at Lando, his giant brown eyes sincere and sweet, when Lando stammered over feedback.

So, yeah, Carlos seemed boring, but then…

“How’s this for a laugh?” George said, flicking through the songs in the karaoke directly. They had been picking songs for each other, and it was George’s turn to pick one for Lando. “I don’t even know if you’ll know this one, mate.”

Lando scowled at him. He was a bit worried about making an ass of himself in front of Carlos, who was politely sitting in the booth, nursing a beer. He looked ridiculously handsome in a casual sweatshirt and jeans. “No recording,” he growled at George and Alex, the latter of whom quickly put away his phone.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alex chirped with false sincerity.

Lando sighed and stepped up to the front of their room. He scowled at George again and then looked at the monitor:

Everytime We Touch – Cascada.

Oh. Well. Shit. This was going to be embarrassing for another reason.

Lando made a split second decision to fuck the song up, and then the first few notes played, and he promptly forgot that decision. He vaguely registered Carlos sitting up right before, devastatingly, Lando lost himself to the song.

Tremulously, albeit no less passionately, Lando began: “I still hear your voice when you sleep next to me, I still feel your touch in my dreams…”

George and Alex were agape. Lando wasn’t even looking at the monitor. He knew the lyrics all too well.

“Forgive me my weakness, but I don’t know why, without you it’s hard to–”

“Sur-vive–!”

That wasn’t Lando. That was–

And as Lando stared, open-mouthed, his serious, careful, intimidating, boring teammate jolted to his feet, beer held aloft, and sang triumphantly:

“‘Cause every time we touch, I get this feeling–”

And Lando, relieved and…and thrilled, beamed widely and began singing along with Carlos, “And every time we kiss, I swear I could fly!”

Carlos was climbing over George and Alex’s stunned forms towards Lando, singing the whole time:

“Can’t you feel my heart beat fast, I want this to last, need you by my side!”

By the time the second part of the chorus hit, Carlos had drawn close to Lando, and Lando laughed and held his microphone so it was between his lips and Carlos’.

“‘Cause every time we touch, I feel this static, and every time we kiss, I reach for the sky!”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, singing with—singing to—his teammate, Lando registered that this was maybe one of the gayer things he had done in his young life. He also registered that his teammate was hot. And he was reminded, annoyingly, that he had nursed a low-level crush on Carlos Sainz for several years.

“Can’t you hear my heart beat so, I can’t let you go, want you in my life!”

And Carlos was very close to him. And he looked very happy. And he smelt really good.

And he was not a good singer.

But that was actually good to know, and Lando wasn’t great either, but that didn’t stop them from singing loud and enthusiastic about how much they wanted to kiss each other.

Lando was almost sad when the song ended. Carlos laughed, running a hand through his hair. “I cannot remember the last time I heard that song,” Carlos said, grinning at Lando. Lando felt his heart beat fast (ugh). The world seemed to recede—it felt like it was just him and Carlos.

“I can’t believe you like it!” Lando said, still in shock at what had transpired. Carlos smiled at him and shrugged.

“Why not? It’s good, no?”

It’s so gay, mate.

“…yeah, it is,” Lando said instead, and for a few moments, he was content to just keep looking up at his silly, affectionate, kind, fun teammate, who was looking back at him, warmth in his eyes.

“…how the fuck did you both know that?”

That jolted them out of their reverie.

Some years later, then, when Carlos and Lando were no longer teammates, when they were married, when they were talking seriously about whether and when they wanted children, and—most daunting of all—out shopping for Christmas presents, a familiar song started playing at Harrod’s.

“Hey,” Carlos said, squeezing Lando’s hand that he had tucked into the crook of his arm. “It’s our song.”

And Lando smiled and pressed his face into Carlos’ shoulder. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

[veryloudbrain]

walter + henry "masterpost" (canon)

season 1

1x01 they sit together at dinner(?). before wille grabs their attention, they seem deep in conversation and HENRY GLANCES AT WALTER’S LIPS (im delulu ..but not really). this is their first canon interaction. i cannot make this shit up. i’m losing my mind. they sit together in class. they stick close (walter is fucking leaning on henry) at the very first party (after wille’s initiation). they’re both drinking. walter is spotted without henry for like a literal millisecond (idk where his mans went). walter and henry hang with stella and felice (at least until felice runs off to throw up lol) when wille is like,, crowdsurfing (using that term loosely) walter is not with henry mans lost him where is he.. (probably throwing up somewhere idk)

1x02 simon sits between them at lunch.

they sit together in class (on monday? the party was friday.. i assume)

math tests are handed out. they sit close and show their grades to eachother. (comparing results maybe ?)

wille mentions they take private lessons.. together ? over the weekend ? bro i cant defend them. (not that i want to)

henry joins rowing practice. they’re wearing MATCHING SHIRTS. i cannot make this shit up.

they’re both attending rowing practice still when august.. kisses simon (LMAO)

they debatably sit together at the movie night. they’re social distancing for some reason but no one is between them. henry looks over at walter (i’m delulu, he was probably looking at august) after The Jumpscare

1x03 the week after the horror movie (exact day unknown) henry sits with wille in class, but walter is in the seat literally next to him just,, with a space lol

(same week) they work out on the SAME GODDAMN MAT in p.e (either that or their mats are placed so close they don’t show a space.. idk which is gayer tbh)

they stick together during the parents day, but sit in different rows in church (..for some reason?)

after church neither of them are spotted interacting with any adult or even eachother in the background. they went ~poof~

i think you see walter entering his dorm? but it could be a different background actor honestly i don't know

for breakfast the day after: henry mentions to walter that his dad recognized his surname.

“no, i know” “how long have you known?” “i know because my… my dad recognized your surname”

this convo confirms to me that they didn’t know eachother before hillerska.

note: the convo was very light-hearted and henry was smiling (this has lead to theories about their parents having dated in the past, i also heard that uno, walter's actor, confirmed this but i haven't seen this for myself so i'm not sure)

1x04 they sit together while watching erik’s funeral on TV the Society "meeting". henry is never technically explicitly shown to drink or take pills but he seems inebriated and picks up a pack of pills from the table so i'm gonna assume he did both (so much fanfic potential i'm clawing at the walls)

1x05 they’re not sitting together in class, both having 2 desks by themselves until wille joins henry. walter is in the seat directly behind him. (side note: henry is wearing the same goddamn sweater he was at the Society meeting. was it washed or does he just stink of booze in class ? LMAO)

plot explained why they aren’t sitting together !! walter was meant to do a presentation with alexander and therefore left the seat for him.

they sit together again in class. this would be the week after the class they didn’t.

henry attends another Society “emergency meeting” (alexander was caught with the drugs) (this isn't walty but idc)

henry looks stressed/conflicted after the 2nd Society emergency meeting, but walks out with wille. (probably hard for him cause he can tell something’s going on between wille and simon, but pinning it on alexander is also a shitty thing to do)

they(walty) stand together outside before the whole lucia thing starts.

walter is fiddling with something with his left hand. it doesn’t show up in the shot, but henry is right there on his left. (they were obviously having a thumb war /j)

they’re both talking with wille after the lucia thing, but they’re so caught up in their conversations they don’t even bat an eye when wille’s whole life falls apart (it's not funny but it's really fucking funny)

1x06 at breakfast sometime after the video got out. henry and walter are talking abt how wilmon sat together at the movie night and that they talked abt it after.

h “remember the movie night?” w “yeah” h “when they sat next to eachother” w “exactly!” h “we talked abt that” w “yeah we talked abt that!”

(as if they weren’t also sitting next to eachother)

in class sometime that week (tuesday or later) they sit separate in class again. walter is gossiping (or just talking tbh idk) with some other students while henry sits alone. wille sits next to henry and henry attempts small talk with wille to cut the tension) (walty are once again only separated by the aisle lol)

they sit together in church on christmas day (or eve ? i’m not sure honestly)

they also talk together (+vincent och nils) outside church after. henry quickly noticed wilmon hugging (gay noticing gay frfr)

[i need it to be known this was initially written by me right after season 2 came out and i rewatched everything]

[lurkingshan]

La Pluie Meta Round-up

Since many of us have decided to stop being normal about this show, I wanted to get a little more organized about tracking the great meta inspired by the episodes every week. Some of y’all are putting in work to write these amazing essays digging into the text and subtext of this show, and I want to make sure I’m not missing any of it, as well as have a central place to track my own. I thought this might also be a useful resource to others, especially anyone coming to the show late (please join us, this is the perfect moment to get into La Pluie). 

So without further ado, a round up of my favorite essays and posts to come out of the fandom on this excellent show. I will plan to update this each Saturday with the previous week’s meta as we go through the final four episodes. I tried my best to find everything but y'all know how faulty tumblr’s search and tag functions are, so if you think I missed something important, let me know!

First, the most crucial essay about La Pluie that everyone must read

We Must All Get Gayer and Louder About La Pluie Immediately (@bengiyo)

Second, a round up of some of the essays exploring the structure and intent of the story

Note: these may contain random spoilers for some episodes but are not specifically about any given episode

Four schools of thought on soulmates (@shortpplfedup)

Intentional subversion of the soulmate trope

Interrogating the romance genre (@chickenstrangers) 

La Pluie and the subversion of second lead syndrome

La Pluie and the subversion of the faen fatale

La Pluie: On the Lore 

Locations of La Pluie (@colourme-feral)

Name meanings in La Pluie (@recentadultburnout)

Narrative determinism versus genre determinism (@ginnymoonbeam)

On the subject of consent in recent bls (@williamrikers)

Romance tropes don’t work in real life (@heretherebedork) NEW

Romantic idealism in La Pluie (@ginnymoonbeam)

And finally, episode specific reactions and predictions

Note: These are spoilerific, starting at episode 4 aka when we all started really losing our minds over this show

Episode 4

Defying destiny (me and @bengiyo)

La Pluie Ep 4 And My Love Of Emotionally Available Characters (@bengiyo)

You (Yes, You!) Should be Watching La Pluie

Episode 5

La Pluie Ep 5 Stray Thoughts (aka birth of the Tai’s Dad is queer theory) (@bengiyo)

What we know about Patts (plus Shan and Ben’s vindication)

Working out the colors in La Pluie (@respectthepetty)

Episode 6

Hands in La Pluie Ep 6 (@wen-kexing-apologist)

La Pluie meets Nora Roberts (@syrena-del-mar)

On suspicion of Patts (@ginnymoonbeam)

Patts Was Going to Blow Tai. Tai Wanted It. Why That Matters. (@bengiyo)

You need to be watching La Pluie

Episode 7

Hands in La Pluie Ep 7 (@wen-kexing-apologist)

La Pluie: Maybe we will get a happy ending after all (@neuroticbookworm)

On the bed scene in Ep 7 (@ginnymoonbeam)

On the make out session in Ep 7 (@shouldiusemyname)

Episode 8

La Pluie and the Exploration of Romance, Competence, and Queerness (@bengiyo)

La Pluie: Do you still believe in soulmates?

La Pluie: The most important thing is that we really love each other

The Language of Love in La Pluie Ep 8 (@wen-kexing-apologist)

Third Child Syndrome: Birth Order Theory in La Pluie (@syrena-del-mar)

Episode 9

La Pluie and The Kind One (@sunshinechay)

Soulmate Skepticism vs Romanticism in La Pluie (@neuroticbookworm) 

the divine in me; the divine in you (@liyazaki)

The Kindness is the Point (@bengiyo)

The ultimate message of La Pluie

To love is a choice (@heretherebedork) 

What matters is CHOICE (@shortpplfedup)

Episode 10

A Jungian Perspective on La Pluie (@syrena-del-mar)

A Logical Love Doesn’t Exist (@fadelikeclouds)

break your own chains (@liyazaki)

Diving into Tai’s mind: Actions do not speak louder than words (@fadelikeclouds)

La Pluie: A Masterclass in Conflict Writing in Romance

La Pluie Breaks the Soulmate Bond

La Pluie: Not All Gays Are Great (@bengiyo)

La Pluie the Soundtrack (@shouldiusemyname)

Lomfon thoughts (@rocketturtle4)

On Tai’s isolation (@sunshinechay)

On villainising Patts (@shortpplfedup)

Pee Peerawich Can Fucking Act (@wen-kexing-apologist)

Revisiting episode 8

Similarities between Lomfon and Tai (@iguessitsjustme)

Tai and Patt’s incompatible conflict styles and Tais’ conflict avoidance (@ginnymoonbeam)

The Depths of Inner Turmoil (@syrena-del-mar)

The Soulmate Label (@indigostarfire)

Understanding the Core Four of La Pluie (@neuroticbookworm)

Episode 11

Balancing Self-Absorption and Love in La Pluie (@syrena-del-mar)

Checking in on the colors (@respectthepetty)

Connection (@wen-kexing-apologist)

Communication (@shouldiusemyname)

Even though they’ve separated it doesn’t mean they’ve failed (@chinzhilla)

It isn’t destiny- it’s freedom (@liyazaki)

La Pluie and the Aftermath

La Pluie: Thoughts on the Queer Subtext and More Patts Reflections (@bengiyo)

On Tai as a middle child of divorced parents (@slayerkitty)

On Tai’s special treatment within the family (@shortpplfedup)

Parenting in La Pluie, Episode 11 (@neuroticbookworm)

The narrative is letting Tai be unlikeable (@sunshinechay)

[flowerwriter]

~ Pomefiore Incorrect Quotes ~

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Epel, holding a kettle: Coffee or tea?

Vil: Tea.

Epel: Wrong. It's coffee.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vil: Did you buy eggs like I asked?

Rook: Even better!

Vil: What the fuck did you-

Rook: *holding up a chicken* Her name is Fluffy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Epel: Dammit, you ruin everything!

Vil: You're welcome.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Epel: An apple a day keeps the doctor away!

Epel: An apple a day can also keep anyone away if you throw it hard enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Epel: You're alive.

Vil: There's no need to sound so disappointed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kidnapper: We have your child

Vil: I don’t have a child?

Kidnapper: Then who just asked for warm milk and made us cut the crusts off their sandwich?

Vil: Oh god, you have Epel

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Epel: And now for a gay update with Rook.

Rook: Getting gayer.

Epel: Thank you, Rook.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Epel: Quacking in my boobs over this

Epel: QUAKING*

Epel: BOOTS* FUCKER.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Epel, acting tough: You guys don't want to mess with me.

Vil: Yeah, Vil will straight up cry in public. Don't try them.

Epel: Exactly, I will straight up-

Epel:

Epel, tearing up: Vil, why would you say that?!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vil: Might I make a suggestion you possibly won’t like?

Epel: Do you make any other kind?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another One Done! Yay!! Btw, do you think I should and write headcannons, x reader, etc? I wanna try, maybe.

[ghostradiodylan]

@camillabanilla the ‘if they fucked nasty’ tag killed me. 😂😭💀

Look, the ‘maybe neither’ line isn’t my favorite for sure, but it also isn’t the only choice. My first playthrough I just made Ryan and Laura fight the entire time because that seems more true to their characters (loyal to their own goals, unlikely to change their opinions quickly), so I picked the more aggressive option and he just brushes her off. So that’s already only a 50% chance of even getting that line that is apparently the only part of the canon that matters to some people.

If you do get it, Ryan can either be smugly bragging about Dylan and Kaitlyn having the hots for him OR he can say “I guess… I’m kind of closer to Dylan… though after tonight, I don’t know…” prior to the ‘maybe neither.’ The fact that he can bring up Dylan unprompted is a clear sign of interest, even if he’s unsure about the future. My personal theory is that we lost the triggers that set up this conversation when they re-edited the script after lopping off 1/3rd. I think the ‘after tonight, I don’t know’ was supposed to be triggered by Ryan cutting Dylan’s hand off (based on the datamine scenes, we also lost conversations that would have been triggered by Ryan’s kiss choice when Kaitlyn and Dylan are walking to the scrapyard, so that makes sense to me that other options were also cut for the sake of time/simplicity). So that’s what, a 25% chance of a wholly Rylan-negative answer? I don’t think that outweighs the relationship you can build between them in the game if you choose to do so.

As for why the game doesn’t make Dylan and Ryan actually getting together ‘canon,’ I think there was a desire to leave it open-ended and also because the game IS NOT FINISHED. But their interest in each other clearly is canon. It has different flavors to it depending on what the player chooses, but it’s there nonetheless.

And, yeah, homophobia is definitely in the mix. The game was sold in Russia, China, Poland, and other countries where homophobia is even more common than it is in North American and Europe. Just the other day on The Quarry subreddit someone replied with this (they have Dylan and Ryan confused lmfao, they’re talking about keeping Ryan away from Dylan when making choices):

The Russian language version of the game even makes Dylan bisexual so they can imply a ship between him and Kaitlyn. It isn’t clear if it’s a mistranslation or intentional but for a country with a massively anti-LGBTQ government and plenty of homophobic sentiment, it’s not a great look.

The datamine implies the game was actually supposed to be even gayer. 😂 I hope we get that extra gay version someday. For all us gay men fetishists out here. /obvious joke

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Round 1

Propaganda why Robin is insufferable:

"Annoying control freak"

"his mere existence is a vile mockery of the real Robin. Why do they always have to ruin everything by reducing the characters by the jokes they can make against them?"

"Not even because it’s a far cry from how Robin is actually characterized in the comics or the OG cartoon, but his exaggerated impulsive and controlling personality is really hard to watch most of the time.

If you do compare it to his original iteration, it’s just insulting, but not even taking that into account, I don’t understand why anyone can stand to watch a show for fun with a main character like that? Lol"

Propaganda why Stuart Little is insufferable:

"Bad vibes"

"Even from his first ever appearance he was insufferable. I remember when I was a child my mum took me to a carboot sale, trinkets, clothes, games, dvds galore. It was a lovely day. On one stall we stopped and decided to take a closer look at their goods.. My mum decided to buy the stuart little box set containing the entire trilogy inside. this would change my life forever. Now, you may thinking ‘what is so bad about Stuart little?’ Well I’m just about to tell you. First of all his appearance. He’s got that little submissive twinky build with a stupid smug little smirk on his stupid little mouse face (ALSO WHY IS HE A MOUSE AND NOT A RAT? RATS ARE SO MUCH BETTER) I can’t even sexualise him or call him a tumblr sexy man bc he’s a minor and an orphan minor at that (embarrassing) which brings me into my next point. The whole adoption scene??? Just screams??? Entitled??? Like imagine you are an orphan and you are super excited to get adopted you put on your best orphan outfit and orphan smile and then the family come in (eccentric but also very nice) and they take a look at you and you smile and think ‘wow this is my moment to be adopted!’. Then they say to the head of the orphanage ‘yeah I’ll take the rat.’ I DONT KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT THAT WOULD PISS ME THE HELL OFF AND GIVE ME TRUST ISSUES AND RELATIONSHIP ISSUES AND SELF ESTEEM USSUES AND ISSUES WITH ISSUES. Then this smug little twink rat just walks out with a family??? My mind would say??? This bitch??? Anyways now that that is outta the way can we talk abt the gay little saying the family has. ‘Little high little hey little low’ so so gay like I’ve had lesbian sex and that is probably gayer than that. Infect you know what?? Maybe the littles adopting stuart did the poor orphans a favour. Like it’s kinda like if two sexual deviants dated bc at least it keeps them off the streets. You know what this now a little family hate account. They also have another saying that ‘anyone can find the little house if they are a little from anywhere’ I think they should find a gun and let it go off but ig uts not as cool. I wanna go on for longer bc idk id this is too cringe"

"he got stuck in a washing machine once and also i imagine they would smell pretty badly irl and also im racist towards white mice and also i dont like him. He should have died and drowned in the washing machine."

"stupid fucking rodent he can actually go die i hate his stupid voice i just wanna step on him"

"hate this stupid mouse want to put him in a mouse trap"

[davilasinfiltro]

Badboyhalo gets advice from Reddit

Bad panics after Skeppy releases Best Friend and decides to ask for relationship advice on Reddit because he doesn’t know who else to turn to

979 words

r/relationship_advice u/throwaway132166922

My (M29) best friend (M23) made a song about me and I don’t know how to feel about it.

I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I’m so paranoid about anyone finding out who I am but I frequent this subreddit a lot and can't find anyone who is in the same situation as me. I also don’t know who I can even talk to about this since we have a lot of mutual friends. If this gets too much traction I’m deleting it quickly, here goes nothing >_<

Here’s the context, me and my friend have known each other online for a while and have been friends for around 4 years (my friends poke fun that we have our ‘anniversary’ memorized but I digress.) We’ve half heartedly been making plans to meetup for the past few years. What can I say? I don’t like leaving the house and never really had the urge to meet any of my online friends. I’d argue that you could have a meaningful relationship with someone and never meet them irl. Anyways, I never took these conversations too seriously. I would always say I’m not ready yet, it’s too close to the holidays, who’s going to take care of my dog? The one time we did have concrete plans I was sick with covid and I had a long recovery. And we just never followed up with a reschedule.

I never knew how much this affected my friend until he wrote this sort of… rap and produced it with one of our mutual friends. He insults me, saying I have a massive ego, I’m a psycho, it’s my fault I made him ‘feel blue,’ and immediately backtracks and compliments me. There’s another lyric that says I’m pushing him away and if I’m hiding something? This part I have to quote verbatim because it’s the part I understand the least,

“I can’t really say my true intentions

It’s all just miscommunication

Please don’t take it the wrong way

I love you dude and I hope we’re okay”

And that’s how it ends. Meanwhile, I had no clue my friend was having this type of conflicting feelings about me. Or how much us meeting up meant to him. Yeah maybe we’d go from talking every day to messaging each other only semi frequently but that’s just the evolution of a friendship right? We were both getting busier as our respective careers became more time-consuming but that’s nobody’s fault, is it? I know I should apologize to him for never taking his requests for us to meetup too seriously but I think there’s something else under the surface.

Does he want to confess to me? I keep going back to that lyric, “I can’t really say my true intentions.” He’s pretty much ripped his heart out on this song but there’s /one/ thing he can’t say to me? Does it have to do with him wanting to preserve our friendship, that it’ll be strained in some way if he confesses? I don’t know what gives him that impression, a lot of our friends are lgbt+. Heck, a lot of them make jokes that we like each other already. Anyways, there shouldn’t be anything deterring him from confessing if that’s what he is trying to do. Or not trying to do.

Any advice is appreciated. I still haven’t said anything to him directly since he made that song.

u/amycat1203

Whatever you two have going on is gayer than any gay person I know irl

-> Reply u/throwaway132166922

If I had a nickel for every time I heard that -_-

u/justadudelmao

This is too outrageous to be fake, so I’m trying to take this seriously. It sounds like y’all have some shit to talk out in person. If the next message you send him isn’t a confirmation for a plane ticket you’re the problem

-> Reply u/throwaway132166922

If I travel to him it won’t be by plane, I have a phobia. But you’re right :/ I need to make it up to him soon if this is how he feels about us not meeting up

u/matchmakingismypassion

Maybe he has reason to believe you wouldn’t want him to confess to you. How do you react to the jokes your friends make about you together? Do you even reciprocate any possible romantic feelings to him?

->Reply u/throwaway132166922

It’s complicated, early on in our friendship he’d flirt with me as a troll and I’d always politely turn him down. I’ve known about him for so long, even before he was 18. I wasn’t comfortable indulging in this kind of joke. So even if he was 19 when he made these comments, he felt too young for me. He grew out of it and eventually we were inseparable as best friends, to the point that our mutual friends would tease us. Both of us would casually deny anything to our friends but honestly, I wouldn’t mind dating him if he made the first move. But you understand why I can’t make the first move, right?

->Reply u/matchmakingismypassion

To me it sounds like he shouldn’t make the first move either if all he’s ever heard from you is rejection. Especially if you can’t even make the effort to meetup, something he obviously wants from you. He made the song as a plea to start an open dialogue, and that starts with you bud.

u/skephalofan141414

EVERYONE. THIS STORY IS FAKE. This is some guy pretending to be Badboyhalo about the song Skeppy made called “Best Friend” on youtube. You’re a weirdo trying to karma farm off of a story that isn’t yours to tell

->Reply u/thisteaishotaf

Who??? Link please???

->Reply u/skephalofan141414

https://youtu.be/skDch34PtEM?si=Usxbm6LXisq9xWCD

->Reply u/thisteaishotaf

Why the fuck would his friend post this on a minecraft channel LMAO